Chapter Text
Jesse smelled like shit. Literally. And at first that was all Walter could focus on, plus the hand wrapped around his neck and the kid’s fist trembling mid-air, elbow cocked back. He knew it wouldn’t hurt all that much if Jesse actually went through with it. He was a twig. Like Walt had said, he was pathetic.
What was more pathetic was the fact that Jesse wasn’t going to go through with it. Even as Walt croaked “do it,” Jesse remained frozen in-place, arm wound up in preparation for an imaginary punch.
He saw the moment that the resolve - already lacking - fizzled out of Jesse’s eyes, before his grip on Walt’s throat loosened. He gasped roughly, hacking and coughing, as the black receded from the edges of his vision and the sparkler in his brain burned out. Getting choked out was even worse when you had lung cancer, he imagined. He didn’t have a frame of reference for without.
Jesse collapsed on top of him, like he’d been the one that was deprived of oxygen. Walt frowned down at him, nose shriveled up as the chemical sewage smell that coated Jesse’s clothes became overpowering, collecting like a cloud around them.
“Get off of me,” he grunted, as his coughing fit finally subsided. “I will not be tracking that smell into my house.”
“No,” Jesse whimpered - and, yes, that was a whimper - and Walt faltered. “Don’t leave me out here, man.” Walt tried to shake him off, but his grip on Walt’s button-up only tightened. He was clinging to him, like a child.
Walt could feel Jesse’s fists shaking, rattling like he was caught in a blizzard. “Are you high?” Walt spat, flabbergasted. “I knew it. You smoked it all. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nonono, Mr. White, I’m not. I'm not high, okay?" Jesse gasped, still flat against Walt’s chest so Walt could feel every tremble against his own rib cage. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t shoved the kid off of him yet - it would be very easy. He didn’t weigh much, even compared to a cancer patient.
When was the last time he ate? Walt wondered. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away, and began to push Jesse away with it.
“No,” Jesse damn-near yelled, and Walter froze, crushing him into his chest just to keep him quiet.
“Shut the hell up,” he bit out. “Do you want the whole damn neighborhood to hear you? To see you? Jesus, you really don’t think, do you?”
Jesse curled up, and Walt continued, unable to stop now that he’d started. This felt good, yelling at someone who really deserved it. “You’re just as pathetic as I thought you were, just as stubborn as you’ve always been. Most people grow up , Jesse, but you’re still the damn useless student that never listened in my chem class.”
Jesse trembled harder, almost like it was a reaction to Walt’s words, and then Walt realized that it was a reaction to his words, and that his clothes were damp with something other than the nasty liquid that Jesse was covered in.
“Are you crying?" Walt asked, but as soon as the question caught up to him, he realized there was no reason to ask. It was obvious, now. Jesse actually wasn’t high. He’d been telling the truth.
Jesse didn’t reply, and Walt didn’t mind it. He let his head thud back against the floor of the RV, a heavy sigh in his chest. “Jesus. Something really did happen, didn’t it?”
“Uh-hhuh,” Jesse gasped. “Ya think so, g-genius?” He was trying to sound snarky, but it was a weak attempt. Walt found it difficult to take him seriously when every word was choked out around a sob. Not that he ever really took him seriously. He was a meth addict with no future, no resolve, and no work ethic.
But he was also currently on top of him, sobbing into his chest like a baby. Even Walt’s own son wouldn’t do this. He was never sincere with Walt, anymore, and he certainly wouldn’t be coming to him for comfort, not over Skyler or his new friend Louis. So why was Jesse?
The whiplash was making Walt a little nauseous, how Jesse had gone from choking him out, a hair’s breadth away from punching him in the nose, to this. Or maybe that was just the smell.
Slowly, Walt lifted his hands up from where they were laying limp at his sides to Jesse’s shoulders. He gave him a few awkward pats on the back, which was evidently enough to calm him down a little bit.
Walt’s pats turned into a gentle up-and-down on Jesse’s back, pressure relaxing with the release of bottled-up guilt in his stomach. “In and out,” he muttered, eyes closed as he faced the ceiling. Jesse’s misery was transferring to him, just like his smell, which originated from god knows where. “There you go. In and out. Nice and slow.”
Eventually, the kid stopped hiccuping, and the push and pull of his lungs matched Walter’s. He could imagine them, connected, inflating and deflating in tandem. One set full of tumors, the other full of chemicals. One old, one young, both dysfunctional.
“I really do need the money, Mr. White,” Jesse said, eventually, long after their position turned from awkward to unbelievably bizarre. “My half,” he added, like he’d really earned it. Walter didn’t bother objecting again. Jesse was stubborn.
“Fine. We can talk about that later. After you take a shower. You smell like shit.” Walt could feel Jesse’s muscles melt, either at his promise or at his offer of a shower.
“Thank you, man,” he muttered, and finally peeled himself off of Walt. Not figuratively, either. Walt grimaced.
“I go first, though. Come back after you’ve moved this damn thing,” Walter decided. “And don’t think I’m leaving any hot water for you. My house, my shower.”
Jesse nodded, the appreciation in his eyes not dulling. “Yeah man, a hundred percent. I won’t let you down.”
For some reason, Walter doubted that.
In the shower, he let hot water sluice over the deteriorating muscles of his back as he scrubbed his hands up his face and over his head with a heavy sigh.
He closed his eyes, and thought of the look in Jesse’s eyes, his reaction to the frankly pathetic olive branch that Walter had extended, like he had gifted him a bar of gold.
The heat washing over his muscles relaxed them, and it was only now that he realized the tension that filled his shoulders. He reached out and jerked the water knob to the left, biting back a gasp against the cold that suddenly hit his back. His forehead thudded against the tile wall, and he tried to breathe.
Fuck. Fuck.
He was weak.
A few minutes later, he was out of the shower, pulling his clothes on. He made his way to the vent in the baby’s room and crouched down next to it to collect some cash. He didn’t really know why he was doing this. He hadn’t said yes, yet, and it was still Jesse’s fault he’d lost the money.
It’s the right thing to do, he thought. He wasn’t quite sure that was true, even. If anything, this was karma. Maybe this would be good for Jesse. A reality check.
Even as he thought, he deposited a few thousand dollars into a plastic bag, mind as distant from his actions as it could be. He wasn’t not going to give it to him. He didn’t think that was a possibility, even. He hauled himself to his feet and made his way to his bedroom, where the bathroom that Jesse was currently in was connected.
Almost the moment that Walt sat down, the door was opening. Annoyance twinged in his chest as a cloud of steam billowed out, but it dulled when Jesse stepped out, an exhausted, relieved expression on his face that inspired a contradictory combination of guilt and pride in Walt.
“I thought you weren’t leaving any hot water for me,” the kid deadpanned, eyes narrowed and hands tense. The annoyance returned. Couldn’t he just appreciate it? Why did he have to be such a damn brat?
“I didn’t feel like having a hot shower,” Walt replied succinctly. “Consider yourself lucky.” Jesse rolled his eyes. Walt could practically read his mind: bullshit. He scowled.
Then, his eyes fell to Jesse’s body, and it vanished. All he was wearing was a towel around his hips, which did frankly nothing to cover up his stick-thin midsection, delicate skin stretched over an array of ribs, all of which Walt could see.
He was so… so skinny. So small. And Walt had supposed he was, considering the drug usage, considering his weak punches, considering his weight, easy to throw around. But it was different actually seeing it for himself, for once not covered up by perpetually loose hoodies and baggy skater jeans.
“Yo, what are you staring at?” Jesse bit out, and Walt tore his eyes away. “I know I’m hot shit, but you’re old as hell, dude, and I ain’t into that.” It was a jeer, of course, but Walt didn’t miss the look of supreme discomfort in Jesse’s eyes. He didn’t like Walt looking at him, didn’t like being exposed like this in front of him.
The urge to push back came quickly. To tell him he was being stupid, that his body was even uglier than his annoying personality, that he wouldn’t want him if he was the last person on earth.
He didn’t. “Do you want some breakfast?” he asked instead. Jesse paused, confusion flashing over his face, then appreciation, before he remembered that he should be offended and his face turned flushed instead.
A beat paused. Those three emotions continued to battle in Jesse’s eyes, before finally, logic won over. He nodded slowly, and Walt smiled, feeling oddly relieved for the first time in days. At least he could cook for someone.
Someone who actually deserved it.