Disclaimer: I do not own, Robert Rodriguez, Johnny Depp and Antonio Banderas do.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic in the fandom of Once Upon a Time in Mexico. Mistakes are all blamed on me and I would appreciate it if people would point those out for me. The very first line of this fic is taken from Dreamcatcher a novel written by Stephen King.

Reviews are very much appreciated, cause I'm a little insecure about this. Agent Sands is a very fascinating, but difficult person to write.

A very big hug to my sweet beta hippediva

[ bla ] = Spanish

Sympathy for the Devil


Suicide had a voice. He had learned that very soon. It was a friendly and tender voice that just continued talking and commenting on every day life. It would probably keep on talking even if you were standing on some fucking high building, preparing to jump and looking down to see the last thing you would se before you would start to dance in hell's fire. Although… maybe looking wasn't a good word in this context. Not when your name was Sheldon Jeffrey Sands.

"Sheldon? Why don't you pull the trigger?"

He really started to hate his first name. He hadn't done so before, although he had never really liked it either. He has found himself in this very same position already a hundred times before in the past 2 weeks, after the Day of the Dead. His back against the cold wall of his new 'home' and his gun pressed at the temple of his face, his finger steady on the trigger.

"Shel-don?" Suicide singsongs his name now.

The ironic thing was that the voice was the only reason he hadn't killed himself yet. He wanted to be in control and it would be his decision if he pulled the trigger, not Suicide's.

"Fuck you!" Sands whispers and throws the gun away from him, taking close attention to the sound of the gun falling down. He would probably need it again later today to start this whole 'pressing gun to temple' thing all over again.

"Are you afraid, Sheldon?"

"Shut up," he whispers, but he doesn't mean it. He was scared, but not for something as ridiculous as death. He was scared of the silence. The silence that would follow after Suicide would shut up. He cursed it and one night during these two weeks, he had screamed at it until his voice was hoarse, but in fact he was happy it was there. At least it kept his mind busy, so that he would not start to think about other things. Things like Dr. Guevara for instance. Or eyes.

Around two weeks ago, it was the Day of the Dead and Sands knew for sure that he had almost joined the 'celebration' of that. If it hadn't been for the Kid. The bubblegum kid with his bike. First because of what the kid had said.

[ Are you alright? ]

[ I don't know. ]

[ You will be. ]

Such a trust in Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. That was not something that happened very often. And then the Kid had helped him even more. He had known that he wasn't safe in the place he was now. Besides the fact that he was feeling warm blood leaping out of his body in more places that he had ever dreamed and therefore he was not really good at defending himself, he had also the CIA to consider about. The CIA wasn't stupid, either. Of course they had been stupid to let him become an Agent in the first place, but even they weren't that stupid. They would know that he had worked for himself and for himself only. They would know. And they would hunt him down. They would be afraid that he would sell information to cartels about them. But that wasn't Sands' style. He never even considered it, simply because it didn't interested him at all. He never bothered with finding out any CIA secrets, although he was convinced that he could have done it.

The Kid had brought him to the same place where he was now. And then it had started. Slowly the drugs that Guevara had gave him started to wear of. Very slowly and very sneaky, like a sliding snake in high, dark grass. Sands hadn't even noticed it, that is, until he had turned his head to listen closely to the sounds of this new location. Immediately the world had exploded around him and he had let out one hoarse scream before losing consciousness.

When he woke again he had felt a small hand cleaning his wounds and he had immediately flinched away, letting another firework explode in his head. Biting his lip hard to avoid fainting, he had focused and figured out it was the Kid once again, before he has slowly drifted off again to a world of silence.

The second time he woke up, he had again felt a pair of hands, but this time it was different. Immediately he had backed away and searched for his gun, but it wasn't there. Before he could panic he had heard the voice of the Kid again.

"Señor? Don't panic. I got you a doctor."

This hadn't actually helped to ease his mood. If there was one person who had bad memories about doctors it would have been Sands. He had started to crawl away, ignoring the pain in his head, his 'eyes' and the rest of his body until he painfully hit the wall.

" Señor?" this time it was another voice. " Señor? I can't help you like this, just stay still or I'll go."

Then Sands had heard it. He heard it in the man's voice. This was a real doctor. He could hear it in the bored tone in the voice of this man, a voice that said 'I don't give a damn if you die very painfully right now on this very moment, but the Kid has paid me so I'll pretend I'll do my job'. And that was exactly the kind of thing that Sands wanted to hear. This was not some kind of sick person that would cut off his balls if he had the change, but just a doctor who had come used to take care of patients with strange wounds that they couldn't explain. A doctor that was used to a live filled with drug cartels in Mexico. He would bet that the doctor hadn't even flinched when he had figured out what caused the blood on his face. And then he had relaxed. He hadn't spoken a word and he had let the hands of the doctor go over his body, checking for any hidden wounds or broken bones. The hands were emotionless and only doing their work without thinking and slowly Sands had dozed off.

The next time he woke up, his new life had started. The doctor was gone and Sands felt rather well, at least, as well as you can feel with some extra holes in your body and your eyes in some fucked up jar or something like that. He had been alone and slowly he had started to discover his new home. He started with feeling the four walls. He had found only one window with broken glass on which he cut open one of his fingers. The window was on the same height as the ground outside, so that soon Sands came to the conclusion that he was spending his time in somebody's cellar. He had found the door, but he hadn't gone outside. He first wanted to be in a perfect condition again before doing that. The ground in the cellar was dirty, just like most cellars. In one corner there was lying a pile of wood or maybe parts of furniture: Sands couldn't tell. He also found something that made him really happy: his guns. He almost felt like he could stand up against the entire world once again.

After his little expedition he had been exhausted and nestled himself in a as comfortable position as possible. That was the moment that Suicide had for the first time started to talk to him. Sands had enough experience to find out that this voice was nothing more than a voice in his head. He remembered it from when he was a young and happy boy. Odd to imagine that, but that was what he once had been. A young boy with an imaginary friend. Millions of kids all over the world had one, but his friend had been different. And now it spoke to him again, with only one change. This time it was Suicide and not Larry, his imaginary friend, who spoke.

Later the Kid had come back, bringing some food along with him and Sands started to get used to his new situation. He learned how to focus on his hearing and how he could hear the Kid come nearing seconds before the Kid actually entered the room. Sands could even walk around in his cellar without tripping over the dirt. And Sands had learned to ignore Suicide when needed. And so the days went by. The Kid came with food and they talked a little. Most of the time it was the Kid who was talking and Sands who was dozing off, often sending the Kid away with a "Fuck off". He didn't know why the Kid was doing what he was doing, but he suspected that he had given the Kid so much money when he first had helped him that the Kid had grown attached to him. He didn't care. The rest of the time Sands spent sleeping, listening to Suicide, pressing a gun at his temple and throwing it away after a while and listening to the world outside him. So he started to know one other person. A person with a real name instead of the Kid. Lucette.

Everyday, Sands suspected around 2 pm, Lucette went outside near 'his' cellar. She was almost always singing and she always sang the same song. Sands really wondered what Mick Jagger would say if he would hear this version of Sympathy for the Devil.

"Please allow me to introduce myself

I'm a man of wealth and taste

I've been around for some long, long years

Stole many man's soul and hmmm

I was round when Jesus Christ

Had his hmmmmmmmm

Made damn sure that hmmm"

"She really needs to buy herself a CD or at least learn the text properly," muttered Sands out loud.

"Who whooo, whoo whooo..."

It was already driving Sands crazy and the worst thing was he had caught himself humming the same damn song. Lucette sang it in a high voice only girls can have and in a very 'sympathetic' way as if she really would like the Devil himself. Sands figured that she was a young adult when he heard the tone of her voice, although at times she sounded a lot younger. It was a real mystery what this young woman would do outside everyday for such a long time, only singing this goddamn song and sometimes softly muttering to herself.

At what Sands thought would be the end of the day, Lucette's singing would be interrupted by another woman's voice. This one sounding a lot older.

"Lucette! Eating time, come inside, dear."

That's how he knew the young woman's name. The strangest thing of it all was that the older woman (probably grandmother, as Sands thought) spoke English with a very heavy Spanish accent. Now why would somebody in Mexico talk English? So Sands had figured that Lucette would probably be American or from another English-speaking country, and she obviously didn't speak Spanish. Or at least not well. Or maybe she just didn't speak it, like he did most of the time. It gave Sands a good feeling that at least his CIA senses still worked.

Maybe an hour later, the Kid brought him his food and he had survived yet another fucking day. Sands really wondered what he was going to do. Of course he knew that this couldn't go on forever, but he had the strange feeling that he wouldn't mind if it could. He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to go outside his cellar again. It was his world now. And who would bother with a blinded ex-agent anyway? He would probably walk under a car the second he went outside anyway.

And so there he was now. He was sitting with his back against the wall and his face in the glimpse of sunlight that warmed the cellar with his sunglasses on. He had officially vowed to never take of those things again in his life. Lucette was singing outside and everything was perfect. Suicide had decided to shut up for the moment, to think of new plans to finally trick him into pulling the trigger, but for the moment Sands really didn't care.

"Hmmmmmm… reached bombay.

Please to meet you

Hope you guess my name… yeah

But what's puz--- Berney?"

Sands had almost dozed off with the sound of Lucette's, not so perfect, but not so terrible either, singing voice in the background when she stopped singing.

"Berney? Where are you?" '

Who the hell is Berney?' thought Sands. 'Her brother? Lover? Maybe even her goddamn son?' Sands wouldn't be surprised with any of these options.

"Berney!" Sands heard how Lucette moved away from him still yelling the name of this person.

"Berney! Come here!"

Then he heard her come back. And then he heard something he didn't like that made him very much awake at the very moment. She came closer and closer. Closer than she had ever been to his cellar.

"Berney? Please?" Lucette sounded impatient. "It's no time to play now! Granny would be mad!"

Then Sands heard something that made his heart skip a beat. She was going to enter his home. She was going to discover him! A strange panic came over him. He didn't want to be seen! He would probably scare her away anyway, because he just knew he couldn't look good. He had always been a skinny person and he doubted he would have gained any weight after the Day of the Dead. And, how could he forget, he still had no fucking eyes and he couldn't imagine that his face looked very pleasant: even with his sunglasses. He crawled to the corner away from the window and made himself as small as possible, feeling ridiculous at the same time. As if Lucette would not see him if he made himself smaller! Slowly he heard the door open and Lucette entered the room.

"Berney? Are you in here?"