maskormenacelogs | [CLOSED]

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WHO: Walter White and Frederick Chilton
WHERE: Some old warehouse in Miami
WHEN: January 8th
WHAT: Conclusions.
WARNINGS: Character death, drugs, murder, hostage abuse, BrBa spoilers.

[ Walt pulled up a bit of distance from the warehouse, taking a moment to just sit in his car and reflect. This wasn't how he intended to go out, but in a way it was better. He was neither dying a hero nor a villain. He was taking out people who didn't deserve to live just as much as he didn't deserve to live, and saving the one person who did deserve to live in the process.

He imagined he and Chilton might have had one more conversation -- likely on the phone the morning before Walt decided to end things. He didn't think he would ever see the man again. And it was funny how things worked out. They wouldn't have long, but at least they could have a goodbye -- provided everything here worked out in his favor.

He got out of the car, grabbed his guns and fitted a few vials of various chemicals into his jacket. He walked up to the warehouse and managed to sneak up on one of the men standing guard. It took only a few seconds to kill him and steal his appearance -- the perfect way to sneak in. These guys wanted Antonio the "traitor." And Walt would give them Antonio. But not without getting in and seeing where Chilton was first; not without moving the man to a better position for quick extraction.

Walt made his way inside the building and after wandering for a bit, he found where they were holding Chilton. The man currently on watch -- likely the man who had roughed Chilton up a bit during his time here -- was standing there with him now. And right before he went to drive his pistol across Chilton's face (because keeping him alive didn't mean keeping him unharmed), Walt walked up and stopped him, tempted to kill him right then and there. But he couldn't afford the risk. He had to exercise patience. ]

Hey. Boss wants you outside. Says he spotted Antonio's car not too far off. Should be coming in any minute now.

[ This seemed to appease the tormentor, who apparently had extra beef with 'Antonio.' And he headed off. Walt turned toward Chilton, then, and his heart sank at the sight of him. He reached out, brushing his hand against Chilton's face and easing some of the man's pain. ]

Can you walk? I can't get you out of here. Not yet. But I'm going to move you to a better vantage point. I need you to listen to me and follow my instructions exactly. Can you do that? If you don't, you run the risk of dying with the rest of them.

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[Part of his face had been bruised -- variant colors were displayed, from the fresher eggplant purples to the quiet olive greens. He flinched as Walt touched him, cringed with the anticipation of more inflicted agony -- until the man spoke. Until he felt the soothing chemical mitigation seep into his skin.

Until he realized the context of escape.]

How -- ? [Chilton closed his eyes, shuddering. He knew the blood down his shirt was still viscid. It had only shortly ago flowed from his cut lip.]

I don't want to die.

[That was his pledge to Walt, one as good as any that passed between his teeth.]

You're not going to.

[ Walt assured -- gentle and caring as he cut him loose from his roped bindings and placed his hand on his back to gently steer him toward another room. All the while, he took in the layout of the building and eyed their duct work, which would become important in his ultimate plan. ]

I promise you're not going to die. You trust me with your life, don't you? You trust that I want you to live -- that I need you to live, right?

[ He brought Chilton toward a small, enclosed area used for storage -- most of the guards were focused toward the front of the building, so Walt brought Chilton toward the back. He walked around in front of him and rested his hands on his cheeks. ]

I'm going to alter your lung capacity a little bit -- I'm going to make your body able to hold in oxygen better. In five minutes after I leave your side, I want you to draw in as deep of a breath as you can and hold it for as long as you can. Close your eyes as well. I will come to you and bring you a gas mask, but you absolutely cannot breathe until I get to you. Do you understand me?

I know. [And he did know, he deeply understood why Walt required Chilton to outlive him. The psychiatrist had, in fact, suggested over and over again how crucial Walt's legacy was, how important it was that Chilton told it.] I trust you.

[It was akin to trusting his own creation. It was vicariously trusting himself. He followed Walter White without question, huddling against the other man.]

I -- What? [The rush of information, lung capacity, gas mask, the implication of some chemical horror about to ignite. Chilton swallowed, and nodded.]

Yes, yes, Walt. I understand.

[Chilton quivered as he spoke.]

If you do, I should still be able to take the toxin out of your bloodtream before it kills you. But it wouldn't be pleasant. Especially with your...affliction.

[ He spared a glance down toward Chilton's torso, in the general area where the dissection scar remained. ]

I can give you a bit of resistance to it -- make it so your body won't break it down so easily. That will buy a little more time, but that's the most I can do. The rest will be up to you.

[ He stepped closer. He trusted Chilton's will to survive more than he trusted anything else about that man. And because of it, he would survive. Walt laid his hands on Chilton's skin and began to work on temporarily altering Chilton's systems. This wouldn't be a long-lasting, permanent change. The body always worked itself back to homeostasis and Walt would probably put Chilton back to normal before his own body had the chance (it might be painful to allow it to happen naturally).

So once everything was altered, Walt lingered there, looking at Chilton for a quiet, emotional moment. He offered the tiniest, fraction of a smiles before stepping back. ]

Remember. Five minutes. Five minutes all around. After five minutes, you hold your breath, and that should last for five minutes. Don't be afraid, Chilton. This is the moment we've been working toward this whole time.

[Five minutes. Chilton nodded, numbly, his sense of time already distorted from the nearly two days spent kidnapped and tormented by the very men who thought that he was Heisenberg. It was something of an identity theft thrust upon him. With a swallow, Chilton closed his eyes, wondering if he could feel the bodily changes that Walt had induced.]

Don't let them find me, Walt, don't let them back here.

[Chilton knew he sounded weak, even pathetic. He knew that Walt was seeing him at a lower point -- the submerging beneath the pond scum, the tortured exposure. But he couldn't care much in that moment, he only wanted to leave this trauma.

He inhaled. His lungs expanded. He held his breath.]

I won't.

[ He paused and shook his head at Chilton. ]

Not yet. You don't have to hold your breath yet.

[ He took off his watch and offered it over. Now Chilton had time. Now he would know exactly when five minutes passed. With that, Walt left him alone. He snuck out easily and got everything into place -- putting a few, tiny vials of a clear liquid into the vents. Each of these were rigged with a remote controlled wire. All Walt had to do was press a button and they would open and unleash the gas into the air.

Three minutes.

Walt headed out the back door and collected the gas mask he stashed nearby, shoving it into the corner where he could grab it when it was needed. Afterward, he shifted shape into 'Antonio' and headed around front, arms extended in the air. ]

You guys wanted me. You got me. Now let him go.

[ They descended on him, yanked and dragged him inside. They beat on him, cursed at him for being a traitor and turning on them in favor of siding with 'Heisenberg.' And the price for traitors? They drew a gun on him.

One minute.

In the midst of being kicked in the stomach, Walt started to laugh. It was soft at first and then became nearly maniacal. Nearly ecstatic. The laugh caused the gang members to hesitate, and the one that had taken great pleasure in torturing Chilton grabbed Walt off the floor, thrusting him against the wall. ]

The fuck's so funny?? [ Demanded the sadistic one. ]

[ And Walt could only look at him full of mirth. ] Antonio's been dead for a long time now.

[ He shed his skin to the horror of the gang members. They stared on in open mouthed shock and then recovered enough to raise their guns.

Zero minutes.

Walt drew in a breath and hit the remote. Tabun, clear and odorless, filtered in through the vents. The men didn't realize what hit them until it was too late. Until they were doubling over in agony. And before the chemical saturated the air, Walt ran for the gas mask -- putting it on and breathing easily. He watched with satisfaction as the men dropped, their entire nervous systems giving out on them.

But he couldn't watch them for long because he had something more important to take care of. Walt headed to where he last left Chilton, and much to his relief, finding him unscathed. Walt reached out for his former psychiatrist, grabbing his wrist and through their connection, Chilton had temporary immunity. Walt blocked Chilton's receptors from the chemical so that his body wouldn't process it. ]

It's alright. You can breathe normally and open your eyes. As long as I'm holding onto you, you'll be fine. You'll be fine.

[ Walt looked up at him slowly, sadly. ]

There's a car outside waiting for you. The keys are in the console. On the seat, you'll find a paper with the address to my storage unit. The code is written on the paper as well. That's where all my money is being kept. All eleven million dollars. It's yours. I recommend getting it out of there as soon as you can and moving it someplace secure. I imagine as soon as the authorities get wind of this, that will be the first thing they look for.

[ A pause. ]

You can stop by my house in Heropa as well. If there's anything you want of my things -- I leave it all to you, Chilton.

Ohmygod. [The words flooded his exhale, shaking and shivering Frederick Chilton now gasping for air. He was staggering to his feet with the chemist's touch, having been curled in a corner of the room. He looked at Walt, his eyes sharp and wide and rendered so trusting.

He wasn't dead. That was the thesis of his emotions: he was still alive.]

You leave it all to me.

[He couldn't have blocked out the sounds of fury from moments ago, and their echoed in his mind.]

And you, Walt? Where does this leave you?

[A beat followed. Chilton swallowed. Finality stung in the air.]

Is this the last time?

[ While Walter knew this was going to be the last time, but Chilton's words punctuated that. In this world, it all began and ended with Chilton. He was the catalyst that saw Walt through his best and worst times. And it was only fitting that he was the last person Walt would see -- the last person Walt sacrificed for.

He smiled, though it was tinged with sorrow. This all felt so bittersweet. ]

This will be our final session.

[ His grip on Chilton tightened, almost as though those words frightened him -- as though he couldn't let go of the man who held claim on him, his self-proclaimed creator. In this moment, Walt was as dependent on Chilton for life as the psychiatrist literally was on him to keep the toxin in the air at bay. Because the second Walt let go of him, it was over. Chilton would take the gas mask and leave Walt behind. And Walt feared he would cease his importance in Chilton's life then. He would become nothing to the only man he fought so hard to become something to. ]

Do you have anything else you want to ask me? Anything else you need to know for your book?

[If that tightened grip worried Chilton, he didn't expose those feelings -- Walt was unstable, yes, but he followed a certain nuanced ethos. It was something that Chilton had noted early on in their professional relationship, and it was something that remained true. Despite Walt's volatility, he kept some consistence.

It was just a matter of discovering the nature of that consistency. Even gas had nobility, as Walt well knew.]

It's a shame you won't be around to see it. The book.

[But very few saw their legacy manifested. Just as very few were allowed to pick who would tell their story.]

Is that enough?

[Was a story enough, he meant.]

It has to be. There's nothing left to tell.

[ Walt thought for a moment. He wasn't sure he would want to see Chilton's book. While he had faith in the man to craft their journey into a well-written novel, there would be something unsatisfying about reading it. He wouldn't be a legend. He would merely be reading about his glory days, likely from the inside of a prison cell or worse. Solitary confinement within Chilton's very own hospital. ]

I'm satisfied with it. Things may not have played out exactly the way I intended, but in the end I accomplished the main thing I wanted to. I -- no we -- found a way out. A way to cheat the system. Even Jesse came back in the end. But I won't. And that is the biggest 'fuck you' I could give them -- all of the people who wanted nothing more than to see me taken down and imprisoned. In the end, I'm the one who won.

[Even Jesse came back in the end. The words earned a sneer. Jesse Pinkman was an idiot, and Chilton didn't want to waste any more breath on the boy; Pinkman been nothing more than an instrument with a singular use, a screwdriver intended to untwist Walt's last remaining grip on morality. He was now reduced to a measurement that Walt could be compared to, and as long as the chemist's deeds were more brutal then their logic would hold.

That was the idea.

Chilton smirked, the corners of his mouth leading to a wince.]

You won, we've won. The rest is just poetics, Walt.

[Chilton squeezed at the other man's shoulder, using that to both reassure his patient and to steady himself. Dual intentions were almost mechanical at this point.]

Look on my works.

[A fragment he knew Walt would remember.]

Ye mighty and despair.

[ Walt answered with meaning. Chilton remembered. He would always remember. Nothing beside remains. He was ready. Walt, having always been an emotional man, used the hand clutching Chilton to pull him close -- to embrace him with finality. The hug went beyond words of gratitude and expressed just how much the man had meant to him. Through good times and bad. Through ups and downs. Their professional relationship had been a journey. It was toxic in a different sort of way compared to him and Jesse. But, at least to Walt, it was still meaningful.

The biggest accomplishment he made in this world was impacting Chilton's life. Chilton, the man who survived not just one strange, alternate universe but two. Chilton, the man who constantly sought after fame. Walt had given him the gift of infamy and the money to inspire influence. Walt would leave this world knowing that Chilton would put all the time they invested in one another to good use, knowing that only Chilton could have made this possible.

Walt pulled back from him reluctantly, still keeping his hand on Chilton's arm to regulate his bodily functions. After a few seconds, he used his other hand to remove the gas mask. Walt, then, slipped it onto Chilton's face. There was nothing left to keep Walter White alive. ]

Goodbye, Chilton.

Goodbye, Walt.

[How curious that they had always resigned themselves to these names: the chemist using the most formal and distant of Chilton's surname and the psychiatrist uttering the most intimate and friendly use of nickname. It was a microcosm of their give and take, an emblem of their ebb and flow. Chilton swallowed, his lips numb as he tried to smile.

It wasn't easily visible behind the gas mask, the twitch of lips didn't reach his eyes.

Chilton understood what this meant, the fact that Walt had sacrificed his mask. He knew it was an embrace of death -- and while he had to fight the instinct to call for help for his patient, Chilton admired the determination in Walt's gaze. The sheer obstinate command over death that Walt wielded. He didn't offer to sedate Walt into the darkness for this very reason.

Walt wouldn't have wanted anything to calcify his mind, thought Chilton.

Quietly, carefully, he reached out to squeeze Walt's right shoulder. He gave a nod, his green eyes widened, before he took his first steps past the condemned man.

Frederick Chilton walked out, alive and still breathing.]

[ Walt could feel it -- the way the chemical broke down his body. The way his muscles began to seize and the pain that followed. He watched Chilton go without turning to do so, without putting in any more movements than necessary to exert himself and end this quicker. He could port back in tomorrow, all of these emotional farewells could have been for nothing. But Walt had faith in the one whispered promise Chilton delivered to him:

"It's possible that in order for your suicide mission to take some cement hold, Walt, you'll need to raise the stakes. No one, no hero and no government is going to put a target on the back of a sad, lonely pharmacist. But they would a national threat. They would a kingpin. Have you noticed, I wonder, that those who have died permanently were all irritants to the government, or some institution? Freddie Lounds. Lunatic. People who gave someone powerful a reason to take them out."

He trusted in Chilton's words, in Chilton's truths. Without those words, he had nothing.

Coughing blood into his sleeve, Walt turned around and walked further into the building. His step was slow and labored. And yet, he couldn't give in just yet. Not without reaching the laboratory. Not without having the final thing he saw in this world reflect the final thing he saw back home. But more than that, he needed to take this building out.

He was certain Chilton had gotten a good distance away. And if he hadn't, he would. His hands were losing their control, his respiratory system was seizing up -- and in spite of the pain, Walt was happy. He was thrilled. It was the first time since Walt arrived that he found himself truly satisfied.

Racing against his body's own time limit, Walt rigged up a few chemicals to act as a bomb and create an explosion. The last thing he was able to do was add the flame for a slow burn before his body gave out and he collapsed to the ground. He gasped for air while his lungs spasmed in denial, refusal. But it didn't hurt. Walt didn't feel the pain any longer.

Jesse was back in this world. And Chilton had lived to write his story. Those were the two things Walt had most wanted, and the two things he was able to see right before he died. Darkness licked at the edges of his vision, and Walt smiled one more time before closing his eyes and allowing death to sweep him into its embrace.

Only mere seconds after Walt took his final breath did the heated chemicals detonate, a brilliant and terrible explosion -- spreading throughout the building and setting everything aflame. There would be nothing left. Walter, the men, the building. It would all be ash come morning.

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away... ]

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