Chapter 1

It was a miracle he didn't get pulled over. Or crash. With his luck, a crash would be the more likely scenario.

About three minutes after he gunned the gas pedal and broken through the gates of the Nazi's compound, Jesse Pinkman realized he had nowhere to go. He was either a wanted man, or a man presumed dead. His house, his precious house, had probably been repossessed, seized, or reverted back to his parents. If, by some miracle it hadn't, cops were probably staked outside of 9809 Margo St right now. Andrea was dead. The only two friends he had left in the world were Badger and Skinny Pete…..and the last thing he wanted to be near right now was meth.

Panicked, he drove in circles around the Albuquerque. Thoughts raced around his head. Go get Brock. Is Mr. White dead now? Or had the cops shown up in time? Would they realize Todd's car was missing? Would they be looking for it? Was he still wanted in connection with the Heisenberg case? The DEA agents never filed anything officially, and he knew Todd's gang had taken the tape. He'd heard them play it over and over and over again…...before they finally destroyed it. They were stupid, but not stupid enough to leave evidence like that around for long.

Hungry, scared, dazed, and shaky, Jesse continued driving, zoning out and letting the car take him wherever it would. How long had it been since he'd seen these streets? Two months? Six? Eight? It was hard to keep track of time when you spent all of your waking hours shuttered in a meth lab or hidden under a tarp.

A soft ding made Jesse look down at the dash. Shit. He was out of gas. And he had exactly zero dollars to his name. He threw open the glove compartment and felt around, then did the same with the center console; no luck. Todd didn't keep spare cash in his car.

He came to a stop at the next intersection, gripped the wheel and put his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. Again, he ran through the list of possibilities and realized for the first time, he truly had no one. No friends, no girlfriend, no family, and not even Mr. White (that son of a bitch).

Maybe he should just go to his parents? He ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes and scraggly beard, then sat back up and stared at the intersection. "You gotta be fucking kidding," he muttered to himself. Out of all the stop signs in Albuquerque, he'd stopped here. At this sign.

REDEMPTION RD. The letters glowed brightly against the sign, like a ghost.

This is a bad idea, he thought to himself. This is a really fucking bad idea.

But it was the best one he had.

He ditched the car a few blocks away and hurried through the sleepy streets of Nob Hill, hoping no one would spot him. It was the kind of neighborhood where the street lights went out at a certain hour, as to not disturb the occupants slumbering inside the neat little houses that lined the road. Jesse still knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand; he'd spent two years in high school sneaking around these streets….and spent more than enough time wandering them since.

The blue duplex with the white trim loomed before him, looking exactly the same as it always had. The car in the driveway was different, so as a precaution he checked the name on the mailbox. C. Preston. She still lived here.

Jesse slunk around the house to the back window, the one on the ground floor that looked into the kitchen. He'd spent many drunken nights in his teens and early twenties hoisting himself through this window, the keys to the front door having been locked inside or forgotten in some dive bar or club. His fingers fumbled in the dark for the latch on the side of the window. When he finally found it, the window swung neatly outwards. Jesse pushed up the screen and carefully pulled his body up through the window and into the house.

With one foot firmly on the floor, he swung his second leg over the ledge. He hit a hard object, sending something metallic cascading to the floor. Shit.

Jesse froze, eyes nervously darting around the room. Did he stay and take his chances, or dart back out the window and disappear into the darkness? He could hear cautious footsteps on the stairs. If he took off, there was no doubt the cops would be called. If he stayed there was a slim chance he could explain himself, that he could make her understand.

The kitchen was dark, but there was a small sliver of moonlight coming through the curtains of the dining room. Jesse saw her before she saw him. Her arms were raised over her head as she took cautious, purposeful steps, pausing for a split second before entering the kitchen.

"It's me, it's me, Jabs," Jesse rasped into the darkness, hoping she would recognize his voice and the nickname he gave her when she was sixteen. Even if the lights were on, he doubted she would recognize his face. He barely recognized his face. "It's Je-"

"Jesse?" A voice said incredulously, right as the kitchen overhead light switched on. Jesse flinched involuntarily as the light flooded the room, holding his ribs and steadying himself on a counter as his eyes adjusted to the light.

There stood Charlie in all her half-asleep glory, hair a mess, wearing a tank top, baggy hoodie, and shorts, a wooden baseball bat hanging at her side. She blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes to adjust to the light so she could look at the person standing in front of her.

The physical effort of hauling his weakened body over the window sill, coupled with sheer hunger, and the dizzying effect of the bright lights hit Jesse all at once. His whole body buckled, and he was forced to put his whole forearm on the counter for support. "H-h-hey, Charlie," he panted, taking in sharp breaths as the pain washed over him. "Surprise?"

Charlie's mouth dropped open in disbelief as she lowered the bat.

"Well, shit."