Archive of Our Own

Ethan should have known he wouldn't die, even when his lungs gave out, even when he felt his heart slow, even when he knew he was no longer just flesh and blood but primarily bad luck and mold. He should have known he couldn't die.

But he would have liked to, would have liked to rest, to close his eyes and not dread what he saw when he opened them. He would have liked to be…well. That was the problem, wasn't it? 'Normal' meant he was not a bioweapon, a mutant, a monster, but normal meant he never would have survived any of the eldritch nightmares he had seen.

It didn't matter much, because he wasn't normal and he hadn't been for a long time. Maybe he'd known that since the beginning, the uncertain wriggle when Mia promised that he was fine, when he said they were moving on, when he swore to Rose that she would never have to worry about what he and Mia had gone through.

Ethan should have known he wouldn't die.

The ramshackle hut he woke in was a surprise, though. He didn't remember much after he'd given Rose to Chris—he'd set off the bomb, hadn't he? But there was snow and pain and movement, sensation stolen in snippets like a reflection on troubled water. Maybe he'd dragged himself to this hut while half conscious…all the way out of the blast zone.

Ethan pushed himself upright, slow, slow, limbs so stiff, how long had he been in this tiny bed? The room was cold, but a normal cold, not Eveline's purgatory cold, and nothing was trying to eat him alive. All good things, for now.

His coat had been removed and was hanging off the back of the chair, and beneath that, most of his clothes. They looked like they'd been cleaned—or, at least, had the worst of the muck rinsed off them.

Ethan sat up and flexed his hands. The fingers on his left hand hadn't grown back, but the ragged bite had healed over, the skin thin and pink. And that was ignoring where he had been stabbed with hooks, the faint scars from where his hand had been cut off and stapled back on. In fact, none of his injuries were much more than fading scar tissue, not his calf, not his abdomen, not even the place on his chest where—

Someone moved in the room beyond, making Ethan tense.

"Chris?" he rasped, grimacing as his voice cut his throat. "Duke? Who's…who's there?'

"Someone far more fun."

Ethan's brain stuttered when Heisenberg stepped into view. He wasn't wearing his usual hat and glasses, though there wasn't much that could hide his cocky swagger.

"What the fuck," Ethan breathed. He clenched his hands, but he had no weapons. Not that they would be much good against Heisenberg, anyway. "What do you want?"

"To congratulate you on not being braindead, mostly. That means we can head out."

"Head—are you out of your fucking mind? Why—why am I here?"

Heisenberg tilted his head, the arrogant smirk falling from his face. Ethan bit his tongue when it was replaced with that cold, calculating look from the factory. He had weighed Ethan's life with bland boredom and found him wanting, and that was before Ethan was a dead man walking.

"I didn't want you to die. It seemed a waste, after everything," Heisenberg said, waving his hand for emphasis. Ethan still flinched back, expecting a knife to sink into his chest.

"I tried to kill you."

Heisenberg's smile was suddenly back, jagged and glib. "Tried. Just like Miranda tried to kill you. Tough stuff, the megamycete. Although…I gather yours is somewhat different."

Ethan hunched his shoulders, hearing the echoes of Eveline snickering in his head. He couldn't remember if Heisenberg had cracked into crystals like all the rest. Ethan had been expecting it, but then Miranda had appeared.

"Some friends you have, leaving you for dead like that," Heisenberg continued, falling into the familiar habit of monologuing. "And to think, you did all the dirty work."

"Chris—"

"Only swooped in after you cleared out the village. What's a few lycans when every major threat is dead? No, he let little old you do the job of an army, and for what?"

Ethan sighed and gave Heisenberg a look. "Listen, I've had a shit fucking day and I don't really care to discuss what assholes my friends are. There's not much you can do with me, anyways. Chris has Rose, and you're never gonna beat the BSAA to get her back."

Heisenberg rolled his eyes and sauntered to the tiny window. Outside was an eerie sort of twilight, the snowscape forlorn without the rustlings of lycans and undead things.

"Miranda's dead," he said absently. "I've spent so long hating her, waiting to kill her. And now she's gone, but you're left."

"Great. Go ahead and carry out your vengeance or whatever the hell."

He sounded tired, even to himself. So, so tired, a man that had run and fought and bled and survived for hours and hours and hours, all to come down to this. Ethan almost wished he'd died with the bomb blast. At least it made a tidier ending than this mockery of an epilogue.

Heisenberg snorted. "At this point, Ethan, I'm not sure what can kill you."

"A chainsaw, probably," he muttered, thinking back to Dulvey, the body bags, Jack cackling and raging and failing to heal until he was just a miserable, broken pair of legs. But that wasn't true, Jack hadn't died there, he'd merely mutated into a giant fleshy mass and now Ethan thought he might be sick because he so desperately did not want to become that.

The two stared at each other, waiting. Now that Ethan wasn't being choked by alarm, he could see that Heisenberg wasn't in peak health, either. He was pale, even in the dour light, and there were bags under his eyes. Little wonder, he'd been viscera and junk metal the last time Ethan had seen him, and that was even before Ethan had shot a couple of rockets at his face. Healing had likely been a trial for him, laborious and painful hours spent picking through the debris for his body and piecing it back together. And then to find Ethan and escape from the bomb blast—

"I don't want you dead, Ethan," Heisenberg repeated. "I need you, first."

"For what?"

"First, get out of the fucking mountains," Heisenberg said, sneering at the window. He glanced at Ethan, strangely defensive when he said, "Neither of us can do it alone."

"I don't trust you."

"And I don't need you to. Just your cooperation, then you can scamper on home to your bouncing baby Rose."

Ethan blinked. Of course, Mia and Rose were still alive, he should be thinking about finding them, telling them he was safe. But at the cost of helping a monster like Heisenberg? He should kill him once and for all, save the world from a lunatic that thought creating metal abominations was fun.

Ethan stood, then almost dropped to his knees when the blood rushed from his head. Heisenberg looked down at him, a dispassionate idol in the face of Ethan's lack of strength. Ethan grit his teeth. The worst thing he could do to Heisenberg right now was bruise his ego, that much was obvious. And even if he did manage to kill Heisenberg, what then? He doubted anything else had survived the bomb, and Ethan didn't know enough about the area to make it back to civilization alive. It would be a long, miserable way to death, and even if he were to make the outside bet of finding the Duke and stocking on supplies, that was a lot of misery he would be condemning himself to.

"Fine," Ethan spat, hating his own weakness, his lack of choice. Always, always, there were never any choices worth making. "Fine, fuck, I'll help you get out of the mountains."

"Wonderful," Heisenberg said, manic grin falling back into place. He strode out of the room, and Ethan sank back onto the bed.

He should have known he wouldn't die, but being saved by Heisenberg after their best attempts to kill each other was unexpected by anyone's standards.

Ethan didn't have the energy to worry about Heisenberg after agreeing to help him. He was exhausted from regrowing an especially vital organ, making it inconvenient to even move around his room. Besides, everything was so damn fucked, anyway. The best he could say was that Rose was no longer in the hands of absolute psychopaths, though his opinion on Chris was still dicey at best. At least Mia was okay, at least they had each other. Ethan just had to figure out a way to get out of this frozen hell hole, and then…

He managed to get up, get dressed, and stumble into the main room later that night. Heisenberg was smoking by the fireplace, the curls from his cigar thick and pungent. He watched Ethan like a cat, not moving, not speaking, waiting for signs of weakness. Ethan ignored him and rummaged for food in the kitchen, coming up with stale bread and a cold pot of leftover stew. He headed for an empty chair on the opposite side of the room then stopped, eyes fixed floor.

"Whose blood is that."

It wasn't really a question, more a 'what the fuck I can't believe you've been killing people already.' The smear went from the door to the fireplace, the occasional smudged handprint thrown in for variety. It was messy, looking more like the work of a lycan than Heisenberg's telepathic metal bullshit, but the blood was too fresh to have happened before the bomb went off.

Heisenberg dragged on his cigar, meeting Ethan's weary glare with a dispassionate blink.

"Mine," he finally said, smoke billowing from his mouth dramatically. "And yours, but only a little."

Ethan blinked, blinked again. He'd imagined that Heisenberg had rescued him as he looked now—a bit rough around the edges, sure, but surprisingly hearty for someone to have been shot repeatedly by a tank while in a mutant metal form. But with all that blood…

Heisenberg laughed like he could see the thoughts spinning around his head. "Reconstructing your body is a messy business. We don't all get to dump magic juice on our hands and instantly feel better."

Ethan tensed, wondering how much Heisenberg knew, what all he didn't say, which just made him laugh more.

"The factory had cameras, Ethan."

He watched Heisenberg for another long moment, refusing to look at the large dark smear on the wooden boards. The amount of effort it must have taken, finding him, escaping the blast radius, getting all the way to the cabin…

"How're we getting out?" Ethan finally asked, turning back to his chair.

"There's a truck outside that needs to be refitted for the mountain pass. I have a safehouse we can restock in, one Miranda didn't care enough to destroy."

"And the owner of this house?"

"Killed weeks back." Heisenberg let out another plume of smoke. "He knew better than to wander the woods after dark."

"Great so there are lycans up here, too."

"Maybe. Miranda called all of them in when she found Rose, though there are still plenty of nasty creatures out here. That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

"Not if I find a shit load of bullets."

Heisenberg chuckled and waved his hand. A few guns and a couple boxes of ammo floated into the room, settling dully at Ethan's feet.

"You had quite the arsenal on you, right until the end."

Ethan refused to give this man gratitude, so he just grunted and finished his meal.

Ethan figured that if they could make it through the first twenty-four hours together, they could probably stand the rest. Assuming, of course, Heisenberg didn't launch him off a cliff at first convenience.

The truck they needed to refit was little more than ancient, belonging more to some old war film than barreling up the side of a snowed-over mountain. Heisenberg seemed confident that it would make it, though, once he tinkered around with the guts of the thing.

At first, Ethan wondered by the hell he was needed for auto repairs since he knew practically nothing about mechanical engineering, but it became apparent that Heisenberg couldn't use his powers for any of the heavy lifting. Or hardly any lifting. The metal tools in the garage didn't leap to his fingers of their own accord, instead forcing him to reach over for himself. When asked why Ethan had to go fetch a toolbox instead of Heisenberg just waving it over his own damn self, he received a sneer and a clever quip about Ethan needing a little humility.

Ethan rolled his eyes and got the toolbox. It was a small miracle he didn't have Ethan dabbing the sweat from his brow.

"You could do worse for a man missing fingers," Heisenberg said, leaning over the engine.

Ethan grunted, more interested in poking around the garage than satisfying Heisenberg with a response. It was cluttered with debris of another person's life, knickknacks and rusty tools, bits of old projects that would never be finished. He ran his fingers over a wooden board, considering the nails poking out of the end.

Heisenberg rattled on, not paying attention to Ethan as he continued to work. He stood, considering his progress, hands on his hips.

It was at that point Ethan whacked him in the head with a plastic bucket.

Heisenberg whirled, baring his teeth as a contingent of screw drivers, bolts, saws, hammers, and a tire iron rose, all aimed at Ethan.

"What the fuck was that for?!" he snarled, eyes lost behind those stupid sunglasses.

"Gloating about how you were going to exploit my daughter," Ethan said, curling his lip to show he wasn't impressed by the file menacing his left eyeball.

"I thought we were past all that! Almost killing me wasn't enough, then?!"

"No, that was for kicking me down a hole, you dick."

Heisenberg took a forbidding step closer, but Ethan just folded his arms.

"You do anything to me and you'll just be shooting yourself in the foot," Ethan reminded him, because it felt a bit like tempting fate to say you can't kill me in a way that matters.

Heisenberg stepped even closer, looming over Ethan. He snarled, and a small part of Ethan was honestly surprised he didn't have fangs.

"Attack me again, Ethan Winters, and I won't give one shining fuck where that puts me, I'll use you for engine grease."

"Good luck trying."

Heisenberg let out a growl of frustration, voice grating like gears. He wheeled away, careening all of objects aimed at Ethan into the far wall. Which, okay, was pretty pants shittingly terrifying.

It did make Ethan feel a bit better to know the display of Heisenberg's powers had cost him, though, sweat forming on his forehead and his pallor increasing. At least Ethan had a chance of escaping if Heisenberg wanted to make good on his promise.

Ethan fell into bed sweaty, exhausted, and still fairly pissed off. Death had to be easier than this shit.

He supposed he should feel lucky nothing had happened to his hands.

Ethan almost wished he would dream. He wished he would have nightmares and get all that shit out of his system, but instead his sleep—though difficult to find—was blank and meaningless. It only made his dread build. Last time, after the Baker House, he had thought the few weeks of bland nothingness was a good sign. It wasn't that bad, he wasn't completely broken.

It hadn't lasted.

Mia had suffered the dreams right away, and that had taken most of his attention. After they were released from the hospital, he focused on being strong for her, focused on helping her when the night terrors left her weeping and shaking. Once, he'd woken to her pinning him to the mattress, trying to throttle him and pull out his hair. He'd been terrified that it was the mold, it was Eveline, it was all coming back and all the shit the BSAA had given her didn't work and now his wife was trying to kill him, but then he realized she was calling him 'Jack', then 'Marguerite', and she was crying and crying and her face wasn't mottled and grey, her face was her own.

She had woken up, then, and she had sobbed in his arms and Ethan felt guilty for not finding her sooner, for not looking harder, for not suffering like she did now. He would make up for it, he would be a better husband, a better man, he would make sure she never cried again.

And things had become better. Mia's nightmares lessened, they started sleeping through the night, he woke up and he could smile and make plans for breakfast and hope things would be okay.

Then he started having nightmares and he was reminded that things very much weren't okay.

At least he wasn't violent. No matter how bad they became, at least he didn't wake up having harmed Mia. If he had…he didn't think he would've survived.

He missed the smell of her hair at night, curled up on his small cot, keenly aware of Heisenberg sleeping in the other room. He missed the easy whisper of her voice, her touch as she pressed her hands to his face, wrapped her arms around his chest, threaded her legs through his. He starved for the familiarity of her touch, the reassurance that he was there, he was safe, people could touch him without wanting him to die.

What would he do when the nightmares began? What would bring him back when he had nothing more than ice, a dead village, and a magnetic psychopath to keep him company?

Heisenberg didn't seem to be able to find sleep, either. It wasn't odd for Ethan to find papers scattered across the table each morning, scribbled in some hybrid of German and Romanian. He couldn't say what they were for, but he was certain they weren't plans for more metal abominations. At night, Ethan usually fell asleep to the sound of him writing or pacing the room, his footsteps making the whole house creak.

One morning, he woke and Heisenberg wasn't in the cottage. His absence was strange, the building eerily quiet and dim without his presence knocking from wall to wall.

Ethan crept through the main room, checked the garage. He was about to look in the outhouse when he found footprints in the snow, leading down the village.

Ethan stared for a moment, studying the ruinous remains. It wasn't the same view as when he had arrived, but it was still grand enough, the sun gleaming pleasantly on the snow. At this distance, he wasn't sure what was rubble and what were the charred remains of the megamycete.

He shook his head and turned back to the house. Heisenberg wasn't about to abandon him after all that effort to work together, and if he got into trouble…there wasn't much Ethan could do, either way. His only option was just to wait.

After shaving and washing his face, there wasn't much to explore there that he hadn't already seen—it was a drafty cottage that had been forcibly abandoned a few weeks before all of this shit had started popping off. He avoided the remains of the previous owner's life, like the diary, the faded photographs, the worn wooden carvings stacked on a shelf. Heisenberg had brought only the clothes on his back and the things in his pockets, leaving not much in the way of entertainment. The few rugged paperbacks he found were all in Romanian, and frustratingly beyond his comprehension.

There were clothes, though, and they more or less fit Ethan. At least he could wear something other than his frankly fetid jeans. His shirt, hoodie, and coat were usable enough, saving him from looking completely like a farmer from a penny dreadful.

Ethan thumbed through the food stores, considering the dried beans, the canned goods, the baskets and baskets of grains, potatoes, and onions. There was something strangely sad about the food sitting in the cellar, waiting for an owner that would never come back.

Ethan closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, a plume of steam spinning away from him in the cold.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do next. The begrudging truce he'd called with Heisenberg helped take his mind off things, but what about after that? They were supposed to part ways once they'd 'left the mountains', whatever the hell that meant, and even that made little enough sense to Ethan. What was he expecting, to hitch a ride to the nearest city while Heisenberg fucked off to who knew where? That made as much sense as anything, but Ethan's skin crawled at the thought of walking off into the sunset, ignoring the likelihood that Heisenberg would just build another freakish metal army.

And what about after after, when he called Mia or Chris or somebody and let them know he had survived? He was part mold, mostly dead, somehow alive, backpacking with one of Miranda's Four Lords because it was the best option he had. If he was lucky, they'd test the hell out of him and maybe not use him as a weapon, never mind Rose. If he wasn't…well, the BSAA likely had a hole in the ground for him, be it cell or grave.

Assuming they could kill him.

(you're dead!)

Shit, he couldn't go back to his family. Not like this, not unless there was a cure. Which there probably wasn't. He'd always thought of Zoe's serum as a magical cure-all, but that was probably just enough to keep him from being controlled by Eveline. It was foolish to think it only took one jab and he was fine. It was foolish to think he hadn't been infected at all.

(poor thing. you can use this to fix your leg. you can do it!)

Which begged the question of Mia. Surely, she was just as infected as he was, regardless of the drugs the BSAA gave her. Surely, she had recognized at least some of his symptoms after three years of being imprisoned by the Bakers, and then three more living with him. Surely, she had known and never told him—never warned him—never tried to prevent them from having—

No, he couldn't focus on that, he couldn't—he had to talk to her first, get answers for the first fucking time in his life. If she had known…even though she had hidden it from him, she had still tried to take care of him. She hadn't told the BSAA, at the very least. She had tried to let him live a normal life, even if it had been built around a lie. He might have done same for her, almost certainly would have if it were Rose.

He couldn't go back to his family. He couldn't endanger Mia and Rose like that, couldn't drag them into this chaos. Rose was already a target, it was best that they hide, develop a life of their own, stay away from any freaks or oddities like a man that could not die because he was made of mold.

(you got nowhere to go now, boy.)

Heisenberg returned a while later, face flushed from the cold, a brace of rabbits and squirrels over one shoulder. And, surprisingly, pockets full of ammo.

"We need to start packing," he told the room at large, still frosty from Ethan's stint with the bucket. He started shedding his layers, dropping his hat and gloves onto the table beside the boxes of ammo. "There are other things in the mountains. They know to stay away from the valley, but beyond that…we're fair game."

"Why not?" Ethan sighed, shaking his head. He stood from table and picked up on the rabbits, unable to be still any longer.

Heisenberg cast him a look of surprise, eyebrow raised.

"I had survival training after Louisiana," Ethan said shortly. "I didn't want to be a sitting duck again."

"I'd hardly call your adventures sitting," Heisenberg said, folding his arms and leaning against the counter.

Ethan looked the rabbit over. It had been shot with something, though Heisenberg had been courteous enough to remove whatever projectile he'd used. Ethan shook his head and ignored Heisenberg's gaze as he flexed his hand. His grip strength was trash without his last two fingers. Hopefully, that wouldn't cause too much of a problem.

"How much do you know about Louisiana?" he asked, picking a knife from the block and testing its sharpness.

"Wife stolen, cannibal freaks held her hostage, mold gave them fabulous and terrible powers," Heisenberg rattled off, sounding bored. "Miranda kept a file. Swap a few details and it all sounds frighteningly similar, don't it?"

Ethan shot him a look. There was no way to describe the cloying, creeping infestation of the Baker House, the stench of rot and chaos and sadness, the diabolical demands to be loved. The village had been a hell of its own kind, but it could never claim to overwrite what had come before.

Heisenberg was quiet for a moment, voice more restrained when he said, "I know it gave you those powers."

Ethan dropped the skins in the sink. "Hooray for me."

Powers, that sounded too conscious a thing for what he had. Too wanted. He'd done his damnedest to suppress any knowledge he had of it, after all. He'd refused to admit that when his hand was stapled back on, when he was impaled, stabbed, hacked apart, dropped from stories in the air, survived crashes and explosions, he wasn't—he had—he could—

"Look, I get it," Heisenberg said, producing his cigar from somewhere. He waved it dramatically in his hand but didn't light it. "I didn't ask for mine, either."

Ethan fought the urge to roll his eyes, remembering Heisenberg's impassioned monologues as Ethan risked life and limb. Then he remembered the journal entry he'd found, the wounded hate that had poured into the words, abominable, deceit, I'll never forgive her.

But he didn't want to think about that, didn't want to empathize with being deceived by someone you loved, so he handed Heisenberg a knife. "Make yourself useful."

"Feeling brave now, are we?" he asked, the knife tipping out of Ethan's hand and hovering in the air.

"Tired, more like. I don't want to spend the evening skinning these things."

Heisenberg laughed and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over a chair. He rolled up his sleeves as a honing steel floated over and began to work on the knife in midair.

He was looking better, though still a little gaunt. His forearms belied just how capable he'd been before, though, muscled with prominent veins. They were also covered in scars, though more than just the precise slashes that covered his face. Ethan thought he saw a couple burns, and even a ragged bite.

Ethan let himself look for a moment, then turned back to his work. He wasn't humanizing Heisenberg, not tonight.

Heisenberg stood at the other edge of the sink, close enough to brush elbows if one of them was careless. They worked in silence, carefully cleaning the game and preparing it for transport. Ethan bit his tongue, thoughts ricocheting around his head. He wanted to ask Heisenberg what he was planning to do once their deal was finished, but he was wary of the answer. If Heisenberg did want to set up shop somewhere and start experimenting on the dead again, Ethan had to stop him, didn't he? He would ultimately be responsible, loosing a monster like that on the world.

The thought made his stomach clench. For all his talk, Ethan really didn't want to fuck around with fighting him in earnest.

Ethan rinsed his hands after they'd finished with the last rabbit, staring out at the sunny snowscape. He could feel Heisenberg watching him, waiting. Ethan sifted through everything he might say, everything that wouldn't hurt.

"Miranda tore out my heart," he said quietly, the lesser of all the options even as it drew bile to his tongue.

She had raised his heart above her head, laughing as she squeezed his blood over her face. It was such an intimate monstrosity, the simplicity of it far outweighing half-dead mutants and disgusting fish men and women made out of bloodlust and flies.

"And here I was thinking it was me who nearly did the damn thing," Heisenberg said, words flavored by a bitter chuckle. "That bitch can never let me have my fun."

"I didn't know I'd come back until I'd done it," Ethan murmured, needing to say it, needing to admit that he only ever survived because of stupidly inconsistent luck and one hell of a fungal infection. "I didn't know I—I didn't know I was made out of mold."

Ethan looked at Heisenberg, meeting his pale, silver-green eyes. Despite his flippant response, his eyes were cool, watchful, waiting for whatever Ethan did next.

"Why did you save me?"

"Better you than a lycan."

"How did you save me, the bomb—was I…healing?"

"You hadn't set it off," Heisenberg said with a broad shrug. "You'd passed out. Then you nearly blew us both up when you woke and hit the trigger."

It made sense, in its own way. Heisenberg knew he would need help escaping into the mountains, and he knew that Ethan was likely the only being with sense left in the village. And yet Heisenberg could have simply fled to the cottage and waited until he recovered, hunkering down with the supplies and the solitude until he was back at strength. He needn't have saved Ethan, needn't have made his recovery that much more difficult. Needn't have laid Ethan in bed and cleaned off his clothes while he slept.

But Ethan was hurt and sad and didn't have the strength to fixate on the inner workings of a self-centered megalomaniac with mommy issues. He barely had the strength to reconcile being alive.

Ethan shook himself and turned away from the sink. He didn't let himself meet Heisenberg's eye as he left the kitchen to pack.

They left early the next morning, the snow dyed a thin blue in the predawn. Ethan helped Heisenberg load the last few things into the truck, strangely hesitant to leave the cottage. It was drafty, small, and held the broken melancholy typical of Miranda's village, but it had protected him well. Besides, he didn't know what to expect from Heisenberg once he was out in the wild.

Before they climbed into the truck, Heisenberg tossed him a bundle wrapped in cloth. It clinked ominously, and Ethan was terrified for a moment he was holding more jarred body parts. When he opened it, though, he realized it was two bottles of first aid med. He looked up at Heisenberg in surprise.

"Found it in the village," he said, pulling on his gloves. "I don't need you dying on me once we get into the pass."

Ethan opened his mouth to say…something, but Heisenberg had already turned away. He fished out his sunglasses and put them on, throwing open the driver door. Ethan stared at him through the windshield. Heisenberg's only response was to turn the key. At least the asshole didn't rev the engine to make him hurry.

"How far away is this safehouse?"

"A day's drive. Then, assuming everything goes right, we'll find the road out of the mountain range."

Ethan sighed and climbed in. Out of the mountains to a city or village and then…and then…

They were silent as the truck shuddered out of the garage, the mutated wheels gnashing through the snow. Ethan tried not to fidget, body vibrating with the anticipation of a fight, the prospect of the journey, the acute awareness of Heisenberg sitting next to him. Decorum said he should say something, but all he could rightly think to say was 'fuck you for the death games shit', or maybe 'you were right about Miranda', or possibly even 'if I'd taken your deal, I might not have died.'

But he'd rather be impaled again than get into any of that, so he just closed his eyes and tried to doze.

All too soon, Heisenberg was gritting out a few colorful curses and smacking Ethan awake.

"What the fu—"

"We have company," Heisenberg said, glancing over his shoulder. Ethan turned and caught glimpse of something flitting past the snow and rock outside. They were human enough, though large ice shards clung to their skin, making them misshapen and grotesque.

"What the hell are those?"

"Failed experiments," Heisenberg muttered. "Miranda cast them out when they failed to satisfy."

"What the fuck is wrong with that woman," Ethan muttered, squinting against the sun glaring off the snow.

"More than I have time to say," Heisenberg laughed, then swore magnificently as one of the creatures dropped in front of the truck. He barreled into it, jolting them both around in the cab, then glanced at Ethan.

"You need to keep them away from the truck, it can't handle much more."

"And how do you expect me to—" Ethan began, right as the remnants of his guns and ammo flung themselves into his lap.

"Don't get skittish on me now, Winters," Heisenberg ground out, whipping the truck around a corner so tightly he had to have used his powers to keep them from careening into the gorge below.

Ethan swore to himself, zipped up his jacket, loaded a rifle, then rolled down the window. He pulled himself halfway through to sit on the frame, then started lining up shots.

It was, to put it mildly, ridiculous. He was taking potshots at disgusting ice monsters, hanging out of a speeding truck, yelling for Heisenberg to give him more room as they skimmed past the mountain face, while Heisenberg shouted back for him to work faster. But it was about par for everything else he'd done, and really, what did he expect when he'd been told there were creatures in the mountains? At this point, he could really only complain he didn't have goggles.

"Heisenberg, I'm out of ammo," he yelled, thrusting his hand into the cab. Another box of ammo shoved itself into his palm, and he started reloading.

"Don't drop anything, that's the last box," Heisenberg snapped.

Ethan didn't have time to respond as a monster dropped onto the roof of the car, giant and misshapen, its body a horrifying mess of flesh and half melted ice. He shot it twice in what he assumed was the chest before it lashed out, wailing in rage and pain.

The blow landed solidly on his chest, knocking the air out of him and him from the window. The moment seemed disjointed and strange, the cold and the noise and the wind gone in favor of his distant realization that he was falling, slipping from the truck, reaching for a hold that wasn't there.

Fine. It wasn't what Ethan wanted, but fine. He was so, so tired.

Then a hand snatched his calf, every trace of metal on his clothes straining to pull him back inside, Heisenberg shouting as he let go of the steering wheel and dragged Ethan in one rough handful at a time.

Ethan had barely made it back inside when one of the monsters punched through Heisenberg's window, screeching and wailing and stabbing out with shards of ice. Heisenberg snarled and sent a few loose bolts through its head, making it crack and splinter and fall from the window. Ethan grabbed his pistol in case any more of the monsters had taken advantage of their distraction, but that was it. Heisenberg was steering with his hands again, the road ahead was clear, and any survivors lurked in their rearview, too wary to pursue.

Ethan let out a breath, still taut from the fight. He rolled up the window to cut down the screeching wind and biting cold, much good it did with Heisenberg's window completely smashed in.

"How much farther?" he panted.

"Not much," Heisenberg said, teeth clenched.

Ethan pursed his lips. Figures that Heisenberg would get pissy over having to help him.

"I hope this safehouse of yours is a fortress," Ethan said, assessing what few weapons he had left. "We're not gonna survive if we lure those things to our front door."

"It'll be fine," Heisenberg snapped. Ethan shot him a glare. Heisenberg ignored him, growling in irritation as his hair tossed around his face, hat lost in the fight. He swiped a few locks out of his eyes, leaving a trail of blood across his nose.

"Did you get hit?"

"It's fine."

"Not, it's not, where's the blood coming from?" Ethan tried to get a better look, but Heisenberg just waved a hand, the broad side of Ethan's pistol pushing him back into the seat.

"Glad to see you're suddenly invested, but I don't need your doting."

Ethan worked his jaw, certain now that Heisenberg's clipped tone was from pain.

"Will you make it to the safe house?"

Heisenberg laughed, but his furrowed eyebrows said he didn't think it was all that funny. "Don't have much choice, do I?"

They reached the safe house, or, at least, what Heisenberg said was the safehouse. It looked like little more than a bolted up shed and an outhouse.

"We came all this way for that?" Ethan demanded.

"It's just the entrance. I didn't want those things getting inside."

Ethan glanced at Heisenberg, wary now that most of his grandiosity had bled away with the pain. Heisenberg parked the truck and got out, stumbling slightly. Ethan was just glad there weren't any significant bloodstains on the seat.

Ethan gathered the essentials as Heisenberg stood at the door, waving away the reinforcements barring entry. Blood dripped into the snow at his feet, ominous and dark.

The shed proved to be the entrance to a staircase that descended into a bunker. Ethan pawed around for a flashlight, while Heisenberg stalked forward without waiting.

The bunker was fairly mundane. There was a storeroom, a main room, and a washroom, each sparsely furnished. It was all metal and concrete, eerie and cold in the light of his flashlight.

"Get a fire going," Heisenberg grunted, dropping his sunglasses on the table as he moved to the storage room.

"You need to get yourself fixed up."

"Need supplies first." Heisenberg dug through the nearly pitch-black storage room, waving away Ethan's offer of the flashlight. Ethan hesitated a moment in confusion, then felt slightly foolish when he realized Heisenberg could probably see in the dark. No wonder he always wore those stupid shades. He'd only ever taken them off in the gloom of his factory.

Ethan shook his head and hurried to light the woodburning stove, half his attention on Heisenberg. He had pulled off his coat, revealing the blood staining his side.

"Fucking hell, that's nothing?!"

"Compared to those things picking us off as we play field medic? I'd say so."

Heisenberg removed one of his gloves with his teeth, letting it drop to the floor. He then shrugged out of his shirt, staggering against the table. He was sturdily built, broad-chested with strong arms, even after the effort of remaking his body piece by piece.

Ethan cleared his throat, not sure what dark corner those thoughts had come from. He let himself be distracted by Heisenberg knocking one of the bags to the floor, blood loss making him clumsy.

"Don't hurt yourself," Ethan sighed, leaving the beginnings of their fire to help him.

"Just…need to stop the bleeding," Heisenberg said, voice weaker. There was a sheen of sweat on his face, visible only in the firelight. "The cadou…will take care of the rest."

Ethan held the ruined shirt to Heisenberg's side, this time trying not to notice the scars. There were only a couple, but the worst seemed to be from a large set of claws, dragging across his chest. It was a far rougher life than he had expected from one of Miranda's Four Lords.

Heisenberg fumbled with the med kit, then finally sighed and let Ethan take it from his hands. The table was taking all of his weight, now, hands clenching in pain.

Ethan cleaned and carefully poured a bit of the first aid med onto the wound, earning a snarl. A copper tang flooded over Ethan as the metal objects in the room groaned, flexing with Heisenberg's pain. Ethan held his breath, ignoring the antics as he anxiously stared at the wound, waiting for the bleeding to slow. He had no idea how fast the cadou actually worked when someone was in human form. Lady Dimitrescu had barely flinched when he tried unloading a clip in her head, while Moreau looked perpetually on death's door.

He bit the inside of his cheek, waiting, then let out a sigh of relief when the bleeding seemed to slow.

"Don't let the fire go out," Heisenberg muttered, pushing Ethan aside and stumbling to the bed. There was only one, of course, but it was far larger than the cots they'd used in the cottage.

Ethan grimaced. He'd lie in that can of worms when it came to it.

He began cleaning up, using Heisenberg's ruined shirt to dab up as much blood as he could. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ah…when they attacked…"

Heisenberg cracked open an eye, his iris a pale sliver in the low light.

"Thanks, is all. For catching me. I know it wasn't…it left you open."

He watched Ethan for a moment, the closed his eyes. "You'll need to lock the door, I can't do it from here. And try to cover up the window."

"Yeah, fine, I can do that."

Ethan pushed himself away from the table and went to grab the rest of their things from the truck.

Heisenberg, it turned out, was a shit patient. The first night was fine, he slept like the dead and Ethan could at least pretend he wasn't there in the bed beside him. And, to his credit, he did heal faster than the average person, though he didn't have much strength to do anything other than walk to the outhouse. But then he insisted on pushing himself, getting up, looking over his plans, tinkering with anything he could reach to alleviate his boredom. Ethan spent the day checking their stores, snapping at him not to mess with his bandages, and weighing whether he should just smother Heisenberg while he slept.

He had to draw the line when Heisenberg seemed hellbent on hauling firewood over to the stove.

"Listen, asshole, you get to do precisely jack shit while you're running a fever, so get your ass in bed."

"I don't have a fever, I'm just fucking cold," Heisenberg said, voice roiling with contempt. "I'm starting to see how you never noticed you were part fungus."

Ethan stuck out his jaw, sick to the teeth of playing nurse to a tempestuous psychopath. "You're hot to the touch and you're saying you're cold, that's about as textbook as it gets."

"It's not me that's a weird temperature," Heisenberg snapped, throwing a hand in the air. "You're colder than the average person. Probably didn't notice because you don't seem to be affected by the cold, either. At least, not like norma—"

"Fine," Ethan said, holding up his hand, mostly to keep him from saying 'like a normal person.' "But the my point stands. You have a hole in your side, and I'm not going to wait here another week because you were screwing around and hurt yourself more."

"And I'd love it if you paid the barest modicum of attention to your own body," Heisenberg shot back. "I'm not interested in detailing everything you should be able to notice with your own damn eyes."

"Sorry, I was a little busy making sure you didn't bleed out on the floor! Holy shit, are you always such a dick to people that help you?"

Heisenberg scowled but sat on the bed, the metal objects on the table rattling with protest. Ethan barely had time to enjoy the quiet when he asked, "Where the fuck is my coat?"

Ethan clenched his teeth. "Outside."

Heisenberg snapped his head up, jaw ticking. "You really do destroy everything you touch, huh?"

"I didn't incinerate it, it's just outside. It's covered in blood and until you're able to get up and go scrub it out, it's going to stay there."

"Great, so you drew wolves to our door."

"We'll fucking deal with it," Ethan said, jaw aching. "Why do you want it, anyway?"

"I want to check the truck."

"It's snowing, looks like it'll be a blizzard."

"All the more reason to check it after those snow freaks attacked us, so help me or we'll be fucking stuck until I'm back at full strength!"

Ethan just looked at him.

"For a man that rained down hell on earth to save your family, you don't exactly seem excited to get back to them."

"I don't want a family commentary from the likes of you."

"Those bastards weren't my family," Heisenberg said dismissively, waving a hand. "If they were, they'd still be alive."

"Right, they were just colleagues you played house with. Big difference."

"At least I always knew who they were," he shot back. Ethan tensed then instantly cursed himself when Heisenberg smiled. He tilted his head, satisfied that his words had finally found purchase. "Do you even know how long Miranda played house with you? Or are you that inattentive a husband?"

Ethan shoved to his feet, even as his breath caught in his throat. There was the thing he hadn't wanted to think. How long had his wife been missing this time? Had he really been content to tiptoe around that temperamental facsimile of her, resigned to play along only so he could pretend they could survive? It felt too cruel to think otherwise, all that misery, all that suffering, just for them to shatter apart once they had the shrapnel of a baby in the mix.

"If you ever mention Mia or Rose again," Ethan began, voice cold and distant, "I'll make sure there isn't even scrap left behind."

Heisenberg's mouth lifted in a small, savage smile that said he looked forward to the challenge. His attention slid down Ethan's body, making him shiver.

"Shame Miranda didn't get to keep you. You would have fit right in."

Ethan left the bunker, even though it was dark, even though the wind bit at his face. He wanted to take a chair to Heisenberg's head, want to beat the smug smile right off his lips. He was amazingly superior for a man with a hole in his side.

But he wasn't a man, was he? He was one of the Four Lords, Miranda's chosen favorites, the strange, abominable, and powerful monsters she made her kin.

Splendid specimen, Miranda had written, important to her as a bug in a jar.

(so she still calls me her 'son')

Who knew what she'd say about Ethan, had she really wanted to bring him into the fold, make him part of her sycophantic family.

(welcome to the family, son)

He'd have killed Miranda before he let that happen, though, he had killed her. And Jack, and Marguerite, and Eveline, and Jack, and Jack, and then Mia twice for good measure. All because they had wanted him for their fucked up little family, their hellish game of cannibalistic play pretend.

But that didn't make him like them, he'd only done that to get out, to escape, to save his actual family. He hadn't wanted to hurt any of them…though the final shot for each one had been pretty satisfying.

But not for Mia, never for Mia, his heart had ceased to beat every time he thought she wouldn't get back up again, even just a few days ago, even when it was really Miranda. He didn't enjoy the violence, he didn't cackle like the Bakers, didn't crow like the Lords when faced with his demise. He wasn't like them, he just was a man trying to—

(boy, you ain't anything, just a man without a family)

Ethan tripped, landing hard on his knees in the snow. The snow that no longer bothered him, not really. He doubted he could freeze to death, not without simply thawing with the spring. He'd been running around a mountain village for a whole day, slogging through water and blood and slime without ever feeling the effects, ever thinking about it twice beyond the initial discomfort.

(interesting, your body certainly isn't normal)

Ethan vomited, retched a few more times to be sure, then scraped snow over the evidence. He remained kneeling in the snow for a long moment, staring into the snowy nothing, wishing for…wishing…

Not death. That was too costly, too miserable. He wanted peace. He'd wanted it so badly that he'd closed his eyes to all of the warning signs and hoped against hope it would stick.

Ethan had his first nightmare in the bunker, because of course he did. Evil little girls and ghoulish monsters and tests, always tests, jumbled up in his head. He woke covered in sweat, eyes straining in the dark. Ethan curled up on his side, pulse rattling in his veins as he tried to ground himself. It was quiet, calm, safe, everything else had been a dream, he would be fine. He didn't care that he was pressed again Heisenberg of all people, didn't care what he had done. All that mattered was that he was real and he was alive and he didn't want Ethan dead.

It had been much the same when the BSAA let them go. By day, Ethan and Mia had been strangers bound by trauma, wandering their house like they might find greater meaning in the rooms. At night, though, they had held each other, whispering, weeping, waiting. The violence of the Baker House didn't matter, the screaming, the blood, the heartfelt betrayal. That had been out of their hands, but they could choose now to be soft, to be caring, to be kind. Ethan was only real with gentle pulse of another person's heart to measure himself by, the heat of their skin bringing him back to earth, the touch of their breath saying he was safe.

He pressed his forehead against Heisenberg's back, anchoring himself, fingers bruising Ethan's chest as he clutched at his own shirt.

What was Mia doing now? How had she made it through this batch of imprisonment, who was there to hold her and listen to all that had been done? She had missed him so desperately while she was in Louisiana, she'd said, had dreamed of him and dreaded his arriving in that rotting hell. And then she had kissed him while crying and climbed into his lap, begging to be touched, to be brought back to when things were simple. His cock stirred at the memory of it, her asking if they could make it right, their coupling rough and ready as they tried to forget the years of pain and loneliness.

He'd felt like a new man in those moments, someone untouched by the havoc of Louisiana as Mia held onto his shoulders, moaning so prettily, back arching as he put his mouth—

Ethan sucked in a breath, realizing he had his hand braced against Heisenberg's side and was dangerously close to grinding against his ass. His body ached to be touched, ached to make everything better, he missed Mia and how she made everything better.

Ethan rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. His heart was still racketing against his ribs, head muggy with memories and what he'd just done. He padded over to the table and watched the fire murmuring in the stove, feeling dirty and lost and sad. It was chilly, but he couldn't go back to bed until his erection had died down, until he got his head on straight.

He ran a finger over the stubby remains of Heisenberg's last cigar, almost wishing he smoked so he had a reason to be up, so he could pretend he hadn't been in bed and horny next to a man that had tried to kill him, that had tortured him for sport, that had wanted to use his infant daughter as a nuke.

The blizzard settled over the bunker, just as Ethan had said. Heisenberg seemed all the more agitated, now there was yet another thing keeping him from moving around as he wished. His restlessness was electric, snapping across Ethan's skin and making him want to do something reckless. But maybe that was knowing he had been about two seconds from dry humping Heisenberg the night before, which was a thought that never got better with the repeating.

"What's your plan once we leave?" Ethan asked, hoping he could get Heisenberg monologuing so he could remind himself what a fucking prick the guy was.

"I dunno," Heisenberg said, dropping into one of the chairs by the table. "Maybe go to the beach, work on my tan."

Ethan snorted derisively. He ran his thumb over a pack of playing cards he'd dug out from between some dusty cans. He couldn't actually bring himself to use them, so he just fiddled with them, occasionally taking out the cards to shuffle them before putting them back.

"What are the diagrams for?" he asked.

Heisenberg's eyes flicked towards him, watchful and calculating. Then he shrugged and smiled, reaching for a stick he'd begun to whittle the day before. "Always good to have a few projects to keep you busy. Idle hands and all that."

Ethan rolled his eyes. The devil would have made use of Heisenberg no matter what he did.

"Don't tell me you want to build another army."

"I don't have anyone to fight, Ethan."

"Heis, you don't exactly not hold a grudge."

He huffed out a laugh, dropping into his chair across from Ethan. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it before tucking it behind one ear. "And what do you wanna do, Ethan, since you know so much?"

Ethan let out a slow breath. This wasn't the way he'd wanted things to go.

Heisenberg focused on him, eyes brightening like they did whenever he sensed weakness. Ethan shook his head and leaned back in his seat.

"The BSAA will want to know everything, and I can't give them answers. So, they'll take them by force, and I…"

He shook his head again. The tests after the Baker House had been uncomfortable enough, and that was with his compliance. This next round, should they ever catch him, was sure to be more extensive, invasive, and costly.

"I can't endanger my family like that."

"Because you think your little Rose isn't a giant flaming beacon for them. How ever the hell you managed to hide her before, it's not gonna work now."

"Chris promised she would be safe."

Heisenberg made a rough sound of contempt, throwing down the knife. It stuck in the table point down, wobbling dangerously. "And you don't think he'll just strap her to a table like all the rest? I can't tell if the BSAA brainwashes you or just hires you dumb."

Ethan bit back a sharp response, cautious now that the smell of copper hung in the air. "You're the one that wanted them to come so bad."

"Anything to make overthrowing Miranda easier, I wasn't about to die for them. Besides, if I'd known there was a one-man wrecking crew hiding nearby, I'd have been counting on you."

Ethan let out a breath. It almost sounded like there was…respect in Heisenberg's voice. Obviously, Heisenberg had recognized his abilities back in the village, and he had entrusted Ethan to keep them safe on the journey to the bunker, but Ethan had always thought of it as steely pragmatism. Preference had never factored into it. He wondered how long it had been there.

Ethan cleared his throat to dispel the flustered satisfaction in his chest. Heisenberg's eyes were fixed on him and Ethan didn't need him picking up anything unnecessary.

"The BSAA…I dunno," he sighed. "There's a lot of shit that I didn't know was going on. And Rose…Chris is an asshole, but he'd rather die than let her be taken."

"Confident."

"He's the kind of guy that likes a damsel to protect."

Heisenberg laughed, tipping his head back in delight. "See, now you're coming around."

Ethan settled into a sense of exhausted calm, the strain of the last week catching up to him just as surely as the nightmares. His body shut down nonessential functions like panic or fear, instead prioritizing getting him through the day. He was trapped in a bunker with Heisenberg until the blizzard passed, there wasn't much else to think or plan or do.

Heisenberg healed up nicely, which was a blessing. There was little more than a pale pink scar when Ethan pulled away the dressing, almost unremarkable for how much blood and pain had come before it. Heisenberg stretched luxuriously as though to prove a point, and Ethan found himself looking away, somehow embarrassed.

"I can start working on the car, once the snow stops," Heisenberg told him, pulling a shirt over his head.

"That's good," Ethan sighed, bracing his hands back against the mattress. He could feel Heisenberg's heat through their clothes and couldn't bring himself to pull away. "It didn't seem seriously damaged when I looked at it, just roughed up a little."

Heisenberg grunted in acknowledgement, though his eyes were fixed on some midway point. Then he glanced at Ethan, startlingly present.

"Y'know, you're not made of mold."

Ethan blinked and straightened back up. "Uh…thank you?"

Heisenberg waved a hand in the air, as though stating the obvious. "You said it earlier, but there's no way your cells are completely made of mold. Or dead. You're infected, but you're still warm-blooded like the rest of us."

"And how did you prove this?" Ethan asked, not sure who he should believe—Eveline, an unhinged little girl that had complete mastery of the mold, or Heisenberg, an equally unhinged man with a vested interest in cutting people open to see how they ticked.

Then again, Eveline's sole agenda only ever seemed to be fucking with him, while Heisenberg had a bit more nuance.

"Well, having a pulse helps, for one. What did you expect?"

"There was a lot of shit in Dulvey," Ethan said eventually, slouching in on himself. It had been so long since he had talked about Louisiana outright, so long since he had tried to give shape to the things haunting his sleep. "There were these…things. I think they were people, once, but they…molded over, I guess? They were barely alive, just generic monsters. Nothing compared to the Bakers, but…horrible."

Heisenberg shook his head. "Well, it infected you differently. I'd need my lab to know for sure, but it seems more like the cadou than anything."

Ethan huffed out a laugh, shoving away thoughts of grimy, gothic surgery tables and x-rays of people with bolts driven into their brain. Or, better yet, the village that had been given the cadou and turned into slavering, half-dead wolf monsters.

"Just what I need, a giant mold organ growing in my chest," Ethan sighed, trying very hard not to think about how much mold the BSAA had removed from him and Mia. He couldn't remember how much they had said it was, nor even how exactly they'd managed to do it. Just more of his blind faith, plastered so thick over his recovery that it would inevitably crack.

He could see how Mia hadn't told him for so long. He had probably made it easy, stuffing down everything that had happened and telling himself it was fine, it was behind them, they would all be okay. It was only recently that he had started asking questions with the intention of getting answers, only recently that the fault lines had begun to show. It was easy to ignore the flaws in a marriage when everyone tacitly agreed on the same game of pretend.

Ethan understood it all, but it made him so lonely.

He leaned against Heisenberg's side, too weary and heartsick to resist. Just for the moment he wanted something solid, just for the moment he wanted to close his eyes and pretend. Pretend that he was a normal person, pretend there had been any way for his marriage not to splinter, pretend there was any way to make up and not feel hollowed out inside. He wanted—he wanted—

Ethan realized he wasn't supporting his own weight when Heisenberg shifted and Ethan fell against his chest. He caught himself awkwardly, hand bracing against the bed, cheek pressed against Heisenberg's collarbone. Ethan froze, agonizingly aware of how still they both were, even more so of the tantalizing thump of Heisenberg's heart, the welcoming warmth of his skin. The shock of touch was addictive, different from the clinical cleaning of wounds or aiding in chores, intimate and unexpected and divine.

Ethan leaned in further, crown pressing against Heisenberg's jaw. It was the taste of safety that just made him ache more, the memory of being held by someone who loved him, messy and painful though it was. He closed his eyes, remembering all the other times the world had seemed so fucked and then Mia held him and it seemed a little more okay.

Heisenberg stretched his arm out, and for a brief, foolish moment, Ethan thought it would be an embrace. Instead, he grabbed Ethan by the hair.

Ethan hissed in a breath, trying to stay still, meeting Heisenberg's gaze as best he could. His expression was unreadable, cool and removed as he considered Ethan. He could just as easily slit Ethan's throat as pull him closer, the two of them teetering ever more perilously on their knife edge of peace.

Ethan found he didn't care what Heisenberg did. He couldn't die. There wasn't much Heisenberg could do now that actually scared him, so he met the cool look with one of his own. He even tipped his head back farther, an offering, a challenge, entirely aware of Heisenberg's knuckles scraping against Ethan's skull, the press of his thigh against Ethan's knees.

Heisenberg's lips quirked in either a sneer or smile, then he slowly, carefully, leaned forward. He licked Ethan's throat, tongue warm and taunting, the barest scratch of his beard sending shudders down Ethan's spine.

Ethan let out a breath, and even to his own ears it sounded traitorously like pleasure, like release. It wasn't Mia but it was enough, his body seemed to say, he didn't care, he didn't care, he was touch starved and reeling and it was enough. He leaned into Heisenberg's touch, shifting to open himself up further, anything, anything, he didn't want to be so agonizingly alone so he would do anything.

Heisenberg complied, mouth finding his throat again, devouring Ethan like a man presented with an apple of the gods. And then his lips were on Ethan's, kissing him, kissing him again, messy and ferocious as his hands clenched into Ethan's shirt. He bit Ethan's lip, drawing out a gasp, but then his tongue was tracing the spot as if in amends. Ethan opened his mouth, welcoming Heisenberg's tongue with a caress of his own.

He didn't care if there were teeth marks, didn't care if he had stubble burn, barely even cared if he was left broken and bleeding, because no damage inflicted upon him was real. It would slough off after a few days at the very most, but this? Being kissed like he was a guilty pleasure, fingers digging in like he was the last of his kind? That went far, far beyond bones or blood.

Ethan pushed himself into Heisenberg's lap, groaning at the agonizing friction of his pants, needing more, more as he knotted his hands in Heisenberg's hair. Heisenberg let out a low rumble, machinery and lust and danger, and it paired so perfectly well with the hardness pressing against Ethan's thigh, the jagged attentions of his mouth. Ethan groaned against him, sloppy and reckless as Heisenberg tore off his jacket, his pullover, leaning back so Ethan could yank off the shirt he had only just put on. Heisenberg didn't stop to admire the view or to say something snarky or be anything but rough and selfish, and Ethan would have kissed him for it if he hadn't been already. He didn't want soft, he didn't want understanding, he wanted to be fucked back into existence, to be torn apart so he could remember how to be whole again.

Heisenberg's lips found the scar where Miranda had torn out Ethan's still-beating heart, scraping his teeth over it, bruising his way across Ethan's chest. Ethan let out a groan, filthy and consuming, grinding harder against Heisenberg's thigh.

Heisenberg turned and dumped him on his back. Ethan fumbled to undo his pants, kicking off his shoes as he went. He sat back up once his clothes were off, needing as much contact as possible. Heisenberg had also removed his pants, not so much accepting Ethan in his arms as snatching him up, chest and legs pressed together, his breath hot and heavy as it bloomed across Ethan's skin.

Ethan sucked a bruise onto Heisenberg's neck, tongue tracing over the spot like he could drink the heat pouring from his skin. He felt drunk on the excess, overly aware of his pulse in his throat, his fingertips, the backs of his legs, his cock. Ethan broke into a groan as Heisenberg took hold of his ass, fingernails biting into his skin.

He knew he was going too fast—they'd barely begun and yet sticky arousal was choking him, threatening to end things all too soon, but Ethan couldn't stop. He couldn't make himself slow down, couldn't bear to risk Heisenberg changing his mind and leaving Ethan cold and bereft. His skin was on fire and he wanted more, he wanted to be consumed until there was nothing left but ash; no remorse, no guilt, not worries, no mold.

Ethan took them both in his hand, spilling kisses along Heisenberg's collarbone, up his neck. Heisenberg worked his ass harder with every movement of Ethan against his cock, and Ethan had to bite his lip to keep from begging Heisenberg to fuck him on his fingers, to use him up so thoroughly there would be nothing, no sadness, no uncertainty, nothing left.

Ethan came, bucking weakly in Heisenberg's lap, Heisenberg's hands clenching into his hips to keep him still. He pressed his face against Heisenberg's neck, not sure if he was panting or kissing him or muttering out crooked almost somethings.

Heisenberg's breath was hot, roiling over his shoulder and raising goosebumps down Ethan's back. His whole body stayed taut, aggressive and wanting. He grabbed Ethan by the jaw and kissed him again, hard and mean, bruising Ethan's lips with his demands for more.

Ethan slid a hand between them again, movements clumsy, still letting Heisenberg prop him up. He wrapped his hand around Heisenberg's cock, still so temptingly hot and hard, covered in Ethan's own cum. Heisenberg clutched at Ethan's hair, his back, grunting and groaning in such a wonderfully filthy way until he came as well.

Ethan stayed in place for a long moment, trying to get his breathing under control, body loose and forgetful. Maybe he'd regret this in the morning, maybe he regretted it right now, but fuck if he didn't feel better than he had.

Ethan slid off Heisenberg's lap and found something to clean them up with. Heisenberg leaned back as he watched him work, breath coming in big huffs.

"What brought that on?" he asked. His voice had an appealing rasp to it, for once the raggedness sounding entirely human.

Ethan looked at him, too tired to rise to the challenge in his silver-green eyes. "Do you actually care?"

"No, not really."

Ethan snorted and turned back to his work.

He believed Heisenberg, that was the sad thing. Despite the cum spattered across his middle, despite the sweat gleaming on his skin, he looked much the same as always. So Ethan had let them fuck, it wasn't much more than a blip of pleasure, easy enough to discount, easy enough to forget. He'd likely throw Ethan away just as quickly as he had the first time. And the second.

(but not the third, a tiny part of him whispered, but Ethan ignored it because that part begged logic in a world of monsters and mold and madness when clearly there was none)

They put their clothes back on, they ate dinner, and it was almost like nothing had happened. But when they went to sleep, Ethan curled up close to Heisenberg in the bed because it was allowed, now. He knew he couldn't hold him close or rest his head on his chest or even hold his hand like Ethan might for Mia, so Ethan kissed him and tangled their legs together instead. He earned a derisive comment about being clingy, but it was a small cost for feeling human again.

The blizzard abated by the morning, leaving the world muffled, all of the rough edges rounded off. Heisenberg swept a path with one of the metal sheets used to barricade the door, carving channels into the pristine snow. Ethan brushed off the truck and began repacking it, while Heisenberg surveyed the damage. Apparently, the nearest town was less than a day's drive away.

"That's it?" Ethan asked. Granted, he'd lived just up the road from Miranda's hell on earth and never known, but the thought of normal people a few miles distant from hellish ice creatures was bizarre.

"Miranda valued devotion, not domination," Heisenberg said, clicking his tongue. "She didn't need physical restrictions to keep the villagers there. She fostered a bunch of sheep that would cut out their hearts if she asked."

Ethan grimaced, thinking that was probably true. The villagers he'd met had believed in Miranda's providence, even when she had so clearly abandoned them.

"So, how'd she end up with you?"

Heisenberg flashed him a smile that was all razor wire and malice. "She assumed I'd lick her boots like everyone else. Pride goeth before the fall and all that bullshit."

Ethan inspected the clearing, squinting slightly in the reflected light. "Is that how you ended up with this place, too? She was too proud to notice you building entire doomsday bunker in the mountains?"

"I mean, I didn't build it," he said absently, waving a hand and popping the roof back into place. "The villagers were happy to do my bidding. They knew that if they helped a lord, they would be safe for the next month."

Ethan frowned, turning back. "Safe?"

"Miranda pulled her bullshit around the full moon." He caught Ethan's look and gave a rolling shrug. "Hey, if the lycan myth ain't broke."

"Great," Ethan muttered, the stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm going to look around. I'm going stir crazy."

"That what you call it," Heisenberg snickered. Ethan shot him the bird, then made for the trees.

He trudged through the snow, thankful for the extra socks and the fact he was no longer wearing his Oxfords. The forest was beautiful, in a haunted, silent kind of way. The snow swallowed up everything but his breath and his footsteps, folding around him like he'd never belonged anywhere else.

No wonder Miranda had hidden her antics for so long. A place like this wanted to hold your secrets, wanted to make sure you stayed. Ethan even found himself enchanted by the place, and that was after all the violence and the bullshit.

He settled deeper into his coat, edging around a thicket of skeletal underbrush to—

"Well, hello there, Mister Winters."

For the first time in what felt like years, Ethan felt himself smile at an unexpected development. The Duke was there in his little cart, utterly unbothered by the cold. Ethan ran over, still grinning.

"Duke, you're okay!"

"Yes, I rather suspected you might do something drastic in your quest to stop Mother Miranda, but I never imagined you'd pull together a bomb."

"Yeah, well, it was kind of a team effort."

"Glad to hear it! I suppose I could make one quick trade before I move on. Not much point in hanging around, waiting for business from the dead."

"Uh…what do you have?" Ethan asked, hands going for his pockets. He didn't have any money, and he'd left most of his things back at the bunker. The best he could find was the pack of cards, which he prayed would go for an obscenely high price.

The Duke laid out his wares, a fine selection of guns and upgrades and something the Duke called a med injector, its casing scratched but whole. Ethan looked everything over, assessing, assessing. Instinct said to hoard it all, buy the biggest and the meanest and the best, then tear through any piece of shit that got in his way. But he was also heading back to the real world, where violence usually occurred by accident, rare, unremarkable, and unlikely to show teeth.

But he'd also used most of his supplies in the mountain pass, and he'd be damned before he let himself be caught with his pants down again.

Ethan hummed to himself, weighing his options. He pulled out the deck of cards and proffered them to the Duke.

"How much would the personal card deck of one of the Four Lords go for?"

"Oh, that is a curious find," the Duke said, fingers waggling as he reached out his hand. He clucked and commented on the grease stains, like the wear made them that much more valuable. He set his price, which was even more exorbitant than Ethan might have hoped.

Ethan heard footsteps behind him as the Duke began out coins, then heard a gruff, "What the hell did you get yourself into now?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Heisenberg and said, "I sold your deck of cards," just as the Duke murmured, "Now this is an interesting development."

Heisenberg came to a stop behind Ethan, barely brushing against his shoulder.

"This is the Duke, he—"

"I know who he is," Heisenberg said, waving a hand.

"Yes, we've done business on occasion," the Duke said, giving Heisenberg an oddly formal bow from his seat. "Happy to see a fellow survivor."

"Well, this certainly explains how you made it through the village."

"You say that like it was easy," Ethan muttered, picking up his traded guns and coins.

"Might I be able to offer you anything, Lord Heisenberg? I still have a collection of books and tapes, should you be interested."

"I'm not on a leash anymore," Heisenberg said, smile nothing but glass and smoking pitch.

"Traveling together, then, are we? What a lovely turn of events."

"Why's that?" Ethan asked, suddenly cautious. He didn't look at Heisenberg, though he couldn't remember if there were any hickeys visible above his collar.

"Oh, it's not often my two biggest clients meet up. It would certainly make things easier for me if you continue to stay together. Two birds, one stone and all that."

"You'd travel to serve us?" Ethan asked, because he wasn't ready to unpack the rest of the sentence just yet.

"Certainly, though there are limits to where I may go. Professional courtesy, and the like. Don't want to step on anyone's toes. Do you know where you'll be heading?"

"Out of the mountains," Heisenberg said with a shrug.

"If you're not set on any place in particular, there is one spot you might find useful," the Duke said, twisting and pulling out a map. "Always good to have a place to rest your head, even if it's just for a moment."

"What is it?" Ethan asked, holding out a hand. The Duke passed him the map, shrugging.

"Just a charming little house, not too far from here. Has a bit of an infestation problem, from what I understand, but I'm sure you two are more than capable."

"Typical, never giving anything for free," Heisenberg said, giving an eyeroll with his whole body.

"To be fair, it's not my house to give. I'm merely suggesting a place you might find interesting."

"Thanks, Duke, we'll check it out," Ethan said, rolling up the map. The Duke tipped his head in a little bow.

"I'm sure we'll meet again. Farewell, Lord Heisenberg, Mister Winters."

They walked back to the bunker, Ethan checking over his shoulder periodically to see if the Duke had disappeared. The trees quickly blocked his wagon from sight, swallowing yet another secret.

"Did you know he set up shop in your elevator?" Ethan asked, ducking under a branch.

"How the hell would he have gone unnoticed?"

"You tell me, the factory had cameras."

Heisenberg cast him an unappreciative look. "You're an awfully cocky shit, you know that?"

Ethan stifled a smirk, busying himself with adjusting his weapons. He felt a little calmer now that he had his tools back, though he refused to think what that said about him, nor what the hell he'd do with all that firepower when he was back in decent society.

Ethan glanced over at Heisenberg as they neared the bunker.

"What brought you looking for me, anyway?"

"I felt something metal appear out in the forest," Heisenberg said absently, stepping over the final snowdrift to the area he'd cleared. "And I didn't need you getting killed on me just yet, so I went to look."

"When you—wait, appeared? As in didn't exist?"

"Mm. There's something about the Duke's wagon that shielded the guns from me. I'd kill to find out how he does that."

"I'm sure you would," Ethan said dryly, opening up the back of the trunk to stow his new stash. "Why not just have at it when you were right there?"

"I'd never hurt an ally," Heisenberg said, wearing a jackal's leer that absolutely wasn't hotwired to Ethan's dick.

"I bet," Ethan muttered, slamming the truck door closed. "How's the truck, then?"

"Fine. I'll need to tighten some things up, but it'll be more than ready by tomorrow."

"Great. I'll start clearing things out, then," Ethan said, turning back to the bunker when Heisenberg shrugged that he couldn't care.

As Ethan made for the stairs, though, a hand of doubt closed around his throat. Sure, he could go find this house the Duke had mentioned, set up base there, but he still didn't know what happened next. He had no tethers, no family to go back to, no job to hide in. It was just him and his fear of being alone.

Ethan glanced back at Heisenberg, who had opened the hood of the truck and was now tinkering.

Just him and his fear of what might need to be done.

"I fixed the worst damage on the truck," Heisenberg told him after dinner, cocky and smug, even over this. "I'd still like to make a few modifications, but those can wait."

"Why do I feel like you're going to turn it into a tank," Ethan muttered.

"Because you have no imagination."

Ethan rolled his eyes and stood to make one last sweep of the washroom. When he tried to pass Heisenberg, though, he was stopped with a hand to the chest.

"Can I help you?"

Ethan knew exactly what Heisenberg wanted, he had only ever touched Ethan out of necessity or recent desire, but Ethan knew he shouldn't give in. He still had the looming worry of after, and there were very few situations where them fucking again wouldn't just make things worse.

Heisenberg stood, leaning in. Ethan folded his arms, refusing to feel anything over Heisenberg's slight height advantage.

"It feels like you're avoiding a more pressing question."

"Like?"

Heisenberg smirked. He ran his thumb over the button of Ethan's pants and, alright, that did have an effect. Then Heisenberg grabbed the front of his waistband, tugging Ethan close enough that their toes kicked together.

"We should be working," Ethan began, his protest perfunctory at best.

"You opened this box, Winters. Don't act shocked that the devils got out." Heisenberg pulled Ethan closer, just a bit, their hips almost touching.

Ethan could have traced the scars on his face if he wanted. Heisenberg might have even let him, if he stripped down first. Ethan bit his tongue, resenting the arousal threading through him almost as much as he relished Heisenberg's heat on his skin.

"You're still a fucking prick," Ethan said, then kissed Heisenberg before he said anything smart.

Not that Heisenberg needed words. He pushed his tongue into Ethan's mouth, exploring every place he hadn't found the night before. Ethan leaned into him, agonizingly aware of Heisenberg's hand slipping down the back of his pants, fingertips digging into his skin, threatening, promising to grab his ass at any second.

Ethan grit his hips against Heisenberg, hissing in a breath at the friction of his jeans. He shoved off Heisenberg's coat, tore at the buttons of his shirt, then finally just yanked both his shirt and undershirt off in one go. Heisenberg gave a grunt that was either discomfort at the cold or amusement at Ethan's eagerness, and did Ethan the favor of shucking his top layers, too. He moved Ethan to the bed, breaking off their kiss to remove Ethan's jeans.

It was shockingly easy to walk into this, even when he wasn't reeling with exhaustion and doubt. Last time—last night, hell, was it all that fast—he had been flirting with the brink of despair, had been too desperate and lonely and frightened to resist his old survival mechanic of fucking away his feelings. Now he wasn't desperate, praying Heisenberg wouldn't tear out his throat once he'd gotten his fill. Now it was just bad decisions without an excuse, having sex with the wrong person because the instant gratification was so, so sweet.

He liked seeing Heisenberg's erection through his khakis, liked even more when he ground it against Ethan's thigh. He liked Heisenberg's mouth on his throat, teeth tracing his pulse because he was alive, alive, alive. He liked how simple and straightforward this was, two people rutting like dogs because they were greedy and horny and so very touch starved. He could remember the last time he had touched Mia, really touched her, weeks ago when she had crept up and hugged him from behind, heat slow and comforting, and Ethan had thought they might be okay.

Then she was replaced by some fucking bird witch and he'd never even noticed. They'd been doomed long before he'd discovered he was infected, and it was a tragedy he barely even felt through the lightning shock of Heisenberg's skin.

Heisenberg bit his collarbone, as though he knew Ethan's thoughts had begun to stray. Ethan hissed in a breath, prepared to protest, but he was already licking over the spot, then biting him again, working in a line across Ethan's chest.

Heisenberg yanked Ethan's pants off, leering appreciatively down at him. A jar sailed serenely over, carried by its metal lid. Ethan propped himself up on his elbows, frowning until Heisenberg opened it and dipped his fingers in, promising trails of oil sliding down his hand.

Ethan's mouth went dry. He turned around, skin prickling with either cold or anticipation. Heisenberg grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to stay on all fours, then smoothed down his spine, nails scraping Ethan's skin to say he had all the time in the world.

He struggled to stay still as Heisenberg lazily took hold of his ass, fingers passing teasingly over Ethan's hole, making him clench his teeth. He did it again, a little more pressure, and Ethan was about to snarl over his shoulder were they fucking or what, when Heisenberg thrust a finger in. Ethan sucked in a breath, hands fisting in the sheets, head ducking as Heisenberg worked it in and out, then added a second. Ethan bit his lip, trying to breathe, trying not to whimper and feel completely like a rag doll on the waves of his arousal.

Heisenberg pulled his hand away, drawing out a less than dignified whimper. Ethan panted, dropping to his forearms, head spinning so sweetly he almost didn't notice the sound of Heisenberg's zipper or the soft shuffle of his pants coming down.

"Wait, wait," Ethan said, turning quickly and trying not to change his mind at the sight of Heisenberg, cock in hand and looking very annoyed.

"Don't tell me this is where you draw the line."

"No, it's just I wanna be able to sit down tomorrow."

Heisenberg scoffed, giving himself a few deliberate strokes. Ethan managed to tear his eyes away…mostly, then knelt in front of Heisenberg.

"Relax, just give me your hand."

Heisenberg hesitated, then let Ethan take hold of his palm. He pressed it between his thighs, trying to ignore Heisenberg's look. Heisenberg seemed to pick up where Ethan was going as he moved his hand, coating Ethan's thighs with oil, fingertips trailing the underside of Ethan's cock.

Ethan's breath hitched as he found himself looking into Heisenberg's quicksilver eyes, half-lidded, pupils blown. He leaned forward, catching Ethan's upper lip between his teeth. Even now, he kissed Ethan like he wanted him to stop breathing, teeth and tongue and aggression.

Heisenberg pulled back and turned Ethan around fast enough that Ethan had to brace himself against the wall. He trapped Ethan's hand with his, hips thrusting forward to force Ethan even more against the cold concrete. Ethan bit his cheek, pressing his thighs together, shudders going up his spine as Heisenberg's cock slid between them, thick and scorching to the touch. His nose was buried in Ethan's hair, breaths heavy like he wanted to consume Ethan, to tear him apart and see how his insides worked.

Heisenberg bit Ethan on the shoulder, not so hard as to draw blood but certainly to bruise, please, let Ethan bruise, let this leave marks on him like he was normal, like he was a person, like he would wake up in the morning loose and pleasantly aching and he wasn't stuck in the fucking mountains somewhere and he had a home, he was okay, the nightmare of the last six years was finished.

Heisenberg's thrusts were coming faster, harder, fingers digging into Ethan's hip to get better leverage, then he was taking hold of Ethan's cock, hand so hot, the calluses dragging against the delicate skin, smoothed over by oil and precum. Ethan looked down, dizzy at the sight of himself so hard, so obviously needy, choking off a moan when Heisenberg pressed a finger against his slit, Heisenberg's own cock pushing between Ethan's thighs. He leaned back, grabbing at Heisenberg's hair, so close, he was so close, drowning in every touch and breath, barely even his, he was Heisenberg's, fine, fine, he had no responsibility for himself anymore, it was better than not wanting to be alive anymore, it was—it was—

Ethan fumbled to keep from spattering the wall with his cum. Heisenberg came not long after, getting in a last few solid thrusts, hand clenching Ethan's so hard that it hurt but in a glorious way, a necessary way, a way that let him stay alive.

He relaxed against Heisenberg, their pulses crashing together beneath their skin. Ethan pressed his nose against Heisenberg's neck, hand reaching up to thread through Heisenberg's hair. Ethan kissed him, sloppy, lazy, hardly anything after the blood thirsty kisses from moments before. But he was too tired for more, so he kissed Heisenberg one last time and let that be enough.

"You never answered what you'd do once we left the mountains," Ethan said into the murky half-light.

Heisenberg snorted. "Fishing for ideas? Family man in crisis because he doesn't have anyone to dote on?"

Ethan stayed quiet, which made Heisenberg roll over to look at him. He tilted his head, cool gaze seeking out Ethan's hollow places.

"No…you're still worried about what I'm going to do."

Ethan didn't try to pretend or move away. His concerns had always been obvious, one of the first things out of his mouth. Heisenberg edged closer, their faces so close that Ethan could feel the soft heat of his breath, a crooked pretense at intimacy.

"What if I decided to do what Miranda did?" he asked, voice purring like an engine set to idle. "Indoctrinate whoever I can get my hands on, or hell, just put a few bolts in their brains so they can't refuse. I build a new army, decide on taking everything over. It wouldn't be hard."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Ethan said, voice just as even.

"Oh?" Heisenberg cocked an eyebrow, smile spiked in its condescension. He rested his hand on the side of Ethan's neck, less of a threat and more of a fact. "And how do you plan on stopping me? You don't have a tank this time, Ethan."

He shook his head. There were no doubts Heisenberg could feel his heart speeding up, could likely smell the adrenaline dumping into his bloodstream, but it didn't matter much. If Heisenberg thought there was much of a difference in Ethan's aggression and fear, he was more the fool.

"I will never let you hurt more innocent people."

"That's dark, Ethan," Heisenberg laughed. Copper tinged the air, Heisenberg's power flexing across the bunker in warning. "Planning to kill your lover already? Or maybe you think it's noble, a heroic sacrifice or some bullshit."

The hand on his neck increased its pressure, thumb brushing past his chin in the beginnings of a grip.

Ethan worked his jaw but did not pull away.

He would kill Heisenberg if it absolutely came down to it. There wasn't any point in lying about it; he would stop Heisenberg at all costs, always had. He had hoped—knowingly pretended—over the last day that Heisenberg wasn't what he always had been, had put away all thought of the wretched corpse soldiers and horrific machines and sadistic glee, because Ethan needed to feel human and Heisenberg was as close as he could get. But Ethan would still stop him if he chose to fall back into old patterns. Ethan had to. So far as he could tell, there was no one else left.

And Heisenberg would fight back, because of course he would. He would never accept the indignity of submitting to anyone, not again. He would discard this temporary intimacy as surely as Ethan would, faster, even, because he was only ever interested in himself.

Maybe. There had been easier ways, better ways to coerce Ethan into serving his plans. And Heisenberg had only truly tried to kill him after Ethan rejected both the alliance and orders to leave. They were bullshit concessions, to be sure, but concessions all the same. It was borderline miraculous Heisenberg had offered them at all.

Ethan swallowed, feeling every muscle move against Heisenberg's hand. He thought for a moment there was a flicker in Heisenberg's face, pupils growing large with lust, but then he sneered.

"Then again, killing me would be easy, after what you did to your wife in Louisiana."

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg's wrist and shoved him onto his back, fear dissolving into aggression just like he knew it would. He pinned Heisenberg into the mattress by the shoulder, straddling his waist.

"Don't ever act like you know what the fuck happened in Dulvey," Ethan hissed. He could barely hear through the blood screaming in his ears, could barely think around the memory of sinking the axe into Mia's chest, the disgusting crunch of bone beat out only by the report of the gun as he shot her in the head again and again and again. The second time killing her had been the worst. He hadn't been able to run away, then, had been knocked to the ground and made to stare at her, the smell of rot and despair filling his nose as her blood pooled on the ground because he had killed his wife and he hated himself for it.

That was probably why he had hesitated when Miranda had taunted him, slinking in and out of Mia's form. He couldn't risk killing his wife a third time, even though he knew she was a different person altogether. Not when this time it might actually stick.

The smell of copper was almost choking now, energy pouring off Heisenberg and making Ethan's teeth hurt. He hadn't summoned anything metal to help him, though, a challenge, an offering.

"You think you can kill me, Ethan?" Heisenberg asked, lip curling so prettily it made Ethan want to scream.

Ethan stared down at him, weighing the cost of following through. He probably could kill Heisenberg, if he was mean enough, lucky enough, relentless and vicious and turned all of the man's arrogance and condescension against himself. He had planned to, seeing Heisenberg for the first time after waking up. There had been no hesitation in Ethan then, no allowance for failure.

But last week had been so long ago, and now Ethan didn't know if he would survive, even if he won. He could force himself to do a lot, but murdering someone in cold blood, when they looked up at him with no attempts at defense, when he could still feel their lips on his skin…

Taking Heisenberg down because he had committed some atrocity was a far different matter from Ethan preemptively saving himself the pain.

All he wanted was to stop fucking breaking things. He only seemed good at breaking things.

Ethan let go of Heisenberg and leaned back, suddenly aware of how clammy his skin was.

"I don't want to," he told Heisenberg. "Please don't make me, I…I don't want to be alone."

Heisenberg scoffed, but it seemed less genuine than before, a sloppy patchwork that barely hid his thoughts. "You're shit at pillow talk."

"Heis—"

"Fine." He pushed Ethan off and sat up. Ethan stared at his back, tempted for a moment to reach out and touch his shoulder. But this wasn't Mia, shaky and muddled after a nightmare or an argument. It was a man that had dared Ethan to try killing him because honesty was too much.

Heisenberg pushed out of the bed, padding to the washroom. Ethan flopped back against the pillows and dragged in a breath.

No matter what he did, the problems just ran deeper, stickier. Was he really doing this? Was he really willing to saddle himself with one of the Four Lords for the foreseeable future?

But he'd already made his choice, hadn't he? Days back, before they'd even had sex, when Ethan had offered little glimpses of his soul because human connection was better than the jaws of despair.

Ethan hissed out a breath. Any harbor in a storm, he supposed. Heisenberg might even feel the same, if the conflicted flicker on his face was anything to go by.

Ethan stayed quiet when Heisenberg came back into the room, unsure if he was expected to be asleep. He certainly wasn't prepared for another argument, not when it was so mottled with lust and menace.

Heisenberg stopped by the side of the bed, gaze chilly on Ethan's skin. "Where's this damn house, anyway?"

Ethan didn't open his eyes. "Not sure. The map didn't look familiar, but it had coordinates. The Duke said it was close by, though."

Heisenberg huffed that Ethan was useless or something like it, then climbed into bed. Ethan waited a minute, then rolled over. He didn't hold onto Heisenberg, he wasn't that reckless, but he let himself stay close, stomach pressing against his hip, knee nestling against his leg.

Tomorrow, they would leave and officially make something new, be something new. Ethan didn't know if he would like whatever they became when he looked back, but he was alive and he wasn't sorry for it. That was a place to start, at least.