Walt sat in a white undershirt against the cold bathroom wall. The cool tiles of the floor met the flesh of his thighs. His legs were splayed apart and he wore only his tight, white underwear. A nearly empty bottle of bourbon clanked against the tiles as Walt smacked it down heavily. He was drunk and alone staring at the room's door from the bathroom. He muttered Jesse's name and then took strangled sip, catching it in his throat. He coughed heavily for a few minutes knocking the bottle over only once. This is what it comes to, he thought. After battling for his life and Jesse's how quietly he would die in a town mere hours from Skyler, Holly and Junior. He wished there had been some way to get his money to Junior and Holly without leaving that cabin. As lonely and desperate as he became there, it had to be better than being subjected to the tragedy magnet that was Jesse Pinkman one final time and, most depressingly, then abandoned by him. Walt's mind fluttered over their argument. As disgusted as he was with the young man he should have made allowances. That's what he became accustomed to doing, for Jesse always needed special consideration even in those school days. The hint of a chuckle crossed Walt's mouth. And after everything he had been through now Jesse was more lost than when Walt had found him in his driveway crouching behind his Chevy so long ago. An image from the compound seeped into Walt's mind and the bourbon in his stomach churned with force. Why did I have to see it, Walt thought, and why did I have to live it? We both could have ignored this if I hadn't made such a point of being a witness to his goddamn trauma, he scolded himself. As his thoughts trailed off he took another sip. He considered why he didn't strike Jesse, or banish him, in lieu of grating down his soul until there was nearly nothing left. A whimper escaped. He tried to push it down with the bourbon when suddenly the door crashed open. Walt's blurry eyes tried to focus on it.

Jesse's good hand had swung the door open in a crash. He was coming up hard on the meth and now everything had an edge. He quickly fumbled as he shut the door loudly before darting his eyes around the room for Walt. He spotted him in his underwear looking messy against the wall. He sped the few feet it was to the bathroom.

"Why're you on the floor?" he spat out in a voice too loud.

"You came back," Walt breathed out and the sweet and sour of bourbon filled the tiny room.

Jesse picked up the nearly empty bottle. "Did you drink all this? You need to puke or some shit before you pass out." He spoke at an unnerving volume and pace but the veil of Walt's drunkenness shielded him from it.

"Was this like, your big plan with me gone? Drink yourself to death?" He was pacing and shifting at Walt's feet.

"I'm just so…glad…you came back."

Jesse managed to still himself for a split second as he eyed Walt. His voice was suddenly small as he said, "Are you?"

"Yes, yes…" Walt started with a warm smile. "I'm so relieved. I didn't want to die here, alone." He coughed a bit and sputtered.

Jesse's eyes doubled in size and he flung the bathroom door nearly off its hinges. "Will this ever not be about you and your dying wishes above everything and everyone else?"

"Calm…calm down." Walt threw a hand in his direction.

Jesse stood for a minute and bit his nails. "You drove us here so just so you don't die alone."

The words lolled around Walt's head just as it hit the wall hard.

"That's why you came back from wherever the fuck you were. You came to get me just to torture me till you leave this world."

"Listen, Jesse…I…maybe it's true, now. But it wasn't then, not when I came to Jack's. I came…to kill everyone, including you."

Jesse stared at Walt for a long minute. He kicked the bourbon bottle against the tub and smashed into countless pieces. Walt barely flinched and the words fell slowly from his mouth. "That's glass…everywhere. You…should keep your shoes on now."

"This'll never be over till you're dead," Jesse began grunting to himself. Jack's bloody head and the gaping bullet hole flashed in his mind. He wanted to see blood again; he wanted to feel its warmth between his fingers, filthy and slick. His eyes flew around the room looking for Walt's black bag. It was nowhere in sight and so he rushed to the table and started feverishly searching through Walt's Walmart spoils. He threw everything in his way to the floor until he found the keys to the Cadillac. As he hurried out of the room, Walt sat nearly motionless save for drooping eyelids.

Jesse sprinted to the trunk of the Caddy to unlock it and flung the lid open but it was empty. He swore and rooted around in the dimly lit parking lot before slamming it shut. He moved to the back seats and crawled in looking in pockets and under seats. Finally, the front seats and the glove compartment left him empty handed. He swore again and slammed the front door returning to their room. He stalked in and stood squarely in front of Walt.

"Where the fuck is your bag of shit?" He demanded in a gravelly, breathless voice.

"What?" Walt breathed.

"Tell me where the bag is or I'm gonna stab you with these fucking keys."

"Jesse, you don't…need…" Walt was nearing unconsciousness.

Jesse's shoes crunched atop the broken glass as he knelt in front of Walt. He grabbed his face and pushed it against the wall, squeezing his mouth open. "The bag, where is it?"

"Dresser…" Walt coughed as Jesse spun away and tore to the dresser. He slammed all the drawers open and shut before he found the big black bag. He threw it to the bed and ripped it open. There were now several guns in the bag and a hunter's knife in addition to Walt's portable pharmacy. He stared at it all with wide eyes and then picked up the knife and brought it level with his face. The blade looked about four inches long but it was like Walt put some thought into the purchase. It had a wood inlay and brass touches on the handle. He could have bought something cheaper and meaner, but he hadn't. Jesse looked over and saw Walt was fighting to stay conscious. He looked back at the bag and picked up some morphine and a couple needles, then made his way to the bathroom door frame.

"Walt," he yelled. He then kicked at the man's feet to wake him up. Walt snapped forward startled and looked up at him.

"Wake up, bitch, we're going to have some fun." Jesse grinned as he sat down on broken glass against the tub. He could hear its grind against the tiles but was too high to feel that it was also grinding against him. He kicked against Walt's thigh until the man was looking at him almost lucid.

"What're you doing, Jesse?" Walt sighed.

"I really like this knife that you bought. It's pretty." Jesse held it up in front of him and caught his reflection from several angles before dropping it to his side. He sniffled a few times then wiped his nose while Walt stared on. Suddenly he pushed forward to sit on his knees in front of Walt.

"Give me your hand."

"No," Walt returned exasperated.

Jesse yanked his left hand towards him and Walt winced aloud as his broken finger made itself known. He picked up the knife with his bad arm and moved it to Walt's palm. Like he was holding a crayon, he pointed it downward and began dragging it across. Crimson syrup began to pool around the knife's edge until he let up and the palm was coated. Walt grunted but his intoxication kept him immobile.

"Jesse…stop."

Jesse put his hand on top of the palm to feel the wet heat. He smushed his hand in and squeezed Walt's until he winced again trying to coax more blood to the surface. He sat back and surveyed the blood on his hand. It was thin and drying too quickly. He looked to Walt's eyes, which were drooped and pitiful as they followed him. He picked up Walt's bloody palm and began smearing it across the man's face purposefully dragging it across his mouth. Then, Walt's arm came to life grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt, pushing him back. Jesse grabbed the knife and dragged it across his own palm as hard as he could while staring into Walt's eyes as he did it. A small cry escaped his mouth as he finished and he quickly raised his palm to watch the blood surface. Walt kept a hand on his sweatshirt firmly and was trying to shake him.

"Enough, Jesse, enough."

Jesse shifted a leg out from under him and kicked Walt hard in the ribs a few times causing him to double over, coughing. He then withdrew from the man, knife in hand, and sat back against the tub. Panting deeply, he lifted up his sweatshirt and took the blade to the skin just above his pants. He traced it along for a couple seconds as hard as he could, then withdrew it, trying to catch his breath. He looked down and saw the blood pouring down to his pants. A moment of ecstasy was followed immediately with panic as the blood spilled between his fingers. "Fuck shit…" he breathed as he looked across to Walt, who was passed out on his side with mouth wide open and head pressed into broken glass. This is as good a time as any, he thought. He picked up a syringe and stuck it in his mouth then grabbed a bottle of morphine. His bloody hand took the syringe and pierced the bottle drawing up a few milligrams. He plunged the syringe into the closest vein he could find. Sitting back, he replaced his hand on his stomach to feel the warm blood seep out as the morphine took hold. His eyelids batted shut to blackness.

Walt pried his eyelids apart as he awoke on the floor of the bathroom. Nausea and a blistering headache jarred him as did the bits of broken glass still stuck to his face as he sat up. He wiped them away and then rushed to the toilet to vomit twice. He sat back and flushed, straightening the filthy glasses somehow still perched on his nose. He remembered stripping to his underwear and downing the bourbon but things were unclear from that point onward. He noticed a stinging pain in his palm and so turned it over to see a nasty, but shallow, gash across his left palm. A dreadful, nagging feeling crawled from his stomach to his esophagus. He turned his head slowly to gaze across the bathroom and saw Jesse slumped against the bathtub, head titled back and blood pooled around his seat. He looked dead. Walt sat still, stunned and quiet. His lips moved but no sounds came out of his mouth. Was this it, he wondered? Oh god, please let this be it.

He crawled toward Jesse brushing glass out of his way. He stopped to his left side and grabbed his wrist. As he moved to press his thumb in to feel for a pulse he noticed the deeper gash on the young man's palm. His jaw dropped and he looked at Jesse's head in repose. Then, he saw his hunter's knife lying beside Jesse and he just shook his head. He dug his thumb in and started to count and a faint pulse made itself known.

"For Christ's sake…" Walt sighed. He grabbed Jesse's face before slapping him hard. His eyes fluttered and he slumped forward. Without even seeing the discarded syringe, Walt knew what had happened. He gave up trying to wake him and instead lifted his shirt where the blood had soaked through. There was another shallow gash and he was beginning to put a picture of the previous night together. His aching ribs told him there was a nasty confrontation, as did the broken glass, but ultimately Jesse just hurt himself more than anyone else.

Walt stood up and gargled under the tap for a minute. He pissed and then left the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. He'd leave him there in his own mess and then, when he was sober and apologetic, they could talk about resetting things between them. Walt decided he would tell him just how little time he had left. He hoped it might change his perspective and perhaps the two of them could commit to living Walt's last days in some sort of relative peace. It wouldn't be long, two or three months at the most he wagered. Maybe he should have just spelled it out back when they were held hostage by Jack and his men but he felt it was hardly the time. He had put all this effort into giving Jesse a reason to live and trying to restore the smallest amount of dignity to him, it may not have worked if he knew how close to death's door Walt really was.

The room was in disarray and he knew it was Jesse who'd accomplished this feat. He pushed the black bag off the bed so he could lay down as his nausea rose. He put his head to the pillow and the faintest feeling of regret moved in him. He knew he would always sacrifice hand-holding for the bigger picture. Suddenly, Walt sat up on the bed. The guns and the money, he thought. He rushed to the floor where the black bag was and counted all the guns were present. Then, he removed the bottom drawer of the dresser and spied his stacks still sitting flush against the floor. There was no crisis, Walt thought, no irreparable harm done. He exhaled deeply and checked the time: thirteen minutes past nine in the morning. He figured Jesse would be out for hours yet and he was fine with that. Walt walked to the window and separated the blinds to see the sun for just a minute. Not a soul in sight and the sun was golden across the parking lot. He smiled for a minute before he realized what was missing: The Cadillac. He flew to the door and outside in his underwear. He scanned across the entirety of the parking lot and there was only one car left, an old Honda Civic red and rusted. Back in the room he searched feverishly for the keys and found nothing. He was now grateful he had the foresight to remove the money and the weapons from the car. A hazy memory of Jesse running out to the car last night filled his mind. Jesse.

Walt flung open the bathroom door and started shouting his name in a booming, unrelenting voice. When there was no response he started slapping him across the face so hard it was akin to punching. As a last resort, he hoisted him up and shoved him into the tub and then turned on the shower spraying cold water onto him on full blast. After a minute or two, Jesse began to stir and then speak in a muffled voice.

"Okay, stop…I said okay."

Unsatisfied, Walt redirected the water so it hit him in the face and tried in vain to make it colder. Jesse sputtered as the water rushed over his nose and mouth and finally his eyes opened wide. He spoke again and his teeth were already chattering.

"I said I'd do it so stop, turn it off, please."

"In your madness last night you left the keys in the car, and now it's gone."

"What?"

"We have no car because of you! We are stranded here until you get us a new one. Yes, you, because I can't go and negotiate the purchase of used car. Our fate is now in your drug-addled hands."

Jesse was hugging his knees in the corner of the tub. "I don't know what you're talking about exactly but if you please turn off the water I'll do whatever you say. I'll do anything, you know with you or whoever. Please, it's cold."

"Jesse, you just –." Suddenly, the words penetrated Walt and he scrambled to turn off the cold water. He hopped through the glass to get a towel from the rack and threw it onto Jesse, who draped it around himself and stood in the tub trying to kick off his wet sweats.

"Jesse, where are you?" Walt was forcing himself to run through the exercise.

"What do you mean? I'm here with you…in the bathroom. You're being an asshole instead of being nice to me."

"Who am I?"

"What?" Jesse was incredulous as he stepped out of the tub. "Shit, why is there glass everywhere?"

"What's my name?"

"Is this a game we're playing? Am I supposed to say I don't know?" Jesse was leaning against the door and looking at Walt sideways, making him uncomfortable.

"It's Walt, I'm Walt. We're not in Jack's compound. Are you here, with me?" The words were coming out strange and a bit shaky, but Walt only cared if they got through to him.

Jesse stared back at him for nearly a minute in silence. He was staring deep into him, through him and past him all at once. It was like his being was trying to align him to the present against some great force. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I need to piss."

"Okay," Walt conceded and reached for the door. Jesse lined up at the toilet and then said, "Did you stab me last night?"

"No, Jesse, you did that all on your own."