Breaking Bad fan fiction with notes

24 min readFeb 24, 2021

Disclaimers: The show and all of its characters were created by Vince Gilligan. I don’t make money from this post or any others on my Medium. When possible, I cite/link to any real lines from the show that I’ve quoted. My notes are bracketed to set them apart from the fan fiction scenes. Fic titles are bolded.

Spoilers: entire show

Trigger warnings: murder; drugs; overdose death; ableist and homophobic language; abuse/trauma bonds

S1E1 or prologue: Walt remembers Freud’s personality theories

Walter White would never willingly hurt anyone in his life. One day, though, some students stole his briefcase and threw it up onto the roof. It was just a flickering thought: I’m glad telekinesis isn’t real, because those kids would be dead. Odd. Not like him.

He always held himself back when he was angry, but this restraint was expected and taken for granted. Some people actually thought that a few derisive comments to students made him some type of sadist. That was the tip of the iceberg as far as his feelings were concerned. It was clear that his students had no idea who he was. He usually didn’t want to be there at school anymore than they did. To them, he was just some nerd, a waste of time. They had no clue that he could have been Steve Jobs or Bill Gates and were unimpressed with his genius.

This briefcase incident was after weeks of pencils somehow stuck in the ceiling tiles in his classroom. He could have sworn his students had coordinated with their friends in the classroom directly above his to drop all their books or rearrange their desks in unison.

Carmen had just squinted at him when he tried to explain his synchronized book drop theory. “OK, so help me understand. Before the briefcase. You think students in OTHER classes were messing with you? Above you — Sarah has a few drama classes now. They act scenes out in class. It’s great.”

“I see. That must be what it is.”

“You do lots of explosions, I know. You’re a pro. A veteran teacher. Any problems controlling your own classes? Because I’ve never seen any.”

“They don’t respect me.” Walt struggled to think of concrete, past examples on the spot. “They don’t even think of me as human. I’m more like a punching bag than a person to them. A cartoon, a laughingstock. It’s draining. There’s a quote I like: ‘It’s better to live one day as a lion than a thousand years as a sheep.’ Who said that?”

Carmen had once been a history teacher, now assistant principal. “My God, Walt. I think Mussolini?”

He laughed — that forced, harmless laugh. “Oops. Sorry. Was it, really? I’m glad I asked you, Carmen, before I made it into a motivational poster.”

Then two students laughed, pointed, and took pictures of him as he knelt and washed their cars at his second job. Humiliating! And the ironic thing was the entire world expecting him to just take it. What was it about him that gave that passive, mild impression — made them think that of him? What was the expression? “Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth?” He knew it was figurative, but how bizarre. If butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, he’d be a corpse.

If he needed to supplement his income, there had to be a second job that could earn him lots of money and respect. It wouldn’t be so bad if someone in the world was afraid of him, as long as his family never would be.

Walt gave the same fake, quiet laugh when his brother-in-law, Hank, mocked and upstaged Walt at his own 50th birthday party. Hank even impugned his masculinity. Only small children want to be the center of attention at someone else’s birthday party, Walt thought.

Walt (holding Hank’s gun): It’s just heavy.

Hank (laughing): That’s why they hire men!

Ouch. Fuck you, Hank, he thought, laughing innocuously. Walt had never even raised his voice or a hand to anyone in anger, no matter what, like some type of saint. He’d been startled by his own surprise birthday party, for God’s sake.

These strange, angry thoughts occurred more regularly after his cancer diagnosis. He physically attacked the obnoxious little shits who were mocking Junior’s disability at a clothing store. Only monsters hit kids, but these bullies were monstrous themselves. So, it was an equal and opposite reaction.

Walter later lit a BMW on fire at a gas station, then walked calmly away from the explosion. Why had he never given in to this volatile side of his personality before? It felt amazing, liberating. The surge of adrenaline and cortisol went straight to his brain. He felt physically stronger, finally alive — powerful. What an escape from his drab life as a teacher.

Walt had read Freud a long time ago — college or grad school. He had once been all superego — all intellect, all conscience. That hadn’t served him well at all, in the long run. Now he wondered why he’d ever repressed his id — those unacceptable impulses were perfectly natural and fun to indulge. But where was his ego? Not the pop psychology meaning of arrogance, but his real self. If he remembered Freud’s personality theories correctly, it was the conscious middle ground between the superego and the id. It felt lost between the two extremes. He had no idea who he was anymore.

(Author’s note: I could write a critical essay with the thesis that Mr. White as introduced in the pilot is Walter White’s superego, Heisenberg is his id, and his real personality or ego is an amalgam of these two extremes. However, the violent, coercive, angry side of his personality already surfaces in the pilot.

Although he’s more violent as Heisenberg, he first kills while still a nerdy, quiet teacher. The show keeps setting up, then deconstructing, a false dichotomy between Walter and Heisenberg. They are indistinguishable. I have a lifelong love/hate fascination with Freud and critical theory, and I think these ideas have permeated pop culture.

It’s now a meme or joke to ask when Walt “becomes Heisenberg.” He always had a sadistic side. He makes a series of escalating choices, which reveal the latent evil in him all along. He’s a true wolf in sheep’s clothing and extremely manipulative, especially with Jesse. One of the earliest moments is in the pilot, when he threatens to turn Jesse in unless he works with him. This is blackmail and coercion. Walt is very complex but manipulative and abusive all along.

Long before creating his Heisenberg alter ego, Walt plays on the symbolism of a chiral in chemistry. He fits two apparently similar but opposite stereotypes: a smart, nerdy guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly and a ruthless serial killer. Walt reminded me simultaneously of countless ordinary, nice, smart men and of serial killers like Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy. This creates a terrifying cognitive dissonance. Like Krazy 8, we’re unsure whether Walt will choose to be merciful or a killer. Marie says Walt “looks like the Unabomber” by the end, so the series riffs on these images.)

Jane’s Intuition

(Inspired by S2E7)

The first time Jane saw that creep, Walter White, he was kicking her door in.

Her door. Her dad’s door. Jesse’s door.

Technically, it was all three. Her dad owned the building, Jane managed it, and Jesse rented that apartment.

“Jesse! Jesse! Jesse! Open up!” The guy shouted intimidatingly. He was a tall, thin, bald, older, white guy in a black pork-pie hat. The door was obviously locked, but he leaned all his weight on it, then grabbed the hideous statue outside and tried to break the door in.

Jane had frozen for a second. “Sir! Stop, or I’m going to call the cops to report a home invasion.” Jane yelled. She was bluffing, but he didn’t know that. She’d hesitated because she didn’t want the cops in her business, finding drugs in her or Jesse’s apartments.

As soon as the man turned and looked in her eyes, she got that cold tension in the pit of her stomach. She’d only gotten that feeling twice before in her 26 years of life. She’d later found out that the first person who’d triggered it had been a murderer; the second, a rapist. So maybe it wasn’t, like, scientific, but it wasn’t bullshit or magic, either. It was her body trying to keep her safe.

The man’s blue eyes and voice softened. “Please don’t,” he begged in a husky voice, like she was the attacker here. “I’m Jesse’s dad. I just want to see my son.”

Jane crossed her arms. “Who? Jesse James? Jesse Jackson?” She’d been told she had resting bitch face, but sometimes it was useful.

“That guy isn’t really my dad, you know,” Jesse told her later.

“Obviously.”

Something had felt really off when he’d claimed to be Jesse’s dad. She knew that was wrong. The vibe was more like some kind of obsessive stalker than a dad. If the man was anyone’s dad or partner, he was probably an abusive or estranged one.

Jesse was still rambling about that creepy guy. “We work together. And he was my teacher in high school.”

“Uh-huh. Well, that explains a lot.” She’d been aiming for sarcasm, but her voice was usually deadpan anyway. She was half-serious, though. “Like how you always call him Mr. White.”

Jane quickly changed the subject because she hated the guy. Nothing Jesse explained about Walter made it any less weird. That was only the first time that Walter broke in, out of many. He was controlling and had no sense of personal space or boundaries. One night, Jane pretended to stay asleep as Walter yelled, slapped Jesse’s face, shook him, and poured water on his face to wake him. She wanted to tell Walter to fuck off but was afraid to start a fight with him. Who the fuck did Walter think he was? It was like he thought Jesse belonged to him. Someday he’d really hurt him.

“Better call Saul!”

(Note: set during S2E9, “4 Days Out,” after Walt and Jesse had met Saul but before they met Gus

What if the battery hadn’t worked and they’d called Saul to rescue them, for some reason? I doubt Saul could have found them, but it would have been hilarious.)

Saul: When I say a finder’s fee, I don’t mean I literally go find you. You guys owe me big time. But what else could ya do? (Mocking voice) “Oh, hello, 9–1–1? My meth lab broke and we’re stranded in the middle of the desert.”

Walt (sarcastically): Yes, Saul. If your meth lab RV breaks down one day, feel free to call us.

Saul: Anytime. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.

Jesse (nodding off after Saul keeps babbling): Yo. Who the FUCK is little Slippin’ Jimmy?

Saul (sounding offended, pointing to his chest with one hand): ME! Weren’t you listening?

Walt (muttering): You’re going to slip out of this car if you’re not careful. And both hands on the wheel, Saul.

Saul: What? Did you just threaten to throw me out of my own car? That’s the last time I save your asses. What happened to “thank you,” huh?

Walt: We’ve been awake for over 24 hours, dehydrated, I have cancer, and there are 40 pounds of meth in your trunk. Pardon me if I’m not in the best mood. Just let us sleep.

Jesse: You saved our lives, man!

Saul: Sure thing.

Jesse: WTF even is this song? “Just a Gigolo?”

Saul: Well, aren’t we all? Didn’t you guys ever watch Mad Men?

Walt: Saul. Drop me off, here, please. I need to get a cab by myself. I can’t let Skyler see me with you, Jesse, and 40 pounds of our product.

Saul: Well, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who’d love to take it off your hands.

Walt: I hope this person really exists, Saul. For all of our sakes.

Walt thought there was something garish and larger-than-life about Saul. It was slightly off, like he was always playing a role. It was like, instead of putting his own face on billboards, Saul was a cartoon character who’d stepped off the billboards and out of his commercials into real life. Walt couldn’t tell where the façade ended and the real Saul began. This would be a useful, self-protective quality to have. Maybe Walt should take notes.

Joe later destroyed the defunct meth lab in the desert, and they moved to the super-lab. (Replaces canonical ending.)

My second reimagining of S2E9 4 Days Out, set between the episode and the El Camino flashback scene in the hotel buffet.

“Jesse: Battery’s dead.
Walt: Jesse. Back when I asked you to put the keys in a safe place, where did you put them?
Jesse: I left them right here. In the, um… the ignition.
Walt: Son of a bitch!
Jesse: Whoa whoa. No, this is not my fault, alright? The buzzer didn’t buzz.
Walt: The WHAT?
Jesse: The buzzer! The buzzer that buzzes when you put the keys in. To like let you know that the battery’s on. I know that! It didn’t buzz. Look, I didn’t turn the key or anything, alright? I’m not stupid. Did you hear the buzzer buzz? I did not… It’s faulty, it’s a faulty mechanism.
Walt: Is this just a genetic thing with you? Is it congenital? Did your, did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?”

Jesse: Fuck you. Would you ever treat Junior like this?

Walt: How dare you, Pinkman! Stay on topic. Leave my son out of this.

Jesse: No, bitch! Listen. I bet that’d make Junior feel like shit. Ya know how I know? ’Cause it makes ME feel like shit! What would you do if somebody, anybody, said that to Junior? Now, to you. Heisenberg. Not the old, live-action Ned Flanders, nerdy ass Mr. White.

Walt: What? What did you just call me?

Jesse: I think I know what you’d do. If anyone treated Junior like that, you’d beat them up, like you did with those asshole bullies in the clothing store that time.

Walt was restraining himself from hitting or pushing Jesse. This was all Jesse’s fault that they might die out here. It was such a lonely, noble way to live, reining in his baser urges constantly. He’d told Jesse that Junior had CP and about that incident in the clothing store. That was when he’d started lashing out at people, after his cancer diagnosis. Angry outbursts had been so unlike him until then. Finally, Walt answered, “Yes, I would, but I don’t see how that’s relevant. As you know, my son has a diagnosed, congenital disability: cerebral palsy.”

Jesse: Well, wasn’t Junior con — born that way?

Walt: Watch it. That’s different. You’re just lazy.

Jesse: Shut up, prick! I’m not done. Whatever. Every time you wrote some smart-ass comment like, “Ridiculous! Apply yourself!” on some poor kid’s test, did you stop to think that you have no idea what that kid’s life is like? You saw a stupid, lazy stoner, not a kid who already used drugs because he was depressed. Also, your class was boring, yo. You didn’t have a problem with my parents at the time, but they thought I was a fuck-up already. No, you know everything, don’t ya? You didn’t make yourself smart, bitch. You just are. Lucky. It is what it is.

Hours later, when their tempers had cooled down, Walt was mulling over Jesse’s words. He never felt sorry for Junior because Walter found nothing more degrading than pity. But maybe he did compartmentalize Junior’s disability in some ways. He said to himself: Junior was lucky not to need more help than he already did. He treated kids differently if he knew they had a disability and really couldn’t do something, rather than just not trying. He guessed that was fair.

The possibility of becoming disabled and dependent on other people scared him more than death or anything else about cancer, even the money. It was an utter loss of control over his life. He’d told his wife:

“Skyler, you’ve read the statistics. These doctors talking about surviving. One year, two years, like it’s the only thing that matters. But what good is it, to just survive if I am too sick to work, to enjoy a meal, to make love? For what time I have left, I want to live in my own house. I want to sleep in my own bed. I don’t wanna choke down 30 or 40 pills every single day, lose my hair, and lie around too tired to get up, and so nauseated that I can’t even move my head. And you cleaning up after me? Me, with… some dead man, some artificially alive… just marking time? No. No. And that’s how you would remember me. That’s the worst part. So… that is my thought process, Skyler. I’m sorry. I just… I choose not to do it.”

Maybe it was that double standard again — like a delineating line in his head that said: “That’s fine for you, but not for me.” I personally, Walter White, would rather die than be unable to walk, talk, think, read, dress, and use the bathroom by myself. . .he thought. I love and accept my son. I’m just different from him and from most people. I was born a genius — special, superior.

(Author’s note: I have cerebral palsy and finally watched this show almost 13 years after it began. I’m convinced none of these characters would even have heard of ableism, much less understand it. I remember how casually sexist, racist, ableist, and anti-LGBTQIA high school and college were in the 2000s. Junior has experienced ableism and maybe medical trauma, without naming them this way. Maybe this is what he’s thinking when he calls his dad a “pussy,” but none of these characters have safe coping mechanisms or much self-awareness whatsoever.

My take: Walt considers himself superior as a person because of his intelligence. This is intellectual ableism. So is every time he abuses Jesse by calling him stupid, worthless, mocking his substance abuse, etc.

To become a better person, Walter would have needed to unpack why internalized ableism and toxic masculinity made him associate cancer and needing money with a loss of dignity, pride, or masculinity. Not in this type of show! Instead, his sacrificed most of his moral and caring side.)

“Hell is Murky”

After building their makeshift RV battery, Walt and Jesse got separate rooms in the hotel, but Walt still knocked on Jesse’s door so they could watch TV together.

Jesse rolled his eyes but opened the door. “Haven’t we spent enough time together already, man?”

“We solved the problem, Jesse. We survived. I knew you could do it.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a liar. You’re so full of shit, man. Did you start believing in me before or after you hi — put your hands on me and grabbed me and called me stupid? I thought you were gonna kill me.”

Walt put an arm around Jesse’s shoulder and turned the TV channel. “I’d never do that, Jesse. That’s all over now anyway. You’re safe. Battle…bots. What happens on this one?”

“Guess.”

“These teams of people build robots, which then battle each other.”

“You really are a genius, Mr. White.”

Walt was in a good mood, so he just laughed along with Jesse’s sarcasm. “You like robots? You seemed really excited when you thought we were going to build one instead of a battery. Why not learn how to build them?”

“Because not everyone is as smart as you is why!” Jesse added: “OK, well. We should go on this, if you ever wanna get out of the meth business. We’re a team, right?”

“Always, but not a robotics team. And you’d slack off while I do all the work, as always.”

“We’d win — easy. Hands down. And get $10,000.”

“I can make that now in a day. And you know we could never be on TV.”

“I know, right. Us on TV. Who’d watch that? Look, fire! Explosions. Chemistry, right?”

They found a stage production of Macbeth on TV: a woman pacing alone on a dimly lit stage.

“Lady Macbeth: Out, damned spot; out, I say. One, two, — why, then ’tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?”

Jesse: Hey, I got that last part. “Who’da thought he had so much blood in him?” Wasn’t she just telling a dog to go outside, though? You know, a dog named Spot?

Walt (shaking his head): Jesse. What on Earth are you talking about now?

Jesse: Never mind. Because it’s in like, Old English and shit. (He shivered and changed the channel, flashing back to trying to dissolve Emilio’s body in acid, as Walt had instructed.) Fuck that shit.

Walt felt a chill too. “Actually, Jesse, it’s Early Modern English. Skyler says so.”

“Early Modern? Come on. You can’t be early AND Modern. You’re just making shit up. You think I’m so stupid, man.”

They’d switched back to previous channel, which showed How It’s Made after Battlebots.

Jesse lay on top of the heavy comforter, still in his many layers of clothes. Walt sat awkwardly on the edge of the king-sized bed. “Wow, Mr. White. Processes and shit. It’s almost as boring as your class. I’ll fall right to sleep.”

“If you want to keep insulting me, I’ll go. It’s very late, and that breakfast buffet closes by 10 AM. Too early if you stay up until 3.”

“Yeah. OK. Good night, Mr. White.”

Jesse and his own children occupied a similar place in Walter’s mind and heart. Walt remembered Jesse from school, of course, but neither had liked the other back when Jesse was in his class. The old animosity resurfaced from time to time.

Walter pondered Lady Macbeth’s words: “Hell is murky.” That’s right: hell was hypothetical, an unknown quantity, to say the least. In the unlikely event there was a hell, they were both already pretty much going there. Go big or go home.

Yet the immediate dangers they faced — death, arrest, losing his family’s security and respect — those were concrete, real. The Shakespearean scene had brought back harrowing memories of coughing into a respirator, cleaning up Emilio’s remains. There was so much intensity, guilt, and secrecy in his first time doing that to — and with — another human being. It had created an indelible bond with Jesse that would last the rest of their lives. No one would ever understand that experience except Jesse. Not Gretchen, Skyler, Junior, nor any clerics or therapists, if he’d even known any of those.

Back when it could still unnerve him, Walt had watched a TV episode speculating on ancient human sacrifices. The archaeologists had posited that some ancient religions had once sacrificed people to bury them in the foundations of new buildings and bridges. To Walt, it seemed totally irrational and counterintuitive. In horror movies, these buildings would be cursed, haunted, from the start. But these ancient people saw it as bargaining with the gods so their structures wouldn’t kill anyone else. Emilio and Domingo were the “foundation sacrifices” necessary for Walt and Jesse to start their meth venture. Their blood was in Jesse’s house: the walls, the floors, the ceilings.

By the time Gretchen and Eliot had offered Walt a job at Gray Matter out of pity, it was already too late, ironically. Walt had already struck out on his own, cooking meth with Jesse. The deaths of Emilio and Krazy 8 weighed on him. It had always been too late to back out. Then they would have died in vain. All Walt and Jesse could do was strategize so fewer people were hurt going forward.

(Note: many people have pointed out that Walt’s doctor’s initial prognosis ends up ironically coming true. When he first diagnoses him with cancer, Walt’s doctor predicts that he has about two years to live. He dies not from cancer, but after shielding Jesse from bullets — almost exactly two years later. It’s almost like a modern version of the prophecies in Oedipus and Macbeth.

Walt’s “harmless” reputation and “inconspicuousness” are an extreme version of white, male privilege and presumed innocence. His education and genius add extra layers of privilege and seeming benignity here. However, I think some people also desexualize all smart, nerdy men.

Breaking Bad does a great job of showing how some people always consider themselves inherently good, regardless of their actions. Walt tells Jesse many times that they’re not criminals or murderers, even after they literally are.)

“Semantics”

(Author’s note: Set during S3E10, “Fly;” also replaces Walt coldly telling Jesse: “I watched Jane die” in “Ozymandias”)

“Walt: Oh, I know the moment. It was the night Jane died.”

Jesse (interrupting angrily): Fuck you mean, the night Jane died? I woke up the next day, and she was dead!

Walt blinked and said quietly: “I’m sorry, Jesse. I know. That’s what I meant. In retrospect, I realize that must have been the night Jane died. The toxicology report and autopsy determined she overdosed and died sometime during the right, remember?”

Jesse swung to punch Walt — but then, Jesse, not Walt, flinched away at the last second.

“Yeah, of course I fucking remember. I woke up late — like noon, hungover — and she was cold and dead — probably been dead for hours. So, how’d you know she died at night?”

“It’s just an expression, Jesse. I’m sorry. I misspoke. Middle of the night — you know, early morning.”

Jesse glared at him. Walt never admitted he was wrong or apologized to him, but now he’d done it twice within a minute. He’d done something way worse than “mis-speak.”

Walt added, “I know how much you loved her. I don’t mean to bring up bad memories or argue over semantics.”

“Bad memories. Semantics,” Jesse repeated mockingly.

“Well, loss…trauma. And words. Wording.”

A vein pulsed in Jesse’s forehead. “I know what words are, asshole. I know Jane’s death was traumatic. I don’t need you to tell me. That’s what you think we’re arguing about? Words?”

“Jesse, keep your voice down. Gus has cameras everywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse said sarcastically but more quietly. “You think you’re the smartest person ever. I know you’re a teacher and a scientist, and I just barely got a high school diploma, no thanks to you. Like I said, I don’t need you to tell me my ass from my elbow. You know what I think? I think you were there when Jane died. That’s why you know Jane died at night and not the next morning. You were there. You watched her die. You could’ve saved her. You chose not to. You said, Great, this rich bitch I don’t like anyway, she’s just one less person to keep quiet. Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong!” Jesse shouted.

Walt didn’t say anything.

“I bet you just stood there with tears in your eyes, like you’re doing now. Fuck you. You watched Jane die.”

Walt tried to hug Jesse, awkwardly. “Son — ”

Jesse pushed him away. “I’m not your son. He’d hate you too, if he knew any of the shit you’ve done. Don’t touch me or talk to me about anything besides work.” For the rest of their shift, Jesse answered Walt in monosyllables at most, even when Walt said something work-related. Jesse couldn’t admit it, but he’d lost everyone he loved now — even Walt, his mentor and father figure. Walt was dead to him now.

After days of the silent treatment, Jesse finally said, “Remember what Tuco said to us after he kidnapped us? You said you didn’t want to go with him because you have a family. He said he’d get you a new one! Like he was just trading a wife in for a younger model, like she was a car. Are you Tuco? Think I could just replace my girlfriend? Get a better one who didn’t give me heroin? Huh?”

“Jesse, I know how much she meant to you, but you’re not thinking rationally. Can’t you try to see this from my perspective at all? I wanted to help her, but I froze. I panicked. And then it was too late. I panicked — over-thought. Like with Emilio and Krazy 8.”

“Not at all like with them! She wouldn’t have killed ya!”

“No, but she wanted to turn me in. That’s blackmail. Coercion. And she had introduced you to heroin. Someday, if not her, it would have been you, dead in that apartment.” Ultimately, it was Jesse versus anyone else.

“You know what I think? Maybe you’re gay for me or whatever. I don’t care. I think you were afraid I loved her more than you. And you couldn’t stand that. You wanted to be my favorite person. Well, now you never will be!”

Walt had always loved Jesse like a son, like family, but had always thought that it was a tacit thing — easily misconstrued. The love had once been mutual. Jesse admitted it. And ironically, this was how Walt found out? That he wasn’t Jesse’s favorite person anymore, but maybe had been, once? It was unbearable.

Walt and Jane never liked each other, true. But she’d been a person, Walt reminded himself. Jesse loved her, Walt loved Jesse, and that should have been sufficient for Walt. None of Walt’s love for Jesse was transferable to Jane. It wasn’t like balancing an equation. And he couldn’t sublimate it into anything else.

Maybe Jesse was right. When Walt had carried Jesse out of that horrible place, Walt was heartbroken. But at least Walt had been the one to save him. Walt felt needed again.

This wasn’t to say Walt was relieved when Jane died. He’d cried when it happened, hadn’t he? He needed that feeling, though: of once again being the most important person in Jesse’s life. It was only right, after all they’d been through together. He loved and protected Jesse when no one else would. Walt even forgave him for making Walt miss Holly’s birth because Jesse was high.

(Note: This show often surprised me, in a good way. I expected “Fly” to go more like this, which would have considerably altered the plot and their relationship for the rest of the series.)

(After Gus’ murder)

Saul: Lordy, I hope there are tapes.

Walt: I mean, only so we can make sure to destroy them.

Jesse: With a magnet!

Saul: Of course. But aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see the look on his face as you guys fought in the lab?

Walt: We don’t have time for that.

Saul: You know what you guys should buy? Laser tag! There’s one nearby. The one out in Fall River, MA is also great. Ever been out there? And there’s also this bed-and-breakfast where this lady murdered her family with an ax. Allegedly. And there’s a WWII battleship. Lots of bribery too — I should talk, right?

Walt: Saul, I’m never going to the East Coast again. I hate it. What the fuck are you talking about? Are you charging me by the word here?

Actually, Walt had once visited the East Coast and loved it. Now it was tainted by memories of Gretchen and her rich parents in Newport, RI. The beaches, causeways, cliff walks, and mansions had been like another planet to him.

Humor: Jesse tries to explain Pokemon to Walt.

(Note: If Breaking Bad had taken place a few years later, AR, VR, and social media algorithms could have complicated the story hilariously. Imagine Walt trying to explain VPN or incognito mode on browsers to Jesse.)

Walt: So, let me get this straight. You’ve collected and memorized all these asinine pocket monsters, their names, properties, and mutations, since you were what, ten years old? But you couldn’t be bothered to learn the periodic table at 16 or 17? Even the elements in your body?

Jesse: Yeah, that’s hard and boring, yo. And, like, math.

Walt (sarcastically): I see.

Jesse: Move, yo. There’s a Pikachu on your head.

Walt: Excuse me?

Jesse (slaps at him): Pikachu!

Walt: God bless you.

Jesse: I didn’t sneeze.

Walt (slaps the phone out of Jesse’s hand): Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play on this thing at work? I definitely confiscated yours in class.

Jesse: I’m ahead of schedule. We’re on break. Chill.

Walt: Jesse, do you even understand how the Internet works? I’m amazed you even get wifi in here. These walls are like cinder blocks.

Jesse (mumbling): Starbucks two doors down.

Walt: No one is even supposed to know anyone is down here! If you compromise Gus’ top-secret, illegal, super meth lab to play Pokemon on Starbucks’ insecure wifi, we’re both dead.

Jesse: OK, Boomer!

Walt: What did you say?!

(remembering Tuco)

Walt: I invented Heisenberg to save your life!

Jesse: Really? ’Cause that’s not how I remember it, yo. I was already beat up bad enough to be in the hospital.

Walt: Well, to defend you, then. Avenge you for your pain and suffering. Get what was ours.

Walt remembered the name Heisenberg feeling awkward in his mouth the first time he said it. He’d probably said the name out loud before, but never to refer to himself, even in the mirror. He grew into it.

Walt and string/quantum theory

Obviously, Walt loved and understood chemistry much better than quantum physics, which was too theoretical.

Walter loved string theory because, at least in the oversimplified, pop culture version, it made him a universe unto himself. A new universe existed for each possible outcome in his life, even the minute ones. This made him the center of the universe. Ideologies had never done much for him; he hadn’t bought in to them. But he could get behind a religion in which he was God.

In one parallel universe, he’d never been born. In another, his father hadn’t died when Walter was six, or he’d been born to privilege. These were the main ones that played in his head on a loop: he’d married Gretchen instead of Skyler and stayed with Gray Matter. Maybe Eliot had left and Walter had stayed, supplanting Eliot in every way. Lifesaving medicines or procedures, not a deadly poison, were his famous creations. He was the best in the world at something singularly impressive and good. Another major one, of course: he’d never gotten cancer.

If he’d had to become a teacher, at least he could have had some semblance of a normal teacher-student relationship with Jesse when he had the chance. Maybe chemistry wouldn’t have been Pinkman’s forte, in any universe. Walter still imagined he could have inspired him to care about something: the physics and chemistry behind cars? Robots? Sports medicine? Cooking food, not drugs? Or hell, what if Jesse could be his son?

Maybe these what-ifs were his own personal version of a religion. He’d live out at least one of them after he finally died. Unless he’d be in a void or in hell. The void, like sleep, was the most likely option, so, nothing to fear there.

He was in total control of these theories, creating a new alternate universe each time something or someone wronged him. If the universe had treated him better, it would have allowed him to use his brilliance for good. And so, that universe would have deserved a lifesaving breakthrough from him. But not this one. This universe — the only one he was certain existed — got Heisenberg and his Blue Sky.

(Note: each of Walt’s “quantum what-ifs” or my other ideas could easily be a fanfic in its own right, but I don’t have the energy or the desire to spend any more time in his head.)

Final show quotes and analysis

Walter (to Jesse): Don’t you know me by now?

There are always two sides to every story. — Walter (to Junior)

Both of these canonical Walter White quotes above are things my abuser repeatedly said to me and other acquaintances in real life. No matter how brilliant, wronged, and inventive abusers may consider themselves, they often use the same old, illogical lines as justifications. They’re playing on their victims’ sympathy, which is irrelevant to what they’ve done. The idea that Walt sacrifices himself for his loved ones is also mostly BS.

In my opinion, Jesse tries to break his love/hate trauma bond with an abusive Walt several times throughout the series. I think Walt would be a very intelligent, educated, and terrifying unreliable narrator, like Humbert Humbert from Lolita. I chose close third-person instead of my usual first-person because of how often the characters, especially Walt, lack self-awareness. I think he gets closure, not redemption, in the finale.

If you read any of this weird experiment, thank you so much! :)