Based on this prompt: Mike saves Jesse's ass and Jesse promptly tries to repay him via sexual favors. When mike rebuffs him Jesse freaks out because as far as Jesse has been taught that is how the world works; every favor has to be repaid and his ass is always the best curacy.
Brownie points if Walt figured out Jesse had these issues and simply exploited it instead of trying to help him.
WARNINGS: There are recurring themes of dubious consent (not Mike/Jesse), drug use, emotional distress etc. Jesse and Mike have more of a father son relationship in this story, except for one misunderstanding near the beginning, so not really a pairing fic for them.
Jesse Pinkman is not the sort of man that Mike usually deals with. Oh, he's dealt with junkies by the dozens, but this kid isn't anything like the rest of them. He still remembers the first day he saw him—the day that Jane Margolis died.
He's done that tired old routine more times than he can count, and nine times out of ten the junkie bastard'll beg for one last hit before they'll let him walk out the door with the last of their drugs. He put all of Pinkman's hundreds of thousands of dollars in a bag with all his drugs and then walked right out the front door—and damned if the kid didn't even look at it once.
He hadn't cared about anything but that dead girl lying in his bed. It was almost refreshing.
Almost, but not quite. Junkies were, after all, still human. They had an emotion on occasion. Mike really didn't think much more on it after that. He found him in that stinking crack den when Walt asked and even drove them all the way to rehab, but he didn't see it changing much.
But he'd been wrong about that, too.
The kid cleaned up good, that was for sure, though in some ways he seemed even worse off than before. Still, there was something about him. Had to be, for Walt to be so weirdly possessive, for him to have survived this long at all.
So he keeps an eye on him when Gus asks, and the kid still doesn't do any of the things he should. He lets the homeless stay in his home, he buys meth from his own dealers and hands teenths out like party favors. He tosses money to them just to watch them dance.
It's a little like watching someone implode.
He doesn't want to report back to Gus that the kid's become a liability, but he hasn't got much choice. It's obvious Pinkman doesn't give a damn about his own life, so there'd be nothing he could do to save it. Gus surprises him though, by tasking him with the opposite of his usual task: keep the kid alive.
He hardly makes it through the first day. Pinkman doesn't sit still for more than five seconds at a time, and Mike considers having him ride in the trunk, but he sticks it out. Then there's the next day. And the day after that. And the night after that.
And then he starts to see it.
Gus is catering to the kid when he says "I see things in people" but Mike's dead certain he's gotten it right again, even if this time it's on accident. There's something about Jesse Pinkman. Some kind of spark. Because Mike doesn't ever get attached. He doesn't ever get careless.
Or at least, he doesn't until he does.
It's just a run of the mill money pick up when it happens. The kid's wandered a little further than he likes, half-heartedly toying with a cigarette, and Mike lets him without reigning him back in. That's his first mistake, giving him space when he should have kept him close. He wouldn't have made that mistake with anyone else.
He just looks away for a second while he drags the money bag out of the drainpipe, and when he looks back Jesse is gone.
There was never a sound, but Mike can see the still lit cigarette simmering where it's fallen in the dirt, and there are drag marks leading behind the edge of the warehouse. It's a rookie move but he's running before he fully takes stock of the situation, rounding the corner without stopping, barreling into the fray full-force.
There are two of them. One has an arm wrapped under Jesse's armpit, the other clamped around his mouth. The second guy is trying to hold onto his feet. Jesse's a fighter, though. Always willing to give in until it's almost over, and then he'll fight like mad.
Mike shoots them both through the head. They're amateurs, or he might have been in trouble for being so sloppy. As it is he's able to blow through the skull of the one holding Jesse's feet and then shoot the other between the eyes before either of them fully understand they're no longer alone.
Jesse's eyes are wide as the three of them go crashing to the ground. Mike leans forward to help but he's already scrambling away, pushing himself away from the bodies with large gasping breaths. His face is half covered in blood, though miraculously he seems to have avoided the rest of it. He wipes at it frantically with the sleeve of his shirt, muttering to himself the whole time.
He flinches when Mike kneels beside him, but doesn't say anything. Mike glances around but the two men seem to be alone. They've got a van, a low-key sort of thing, hardly state of the art. They're bit players, not cartel. Probably didn't even have any clue who it was they'd nearly grabbed.
He keeps his gun at the ready as he looks through the back of the van. There's rope, and drugs, and bubble-gum wrappers. They'd probably been staking the place out, figured out it was some sort of drop point, and that they'd grab someone up to get information.
Inconsequential, his mind supplies. No need to even clean up the bodies, because no one will care when they end up dead. He looks back at Jesse, who is still staring at the bodies, like this sort of violence is still new.
"You ready to get out of here, kid?" Mike asks.
Jesse swallows and nods sharply, and that's all the acknowledgement Mike needs. He drags Jesse up and gets them the hell out of there. He drives them straight to the kid's house, because it's closer than the lab and he doesn't think he needs to rush to get rid of his gun.
The kid seems even more on edge at his front door than he had on the drive, though, so Mike wonders if he took him to the wrong place. He frowns as Jesse slips inside and follows, locking the door behind him. He really needs to set this place up with deadbolts, and maybe a few cameras. A few bugs, just in case. God knows the kid didn't take care of himself.
"So, ah, thanks," Jesse says, but there's something weird about the way he says it.
Mike turns to watch him, his eyes narrowing with a sick, stubborn suspicion, but Jesse's eyes just skitter away.
"Can I get you something?" Jesse asks, after a moment of avoiding his gaze. "Beer maybe? Some Coke? You know, the cola kind, I mean."
"What's wrong with you?" Mike demands, because he can tell that there is something going on here. Jesse is speaking in some sort of code and it's setting him on edge.
"Okay, so no pleasantries, I get it," Jesse says, and steps up close to him. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it." Jesse glances up at him, through his eyelashes, and Mike starts to get a sinking feeling about where this is going. "I owe you, right? So take what you want." The kid's voice has taken on a strange, shaky sort of certainty. Like he's done this a million times before, and been taken up on the offer every single time.
Jesse lifts his hands to Mike's neck, pushing forward for a clumsy, awkward kiss. Mike grabs his wrists to pull them down and trap them between them, but he doesn't step away. "Stop," he demands. "Stop this right now."
Jesse's eyes are glazed like he's on a high, but Mike knows he's been clean all week. He's been keeping too close an eye on him for him to slip anything past him.
"You want it," Jesse insists. "You want isomething/i. You think I haven't figured that out? Because I'm not that naïve.
"Not naïve maybe, but you're sure as hell stupid," Mike snarls, his surprise turning to anger as he realizes what this is. He's more angry at himself than Jesse, because he should have see this coming long before they'd gotten here. "What is this all about?"
He sees the confusion flash through Jesse's eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. Confusion is better than that iemptiness./i
"Mr. White said—" Jesse starts, before breaking off and glancing away.
It clicks together and Mike sees red. He can hear a roaring through his ears as he fills in all the missing pieces of Jesse's strange behavior, of his weird blend of defiant submissiveness.
Mr. White.
That's always bothered him, that little nickname—mostly because it isn't a nickname. That's just how Jesse thinks of Walter. He's Mr. White. Somehow that's more fucked up than any of the rest of this.
"Walter said what, kid?" Mike demands. He gives Jesse a hard shake. "Walt. Said. What?"
Jesse laughs, but it's an empty sort of sound. Mike has heard men laugh like that as he watched them lay dying. "That I'm only good for two things. I can either make meth or go back to selling my ass to buy it. And you've already got me making meth for that boss of yours, so I took a guess it was my other little talent you were after."
Jesse tries to tug free, but Mike keeps a tight grip on him.
"Hey, it was my mistake, man," Jesse says, but he looks scared now. He looks almost terrified.
Mike bets he's wondering what kind of things he's going to take from him if not sex, and he feels a little sick. He can kill men without remorse, and he can cut a body to pieces and feed it to a barrel of acid. He can do all those things, but he doesn't play the sort of games that Walter does. Mike is, at heart, an honest man.
He'll shoot you, sure, but he'll let you see it coming.
Walter will fuck with you until you turn the damn gun on yourself.
"You shouldn't listen to everything Walter says," Mike snaps, and finally lets Jesse go. Jesse stumbles back from him, looking lost.
"Right, yeah, sure," Jesse says. "Look, thanks and all, but if you don't—well, maybe you should leave."
He figures if he walks out that door, Jesse will be sticking a needle in his arm about five minutes later. He has the place searched once a week, and the drugs all destroyed, but Jesse is damn good at hiding them. He doesn't think he's ever found them all.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says.
"Then make up your damn mind," Jesse says. "What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything," Mike says. "Except maybe not to see you get yourself killed.
"Why should you care about me?" he demands. "That doesn't even make any sense."
"What did Walter do to you, exactly, to make you so loyal?" Mike asks casually.
"What?" Jesse asks, looking thrown. "What are you—Mr. White protects me, okay? Mr. White keeps me safe!"
"Is he fucking you?" Mike asks. "Is that what this is about? Christ. When did it start? When you teamed up or before that, back when you were his student?"
Mike feels some relief as he watches the horror that slips through Jesse's expression. You can't lie about that kind of shock. "What? What the fuck—no, man, he wasn't!" Jesse snaps. "He isn't now, either. What the hell kind of question is that?"
"It think it's a rather obvious one, considering the circumstance," Mike says dryly.
"Mr. White doesn't want sex from me, it's not like that, okay?" Jesse says, turning away to scrub his hands through his shaved hair. "Jesus."
Mike nods, because that makes sense too. "So is that it then? That's why you're loyal to him? He's the first one that didn't want anything in return?"
"Oh, he wants plenty," Jesse snarls. "But it's not anything you'd understand."
"Try me," Mike says.
"I don't have to do this with you," Jesse says. "I may owe you, but I don't owe you this."
"What is 'this,' Jesse?" Mike asks calmly, as he shadows the younger man's steps. "Cause I have to admit to being at a loss. Your friendship with Walter has always confused me, but then it's not really friendship at all, is it?"
"We're more like, I don't know, distant relatives that don't exactly like each other," Jesse says. "But it's still family, right, so you do what you have to."
"No. You're not family. He's practically obsessed with you," Mike says. "All the man talks about his own damn family, but he's willing to throw it all away any time he even thinks you're in trouble. Don't you ever wonder why that is?"
"That's not about me, not really. Maybe I'd be more grateful, if I thought it was," Jesse says. "But it's just his pride, because he thinks I belong to him. He thinks that if he can't protect me he can't protect any of us.
"You don't believe that," Mike says.
"Okay, then it's guilt, I don't know!" Jesse shouts. "What the hell does it even matter? What do you care?"
"I want to know what hold he has over you," Mike shouts back, because he has a sudden urge to break it. He's never wanted to save any of his charges before. He's never spent the time trying to talk any of them back from the ledge.
But Walter is going to get himself killed before that cancer can do it for him, and Mike can't stand the thought of the bastard taking Jesse with him.
"I remember when I first met him," Mike says, trying to bring himself back under control. Jesse stops stepping away and watches him warily. "I thought now here's a guy that's in over his head. Here's a guy that can't see what needs to be done. I thought he was going under quick and you were just dragging him down all the faster, but that's not it at all, is it? He's the one that's been holding on to you."
"We're partners," Jesse says lamely.
"That's what he lets you call it, but it's not what this is," Mike says. "You know that, kid. You're a smart boy."
"Fine. We're whatever the hell we are, man, but the split is still fifty fifty, so that's good enough for me," he snaps.
"Because you want the money so badly," Mike says. "You keep it in a duffle bag in the bottom drawer of your dresser and you never lock your door."
"And what, you think I should head down to the local credit union and open an account?" Jesse asks incredulously. "Cause that wouldn't get me noticed."
"Or you could try a safe," Mike says calmly, and backs Jesse up against the wall. "If you cared enough. But you don't care about anything anymore, do you?"
"It's my money, I can do what I want," Jesse says. "Okay? Are you satisfied? I don't know what you're after here, but I'm fine. I'm totally, absolutely fine, okay?"
"You're lying. Because that look you've got in your eyes, I've seen it before," Mike says. "Not on junkies. Oh no, they've got a look all their own and you mimic it pretty damn good but it's not what you are." He reaches out and grabs Jesse's mouth, pressing the sides together to get a glimpse of his teeth before letting Jesse pull angrily away. "Most meth heads don't remember to brush their teeth."
"Is there a point to this story?" Jesse demanded.
"You've got the look of a solider back from war," Mike says. "Like someone that's seen so much bad shit they can't process it the right way anymore."
"I ain't no solider," Jesse snaps.
"You take orders, don't you?" Mike asks. "Cause I'm betting shooting Gale straight through the face wasn't your idea, but maybe I'm wrong about that."
"That's not on me," Jesse protests. "That's not on Mr. White either. We did what we had to. There wasn't another way, and you know that better than anyone."
"No, you're right," Mike says calmly. "If you'd let him live, you and Walt would be dead, no question."
Jesse nods, but a shudder gives away his uncertainty. "Right. That's how I could do it. Because he begged me not to, you know." He stops for a moment and looks to the floor. "He just seemed so normal. I thought at first like, this can't be the guy, right? This can't be the right guy."
"Kid—"
"But if it had just been me, just for my life, I woulda let him live, cause I know I wasn't worth him," Jesse says after a moment. He glances back over at Mike. "But I owed it to Mr. White to save him, after all he's done for me."
"All this stuff he's 'done for you,'" Mike says quietly. "Did you ever ask for any of it?"
"Wouldn't it be nice, if we only ever got what we asked for?" Jesse asks, glancing over at him.
Not sexual favors then, Mike thinks. Walter was far more diabolical than that. He'd gotten Jesse so twisted around that he'd killed for him. That was a strange sort of talent, turning someone like Jesse into a killer. Because Mike knew killers, and a few months back he would have bet good money Jesse'd never pull that trigger.
"He's not even sorry," Jesse says, and laughs incredulously. "It's like Gale wasn't ever his friend. It's like it wasn't us that did it. Sometimes Mr. White scares the hell out of me. Sometimes I think it's all the rest of us that are in way over our heads."
"But you'd still do anything for him, wouldn't you?" Mike asks.
"I have to," Jesse says, and he sounds steady for the first time all night. "Because he'd do anything for me."
Mike thinks that's probably true. He's seen Walter's wrath when he's worried for Jesse's life, and it's no ordinary rage. He might have been manipulating the kid for his own ends, but that didn't mean he didn't care. He didn't think that made it better, however—he had the worst feeling there was nothing more dangerous than to be loved by Walter White.
He wants so much to set Jesse free from this. There have been so many he couldn't save, so many lives he's taken or let slip through his fingers. And he knows that Jesse would be one too many—there'd be no coming back from losing him.
No half measures, he'd once told White. Maybe it was time to take his own advice.