This fandom seriously needs more Gay.

I'm am here to provide.

I've tried to stay true to the show with its Spanish culture, but seeing as I'm not Spanish, I may have messed a few things up. Please, if you spot something, point it out.

Also, as a warning for the rest of the fic, there are mentions of slight child abuse and mental manipulation. The rating may go up for future chapters.

I'm not done with this, only up to about chapter seven so far, so updates may lag.

It was bleak.

The stunted wasteland was barren of anything resembling life. The few cactuses that grew weren't actually alive, just caricatures of what once was. The hard earth was nothing more than a packed surface. Little bits of sand collected in divots left from millennia ago. There was nothing forgiving about the way the landscape stretched across the horizon, lifeless in its approach to the beyond. The constant stream of unbroken light faded the dirt, making it look as dead as it was. The sun hung from a distance, caught between the earth and what some considered the sky.

But that wasn't a sky above. The inky darkness that loomed over all was filled with tiny lights, glittering in the distance. The lights broke up the monogamous color but did little to comfort the harsh reality of the cage above. The desert was nothing short of bleak.

I hated it.

"Django, you will make yourself depressed again," Madre said, passing by my bedroom door. She didn't wait for a response, and I heard the door down the hall click shut. The sound carried in the unmoving environment of my house.

I sighed.

"Yes, Madre," I muttered under my breath, moving away from the windowsill I was propped up on. I moved farther into the room, sitting down on the hard wooden floor. There wasn't much to do but stare at the wall, so I did. The silence was only broken by the noises of my father, somewhere in the basement. He would scream sometimes, but that was quickly cut off. I almost liked the screams. They were at least something to listen to.

My fingers fiddled with the tassels on my poncho. Boredom was slowly creeping in and I looked towards the window again. At least while staring at the lifeless sea of sand I could lament about how awful it was. Before I could move, however, I heard the sound of the door down the hall open.

"You are going to lose muscles if you do not move, Django," Madre said as she passed by. It was a cutting reminder. I sighed and got up from the floor.

"Yes, Madre," I muttered. I walked out of my room and followed her as she stepped down the main floor of the house was empty, save the dusty furniture. I stared at the floor as I walked across the living room and out the back door.

"You have to close the door all the way, Django," Madre said as she took a seat in one of the reclining chairs. She opened the book she had carried from her room, and I sighed yet again.

"Yes, Madre." It was like a mantra on my lips, repeating over and over. I sat in one of the chairs adjacent to her, not close enough to be considered 'next to' but close enough to not be rude. I looked up at the roof above me, and closed my eyes. It was easy to forget about the surrounding world, the dreariness that persisted throughout the land. It was harder to ignore the presence of Madre near me.

She didn't speak. She didn't move. She didn't even breathe. The soft sound of a page turning in her book felt like knives slicing through the stillness of the area. She commanded the knives, forced the silence to submit to her, and then commanded the silence when the knives were worn and broken.

It was daunting how much power she held in the small space she occupied. I felt myself shiver thinking about the damning force that was Madre. It wasn't pleasant.

I quickly redirected my thoughts, not wanting to revisit the images of her might. I itched to be doing something, preferably something productive, but anything would do at this point. I desperately wanted to ask Madre if something would happen today. If she would decide for something to happen. But I kept my mouth forcibly shut. She was reading, and as much as I longed to be doing something with my time, it would be rude to interrupt.

As if reading my thoughts, she spoke. "Sartana is coming over today." I jolted at the loud sound of her voice, but quickly settled myself again.

"Will she be training me again?" I felt the familiar joy come over me. If there was one thing good in this underworld, it was Nana Sartana. She was boisterous and cutting, but there was also softness within her. She was nothing like Madre.

And on the days I was able to train with her, I could feel the pride she would give. There was nothing better than getting a rewarding pat on the back after crushing several enemies with only my bare hands. It was all for when I obtained my mystic guitar. I had to be ready.

"No."

My proverbial heart dropped the slightest bit. If she wasn't coming to train me, then she was coming for Father. I decided not to give Madre a reply.

I shut my eyes again, blocking out everything. It was easier without the thoughts of Madre swimming in my head.

Time passed slowly. In the hours -probably no more than seven- that passed, I decided that I hated time. I had already disliked it before, but the constant annoyance that came with it passing so slowly pushed 'dislike' into 'hatred'. I had no clocks, no watches, nothing to measure the seconds that passed or the time of day. Not that it would matter with the sun stuck in its battle to fall below the horizon.

I heard the horses long before I heard Madre getting up from her seat. I waited until I heard the back door close before shooting up from my seat and running around the side of the house. I made it to the front porch before Madre open the front door. I heard a scoff but didn't turn around. The carriage was slowly coming closer, the horses at full speed, but the desert stretched as far as it could. I tapped my shoe against the dark earth.

"Do not be rude, Django," Madre said from behind me. I stopped tapping my foot and stood a little straighter, not that Nana would care. She was old and traditional, but she didn't take rudeness as a slight against her. I could say or do whatever I wanted around her, so long as it wasn't meaningfully harsh. Madre, on the other hand….

The carriage came to a stop in front of the house, the horse whining at the sudden stop. I stood still as the door opened and Nana stepped onto the ground.

"Django, my dear," she reached out with bony arms. I stepped into her embrace as best I could while still keeping my posture. She let go of me and stepped up to the house.

"Mujer."

"Sartana."

I looked away as they exchanged greetings, the air heavy with distaste. Madre lead us as we went inside. I continued to stare at the floor as I made my way up the stairs to my room. I knew that that was the only interaction I was going to get with Nana for today. I heard the basement door locks coming undone as I settled myself back on the windowsill.

The screaming that filled the house shortly after wasn't the usual kind of disillusioned screams. These were filled with delight and happiness, a sound that only existed in the house during Nana's visiting hours. I continued to stare out at the bleak desert and hate the underworld at large.