A/N: Fill for the brbakinkmeme.

It was the same typical job: go in, collect the drop, return to the car. Jesse was just glad it was the last one of the day.

Mike had pulled up outside of some creepy, rundown two-story home that seemed to be smack in the middle of nowhere. He had handed him a screwdriver and told him it was in the air vent upstairs, second bedroom on the left. And as Jesse walked up the crumbled pathway to the front door, he was relieved to have a firearm now that the sun was starting to set. It didn't leave much light but it was enough to get the job done.

Jesse fiddled with the screwdriver in his hands as he ascended the rickety stairs and approached the second room on the left. He immediately spotted the vent that Mike must have been talking about and went to work twisting the screws out. Once he grabbed the bag, he set it on the ground in front of him as he put the cover back on. As if someone was going to really notice anyone pilfering around here anyway.

Jesse rolled his eyes and sighed, doing his best to stifle a yawn as he got back to his feet and stepped out into the hall. He paused near the top of the stairs when he realized there were voices carrying up from downstairs. A rapid Spanish that may as well have been some form of alien communication and putting Jesse's two years of Spanish class to utter shame.

He wasn't sure who these men were and he was pretty certain Mike must not have known of their existence within the house because they'd have already been dead. So Jesse started to slowly back up until he could reach a doorway to duck into.

After his foot had hit a loose floorboard and caused a sound to reverberate through the hollow house, it all became a blur. The voices grew louder before he was met with at least three men, there was gunfire on both ends, and Jesse had made it into one of the bedrooms. His heart was racing, practically beating out of his chest, and there was more gunfire as he managed to shut the door behind him and slid down it.

The pain hadn't hit him until right about then. He placed his hand over his thigh and instantaneously hissed in pain, his eyes screwing shut. He felt the blood soaking through his jeans way before he actually opened his eyes to register it. It took even longer for him to realize it had grown eerily quiet.

There was a light knock on the door that Jesse's back was against, the slight vibration traveling down his spine. "You okay, kid?"

Jesse remained quiet, not sure what to say. And because he hadn't said anything in response to Mike's question, he could feel Mike trying to push the door open. Jesse groaned and scooted toward the wall to the best of his ability before Mike could enter the room beside him. He managed to turn his head up and look at Mike.

"Are they dead?" It was a stupid question but focusing on them was easier than focusing on the gunshot wound to his thigh.

"Every last one of them," Mike replied. He bent down to Jesse's level and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling his hand back enough to get a good look at the wound.

"I'm fine. Just—just give me a hand up. I'll walk." Jesse kept one hand pressed over the wound while the other braced himself. He gritted his teeth as he tried to sit up more.

Mike rested an arm across his knee and watched. His stare didn't go unnoticed by Jesse and the look Mike was giving him was enough to send him over the edge.

"What?" Jesse shot at him. "I said I can walk. Just give me a hand up."

"No, you can't. And even if you could, you'd bleed out before you'd even make it down the stairs." Mike sighed, "C'mon…"

Against Jesse's will, Mike had scooped him up bridal style and carried him back to the car. Jesse tried to keep his protests to a minimum seeing as there wasn't much he could really do anyway and his leg was killing him the more he was jostled around.

Okay, he wouldn't have been able to walk...

Mike got him back into the passenger seat and walked around to the driver's side, shutting the door. He glanced over at Jesse as he stuck the keys back into the ignition. "Try and keep pressure on that."

Jesse bit his lip. "I'm not gonna, like… lose my leg or anything like that, right?"

"It's a gunshot wound, kid. This is the 21st century. Your leg is fine." Mike turned the key and the old car sputtered to life. "It's bad but it could be a lot worse. Let's leave it at that."

Jesse shut his eyes and nodded. He placed both hands over the wound to apply pressure like Mike had suggested and that was about one of the last things he remembered.

It was a long drive back into town, specifically Jesse's house. Mike kept glancing over and checking Jesse at least every two minutes since he passed out. His pulse was okay, he was breathing, and he wasn't necessarily gushing blood. That was good news on Mike's behalf because 1) that meant Jesse was fine, 2) the bullet missed the femoral artery, and 3) no hospital admittance was required. He planned to get the kid back to his house and dig the bullet out himself. It almost felt like part of the job description. It just would have been a lot nicer had they not run into company.

Though Mike typically pulled up outside of Jesse's house by the curb, he decided to try the driveway this time around. He killed the engine and walked around to the passenger side to retrieve Jesse, first reaching around him to unbuckle the seatbelt before slipping his arms into place to carry him inside. It was probably a good thing Jesse was unconscious. If he stayed like that, it'd be an even bigger bonus. The last thing Mike needed was him squirming around, kicking and screaming, when it came to getting the bullet out.

Mike carried him straight to the bathroom upstairs before setting him down on the tiled floor. The one room that provided plenty of light and an easy clean up involving blood. He rummaged through the drawers and closet before backtracking downstairs to his car and grabbing the kit he always carried in his trunk. A folded up towel beneath Jesse's head and glasses perched on the tip of his nose and he was ready to get to work.

A rough thirty or so minutes later and Mike had Jesse's thigh stitched and bandaged up. He put the kid to bed in just his shirt and boxers once he was cleaned up a bit, never once waking up during the procedure to Mike's luck. Mike had just returned to the doorway leading into the bathroom, folding his glasses up and tucking them into his pocket with a sigh. He still had some cleaning to do.

Jesse could feel a pain in his leg that caused him to slightly twitch. It started to slowly come back to him, what had happened. It wasn't just a dream.

His eyes fluttered open but he quickly found himself squinting from the light. He was back at his house in his bed. He carefully propped himself up on his elbows, the movement taking way more effort than he expected, and brushed his fingers over the wound in his thigh only to find that it was bandaged.

No way was he going to try and swing his legs off the side of the bed and walk.

"Mike?" Jesse called out to the man. His voice felt like it only echoed off the walls of his room, like he was speaking to himself.

He tried a second time, a little louder than the first. Mike popped into the room only a short moment later.

"You're awake," Mike stated. He walked further into the room, a glass of water in hand. "How're you feeling?"

"I don't know? Like I got shot?" Jesse huffed. "How am I supposed to feel?"

His comment received a dry chuckle out of Mike as he handed a couple pills he had in his hand to Jesse, followed by the glass of water. Jesse took them without question, Mike's hand braced behind his back to help him sit up a bit in order to drink some of the water.

"I'll take that as an 'okay'." Mike took his hand back and set the glass on the nightstand. He gestured to Jesse's injured leg, "As promised, no amputations involved."

"Yeah… Thanks." Jesse slumped back down into his bed, his head resting on the pillow.

"Don't mention it, kid. Just glad to have you back in one piece." Mike walked back toward the door. "Holler if you need me. I'll be downstairs. In the meantime, try and get some rest."

Jesse nodded. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it back up and over him while remaining on his back. He had an undesirable, sinking feeling he was going to be bedridden for a while.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when Jesse awoke due to the sound of arguing voices. But once he opened his eyes and noticed daylight seeping in through the window and his bedroom light was turned off, he realized it was now morning.

Jesse startled at his bedroom door flying open and practically swinging back hard enough to smack into the wall. Mr. White made a beeline toward Jesse so fast that Jesse tried to sink back into his bed. Mike was in the doorway when Mr. White gripped the blanket and threw it off.

"Whoa! Mr. White—" Jesse's eyes grew wide as he put his hands up. "What the hell?"

"Like I said, Walter. Just a minor setback." Mike crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

"Minor?" Mr. White whipped back around to face Mike from across the room. "He was shot. On your watch."

"And the kid's fine."

"And what if it had turned out differently? Hm? What if he had been shot in the chest?" Walt threw his arm toward Jesse, "For God's sake, you didn't even take him to the hospital!"

"I don't play 'what if'. And as I have said, for the third time now, Jesse's fine."

Jesse cleared his throat. "Uh, yo? I'm right here. Can we stop with the referencing to me like I'm invisible or something?"

"These so-called 'pickups' are done. Do you hear me? Jesse doesn't need to be out risking his life on some minuscule task of yours ordered by Gus. I need him in the lab with me. Doing the job he's supposed to be doing in the first place."

"Sure, Walter. Whatever you say."

Jesse threw his head back into his pillow with a sigh. It was going to be a long healing process.