exsiliumlogs | I'm not sure who I am but I know who I've been.

Entry tags:

I'm not sure who I am but I know who I've been.

Date & Time: January 8
Location: initially the arrival area and then... wherever
Characters: Jesse & Steph & some others later
Summary: Jesse returns to Exsilium.
Warnings: So many Breaking Bad spoilers. So, so many. Like, for real, y'all. Also graphic descriptions of stuff.

[The second he opens his eyes and sees something other than the inside of a cell, he makes a break for it. What he does see makes little sense to him, but it couldn't matter less right now. There are way too many people. Maybe he should ask them for help - but he doesn't. He won't risk it. He shoulders past them, hobbling and nearly tripping over the shackles around his ankles. What he's doing can't be called running, exactly, but it's as close to it as he can get.

To anyone who might catch a glimpse of him among the new arrivals, he hardly looks like Jesse Pinkman anymore. His hair and beard both have grown out some, though that's the least of it. "Beaten to a pulp" is an all-too-accurate description of the state of his face, still bloody and raw and probably infected by now, because he's dirty, too. And stinking - of urine and meth lab and god-knows-what-else. Some of his wounds can't be seen, except for where the blood has soaked into his shirt, but from the way he's hunching, a few ribs must be broken. It doesn't help that his wrists are handcuffed and chained to his waist. The scorpion tattoo on his right hand helps to positively identify him.

He can't really see where he's going. One eye is swollen shut and the other isn't used to this much light. When he pushes his way out of the enclosed space and into the open air, he's altogether blinded by the glare of the sun and the snow. That same snow is impossible to wade through when he's in chains, and he falls as soon as his feet hit it, down onto his knees and then rolling onto his back.

He lets out a panicked scream when that happens, jerking and struggling to roll over again so that he can try to climb up. But he can't - not like this. That's the whole reason they tied him up this way. It doesn't take him long to reach that realization, and rather than keep fighting like that, he starts to crawl. It was cold in his cell and it's much colder now, the snow soaking into his clothes and freezing him, but he doesn't stop.

He has to keep going.]

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[Mike has a great poker face, but Jesse can always sense when the guy's pissed at him. And he's sensing it now. As far as he knows, he hasn't done anything to earn that ire - except accidentally disappear to the wrong corner of the universe for a month. And maybe Mike was worried, or maybe he thought Jesse ran off on purpose to avoid his probation, but he ought to at least yell about it. Get it over with.]

Sorry if, um... You know.

It wasn't like I wanted to go back.

[a lot of Mike's anger isn't directed at Jesse, though a good chunk of it is. The kid went missing, went home and god knows what happened there; it was probably a good thing that Ashraf healed Jesse before they decided to call Mike, or else things might've been a lot worse.

But Mike doesn't want to yell. Not right now, anyway]

I know. [he pauses, staring Jesse down]

You want to explain what happened before you were sent back?

[he won't call it a suicide. Not when he knew the kid was doing fine before all that]

[He meets Mike's eyes finally, his brow furrowing in confusion. As far as he remembers, nothing happened. Not that his memory's a thing to be trusted.]

[that's . . . odd. Mike frowns at him, then leans forward a bit]

What's the last thing you remember, kid?

[Well, now he's thinking maybe he went and fucked shit up. Did he get into a fight or something? A parole violation? No... Everything had been quiet since the moon. He'd been avoiding everyone, keeping his head down like he was supposed to. He's pretty sure Mike was the only person he'd seen for those last couple of days.]

I was here, wasn't I? Fixing stuff up around the house?

[Mike doesn't like where this is going. He frowns deeper, for just a moment, before he leans back again. His eyes don't stray from Jesse's]

And after that?

[He shakes his head. There is no after that. After that was him back in his own house, waking up to face Walter White knocking on his door.

But Mike asking him that must mean there was something that happened. He just doesn't remember it.]

...What'd I do?

[this isn't a conversation he wants to have. He figured Jesse would've known, considering for all appearances, the kid overdosed all on his own. You'd think someone would remember that, but . . . ]

You died. Overdosed.

[He shakes his head again, like he's not hearing right. His voice is very small:]

What?

[this is bullshit. This is bullshit and Mike shouldn't be the one explaining it.

But in the long run it's probably better that it is him, all things considered. It doesn't mean he has to like it, though]

I went out for a minute, remember? I came back, and there you were.

But I wasn't...

[Jesse trails off there, shutting his eyes for a moment as he tries to think back, tries to be sure so he doesn't end up lying to Mike. But he doesn't remember using. Like, at all. He doesn't think he'd even been smoking weed.]

Overdosed on what? What'd I overdose on?

Heroin.

[he's frowning again, angry, but it isn't directed at Jesse. Just . . . in general, this whole shitty situation, this good thing that's already starting to turn to shit]

I found a needle, too. I was damn sure you were clean.

I was clean.

[Heroin. Who got him heroin? Who got him to take heroin? The temptation's been gone ever since Jane. Mike ought to know that better than anyone.

Jesse sits back. A sick, sinking feeling twists in his stomach. Mike isn't lying, he knows that for sure. If he says he found Jesse with a needle, that's what happened. But it's the rest of it... How'd he find heroin and why'd he shoot it? How does he not remember it? It wouldn't have been easy, getting the stuff and hiding it from Mike. So - how?

Maybe he really is crazy.

Jesse's paler than he was a minute ago. He looks at Mike again like maybe Mike can figure out something he can't. Right now, signs are looking bad for Jesse's sanity.]

I know you were, kid.

[Mike knows. It's something he's good at; he knows the kid like the back of his hand, so he likes to think, and it bothers him that the kid doesn't even remember. Has no idea how he got the smack, from the looks of it.

He wants to say it doesn't matter, but it does. It does and he can't bring himself to lie to the kid to make it all better. He wants answers that Jesse can't give him, and all he's left with is—]

We'll figure this out. [it's the only thing he can really offer up. Because he's sure the kid wants to know what went down just as much as he does]

[It makes sense and it doesn't. Junkie. Dope. Of course it happens. Maybe he's kidding himself, thinking he wouldn't have done it. A shadow crosses his face as that sinks in. Why's he even trying to make sense of his own brain anymore? It lies to him as much as anybody else does.

He swallows.]

You found me. You found me... like that.

[The way he'd found Jane.]

That's what I said.

[dead, on the floor with a needle nearby]

...I'm sorry.

[he doesn't want an apology. Not for something he should have prevented, and not for something that sent the kid home to deal with whatever the hell]

Stay away from any of that shit and I'll consider accepting that.

I will. I swear.

[Because his word means so much, yeah. But he means it right now, as much as he can mean anything.]

You better.

[he'll make sure the kid stays clean, even if he has to resort to being an actual parole officer - searches and all.

He isn't dealing with that again. Not when it's Jesse]

It's your turn, now.

Y-Yeah. Um.

[He clears his throat, swiping his palm over his eyes. Christ, where does he begin with this?]

Things got real bad. Back home.

[Mike assumed as much. By the way Jesse was acting, by the state of his clothes—]

How bad?

[he isn't sure he wants to know]

He got sick of my shit. I mean, of course he did. But he did something about it, finally.

[A cold bitterness creeps into Jesse's voice and stays there.]

At first, he tried to do it quiet, 'cause the heat was coming down on me. Him and Saul, some bullshit about getting me outta town. Who the hell knows what they were gonna do with me if I went along with it. Were probably gonna gimme the same send-off they gave you.

Anyway, I snapped when I started putting things together. Went after Saul first, busted him up pretty bad. Then I went and tried to burn Mr. White's house down.

His brother-in-law - Schrader - he caught me at it. Lighter and gasoline and everything.

Putting things together—like what? Don't just gloss over the details.

[because this is Mike you're talking to, Jesse. Those details are important, especially when it comes to possible reappearances by certain meth kingpins]

[Glossing over is so much easier than talking about it. Jesse takes a breath.]

It goes back... Back when we were working for Gus, Mr. White had me carrying this capsule of ricin in one of my cigarettes. I was supposed to use it. On Gus. You know, first chance I got.

Except, you know, Mexico. Everything was different after that. Gus was okay with keeping Mr. White alive, just firing him, and I was working in the lab, and everything was okay with us, right? Except Mr. White, who was all crazy paranoid thinking Gus was still after him.

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