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Bed.

[Thankfully, Saul realizes he's going to need to give Will more details than that.]

Heropa, number sixteen. I'm upstairs.

[Thank Christ he's not in the other Porter cities.]

Got it. Be there in ten minutes, at most. [He's gonna try for a new world record, Saul can hear him bustling. Shoes on is all he needs.] You wanna stay on the line, think it'd be easier if you had somebody to talk at?

[at not to because if Saul declines, he might not realize who he's talking to. He may just babble. He may not even realize he's speaking at all. Which is just fine with Will, as long as he doesn't die.]

Sure.

[About what, though? Saul hums thoughtfully, an almost comical sound given the situation. The hum is interrupted by a wet sniffle, then a very obviously short-of-breath cough.]

This — now this is ironic. Or maybe "fitting." Dunno which Walt'd prefer. Both? I bet it's that same shit, too. Flower...

[What the hell was it, again?]

[There goes a window, rustling. Is he leaving the way Saul and he had once come in? Damn right he is. Rustling gives way to the sound of wind whooshing by as he completely goes back to that night, mounting a shadow stag that'll haul ass to Heropa #016 like some sort of nightmarish woodland version of an ambulance.]

Dunno what he'd prefer. Not sure I wanna know. [Maybe subtle shit-talking of Walter will kick some life into Saul, keep him from nodding off again.] He give you something from a flower, you think?

[They did just pass Christmas and so many of the plants common around that time are toxic. It's a guess.]

Maybe. [The word is drawn out, slurred. If Saul hadn't mentioned his suspicions, he'd just sound drunk and half-asleep.]

Or ricin. Not like rice 'n' beans. Or something else... some... magic...

[Some new substance produced as a result of Walt's superpower, is what he means.

But that's it. That's all he has in him. Will is, unfortunately, left with the sound of Saul wheezing on the other end of the line, the noise a bit distant — like the phone has slid away, or been dropped.]

[Rice 'n' beans, Jesus Christ. Will stays on the line, just in case Saul comes back around. But whether or not that happens, Saul will find that Will has made it to his room shortly after. If he knocked and politely entered or just found Saul's window via desperate peeping until he got the right one isn't clear, nor does it matter. Will is there, first checking his pulse, taking in the state of him, and carefully peeling back his eyelids to get the full scope of it all. The full scope being a dire one. The smacks to Saul's cheek are gentle, Will kneeling beside his bed like a doctor on house call.]

Hey. [Louder than necessary for their proximity, but he's got a fog of poison to get through.] Not doing so good. I can either take you to the hospital myself or we can call an ambulance. You have a preference?

[He could just take him back to April, but...the idea of Saul being laid up in the hospital, given respite, protected from Walter White and the messes he's gotten involved with is one Will thinks the better option here.]

[Saul's out of it. Way, way out of it, but he's hanging in there just enough that he's able to register what Will's saying. Responses don't come easily — not even to the smacks, which only make Saul's eyelids flutter — but the mention of a hospital, oh, that wakes him up.]

No. No hosp— [He's fighting to stay conscious. Why isn't Will psychic? Where are the psychic imPorts when you need them?] Please. April, and I'll go. I'll hide. Don't trap me somewhere.

[Will may think Saul'll be safe in a hospital, but given the spree Walt's been on? Saul doubts it. Saul would be surprised, in fact, if Walt didn't take that as an invitation to blow up the whole hospital, or something.

He doesn't want to be put out in the open like that.]

[Good Lord. Will stares at Saul a few moments, fighting off what feels close to exasperation, and then he nods with a sigh. It's sensible, really. April's magic gets to the happy end quicker than a hospital anyway, and he's definitely learned from their last experience. Don't text her with vague mentions of meeting him in the master bedroom and talk it out afterward.]

All right, all right, we'll just do what we did a couple weeks ago. [That's the end of it, in Will's mind. He leans forward to tug Saul up and out by his shoulders. He will carry him out of the house on a shadow stag if he damn well has to.] But this is the last time for, at least, winter. Got it? April won't be so merciful if it becomes a habit.

[How to know Saul and Will had a secret date: Saul comes home fucked up and in need of healing magic. Some secret.]

[Somewhere, where Saul is more conscious and less sick, he's shouldering a great deal of guilt over all this. He doesn't want to inconvenience Will and April again, but the sooner he gets better, the sooner he can bail. And that's better for the both of them and everyone else involved in this mess, isn't it? If Saul removes himself from the situation, even temporarily, maybe the others will be in less danger.

Maybe Walt will realize Saul didn't die and follow his trail instead of going after anyone else.

It makes sense, to this hypothetical Saul-who-isn't-the-Saul-Will-is-carrying. As far as that Saul is concerned? Nothing is happening, and everything is happening. He's never felt like this before — not when he was drunk off his ass, not when he was stoned, not when he did a drug whose name he never even learned. This is awful, and he wants to tell Will that this will be the last time, he swears, but he can't find the words.]

[And so the process shall repeat. Will might be on the short side, but he's never been physically weak, and working out with Jeff has only helped arm him (get it) for more. But he does use the stag, of course, they're working under a time limit. After April works her magic, if Saul needs time to get back to himself, well. He's got the attic. Or the living room, really, wherever he wants to crash. There's always coffee in the kitchen. If he's truly intent to get the hell out of Dodge, nobody's going to push him to stay. All he needs to do is flag down a raccoon or occupant to lock the door behind him.

A few days after this happens, though, Saul gets a belated Christmas card in the mail from the house, featuring a comic about Santa's reindeer crashing in the attic instead of landing on the roof due to wacky comical reindeer alcoholic games. They're hilarious.]

[Saul needs a few hours, tops, before he's able to make his way out of their house. He still feels like shit when he leaves, but at least he knows he's not dying. And at least he knows he can go somewhere, anywhere, away from this whole mess.

Like Scotland.

When he gets the card, he'll laugh, and then he'll feel guilty, and he'll make a mental note to himself to give them a ton of booze or money or something nice and useful when this is all over.]

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