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Chapter Text

Nacho believed he had a pretty good resistance to stress. He had proven it over the years, by Tuco's side, then Hector's, and then Lalo. Even with a thread over his head, kneeling before Fring, property of his allegiance claimed like you would a dog. Even with a gun pointed at his father's head.

Maybe all those years had shortened his life expectancy. Maybe his heart would be the first thing to give out. Maybe he would end up with a bullet in the head sooner. But in the meantime, his heart held on. His brain stayed sharp. His thinking unrelenting.

He was alive. Not free, not yet. But alive still. And that wasn't anything.

Patience was also one of his strong traits. He stared out at the parking lot and the road of the motel as he ate his food, standing, hidden behind the white semi transparent curtain of his room. He was waiting. Waiting to be, not rescued, but taken into consideration. Because before returning to Albuquerque, he needed to be seen as valuable enough for a man like Gustavo Fring to deploy to means to take him out of here.

So Nacho had done everything he had been told. He had used his strongest assets. He fought the stress clinging to him like a second skin for the whole time he had spent in Mexico. He had been patient. He obeyed. Because that was another thing he was particularly good at. Obeying. Following orders. Do a special little trick. Nacho did it all. To save his life. To keep his father safe. There had been no other way to come out of the trap he had found himself in, brought South by Lalo Salamanca by force.

Nacho had only one default. To Fring's opinion at least. As obedient as he was, this dog had the tendency, at some point, to bite. The only cloud on the horizon. But a significant one to the man holding his leash. Nacho however, never thought about this as a problem nor a bad thing. Of course, hard to think otherwise when said bites were only delivered in hopes to be free. A desperate move. But never executed lightly. It was a close thing the first time, killing Tuco from across the street. But Nacho was smart, a quick learner, and learned did he by Mike's contact.

Prudence. That was a thing that followed him his entire life. Prudence around his father, hiding his little secret activities since he was a teen, seeing Tuco outside of school, selling in the streets. Until his father found out, and managed to pull him away from the cartel soon enough. Then the same later, when he was in his last year and working for his dad at the same time, and Tuco convinced him to do it all again.

Immediate contact with danger either taught you prudence or unleashed a lethal confidence in you. Tuco almost shot him by accident one day. Nacho ended up with pieces of skulls in his flesh instead. Pieces that were still lodged in there. Another person's specs of bones that woke him so many times the nights after, as he still desperately tried to remove them from his body in his sleep. Terror taught him prudence.

Mike took it to another level. Let it be the years. Let it be the over-confidence still managing to take too much space, Nacho had almost forgot to be careful. That confidence finished to be threw to the ground and roughly stepped on once Arturo died. Once Nacho found himself praying for his life, for his papa, for his mama, rotting under the blazing sun of the desert, blood caking on his skin, pain pinning him to the ground.

Nacho had tried. He did his best. He obeyed. He had been patient. He had succeeded in his little act. And he had done it all with as much prudence as possible. And as he did, as he drove Lalo South, as he stood by him in front of the Don, and as he got the validation he had to gain for all of this to work, Nacho couldn't help the bitterness at the back of his tongue. That was all he had dreamed of when he had been a teen. Now he had it, only for him to want all the opposite.

And to make it all even more sour, Lalo had to be the one to give it all to him. Nacho saw. The chosen outfits, somehow matching each other. The extra money. The invaluable bright red car. Nothing out of the extraordinary for a cartel don such as Lalo Salamanca. What was much more extraordinary was to find yourself being given such a value by a man like Lalo Salamanca. How much exactly did Lalo wanted to keep him by his side?

"When you go back up north, you're gonna be halfway to be a Salamanca, eh?"

A lot. Apparently. Nacho could still feel it, if he let himself live through the moment again. The intensity of Lalo's eyes on his profile. Then when their eyes met. How wetter his hands got around his bottle. How the moments of silence made his heart seem to beat directly into his ears. The goosebumps on his forearms despite the warmth of the fire.

Nacho shook his head, reaching for another fry, refocusing on the almost empty parking lot where a dog sniffed the ground. There was no going back up north with the name Salamanca overlapping his own and reign with the power of fear. No, all Nacho had now was his own name, dependent to the goodwill of a cruel, cold man. His only chance was Mike. And he hoped the man would show as much concern as he seemed to when they faced each other that day and Nacho told him all about his father.

Nacho kept observing the little life he could observe between the curtains. Now plunged into the dark, the sun far gone under the horizon, Nacho sighed. He was exhausted. He had been here for almost 48 hours, and he didn't sleep since Lalo forced him to drive him to Chihuahua. Nothing moved outside. It was time for a shower.

Waiting was hard. It always had been. Patience may be among his qualities, it didn't meant Nacho enjoyed it. Quite the opposite. And it was especially hard when his entire body always called him into action instead. The shower helped. The lukewarm water cooled down his body, the broken AC not offering any fresh air anymore, even if it hadn't been very helpful to start with. Nacho took the time to just stand there, eyes closed, for a couple of minutes, before actually washing himself with the motel's soap that left his skin feel too tight.

As he put his clothes back on, always ready for departure, Nacho struggled to close the button of his jeans, his arms felt heavier as he put a clean white shirt on. He didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't want to. But it was starting to be really complicated. There was only so much you could do with stress as fuel. And he knew, a couple of hours of sleep would help.

Making sure his phone still had enough battery, Nacho sat down on the bed. He observed the screen for a little while, stared at the time the luminescent screen flashed back at him in the dark room. 09:27pm. Nacho hesitated a little longer, his thumb over the first number to compose Mike's. He set up an alarm instead, and closed the flip phone. The artificial orange light coming through the curtains now the only source of light in the room now.

Nacho sighed for the umpteenth time and stood back up to the window. He observed just like he did for so many hours. And still, nothing. Nacho checked the door's lock, twice. One more look outside. He wanted an extra second, then another, and another, as if anything that may happen would finally happen right in this moment, the second he looked away. The moment he decided to give in to tiredness.

Nothing happened. Nacho stepped away.

Nacho imagined that sleep wouldn't come easily. And yet, he must have reached some kind of point of rupture. As he laid still on the lower part of the bed, legs bent at the knees, booted feet on the ground still, Nacho found himself blinking slower and slower at the curtains he couldn't look away from.

Sleep captured his mind without him realizing he hadn't opened his eyes again. For a while, the curtains were still there, behind his eyelids, warm orange light bathing everything. Then the obscurity of the room spread into his mind. Nothing. A complete void. Silence. For a while. A long while.

Then the tiniest glint in the dark. Another. Then a handful. A thousand. A million. All white little dots. Until a red one popped among them. Moving fast. Followed by another. A cracking sound, soft, discreet, and a spray of red orange dots flew by. Nacho only noticed then, how warm his body felt. The sensation was familiar. His heart was beating a bit faster. His arms suddenly got covered in goosebumps. He wasn't cold.

He knew this. He had been there before. Yes. The heat. The fire. It was radiating all over him. Yeah. He knew this. If he looked away from the stars, he would be there all over again, he knew. So he did.

But there was no garden around him. No gigantic house. Only the wooden floor of the patio, standing alone in the desert. The fire pit was empty. So was the chair next to him. And yet, he felt warm, so warm. Fire cracked. Red dots flew by. Nacho looked down at his lap. A rattlesnake stared back at him. Nacho couldn't move. Breath blocked in his throat. Hands pinned to the armrests. The snake coiled, opened its mouth, hissing, tail making that singular noise. Fire cracked. The snake burst into flames. It hissed again, unaffected by its melting skin, and struck. Fire cracked. Loud.

Nacho was awake in an instant, eyes darting to the door as it hit the wall. A dark silhouette stood into the orange frame, tall and impressive, recognizable to Nacho among millions of other ones. Even in the dark, there was no mistaking the effect of the intensity of that stare with any other ones. Not the way it made his skin crawl with the warmest chill.

Nacho was a dog. And Nacho did what he ultimately always ended up doing when he had no other choices. He bit back. So it was with no hesitation that his hand found the loaded gun he kept next to him on the sheets, and fired.

Chapter Text

Resistance to stress was a decisive factor to make you a good shooter. Especially if you happened to be in the cartel game, where you basically had a target on your forehead at any given time.

The truth is, Nacho never really practiced at shooting. He had just been given a gun by a grinning Tuco one day, received a heavy pat on the shoulder as he held onto the weapon with an awkward grip. He did went into the desert with an equally scared and excited Domingo by his side, and he shot at some cans of beer they brought with them to the race tracks. He had barely got a couple of them.

It turned out, Nacho didn't actually need to be good at shooting. Use his gun? Yes. Just taking it out, a silent threat. But shooting? It was much more rare. And the few unlucky people who found themselves kneeling before him were an easy target. Impossible to miss with barely a step or two between them.

It wasn't an easy thing to do, still. Never. He had forgotten most of their faces. But never that feeling in him after pulling the trigger. Awful. Gut wrenching sensation to have done something so grave the ground under his feet would open out of nowhere and send him to hell to greatly suffer.

And maybe, if Nacho had practiced a little bit more, if his resistance to stress had been impeccable, if that bullet had reached the destination it was supposed to end up in, maybe, maybe, the ground would have finally opened under his feet at last and he would have ended up in hell.

But instead, the bullet splintered the wood of the door, missing Lalo's head by an inch.

And again, Nacho had a great resistance to stress. But there was only so much he could deal with. He should be better, given how far he managed to survive in this shitty situation that has become his life, but instead of shooting again, with a better aim this time around, his body froze.

Stupid, stupid brain.

His huge brown eyes staring up at Lalo's shadow, finding the two piercing black orbs barely discernible in the dark, two tiny dots of light the only indication of their intense attention on him, Nacho's body screaming danger from his every cells at the ice cold anger in those eyes.

Lalo, absolutely unfazed, didn't even flinch as the bullet rushed past his ear. He only stood there for a second, still as a statue. Lalo stepped further in then, shoulders squared, eyes razor sharp, steps loud and quick. Indifferent to danger. So certain his unnatural luck would protect him. Death itself stepping in the room. Until he was into the orange light pouring from the windows, revealing his face half hidden under a red bandana. And over it were his wide black eyes, eyebrows furrowed in a ferocity that didn't require an entire face to identify.

"Hijo de puta."

Lalo's voice boomed into the room like thunder. Loud. Heavy. Sharp. Knowing.

Nacho's body, still paralyzed on the mattress, an elbow planted in it to hold himself half up, finally seized in plain fear, hand holding the gun starting to shake, as Lalo's presence towered above him more and more as he came closer. It made him feel like he was sinking into the mattress, body and soul trying to evade the wrath, as all his blood drained from his face in terror.

Move. MOVE. MOVE!

With the little distance between them, his finger finally curled around the gun's trigger again. But Lalo was quicker. He hit the hand holding the weapon, sending the gun flying to the side, ricocheting on the ground as a second bullet flew through the room, lodging itself in the ceiling. The shot resonated in the enclosed space just like the first one, making Nacho duck his head in reflex, his ears ringing.

But what finally made his body react, was the large hand that reached for his shirt, fingers grabbing onto the cotton covering his chest. It was like he was physically dragged back into reality, pulled from under the water's surface. Lalo was leaning over him, large shadow ready to shred his very soul, pulling on his shirt to get Nacho ready to receive a very menacing fist into the face.

Nacho protected his face with an arm, avoiding most of Lalo's punch. Then he shoved Lalo's arm away from him, effectively making him lose his grip on his shirt, and brought one leg up to plant his booted foot on the man's stomach and push him away, hard, effectively putting some distance between them. Lalo huffed under his bandana as he stumbled back a couple of steps.

Nacho, blood rushing through his veins with renewed adrenaline, tried to get even more distance between them by pushing himself higher onto the bed, before rolling to the right and trying to catch sight of the gun he knew had landed there. And it was there. About a couple of feet away from the bed. Nacho extended an arm towards it. Hands grasped at his ankles just as he was about to touch the grip of the gun.

"No no no, you stay right here, pendejo!"

Nacho found himself dragged back towards the foot of the bed, his stomach sinking at the sensation. He didn't even think then. He kicked at Lalo. Kicked his feet with all his might. The robust boots he got from Fring's men sure were pretty effective at inflicting pain. Especially once he managed to hit Lalo in the jaw, the bandana not offering much cushioning. Nacho heard Lalo's teeth clash together from where he was. That got Lalo to step back again, a pained muffled sound escaping him.

That's when Nacho noticed two other silhouettes entering the room. Huge ones. Almost the same. The twins stood there, the shine of their guns pointing at him. Nacho didn't dare move. He stayed sprawled there on the bed, feeling as vulnerable as ever. He wished he could at least stand if he was to be put down for good. Lalo held up a hand as Leonel was about to take a step forward.

"Leave us. I don't want to be disturbed."

Nacho's eyes darted to Lalo. He should have known this wouldn't be so easy. Lalo would want to know everything. And he wouldn't be so nice as to simply blow his brain out. The twins exchanged a look with their cousin, an ultimate check to make sure Lalo wouldn't change his mind, and they turned around to leave, closing the door after them. Nacho saw only one shadow pass by the window before his attention was robbed by a metallic clicking sound.

Even in the darkness, the shine of a blade being unfolded was unmistakable. Nacho froze again. There was no reaching for his gun now. Not if Lalo could plant that into his leg the moment he turned around.

Nacho breathed hard, staring at the blade, then up into Lalo's mad eyes, both men immobile as Lalo let the new kind of danger sink into Nacho's bones. If seeing Lalo walk in without a gun in hand was surprising, there was no underestimating a Salamanca's skills with a knife.

Nacho leapt to his feet in a flash, taking the decision to strike first. He launched himself at Lalo, a ragged scream in his throat, hoping to destabilize him before Lalo could prepare a strike himself. And it worked. Lalo tried to tank his charge, but he couldn't prevent them from falling to the ground after a couple of steps back. The both of them landed on the bathroom's floor, a heavy huff cutting their breath.

Nacho was quick to sit on Lalo's stomach, intercepting Lalo's attempt at cutting his face in extremis. He grabbed for Lalo's wrist, Lalo still trying to approach the blade from his face. Nacho managed to pin it to the ground at last, only to realize it was Lalo allowing him to do so. Nacho received a punch in the ribs. His breath cut short, pain radiating through his bones the next second. It wasn't his first fist fight. That wasn't normal for such a simple punch. And sure enough, when he sought Lalo's other hand, it was to see the shine of a brass knuckles.

Lalo didn't wait for him to recover from the vicious blow. He hit him again, aiming for his face. Pain erupted in the entirety of his face as the metal connected with his cheekbone, skin breaking, blood pearling. Nacho was threw off of Lalo by the force of it. He lost his grip on Lalo's wrist, and rolled onto the dirty floor. Lalo was quick to leap after him, blade shining in the dark as he aimed straight for Nacho's face.

Adrenaline pulsing in his veins, pain spurring him on, Nacho avoided the strike last second, the blade connecting with the tiles instead. He thought Lalo would want to speak first, but maybe not. It didn't look like that anymore. Not with such deadly strikes.

Nacho rolled away in his dodge, putting distance between him and Lalo, and getting back onto his feet, trying not to pay attention his the points of pain radiating on his body and stopping him from taking a full intake of breath. And it wasn't even punches delivered with Lalo's dominant hand. He knew the man was strong, but not that strong. Nacho grabbed the towel from the ring fixed to the wall near the sink, and wrapped it around his right hand. He prepared himself for the next round as Lalo got to his feet as well.

They gauged each other for a silent handful of seconds, during which the only sound in the room were their breaths heavy, quick with adrenaline, and their boots scraping the ground as they shifted around a little.

Lalo took a step forward, quick as a cat, and aimed straight for Nacho's chest. Nacho stepped aside, avoiding the blow by just a hair. Then again, as Lalo aimed at his chest a second time, blade always coming with the point first, too hard to parry. Nacho made them exchange their positions as they fought, until Lalo was standing with his back to the sink now. On the next blow, he blocked Lalo's attack coming from the side, and with both of his hands, pushed with all of his might until Lalo's forearm connected with the edge of the dividing wall separating the shower from the sink.

It worked. Lalo huffed in pain as his hand lost the grasp he had on his knife, sending it flying and tumbling down the shower's tiles. Nacho didn't waist any time, taking advantage of Lalo's pain to punch him in the face with the towel wrapped hand. It was his dominant hand after all. And if the towel cushioned the impact, it was still enough to send Lalo's face to the side with the force of it.

Nacho got rid of the towel, just in time to block a punch from Lalo's brass knuckles. They exchanged a few blows like those, Lalo managing to make him take a few steps back as they stood in the middle of the bathroom again. They both were good at blocking. They both received a couple of punches in the face or the stomach.

Until Lalo managed to land a punch in Nacho's stomach with the hand holding the brass knuckles, a hidden move under a more obvious punch of his left hand. It made him bent forward as he took a step back, feet unsteady, bile rising in his throat. Nacho only briefly had the time to wonder if Tuco had taught him before a searing pain caught him in the shoulder, much more sharp and electric than the severe punch he was still trying to absorb. The bullet lodged in his flesh shifted unkindly against his taunt muscles. Nacho chocked on a scream.

"It's true then?" Lalo said above him, fingers somehow digging even more into Nacho's flesh "It's still in there, uh?"

Nacho's anger burst in his guts, fusing with the fear, and he found it in himself to hit Lalo's forearm away with his own, effectively making him lose his grip as he took a couple more steps away, re-entering the living area again. The pain receded a little without the pressure of Lalo's fingers, but it was incredibly painful still. Nacho grimaced, eyes riveted on Lalo with fury, as he breathed through gritted teeth like an injured animal.

Lalo laughed behind his bandana as he retrieved his knife from the ground, not fearing for another attack as he did. Nacho held onto his shoulder, breathing hard, as he tried to move his arm, only to receive a blast of pain all the way down to his hand. Fuck. That was new.

Lalo advanced towards him again, slow and deliberate like the predator he was, and Nacho let go of his shoulder. His arm stayed limp by his side as he tried not to move it to avoid more pain. He tried to regain control on his breathing, to prepare himself for the next blow. But at the same time, he felt his rage falter. Even if he killed Lalo, he knew one of the twins was right behind the door. And another one wasn't far.

It only really downed on him then, as he was given time to think, that there was no escaping this place. His breath shook as Lalo stepped even closer, sharp eyes still as intensely staring at him. No. He didn't have much hope to step out of this shitty room
alive. But if there was one thing he was ready to do, it was to not make it easy for those bastards.

Lalo was on him in a second. Nacho blocked the knife aimed at his face, forearm blocking Lalo's wrist, but the other man held on, forcing with all his might to make the blade come nearer and nearer to Nacho's cheek. Sweat was pearling on Nacho's forehead with the effort, excruciating pain pulsing in his entire arm as he used it to try and keep the blade away with both hands now, Lalo pushing down onto the hilt of his knife with his other hand as well. They both breathed the same air as their attentions were fixated on the pointy blade.

Until Nacho took a step back, loosing his balance. Only for his leg to hit the bed.

Panic shot through his spine as he struggled to keep his weight forward. Lalo kept on pushing with all his strength, and Nacho lost his balance. He landed on the bed, eyes going wide as Lalo followed suit. The blade shined again as the orange light suddenly bathed them into a warm glow. Nacho could already feel it piercing his cheek, slide against his teeth with a sickening sound of metal colliding against them, blood pouring in his mouth and making him choke on it.

But it never happened.

Nacho landed on the bed, bouncing a little even with Lalo's weight coming to crush him. Lalo had removed the blade at the last second. Nacho took in a strong breath through his painful body, racing mind ready to try and push the other man far away from him.

Only to become very still as the cold press of sharp metal nestled against the naked skin of his perspiring jugular. A pure instinctive freeze mechanism.

Nacho breathed hard through gritted teeth, head tilted back as he looked up through almost closed lashes at Lalo's dark orbs. The intensity in them had not wavered since the first second the man stepped into the room. And despite the raging anger in them, there was nothing cold to that gaze. Quite the opposite. Only liquid flames.

Nacho's heart was hammering in his chest, noisily filling his ears like drums, and beating against the cold point of the blade resting on his skin. Every pulses so intense with his neck bared like this, it was menacing to cut itself against the edge with every gushes of blood.

"Enough playing around."

Lalo's voice betrayed his own exertion, along with a firm tone that promised Nacho only pain if he was to attempt at fighting again. Nacho didn't move. He stared up at the man, trying to conceal his grimaces of pain as his body hurt. Nacho did try to move his right arm, anything to survive, only for it to hurt horribly again all the way down to his hand. Something was definitely wrong with that. And without his right arm, his few chances to effectively at least kill Lalo were going down to a perfect zero.

So Nacho obeyed. He stayed still. He breathed though his nose, staring up at Lalo with all the disgust and hate he had for this man that made his life so much more complicated by deciding to bring him down South. And if there was his hatred directed at the entire Salamanca family and Fring in the mix, it was only to make his eyes sharpen even more.

"Good boy. Now..."

Lalo reached for his bandana, brass knuckles shining around his fingers, and pulled it down to reveal his face. From this close, Nacho could see the little scratches of Lalo's fight with the hitmen who invaded his home. The men he let in. He was pretty sure he had never seen such a flat angle on Lalo's mouth. If the anger in his eyes hadn't been clear enough yet, his wrath was perfectly blatant now.

"....You're gonna tell me everything I want to know."

Chapter Text

Nacho was suffocating. Even during the night, the air in the motel room was hot. And it was all made even worse by the man laying on top of him. He couldn't breathe fully. Let it be his weight or the hand he had closed around his t-shirt to keep him in place. The air he was sucking in felt already devoid of oxygen as Lalo breathed in the very same space as him. It was ridiculous, he knew it deep down, because there was much more than enough space for them both to breathe enough oxygen. And yet, he felt like he was suffocating.

"You opened the gate, right?"

Nacho gulped, going for a nod before he remembered the blade at his neck.

"Yes. He made me do it. If I didn't—"

"Sh shhh. I'm the one leading this conversation." Lalo said, tilting his head a bit more lower to make his eyes look sharper. "How long have you been working for Fring?"

Lalo's question was exactly how Nacho had pictured it. Cold, flat tone, whatever fury pushed to the side until the man had all the info he wanted. It was still there in his every features, in those inky eyes, but not in his voice anymore. The kind of control and calculation Nacho had ever only seen once in his life before. Hidden behind glasses, an impeccable costume and that same cold flat tone. And Nacho knew, the two men hated each other. Against his better judgement, it made the corner of his lips curve up a little. Lalo's eyes narrowed as he noticed it. Nacho spoke before he had the opportunity to interpret it.

"Shortly after Hector's stroke." Nacho almost chocked on his words, the blade pushing softly on his skin as his jaw worked. He let his attention shift to Lalo's bandana as he spoke, loosing himself in the Paisley pattern. "One night I went to collect the keys with Arturo." It felt weird to mention his dead coworker's name. It's the first time he did in such a long time. "We insisted on taking an extra one. When we left with the stuff he was waiting for us with his men. He ambushed us. Fring killed Arturo in front of me." The image of the man's suffocating face flashed before his eyes, still as vivid as that day. "Then he staged the shooting in the desert. His men shot me twice. Gotta make it look real." Nacho said the last words with the exact same intonation Tyrus had. It was engraved in his mind. Another smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, bitter this time.

Nacho looked back up into Lalo's eyes, only to face the freaking lie detector. That thing Tuco did. And Lalo did too. Nacho had seen it multiple times even if Lalo hadn't been in Albuquerque for that long. They both stared at people, waiting for them to break. Hector never did. He either barely looked at his employees, or snapped his fingers to order Nacho around and make him beat the offensive ant. Nacho always obeyed even if he hated doing that. Being used like a weapon. He much preferred the staring.

"Why did you comply?"

Nacho swallowed heavily. He knew the best solution was to use his dad as the first and only reason. But the last thing he wanted was to give Lalo a reason to even think about his papa and give him ideas.

"Vamos, Nachito, tell me. What did he have on you?"

Nachito. Nachito. Nachito. Lalo's tongue had rolled that annoying nickname so many times, and yet it never sounded like it did now. So sharp and antipathetic.

"You already used all of my patience, pinche perro. So I recommend you speak. Now."

Nacho stared back at Lalo. As if that would make any difference now. He knew he wasn't stepping out of here alive. And Nacho would prefer avoiding additional suffering to what promised to already be a pretty awful death. But as he stared up at that man, at this whole family he hated so much, Nacho wondered. He was doomed to die tonight. He was in no position to take the upper hand again. But that didn't mean he couldn't inflict pain as well.

"I sent Tuco to jail."

Nacho was terrified. He could barely hide the shaking of his voice. But he wouldn't let his body shake anymore. So he kept his entire body as taut as an bow to mask it as best as he could. It was hard, with the way his arm kept hurting so bad. There was no way he couldn't fear the pain, especially after spending years seeing what the Salamancas were capable of from so close. But Nacho wouldn't make it so easy. If he had to go, he would use his claws and teeth, like the dog they all thought he was. And they would finally understand they never should have tried to collar him.

"I made him lose his temper. Nothing easier. I knew he would never suspect me, his good friend. He listened to me. Hell, he would have literally eaten something from my hand if I asked."

The knife pressed under his jaw, and even if he couldn't see it, he knew his skin had been cut. And sure enough, he could feel a drop of blood running down the curve of his neck then. Above him, Lalo had gritted his teeth behind his closed lips, jaws working.

"Mind your fucking words, cabrón."

Nacho blinked up at him, heart still hammering against his ribs. There was nothing more important to him now than to perform his best acting. He had lied so much to the face of so many people. And it wasn't so hard to school his features into an acidic mask of disdain and hate. He wanted to hurt Lalo for all that have been done to him. If Lalo was the last face he would see in his short life, he would make sure to give him all of it.

"You know, that man you wouldn't shut your stupid mouth about? Michael? Mike. He made me change my mind. I was planning to put a bullet through your cousin fucking stupid head."

Lalo shifted over him, and Nacho could feel how tense his body was becoming. Judging by the way his eyes grew a bit larger, Nacho could see he was imagining it. His cousin with a bullet in the head. Brain mater and blood splattered on the huge windows of El' Mich. The knife cut slightly through his skin again. Nacho's features quivered a tiny bit as he fought back a grimace.

"But that's not all."

Nacho had thought he had seen all the intensity Lalo's eyes were capable of, but they somehow became even more hypnotizing than they ever did. He understood why only a second later. It was the added layer of alarm in them. Lalo was apprehending his next words. Nacho had succeeded. He had a power over the man's feelings. Nacho's nostrils flared, his lips tracing the faintest smile. It was an intoxicating sensation.

"I put Hector in that chair."

Lalo became very still.

"I switched his meds for sugar pills."

Lalo still wouldn't move a hair. Nacho's voice kept getting deeper as he spoke, hatred taking over the fear.

"He would have been dead and buried if that asshole didn't bring him back."

Nacho couldn't look away from the way Lalo's eyes became large with shock. They all really underestimated him, didn't they?

"Let him know I'm the one who did it. Let him know, so every seconds that passes as he sits in his shitty nursing home, sucking down on his Jell-O night after night for the rest of his life, he thinks of me. That's all he fucking deserve, your precious tío, that twisted fuck!"

The growl in his voice was a discovery even to himself. Never did he even thought it could sound this way. So raw, so deep, every syllables cutting through the thick hot air separating him from the personification of his hatred. The mask had definitely fallen. There was no turning back. No playing nice nor collected anymore. Lalo had seen. Nacho had shown him it all.

"The Salamancas. Insane soulless pigs, all of you! Me cago en tu puta madre!"

His rage faltered a split second later. The expression on Lalo's face made his entire blood freeze to ice cold, shivers running all over his skin as his stomach became a block of cement. His features suddenly twisted into pure rage. Black inky eyes somehow becoming an even deeper black as he bared his teeth and roared a furious sound into the night.

The blade was removed from his neck and the weapon shined over his head, held up into Lalo's hand, the pointy end of it menacing into the air. Nacho tried to curl up on himself on pure instinct as Lalo forcefully brought it back down, aiming right for his eye. But Nacho found it impossible to roll away with Lalo's hand still pinning him down where he was with a force that was unmovable. Nacho closed his eyes, feeling like his heart was about to explode in his chest with the terror.

There was a muffled sound right next to his head. Teared fabric. Puncture of a thick material. Then the heavy pant of a hot breath on his cheek. He had turned his face away from the blow at the last second, both hands gripping onto the sheets of the bed, sweat covering his entire body as he realized with a delay that he wasn't feeling any new pain.

Breath shaking and lips quivering, Nacho very slowly turned his face back to the man panting over him. He found Lalo leaning closer than before. Gelled hair falling over his forehead in wet curled locks. Their gazes locked together incredibly easily. His features had returned to their contained fury. Those dark eyes sharp and empty of any burning hatred, but saturated with a bone chilling coldness instead.

Nacho barely dared to breathe, but he couldn't help himself with how fast his heart was still beating. His entire body was telling him not to move an inch. The monster over him had spared him even if it had been in an extreme state of rage. Not what Nacho had expected to happen. At the same time, he was grateful his life wasn't ended with a knife. He preferred a bullet in the head a thousand times over that.

There was something shifting in Lalo's eyes then. The man observed him still, features darkening with something else that Nacho couldn't identify. The air was heavy, charged with something as seconds ticked by. They had never been as close as they were in this very instant. A weird moment to notice it, Nacho thought.

Slowly, Lalo let go of the knife planted in the mattress. It must have been planted deep for it not to fall once let go of. Nacho knew Lalo was strong, but again, he didn't think the man to be that strong. Burying a blade like this in a mattress wasn't that easy. And he was pretty sure the hand crushing his chest was leaving quite the bruise there. But all Nacho could think about, all his instinct was repeating in his mind over and over again, was that he was alive. He was being spared. A hand wrapped around his neck.

Nacho's body seized at the connection. The pressure was immediately extremely high. Another hand joined the first one as he reached for the wrist attached to it. The hard edge of the brass knuckles pressed into his carotid. He gaped, eyes wide, at a stone cold faced Lalo who had sat back to have a better grip.

Nacho kicked his feet into the air, boots scrapping the tiles, body twisting as much as it could under the weight of the taller man. His hands grasped at Lalo's shirt, at his arms, trying to get him to loose his grip as he chocked noisily. His eyes teared up as he tried to reach for Lalo's face, blunt nails catching on the red bandana instead, not managing to accomplish anything than holding onto something for dear life.

Nacho kept on trying to fight, kept on trying to breathe, as his strength slowly drained from his limbs, right arm shaking with the electrifying pain coursing through it still. All he could look at were those ruthless, unblinking eyes. Tears ran down his temples as he was almost immobile now, holding onto his very murdered in despair and horror, dying in the least manner he had ever expected. Lalo very slowly leaned nearer again, his scrutinizing stare taking in the sight of him with a disturbing interest.

Air rushed through his lungs through a raspy and painful breath that had him coughing and trying to breathe through it all over again. Greater than the pain was the need for that precious oxygen to fill his lungs. The hands were gone from his throat. He had immediately let go of Lalo to hold onto his own throat, shaky fingers trying to ease an unsolvable pain.

It was his turn to pant against Lalo's face as the man was still close, except that both of his hands were planted in the mattress. The man seemed entranced, face blank, the gears in his mind turning at full speed. Nacho only stared up at him, catching his breath still, every intake of air burning and making a raspy sound.

"What's stopping you?" Nacho asked at last, voice broken, incapable to align two ideas now. Not after all of this. Not after the fear, the fight, the rage. He was exhausted and felt a bit lost at the change in Lalo.

Lalo stayed silent for a handful of agonizing seconds. There was that thing in his face again. Incredibly subtle, but there nonetheless.

“Hm. You first. Why didn’t you kill me yourself?”

Nacho frowned at him. He stopped himself from coughing again. He wasn't the one holding the power anymore. That was done. All he could do was wait for the man to finally decide he's got enough.

"I followed the orders."

Lalo's mouth curved into a smile, teeth flashing briefly as he shook his head a little. Lalo shifted over him, grabbing the knife still buried in the mattress at the same time, and got back onto his feet. The knife was folded and put back into his jeans pocket.

"Where is all that hatred now, hm?" Lalo said, the inflections in his voice showing amusement and annoyance at once. "All that rage... You hate us. You made that very clear."

Lalo paced around the room as he talked, his attention never leaving Nacho for long. He reached the side of the bed where Nacho's gun was still on the ground. Nacho carefully moved to sit up on the bed, not stupid enough to try and get to his feet, but not willing to stay in such a vulnerable position. Surprisingly enough, Lalo allowed it. His arm still hurt terribly, but Nacho tried his best to conceal it, letting his hand and forearm resting on his lap.

"So, I ask you again." Lalo tucked the gun into the back of his jeans as he walked back around the bed, until he was facing him. "Why didn't you do it yourself?"

Nacho eyes were sharp with annoyance as he looked up at Lalo. The rest of his defiance showing up.

"I followed the orders." he said again, making a point to talk slower, his broken voice almost silencing a couple of syllables.

Lalo stared at him, arms hanging by his sides, unimpressed by his stubbornness. Nacho didn't waver. He kept staring back at the man with the same annoyance on display.

"See," Lalo started, shrugging his shoulders. "I think you're lying. Wouldn't be the first time."

The pointed look Lalo gave him made Nacho grit his teeth.

"Or rather, that you're not telling me everything."

"I told you everything." Nacho immediately countered. "He would have told you what I did to your fucking uncle."

Lalo hummed, tilting his head to the side.

"He doesn't know you put Tuco in jail?"

Nacho bit on his tongue. He shook his head, giving Lalo his answer.

"So you just told me that to what? Confess all your sins before I kill you? Are you, despite all of this hate, feeling some remorse, Nachito?"

Nachito. Again, so cold. Lalo was smiling, just as coldly, but genuinely amused still. Nacho closed his hands into fists to control his rising anger again, only to be reminded his right arm was hurting. The muscles in his face quivered a little in response, but he didn't deter. He kept looking right at Lalo the same way.

"No."

"Hm. So you just wanted to hurt my feelings then?"

Despite it sounding like a question in Lalo's mouth, Nacho knew it wasn't. He kept silent. No need to feed Lalo's amusement any more than he already did.

"But you see, Nachito, I think you're really not telling me everything here. Because that doesn't make any sense."

Nacho frowned some more, feeling doubt bloom deep in his chest despite his best attempt at shielding himself. Lalo tilted his head to the side slightly, and when he spoke again, his sadistic amusement fused with some kind of irritation.

"You say you wouldn't do it because Fring ordered you so, and if you disobeyed, he would have told me what you did. But what sense does it make if I'm dead anyway? Or you die. Which is much more likely, if we're realistic here for a second." His smile slowly disappeared. "So I wonder, what else are you hiding? Because that isn't only what you did."

Nacho struggled to keep his face locked into his severe look. And Lalo, the shark that he was, smelled the fear on him in an instant. Lalo kept silent for a handful of seconds, letting him marinate, observing him like you would a bug under a microscope, noticing how his huge brown eyes grew a tiny bit larger, how his breath came out a little bit shakier.

"My tió tried to do something a few months ago. I remember Leonel telling me. What was it again?"

Lalo acted like he was trying to remember, looking around, eyebrows furrowing, hands coming to rest on his hips. Nacho only stared at him, fearing for the next words that were about to come out of the man's mouth.

"Ah yes! The upholstery. Your papa's business, right?"

Nacho's teeth pressed so hard against each other it gnashed. He had never mentioned him to Lalo. Not once, not even when Lalo asked him about his family once. He only said he was all alone, the rest of his family being distant relatives he never really saw anymore. He had tried. And it hadn't been enough, again. He had failed to protect him, again.

"Ooh, that's it, hm?" Lalo smiled again, looking down at him with all the smugness he had. "If you don't do what he says, papa dies?"

Nacho only held Lalo's look for a couple of seconds before he looked away, defeat weighing so much on his shoulders.

"I should have known." Lalo tsked. "A little lie to protect your family, I just understood why. But never did I thought you could lie so much, and so well, for so long. Tengo que admitir, I'm impressed."

Nacho huffed a dismissive laugh. "Whatever."

Lalo shifted on his feet, taking a step closer, efficiently bringing Nacho's attention back to him. Lalo looked down at him, face serious, standing into his personal space again.

"Anything else I should know?" Lalo asked, then with a lower voice "Any other reasons not to kill me?"

Nacho stared up at Lalo, hard. He shook his head then. No.

"Can we just finish this now? Please."

Lalo only stared back, standing still, and Nacho could see it wasn't the end. Nacho wished it was. He was so exhausted. He very much felt like being put to sleep forever now. Eternity sounded about right considering how empty he felt.

"What a waste." Lalo finally said in a soft sigh.

Against Nacho's better judgment, it caught his interest. He couldn't look away from Lalo's dark intense eyes as the man kept talking, still so low. Only for them to hear, Nacho realized.

"You really would have been the perfect partner I needed. We would have done so much. You could have sited as high as I did, with a bit more time. I would have given you that."

Nacho was sitting in Lalo's patio again. Plunged into the dark, safe for the fire pit warming them up even if it was unnecessary. The taste of Louis XIII filling his mouth, coating the roof of it. The contentment on Lalo's face. His face bathed in warm orange lights, not unlike it was right now. The way Lalo would look at him then, how he would look at him before that as well. But never as intensely as it did that night. And how it made him feel, whenever he would look for Lalo, only to find the man already looking at him. Under all the annoyance, all the hatred he already bore towards his family when they met, and who got applied to him by default. The shivers. The accelerating beats of his heart. The twist of his guts when Lalo stood close.

"Oh."

Lalo's voice brought him right back where he was, sitting, in pain, on the bed of a shitty motel, looking up at the man who was about to end his life. Panic erased whatever showed up on his face. Did he lower his guard? Did Lalo see? There was no way he could have understood. If there was one thing he was sure about, it was that Lalo couldn't read minds. Right?

His hopes dissolved like snow under the sun, as Lalo's mouth morphed into a devilish kind of grin, the corners of his mouth cutting through his cheeks.

"That's interesting."

....

Fuck.

Chapter Text

"How long?"

Nacho was still looking up at Lalo, startled and struggling to process that Lalo could be that good at reading people's thoughts only based on their expressions. Not that psychopath of a man. Or maybe that was why Lalo was such a dangerous Salamanca. Because he was actually very good at doing that, unlike the other members of his family who either thought they were good at it, like Tuco always believed, or didn't give a single fuck about people's emotions, like the twins, despite having to manipulate them into complying, and that was Hector.

Lalo was definitely different. And if Nacho managed to lie to his face, he couldn't hide everything he was to the man. Lalo knew extremely fast that not only he liked good cars, like his Javelin was screaming at everyone's attention with its bright red unmissable color, but that he had a thing for mechanics. And that wasn't as common as just having a pretty car when you worked for a cartel. He even noticed his attention to the upholstery.

Nacho had tried to hide it, everything to keep his father as far as possible from the new Salamanca guy, even common topics. But Nacho forgot to do so only once. The first time he sat down in Lalo's Monte Carlo. He had brought his hand to the leather of the booth seat, skin contact recognizing the great leather quality by touch only. His father had the very same one in his shop, stocked with the most expensive coatings. It has been a mechanical gesture, a habit he got from working with his dad. A muscle memory working on its own. Something he did every time he was sitting down in a client's car to analyze the foam beneath, the state and resistance of the coat.

"You like the leather?" Lalo had asked with a large grin as he was turning the car keys in the ignition, catching him by surprise. "I got it done by my best man back in Chihua. Un maestro."

"It's nice, yeah." Nacho had said promptly, anything to get Lalo's trust at the time.

"I knew you liked it. I know an enthusiast when I see one."

Lalo really was just that good, wasn't he?

Nacho hastily looked away, down at Lalo's booted feet, dirt patches staining the bottom legs of his dark jeans.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Well. That was terrible. Nacho couldn't have been more obvious. But he was just so tired. It was becoming extremely hard to control his face, his voice, his words as he should. He heard Lalo huff a doubtful laugh, unsurprisingly.

"Ayy, com' on Nachito. I told you already, my patience for you is gone."

It was Nacho's turn to huff a disgruntled laugh. It didn't look like Lalo was running low on patience. Not since he strangled him at least. It looked quite like the opposite. Nacho was still breathing.

A finger hooking under his chin startled him, the little jump of his body sending a flash of pain down his arm, making him wince slightly. But it didn't mater to him right at this moment. His heart was accelerating all over again as this single finger forced him to tilt his head back up. Not that there was much resistance on his side.

"Tell me. Since when do you feel like this?"

Lalo's voice was low in volume again, and there was something to it. Some kind of weight to his words. Nacho's eyelashes trembled a little as he struggled to swallow his saliva through his bruised throat, refusing to look up at the other man's face.

"Like what?"

Playing innocent was stupid at this point. But there was something in him that wouldn't bend. He wasn't having this conversation with Lalo. He wasn't telling him anything about any of the sensations or thoughts that crossed his mind in the past weeks spent by his side. On the brim of death or not, he never planed to speak a single word of it to the man. That was simply not happening. Nacho didn't want to, since he never even really acknowledged any of those as being something to begin with —except an issue which he promptly stomped on and shove deep down inside of him anytime it would show up— but he also physically couldn't even make himself act or speak on it.

Lalo's thumb ran along the edge of his jaw, what he could reach of it without removing his folded forefinger from its point of control, a barely there stroke of skin against skin. Unnaturally delicate, coming from the hand's owner. Goosebumps bloomed on the back of Nacho's neck. His eyes flew up to meet the dark orbs fixated on him. Lalo opened his mouth to speak again.

"Like me fucking you raw."

Nacho's eyes widened for what felt like the umpteenth time tonight. With a slight delay, he hit Lalo's wrist, effectively sending his hand away from his face. He glared at Lalo, furious, while the other man kept on smiling his sharp grin of his, visibly amused. Nacho felt like hitting the man again. He brought his feet closer and went to get up.

"I don't—!"

"Sit."

Lalo's voice cut through the air and Nacho's anger like the most honed blade. Lalo's gaze sharpening again. His smile gone in a flash. His left hand around the gun tucked behind him. Nacho let himself fall back down onto the edge of the bed, regretting not to do so more carefully immediately when his arm sent another jolt of vicious pain. The edge of his anger has been effectively smoothed down, but he was still furious. He stared menacingly at Lalo, receiving a cold and unimpressed look in return.

"I don't feel like that."

Lalo let go of the gun, bringing his hand back by his side, hanging there like he so often did, so carefree and confident.

"That's funny." Lalo said, with the most serious face still in display. "You know, now that I have a pretty good idea of how much you lied to my face, I kind of know if you're telling me the truth or not. You got tells, and I see them all now. But that lie you just gave me, I would have seen through it all the way back to the day we first met."

Nacho's eyes narrowed at the other man, as he physically reclined a little, trying to make some distance between them without being allowed to move.

"Now, basta de mentiras." Lalo ordered. "Tell me."

Nacho stared right back at him still, determined. He won't speak. There was nothing to say. So Nacho kept silent, since no words would convince the other man anyway. Silence expended in time, while neither of them bent. This was becoming seriously ridiculous. Nacho knew it wouldn't be easy if Lalo or the twins were to find him before he was brought back to Albuquerque by Fring, but he never thought it would be hard in that way.

"Alright." Lalo declared suddenly, curt. He took a step back. "Get on your knees."

Nacho's heart beat faster again, only spurred by the raising apprehension and fear. That was it. As he got to his feet and slowly went down on his knees, Nacho started to pray in his mind. He could still vividly remember the last time he did. Sitting on his papa's couch, his leather bracelet in his hand instead of around his wrist, thumb pressing onto the wooden Christ, two bullets wounds draining all the strength of his body. Leaving just enough to plea for his father's kindness one last time.

The only difference this time, was he didn't ask to survive the night, but begged for a quick death. Getting on his knees was a good sign in that sense. With a bit of luck, Lalo already had his full of inflicting pain and mocking, and would just end it all with a bullet through the head. His body was trembling again, adrenaline coursing through his system as Lalo lumbered around him. Nacho took a deep breath in, briefly closing his eyes as he let all the air out of him in a shaky breath. When his eyes opened again, it was to focus on a crack in the tiles.

His attention was brought back to the other man when he heard Lalo sit down behind him, on the edge of the bed. In the exact spot he had been sitting about half a minute ago. Nacho tried to turn and look over his shoulder at Lalo, but the press of a gun's muzzle against his buzz-cut hair made him stop.

"Don't look at me." Lalo ordered, before adding. "Put your hands behind your back."

Nacho frowned. That was weird. He hope this wasn't about to turn into a torture before his actual death. But Nacho complied. He brought his hands to his lower back, his right arm sending waves after waves of pains down his arm, his limb feeling numb at the same time. That was really bad. But the state of his arm didn't mattered anymore. The gun stopped pressing onto his scalp.

Lalo's hands closing around both his wrists made him almost jump, before pain was made even worse as his right arm was forced to bent further up behind his back, until his elbow was forming a square angle, his wrists superposed. Nacho struggled to keep kneeling with is torso up. The tear in his shoulder was unbearable. He couldn't contain the grunts and sharp intakes of breaths caused by the pain.

"Shhh..." Lalo dared to say behind him. "Stay still."

Nacho pondered the idea to fight the man's grip and punching that stupid face of his but instead found himself restrained as a zip tie linked his wrists together, the plastic cutting into his skin. In the tense silence of the obscure room, Nacho could only think what in the hell was Lalo doing? Nacho carefully straightened his back, refusing to keep this too vulnerable posture.

"Now... What to do with you?"

Nacho froze before he could startle. Lalo's voice had came from all too close to his ear, awakening an intense shiver all the way from the nape of his neck down his back. Lalo was leaning in close from behind him, and even if he wasn't touching him, kneeling there on the ground with his arms tied up, Nacho felt more oppressed by the man's presence than when Lalo was pinning him to the bed earlier. Probably something instinctive that has to do with showing your back to the predator, your neck bared. It made him feel on edge, blood running either cold or hot, he couldn't tell anymore. He was sweating too much due to the temperature and all the stress, and yet he almost felt cold. Maybe that was what they called "cold sweat". IT wasn't his first time experiencing it, but never had it been so intense before.

"Just get this over with already." Nacho said at last, not able to pray in silence anymore.

Lalo hummed behind him. And the sound, even imprisoned into the man's throat, felt like it was even closer than before. Nacho did startle this time when one of Lalo's hands touched his shoulder. The white cotton t-shirt did nothing to cut off the heat radiating from where it connected with him. Nacho tensed some more, fearing for those fingers to press into his hurting shoulder yet again.

"So eager to die, hm?"

It wasn't just an impression. Lalo was leaning closer. Nacho could feel the faint feeling of air tickling his neck with each of his words. Then he could hear him took a breath in. All of Nacho's senses were alight as he could feel the man's presence being ever so close.

"But wouldn't this just be too quick? Too easy?" Lalo wondered, voice the lowest it ever been, dropping into deeper tones.

Nacho swore he felt Lalo's mustache brush against his ear.

"Just a bullet in that pretty head of yours?"

Lalo's words were barely over a murmur now, spoken directly into his ear, and against all his better judgment and fear, Nacho felt his blood definitely turning hotter by the minute. He closed his hands into tight fists, desperate to hold onto his self-control. Lalo decided to play with him, to mock him. If what he wanted was a plea, he could wait. Nacho would die with as much pride as he could.

"No creo que quiera eso..."

The corner of Lalo's mouth was connecting with his ear now, a deliberate contact. Nacho wished his body would stop shaking now. But he couldn't control it. His arm was still hurting terribly with the angle and the menace still resting on it, which was such a bad mix with the anxiety and nervousness. Nacho let a harsher breath out as Lalo's other hand came to rest on his second shoulder.

Except, this one didn't stay still. It was slowly going down over his collarbone, then even lower, over the taunt muscles of his chest. Nacho tensed up, involuntarily leaning further back into Lalo's presence as he tried to evade from the hot touch of that hand. The fingers resting on his hurting shoulder immediately tightened their grip in response, making him wince and groan in pain, immobilizing him. Lalo tsked, mouth still so close to his ear.

"Be nice." Louder, firmer.

Nacho took a shakier breath in at the sound and the words. The pressure on his hurt shoulder lessened. And when Lalo's other hand moved again over his clothed chest, he fought his own body and stayed still. Shivers after shivers were running along his skin under the fabric, and Nacho hoped with all his might that Lalo didn't have a view onto his crotch because the shivers weren't the only betrayal his body was offering. Nacho stared hard at the tiles, shocked by his raising arousal in such a situation.

"I didn't lie earlier, you know." Lalo kept going, voice smooth again. "This is such a waste."

"Lalo— What are you—"

Nacho's next words stayed stuck in his throat, a sharp inhale cut short in surprise and horror. Lalo's fingers had closed around an already well hardened nipple. Nacho couldn't register the new information. His body even stopped shaking all together.

"I don't think I want to get rid of you just yet, Nachito."

Lalo's hand moved again, and Nacho didn't move. His body started to shake again, while his mind kept trying to refuse giving up and enjoy the man's touch. He had a dream not so unlike this during the first days after he met Lalo for the first time. They were having a basic and usual chat at El' Mich, and Nacho got up to get them some Modelos. Lalo had appeared out of thin air behind him just as he was about to reach in the fridge for them, his large and warm hands snaking around his waist, exploring his body, making him feel incredibly hot under his shirt. Nacho had woken up with a start in bed, walking quick to the bathroom before Joe or Amber could catch a sight of his tented boxer, and ended up under a cold shower in the middle of the night.

He had avoided to even think about this dream then, but it was all coming back with a vengeance now. His repressed arousal was impossible to contain. Not when the hands on him were real.

"W-what do you want— from me?"

Nacho couldn't help asking. He was feeling weakened by the man's touch, he was bound by the wrists, and he was equally terrified by his own reactions and the man behind him now. Lalo's hand dangerously got lower, exploring the planes of his abs, the edges of his ribs. Nacho couldn't hold back a tiny plaintive sound as Lalo's fingers dragged over the spot where the brass knuckles had hit him. With a delay, he noted that Lalo wasn't wearing them anymore. Lalo's hand still planted on his hurt shoulder moved, slow and steady, up and up his neck, until it was wrapping around the side of his neck, thumb at the base of his skull, forefinger under his ear, and the rest pressing around his carotid. He forced him to tilt his head to the side, until it rested against Lalo's biceps. And even without Lalo's chest pressing onto his back, Nacho felt like he was getting prisoner in the compression of a snake's embrace. Lalo's face was close to his own, looking down at him, catching every crumb of what he could see of his face from this angle.

"I want to keep you a little longer." Lalo murmured against his cheek. "I have many things to do, and I think you could be useful to me."

Nacho's eyes grew a little larger, before narrowing at nothing. His eyelid shook a little as the muscles of his face contracted pitifully.

No no no please no please don't

He couldn't hold back the distress that flooded his system, his guts twisting, as he understood where this was going. He couldn't stop his breath from stuttering around a nonexistent sob. His eyes stung but he fought to keep the tears in.

He wouldn't die tonight.

"Shh shhh... Tranquilo..." Lalo kept murmuring to him. "You have to understand, Nachito. What you did, it's really bad. I can't let you get away with it."

Everything Lalo was giving him was tearing him apart. The hand on his stomach had curled around his ribs, holding him, while the other kept him tucked against the arm curling around him, broad hand plastered against the pulsing point of his throat. It could have been a tender thing, in any other circumstances. If Lalo's words had been different. If Lalo's voice wasn't underlined with a cold anger that left no doubt about how furious he still was under all of this.

"P-Please—"

He was shaking with terror again. His resolution not to beg be damned. He couldn't do this. He couldn't see another day. Not if it was to spend days in that man's company. Or the twins. He already was drained of all of his energy. He knew he wouldn't survive more than a couple of days of torture under their hands. Blood was thumping into his ears, his vision blurring. He was so tired. So, so tired. A single tear ran down his cheek. Lalo hushed him again, the hand on his throat lifting only to pet his head, slow and repetitive, mechanical almost.

"Don't cry, Nachito. There is no reason to cry. You're alright."

And even if he couldn't trust it, Nacho couldn't help a part of him to appreciate the soft gesture, making him feel even worse. Kneeling between Lalo's feet, Nacho felt like a beaten dog seeking the touch of the mean master.

"Nobody died, so, no need for that."

Lalo's hand moved again as he wiped the tear away, too carefully for Nacho's sanity.

"Not yet, at least."

The softness of Lalo's voice didn't hide the threat under the words. Nacho's teeth clashed together, almost catching his tongue in the process, and stayed pressed together, hard. This again. Lalo's hand cupped his cheek.

"Look at me." Lalo called to him, still low.

Nacho let him turn his face to the side and slightly up, not relaxing his clenched teeth, as he didn't allow himself to shed a single more tear. He looked up at Lalo's face looming over him. The orange light filtering through the curtains was hitting his face, sharpening his every features, the heavy shadow of his eye sockets not allowing him to identify the brown of his eyes from the dark pits of his pupils. And it was just as he knew it all was just by the sound of his voice. There was not a ounce of affection in those tiny pools of ink. The hands on him a vibrant warmth, an absolute opposite to this frozen desert in the man's eyes.

"From now on." Lalo spoke slow and flat, and every syllables cut right through Nacho's skin, erasing the previous ones given to him by another man, going deeper. "You. Are. Mine."

Chapter Text

Nacho gave up. Or maybe it was his entire being, leaving only a tiny part of what and who he was vaguely conscious. His body was still shaking, punctual trembling of muscles, teeth clattering, but if he was still sitting back onto his heels, it was only because he had been left there without being pushed to the ground. He knew his body was shaking, he knew he felt cold and hot and pain and nothing. Nothing.

His mind buzzed with some kind of white noise he wasn't really hearing. He couldn't even name what he was looking at, because he didn't even tried to register anything anymore. It was like sitting at the bottom of a well that was in his own mind. A distant and silent observer of what was happening around the shell that was his body.

From now on. You. Are. Mine.

It was the only words making sense in his mind. Repeating over and over, in that same exact voice it had been delivered to him. And with it, the crushing sensation of powerlessness that made his mind spiral down into some kind of safeness. The only way to not think about what was about to happen in the next days.

Nacho stayed where Lalo left him, kneeling on the lukewarm tiles of the dark room. There were voices, a quiet conversation, words he heard but couldn't process. Then feet entered his line of sight. Booted feet. Pointy with carved silver skulls. They disappeared, muffled sounds of heels on the tiles. Hands grasped at his biceps. He didn't really felt the hands, didn't really felt the strength that pulled him up to his feet. But the pain, it pierced through everything.

It was dulled, imprecise, excruciating, all at once. It fluctuated in intensity, menacing to bring him back to the surface. A cold wave hit him, his breaths coming in clearer. Nacho didn't even realized his feet stopped working on their own, the hands guiding his body not enough to keep him up, but not letting go. The pain in his arm pierced through, feeling like it was being ripped off. His throat let out a broken cry at last.

"Hey! Cuidado."

Nacho's vision had turned black, but as the pain receded slow and partially, it became clearer, then less and less blurry. He understood the words. He knew the voice belonged to Lalo. He knew who Lalo was again. The man was standing, looking up at him from the last step of a staircase. The artificial orange lights where everywhere around them.

Nacho blinked. Their eyes met as Lalo looked away from Marco who was holding him up. It was a short exchange, but it felt like a micro eternity. Nacho panted, unable to look away from the cold dark gaze, the mind behind them unreadable. Then Lalo turned around and stepped down the last stair before heading into the parking lot. Nacho frowned. He was pretty sure Lalo wasn't limping earlier.

Nacho's breath caught in his chest as Marco bent besides him and hauled him over one of his large shoulder as if he weighted nothing. Nacho tasted bile as he pulled on the zip tie without meaning to. It was just an instinctive gesture. He just wished he could hold onto something in this position, make sure he wouldn't fall off this behemoth of a Salamanca and break his neck in the process. But, as Marco went down the stairs, the grip of his arm around his legs kept him pretty stable.

"Ponlo en el asiento trasero."

As they crossed the parking lot, Leonel passed behind Marco. It made Nacho look up, briefly catching the eyes of the other twin. In the split second their eyes met, Nacho saw a similar hatred he had seen in Lalo's eyes earlier. And he was pretty sure they didn't know all the extend of what he had done just yet.

Nacho's eyes fled the contact, only to notice all the barely opened doors. Careful and slow gestures of people looking at them through the little opening. Others behind the curtains, fingers pushing the fabric aside to take a better look. Not unlike he himself did for the past hours. He thought about calling for help, his want to do so building up in his throat, only to get stuck by something. He couldn't call out to these people for help. All he could see, as he met the fearful and worried faces, was Yolanda, Ciro, Cecilio, Miguel, Herardo, Raul,... He couldn't kill those innocents too.

Nacho was still fighting against the urge to puke as he was dropped onto the backseat of a large silver car. His arm sent a series of agonizing spikes of pain as he was moved around, leaving him panting slightly as the door got closed after him. Nacho stayed leaning forward in his seat, sweating again as he waited for the pain to recede. The spams due to his shivering did nothing to help. He was painfully aware of everything again.

Outside, through the tinted window, Marco was still standing, listening. On the other side of the car, on the driver side, Lalo and Leonel were speaking in hushed words he couldn't make out with all the doors closed. For a short moment, he was alone again. Alone in a space. Lalo's distance was helping in calming his mind. Nacho took a deeper breath in, knowing his respite would be short lived. Focusing on easing the tension in his shoulder to ease the pain.

Nacho closed his eyes, focusing on his breath even more, trying to stop the damn shivering that gave him so much unnecessary additional pain. As he tried to tune out his surroundings, an intrusive thought still made its way in. Is Lalo telling them? Fear embraced his ribs, forcing a deep inhale in, and Nacho opened his eyes in terror. He was shaking harder now.

All was still. They were just talking. But then, movement. Suddenly. Nacho's breath accelerated, his eyes quickly jumping from one side of the car to the other, desperately trying to catch the sight of the twin's expression. Nacho shifted on the seat, making distance with the doors, even if there was no real issue no matter the distance he put between the Salamancas and himself.

The doors opened on all sides, and Nacho froze in the booth seat. The three men entered the vehicle, and none reached for him. Leonel sat in the driver's seat. Marco in the passenger one. And Lalo—

"Get back to your place, Varga."

Varga. Cold. Distant.

Lalo wasn't sitting yet. Nacho just stared at him, slowly coming down from his fear, veins still pulsing with adrenaline. He moved back into his initial spot, still feeling on edge, glancing at the twins as he did so. The two men were looking at him, visibly tense. Or was it just their usual stance? Nacho couldn't tell in this very moment. Do they know? Did he tell them?

A door was closed, and a hand curled at the nape of his neck. Nacho found himself with his face slammed onto the leather seat unkindly, only saving himself from a face-plant by turning his head to the side on the last second. He was forced to stay half sitting, half laying on the booth. Lalo's hand firm and heavy on his neck. The man clearly wouldn't allow a protest.

"Stay."

Lalo was still not removing his hand. The spoken order was unnecessary. They both knew it.

Nacho's breath shook slightly as he silently took the pain radiating in his arm from the twisted position that forced more tension on his still bounded wrists. He wished he had stayed into that strange state he was in earlier. It was easier. Less painful, somehow. It wasn't the first time it happened to him, but the severance had never been this pronounced. But, pinned to the seat as he was, occasionally trembling, the weight and warmth of that large hand resting on his neck, Nacho could only endure.

The car was moving now, silence reigning in the enclosed space. Except for the occasional suppressed grunts and hissing little sound that would escape Nacho's throat, his gritted teeth and firmly closed lips not concealing them totally. The twins weren't known for their subtlety, and they drove accordingly to that nature. Leonel drove fast. Every bumps in the road sent a new aching pain through his arm, to the point where his arm was getting numb again. It was hard, very hard, not to think of that day. Fresh and old blood mixing with the sand and dust stuck to his opened wounds throbbing with pain. Marco leaning over him, the vet by his side.

Nacho felt his eyes sting when Lalo's thumb stroke slowly at the skin of his neck.

♦

The car ride was a blurry travel in time to Nacho. He couldn't see a thing except some occasional foliage of trees. It was either that of Marco's profile slightly illuminated by the little lights of the dashboard. He never turned around to look at him or Lalo.

On his neck, Lalo's hand remained. And so did the little strokes. Slow, somehow never irritating the nerves under.

Nacho had tried. He really did. His first instinct as he felt his eyes watering had been to punch Lalo in the guts, in the face, to bite that hand until he could taste blood. That hand that made his insides twists. The attention given to those little stroke. The calculation behind them. The exact rhythm and pressure that worked on any living thing. Nacho tried, but he couldn't help but find an anchor in that simple touch.

The anger, the resentment, the self-hatred, it all melted down. There was only that contact, that care, after a while. Nacho's body shook less and less often. Bumps in the road still hurt but the pain seemed less intense. There was still a tension in all of his muscles, in his entire system, but the edge persisting in his mind was lessening. And so Nacho found himself briefly falling asleep on multiple occasions, reopening his eyes to force himself to stay awake. Every time it happened, he found himself horrified by it.

♦

Nacho knew they were arriving when the car slowed significantly. And Lalo was giving short orders. Every doors opened. The hand on his neck was gone, living a cold spot behind. Nacho's stress came back with a vengeance.

He didn't dare move, but he couldn't see any of the Salamancas. All too soon, the door on his side was opened, and hands were grabbing him by a leg and the nape of his neck. His body tensed at the touch, warm but oh so different from Lalo's. He was forced to sit and turn, and Marco guided him out of the car.

Nacho was a bit steadier on his legs this time around. Marco held onto his left upper arm, forcing him to walk at his steady and quick pace. Nacho's boots made clouds of dirt fly into the night air, the headlights of the car still on behind them. They were walking towards a house, not as big as Lalo's hacienda. No, nothing like that. It was a simple little house, surrounded by trees and bushes, big dark shapes cutting in the night sky full of stars.

They walked onto a patio made of irregular stones, a wooden roof over it. They passed by a double doors made of glass. And then Nacho found himself standing in a kitchen, a table pushed to the side on the left of the room. A little arch door leaded further into the house. Over them, a single light suspension, offering a subdued warm light. It was a cozy looking little home. Safe from the blood splattered on a wall, a coffee pot and a puddle of it on the tiled floor. And the corpse of a woman resting into it.

"En la silla."

Nacho looked to the arched door as he was dragged to a chair, and here stood Lalo. Nacho sat down without any resistance, glad not to have to stand or sit on the ground actually. He couldn't see Lalo anymore, the chair he was on facing the other way. The wooden chair creaked a little under his weight. Marco was gone as soon as he was sited, heading back outside. Lalo was there instead, another zip tie in hand. Nacho looked up at Lalo's face, who let a tiny smirk tilt the corner of his mouth in an unkind way.

"Keep being a good boy, hm?"

Nacho glared at him, and clenched his teeth as he stayed still. Lalo walked around him to reach the back of the chair and slipped the zip tie in the one holding his wrist, then around one of the chair's bar composing the backrest. Nacho noticed the sound of the car engine starting again, and gravel crunching under the tires.

Lalo crouched down before him, and proceeded to do the same with his ankles, grabbing one of his shin to bring it closer to a chair's leg. Nacho gave a bit of resistance, just to make a futile point.

"I know you don't like to be chained." Lalo said as he worked, grabbing his second shin to force it closer to the chair. "But I don't feel like taking any risk with you. A run away dog never does it only once."

Lalo secured that one tighter than the previous one. He went back to stand, and leaned towards Nacho, who fought everything in himself to not lean back and hurt himself with the twist his arm was in, but also to refuse to bend in front of the other man. Not this time. He stared into the abysmal eyes, into the sharp

"Until it's taught otherwise, of course."

Lalo patted his cheek twice. Unkind, condescending. He was straightening back up then, before sitting down onto another chair around the dinning table. Lalo looked at him again, addressing him a smile that should have been sympathetic on anybody else's face but looked simply nightmarish on him. Nacho resisted the urge to look away.

It wasn't anything new. He had seen Lalo's cruelty, the full bareness of it, the one that was concealed behind all the smiles and laughs, only a few times. But it always sent shivers down his spine. It never missed to make his legs contract a little, his entire body calling for him to flee. And for the time he had to spend tied up to a chair, he would greatly appreciate if Lalo could put his humane mask back on. A comfort he knew he wouldn't be graced with for a while if not ever.

Sitting as he was before him, leaning back onto the chair at the head of the table, gelled hair messily put back in place, that frozen fake smile on his lips, dark eyes hiding something indeterminable, a big iron cross hung on the wall behind him, Lalo looked like the devil himself.

His dark clothes almost turned him into that same menacing shadow that had entered the motel room earlier. His red bandana a somber touch of color that reminded nothing but blood to Nacho. The dim light of the room bathed him in a too nice, glowing, warm light, at the limit of what it could reach in the home. His face wasn't really illuminated by it, making his face even harder to read, despite the fact that they weren't sitting much apart.

A sound coming from the hallway caught Nacho's attention. A loud thump. He tried to turn around, but limited as he was, he couldn't get an eye on the door. Lalo got his attention back to him as he spoke, interrupting the questions that popped in Nacho's mind, without calming the creeping dread installed under his skin.

"The question is."

Lalo reached for something on the table. That, the dim light could reach. And it shone brightly, almost blinding him with a spark. Half of a pair of scissors, Nacho realized as Lalo turned it in his fingers, his hand resting lazily on the tablecloth. Lalo kept speaking, his voice lowering in volume.

"Are you willing to learn, Nachito?"

He leaned on the table then, the blade still in hand, but immobile now. Nacho looked up to meet the dark orbs of the other man, who kept on smiling at him, amused by something only he could understand.

"Or will it require some convincing?"