Author's Note: An angsty 'lil "From Dusk Till Dawn" story I came up with after watching the movie for the twentieth time. Starts just after the movie ends, with Seth driving toward El Rey.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Dusk Till Dawn", but I would love to own Quentin Tarantino...He's mine, dammnit!


It's funny. I just left behind a young woman who, not an hour ago, either watched or helped kill what was left of her family, and all I can think about is my baby brother. He's dead, I know he is, I killed him for god sakes, but that's not what's on my mind.

This seems wrong.

I'm sitting in a bright red convertable, speeding down what passes as a highway in Mexico, and Richie isn't in the passenger seat, where he should be.

No, he's two arms and a pile of guts on the floor of a shitty Mexican dive.

I slam on the brakes and my car squeals to a stop.

I know what I have to do, and I know what will happen when I do it.

I have to go back to Texas and take responsibility for what I took part in...

and I'm going to get the death penalty.

Well, ya know what? I honestly don't give a fuck. He's dead. Richie's dead. My family is dead. I have nothing else.

I throw the car into geat and whip around in a u-turn. I'm going back. No more running. I have nothing to run to anymore.

I stand respectfully as the judge reenters the courtroom. The jury had already filed in and juror number one is standing, waiting to deliver the verdict. I already know what it is.

"Be seated,"

I sit, the chains connecting my wrists and ankles clanging loudly in the silent courtroom. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. It doesn't help that all of the spectators are family members and friend of the Rangers, police officers, and civilians my brothers and I killed. I suppose it wouldn't help if they knew that I had lost a family member just like them. I wonder what they would think if they knew that I came back because I wanted to die.


I only hear that one word and murmurs of approval. Eh. No surprise. I am guided to my feet by my lawyer. I force myself to focus on what the judge has to say.

"Seth Gecko, do have anything to say before you are sentenced?"

What the hell. "Yes, I do, your honor," I pause, but no one objects, so I continue. "Am I going to get the death penalty? 'Cause I would like to know that I didn't come back here for nothing,"

The courtroom exploded. The judge pounded his gaval and shouted: "Order! Order!"

When the spectators finally quieted down, I continued. "I could've easily hid in Mexico, and you never would've seen me again, but I came back. I came back because I had nothing to run to. My little brother needed me, and that's why I ran...but he's dead. He's dead, he's not coming back, and I have nothing to live for anymore...so I'd just like to know: are you going to kill me and give these people the satisfaction they want? Or are you going to make me work for my death?"

I lay impassively on the table as they strap me down. I have completely blocked out their voices and I am left with my thoughts, which are remarkably clear considering I had hundred proof liquor with my last meal. Rice, beans, and hundred proof liquor, just for you, Richie. The guard taking my request had raised an eyebrow, but asked no questions, thank God. I can't can't talk about you anymore, Richie, at least out loud, because it hurts too much. It was like that when Mom died. Remember that? Of course you do. Five years old, and you didn't stop crying for a month. I had to hide you from deadbeat Dad so he wouldn't hurt you. He hurt me instead, but I gladly beared it, for you, baby brother...Oh God, I miss you, Richie, I miss you so bad. Well, we'll be together again soon. The Gecko Brothers reunited. We'll give 'em hell, right Rich? Of course. We always do. Mayhem and madness follow us wherever we go. But we get through it, because we are together...well, except for that last time. I still don't know what happened there. I've gone over it a million fucking times in my head, and I just can't figure it out. I suppose I never will, unless I get one of those "moments of clarity" they always say you get at death. Lotta good it does you, though. Really, Richie, isn't that just the stupidest time for everything to make sense? Well, life in general never makes sense, now does it? For example, why, out of all the shitty dives in Mexico, did Carlos have to pick that one? Or, why did I empty my entire gun into that asshole? One bullet, he'd go down, and I could've saved you! I could've done what a big brother is supposed to! I let you down, Richie! I...I fucked up...bad...I'm sorry...God, I am so sorry...I...shit...

The needle. Here comes the needle; my salvation. I watch as the metal slides into my arm and the liquid is pushed into my bloodstream, then turn my attention back to the ceiling. Part of my brain is aware of the lethal injection coarsing through my body, but I force myself to focus on anything else. That "anything else" ends up being you, of course. Soon I'll be with you again, Richie, but this time things will be different. This time, I will take care of you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you ever again. I'm going to protect you because that's what I'm supposed to do. I know I...messed up...but I refuse...to let that...happen...again...I promise...Richie...I promise...

...I love you, Richie...