This…what is happening right now, Walt thought, was never supposed to be part of this ending. This ending that was planned out meticulously and had been, to this very juncture, executed so perfectly by him. When speaking with Skylar, Walt had achieved more than he imagined. He spoke the truth to her about his motivations and she listened; she may not have accepted his true motivations, but she listened. Every difficult piece of this puzzle had been laid, so why now was Walt faced with this?
When Walt had pulled into the compound, the Nazi brethren had not let him park his car in front of the clubhouse as he planned. He managed to park it in a location with only a small chance of the M60 laying its eyes on the clubhouse, but Walt knew the physics. It would only hit a corner of the room. When he was ushered in, the men never gave him back his keys. He would need to engineer a way to steal them back in order to trigger the M60. He very likely was not leaving this compound alive, but Walt had known that. He wanted to be the one in control of his fate, and the fate of these men, in their final, dismal moments.
But it wasn't his death that was overwhelming Walt at this moment; dying had always been his endgame. No, it was the sight laid bare before him that had hit him in the gut. There was something that he hadn't accounted for, a calculation he never made whose sum was greater than death. A wave of nausea hit him and his legs momentarily swayed.
Jack said, grinning devilishly and fiendishly eyeing Walt, "Does this look like a 50/50 partner to you?"
Walt's eyes darted over the sight of Jesse in front of him as he was dragged in by black cord wound tightly around his wrists. He could see it had been there for some time and there was putrid, yellowing-redness around the outer edges of the cord. His hair was long and scraggly, and hanging in his eyes. There was an undeniably unclean odour emanating from him but Walt could not place its mixture. The grey t-shirt he wore was full of perspiration and thickened with dirt and grime. The jeans he wore may have been a middling blue hue at some point, but not now.
Todd placed his hand on Jesse's shoulder and forced him to his knees. Jesse buckled languidly, not even raising his eyes to see what or who stood before him. He slumped down on his arms and legs, head hanging low. Calmly, and with the look a child might give his pet dog, Todd lifted his hand to pet Jesse's head. Walt caught his breath in his throat, shocked. This was not an eventuality he planned for.
"You were supposed to kill him," Walt stated in low, shaky growl. Rage was boiling over in him.
"You knew we were takin' him to help with our cooks." Jack said with a twang.
Feelings of shame and guilt washed over Walt and nearly knocked him over. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily to draw strength. What was this he saw before him? This couldn't possibly be reality. He had come so far in this journey. He had made penance for this sins. Suddenly, he had never wished more that he had shot Jesse in the head at To'hajiilee. That was something his mind had wandered toward aimlessly as he stewed in his cabin in New Hampshire. Why could he never kill Jesse by his own hand? How cowardly he was in those final moments, Walt had thought, to tear Jesse's heart out with the truth of Jane's demise instead of putting a cold barrel to his head and pulling the trigger. Jesse's treachery was unforgivable and there was no doubt in Walt's mind that if the ninth circle of Hell did exist, Jesse would be there, frozen, for all eternity. But he knew death was merely to 'enter the void' and that this corporal existence was all there was, and so he had chosen to punish Jesse instead of end his suffering.
Walt began to seethe with rage and it was rage born from the guilt and the shame bubbling inside him.
"What's a-matter Walt, you look like you've seen…a ghost?" Jack snidely interjected.
At the sound of his name, Walt saw Jesse's head turn upward momentarily. His icy blue eyes stole a look squarely at him, transfixed for mere seconds before he bowed his head down to his hands. Being a self-interested man, Walt had never become intimately acquainted with Jesse's body language. He could fathom nothing of use to himself from looking in his eyes. Instead, rage continued to rise in Walt. Why was the boy prostrate on the ground? The imbecile could give him more with which to work.
In that moment Walt heard a gun cock and he turned his head swiftly to see Jack pointing a pistol at his head. The man's slicked-back hair glistened in the clubhouse's lowlights as he snickered.
"Jack, Jack…there's, uh, there's no need for this…hostility. Let's dial it back and just talk." Walt stammered out.
"Your little, weasel-y ass ain't gunna talk yourself out of this situation, Walter. Sit your ass down over there." Jack motioned with the gun to the floor in front of the pool table.
A thought flashed in his mind: maybe they'll kill me tonight. They'll take my life and this situation will just…not be my responsibility any longer. Momentarily, he felt relieved in this selfish thought.
Walt slowly lowered himself to his behind in front of the pool table. As he sat he found he was now diagonal to where Jesse still laid prostrate on all fours cradling his head in his bound hands.
On the far wall, where the entrance to the clubhouse was located, Walt spied a very mundane key rack. His car keys now gingerly hung there, and must have been placed there when he was distracted by Jesse's entrance. Those keys were his only actionable enterprise.
"There's only one thing stopping me from blowing your brains out right this minute, Walt." Jack started. "And that's that I'm bored. I am gunna kill you, and this little pussy bitch."
Jack suddenly looked as though he would kick Jesse in the ribs but he didn't. He brought the tip of his boot lightly to his side and merely shoved Jesse, easily toppling him over. Jesse rolled over to his back and Walt could see his eyes were tightly shut with tears seeping through the edges, which was no surprise to him.
Jack looked at Walt and smiled. "Just not yet. You know, this bitch gives the best head this side of El Paso?"
A look of indignation tore over Walt's face and nausea bubbled.
"Doesn't that get yer old Linus humming there Walt?" Jack ribbed, pleased with himself. Todd laughed briefly, but didn't take his eyes of Jesse.
"That is revolting!" Walt spewed. The reality of the situation before him was beginning to reveal itself. A few of Jack's men had lit cigarettes and the smoke was beginning to fill the room. Walt coughed a pathetic wheeze of a cough and then sat back on hands. Jack still had his gun pointed in his direction.
"Whatever disgusting display of vanity you are toying with right now, you can save it. Alright?" Walt barked. "This…child means nothing to me."
Walt thought if he convinced Jack that further degradation of Jesse would be fruitless in eliciting some sort of dramatic response perhaps they'd either kill him or put him in a better position to grab his keys. Jesse lay there across from him motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
"Kenny, Todd – take these two back and lock them in the cell." Jack ordered. Kenny approached Walt with a pistol and Walt stood up of his own accord. Before Walt could make a grab for Kenny's gun, he was pistol-whipped hard to the back of his head and slumped down to the ground. Kenny dragged his limp body out of the room while Todd dragged Jesse to his feet. It seemed Jesse had long lost the will to fight against Todd.