Chapter Two: Plus One

Walt heard a little squeak coming from under the bed. Considering that Jesse wouldn't have fit under the bed, even at the peak of his skinniness, and that he wasn't sure Jesse could have ever made that particular sound, he figured it must be Brock hiding under there.

"Brock? Is that you down there? It's okay to come out. I won't hurt you."

He slowly lifted up the blanket that was shielding the area under the bed from view and saw two little brown eyes staring at him, open wide and full of fear. The little figure was pressed against the floor, shivering. Found you.

"Brock," Walt said softly, crouching down. "It's all right. I'm Jesse's friend, remember? What happened?"

"Walt?" Brock echoed. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"You can come out, Brock. Tell me what happened, okay?" Walt encouraged. He felt like he was back in the first year of he and Skyler's marriage, trying to convince their kitten to get out from under the oil tank in their basement. "It's okay, it's okay."

Brock stared at him, before very slowly scotching forward. Once he saw, perhaps, that Walt wasn't going to grab him and pull him out, he slipped out the rest of the way. He didn't stand, but rather sat and curled himself into a ball.

"Brock?" Walt called again, "Could you tell me what happened? Do you know where Jesse is?"

"Bad men came," Brock whispered, "They took him away."

Walt's heart started pounding, like it was going to explode out of his chest.

"Did you hear them say anything… like did they call each other by name?"

"They said… about somebody named Todd. And somebody named Lydia." Brock slowly uncurled to gaze up at Walt with big brown eyes. "They hit him. They hit Jesse."

Walt's mind ran at a hundred miles an hour. If Jack's guys had Jesse, then Jesse was doomed. He would never get him back. He could probably figure out exactly where they were – probably at the same compound where they'd met to discuss the assassination of Mike's ten guys – but one man against an entire White Supremacist compound was basically suicide. That was if Jesse and Andrea were even still alive. If they'd struggled, if Andrea had tried to run or if Jesse had given them the lip he tended to give to people… then it was all over.

The only person Walt knew for sure that he could save was standing right in front of him.

"Brock." Walt put out his hand. "Come with me. I'm going to bring you somewhere safe, okay?" He was reminded of the words he had spoken to Jesse after he'd taken him from the crack den, after Jane… another disaster he was to blame for. We're going to walk out of here and take you somewhere nice and safe…

"Where?"

Walt looked at him.

"Probably… a fire station or the police station. Or social services. They'll take care of you."

Brock looked up at him, the fear seeming to ebb a little in his eyes to be replaced by a childish determination.

"I want to find my mom and Jesse."

Walt shook his head.

"Brock, we can't. I'm sorry. We can't. I need to get you somewhere safe now, okay? Listen to me… I'm going to bring you to the police and…"

"…I'll tell them."

Walt's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and he tried to read the comment a hundred different ways before he responded, thinking that Brock clearly couldn't mean what he thought he did. He had to be overly paranoid. He just had to get this kid off somewhere safe and then he'd go to Saul's man and he'd vanish forever.

"What do you mean by that, Brock?"

Brock's eyes showed fear again, but when he spoke, his voice didn't shake or waver.

"I'll tell them that you poisoned me."

Walt looked at him in fury and slammed his hand down against the night table.

"Are you serious? You're actually serious right now! If I'm the kind of man who's okay with poisoning a child… and you're blackmailing me? What makes you think that I won't take your little bratty ass outside, shoot you, and dump you in a barrel?"

Brock looked up at him and in the same voice whispered, "You're Jesse's friend."