Title: Through the Darkness
Author: Saiko
A/N: Okay, this is my warning to the readers out there: I know I've been told that I keep characters in character for the most part in my writings, and I'll certainly try in this as well as all others, but I've been running it through my mind for several days on HOW I might go about that. I've got a deal where I refuse to use f--- in any format in my stories. I just can't stand that word, and yet it seems to be Sands' favorite colourful metaphor. I'll try to find a way around that and still keep him in character. I REALLY need the readers to tell me what I can do to keep him in character (or any others if I don't) or if I'm doing okay. We'll see how it goes. Oh, and I don't own them. :)
Chapter One: Dark Alley Ways
They'd been following him for the last five minutes, he was certain, and possibly the last ten. He'd pretended not to notice while trying the best he could to weigh his options. Two men were walking behind him. There was very likely one on the other side of the street, but of course he couldn't be certain.
Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.... He was getting closer. Now was that alley way sixty-seven or sixty-eight steps? Damn. Sixty. He'd figure it out when he got there. Ah, there it was. Sixty-six steps! He slipped inside and flattened himself against the building, inching his way down it. It was evening, and the sun was falling rapidly. The small area between buildings would be dark. He'd have the advantage. Former CIA agent Sheldon Sands took a gun from its holster and loaded a new clip into it, pressing his body against the building and waiting.
"Where'd he go?" one man asked in rapid Spanish. "He can't just disappear!"
"Idiot, he's back here somewhere."
"I don't see him."
"Just keep your eyes open. It's more than he can do, right?"
Sands smiled to himself. Couple of mooks, these two. Complete idiots. He stepped out with two guns now in his hands, letting the bullets fly. He heard one man hit the ground with a sickening thud and the other stumble backward, but no contact with the hard ground was heard. He waited for the gunfire he was sure would follow. Nothing did.
Sands strained his ears to hear anything to give him an idea of what might be happening. Footsteps, behind him. He whirled around and something caught his hand.
"Who are you that the cartels are after?" a man with a very familiar voice asked.
"El?"
The man in question released Sands' hand and stepped back, looking at the gunman before him. A small smile crossed his face. "Agent Sheldon Sands, wasn't it?" he asked in English.
"Well, Sheldon Sands still, at least," the former CIA agent responded with a wide grin. It was good to hear a familiar voice, even if it was of a man he trusted very little.
"Ah, so you survived."
Sands nodded. Survived... He supposed he could call it that. It been nearly a year, he wagered, since Barillo had ripped his eyes from him and thrown him out on the street to be knocked off by his good. It had been nearly a year since he'd been in the CIA and in total control of his surroundings, or at least felt like he was in total control. Since that horrible November day, everything had spun out of control. "I guess so. And you seem alive and well."
"I am."
"Still mourning your late wife and child?"
El gave a snort that told Sands not to go there. The former agent paused a moment, listening for any approaching assailants. When he heard none, he allowed himself a small smile. It had been far too long since he'd been able to push someone's buttons freely. His creative genius needed some exercising.
"Wha?" he asked with a grin. "I should take that as a yes? C'mon, El, it's been how long?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," the mariachi growled, his hand reaching out quicker than the gunman could follow and grabbing Sands by the shirt.
The quick rush of adrenalin made Sands smile, but it quickly faded as he heard the sounds of quickly approaching footsteps. The man that had stumbled had gone back to get help. Damn the luck. He put a hand out to shove El away, muttering for him to shut his trap for a minute. They weren't coming down the alley, that was too easy. They were above. "Shut UP!" he growled to the man standing next to him.
"Think about what you say before it leaves your mouth then," El growled.
Sands managed to pull away from him, but that didn't shut him up. Note to self: no pushing buttons when people are trying to kill you and the idiot won't shut up. He turned to the mariachi, holding hand out. "I can't hear if you don't-"
Gunshots sounded through the alleyway and El's eyes widened. He pulled a gun from the holster around his belt and fired upward, downing a man that was leaning over. "They're still here," he announced.
"No shit," Sands yelled back as he fired upward as well.
The gunfire rang off the walls around them several more times before the last man fell from the top. He hung himself in a clothesline on the way down and El frowned. He turned back to Sands who was staggering back against the wall, one gloved hand pressed against his ribcage. His face was screwed up in a pained filled look behind his dark sunglasses. El briefly wondered why he was still wearing them in the twilight. He shook his head. That really didn't matter, now did it? He knelt down to where Sands had slid down the wall, head against the bricks. "How bad?" he rasped.
El was still half way annoyed from the man's attempts at button pushing earlier. "Look for yourself."
"I can't," Sands answered at length. He looked down and his glasses slipped down his nose a ways, revealing the two empty eye sockets. "I'm blind, you idiot."
El did his best not to gasp in horror. "When...?"
"The Day of the Dead," the former CIA agent answered. "They've been after me since."
"That's why you were listening..."
A dark smiled crossed Sands' lips. "Yes, and the reason I wanted you to shut the hell up."
"I.... Didn't know..." El knew it sounded foolish, but he could not bring his mind to think of anything more than that. So Sheldon Sands was the blind gunfighter he'd heard of over the last couple of years. He'd caused trouble for the cartels. Enough for people to make note of him. The mariachi had never expected it to be his former employer.
El was brought out of his thoughts as he heard Sands shifting his weight and struggling to stand up. The mariachi followed him in the motion, catching him as he pitched forward. "No," he said quietly. "You shouldn't-"
"They'll come with more men and do I look like I'd do much good tonight?" Sands growled, patience wearing thin.
"I'm staying with a friend in town. You'll come with me."
Every muscle in Sands' body tensed as the other man said this. He pulled himself away and found himself against the wall again. "I don't take orders."
"Then how about I simply help you?"
"I don't need your help!" Sands all but yelled. The last thing he wanted was pity from the great El Mariachi. "Run along, El, you're starting to piss me off."
El watched the former agent stumble out of the alley. There had been few people out before, and fewer now. No one would pay him any heed as he slowly made his way down the street. No one but the mariachi saw him collapse to the ground. He sighed as he approached the agent and scooped him up. Assuming Sands was unconscious from the lack of response, he started for Lorenzo's place.
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A/N: Okay, I need to know if it totally sucked or if I should continue. Let me know! :)
Author: Saiko
A/N: Okay, this is my warning to the readers out there: I know I've been told that I keep characters in character for the most part in my writings, and I'll certainly try in this as well as all others, but I've been running it through my mind for several days on HOW I might go about that. I've got a deal where I refuse to use f--- in any format in my stories. I just can't stand that word, and yet it seems to be Sands' favorite colourful metaphor. I'll try to find a way around that and still keep him in character. I REALLY need the readers to tell me what I can do to keep him in character (or any others if I don't) or if I'm doing okay. We'll see how it goes. Oh, and I don't own them. :)
Chapter One: Dark Alley Ways
They'd been following him for the last five minutes, he was certain, and possibly the last ten. He'd pretended not to notice while trying the best he could to weigh his options. Two men were walking behind him. There was very likely one on the other side of the street, but of course he couldn't be certain.
Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.... He was getting closer. Now was that alley way sixty-seven or sixty-eight steps? Damn. Sixty. He'd figure it out when he got there. Ah, there it was. Sixty-six steps! He slipped inside and flattened himself against the building, inching his way down it. It was evening, and the sun was falling rapidly. The small area between buildings would be dark. He'd have the advantage. Former CIA agent Sheldon Sands took a gun from its holster and loaded a new clip into it, pressing his body against the building and waiting.
"Where'd he go?" one man asked in rapid Spanish. "He can't just disappear!"
"Idiot, he's back here somewhere."
"I don't see him."
"Just keep your eyes open. It's more than he can do, right?"
Sands smiled to himself. Couple of mooks, these two. Complete idiots. He stepped out with two guns now in his hands, letting the bullets fly. He heard one man hit the ground with a sickening thud and the other stumble backward, but no contact with the hard ground was heard. He waited for the gunfire he was sure would follow. Nothing did.
Sands strained his ears to hear anything to give him an idea of what might be happening. Footsteps, behind him. He whirled around and something caught his hand.
"Who are you that the cartels are after?" a man with a very familiar voice asked.
"El?"
The man in question released Sands' hand and stepped back, looking at the gunman before him. A small smile crossed his face. "Agent Sheldon Sands, wasn't it?" he asked in English.
"Well, Sheldon Sands still, at least," the former CIA agent responded with a wide grin. It was good to hear a familiar voice, even if it was of a man he trusted very little.
"Ah, so you survived."
Sands nodded. Survived... He supposed he could call it that. It been nearly a year, he wagered, since Barillo had ripped his eyes from him and thrown him out on the street to be knocked off by his good. It had been nearly a year since he'd been in the CIA and in total control of his surroundings, or at least felt like he was in total control. Since that horrible November day, everything had spun out of control. "I guess so. And you seem alive and well."
"I am."
"Still mourning your late wife and child?"
El gave a snort that told Sands not to go there. The former agent paused a moment, listening for any approaching assailants. When he heard none, he allowed himself a small smile. It had been far too long since he'd been able to push someone's buttons freely. His creative genius needed some exercising.
"Wha?" he asked with a grin. "I should take that as a yes? C'mon, El, it's been how long?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," the mariachi growled, his hand reaching out quicker than the gunman could follow and grabbing Sands by the shirt.
The quick rush of adrenalin made Sands smile, but it quickly faded as he heard the sounds of quickly approaching footsteps. The man that had stumbled had gone back to get help. Damn the luck. He put a hand out to shove El away, muttering for him to shut his trap for a minute. They weren't coming down the alley, that was too easy. They were above. "Shut UP!" he growled to the man standing next to him.
"Think about what you say before it leaves your mouth then," El growled.
Sands managed to pull away from him, but that didn't shut him up. Note to self: no pushing buttons when people are trying to kill you and the idiot won't shut up. He turned to the mariachi, holding hand out. "I can't hear if you don't-"
Gunshots sounded through the alleyway and El's eyes widened. He pulled a gun from the holster around his belt and fired upward, downing a man that was leaning over. "They're still here," he announced.
"No shit," Sands yelled back as he fired upward as well.
The gunfire rang off the walls around them several more times before the last man fell from the top. He hung himself in a clothesline on the way down and El frowned. He turned back to Sands who was staggering back against the wall, one gloved hand pressed against his ribcage. His face was screwed up in a pained filled look behind his dark sunglasses. El briefly wondered why he was still wearing them in the twilight. He shook his head. That really didn't matter, now did it? He knelt down to where Sands had slid down the wall, head against the bricks. "How bad?" he rasped.
El was still half way annoyed from the man's attempts at button pushing earlier. "Look for yourself."
"I can't," Sands answered at length. He looked down and his glasses slipped down his nose a ways, revealing the two empty eye sockets. "I'm blind, you idiot."
El did his best not to gasp in horror. "When...?"
"The Day of the Dead," the former CIA agent answered. "They've been after me since."
"That's why you were listening..."
A dark smiled crossed Sands' lips. "Yes, and the reason I wanted you to shut the hell up."
"I.... Didn't know..." El knew it sounded foolish, but he could not bring his mind to think of anything more than that. So Sheldon Sands was the blind gunfighter he'd heard of over the last couple of years. He'd caused trouble for the cartels. Enough for people to make note of him. The mariachi had never expected it to be his former employer.
El was brought out of his thoughts as he heard Sands shifting his weight and struggling to stand up. The mariachi followed him in the motion, catching him as he pitched forward. "No," he said quietly. "You shouldn't-"
"They'll come with more men and do I look like I'd do much good tonight?" Sands growled, patience wearing thin.
"I'm staying with a friend in town. You'll come with me."
Every muscle in Sands' body tensed as the other man said this. He pulled himself away and found himself against the wall again. "I don't take orders."
"Then how about I simply help you?"
"I don't need your help!" Sands all but yelled. The last thing he wanted was pity from the great El Mariachi. "Run along, El, you're starting to piss me off."
El watched the former agent stumble out of the alley. There had been few people out before, and fewer now. No one would pay him any heed as he slowly made his way down the street. No one but the mariachi saw him collapse to the ground. He sighed as he approached the agent and scooped him up. Assuming Sands was unconscious from the lack of response, he started for Lorenzo's place.
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A/N: Okay, I need to know if it totally sucked or if I should continue. Let me know! :)