[A/N: Before I begin I'm going to explain this takes place around the fourth season. It's based on a literal dream I had so I moved everything around to fit that. Victor and Gus aren't dead (because I love them) but a lot of the stuff that happened in that season did occur. Brock did get poisoned and Gus did get his revenge on the Mexican Cartel. However instead of Salamanca killing him he was able to get rid of him instead. As retribution for what happened to the Cartel some men came to kill Jesse, Mike, and Gus but they were able to get rid of them (not before they destroyed Andrea's house making it seem like she had been killed when in reality she moved with Brock to Florida to get away from Jesse). Everything else will pretty much be explained as I go on but I figured I should clear some of that stuff up.

Well, that's about it. Anything else I'll let you know.

Please read and review, let me know what you think.

Enjoy.]

The small hand of the twisted clock rested solemnly on the number three while the long hand idled on the twelve. Rune had always wondered why her mother would buy her the Dali clock when neither of them was particularly interested in art. She had accepted it though, graciously as if it had been a secret wish of hers to always acquire such a thing. Rune could never see her mother upset. There were a lot of things she couldn't do when it came to her mother.

Run.

How strange? Each tick of the clock rang outward as if to echo the word "run, run." Rune rolled her eyes as she turned her back against the oddly shaped thing. It must have been her imagination. After all it was so late in the night that she couldn't focus on a single thought.

Run.

How annoying. She lifted her body up slightly to pull her long auburn hair out from under her. A sigh escaped her lips as she gazed out of the door to the long hallway that remained only dimly lit. She was in her apartment alone so she didn't have to worry about the door staying open. Even though her mother was so sweet to her she had been living on her own since she was eighteen and at twenty-two she was more than used to the occasional sleepless night. She didn't need mommy to help her with a warm glass of milk.

Run.

With her head against the pillow the open door laid across her vision like a mask. She imagined what she would look like from the other side. Only her eyes would be visible—dark, light-suffocating-ly so—and to anyone that threatened to pass by that would be quite a sight. She shut her eyes briefly and imagined how scary it would be to see someone run across the doorway. The thought was so frightening she flashed her eyes open with the anticipation that she would see something of the sort. But there was nothing there…until she looked away.

RUN.

The sound vibrated against every inch of space around Rune's body and she jumped to her feet to escape the bed and it's quaking but the quaking wasn't just on the bed, it was everywhere.

RUN.

She dashed out of the room and saw the man running down a hallway much longer than her own and as she chased after him she realized that she was no longer in her apartment. She was in her mother's manor. Rune's eyes zigzagged around as she used the walls to keep her steady beyond the shaking floor. She wanted to scream out for her mother. But all she could do was breathlessly follow the man.

RUN.

From nowhere the sound of a gunshot rang out and before she could stop it a hard punch landed across her side as if she were hit with a baseball bat. Rune tried to scream but her voice was gone and as she gazed up ahead she saw the man stopping in confusion as he pressed his tattooed right hand to his side. Their actions were mirrored. She looked down at her fingers and saw the blood drifting over her digits. Rune shook her head. No.

RUN.

The man took flight once more and she followed after him despite the pain shooting through her body with each step.

RUN.

It was a labyrinth of corridors intended to ensnare anyone that thought to cross its threshold but suddenly she was caught in its webs and she couldn't get out. Another gunshot roared past her and just as she felt the harsh tap against her shoulder she watched the man ahead of her feel it too. They stumbled forward as the agony swelled inside of her chest and their running slowed. They took one second to stop and then continued.

RUN.

A great and mighty cacophony filled the atmosphere around her and she wanted to scream and shrink away from the sound but suddenly there was a bright light and she couldn't see a thing. She ran forward and ran forward as if she could escape the blinding shine eliminating any chance of sight she had or could ever have again. It wasn't until she hit a hard railing that she stopped. She knew what the railing belonged to, a grand staircase that exposed the ballroom like space at the center of the manor where most of her mother's grand parties were held. If she were correct then she was at the top and had run down the hallway that directed to the private rooms. If she continued on she could remain blind and find her way out.

But that was not the plan.

That harsh beam seemed to move passed her enough to clear her view.

And what a view it was.

Blood.

Bodies.

Bullets flying past.

The large windows showed helicopters circling with their searchlights aiming in.

The entire ballroom floor was covered in death.

SWAT.

Thugs.

Politicians.

Working girls.

Everyone alike.

Drowning in blood.

Rune searched around for the man she had been following but stopped when among the faces she saw her own staring right her. She pressed her hand to her mouth and watched the body follow her reaction. The light from the room began to fade unti-

GRASPING HER SHOULDERS.

RAGING BLUE EYES.

RED SCREAMING FACE.

THE MAN SHE HAD BEEN FOLLOWING.

SHRIEKING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS.

"RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!"

Rune leaped out of bed with a cry at the top of her lungs as she reached her hands all over her body in search of holes and blood. The dream was fresh in her mind—so damn fresh—that she reached over for her notebook and began jotting down everything she saw and everything that occurred. Dream like that before her employer's merger? It had to mean something; had to mean something big.

She grabbed her phone and dialed the number she recalled by heart and to whom ever answering she demanded, "Get me Elias Arciniega. Tell him it's about the deal. Tell him it's Diabla. Tell him: I had a dream."

Breaking Bad:

Welcome to New Jersey

Even though Jesse's head was pressed tightly against the window the only thing he could see before him was the blank monotony of tree after tree. He had heard many things about the state of New Jersey but roaming forest was not one of them. Every mention of the place had promised it was a toxic dump and stepping out of Newark Airport he believed it. Mike had taken a deep breath of the filthy air and declared, "Yup, we're definitely in Jersey" before continuing to drag some of the bags toward the rental they had picked up. Jesse had decided he wouldn't speak the whole trip until the 1,853rd tree seemed to be sticking up the middle finger at him.

"Yo, what happened to global warming and shit?"

"What?" Mr. White snapped from beside him at the other end of the vehicle.

He pried his head away from the bulletproof glass to gaze around the black SUV. From the rearview mirror all Jesse could see were Mike's eyes and they seemed to be amused as he commented, "What happened to your vow of silence?"

Jesse didn't say anymore.

Walter's eyes were narrowed on the boy as he tried to deduce where the seemingly random question had come from. Knowing Jesse for quite sometime had taught him that however ridiculous his statements were they did come from a place of some intelligence—however small that place may be. Had he been thinking about the pollution that tinted the air with a curious scent of dirt and grime no matter how far from the city they drove? Had he been thinking about the cities they drove through, the long stretch of highway, the millions of cars that seemed to populate the state more than actual people? What had he been wondering so intently that he had broken his three day streak of absolute silence?

His mind leaped backward to the plane right. Four and a half hours pressed against Mike while he pressed against Jesse who, as always, remained pressed against the window. Although Walter and Mike had issues of their own they still managed to make small talk now and then. Jesse however remained completely silent; not even to ask for a bathroom break, not even to answer the flight attendant, not even to mention that he couldn't find his bags. Walt couldn't come up with a sufficient enough reasoning as to why he would ask about Global Warming.

But Mike did.

Through plenty of time and painstaking adventure with the kid, Mr. Ehrmantraut was able to grasp onto some of Jesse's innocuous questions and trace it back to the initial thoughts that brought them up. Glancing behind him he could see Walter still staring incredulously at Pinkman as if trying to pick out of the air what could have possibly sparked the interest. Mike shook his head to himself. That was the trouble with Walt. He was always trying to reason, always trying to figure something out. He couldn't face a bold statement without picking it apart to wrestle some higher intelligence.

Jesse was simple and was making a simple observation.

Why were there so many fucking trees?

Inside of the SUV before them Victor was trying to figure out the same thing. He had only briefly been out of New Mexico and that was to go to Mexico for a two-day business trip that left a lot of bodies and no time to explore. All he had ever known was desert and sand, cacti and reptiles, clear blue skies and very flat planes. New Jersey was the antithesis of where he had developed and what he had come to expect of the world. He didn't want to say he hated the place—Victor had a strangely open mind—but he didn't enjoy it. There was nothing about the flashing green or hills and valleys that appealed to him. He could find no satisfaction in the area he had suddenly been surrounded in.

But that wasn't important. Apparently nothing he felt or thought or wanted or desired or cared for mattered at all. He could feel Fring's eyes on him in the backseat as he drove but still he couldn't stop his mind from wandering where it did. In his opinion Pinkman and White deserved to be dead. Pinkman's head should have been put on a stake while White dissolved in his own acidic juices. After everything they did? How could they be allowed to live? And not only live, promoted!

True, he should thank the spirits that walked with him for preventing Gus from committing to his threat. The box cutter was at his neck, Fring's clothes nicely hung up, and all eyes on him. But he had changed his mind at the last minute and instead knocked him out cold. Jesse was promoted to his position while Walt remained comfortable in the lab. How nice. Victor was nearly murdered by the man that had practically raised him yet everything was well with Batman and Robin. How…comforting.

His knuckles screamed white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His eyes blurred as he focused on the road and the GPS telling him exactly where to go. Gale was dead. Shot right in the chest. Gale was murdered and Victor not only had to live knowing his murderer was alive but he also he to live knowing that he was suddenly ranked above him. The purest person he had ever met, the fallen star, the smiling face that showed kindness to everyone he passed was dead. He was dead so that cowards could live.

Victor took in a deep breath and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Despite the pain surging through him he respected Gus and wanted to stay apart of the enterprise. Not because the only way he could get out was in a body bag but because he wanted to stay. Fring was a visionary and a leader way before his time. If he had run for president he would have succeeded and not stopped there. He could do anything he set his mind to and conquer any territory in his path. After all, that was what they were doing in New Jersey. They were spreading out their land like the old settlers and colonists. Gus had somehow managed to make a deal with one of the biggest Heroine distributors in the country and they were planning on joining empires but Victor had heard that before. The way Fring made partners was similar to the way tumors made partners. Benign at first…and then all consuming until every part of the body belonged to him.

But unlike a tumor Gustavo had to make accommodations. His new partner wanted to meet the chefs, wanted to watch them cook, wanted to see the product with his own eyes. And that wasn't much to ask. Except Gus wanted no part of the deal.

His eyes turned away from the back of Victor's head to the open road before them. Despite what his associates thought the merger was not his plan. It was a deal that had to be made for an old friend, an old friend that didn't deserve to die. Maximino Arciniega had been more than a great comrade and had been more than unjustly murdered. Even though he got his revenge against Don Eladio, Salamanca, and the Mexican Cartel it still was not enough. The pain of his loss still remained with each breath. He had died too soon. Nothing could take that away and nothing could change the fact that all he had left was Max's memory.

And to honor that memory he had to honor Max's family. Unbeknownst to him, Max's cousin Elias had begun his own work on the East Coast and was a very prominent supplier of Heroine. He had a smooth operating business and after fifteen years of top quality was still not found. Elias had come to him with the proposition that they would become partners in trade. If Gus distributed his Heroine he would distribute Fring's Blue Magic. Each would keep the sales from their product and would mutually sweeten their relationship with proper accommodations when visiting each other's Coast. It was a good deal. But that did not stop Gustavo's instincts from screaming at the chaos that would ensue.

But he had to keep his instincts quiet.

The deal was not for him.

The deal was for Max.

The picture of Max and Elias sat on the desk inside of Eli's Head Quarters. They were young, only fifteen then, and thirty years later it was still the only photograph he carried everywhere with him, even in the HQ in the woods. Unlike many kingpins Arciniega decided that absolute wealth and prosperity did not instantly mean life in the City with fur coats and expensive cars. It did not mean fancy parties with celebrities where everyone could see his face and everyone could talk. Even though his hand stretched across the entire East Coast he remained the mystery in the Pine Barrens. He was the Jersey Devil and he had his Diabla at his side.

She rested at the other end of the large room on his Victorian couch with a spliff in her hand and a smile on her face. Her headphones were in, auburn hair rested in a loose bun on top of her head, a nice sun dress resting against her dark skin. He had always noted that for someone claiming to be of purely German decent Diabla had dark skin and even darker eyes. And for someone of purely German decent he wondered to himself why her name was Spanish. Diabla was actually her name and the full extent of it was Diabla de Rune Verdad Arndt. She had explained that after the World War many Germans moved to South America to hide from the Allies and so her family took up residence in Chile. Rune she said meant secret. Why her mother named her the She-Devil of Secret Truth was between her mother and God, she said.

Diabla preferred to go by Rune and though he kept her wish in public she was always his Diabla in private—but only to a certain extent. Elias never coveted the girl but he did covet the gift that rested inside of her bow. He called her by the name she hated because since she had come into his life it was as if he had sold his soul to her for all the luck and growth he suddenly acquired. He had never believed in anything but what he could see but one hour with the girl confirmed any suspicious resting in the back of the mind. She was a psychic, a medium, a whatever-you-wanted-her-to-be. She had many abilities but his favorite included a knack for determining what deals would make him rich and which ones would bite him in the ass, she had visions of the future, she could touch a man's hand and know the past, present, and future for him or a loved one, she could read minds (or at least that was how it seems, he was certain she used divination to gather information or at best could read emotions and auras and that provided her with certain information), and sometimes could communicate with the dead.

It was that ability that pointed him to Gustavo Fring.

Max had claimed her body and wrote in his almost illegible scrawl the name.

Elias had done the rest.

Turning violent, tell me about it; turn, turn around.

Turning violent, you aren't violent; don't turn violent; turn on and on, turn on and on.

Turn on.

Turn on.

The headphones were so loud they suffocated every fleeting nerve surrounding Rune's body. The spliff was nearing its end and she was afraid to ask Elias for another because then he would know—know she was freaking out All her employer knew was that her ability worked best when she was relaxed, he had no idea it was a short fuse when she was nervous. She had also neglected to tell him that extreme bouts of terror or orgasmic pleasure would give her visions to knock the back of her skull out and the way he gazed at her with those light green eyes made her positive it was a good idea to keep that a secret. She wasn't afraid of him and he wasn't ugly but she knew he was a desperate man after that message his cousin had given him. It was just a name but even that name made her nervous though she had no idea who it belonged to. The fact that he was the head of his own drug enterprise was a shock to her. Shocks weren't good.

The dream replayed itself in her mind and she shivered at the sight of her own face and those raging blue eyes ordering her to run. She had never seen her own face in a dream before. Rune knew enough about dreams to know the one she had meant something awful and Elias was not being too cautious in bringing her to the meeting. Rune sucked down the spliff until it was a roach and even that she held on until her fingers burned. She was high but she knew there was room for more elevation and so she glanced over to Elias with her little smile, "Got anymore?"

"Nervous?"

His voice was slow like a wolf stalking prey and she could see the way his mind rolled over her face for any sign of weakness. Short bursts of activity floated around her and she could feel restlessness and for some reason she thought of her mother. Rune made a promise that she would go see her after everything was said and done.

"Diabla?"

She blinked briefly as she looked to him with glazed eyes, "What?"

He chuckled his deep booming disaster and began to roll her another while she watched. His gun was in his holster beneath his black suit jacket and she knew he was itching to use it, not because he liked to shoot but because he didn't like to be afraid. Elias kept his shaved head dipped low to focus on his large hands accomplishing delicate work. He was a detailed man and kept everything pristine. His height and solid build did nothing to change that. He always took care of business.

A burp escaped her mouth and the sound of a gentle whisper declared, "They're here."

She stood wobbly from the couch and smoothed out the wrinkles in her periwinkle dress. There were different things bobbing up and down her vision. Tell him it's okay; tell him not to be sorry. He's taking good care of my little girl. No he traído Gustavo aquí por negocios. Blue skies. Gray Matter. Something about Gale.

"Finished," he smiled proudly as he rested the rolled cone joint on top of some stacked papers. She walked over and grasped the white spliff but before she could his hand grasped hers and her mind was filled with a white shock of that same limb holding a gun and his tearing green eyes aimed directly at her but who's point of view she was watching him from she did not know. Elias focused on her eyes, "You tell me exactly what you see when you meet these men. Correct?"

Rune swallowed as she nodded, "Of course."

"You belong to me, not them. Correct?"

She pulled her hand from him and lit his little creation as she nodded her head, "Of course."

Damon entered the room with the stoicism he was known for, "They're here."

Elias smirked, "It's time to meet our guests."