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fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months

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Midnight | Chapter 9 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - you and Spencer travel to New Mexico where he has a surprise for you. A series of events leads Spencer to feel himself losing his control on the situation.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - swearing, aggressive Spencer, use of “whore”, murder, blood, knives.

WC - 4.5k

Chapter 9 - Who’s in Control?

Derby was but a blur in your rearview mirror, much like the other towns that came before it. Joining it in a long forgotten haze was the short lived post-coital bliss.

For a man who had gotten laid not twelve hours ago, Spencer was extremely crabby this morning. You must have instinctively curled into him in your sleep, resting your head on his chest and you’d been woken up by him shoving you roughly off of him. Before you could even blink he was out of the bed, his naked body retreating into the bathroom.

You heard the shower and after it shut off you assumed by the hisses and groans that had followed that he was cleaning and redressing his wound. When he returned to the room, dressed in clean clothes, he started gathering up the blood stained items into a garbage bag without looking at you.

You weren’t even sure what Spencer did with the incriminating evidence and of course he wouldn’t tell you if you asked so you didn’t bother. He’d barked at you to go in the shower, telling you that you stank and that was all he’d said to you.

He’d been reentering the motel room when you’d finished in the bathroom with a single take out cup of coffee which he was drinking from. Soon after he’d hurried you out of the room and into the Nissan.

You didn’t bother to ask where you were headed, it didn’t make much of a difference anyway. He was clearly annoyed about something, you could tell by the way his shoulders hunched as he drove and his white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Wasn’t sex supposed to have the opposite effect? How could he possibly be so highly strung after the night you’d spent together?

Was he still annoyed about your secret phone call to Luke or your accidental attack on him? Thinking of Luke you really needed to call him and carry out damage control but Spencer was clearly in a foul mood and you didn’t want to add to it by asking to call him.

When you crossed state lines from Kansas into Oklahoma you found yourself growing confused. He’d told you he’d been heading for Colorado which bordered Kansas to the west. So why had he dipped south into Oklahoma? Continuing south you briefly crossed into Texas and when you passed the yellow and red sign welcoming you to New Mexico, Land of Enchantment you were thoroughly confused.

Spencer stopped for gas not long after passing the sign and less than an hour later he was pulling into the near empty parking lot of a single storey motel, the sign proclaiming it to be the Route 66 Inn, Santa Rosa. It was late and the lot had very little lighting. He didn’t say a word while he left you in the car and trudged over to the lobby.

While he was gone you reached into his satchel he’d left in the back seat and pulled out one of the burner phones before slipping it into your pocket.

The Route 66 Inn was just about the most stereotypical American motel you’d ever seen in your life. It was supposedly a tourist trap, maybe the idea was to give the All-American experience. But to you it was simply poorly maintained, not inspiringly decorated and a little shabby. It wasn’t quite as bad as the Chapmanville Inn, but it was a close second.

Spencer didn’t seem to care or even notice as he carried your bags through the room. At the very least there were two double beds this time which made a nice change. He dumped the bags on the floor and proceeded to rummage through his and pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, which you could only imagine he was running out of by now.

When he started to strip off his button down and black slacks right in the middle of the room, your inherent reaction was to turn away despite the fact you had seen every inch of him. The jeans and the t-shirt could only mean one thing and that was confirmed when you heard him zipping up a hoodie. When you looked back towards him he was securing the hunting knife in the back of his trousers.

“I’ll be back later.” He didn’t look at you as he headed back to the door.

“No.” You spoke without meaning to.

His hand which had been midway toward the door handle froze momentarily before he spun on his heels to look at you again.

“I’m sorry?” His frown was heavy as he regarded you.

“I said no.” You stood your ground, stepping towards him. “You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.”

His frown slowly faded, replaced by a much more evil smirk as he came closer to you. He reached for you and you flinched as his hand cupped the side of your face. His grip was strong, fingers digging in behind your ear.

“Sweetheart, you will be no use to me out there.” He spoke in a patronising fashion.

“I want to help.” You tried to insist.

“You know what I’m going out to do, correct?” His frown returned.

“Yes.” You nodded against his hand. “You’ve got another target. And I want to help.”

His eyes searched your face but for what you weren’t sure. His grip on your face tightened but this time you didn’t flinch.

“You want to help?” He questioned you. “You want to help me murder someone?”

“I want to prove to you that I am in this, Spencer. Maybe if I do this, you will finally be able to trust me. If I help you with this, I’m not just complicit but I am liable. There would be no way for me to turn you in without implicating myself and maybe you can finally believe that I’m not going to run away and call the cops on you.”

Spencer looked at you curiously as you spoke and detected no hint that you weren’t being completely and utterly genuine. He was almost impressed at the lengths you were willing to go through to prove yourself to him. And honestly, there probably couldn’t have been a more perfect time for you to lend your services.

He’d carried out some research at a cafe down the street from the motel this morning while you were in the shower and discovered there had been a recent sighting of a target of his in nearby Albuquerque.

He suddenly let go of your face and took a step back and you didn’t know what that meant. He bent over and pulled the Colt of his hiding place in his boot. And then he held it out for you.

You stared at the firearm in his outstretched hand in confusion, not wanting to take it in case it was some kind of trap. Spencer proffered it toward you.

“Take it then. If you’re serious about helping me, you may need this.”

Your hand shook as you cautiously reached and took it from his hand. You quickly secured it in your waistband and Spencer smiled at you.

“Are you ready to have some real fun, princess?” He nodded his head towards the door.

“I was born ready.” You nodded defiantly and then you followed him out of the room.

***

You periodically spun the chamber of the Colt Cobra, eyes locked on the dark and baron street out of the windscreen. Spencer had tried not to be bothered by the sound of the spinning chamber but after nearly twenty minutes he reached across the centre console and slapped your hand.

“Stop that.” He growled at you.

“Sorry.” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t expect this to be so boring.”

“My research told me he finishes work Monday to Friday at eleven PM at a restaurant seven blocks away. His home is a block south of us. He has to walk this way home. He doesn’t own a car.” Spencer glanced at the clock on the dashboard which told him it was five minutes to twelve.

“Tell me about him.”

“Serial rapist and murder. Nothing too interesting.” He shrugged.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me.” You narrowed your eyes on him but he refused to look at you.

“There are a lot of things I don’t tell you, Y/N, deal with it.” He was starting to wish he hadn’t brought you along with him.

A car passed by on the otherwise quiet street, its headlights briefly illuminating the two of you in an eerie glow. He’d thought it was a good idea to bring you along tonight, to have you prove your worth to him but now he was having doubts. He felt his control slipping away with you here like this, if he turned you into a killer then he no longer had any power over you.

And this one specifically, this one he was doing just for you. It was his gift to you, the only way he knew how to thank you for everything you’d done for him because he couldn’t say it with his words. But if he let you take this from him, if he let you have this kill then it would strip him of his dominance.

The intricacies of this power dynamic were growing more and more complicated by the day and had only gotten worse since last night.

He’d been so eager to get you into bed it hadn’t even crossed his mind what it would mean once he had. He told you that you would belong to him afterward, but it didn’t occur to him it may work the other way around.

He couldn’t belong to you, he couldn’t belong to anyone. But he opened himself up to you intimately and now there was no going back.

“Seriously, if I’m going to be involved I want to know what’s going on. What aren’t you saying?” Your voice permeated his thoughts and he sighed deeply.

“Sometimes you talk too much.” He grunted.

“Asshole.” You growled at him. “Would you rather we just sat here in silence? Because that can be arranged.”

“I mean if you're adamant about doing something with your mouth. I can think of better uses for it than talking.” He smirked sinfully at you, a suggestive glint in his eyes.

“Fuck you.” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest.

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of you sucking my dick. I thought that was obvious. But I mean we could do that too.” He chuckled but you shot him a look that told him you were in no mood to joke.

“You think I want to suck your dick after the way you tossed me aside this morning? No thanks.”

“Jeez, do you know how petty you sound?” Spencer scoffed. “You’re pissed because we slept together and I didn’t want to cuddle after? I hate to break it to you, Y/N, but it was just sex. Don’t get all clingy on me.”

“Don’t worry I won’t. Because it’s never going to happen again.”

“Yeah, right.” Spencer laughed with a roll of his eyes. “You’ll be begging me to fuck you within a few days.”

“Are you really that big headed?” You spat, glaring at him. “You think you’re so good in bed and I have such little self-respect that I would be desperate enough to beg you. Jesus christ you’re an asshole.”

“And you are expendable, my love.” He snarled, fingers running over the gun in his lap like a warning. “I would advise you not to talk to me like that again.”

“You have so little backbone I don’t know how you can’t suck your own dick.” You dared to talk back.

Spencer chuckled dryly before he unexpectedly reached across the centre console and wrapped his hand around your throat, a move that was becoming almost too predictable from him.

“I don’t need to when I have a whore like you to do it for me.” He thrust you by your neck back against the car door. “The only reason I am keeping you alive right now is because you’re good in bed. Don’t test me, Y/N.”

He let you go as quickly as he had grabbed you when something caught his eye out of the windscreen. You followed his gaze to the shadowy figure of a man strolling down the sidewalk in your direction, head down and hands stuffed in his pockets.

You saw a smirk twitch at the corner of Spencer’s lip and he picked up the SIG and stuffed it in the back of his jeans. He picked up the hunting knife from where it was sitting between your seats and ran his finger gently along the blade.

“It’s time.” His smirk grew, turning back to look at you.

“That’s who you were waiting for?” You whispered as the man slunk past the car without looking up.

“Not who I’ve been waiting for, sweetheart.” He shook his head, holding out the knife in your direction. “It’s who you’ve been waiting for.”

With a frown you took the blade from his hand and held it by the handle. You looked in the rearview mirror at the man now skulking further down the street.

“I don’t understand.” Your eyes landed back on Spencer who’s smirk now took up his whole face.

“You don’t recognise him?” His tone was sickly sweet but in a menacing way.

“Should I?”

“I mean, I’d probaby recognise the man responsible for my sister’s rape and murder.” He shrugged lightly.

His words caused your brain to start short circuiting, like a series of fuses had blown in your mind. You stared at him wide eyed as you tried to comprehend what was happening.

Somewhere in a distant memory you could hear your mother crying as your dad told you what had happened. You could hear Jason Gideon explaining they had done everything they could but they hadn’t been able to stop him in time.

You could see her coffin being lowered into the ground, feel the soft breeze in the graveyard that day. You could feel your father’s hand squeezing yours tightly while the celebrant spoke about your sister's life, a life he’d known nothing about.

You could see the evil eyes of Duncan Green as he was let out into the courtroom, his orange jumpsuit and shackles at his wrists and ankles. You could hear the lack of remorse in the man's voice when he spoke of his crimes.

You could hear the phone ringing, hear the voice down the line telling you Duncan Green had escaped from prison.

You felt the lifetime of pain caused by losing your sister. All the anger and hatred you’d had towards the one man who had torn your life apart. He’d taken from you a piece of your soul and now you finally had a chance to take something from him too.

His life.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Spencer spoke again and he was a little surprised when a twisted and maniacal grin started to form on your face.

You toyed with the blade in your hand as you started to nod, but your eyes wouldn’t focus on him. It was as though you were possessed, like someone had taken over your body. Someone much more evil and sinister than yourself.

“I heard you.” Your voice didn’t even sound like you. You unclipped your seatbelt almost robotically and turned to the car door, taking a deep breath in. “It’s time to make him pay for what he did to my sister. Duncan Green has to die.”

Spencer watched as you opened the car door and slid out into the night, knife dangling from between your fingers. He swallowed at the sight, a little concerned that he may have made an error in judgement here.

***

In your mind's eye you remembered Duncan Green as an imposing man, over six feet tall with broad shoulders. The man’s face had been burnt into your brain since the first time you laid eyes on him and he’d remained unchanged for all these years. But in reality it had been so long, of course he didn’t look how you remembered him, it wasn’t as though you were still that scared little teenager you’d been back then.

On his knees with flexi cuffs pinning his wrists behind his back and tears rolling down his hollow cheeks, he was much less intimidating than you remembered.

You’d caught up to him as he was entering his house and before he’d had time to close the door you’d gotten up behind him and held him at gunpoint. You’d forced him inside where Spencer had slapped the cuffs on him and got him on his knees.

“Please, I haven’t done anything! Please don’t hurt me!” He sobbed as you kept the gun trained on his face.

Spencer stood behind him with the SIG in his hand but not pointing it at Green, not yet, not unless he had to. He was trying to let you have control here.

“Shut up.” You spat, your face red with anger and your hand shaking a little.

Spencer couldn’t relate. The men he’d killed were scum but he’d had no emotional connection to him. He’d been able to kill them, dispose of their bodies and forget about them entirely. Maybe he should have thought this through.

“You have the wrong man, I haven’t done anything!” The man simpered pathetically.

“Haven't done anything?” You growled. “You’re a murderer and a rapist!”

“No, you have the wrong man.” He begged.

Spencer rolled his eyes, his frustration getting the better of him and he stepped forward and pistol whipped the man around the face. Duncan groaned in pain, lip quivering.

“We know exactly who you are, Duncan Green.” Spencer lashed out.

“W-what?” He looked between the two of you wide eyed, clearly not expecting that. “H-how…?”

“How did we know?” You barked at him. “You don’t recognise me?”

He blinked a few times at you, trying to clear the tears from his eyes that were hindering his vision.

“N-no?” He shook his head.

“Goddammit.” You followed Spencer’s example and hit him around the face with the muzzle of your gun. He groaned at the impact. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I think you knew my sister.”

His face fell and for a moment his tears subsided due to the shock. It was obvious the name rang bells to him, serial killers never forgot their victims.

“Oh my.” He gasped. “You’ve grown up.”

“You took everything from me.” You felt hot tears gathering behind your own eyes and Spencer held his breath, hoping you wouldn’t let your emotions cloud your actions. “She was my best friend and you took her from me.”

“She was special to me.” He seemed to calm slightly, almost peaceful as he thought about his kills.

“Shut up. You don’t get to talk about her!” You slapped him around the face once more with the gun and he grumbled but shook it off.

“I loved her.” He mused a little dreamily. “She was my favourite.”

“Y/N, don’t rise to it. Just end this now.” Spencer spoke up, sensing you were imminently about to lose it.

“She was so beautiful. How could I forget you, you look just like her.” Green smiled up at you.

“Don’t listen to him.” Spencer tried again, your hand holding the gun shaking furiously. “If you need me to do this-”

“No.” You spat, not taking your eyes off of Green. “This one is mine.”

You dropped the gun on the floor and unsheathed the knife, holding the blade up to the light.

“I think about your sister every day. She was special. She was my favourite. She was-”

“Shut up!” You screamed, dropping to your knees in front of him and forcing his head backwards before pressing the blade to his exposed throat.

“If you kill me I’ll just be reunited with her. I can have her all over again.” Duncan chuckled menacingly, his previous tears all but dried up.

You looked up at Spencer, questioning him, your eyes seemingly asking if this could be true. Spencer shook his head, telling you not to listen to him.

“Y/N, your sister is assuredly in heaven and he will most certainly be going straight to hell.” He didn’t believe in the afterlife, he couldn’t remember if he’d ever told you that. Hopefully you wouldn’t question it.

“I loved her.” He smiled, looking you right in the eyes. “I loved her so much, you don’t under…”

He trailed off when you suddenly dragged the blade across his throat in one swift, unhesitant move. He sputtered as the blood pulsed from his carotid artery, spraying the hot, sticky substance all over your chest and your face. His body slumped to the floor with a thud and the blood kept on spilling.

Your hand fell to your side and the blade crashed to the floor. Your eyes were wide and your mouth hung open as small gasps left your lips. Spencer was soon by your side, helping you to your feet. He kept one hand around you, afraid your legs might buckle. He fished a rag out of his pocket and cleaned some the claret off of your face for you.

Then his hold turned rough and he was grabbing you by the arm and threw you against the wall in Green’s living room. His lips slammed into yours with bruising force and you could immediately feel how hard he was. His hand was already moving to your trousers, bypassing the button and sliding straight beneath the waistband.

He made it to your panties, rubbing you through the fabric while his tongue aggressively explored your mouth. Before he could move your underwear aside and plunge his finger inside of you, you were shoving him away from you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He growled at you as you pushed past him.

“I am not having sex with you, Spencer.” You spat, the burst of euphoria you’d felt when you slashed that bastard's throat quickly fading and you hated Spencer for that.

“Why not? Do you have any idea how hot that was?” He advanced on you again but before he could come too close, you grabbed the blade from the floor and pointed it towards him.

“Don’t touch me.” You growled at him.

“Oh stop being such a tease, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes like this was some kind of game to him.

When you stepped closer and cupped him through his jeans he hissed at the feeling, thinking he was going to get his way after all. But he yelped when he moved the tip of the blade nearer his crotch.

“If you want to be able to ever have sex with another human being again, I suggest you listen to me when I say don’t touch me.” You shoved him away again, tucking the knife into the back of your trousers and leaving Spencer reeling a little. “Now help me clean this mess up.”

You couldn’t believe Spencer would try to take advantage of a situation like that. No actually, you could believe that. But intimacy or sex were the last things on your mind right now.

You’d just murdered a man, albeit one who unequivocally deserved it, but it was murder nonetheless. Sure, watching the blade as it cut open Duncan Green’s neck was a feeling you would never be able to recreate. It was euphoric, like a drug you never wanted to come down from. Watching the man responsible for killing your sister die at your own hand was the single greatest moment of your whole existence.

It felt like a Herculean load had been lifted from your shoulders, one that had been weighing you down since the day she was murdered. It flooded every fibre of your being with endorphins, a kind of relief that you’d never felt before and knew you’d never be able to replicate.

You wanted to cry and laugh in equal measure as Green lay bleeding out over his hardwood floor. The blood poured and spluttered from his open neck like a sadistic waterfall, and the light faded from his eyes as you stared down at this pathetic and cowardly man.

But also you felt a strange hollowness within you, like something had carved out your insides the moment you made that cut. Green was dead, but in him dying he’d taken a piece of you with him.

Because of him you’d not only lost a sister but a piece of yourself. He’d made you into a murderer, a cold blooded killer and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to look at yourself in the same way. You felt relieved but also like you’d been left completely empty, as though your soul had left your body alongside his.

You stood there dumbly staring at the physical and metaphorical mess you’d created while Spencer started to clean up.

You’d spent every day since your sister’s death frozen in time, stuck in a state of paralysis and waiting for the day you would be able to breathe again. But now you weren’t so sure you ever would.

Spencer watched you as he made a start on getting rid of the evidence, feeling a strange coiling in his stomach. Had he witnessed his power slip right through his fingers? Would he ever regain his authority over you? He had no idea who was in control anymore. But he was beginning to worry it might not be him.

Open up my box and pull the string,

Am I just a musical machine for ransom?

I will only listen if you scream,

Lose your voice for me and I will sing your anthem.

Living in fear, living afraid,

Hysterical every day.

All because I let your poison paralyze me.

So tell me who's in control,

I'm confused, I don't know.

Tell me who's in control now.

So tell me who's in control,

Is it you? I don't know.

Tell me who's in control now.

My life is yours to hold.

So tell me who's in control.

But this wasn't what I signed up for,

Spending more stress than I can afford, and then some.

Killing me with almost no remorse,

Feeling back to when I just ignore your presence.

Living in fear, living afraid,

Hysterical every day.

All because I let your poison paralyze me.

So tell me who's in control,

I'm confused, I don't know.

Tell me who's in control now.

So tell me who's in control,

Is it you? I don't know.

Tell me who's in control now.

My life is yours to hold.

Open up my box and pull the string,

Am I just a musical machine for ransom?

Living in fear, living afraid,

Hysterical every day.

All because I let your poison paralyze me.

So tell me who's in control,

I'm confused, I don't know.

Tell me who's in control now.

So tell me who's in control,

Is it you? I don't know.

Tell me who's in control now.

My life is yours to hold.

Tell me,

So tell me who's in control now.

My life is yours to hold.

So tell me who's in control now.

My life is yours to hold.

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @takeyourleap-of-faith @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #unsub! spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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dragoneyes618 · 9 months

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Ernesto de la Cruz, as evident by his immediate and complete acceptance of Miguel as his great-great-grandson, had quite a few girlfriends when he was alive.

It did not start only once he gained fame and fortune on the body of his best friend, though. Even back in Santa Cecilia, he was quite the ladies' man.

As was only to be expected, one young woman - the only child of doting parents who had had her late in life - approached him soon after their affair had ended with the news that she was carrying his child, and that they had to marry to spare her honor.

Of course, Ernesto refused. He had big plans, and couldn't be tied down by a wife and child. (He could never understand why it didn't seem to bother Héctor.) Maybe he was nice about it and gave her some money. Maybe he just laughed at her. The end result was the same: the young woman - Victoria, her name was - left alone and with child.

So, what did she do? She dared not admit what she had done even to her parents, who, as their only child born when they had nearly given up hope, would have forgiven her anything. Instead, she told them she was going to visit a distant relative in Mexico City, and instead went to the orphanage the next town over.

It's not like this had never been done before. She would live there for the next few months, helping out with the children, the cleaning, the cooking, the sewing - all the work that came along with a few sisters raising three dozen children as well as they could - and, once she gave birth, she would leave her child there, and go home like nothing had happened.

In due time, she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.

She named the boy Julio, because she'd always liked that name.

She named the girl Rosa, after her mother. Her mother was still alive, but she knew her children would never be able to meet her parents, that they would never even know her, and she wanted them to at least have this.

On their birth certificates, she wrote down their full names, giving them her own surname, and she wrote her name, as well as the name of their father. The name meant nothing to anyone outside Santa Cecilia then, but she wrote it anyway, because it was true. Just in case Ernesto changed his mind. (He wouldn't.)

Then she went back home and went on with her life, gently spurning all offers of courtship, unable to leave behind the images of the wailing babies she'd left in that orphanages.

About five years later, she grew ill - with influenza, pneumonia, it doesn't matter. She grew ill, and worsened, and died, and left her grieving parents to bury their daughter.

Before she died, she confessed to her parents and the priest administering the last rites that she had borne twin children out of wedlock, and had left them in an orphanage in a town close by.

She died, and her parents buried her, and grieved.

Then they traveled to the orphanage and told them that their grandchildren were here, and they had come to claim them.

Things were very lax back then. They didn't need proof, didn't need any documents. All they had to say was who they were, their daughter's name, and the names she had told them she had given her children, and the people running the orphanage said "That sounds right, nice to meet you, here they are."

Little Julio and Rosa were shy and uncertain at first, but their newfound grandparents were kind to them, and raised them just as if they had been their own children. They gave them both individualized attention, which had been hard to come by in the orphanage. They told them stories and taught them new things and comforted them when they had nightmares and told them about their mother.

To differentiate young Rosa from her namesake, they called her Rosita, and the name stuck, even after the first Rosa was long in the Land of the Dead.

As they grew older, Rosita helped her grandmother around the house, while Julio helped his grandfather - his name was Alberto - in the small upholstery shop he had that supported their little family.

Then one day, Julio met a young woman named Coco in the plaza, and his life changed.

Julio's grandparents were overjoyed to see him in love, to see him settle down and be happy. Elderly, they died only a short while after the wedding, and Coco helped Julio through his grief. None of the Riveras wanted Rosita to be alone, so she was invited to move in with them and join the workshop, and she happily accepted.

Neither of them ever knew the identity of their father. They had no reason to. They never had cause to look at their birth certificates. They'd never known him, and he hadn't wanted to know them. They had their grandparents, and that was all they'd ever needed. They felt like they were missing nothing.

The years passed, and Rosita and then Julio died. More years passed, and Miguel got cursed.

In the year following, Miguel suddenly developed an extensive interest in family history and would spend hours going through old papers. Héctor's letters proved that he had written the songs, but having more than just the letters, the importance of them unknown until now, would help. Maybe a journal, maybe more letters, something.

Miguel wanted to find out as much as he could about Héctor, too, to ensure that the true Héctor Rivera would never be forgotten.

Also, he was worried that maybe the family had somehow forgotten someone else, and wanted to make sure they knew of everybody.

The Riveras lived in the same house that Imelda and Héctor had scrambled to put together money for all those years ago, adding on rooms as the family grew. If not for that, many of the crucial papers - Héctor's letters first and foremost - may have been scattered in different households across Santa Cecilia, or even destroyed entirely, their importance unknown. Having only one house to search makes it much easier. Not easy, but easier.

Miguel finds Héctor and Imelda's marriage certificate, and Coco's baptism certificate, and her and Julio's wedding certificate (the one documenting the union of Elena López Rivera and Franco Rivera Rojas is in a drawer in their bedroom, and so is Luisa and Enrique's, and Carmen and Berto have theirs pinned to the wall), and birth and death and baptism and communion certificates for all the older, deceased generation of Riveras, the ones who have no need of any of them anymore.

And he finds a birth certificate for Papá Julio, and another for Tía Rosita, naming them as twins, born illegitimately to Victoria López Hernández and Ernesto de la Cruz.

To say Miguel has an identity crisis is an understatement.

He was devastated when he thought he was the descendant of a murderer, and overjoyed to find he was Héctor's descendant instead. All of his love and admiration for de la Cruz has curdled into hatred, the love passed on to his great-great-grandfather, the musical genius and, more importantly, the loving father.

Now he finds out that not only is he the great-great-grandson of Ernesto de la Cruz after all, but he's descended from both of them - one great-great-grandfather killed his other one.

He begins to worry that he's going to be like Ernesto. What if he, one day, lies and steals for music? He's already lied to his family and stolen a guitar for music. What if one day he kills for music? How can he be sure that his musical talent is inherited from Héctor and not Ernesto? Because he doesn't want anything of Ernesto's, not anymore.

Elena takes personal offense to finding out that she's the granddaughter of the good-for-nothing musician who probably (nothing has been proven, it's too long ago for that, but it's all very suspicious) murdered her other good-for-nothing grandfather (said in completely different tones of voice; Elena is the only one allowed to insult Héctor, you see).

The Riveras were abruptly plunged into national scrutiny after Héctor's letters were published; the media has a field day with the news that most of them are descended from Ernesto.

Miguel writes a long letter - multiple long letters - about his feelings about all this, and leave it on the ofrenda at the next Day of the Dead, along with the offending birth certificates. Actually, with all the papers belonging to the dead Riveras, in case they want them. But Julio's and Rosita's birth certificates are at the top.

So the dead Riveras get home after the holiday is over, and they go through all the things Miguel left them, and Héctor reads the letters Miguel wrote to him.

Now Julio (and Rosita, to a lesser extent, but she's not the one who married the child of the man her father murdered) has a bit of an identity crisis.

His father caused his wife (and her mother) so much pain. How is he supposed to live (well, not live, but you know what I mean) with that? His father killed her father.

He and Coco have a lot of long talks about this.

Coco doesn't blame him or his sister, of course; neither does the rest of the family. The only change comes in the way Julio thinks the rest of the family is now thinking about him. He was always more on the timid side; it takes literal years before he stops calling Héctor Señor Rivera. Now he's sure that Imelda and Héctor hold his father's crimes against him. It takes a surprisingly gentle talk from his in-laws to get him to surpass that.

"So, ah..." Héctor hesitates afterwards, not having felt this awkward since his first few weeks with the family. "You remember, the trial and everything, I testified, I'm the "principal victim" and all that...I could probably arrange for you to visit him, if you wanted...."

Julio and Rosita look at each other, and shake their heads in unison. "No," they say at once.

"No," Julio says again. "I don't. We don't." He squeezes his sister's hand of bones in one hand, his wife's in the other.

Oscar stirs. "Hey, so....Ernesto's blessing would've worked with Miguel after all."

Felipe, of all people, hushes him. "Not now, hermano."

Victoria takes up Héctor's offer to arrange a visit with de la Cruz, though.

"What?" she asks, daring anyone to question her. "He's my grandfather too."

Any suspicion of sentimentality is immediately discarded when Victoria walks into the visiting room, boot already at the ready, hits him once, and walks right back out again.

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