12

He didn't know if he was a good kisser. He had only kissed a handful of girls before, but none of them seemed to have any complaints. He let her absorb the situation and thankfully she took over. She bit his bottom lip and he tasted blood, but he wasn't sure whose it was. He pulled away and attempted to get his breathing right. She snuggled up into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He gently peeled her off. "Tell me," he begged her.

She buried her face in his chest. He heard muffled garbling.

"Didn't get that," he said, kissing the top of her head lightly.

She looked up at him. "He owes Jesse some money. That's all."

He let go of her roughly. "Jesus, Sadie, are you new at this? What does he owe him for?"

"Drugs!" she spat at him. "Happy?" She headed back for the ladder. "Jesse sells meth." She slammed an angry foot onto the first rung of the ladder. "I figured everyone knew that,"she said softly to no one in particular. Daryl still hadn't said anything or moved. "It's getting dark. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." Silence. She clanged up the ladder and jumped from the top of the car to the tall grass below. Daryl listened to her footsteps die away.

He let her storm out of the car. He didn't make any attempt to stop her. He needed time and space to process this latest development in Merle's twisted history. Buying meth off his classmate. He wasn't sure why this shocked him. He thought about Sadie and wondered if he should actually go stop her, but he didn't know why. He was relieved to hear soft footsteps approaching. He heard her awkwardly climbing up the car and raised his head to smirk at her. It wasn't her though. Gazing down at him was none other that Jesse Pinkman.

"The hell you got going on down here, Dixon?"

Daryl picked up on the hint of slight interest in Jesse's voice. "Ain't anything to you anyway," he answered with what he hoped was disdain.

Jesse ignored the ladder and dropped into the car.

Daryl readied himself for another fight.

"I'm not here to beat you up," Jesse started, holding his hands up in front of him. "I just want to know where your stupid brother is."

Daryl feigned cluelessness. "You and me both," he said with a shrug.

Jesse shook his head. "Now, you and I both know that that's bullshit." He surveyed the room, and grabbed at the crossbow on the floor. Daryl started forward as Jesse admired the weapon and ran his eyes over it. "This is nice, Dixon," he said slowly. "Real nice."

"Put it down."

"Seems like the nicest thing in here." Jesse ran his eyes from Daryl's muddy boots to his dirty hair in an attempt to antagonize him further.

"Put. It. Down." Each word its own sentence.

Jesse ran his fingers across the bolts and let his fingertips bat around the rope used the cock the bow. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I don't think I will."

Daryl saw red and heard Merle in his head. You gotta fight back. He lunged at Jesse and yanked the bow out of his hands. Reeling from the shock, Daryl used this as a chance to slam Jesse back down with the butt of the cross bow. As Jesse blinked and sputtered, Daryl slammed the instrument into the floor in front of his feet. He bent down and hooked the rope around the bow string and was back on his feet in half a second. He didn't even double check the safety pin as he loaded a bolt. Before Jesse's eyes could focus, Daryl stood over him with the red dot lined up on the center of the boys forehead. "Get out," he growled. He kept the bow on Jesse as he struggled to get up.

"Sorry, man, jeez, don't get carried away- watch that thing!" He yelped as Daryl got closer, the bolt still pointed at him. "You're brother owes me money-"

"Then take it up with him, you little shit! Get the fuck out!" Daryl scared Jesse back up the ladder, and followed him up. He shoved him off the side of the car and heard him land in the tall dead grass without any snaps of limbs breaking. "Come back here again, I'll put one straight through your eye, I ain't kidding!" He stood on the car and watched, still aiming, as Jesse scrambled away. He put the safety back on. He climbed halfway back down the ladder and pulled the door closed above him.

He lit the lantern and some of the candles that Sadie had left. He noticed that they all smelled horrendously sweet and flowery. He lay the crossbow on the floor by the bed and sat on top of the blankets. Jesse must have followed them, he figured. He hadn't been being too discreet, and Merle's bike was real loud. He hoped that he had scared Jesse enough, but the reality of the situation was that someone else now knew about the boxcar, his boxcar, and they weren't trusted. He blew out the candles, put out the lantern, and climbed into the bed.

He dreamed about his old house and the chipping paint in the pale yellow kitchen. He dreamt about opening her door and telling her to not smoke in bed, and taking the cigarettes from the bedroom. Prolonged happiness, even if only a little. He dreamed of redneck Nazi's blazing through the streets on low-ride choppers, gunning their engines in a salute as his brother went flying past them all on his own white-pride bike, Sadie sitting behind him with her arms clutching Merle. His dreams turned to darkness and shades of purple and blue and murky yellow. BB gun blasts firing through beer cans, cold and cheap linoleum. Other people screaming. Pain. He woke himself up abruptly because of the real pain. His breathing was coming fast and quick, and he felt like his chest was closing up. He groped in the darkness for a lighter. He saw his fingernails were streaked with blood. He kicked off the blankets and saw that he had been clawing at himself in his sleep. In the center of his chest, right above his heart, there were thin but repetitive slice marks. They ran haphazardly down to his navel. He wondered if he was trying to claw his own heart out.

His breathing was still unnatural and uneven; any observer would correctly assume he was having a panic attack. He leapt out of the bed, and threw on the leather vest and his boots. He belted on the hunting knife, and threw the cross bow over his shoulder with a grimace. He couldn't explain this dire feeling of dread he felt. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew that he couldn't be safe there. He had to move to assuage this illogical and unproven fear. He crept out of the boxcar like he was being watched, and slunk down into the tall grass. He let the moon in the clear night sky act as a light as he eventually stumbled out of the woods. As he hit main street, he heard the distant rumble of thunder. He continued along, and soon felt rain drops hit him. Slowly at first, then the skies seemed to open up like a floodgate. He darted onto the nearest dark porch. A few doors down, the neon light of Shotgun Willie's was still lit up. He heaved a labored sigh, took a deep breath, and began to trudge toward the bar.