jackassery | All I can picture is Heisenberg riding atop Godzilla yelling "TRY TO STOP ME NOW, HANK"

breaking bad in new moore, the file is titled Gale.txt but he has 1 line

However it goes down, Jesse figures it’ll end with him getting beat up worse than with Tuco, or Hank, but probably less than what he got from Jack's thugs. He has serious money on both his legs being broken, or some kind of Chinese water torture thing. You know, where they drip the water on you until you go nuts. Or is it the one where they pour water on you until your body thinks its drowning and then you go crazy? He can't remember which one is which, but he figures they both end the same. The only upper hand he's got on either of them is that he's already pretty crazy- or at least insane enough to deliver his resignation in person.

Lau steps around his desk and shakes Jesse's hand sadly. He wishes Jesse a speedy recovery and all the luck in the world. A gift basket comes in the mail, almost too big to fit on the kitchen counter. The card offers condolences, assurances Jesse will always be a treasured member of the family.

It closes with, I don't know what I'll do without you and Jesse figures that stings a lot fucking worse than some waterboarding.

Peter's a really good kid. He's gotta be, for being not-Spider-man and all. He leaves Jesse some undercooked pasta- good kid, but still not used to living out of his aunt's roof. Jesse doesn't touch it, lets the basket of fruit and cheese rot. Food's not really a priority anyway.

"Oh," says Rose, mouth a tiny mimic of the word. "You look-"

"Puffy," Roxy chimes in, peering over the other girl's shoulder. "Happens when you binge drink with a baby face. Gotta cut back on the hooch, lose the water weight." She slides past them through the doorway, into the apartment.

"Among other things," Rose murmurs, her eyes on the red circles around Jesse's, slipping in after her mom-daughter.

"Gross, fruit flies!" John cries, swatting at them as he enters and not-so accidentally getting Dave in the back of the head.

"Brought the whole gang, huh," Jesse mutters, shutting the door behind the last of them, the quieter Dave with the Japanime glasses. These are definitely uninvited guests, but he hasn't exactly mastered turning down lingering Sburb kids. Linger is the only way to put what they do. Rose looks like she's on the edge of a psychoanalyzing bout, and maybe that's what Dave's there for. He keeps tossing back and forth enough double ended meanings that Rose is almost helpless against it. Her eyes dart from her brother to Jesse, gently pointing out the Oedipal nature of his remarks while trying to glean the source of Jesse's trouble from a glance.

Eventually they linger close enough and Jesse reaches out and hugs them until it's about two shades past any logical psychoanalyzing, straight into weird territory. Embarrassed, the kids eventually pry him off and have dutifully put him to bed on the couch. He is not allowed to get up, or even sit up, because then he might start hugging them and crying them again, and despite being straw-fed gatorade for the last hour, Jesse's already cried himself into dehydration territory.

Roxy doesn't like to bust out the sponsor chops around the other kids, so instead she kicks her stocking feet in the air and taps away at the DS he got her for Christmas. Every time a Pokemon evolves she holds the screen inches from Jesse's face.

"See," she says. "If Meowsic can do it, so can you."

"Do what?" Jesse tries to laugh but it comes out like a wheeze.

"Hey, who gave you an Espurr," Dave asks, tugging the DS from his not mother, relaying about the dangers of leaving a Pokemon with an uninformed trainer. It goes on for a while like that, the steady hum of kids talking about doubleentandres and Sneasels, and eventually he falls asleep to the loopy bike theme music.

Uninvited guests or not, it's one of his better sleeps.

When he wakes up with a jolt (probably the Hayes girl down the hall, she slams doors a little too hard sometimes), the apartment is dark and empty. Jesse figured it was all a dream that he will never ever tell Rose about because that is defintiely something she could read into- a sad guy having a bunch of underaged identical kids lull him to sleep- when he notices his phone is blinking. Two text messages.

From:

Subj:

He feels like smiling, or the closest his muscles can inch towards it. Jesse clicks onto the second text, probably Rose asking if he wants anything specific from the store.

From:

Subj:

He can't bring himself to getting past the hallway outside his apartment and waits, face in his hands, reminded of the first time he and Mike crossed paths. It's the same scenario- the cleaner is here to pick up after a dead girlfriend. Murdered, they were both murdered.

"You know," Mike's low drawl snaps him from that morbid train of thought. "Thought I told you to take care of yourself." Jesse doesn't know how to explain what happened and Mike doesn't ask. He crouches down in front of the kid slowly, because this is a lot more physical exertion than anybody ought to put up with in a post mortem retirement.

"Get up, kid."

"Gonna slap me again?" Jesse laughs through his teeth because even without age, every muscle in his body aches.

"I just might." But the arm around his shoulders, hoisting him up, isn't half as rough as Mike's voice.

The lawyer shows up a week or two later. Jesse only pays slightly more attention to time when Mike's around, or at least he understands that it's light out is when Mike calls him to say "Get the fuck up," and it's dark out when Mike calls to make sure he got home safe. They both know Jesse doesn't get more than a few steps out the door. Not until the lawyer shows up. When Goodman appears, Jesse has the strength to walk all the way downstairs to meet him at that identical apartment.

"This is a helluva detour from Alaska," Saul grins tightly, adjusting his tie too often to be his usual primping. "You don't look so good, kid. Didn't have to come here if you were in the middle of something."

"No, we made a special trip here for you," Mike says, leaning against the doorway, relaxed but quicker than anyone would give him credit for.

Jesse thought if he saw this sleezeball again he'd make him swallow his teeth, he knows Saul had something to do with it, with telling them where Andrea is. In a pit as deep and dark as a hole in a desert, he knows it was Mister White, it was always Mister White. But there's a block in his skull, a barrier between him and anger and exhaustion, like a six month long crying jag. He'll blame anyone who ever wronged him to avoid thinking about the shit he should've done better.

("It ain't my fault," Mike snapped during a particularly prolonged pity party that turn to blame throwing. "You don't have a leg to stand on if you wanna be mad at me." Jesse can't breathe between the heaviness in his chest, the ringing in his ears and the pressure behind his eyes. "But I suppose gettin mad's a lot better than cryin about it, that's for sure.")

"So where you been?" Saul asks, trying to ignore Mike's drawl, twisting while he stands in one place, a fixed figure but always moving. "Me, I've been in Omaha, and I gotta say, this is a definite upgrade."

"Todd," Jesse finally hisses, jaw clenched.

"What's that?" Saul asks. Mike heard the story eventually, he doesn't flinch.

"Todd," Jesse repeats, like it's a place, not a name, not even a person but a dead eyed psychopath pretending to be a human being. "They chained me up for six months and shot Andrea in the head."

"Yeah?" Saul swallows audibly. "I'm not so jazzed to see you either."

"Because my side is pretty boring right now, Jessjess," Roxy counters. “I wanna hear your stuff today.”

Rose is the psychoanalyst, but Roxy got the listening disease. Most of their sessions she doesn't talk, which is weird since they're hard pressed getting her to shut up any other time. She drags her feet against the carpet and listens to Jesse's vague explanations clarify themselves in euphemistic ways, his early lies become assumed crimes. He figures it'd be easier if she talked, if she asked more questions. But he doesn't ask about growing up with nothing and no one, about the raids or the fire, or the way she tenses up when a dog barks.

"I ain't got much else to say about it, that's all," he mutters, running a hands across his skull, lining up his spine with the back of the sofa. "I'm just not ready for all these people to show up here- People that know what I am."

"What's the alternative?" Roxy asks. "It's just you here, forever?" He shrugs, he'd got pretty used to that over the years. Roxy's not Rose beyond their identical leers, but her voice could be her mom-daughter's double when she asks, "Maybe you're worried they're gonna leave."

"I didn't think about that," he admits. He turns restlessly in his seat, suddenly squeamish. "Shit, I don't give afuck about Goodman but- That could happen right?"

"Maybe," Roxy murmurs, and she's always grinning, always comforting even when Jesse knows she knows about all of this firsthand, and would be totally in her rights to not want to talk about that. Listening disease. "Yeah, like. It's a good shove off the wagon if it does, so it's a mega good thing it won't."

"They won't disappear?"

"You won't go off the wagon." She winks. "Not with me around." Explaining why he hangs out with these kids is definitely the hardest part of introducing Mike to New Moore.

"So let me get this straight," Mike begins, because they had a whole new topic to talk about today, and it has wound up being much more complicated than teenaged friendships. "You introduce meth to an island of opium junkies, break outta the business without replacement cook- then what?"

Jesse runs his hands across his face, he's told this story too many times now and it doesn't get any different the more the cleaner runs him through it.

"Yeah, I did," he concedes, tugging at his hair. "Mike, I can't do this anymore-"

"Kid, I ain't asking you to cook, I'm just pointin out the obvious." He turns in his chair to face Jesse completely. "You just dried up the entire island's supply of meth. That doesn’t just go away."

"Yeah, I know!" He snaps, kicking at the legs of the table and shooting an apologetic look to the bar. Conrad's not there, never around in the daytime, cause you know, vampire and that shit. But he told Jesse he could use the place during the day as a halfway house between the apartment and reality. The island seems normal and infinite after being trapped in the lab for so long. Mike tried not to roll his eyes. It was six months kid, he grumbled. I've done longer in San Quentin without the agoraphobia, put some fucking shoes on.

"I figured it'd end with me." That's a new piece and Mike scoffs.

"This shit never ends with you, not how this goes down, Jesse, not how it's ever gone down. Hey," he snaps and doesn't even need to move, voice alone pulling Jesse's attention back to him. "Didn't what happened after I bit it sink into your brain? Or is this just another reason to feel sorry for yourself?" Jesse's anxious silence registers as more of a confrontation than the kid's usual bravado. He points an accusing finger across the table. "You're damn lucky he let you walk out of there."

"Don't you think I get that? I can't believe he did. I thought-" If he closes his eyes right, in just the worst moments, he can see Rose stepping out of the doorway, squinting through the darkness for him. Hear the gunfire through her skull. "But he didn't. I wouldn't let that happen."

Mike shakes his head, resting back in his seat, thinking it over. At last he decides, "You don't have a goddamn clue."

Neither it seemed, did Lau. Sleuthing around enough showed Mike the blue meth was officially off the streets, long since on back order, and there wasn't a substitute methamphetamine to back it up. A bag of any color, of pink meth would've bought a man here what Walter pulled in a year, not that money meant anything to anyone on the island, least of all the scum bags. There was some basement cough syrup operations, but a few explosions detracted the more desperate dealers from creating their own. Nobody was trying to duplicate a mediocre copy of the stuff, especially after they had the best. So you got all this demand, and an unwilling seller-

"And they're targeting Pinkman," Mike asks. "Get him to make the product again by force."

"Targeting Pinkman?" the weasel faced lawyer laughs, twisting the bluetooth extension over his ear, half on the job with some new client. Shitstains never fade, not even on an island like this. "No way, not without taking out his Robins."

"'Robins'?" he knows he's gonna regret asking that.

"You know, like Batman," Saul grins across the plate of ribs. He takes a breath before he launches into his explanation. "Turn outs- Meth heads here think Pinkman's like some drug Batman. Besides, they can't kill him, they need him. So they gotta get to the kid wonders, hoist up some leverage. I mean, you and I both know how well that works on the kid, am I right?" Mike doesn't break his glare. Saul clears his throat, "Apparently!" He uses his fork to point with emphasis. "These kids? They're the ones guarding his back. I know, I know." Mike is sure if he scoffed any harder he'd choke on his drink. "But they said his little harem has special powers. Right, I didn't buy it either. Then again, a couple months on the blue and you'd think my old aunt Angela had powers too- well, beyond the usual emotional blackmail. But I digress! These addicts, they're dead serious on that whole song and dance, swear on their own great aunt's life. Meaning nobody gets to Pinkman without getting through the kids. So junkie parade- meet the Mickey Mouse Club!"

Mike curses the whole way to the high school.

"Oh, you heard about that?" John Egbert is red to the tips of his ears. "It's not like we're doing anything bad. They're the messed up guys, and we're just getting them off his back."

"Jesse told me you kids thought he was in advertising."

The boy laughs, "Hey, Jesse's a goodguy, but we're not stupid. Besides, they went after Rose first." Mike can't shake off his own thoughts of Kaylee when he looks at the smaller of the Lalonde sisters, so it's pretty hard to buy her taking out a few methheads with nothing but knitting needles. That's how it happened, says Egbert, and he's stickin to it.

"Anyway, once Dave and Roxy got wind somebody tried to get Rose, they kinda went all attack mode." John scuffs his foot against the ground, pleading look to Mike. "Don't tell Jesse, okay? Were not even really hurting the guys, just making sure they don't get to hurt anybody else."

"You helping too?"

Now John grins as wide as his pink ears. "Rose definitely doesn't need my help. But yeah, I help out when it happens." Mike sighs.

"You're a good kid, so I hope to God I only gotta say this once," he looks the kid square in the eye. "Don't be gettin involved in anything that'll get you killed."

"Okay, but to be totally fair- you guys are the ones who got involved in this," John counters, and when did kids get so snappy? Kaylee had a couple years before she'd be shooting down his little gems of knowledge.

The kid stops before he joins his group of waiting friends, grinning over his shoulder as if the take out never happened.

"And don't worry about that last thing," John beams. "I'm pretty sure we cant die here anyway."

As complainants to Jesse were waylaid by a child army, Mike renews his investigation on their prior supplier. There were a few guys, probably before they went after the kids, that expressed displeasure at being locked out of the meth trade. A few guys who had suggestions on what products Lau should begin redistributing, what changes needed to be made to his product list. A few dead guys.

"I'm here to see Lau to talk about Jesse Pinkman," he tells the woman who hands him a whisky on the house.

"It's your funeral," Saul says around two beautiful Asian girls reclining in his lap.

Lau is all smiles across his desk, gesturing for Mike to take a seat. For the kingpin of an entire island's drug trade, it's a surprisingly small office. More like a broom closet than anything, a nondescript back room with a desk and an ornate coat rack. But this guy’s no Gus, not by a goddamn longshot.

"Jesse spoke of you often," Lau says.

"For the sake of my clean record here, I'm gonna have to deny anything he told you I do," Mike shoots back, easing into the chair. "And bet he told you I'm also retired." Lau nods. "You can remember that."

"Of course. A life of leisure for a man of your age." If Lau notices the turn of Mike's expression to more surlier than usual, he doesn't pick up on it. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm just curious how things are going in the business without him." When Lau doesn't respond, his whole face doesn’t even move, Mike goes on, "Word on the street is you're out. Junkies don't take to kindly to being cut off."

"I have many other products for them to switch to," Lau shrugs. "And I have a surefire way to handle complaints."

"Yeah, I heard how you handle complaints, not gettin so much of them after making a few into examples, huh?" Lau's smile never falters, and Mike presses on, "If they can't get at you, they'll take it out on him."

"Jesse is an important former employee," the wanna-be kingpin brushes off any potential concerns. "Even if he never wants to cook for me again, I'd never let anything happen to him personally."

"'Personally,'" Mike scoffs, taking a swig from the glass. "Meaning you could give two shits who else they take it from." Lau doesn't blink, sweet as sin. "Jesse might not see what you're doin with these kids, but we both know they're the ones who'll get hurt-"

"Children are much more resilient that your generation seems to think," he cuts in smoothly. "I wish you wouldn't assume the worse of me. I imagine I'm very different from you and Jesse's former employers."

"No shit," Mike sets the drink down. "I've worked with guys a lot more interested in the long game than you seem to be."

"That's the thing about this island," Lau replies easily, leaning forward. "I'm the only long game its got."

He has a harder time than usual getting to sleep that night, turning that statement over in his mind. Eventually Mike concedes it must be some Chinese-to-English mistranslation.

"Get yourself a new cook," Mike advised when he left. "Because the second this supply shift game of yours goes south and someone gets hurt, I'll be back here. And it won't be for the conversation."

He decides not to tell Jesse what the kids are doing. They don't look all that great at covering their tracks, and Mike isn't about to give shit news if he doesn't have to. He can find out himself. He meets Jesse in the park. It's a pretty open space, and for his credit, Jesse's getting better with the stuff largely cause of the kids. He didn't peg Pinkman for being such a natural babysitter, but maybe they're more mature than he'd normally give credit to a bunch of kids who voluntarily tangle with meth dealers.

"You talk to Lau?" Jesse asks. He nods. "So. What'd he say?"

"Nothin, kid. There's nothin to say to that guy, not from me or you, all right?" Jesse keeps staring at him, like if he looks any more doe eyed about this whole sack of shit he'd got going for him that Mike'll gave and tell him the truth. Not in his life. "Best you gotta hope is that this whole island just forgets about your previous partnership."

"That's it?" Jesse gapes, cigarette hanging off his lip. "I'm just supposed to wait for all this to go away? You're the one who said it doesn’t end with--"

"Jesse, I know what I said, all right? I told you, just wait it out." Mike never had to lie to Jesse, not telling him the crucial details was plenty. The kid knows there's more to it, but he's not going to get it. Hoping the heat cools down is sometimes the best you can work with.

He stares back at the kid. "There's nothing for you to get involved in, neither of us." Something about adding himself into the equation seems like it gets through to Jesse, like keeping his head down will keep them both safe. Mike feels bile in his throat at the idea of any kid watching out for him, Pinkman or otherwise. Not why he picked this life. "So you keep your head down. That's what you wanted, right?" Jesse nods, a quick frantic motion, all he's every wanted. "All of this will pass on its own. He's not like the other guys, it won't go like that, I can assure you."

Something about the other guys seems to get under the kid's skin. He squirms alongside Mike, all jitters and nerves for somebody who's, what is it? A year sober?

"What if Mister-- What if he shows up?"

Long sigh. "He's not gonna, Jesse."

"Yeah, but what if he does?"

Mike takes a few measured breaths. They're to calm down the kid, he got rid of his anger with Walter the second the words left his mouth. He doesn't forgive easy, but Mike doesn't hold a grudge. There's no use wasting your time hating a brain donor like Walter White. He said his peace and paid for it, it's finished. The deep breathes were all for Pinkman's benefit.

"Then I will take care of it," he says, calmly. "Now we're done talkin about this."

"So.. Why we're doing this?" Jesse asks.

"Perhaps I think you have a hidden talent for singing," Rose smiles like the sun on her pajamas, or whatever those getups are supposed to be. It's a school uniform day, which makes Jesse feel all the guiltier to be seen walking around in public with her. She ties the sweater over her shoulders like they're out to some high and mighty tennis match at the country club. "Roxy asked me to serve as a chaperone."

"Can't she send, what's his name? Dirk?"

"He's banned from her dates." Rose states matter of factly, in the way that Jesse knows he does not want to know and will definitely never ask. "And you are here to keep the number even."

"What's it gotta be even for?"

"Duets, of course."

Roxy meets them at the door, on her tiptoes, letting them know that the new management got rid of the liquor license so this will be fun, really fun, so fun. She says fun enough times Jesse thinks this is some kind of got tiger hypnosis spell, like if she repeats it enough, Jesse will start to believe it. Watching her and Rose scurry towards the front desk, elbowing each other and laughing, he's pretty sure he's already a believer.

The manager backs out of the kitchen with a tray full of dishes, talking over his shoulder.

"Minako, can you possibly call room 4 and ask if they want to extend their time for anot--" The tray of glassware shatters when he drops it, and Jesse's left looking eye to eye with a problem dog.

"In my defense," Saul's already giving excuses before Jesse's through the door. "How was I supposed to know you'd go to karaoke?" He grins between his fingers, arm already up to shield himself from any punches. "Never knew you were such a songbird."

"I went with a friend," Jesse bristles.

"What, the loose lolita?" Saul laughs, hand over his heart, feigning shock. "Ah, the old Miley Cyrus charm. Poor sap. A little too tight on those curves and you’ll pay for it, so do us both a favor and don't get yourself caught with any fine underaged ass-"

"Hey!" Jesse snaps, in unison with Mike's, "Different girl, jackass."

"That's not what I'm 'hey'-ing about," Jesse grumbles.

"Look, you can't get mad at me for not giving you the heads up," Saul argues, unable to turn off the lawyer mode even on a minorly litigious island such as New Moore. "You might've noticed the neighborhood meth heads being on a lot better behavior, that's on our buddy Gale. And Lurch over there found out about the same time as me."

"Yeah?" Jesse counters, twisting to face him. Mike levels the stare in his direction. "You found out Lau got a new cook- got him as his new cook?"

"Yeah," Mike replies. "You had enough shit to shovel." He groans, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. "You saw how he looked at you, right? Boetticher’s not gonna give you any trouble."

"I'm not worried about him giving me trouble! Lau's got a new cook, what if he's afraid of competition-"

"I told you Lau ain't like Walter or Gus, all right?" Mike retorts, crossing the room to let himself out, not going to sit around with Goodman any longer than he has to. He takes Jesse but the shoulder, steering him out as well. "We already talked about that. Island's too small to kill you Jesse."

"He has connections, okay?" Jesse digs his heels into the carpet. "He needed a new cook and suddenly one just appears? He can bring people here, who's sayin he can't take them out?"

"Pretty sure if that was the case, we'd be short an entire police task force on drugs." Jesse won't budge. "Look, Lau's a solid guy." Even Huell looks at Mike funny for that comment. "What?" Before Mike can explain 'solid' doesn't mean good or right or not a slimy pile of garbage, but predictable, Jesse is all stammers and back to his old excuses.

"You don't get how he works, how this place works-"

"And you don't have a goddamn clue how I work, Jesse," Mike cuts him off. He shoves the kid towards the door. "Gale Boetticher is no threat to you, I promise." Before the door shuts, Saul's leaning against his desk and calls after Pinkman,

"Kinda a downer on your karaoke plans though, right?"

True to form, Mike's right. If Lau knows what Jesse did, he's not looking for revenge, or worrying about the clean monopoly they've got going on. If anything, things between them are better than before, since neither of them talk or antagonize each other, and the meth heads aren't frothing at the mouth.

Boettchier's still around though. And in a less claustrophobic, scared all the time kind of mindset, it seems shitty not saying anything.

"Just to let the guy know I'm not gonna knock on his door or nothing," Jesse argues, hands shoved in his pockets. Mike was arguing before the kid even opened his mouth.

"Which is goddamn pointless and something I've strongly advised against, so no. I'm not coming."

"He's got back up, you can be my back up-"

Mike laughs, which turns into a cough and for all the imposed distance Kaylee's mom put between her and him, Mike sees Jesse react the same way she does to a little catch in an old man's throat. He glowers at the kid until Jesse steels his expression, lighting another cigarette. Didn’t get into this business for sympathy neither.

"That girl is his back, front- are we remembering the same Boetticher?" He rolls his eyes when Jesse tries to push the issue. "I am tellin you this is stupid idea. And I don’t need to follow you to know how its gonna go." The kid waits for an explanation, like it isn't written over the walls like the way Gale's brain splattered over his goddamn books. "You wanna know how I know? Because I know shootin a man in the face puts the fear of God into him, and I also know that girl is a trained pitbull. He tenses up, she tears out your throat. That's how it goes."

And that is 100% how it should've went. It's a small island, and eventually their paths cross, in between the apartment buildings. Jesse hates coming face to face with the guy, not because it reminds him of what he did, but because Jesse knows the guy only looks half as scared as Jesse feels.

It's not like he had something rehearsed. Even if he sat up at night dwelling on how to confront the guy, there's no good script for 'hey, sorry I murdered the hell out of you.' Starting with an apology might not be half bad, but he only gets "I'm-" out before Ran Mao roundhouse kicks him in the jaw.

He's had his jaw wired back in place before, it wasn't as bad as that time. It sucks when you can gauge point of your life by how bad you got the shit kicked out of you. But going through that one time means all subsequent blows to the jaw hurt like a motherfucking shit cock fuck OW

By the time he's down wrapping his mouth around every swear word that doesn't send lightning bolts of pain through his jaw, the karaoke manager slash meth cook is long gone, female pitbull in tow.

He’s not in any fucking hurry to take himself to the hospital, so Jesse lays back against the cold ground and stares at the not stars with one hand firmly pressed against his jaw, keeping his mouth as still as possible. So it was a shitty plan. Maybe not as colossally shitty as ike made it sound like. It would have definitely gone better without his bodyguard there. Then again, Jesse isn’t entirely sure there’s a ‘better’ way for that situation to go. The guy isn’t going to forgive you, and even if he did, what fucking difference would it make? It doesn’t fix what he did, or who else had to die for him to do it. What kind of guy goes up to somebody he kills and figures it’ll go any better than getting your jaw kicked in? What kind of guy gets a bunch of good people killed and makes friends almost exclusively with kids?

It’s kinda nice New Moore gets some Christmas seasons, he can press his rapidly swelling face against the snow, hopefully die of frostbite. That weather also explains why the Rose that peers down at him is bundled to her ear muffs in winter-wear.

"There," she purrs, like finding him punched in a snow drift was all part of her plan, like the seer knew this would go down just as much as Mike did. “Are you aware you missed a session with Roxy, she's very worried." She tutts and he wearily rises to his feet, face aching. "Did you get caught up making snow angels? Without inviting us."

"Shit, I forgot," he hisses. "Tell her I'm sorry, I was just. There was something I thought I was gonna do but. It didn't. I figured-"

"Is a full sentence going to emerge from this or may I just finish the text with an apology?" Rose smirks over the smartphone, pressing send. She reaches out to link arms with him, face a dark shadow when he sidesteps the action.

"Just because I'm looking after you guys, it doesn't mean I'm worth looking up to."

She blinks. Jesse had that in his pocket, another thing he thought he was gonna do, something he wanted to say, but he figured when it finally came out the time would be right. Not much to look up to for a guy with a cracked jaw and an ass wet from the freaking snow. Maybe that's the point, don't make yourself out to be a hero to kids who are actually heros. Make sure they know you're as worthless as everybody else always figured, and never let them forget it. Kinda morbid for Christmas, but shit his face feels like its going numb now.

"That's not your decision to make." Rose says at last, as easily as breathing. She links their arms together anyway. "Besides, what makes you think you're looking after us? Who sent out the search party for whom?"

"Whom, like you have to get all grammar fancy about it."

She smiles, "Oh, I do."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

GOODBYE FOREVER THIS HAS KILLED ME

i can't get over how perfect every single thing was

their voices are all crystal clear

HUELL'S HEAVY BREATHING SILENCE IS CRYSTAL CLEAR

i'm not crying you're crying

fic renamed to "huell bc why not?"

JUNKIE PARADE MEET THE MICKEY MOUSE CLUB

i just keep rereading

leave me here to die

im a little proud of that ngl

I REREAD THIS ON THE BUS AND DIED ALL OVER AGAIN

CALMING DEEP BREATHS FOR JESSE

WAIT LET ME SAY SOMETHING LET ME SAY SOMETHING

WwwwWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

fjdsjf weird i reread yesterday too......

:((( I just love them so much

All I can picture is Heisenberg riding atop Godzilla yelling "TRY TO STOP ME NOW, HANK"

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