jesse pinkman was six and flinched as his father brought a wooden spoon down on his palm. it didn't sting immediately. initially, the sound had been enough to freak jesse out, but after his fingers began to tingle, somewhere after the third hit, he realized how badly he'd messed up. he was sent to bed early with no supper, and tears streaming down his face.
they did not tell him what he had done wrong.
they did not speak to him for the rest of the day.
mostly though, jesse blamed his mom who had let his dad use her wooden spoons in the first place, and who'd turned a blind eye when a wooden spoon turned into his father's right hand.
-
jesse pinkman was twelve when he was first caught smoking cigarettes outside on the old playset that had been in their backyard since they'd moved in.
he braced himself.
and yet, nothing happened. his dad just told him to go to his room.
they did not tell him what he had done wrong.
they did not speak to him for the rest of the day.
jesse pinkman did not get a wink of sleep, too wary of what his parents were planning.
the next morning at breakfast, they invited him to sit.
it was a peculiar sort of fear. sort of an anxiety stewing in your throat and in your stomach at the same time. the pervasive inability to look anyone in the eye lingered with jesse, and swallowing a dry, dry mouth, he sat.
he was grounded for a month, and his parents told him they'd expected better from him. cigarettes? really? they said if jesse got sick, got cancer, anything, it was his fault. he'd be in charge of paying for his own medical expenses, and god knew they weren't cheap. he'd seen his aunt, hadn't he? how could he do something so stupid? his parents had given him everything. why would he want to smoke cigarettes? how could he be so stupid? then again, if this was the life path he wanted to choose, the front door was right there. he could leave whenever he wanted.
tears slid down his cheeks and they were hot, and guilty, and he felt horrible. like a rat was gnawing through his stomach up through his ribcage and wriggling around in his heart. he sobbed and shook at the breakfast table at nine in the morning. his dad just stared at him and said, "man up. if you can smoke cigarettes without telling us, you can stop crying like the sissy you're being right now".
-
jesse pinkman was eighteen and had just broken an antique lamp that belonged to badger's grandmother, and almost immediately, the rat was back in his ribcage, screaming and biting to get out.
he'd been staying the weekend at badger's house, and they'd gotten stoned- something jesse had recently found he enjoyed quite a bit. stumbling around, looking for snacks, he'd bumped quite heavily into a cabinet, and watched as a lamp with a glass shade dove to the ground.
the clattering of the glass spreading itself across the floor snapped jesse out of his stupor and he felt his heart leap into his throat.
"what was that?" badger said, sitting up on the couch, yawning. jesse was frozen on the spot, staring at the scene like he'd just murdered someone. "man are you good?"
"im so sorry." jesse mumbled, looking over to his friend.
"what happened?"
"i wasn't looking where i was going- i- im sorry- i bumped into the lamp- i mean the cabinet-"
"hey don't worry about it. my abuela has like a million of those things."
"yeah but it was glass, we should clean up, maybe she won't notice." jesse said, breathlessly.
"okay," badger said, yawning again and getting up from the couch, stretching.
jesse, despite having just resolved to cleaning up the mess, still stood frozen, chest steadily going up and down. he'd begun hyperventilating and he didn't even know it.
"hey, jess? dude? are you ok?" badger asked with slightly more sincerity.
"yeah im fine." jesse said, rubbing his eye only to find his hands were shaking. he wasn't even sure if it was from the lamp or the weed. "i just- i should go- im sorry." he said, his voice quivering.
"dude no it's fine. look, come sit down on the couch. i think you're freaking out a little bit."
carefully, badger guided his friend to sit down. jesse didn't fight it. on the outside, he appeared blank, staring ahead, frowning, but on the inside his mind was racing like a mouse in a wheel.
he'd broken the lamp he'd broken something that wasnt his hed made a mess hed fucked up jesse you fucked up the worlds gonna end now because of you you messed up the house is gonna fall into a sinkhole and its gonna be your fault and the cops are gonna come get you and your parents arent gonna bail you out again and your mom is gonna sit in front of your cell and laugh at you because youre stupid youre so stupid jesse the worlds gonna end its starting now its melting down around you it's crumbling and falling and its all your fault.
jesse pinkman did not get a wink of sleep, and waited anxiously for badgers grandmother to wake the next morning.
he waited for a rain of scorn that never came.
badger's grandma, a little lady no taller than five feet, shuffling around in a light blue nightgown with little white stars on it- little estrellas as she called them, smiled at him endearingly.
"why do you look so scared, mijo? it's just a silly lamp, i've got a million of them."
"i don't know..." jesse trailed off. "i thought you'd be mad."
"oh, you're just boys. boys break stuff. but that's okay. because no one got hurt, right? the sun still rose and the world's still spinning," she told him, not a modicum of upset visible in her expression.
"dios mio, i should tell you about some of the stuff brandon broke. it's a miracle that boy is still alive, god help him," she laughed, shaking her head. "come, i'll make you some breakfast. are you allergic to gluten, or was that your other friend peter?"
-
jesse pinkman was twenty-four and hadn't been hit in the face in ten years.
he didn't really know what was going on? he thinks he slept last night, but he wasn't entirely sure? he doesn't know if he's still high, or if he's sobered up by now, but his hands are shaking again, or they were, and he didn't realize he'd added too much of one beaker to the other until it was too late.
he didn't even realize walter had struck him across the face until he was on the floor of the winnebago staring at a speck of dirt they'd tracked in at some point.
it didn't sting immediately.
jesse zoned back in.
"yo, what the hell bitch?" he yelled, getting up.
he'd been taught to respond with anger.
"oh come on, that wasn't even that hard, you're so dramatic." walter scoffed, going back to work.
"oh sorry, did i put in the wrong measurements? here lemme fix it." jesse said sarcastically, going to dump some random bottle of blue stuff into another huge thing of whatever. none of it mattered anyways.
his cheek was bright red.
walter had his hands on him again, and jesse reacted the only way he knew how.
he shoved the old man back, and something exploded into walter's eyes.
walter rushed out of the van, wincing and groaning in pain, dumping a bottle of water onto his face, clearing out whatever had gotten into his vision.
jesse realized quick enough that he'd screwed up once more.
they sat in two white lawn chairs watching the sun go down over the Albuquerque horizon. jesse bounced his leg. waiting.
"you could have blinded me." walter said, grimacing.
"yeah, well, you're fine though, right?" jesse said. he was done, god he was so done with everyone and everything all of the time. it felt like the world was crushing him into a grain of sand.
"barely. i got lucky. and thanks to you, another batch got wasted."
"fuck you. you're the one who hit me."
"are you still on about that? god, jesse, get over it will you. you were messing up the batch. and you did mess up the batch. you just messed up. again."
"look, man,"
"don't interrupt me. just listen once, for gods sake, shut up and listen. you do this every time, you dont come to work prepared, and then you mess up, and i have to deal with the consequences of your actions. im taking the blame for stuff i didn't even do."
"it was your idea, yo!" jesse shouted at him, incredulous.
"see, here you go again. not listening. what did your father hurt you when you were little? is that why you're like this? jesse, let me tell you something. you are broken. and i am trying to help you. im giving you an opportunity, and you're not taking it because you dont care about anything or anyone but yourself. you're so low, i dont even know why i- you know what? this is ridiculous. im not repeating myself. i think i said it clear enough. you're a broken, broken person, and im trying to help you but you refuse to see that."
the air was quiet for the first time in days. it was silent. not even the cicadas hummed.
after a while, jesse spoke again.
"yknow what? im going home. i'll hitchhike back. fuck you."
-
in retrospect, it was a genuinely stupid idea, and jesse pinkman looked like a fool walking through the desert in clothes that were absolutely not appropriate for the setting. it was freezing, and his beanie wasn't nearly thick enough to keep his head warm, even if it was pulled down all the way over his ears. he kept blowing into his fists in a pitiful attempt to keep fingers warm that were already red and numb.
walter hadn't stopped him.
maybe he really did want jesse dead.
maybe that's what jesse deserved.
-
mike ehrmantraut was sleeping soundly in his bed when some fucking idiot decided to give him a ring at one in the morning. naturally he was a little cranky picking up the phone.
jesse had never been so happy to have someone mad at him.
-
he found the boy shivering, dehydrated, and damn near hypothermic at the break of daylight. mike wrapped him in a blanket he kept in the backseat for kaylee, and blasted the heater as warm as it would go.
jesse was despondent and silent for the first half of the drive home. however once they got back onto paved road, jesse seemed slightly more alive. he looked like he had something burning on the tip of his tongue, but he was too scared to let it out. too scared to tell mike how much it hurt.
"talk to me." mike sighed.
"what do you mean."
"that. talk to me."
"about what? there's nothing to talk about." jesse brushed aside.
"we could start with that bruise on your face."
"what bruise."
"kid- dont play games with me. i drove out all the way into the desert to save your ass like some mother picking up her daughter from a party she wasn't enjoying. the least you can do is tell me the goddamn truth."
jesse clenched his jaw, then glanced over at mike.
"do you think im broken?"
"do i think you're broken?" mike repeated, more taken aback by the question than actually pondering it.
"yeah...like, yeah."
mike frowned.
"now who told you that?"
"doesn't matter." jesse shrugged, glancing at his feet.
"was it the same person who gave you that bruise?"
jesse didn't answer, but they both knew it was "yes", and they both knew what "yes" looked like.
-
mike's house was simple, but jesse had never needed much. his couch pulled out into a bed and jesse couldn't help but stare at it with a mix of amazement and joy.
"alright. go nuts. there's blankets and pillows in the closet down the hall, take all the ones you need. you can use the bathroom too if you want, take a shower if you're still cold."
when jesse got out of the bathroom, he found that mike had made the couch-bed, and that there was a bowl of soup waiting on a tray for him.
"i don't think you're broken." mike said, briefly shuffling into the living room again. "i think whoever had the heart or lack thereof to tell you that has some nerve, and i think it's stupid that they put conditions like that on life. i think its stupid to tell kids stuff like that and then not explain "why". because a lot of the times there isn't a "why". it's just parents being dicks. and i dont know if that's relevant to this or not, but jesus christ, kid, you are not broken." he emphasized, pointing a finger right at jesse's heart, and for once the rat inside his ribcage settled.
jesse pinkman drifted off on a bed that was also a couch and for once in his life had the relief of getting a good night's rest. of sleeping in a place he knew no one could or wanted to hurt him. where he was safe.