Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to their originators. I do not own them, although I dearly wish that I could have sat in the writers room as the amazingness that is Breaking Bad was created.
Author's note: I realize that I am nowhere near as amazing as Vincent and all the other writers on Breaking Bad, but I seriously loved the show and wish there was more fanfiction generated by it. So this is my paltry attempt at trying to create some of the scenes that have played in my head since the conclusion of the series.
Reviews are nice, but not sure how seriously I will focus on this since it's just a spur of the moment kind of development. So will see.
Shackles and Chains
Chapter 1
A black SUV with tinted windows rolled into the Crossroads Motel parking lot. It had the same effect as a light being turned on in a cockroach infested room. Doors slammed and shades were drawn but beady little eyes watched from every crevice.
A tall figure stepped from the vehicle.
He had closely cropped dark hair and eyes that squinted at the sun before browsing over the motel. His clothes had a higher fiber count than any of the sheets. They fit him in such a way that could only be professional.
He walked past the man in the hall, passed out in his own piss, and stopped in front of room 211. Without hesitation he pulled out a lock pick and opened the door quietly. He entered.
Jesse lay in dirty cargo pants sprawled on the bed, dead to the world. Crushed beer cans and empty bottles of alcohol littered the floor as well as cigarette stubs and balled up paper bags from fast food joints. He looked starved and broken. Old scars stretched across his back over gaunt ribs.
It was Wendy's room, but she was out making her daily bread.
It had been 24 hours. 24 hours since Heisenberg had walked back into the world and blown it to pieces. And the vultures were circling. Russian investors were nervous, and that was not good for business. Lydia made one good decision in the moments before her death. She made a deal.
Leon looked over the scrawny boy and had a moment of doubt, that this kid could really make the purest meth on the market. But, if Lydia was weighing the security of her daughter against the value of an emaciated boy, then she must have a reason.
He shook the boy, but Jesse barely responded, too tired, and too drunk to realize that another cage was closing in around him.
Leon grabbed what looked to be the matching filth ridden shirt to Jesse's pants and pulled it over him. He'd figure out new clothes later. His priority was movement as soon as possible before other mobs or DEA started sniffing around the ashes of the nazi compound. It was doubtful that anyone else even knew about Jesse, but, Leon preferred to err on the side of caution.
No one stopped him as he carried a limp Jesse to his car and buckled him down so he was restrained and lying on the back seat.
He made a phone call as he peeled out of the parking lot. Seeing the boy made him realize that there would need to be some changes to his plan.