Chapter Text
“Such a good show, such a good show, such a good show!” Justin is literally bouncing up and down on the loft’s orange couch.
He grabs his mug of hot tea from the coffee table, which Alex thinks is pretty stupid considering it’s June, and balmy outside, and he’s not elderly.
He’s excitedly pointing to the periodic table design on the side of his cup. “Yeah, science!”
Alex has a mouthful of potato chips, slouched as far away from him as possible. It’s past ten on a Sunday night, so their parents are asleep, and Max is doing who knows what somewhere that isn’t the living room. “Gosh, Justin, is it like your job to make cool things as nerdy as possible?”
Justin sips his tea with a smug smile. “Excuse me, but if it wasn’t for my ‘nerdy’ tastes, you would have never even heard of Breaking Bad. Ever think of it that way? Huh?”
His voice is hitting that high pitch that she’s pretty sure only trolls can hear or like when she walks in on him playing with his Jim Bob Sherwood Space Cadet dolls, and she winces. “Puh-lease, if I hadn’t gotten Mono from Riley and been stranded on this couch for a week then I wouldn’t have been here to like hold your hand through that awesome early first season episode when Emilio’s bloody body mush falls out from the bottom of Jesse’s bathtub.”
She squishes a pickle chip between her fingers. “Gore would really make everything better: mom’s telenovelas, those Mr. Clean commercials where everyone’s way too excited about mildew, my algebra class. But, you couldn’t handle just a little bit of drug dealer brain-goo because you’re insanely squeamish.”
Justin scoffs, stirring his tea. “Squeamish? My all-time favorite rock band is T.O.B., Tears of Blood. Their hottest song is ‘Crying Blood for You.’”
“Yeah, and it came out in like 1980-something. Also, newsflash: the only people who say ‘rock band’ when not referring to the video game are ancient and forty. Just say ‘band’ like a normal seventeen year old boy.”
The door to the terrace slides open and Max strolls inside covered head-to-toe in peacock feathers and some sort of yellow goop. He splays his arms out, surveys his clothes, and shrugs. “Goodnight.” He walks upstairs.
Alex shakes her head and nibbles on a chip. “The loft is going to smell like that for weeks.”
Justin nods, switches off the T.V., and grins. “I really wish I could spend the rest of my summer vacation stalking them in Albuquerque. I cannot believe Jesse shot Gale! Did he really shoot him? What will the psychological ramifications of such a violent act have on Jesse? Why do I have to wait an entire year before season four starts?”
Alex wants to shove a pillow down Justin’s throat, because really, everything doesn’t need to be picked apart. And, she’s not completely sure what ‘ramifications’ means other than a pretty funny image of a boy lamb behind a turntable, because that would be the best D.J. handle for a farm animal ever. But, shockingly, Justin’s said something not stupid.
“Technically, we don’t have to wait a whole year for fourth season.”
He stands up, straightening the cushions. “I’m pretty sure we do considering they’ve just started filming yesterday, nine AM mountain time.”
Alex raises an eyebrow.
“What? I follow Aaron Paul on Twitter.”
She fake-coughs into her fist, “Man-crush.”
He’s gathering all her snack wrappers from the coffee table, and rolls his eyes. “Alex, we both know that if I were, emphasize on ‘were,’ to have a so-called man-crush on anyone on Breaking Bad, it would be Bryan Cranston. He just doesn’t have a Twitter account.”
He stacks their dishes, and places them quietly in the sink. “You’re the one who’s in love with Jesse.”
Alex stands with her Navajo blanket wrapped around her, watching Justin clean up like a total chump. “For someone who’s practically babysat Cupid, you use ‘love’ way too casually. I am not in love with Jesse.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” he says. “If you need me, I’ll be studying for our hand magic quiz on Tuesday.”
It isn’t until she hears his bedroom door close that she realizes he’s distracted her from her evil scheming, and she does a broad, unnecessary scan of the living room before tiptoeing into the lair. She slides behind the front table and heaves their giant spell book open. And she has no idea where to start.
“Okay,” she says. She’s pretty sure these things come with a page near the beginning that tells you where stuff is, but she’s not looking to rip off any of her skull and bones press-on nails. Flipping to pages at random has worked out pretty good in the past anyway.
After five or so minutes, she reaches a section about time travel and universes and other things she never pays attention to during wizard lessons. She really just wants a spell that will go into the future and deliver a nice, fourth season box set ready to pop into the DVD player, like right now. Honestly, the print in this thing is so tiny she’s leaning about as close to the book as her dad does to an open door of a bakery. There’s one of those ant-fryer spy glass things that kids use in detective shows on the corner of the table, and she grabs it. Justin had a lame presentation on this magic spy glass a couple of days ago. She was texting Harper about the new fro-yo flavors at ‘Gurtbarn, but she vaguely remembers hearing Justin saying something about the thing-a -ma-bob making spells easier.
She’s muttering “Breaking Bad” as her fingertip finds a button on the handle, and she presses it. The line directly underneath the glass lights up like a Broadway name. And just as the familiar electrical sound of magic sizzles nearby, she remembers why this tool is helpful. It’s a shortcut to memorizing spells. Because you just point, click, and presto: you’ve ruined everyone’s day. Well, that last part really only applies to her.
She tries to read whatever it is that’s about to happen, but of course this is one of those annoying spells that hasn’t been translated from Latin. Before she can do anything else, a blue glow hovers over the lair’s recliner and morphs into the form of a guy. He’s wearing Air Force Ones, baggy jeans with his legs splayed, and a giant, mustard-yellow hoodie. His head’s tipped back, eyes closed, beer to his lips.
Alex latches a hand over her mouth because she definitely did not just squeak. But if she did, which she didn’t, she really wouldn’t be too hard on herself considering Jesse-freaking-Pinkman is sitting like twenty feet away. Jesse Pinkman is sucking down a bottle of beer in the lair, looking so him, maybe drunk, and absolutely hot.
The bottle is empty when he opens his eyes, and it’s shattered on the ground by the time he’s standing with that startled owl-look he gets when he’s defensive or bugging out. “What…the…hell?”
She props an elbow on the table, flashing her most comforting smile, and does one of those finger waves she usually hates. Screw it, she’s nervous. “Hi.”
His “hi” sounds a lot slower and deeper, and hearing it feels like a splash of pool water on a sunburn.
He rubs his face with both hands. “Shit, I knew that guy looked sketch as shit. Douchebag spiked my weed. Badger vouched for him, fucking red flag. Shit, shit, shit.”
“Whoa!” Alex says. “Never take advice from Badger. The dude can’t even flip a sign right. Come on, Jesse.”
His palms slide to the back of his neck. “What did you say?”
Alex mashes her lips together into a line.
He stomps up to the table, glaring. Up close, like probably two feet away, Alex can see from the way he’s looking at her that he’s not quite focused. She’s pretty sure he’s on something.
“Yo, how do you know my name, bitch?”
Alex grips the neckline of her camisole. Of course she’s in her pajamas when she meets Jesse Pinkman. That’s really an afterthought, because, oh my, gosh, she’s beaming harder than Justin at PopCon. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
“Yeah,” he says. He slaps the table, and leans forward. “Why are you happy about that?”
He squints. “And why do look familiar?”
She flips her hair over her shoulder, elbow back on the desk. “I look familiar?”
He’s studying her, and Alex thinks this is a place she’d like to live forever, but then he snaps his fingers and points. “You’re Hannah Montana. Yeah, Jake watches this show. You wear a blonde wig and like your dad had that shitty line dancing song from the 90s. And you talk in a super annoying…nasally…. Yo, why aren’t you talking with a Southern accent?”
“Blonde wig? Southern accent? Is this like some role-playing thing you want to do? Because to be honest, I’m pretty killer at speaking British. And I have this cute, red plaid mini skirt that I got on sale at Suburban Outfitters that I swiped from an English chick while she was texting someone. I also have a red bra.” She tries to shift her hair to her other shoulder, but knocks over a stack of flying carpet manuals like an idiot. She pops a hand to her waist and grins. “I’m Alex.”
Jesse gives her a lingering onceover, leans closer. “How old are you?” He winces. “Forget it. I haven’t had a wet dream since like ninth grade, and I’m probably too wasted to do anything. Shit, why do you look so familiar?”
She shrugs. “No idea. But, I can tell you that you are so not asleep right now.”
Jesse closes his eyes, grabbing a handful of his hair. “Yo, if this isn’t a dream, I’m tripping balls like no other.”
Alex is fully aware that revealing magic to the world is wrong and unethical and blah, blah, blah, but Jesse isn’t really a real person. It’s like what they say, rules are made to be broken, and loopholes are the bomb. “Hypothetically, what would you say if I told you I was a wizard, and I know everything about you because your life is a T.V. show and I summoned you here by accident?”
He shoves his hand in his back pocket.
Alex does not feel like getting shot in the face, so she whips her wand out from her UGG boot. She’s got it inches from his chest, the end glowing, and she realizes the only thing he’s carrying is a pack of cigarettes.
He slips one between his lips. “That’s a dope Harry Potter wand. Skinny Pete and Badger have ones that like make noises and shit.”
Just as he strikes his lighter, Alex flicks her wand. The flame goes out, his cigarettes cracks in half, and he shoots back into the recliner. “Dude, don’t smoke in the lair. This place doubles as a cooler for my family’s sub shop. Can’t have the cold cuts smelling like an ash tray.”
He spits out the butt of his cigarette with a terrified expression. “Yo, why can’t I move?”
“Oh, I paralyzed you from the neck down.” Alex says this casually like she’s giving him directions to Brooklyn.
She strolls over and sits on the armrest, reaching out to barely graze her fingers over the stubble on his jaw because she can, and she’s still a little stunned. Her head is in dark, exciting places, and she has to blink a few times before she’s pulled it out of the gutter.
“Okay, I think it’s pretty obvious that you’re not going to believe anything I say until we get this out of the way.” She takes a deep breath through her nose. “Your name is Jesse Pinkman. You were born and raised in the ABQ and have a younger brother named Jake who is an overachieving geek, feel ya on that one, and you live at your Aunt Ginny’s house. She passed away from cancer, and at some point you started to sell meth with this dumbass Emilio guy. He ended up as human Slurpee in your bathtub.”
She pauses, a little proud of how attentive he is. “Walter White, who used to be your chemistry teacher, saw you slipping out of the window of some MILF’s house during a bust, and he blackmailed you into selling meth with him. First you guys were in an RV, but like that didn’t work out. Tuco kidnapped you, Hank killed him, and now you’re working for Gustavo Fring who is like the creepiest badass I’ve ever seen. He hooked you guys up with a sweet lab, you know, when it’s not contaminated by a fly and Victor isn’t watching you like a Hispanic gargoyle.”
She taps her chin. “Oh, and your meth is blue because you stopped using cough syrup and stuff, and it has this other junk in it called menthol or something.”
“Methylamine,” he says. He licks the corner of his mouth, looking dazed. “How do you know all this shit?”
Alex sighs, because didn’t she already go over this? “I’m a wizard, and I’ve watched your life as a T.V. show. It’s called Breaking Bad. Tonight was the season three finale. And just to hurry this whole thing along, I can prove that by saying I watched you cap Gale in the face.”
“What?” A strange mix of panic and confusion flickers over his features. “I didn’t do anything to that guy. I barely know him. Gus fired him after I got out of the hospital. Yo, I don’t even have a piece.”
Something that may be guilt flares up in her gut like the nauseous feeling she gets when she’s had too many hot garlic Buffalo wings, but she’s not positive, because guilt really isn’t her thing. “Interesting. Have you met a girl named Andrea?”
“Nah, like I don’t think so.”
“Tan skin, dark hair, less hot version of me?”
He shakes his head.
“You know, Brock’s mom. Brock?” She playfully punches his arm, but he just stares where her fist was. “He’s a little kid who doesn’t talk much, but like pulls on your heartstrings or whatever, so you don’t try to sell crystal to the mother of a small child.”
He balks, seeming for real confused.
“She’s in your NA group that you’re using to sling dope onto because Fring won’t meet with you and you feel shafted. You’re skimming product off the top to prove to everyone you still have balls,” she laughs, “Bitch.”
Jesse appears to think this over. “Not gonna lie, that’s a sweet plan. I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about taking a little off the side. But like, I didn’t think about going after like a niche or whatever. You think I could, you know, borrow that idea? Maybe cut you in a little of the profit and you can like let me go home and not kill me with weird wizard shit?”
“It’s your idea, and I would never kill you.” She pats his chest, kind of lingers too long, and pulls back with a nervous chuckle. “So, you believe me now, right?”
“Well, I can’t feel most of my body and you know shit that like no one else does. So, yeah.”
“Awesome!” She smiles with her wand raised. Just because she has no idea of how to get him back into the word of his show, doesn’t mean he needs to know that. Clearing her throat, she makes a spectacle of lowering her wand back to her lap with an eye-thing she thinks looks like she’s hesitating.
“Hear me out for a sec. I could blip you back to your sad, lonely house in New Mexico so you can watch Walt spend an entire day flipping out over a fly, which I’m pretty sure is what you’d go back to. Or you could play hooky with me, and play video games.”
“Yo, my arms don’t work, bitch.”
She lifts her wand to softly bob him on the nose. “Promise you won’t run?”
“Yeah.” With a flick of her wrist, he slumps forward. “That felt so weird. It’s like my bones hurt.”
She pats his chest again, because she doesn’t do apologizes, and touching him is really fun. “So, have you ever played Mortal Kombat?”
“Duh,” he says, rolling his shoulders into the back of the chair.
“Well, have you ever played Mortal Kombat with 3-D voice-activated holograms with real swords and ninja stars? Guess what? I already know you haven’t.” She stands and pulls him up to his feet. “Do you want to be the blue icy one or the orange one with the bug name?”
“Psh, I’m always Sub Zero.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna…melt you…like…a puddle.” She cringes, because wow, that was Justin-trying-to-flirt-with-a-customer lame.
“Nice smack talk.”
She grabs a control from where she hid it in the book shelf and tosses it to him. “Just stand there and look cute while I karate chop you to pieces.”
“Sure you will.” He smirks, fiddles with remote. “Yo, how do you work this thing?”
She jabs her thumbs into the A and B buttons, yelling, “Round one!”
Their players are projected to life in exaggerated Kung-Fu fighting stances.
“Roundhouse kick!”
And Jesse’s hologram drops like a water balloon from the terrace. A somewhat racially insensitive Asian male voice bellows, “Sub Zero, K.O.”
Alex sighs when she’s sees him all frustrated and sore loser-y. So she walks over, and points out all the buttons and explains it. And being fair really requires way too much talking. But, he seems to appreciate the effort. Once he’s got the freezing move down, he grins and nudges her arm. This is the best night ever.
---
Alex feels something yank her arm hard enough to like dislocate her shoulder. The light in the lair is still on. Her feet are propped up on the table with the rest of her body snug against something soft that smells like that basement party she went to last week: weed, beer, and Axe body spray. Still exhausted, she remembers this is Jesse, and nestles closer into his jacket.
“Alex!” Crap. Only one person stage-whispers like that.
Before she can sit up, Justin hauls her off the couch. It’s not until they’re standing by the portal window that she notices he’s changed clothes; equally dorky ones, but definitely a new outfit.
“What day is it?”
Justin scowls at her. “It’s Monday morning.”
He clutches her chin with one hand and shines his mini Star Wars flash lights in her eyes. “Alex Russo, are you inebriated?”
She shakes him off. “Speak English.”
“Are you drunk?”
“What? I haven’t had alcohol in…ever.”
He rolls his eyes. “Alex, I’ve seen you drunk-eat Chunky Monkey on enough Saturdays at three in the morning on the kitchen floor to know that’s a load of baloney. And, I just disposed of broken glass from a beer bottle on the floor. And,” his whisper takes on a scandalized hissing effect, “Aaron Paul is clearly passed out on the couch! I know I made that stalking joke earlier, which, note to self: never do that in front of you again. But, that’s completely different than teleporting/kidnapping Aaron Paul from New Mexico so you can….” He makes vague gestures with his hands that either mean breakdance-fighting or sex. She’s not sure.
“We just played a bunch of video games last night. The 3-D ones got pretty exhausting so we switched over to normal Need for Speed, and I guess we just fell asleep.”
“What about the beer bottle?”
“It was his. He only had one.”
“It is still an enormous wizard ethical no-no to even play video games with whomever you want whenever you want, especially when they’re filming the greatest television show of all time.” He glances over at Jesse, and narrows his eyes. “Wait. Why is Aaron Paul dressed like Jesse Pinkman? By the time I left you in the living room, they would have been done shooting for the day.”
Alex does her best like-I-give-a-crap shrug. “Maybe he’s being like method or whatever.”
Justin seems to mull this over as Jesse jerks awake, takes in the glare of the overhead light, and buries his face into the couch. “Yo, I need like mad amounts of Advil right now.”
Justin cocks his head to the side. His face pales. “Alex, is that Jesse Pinkman?”
Jesse turns his head to them, heavily squinting. “Gatorade me, bitch.”
Alex is laughing so hard she almost doesn’t hear when Justin yelps out a, “Definitely Jesse!”
He grabs her elbow and tugs her to the front table, still whispering for some reason. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to find a spell that would let me…us…watch the fourth season now, and I used this,” she lifts the spy glass, “whatchamacallit because the words are so small and well….” She points to Jesse who’s still muttering about his headache.
“Alex, you used the Spy Spell? Were you not listening at all during my thoroughly researched, eloquently recited twenty minute presentation?”
She responds with a blank stare.
He nods. “Right, should have known that already, context clues and whatnot. So, what spell did you highlight?”
Alex turns to the spell book on the floor, which is still opened, but not anywhere near where she remembers reading from it. A light breeze of regret wafts through her brain before she pulls up one of those no-shits-were-given expressions that her teachers love so much. “I may not remember the name off the top of my head.”
The veins in Justin’s neck are getting all purple and angry.
She clasps her hands together. “But, I can narrow it down by telling you it was in Latin.”
Justin’s eye twitches, and she’s reminded how this kid is like one Adderall and an A minus away from a complete mental breakdown. “Alex, there are over 500 spells still in their original Latin translation. Please tell me you know something, anything else about the spell.”
She presses her fingertips against her forehead. “Uh, well, it was in the section about galaxies or like universes and stuff. I think.”
He nods, arms crossed. “Okay, that at least narrows it down to approximately fifty or sixty. We can work with that.”
Just as Alex is thinking of a way to throw all this junk on Justin, she realizes Jesse is slumped against the desk, looking all bleary-eyed and beautiful.
“Yo, Alex, what’s a guy got to do around here to get some Gatorade?”
“We have PowerAde out in the soda fountain, which I’m sure my brother would love to get for you.” She gives Justin a push, but he’s staring at Jesse, mesmerized.
Justin actually waves, like a little-kid-in-front-of-Mickey-Mouse-wave. “I’m Justin!”
Jesse clearly gives no shits. “I’m thirsty, bitch.”
Justin gleefully gapes, turning to Alex. “Did you hear that? He called me a b-word!”
“What is wrong with you people? Does bitch mean like something different here?” He straightens himself, stumbles a few feet. “Shit, I’m just gonna find some water.”
“No!” Justin says. He seems slightly embarrassed for yelling. “One PowerAde coming up.”
He scampers off to the sub shop, and since Alex doesn’t have a lot of time, she’s got her wand out before the door’s shut.
“Last night ruled the body, now I rule the mind, still ill, now it’s killed.” Alex points her wand at Jesse, the blue aura around him dissolving as she smiles. “Best hangover cure ever.”
He’s patting himself down like he’s searching for his keys. Or maybe he’s just not used to magically-cured sicknesses; weird. “That was tight. I like don’t feel anything.”
Alex nods reverently. “Yeah, really helps when you’re grandmother’s in town, and you get dragged to a seven AM mass after you did like seven Jell-O shots the night before, and your mouth tastes like skittles and death.”
He laughs and looks like he wants to say something, but Justin’s jogging back with a large Waverly Place cup.
“I wasn’t sure if you were more of a Fruit Punch or Mountain Blast kind of guy. So, I got Mountain Blast because it’s blue.” Justin proudly hands him the drink.
“Get it? It’s blue, like your ‘product.’” Justin winks.
“Good one.” Jesse gives Alex one of those can-you-believe-this-guy glances, and she can’t believe how quickly he’s fitting in. “So, I guess you’re a wizard too.” He downs about half of his drink. “Does everybody know about me here or just like you and Alex?”
“That is an excellent question. Isn’t it, Alex?” Justin’s jerking his chin in her direction like someone’s lurking behind her back. But, when she turns around, it’s just the same old bookshelf that’s always there. “Never mind. Well, not everyone per se knows who you are. It’s more of a select group of cultured individuals with refined tastes in pop culture…and Alex.”
“Right, not sure if that was an insult, but I’ll let ya have it anyway,” Alex says. She has way more important, Jesse-filled things to do than translate nerd-burn. “Now, I think that you should finish that thing we talked about, you know, the whole Latin translation project, and I can show Jesse around New York.”
Jesse grins. “Yo, we’re in New York?”
Justin swings Alex around so her back’s to Jesse, huddled close like when they conference-out a way to ditch Max after school. “Alex, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to frolic around the city with a fictional drug addict who is most likely carrying a firearm.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. This Jesse is like from right after he went back to work at the lab. And you know what that means, right?” She smirks, nodding. He doesn’t respond, and gosh, he’s so hopeless. “He’s single, you dummy.”
“Who cares? Look….”
“No, you listen. Mom and Dad are going to be awake like super soon, and I don’t think they’ll be too happy if they see us harboring a meth-head. Just let me keep him occupied for a few hours while you find the spell, and we’ll send him back before Mom’s ten cheese enchilada surprise is out of the oven for dinner.”
“A few hours? Alex, it’s eight-thirty in the morning. Dinner won’t be until seven, and that’s only if pro-wrestling isn’t on tonight.”
Alex nearly gags. “Gross! I’m awake before noon?” She pinches the back of her neck. “So we’ll be gone for most of the day. We’ll get out of your overly-gelled, stupid hair, and you can concentrate. Then we can meet back in my room.”
He frowns. “Fine. But, try to stay within the limits of all New York state federal laws.”
“What’s that? I think my selective hearing is being weird.” She slaps his shoulder, turning back to Jesse fidgeting with his lighter. “Hey, you ready to go?”
His smile makes her feel like she’s chain-drinking Red Bull. “Hell, yeah, bitch.”