AU ending where Walt and Jesse leave together after the series finale. Warnings: Mentions of rape and the cancer/bullet wound are still in this one.
An introduction...
Jesse stares wide eyed across the room. He can hear a high pitched ringing in his ears, but otherwise the space is mute. For a second he can feel hands, finger nails, digging into his hips and a breath ghosting the flesh of his neck, then nothing. More white noise.
He's curled himself in the corner of a warehouse office. It's a four walled room with a single window, a ratty old couch, and a broken desk.
It feels like he's sitting in a furnace due to the lack of air conditioning.
No fan, no electricity, no air.
It's suffocating, but still he clings to the back corner.
He can taste salt on his lips when he goes to lick them. Sweat. A lot of it. He's practically drowning in the stuff.
"Nnn- Jesse?"
Bright blue eyes widen and dart to the man bleeding out on the couch.
Walter.
Heisenberg.
The start of everything wrong in Jesse's life.
Mouth agape, Waler stares at the ceiling. The way he's breathing, all rough and shit? It's like he's got a pump forcing his breaths.
A malfunctioning pump.
"Yeah, Mr. White." Jesse rubs at his eyes and particularly the left side of his face. "I'm still here."
Mouth still hanging open like a fish, Walter forces himself to turn his head- and just his head- to look at Jesse. It takes him longer than a second to find the boy sitting balled up in the shadows. After finding him, Walt returns his head to the forward position and coughs into the air. It's just a few bursts of uncontrolled breathing, then he's back to his mechanic rhythm. "Enjoying the show?" He rasps through a raw throat.
"Till you opened your mouth?" Short, quick bursts of nods bob Jesse's head up and down. "Yeah."
Walter licks at his own lips. His tongue comes back tasting like sweat, which is odd considering how cold he feels.
Damn.
He really is close to death.
It's just a matter of what gets him first.
The cancer or the bullet?
Walt's right hand shakily raises to smooth over the blood soaked material of his shirt. Instead, his hand comes into contact with bandages.
A wave of light airlessness engulfs the man's senses. It makes his head swim and forces his eyes to close. For a moment, all he can do is breathe.
Jesse bites at his thumb and chapped lower lip. He's barely hanging on at this point, but somehow the fact that Mr. White is in a similar position makes it just a little easier to cling to the moment and not get lost in the nightmare that has been his fucked up life.
A hand on his hip, breath in his ear-
Jesse twitches away from the wall and makes a grab for his left ear. His fingernails dig into the shell of his ear as if to scratch away a memory.
"It, uhh-" Jesse starts. He shifts in another failed attempt to get comfortable. "It's not going to last very long. You're bleeding out, yo. Like all over the place."
"It's a bullet wound, Jesse, they tend to do that."
"Well, no shit." Jesse seethes with a forward lean. "I'm just sayin' I don't have money to spend on bribing some vet to turn the other cheek, you know?"
"You've been watching too much tv."
There it is. Walter's I'm a know it all underachieving genius and you're just some dumb kid who should sit back and listen to me explain the world in very VERY short sentences.
You might actually learn something.
"It's a real thing, bitch."
Walter snorts, and for a second Jesse's almost convinced he's smiling.
Jesse rubs at his face, bites at his lip, and stands. His lanky body sways with the movement, forcing him to take an additional step forward. His hands come out at his sides in an anticipation that is left unfed. With a slap, his hands fall to his sides.
"Well? What do you want me to do? Empty some bullets? Burn the wound so that it stays closed or some shit? Huh? Mr. White?"
A low chuckle bubbles at the base of Walter's throat. It disrupts and causes an onset of coughs, but the laughter fights on through it.
Jesse's lip snarls. "Stop laughing at me." He growls. His fist is at his side, nearing ready to swing.
He's had more than enough of people laughing at him.
He doesn't need this.
Not now.
Not from Walter.
Walt's laughs die down to just another wheezy cough or two. Smile still intact, he looks over at Jesse, who's much easier to lay eyes on now that he's standing.
"I'm not laughing at you, Jesse." He assures.
More homoerotic stories by me include the Mr. Penn series (for those who like dark, mind fucking erotica), Master Ignazio, and The Fantasies of Benjamin.
-L. Washington
*****This story is a Fanfic. I do not own the rights to Breaking Bad or it's characters.
END OF INTRODUCTION.