Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Sands. It's more like, he owns me.
AN: Well, this one was very surprising, for a couple of reasons. First, I didn't expect it to come so soon. It usually takes me longer than this. And second, the ending. I honestly don't have the memory of writing it. One minute I was thinking, "this needs to be longer" and the next minute I was looking at the finished thing. So, all thanks goes to the muse for that!
Debate Chapter Two
He woke slowly, if waking it could be called. His body was reluctant to come around, reluctant to acknowledge the ever-present pain.
He also had no idea where he was, something that just made him angrier.
He was definitely in a bed, that was certain. The mattress was thin, but better than nothing, he supposed. His leg and arm were bandaged, and there was definitely cloth wrapped around his head. The smells told him he was in a hospital.
"How long have I been out?" he asked the room at large, because he wouldn't, he couldn't, ask if anyone was there or not.
"About 72 hours." Replied a voice Sands recognized.
"What the hell are you still doing here?"
"I was waiting for you to wake up."
"Well, golly, The, I didn't know you cared."
Sands heard him stand, from the way his pants made that annoying jangling sound.
"Is there anything you need?"
Not from you, fucker.
"A piss, some tequila, and a fuck."
The mariachi ignored the implications of this, and merely said, "I'll see what I can do."
Sands listened to him walk to the door.
"And get me some more painkillers while you're at it! My head hurts like a son of a bitch!"
What now smartass? What are you going to do now?
What I've always done. Keep the balance.
Balance? Jesus, you probably can't even keep your own balance!
The Man with No Name. El Mariachi.
"You've failed, Agent Sands."
I have no fucking eyes!
The Man with No Face. Barillo.
"You've only seen too much."
I have no eyes!
El Hombre sin Ojos.
"You've failed."
No eyes noeyesnoeyes…
"Failed."
I failed once. I won't fail again.