Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, I just like to play with the characters. Right now I think that's a very depressing thought that I don't own any of them… I actually could do with an Agent Sands around me at the moment.

AN: I'm stressed because of my study and I can't write. The Horror of a Writers Block in a nutshell. Writing is my way to relax so muse please come back from holiday! I give you a beautiful name, savvy? Really!

One time use of the F-word is not immediately R-rated, right?

One Lucky Bastard

Sometimes things just didn't turn out the way he wanted them to turn out.

For example: he had never in his right mind considered the thought that he would lie here, in the dirt, with his eyes ripped out of his skull on a hot day in the middle of Mexico. Never.

But then again, who would have?

For a moment the humor of his situation grasped him full force.

Who would have thought? Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, arrogant jerk first class and fear of many, lying defenseless on the ground so that every stupid moron could kill him.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. With his luck he would lay here in the hot sun a little longer, before somebody came here to kill him like a common dog.

Yes. He always had been a lucky fellow.


El had been watching the pathetic heap of person on the ground for a couple of minutes before he finally made his move. Normally he wasn't such a 'think person', but for Agent Sands he made an expectation. Even shot and seriously wounded he still had to consider the insanity that without a doubt was burning somewhere inside the Agent. And El Mariachi didn't need American CIA Agents to tell him that insane people were always dangerous.

Carefully he walked closer, one hand near the gun on his belt to shoot whenever he thought Sands would get dangerous. The Agent, however, didn't move.

Only one step away from Sands El stopped. He really wondered why he had gone back to this place. Back while his friends were on their way already.


Silently he observed Sands even more. He frowned at the sight of the sunglasses. Already he had heard some rumors about what had happened to the Crazy American, but until now he hadn't really believed it. Now he thought he did. Sands looked unhealthy pale that made the blood on his cheekbones even more present.


El turned on his heels. From behind a corner a young boy was staring hopefully at him. El frowned. Hadn't he seen that kid before somewhere?

"Señor? You help?"

El could stop his mouth from dropping open just in time. Was this kid actually asking him to help the Crazy American? He looked from the heap of wounded person to the young boy and shook his head. How on earth was it possible? When he had met the Agent for the first time he hadn't really liked him. The man he had seen in front of him had no real feelings. That man had looked as if he had liked to create something beautiful and then totally destroy it. The wounded heap didn't look like that man at all. Maybe that was why the kid wanted to help the wounded Agent? El couldn't really think of another reason.


El had said the words before his brains registered it. Was he really going to help Sands? He shrugged, now he had already given his word to the kid so he couldn't go back, even if he wanted to.


It had been so hard to stay awake, but Sands was positive he had only slept for a couple of minutes, right? But still… something was different. His fingers no longer felt a dusty road; his back no longer felt a hard stony wall. It was almost comfortable soft were he was now.

And he was moving.

Slowly more things started to make sense. For one panicked moment his breathing got stuck in his throat. Was he back with that doctor again?!? But then he felt the bandages and the soft cushions under his back. That damned doctor couldn't have done that!

A new chuckle escaped his lips. He now no longer was Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands from the CIA, first class jerk and annoying prick. He now was Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, insane fuck and paranoid bastard.

Yes, he liked that.

Music became clearer when the radio in the car was turned louder. When a way too happy voice started to sing along Sands groaned.

Yes, he was one lucky bastard!


Oh well. Best I could do. Didn't want to bother my beta with this, but I might do so in the future. I might even continue this if The Muse allows me too. For now, I'm just hoping that Once Upon a Time in Mexico will be released on DVD were I live tomorrow.