Chiclet's body sat curled up in a tight ball, his arms wrapped securely around his knees and his face buried, tucked snuggly in the crook of his left arm.
Even through his deep sleep he heard Sand's gruff voice ring out in spastic bursts. His small head jerked upwards at the sound, and he let out an almost undetectable breath of relief, happy to know his friend was alright.
He silently watched the short conversation play out between the bed-ridden man and two men Chiclet had never seen before.
The men had been in the now completely darkened hospital room for what Chiclet could only guess had been an hour. Time went by very unevenly when you spent the hours watching an unconscious man. The first man had a sharp face, a strange contrast to the slumped and tired face that had belonged to the man who had followed behind.
The large mariachi with the kind face had mentioned their names.. hadn't he? They both had the kind of names that you knew were common, but could still never seem to remember. One had been like a dog..
"Fideo, Lorenzo--"
_____________________________
"--Meet Sands, rogue CIA agent, and master pistolero." El said with a softly mocking flourish.
Sands made a scoffing noise and turned slightly to the side, as if to get a better look, ignoring the notable handicap of having no eyes. "Ex-agent.." He sunk back, "I'm not dealing with their bullshit anymore. They can screw themselves all by their onesies."
Sands heard a short take of breath being cut off by the door slamming open. Then a loud creak followed by orders spoken in fast paced Spanish. What is with these fucking people? How did they expect him to understand anything if they didn't slow the hell down? He had only been shot twice and had his eyes gouged out with fucking spikes. Its not like--
"Holy fuck--!" He bit his tongue, letting the rest of his expletive die in his throat.
He had been too pre-occupied with his self pity to notice the taps of the doctor's shoes as he walked swiftly towards him, and started to peel back the bandages on his face. The cold hands had brushed across his forehead with a sharp pang, taking him by surprise.
He bit his tongue even harder as the gauze pulled off his skin. It felt like a giant band-aid was being torn off his face in a painfully slow pace, his skin smeared with fresh blood sticking to the bandages like glue.
Even the stale air felt fresh as it blew across the throbbing sockets that used to hold his eyes. The skin where the bandages had been felt raw and torn, he stretched the muscles in his face and shook his head slowly, letting air shift in and out, getting used to the hospital air.
He felt harsh fingertips probe the tender flesh around the sockets.
The pain caused by this exposure had at least served to clear Sand's mind enough to understand the doctor's comments.
"Se infecta. El instrumento utilizado no se limpió apropiadamente.."
So, it's infected, well that's just friggin' peach--
He bit his tongue faster this time. A low hissing was the only sound that escaped his lips as a liquid was spread across cut and bloody flesh. The disinfectant burned as it seeped into the tears, making Sands flinch. He hated looking so weak in front of El, but damn.. it stung like hell.
New bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, sealing the medicine in. Sands finally let himself relax as he felt the doctor move on to changing the bandages on his gunshot wounds. His facial expression quickly changed from a discomforted grimace to a nonchalant smirk when he heard the doctor shoo the other men from the room, saying his patient needed rest.
"Yes, I know you're all horribly fascinated with me.. but honestly, guys.. I just need peace."
He heard them being ushered out before anyone could retort. Sands turned his head into the flat pillow and smiled.
Even through his deep sleep he heard Sand's gruff voice ring out in spastic bursts. His small head jerked upwards at the sound, and he let out an almost undetectable breath of relief, happy to know his friend was alright.
He silently watched the short conversation play out between the bed-ridden man and two men Chiclet had never seen before.
The men had been in the now completely darkened hospital room for what Chiclet could only guess had been an hour. Time went by very unevenly when you spent the hours watching an unconscious man. The first man had a sharp face, a strange contrast to the slumped and tired face that had belonged to the man who had followed behind.
The large mariachi with the kind face had mentioned their names.. hadn't he? They both had the kind of names that you knew were common, but could still never seem to remember. One had been like a dog..
"Fideo, Lorenzo--"
_____________________________
"--Meet Sands, rogue CIA agent, and master pistolero." El said with a softly mocking flourish.
Sands made a scoffing noise and turned slightly to the side, as if to get a better look, ignoring the notable handicap of having no eyes. "Ex-agent.." He sunk back, "I'm not dealing with their bullshit anymore. They can screw themselves all by their onesies."
Sands heard a short take of breath being cut off by the door slamming open. Then a loud creak followed by orders spoken in fast paced Spanish. What is with these fucking people? How did they expect him to understand anything if they didn't slow the hell down? He had only been shot twice and had his eyes gouged out with fucking spikes. Its not like--
"Holy fuck--!" He bit his tongue, letting the rest of his expletive die in his throat.
He had been too pre-occupied with his self pity to notice the taps of the doctor's shoes as he walked swiftly towards him, and started to peel back the bandages on his face. The cold hands had brushed across his forehead with a sharp pang, taking him by surprise.
He bit his tongue even harder as the gauze pulled off his skin. It felt like a giant band-aid was being torn off his face in a painfully slow pace, his skin smeared with fresh blood sticking to the bandages like glue.
Even the stale air felt fresh as it blew across the throbbing sockets that used to hold his eyes. The skin where the bandages had been felt raw and torn, he stretched the muscles in his face and shook his head slowly, letting air shift in and out, getting used to the hospital air.
He felt harsh fingertips probe the tender flesh around the sockets.
The pain caused by this exposure had at least served to clear Sand's mind enough to understand the doctor's comments.
"Se infecta. El instrumento utilizado no se limpió apropiadamente.."
So, it's infected, well that's just friggin' peach--
He bit his tongue faster this time. A low hissing was the only sound that escaped his lips as a liquid was spread across cut and bloody flesh. The disinfectant burned as it seeped into the tears, making Sands flinch. He hated looking so weak in front of El, but damn.. it stung like hell.
New bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, sealing the medicine in. Sands finally let himself relax as he felt the doctor move on to changing the bandages on his gunshot wounds. His facial expression quickly changed from a discomforted grimace to a nonchalant smirk when he heard the doctor shoo the other men from the room, saying his patient needed rest.
"Yes, I know you're all horribly fascinated with me.. but honestly, guys.. I just need peace."
He heard them being ushered out before anyone could retort. Sands turned his head into the flat pillow and smiled.