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slusheeduck · 6 years

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Here’s @lancendydreamer‘s prize for the giveaway contest! She wanted a fic and drawing of alive!Hector and dead!Miguel, so I went completely overboard and wrote a whole sort-of, kind-of Reverse!AU-type story.

(I also took some inspiration from her really neat AU!! You should check it out!!)

Some notes under the cut, as well as the monster fic itself.

NOTES:

Takes place in 1918

This is my first ever attempt at any sort of Reverse!AU, so it’s pretty simplistic. It’s more “fun adventure with a guy and a dead kid” rather than “centuries-old family drama and learning that sometimes your heroes are terrible, terrible people who murder your great-great-grandpa.” Some bits are a little glossed over, so yanno, if anyone else wants to elaborate PLEASE be my guest!

The guitar belongs to Chicharron. This isn’t ever mentioned, I just died when I thought about it and you all need to know.

This was a lot of fun to write, so have some fun reading it!

“So then maybe…C to an E?” Héctor strummed the line curiously, ignoring the irritated looks from the other passengers of the train car. He grimaced. “Hm. Well, what do you think, amigo?”

Ernesto let out a long sigh. “My friend, anything you put out will be perfect.” Despite his easy smile, Héctor could hear the strain in his friend’s voice. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame him. It’d been weeks since Héctor had come up with anything halfway decent, and he was practically panicking every time he picked up his songbook. Normally, his head was full of songs—too many to write—but now, whenever he opened up to a blank page, there was just…nothing. No music, no lyrics. His brain was as empty as the page.

He suspected part of it, at least, was due to the intense schedule Ernesto had for them now that they were a little more than complete unknowns. For nearly a year now, their lives had been travel, sleep, and performing; nearly every other day, they were piled on a train and headed from one end of México to the other. At first, it’d been thrilling—the people, the cities, the music!—but now, Héctor found, there was very little time for actual living, and that was where the songs came from.

So he’d had the bright idea of going home.

Ernesto had fought tooth and nail against going back to Santa Cecilia. It was a nothing town, he’d complained, and they’d both outgrown it. But, Héctor argued back, there was the annual talent show on Día de Muertos, and wouldn’t it be something if Santa Cecilia’s two favorite sons came back with a brand new song?

That argument didn’t work. What did work was when he mentioned that homecomings made for really great inspiration for songwriting, and if he didn’t get something written soon, they could kiss their dreams of fame goodbye. So here they were on the train, following Héctor’s perfect plan.

Or, well, it would be if Héctor could actually come up with a song for the show.

Going off of his C to E idea, he plucked out a simple tune, then groaned. “No, no, no. None of it’s working.”

Ernesto sent him an unimpressed look. “I understand that you’ve been having trouble with this, Héctor, but maybe you could have come up with something before the train ride? That might have saved you some stress.”

Héctor shrugged. “I thought I might work well under pressure.”

“You constantly fall apart under pressure. Remember the show in Morelia?”

“All right, but that was…”

“Or that time in the cantina? You know, with the dog?”

“Now that doesn’t cou—”

“Or when Marisol asked—”

“Okay. Okay! I don’t do well under pressure, esta claro!” He huffed as he looked down at the beaten guitar in his hands, then got to his feet. “I need some air. I’ll be back.”

Ernesto looked up at him. “Be careful. I don’t need you falling off the train before we even get to Santa Cecilia.”

Héctor gave him a vague wave in acknowledgement as he walked to the back of the car and through the one after it. He sucked in a breath as he opened the door to the back platform, shoes clanging slightly on the metal floor and hair whipping wildly in the wind. He eyed the opening suspiciously—a little rope was the only thing closing it off—and nestled himself against the opposite corner of the railing, squeezing his hip against it to stay steady as he started plucking out the tune he’d been working on.

Come on, come on. Why was nothing coming to him? He was surrounded by inspiration: the people on the train, the towns zipping past, traveling back home—there was absolutely no excuse for him to keep drawing a blank.

He threw his hand off his guitar with an irritated pah before dragging it down his face. Maybe he’d really run dry. Por Dios, wouldn’t that be tragic? Héctor Rivera, barely twenty years old and already with his best days behind him. If that were really the case, he’d be better off—

“Ay!”

The train hit a bump on the track, and Héctor was practically thrown into the air. His free hand tried to grip the railing, but his fingertips slid off the cold metal. Ah, but he managed to keep upright…until the train hit a sharp curve. He yelped as his feet slid on the metal floor, pitching him toward the opening in the railing.

He faintly heard the crash of wood on metal as he let go of his guitar, but his brain was purely focused on not falling off the train as he managed to grab a hold of the railing at the last moment. The train straightened out, and Héctor stood up with a high-pitched little laugh. Ave María Purísma, that could have been bad. He let out a breath as he leaned against the railing. Well, hopefully his guitar wasn’t too worse for the…

Wait.

Where was his guitar?

He looked up with wide eyes at the track. It couldn’t have…No no no! He let out a cry of dismay as he saw it just off the tracks, quickly getting smaller as the train pulled ahead. It must have slid out during the turn. Was there an emergency brake or something he could…He yelped and gripped the railing again as they hit another turn.

And just like that, the guitar was gone.

He stood very still for a long moment, slack-jawed and knuckles white from gripping the railing so hard. Oh no. No no no no nooo nonono. This was…this was probably the worst possible thing to happen. He stood for a few moments longer, brain fizzling until it finally burst into full-panic mode and he launched himself back into the train car.

“Ernesto!”

Ernesto jumped up as Héctor nearly toppled into the seat. “Héctor, are y—”

“I-I lost my guitar! It fell of the train!”

“Your…guitar fe—”

“I know, I know! But…but we can make it work! We can! I just…look, if I could play your guitar and you sing…”

“And how are we going to pull that off?” Ernesto interrupted sharply, eyes blazing with frustration. “All our songs need two guitars. Dios mio, Héctor, I knew you could be completely tonto sometimes but this? This is—”

“I know it’s bad! A-a-and I’ll make it right, okay? Just…look, I can change the arrangement and…”

“With what time?! Santa Cecilia’s the next stop!”

“What?!”

Héctor threw himself over Ernesto to look out the window, biting back some words not fit for a crowded train carriage. He knew these houses; Santa Cecilia was less than five minutes away.

“Mmmmokay! Okayokay, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.” Héctor pushed himself back up and grabbed his sombrero from the seat. He jammed it on his head as the train started to slow. “Meet me in the Plaza! I’ll have a guitar soon, I swear!” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the carriage’s door. As the train lurched into the station, he hopped off the steps light as anything and bolted right into Santa Cecilia.

Ayy, it’d been a long time since he’d been back here, but if he remembered right, the Perez’s should still have a music shop right around…

Two yelps rang out in the street as Héctor tripped. He pulled himself up, rubbing his cheek, then turned to see what had tripped him. A mostly hairless dog with entirely too much tongue looked up at him balefully. He quickly pat the dog’s head before getting back to his feet.

“Apologizes, perrito, but I’m in a hurry. I need to find…” He started to turn, then gave a bright grin. “The music store!”

Oh, God was smiling on him today. He’d pay all the money he had on him if needed; a guitar for the talent show was worth every single peso he had. Which…wasn’t much, but still. He loped up to the entrance, still grinning, and pulled the door open.

Well, he tried to. It was locked fast.

He backed away with wide eyes, just now noticing the “Cerrado” sign in the window. Closed? Closed?! Nooo, no no no! It couldn’t be closed!

He let his head fall back with a groan. Actually, of course it would be closed. It was Día de Muertos, everything would be closed. But…maybe they had just closed? And they would feel very, very terrible for the poor man outside—with no family to go to tonight!—and let him buy a guitar? It was worth a try, at least.

He rapped his knuckles against the door until they stung, calling out, “Señor Perez! It’s Héctor! I know you’ve missed me! I just need a guitar, I’ll pay anything you’d like for one! I really will this time!”

He stood there, knocking and calling, for several minutes, but nobody came. He finally banged his head against the door with a groan, not even bothering to catch his sombrero as it fell off his head. This was hopeless. He couldn’t buy a guitar, and he knew musicians too well to even pretend someone would loan him theirs. He was completely out of options.

He glanced behind him as he heard a bark. There was that dog again, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he looked up at Héctor. Despite himself, he laughed a bit and shook his head.

“You know, I don’t think you’re too bright, pélon. Most dogs wouldn’t like the guy that tripped over them.”

The dog barked again, then became suddenly preoccupied with Héctor’s hat, sniffing it intently. Héctor laughed.

“Well, at least you’re willing to—oyé!” he called as the dog picked up his hat and bolted. Héctor sprinted after him. It was bad enough to have to go back to Ernesto without a guitar, but with his charro suit in shambles? Ernesto would kill him for that.

Héctor kept close to the dog, but Pélon here was awfully slippery. He wound through all of Santa Cecilia, managing to keep just out of Héctor’s reach. Every now and again he’d look back at Héctor, tail wagging, and give a muffled bark. Of course, this was a game to this dumb dog; he didn’t realize Héctor’s livelihood was on the line.

Finally (and fittingly), they bolted through the cemetery gates, just barely dodging the families starting to trickle in. The dog seemed to get finally tired of the chase, and he just stopped. Héctor barely skidded to a stop before tripping over him again, and he quickly reached forward to snatch the sombrero away, only for Pélon to jump out of the way, hat in mouth and tail wagging furiously. Mierda. He stood up straight, looking around for something, anything, to get him to let go of the hat. Ah, someone had left some chicharrón on this grave. Surely the very nice soul this belonged to wouldn’t mind…

Oh.

His eyes widened as he caught sight of it. An absolutely beautiful guitar sparkled up at him, orange light from nearby candles glinting off the white, polished wood. On the headboard, a skull grinned up at him.

He was saved.

His hands immediately went toward it, but he stopped himself. This seemed…like maybe not a good idea. After all, if this guitar was left out tonight, that meant it was an offering. And a fairly pricy one at that. But…well, it wasn’t like this person would need it. They were dead! Surely they wouldn’t mind him borrowing it for an hour at most.

He pressed his lips together hard, peering down at the etching on the gravestone. Unreadable in this light. He swallowed as he looked at the guitar again.

“Ah…perdóname…but, look, I really need to borrow this guitar,” he whispered. “It’s just for a little bit, just for the talent show. You know, the one in the Plaza? It’s…I’ve had no inspiration lately, but I think this’ll help. I…I really need tonight to go well. And I’ll bring it right back the moment we’re done performing.” He looked away. “Uh, if you knew me when you were alive, I could see why you might not believe me. But I’ll keep my word this time. I will, swear on my life.”

He gave the grave a hopeful smile, then picked up the guitar. Oh, it was lovely. He ran his hand over the smooth wood, then smiled as he lifted his hand to give an experimental strum. He was stopped, though, by a muffled whine behind him. He turned, then sighed. Ah, right, the dog still had his hat.

“I’m gonna need that, pélon,” he said, leaning down to grab the sombrero. The dog leapt back, whining again. Nope, still playing apparently. Héctor stood up with a huff, then glanced back down at the grave. Well…the owner didn’t seem to mind him borrowing the guitar…surely they could spare a teeny, tiny bit of their chicharrón.

He broke off a bit of one of the chunks, then whistled. “Hey, perrito! Look!”

The dog looked up, immediately aware that Héctor was holding food. He dropped the hat, drool already dripping from his mouth, and when Héctor threw it, he scrambled so quickly that he kept falling over himself. Heh. All things considered, it was a shame to say goodbye to his new friend, but the plaza beckoned. Héctor picked up his sombrero—a little drooly, but otherwise not too worse for the wear—and set it on his head before looking back down at the guitar. He took a breath, then shut his eyes and played a quick rift on it.

Beautiful. Even the wind thought so, gusting over him as the notes faded. He laughed as he opened his eyes. If that wasn’t a sign that borrowing the guitar was a good idea, he didn’t know what w—

Wait.

The cemetery seemed…fuller than before. But something was strange about the new arrivals. Héctor squinted at one family, then sucked in a gasp.

He was never particularly good at being religious, but what he saw made him cross himself immediately. He must be crazy. Or dreaming. There was no way the graveyard could be full of…

Skeletons?

Héctor stared in shock at the dozens of skeletons milling about the cemetery, easy as anything. Most of them seemed to be in their Sunday best, staying close to groups of family members and acting as if this weren’t completely unnatural. Where had they even come from? Why hadn’t he seen them come in?

Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out?

As a man walked by, he quickly ran up to him. “Oyé! Do you see them? Is it just me?” The man ignored him. “I’m serious! Don’t you see all the…there are skeletons! Everywhere!” The man didn’t even glance at him. Was he deaf? “Hey, listen to—” Héctor reached forward to grab the man’s arm, only to gape in shock as his hand went right through his arm. He tried to grab at it again, and again, but his hand kept passing through.

No, nooo, nonono. This couldn’t be happening. He…he must have hit his head hard when he tripped over the dog. He must be having some sort of…trauma-induced nightmare. He couldn’t be invisible.

As if to prove him wrong, a couple walked right through him. A sick feeling coursed through Héctor at the sensation, and he dropped the guitar as he tried to stay upright. He shook his head as he leaned against a tombstone, breathing hard. This couldn’t be real. It could not be real.

“Ah, señor? Are you all right?” came a soft voice from behind him.

Por Dios, finally someone could see him. He swallowed down the last of the nausea as he stood up.

“I…I don’t know. But I think…” He turned to face the woman who’d spoken…and was met by a concerned-looking skull.

They both screamed.

He scrambled back from the woman, crashing into someone behind him. He whirled as he heard the man’s irritated groan as his bones clattered to the ground.

“Why don’t you watch where—” His skull started to snap, but he gasped as he saw Héctor. “You’re alive!”

The man’s exclamation turned all the nearby skulls right toward Héctor. He froze in fear as they came closer. As one skeleton reached out toward him, his brain broke out into a full panic, and he bolted away. He kept running, feet sliding in soft dirt but barely managing to keep himself upright, until he found a secluded part of the cemetery and weakly dropped down behind a tombstone. He peeked over it, watching with wide eyes as skeletons made their merry way through the graveyard and picked up spirit versions of the offerings left to them. He dropped back down again.

Okay.

This was absolutely the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

He covered his face, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth so he could let out a muffled scream. What was he supposed to do?! He didn’t even know how he’d ended up this way, so how could he—

He cried out in alarm as something wet slid along his cheek. He looked up in terror, only to see the little pélon dog back at his side, tail wagging and grinning as if everything were just fine. Héctor stared at him, then cautiously pat his head. His hand didn’t go through him.

“So you can still see me, pélon,” he said, voice shaking. “I…what do I do?”

He didn’t expect the dog to answer, of course. But, when the silly thing sat up straight and looked very pointedly off to the side before getting up…well, it wasn’t like Héctor had any better options but to follow him.

“Wait up, pélon!” he called as the dog broke into a run. He scrambled after him, barely keeping up, only to nearly trip over him for the third time that night as the dog came to a dead stop. “Stop doing that,” he said, though the words came out more panicked than frustrated. “Look, I need to find a way…to…”

He trailed off as he looked up in front of them. Instead of a forgotten corner of the graveyard, a huge bridge made of…leaves? Flowers? No, marigolds—stretched out in front of them. Skeletons were walking back and forth across it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Was…he supposed to cross? Was he dead? No, no, he couldn’t be dead. There must be a better way to…

He jumped as the dog broke out into a run, heading straight for the bridge.

“Pélon!” Without thinking, Héctor ran out onto the bridge, only stopping when he realized he was walking on flowers. He slowed, staring down in wonder at the petals holding him up. They…were petals, right? He leaned down to scoop up a handful of them, watching with wide eyes as they fell between his fingers. Despite everything—or, maybe because of it—he let out a little laugh, throwing up the remaining petals. He really was walking on flowers!

He found the dog rolling around contentedly up ahead. He barked back at Héctor, then jumped up and kept trotting along. He…seemed to know where he was going? More than Héctor did, at least, so it couldn’t hurt to follow him.

As he walked, he heard a family on his left gasp. Ah, right. He…stuck out. He pulled down the left side of his sombrero with a grimace. There, maybe…

“Santa Maria!” came a cry on his right.

With a huff, he pulled down both sides of his hat as he continued along the bridge. There had to be some skeleton over here that knew how to get him back to normal. Of course, that’s assuming that this flower bridge ever…ended…

His footsteps slowed as bright lights came over the horizon, then stopped and stared, open-mouthed at what laid ahead. At first glance, it looked like a city, but Héctor had never seen anything so…so beautiful. Lights as far as the eye could see! Every color imaginable! Fantastical animals of all sizes, shapes, and colors swooping through the air!

Well, if this is what happened after you die, maybe staying wouldn’t be so bad.

He shook his head. No, no. He wasn’t dead. He refused to believe that. And besides, even if he were, Ernesto would find a way to kill him beyond the grave for ditching him. Now if he could just…

“Ah! Perdóname,” he said as he walked into a skeleton. The skeleton turned, smiling, only to gasp as he saw Héctor’s face. That was…getting less surprising, actually, so he ignored it and peeked around the skeleton. Looked like a line of some kind, maybe a toll or something? Who’d’ve thought you’d have to wait in line after you died? Well, at the very least, he’d be able to talk to someone who knew what was going on.

“Anything to declare?” he heard the man behind the counter ask the family in front of him, to which they eagerly showed off their offerings. Huh. He watched them walk through after they were signed off, then took off his hat as he walked up to the window.

“Welcome back! Anything to…” The cheerful guard trailed off as he saw Héctor, who gave him a hopeful smile and a shrug.

“I…might have a few things to declare.”

The skeleton stared at him for several seconds. Then, with a shaking hand, he pulled out a radio.

“Vasquez? I-I’m going to need an escort to the Department of Family Reunions.”

~

“Well, looks like you’re cursed.”

“What?!”

The skeleton on the other side of the desk shrugged as she looked over a ledger. “Well, this isn’t exactly a common occurrence, so I’m only able to go off of previous reports. But generally, the living who wind up on this side of the bridge are cursed, usually by disrespecting the dead.” She raised her browridge as she looked up at Héctor. “Did you happen to disrespect the dead?”

“No!”

“You didn’t desecrate any graves?”

“Dios mio, you think I’m a monster?”

“Didn’t steal any offerings?”

“I…” He trailed off, grimacing, then looked back at the skeleton. “Well, I-I asked permission!”

“Hmm?”

Héctor squirmed a bit in his seat. “Well, I did for the guitar. And it was just the tiniest bit of chicharrón for Pélon over here.” He gestured down to the dog, still by his side and contentedly gnawing on his own leg. Héctor shook his head. “Look, I’ll go and apologize to whoever that guitar belongs to. Then I can go back, right?”

“It doesn’t work like that, señor.”

“What.”

The skeleton pulled out another ledger, flipping through it with a sigh. “When the living get involved with the dead, it takes a tie between our worlds to send them back.” Héctor stared blankly at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Familia. You need a family member to give you their blessing to go home.” She peered at Héctor curiously. “And you need it soon. As in, tonight soon.”

“Why?”

The skeleton nodded down at Héctor’s hand. He frowned, then glanced down and gasped. His pointer finger, as well as the tips of his thumb and middle finger, was turning skeletal. He stared in horror as he twitched it, bones moving as easily as the skeleton’s in front of him.

“Wh-why…”

“Living people aren’t meant to be here. If you don’t get uncursed by sunrise, you’re stuck here. And…how old are you, señor?”

“Seventeen?”

“Ah. Yes, and if that’s the case, then you’re probably going to be charged with disturbing the peace, defacing of property, and theft.”

“What?!”

“Well, you are old enough to…” The skeleton’s sockets widened as Héctor jumped up to his feet and leaned over the desk.

“You’re telling me that I’m going to die and THEN go to jail for picking up some chicharrón?!”

The skeleton gave a thin smile. “Well, not if I can help it.” She got to her feet. “The Department of Family Reunions is specially equipped for situations like this. Now, what was your name again?”

“Héctor Rivera.”

“Rivera, Rivera…here we go! Now, who do you leave on your ofrenda?”

“I…” Héctor grimaced. “I don’t leave anyone on the ofrenda.”

The skeleton’s eyes widened. “What?!” Héctor shrugged helplessly. The skeleton huffed. “All right, then maybe we could go by names.” As Héctor looked away, the skeleton stared at him. “You don’t know anyone’s name?”

“Hey, if you know an orphanage that keeps family trees for the kids dropped there, I’d be glad to hear it,” Héctor shot back.

The skeleton pressed a hand to her skull, muttering what sounded like a prayer to herself. After a moment, she looked Héctor dead in the eyes as she reached to the filing cabinet and opened up three extremely full drawers.

“You see these? These are all the deceased with the last name Rivera. And, since you haven’t kept track of your ancestors, we’re going to have to go through every one.”

Héctor gaped. “But…but I only have until sunrise!”

“Then we’re going to have to start now.”

Héctor swallowed as she took out a stack of folders. There was no way they’d get through all of these in one night. He looked up at the skeleton, then took a breath before putting on his most charming smile as he leaned forward.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t like mentioning this, but I’m actually a very famous mariachi. So…if there’s anyway we could speed up this process, my fans would really like—”

He trailed off as there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” the agent said, then groaned as the door opened. An officer stepped inside, holding onto the arm of a very small skeleton. “Again, Miguel?”

The skeleton boy gave an embarrassed grin. “Hola, Señora Estevez.”

“He tried to slip past us at the gate again.”

“I figured.” The agent pressed her hand to her skull again. “Look, I’m dealing with this very famous living mariachi—” Héctor frowned at the way she said that, though he glanced back as he heard the boy suck in a gasp. His eyes were wide and starry as he stared, and Héctor gave him an awkward little wave back. “—and have to focus on getting him home.” She sighed and added, “Just…keep him here at the station. And keep an eye on him; he’s slippery.”

The officer nodded, then guided the boy out. Héctor watched them leave, only to jump as the agent dropped another stack of files on her desk.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that death is the great equalizer, Señor Rivera,” she said dryly. “So, no matter how famous you are, you still have to follow our rules. It’s time to get reading.”

~

This was hopeless.

They’d been reading through files for nearly an hour now, and they weren’t even halfway through the first cabinet of Riveras. Héctor pushed away the file, then looked down at his hands. All of his fingers were skeletal now, and the skin of his palms were just starting to disappear. This was taking too long. He huffed, then pushed himself up to his feet and headed to the door.

“Señor Rivera? Where are you going?” Agent Estevez asked. He quickly turned and gave her a weary smile.

“Con permiso, I just need to clear my head. I’ll be right back,” he said. She frowned back at him.

“Be sure not to leave the building, señor,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes.

“Where would I even go?” he muttered as he exited the door. The dog followed close to him, then caught what was apparently a very nice scent and wandered the opposite direction. He groaned. “Pélon. I could really do without you wandering…” He trailed off as he caught up to the dog, peeking in as he heard two familiar voices through the cracked-open door. Curious, he peeked inside as well.

“All right, paperwork’s done.” The officer stamped a stack of papers, then sighed as he looked up at the skeleton boy sitting across from him. “Miguel, you need to stop running off like that. There’s a reason you’re at the home.”

The boy—Miguel, apparently—gave a huff and a shrug.

“It’s not so bad there,” the officer tried again.

“Except that I have family. You just won’t help me,” Miguel muttered, sinking down in his seat.

“Look, if we ever get—I don’t know—face scanners that can tell you who your family is, you’ll be the first to know. But the information you have is too little for us to worth with. It’s safer for you to stay there.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, huffing as he propped his chin in his hand. He looked up, and his eyes widened as he saw Héctor. Héctor froze up, and for a moment they merely stared at each other.

“Well, one of the sisters will be here in a little bit to pick you up, so just wait here for a little while longer, okay, niño?”

“Uh…” Miguel finally broke his gaze from Héctor, glancing down. Héctor looked down as well, sucking in a breath as Pélon started to nudge his head inside with a big, dopey grin. He grit his teeth as he tried to pull the dog away from the door.

“What is all that—?” the officer started to ask, but looked up in alarm Miguel suddenly threw himself into a coughing fit. “Ay, niño, you okay?”

“F-fine…” Miguel peeked up, giving a little nod to tell Héctor to go. Huh, nice kid. With a bit of effort, he managed to drag the dog away from the door and make his way down the hall.

Now, back to the problem at hand (He grimaced at the accidental pun as he looked down at his skeletal fingers.) At the rate they were going, they wouldn’t even be halfway through all the files by the time sunrise came. And that? That wasn’t good. There had to be another way to break this stupid cu—

“Are you really a famous mariachi?”

Héctor jumped at the question, whirling around to see Miguel standing right behind him. He blinked a few times, then smiled.

“Of course I am. Part of the amazing duo Ernesto y Héctor.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m the Héctor half.”

Miguel’s starry expression dimmed a bit, and he frowned slightly. “I haven’t heard of you.”

“We’re a big deal in the living world. Hundreds of shows a year, tons of fans. But, you know, we’re…we’re just starting out. From what I understand, it’ll take a little while for us to catch on over here.”

Miguel nodded, then glanced over his shoulder for the guard before he looked up at Héctor with a smile. “Then I think we can help each other,” he whispered.

“Wha—” Héctor was cut off as Miguel quickly pulled him into a phone booth, shutting the door tightly before fixing his eyes on Héctor’s.

“They’re not going to be able to help you out there,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I’ve tried for years to find my family, and I’m still sent off to the home every time. It’s all paperwork this and filing that.” Miguel pulled a face, then smiled up at Héctor. “What you need is to actually meet people. And I know a lot of people. At least one of them should know you!”

Héctor sent him a frown. “Seems like a long shot, kid.”

Miguel matched his frown, then nodded at Héctor’s hands. “You got any better ideas?”

Héctor grimaced, then let out a long sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. On one hand, he was as good as dead if he stayed here. On the other…how much safer was trusting some random kid who might know where some of his family was?

Well…anything was better than sitting around and watching himself become a skeleton.

“Mmmokay. But I’ve got a really tight deadline, chamaco, so…”

“I can work with that!” Miguel shot him a bright smile, then stood up on his tiptoes to peek out the booth’s window. “Getting out’s gonna be hard, but I’ve managed to sneak out with worse. Okay…vámonos!”

Miguel grabbed Héctor’s arm and pushed the door open, tugging him out as a large group of skeletons walked past. The dog, who’d been stuck outside the booth whining at them, ran after them, nearly tripping over himself with excitement. Héctor shushed him as they kept close to the group, which only prompted him to bark. The officer that had been holding Miguel bolted around the corner at the noise, and he gasped.

“Miguel!” Miguel and Héctor turned, wide-eyed, as they heard him. “El Vivo?!”

Both gave the officer an awkward smile, then Miguel tugged Héctor after him with a whispered, “Run!”

Héctor did not need to be told twice, and soon enough they were running through the crowded department, dodging families and ducking around officers before they could notice who they were.

“Was this your plan?” Héctor asked as they rounded a corner and bolted to the door.

“I didn’t have a plan!”

“You said you’ve sneaked out with worse!”

“Well, yeah, when I haven’t had a tall living guy with me!” Miguel tugged Héctor out the door, the dog just barely managing to squeeze out with them. “Here, they’ll lose us in the crowd!”

They dove into a large group of revelers, sticking close to them. Héctor ducked down a bit, glancing back toward the station and grimacing as a whole group of officers poured out. He tugged his sombrero tighter over his head as they made their way deeper into the plaza. “Not to put any pressure on you, chamaco, but now would be a really good time to have some sort of plan.” He looked up just in time to see Miguel pick a marigold from a nearby planter. “Something besides picking flowers would be good.”

“Relax. I have…well, I have the first part of a plan.” Miguel tucked the marigold into his pocket, then turned back to look at him with a smile. “We need to take care of that whole being alive thing.”

~

“You’re really sure you can’t do anything about your ears?”

“I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve had ears, but they’re not something you can just make invisible.”

“Especially not yours.”

“Hey.”

“Pff, sorry.” Miguel finished painting a grin on Héctor’s face, then squinted at him appraisingly. “I think you’re good. I mean, your nose is still pretty big, and there’s the whole ear thing, but if no one gets close...”

They’d found a secluded alleyway to hide out in for the moment, and Miguel, armed with two tins of shoe polish (“The only way the nuns let me out on Dia de Muertos is if they think I’m working.”), had gone to town making Héctor’s face as skeletal as his hands. He tossed the tins aside, and Héctor did his best to hide his ears with his hair as the dog started sniffing at the tins.

“Hey, Pélon, don’t…” Too late. He was already licking at the tin, only to whine and shake his head once he tasted the shoe polish. Miguel laughed, giving the dog’s head a sympathetic rub.

“Your alebrije’s kinda dumb,” he said, laughing again as the dog started licking his face.

“You think Pélon here’s an alebrije? Seriously?”

Miguel wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck. “I mean, he followed you here, right? That sounds like a spirit animal.”

Héctor shook his head and pulled his sombrero on to keep his hair down. “I think it takes him a while to catch on to things. He’ll probably figure out that he wound up here tomorrow.” He smiled at Miguel’s snort, then leaned forward and looked at the boy seriously. “All right, so…you’re gonna help me out with this whole family thing?”

“Yep.” Miguel smiled as he pulled out the crumpled marigold in his pocket. “A blessing on one of these, and you’re back home.”

“Bueno.” Héctor pressed his lips together, arching an eyebrow. “So what’s in it for you?”

“You’re gonna do the same for me.”

Héctor blinked, and he laughed before he could stop himself. “You’re funny, chamaco. But seriously, what do you want from me?”

Miguel puffed out a breath. “I am serious.” At Héctor’s doubtful look, he sighed. “The whole thing with this place is that it runs on memories. The memories of the living are what keep us from fading, and it’s what brings us back home on Día de Muertos. Photos on the ofrenda are what lets us go back over the Marigold Bridge.” He let go of the dog to stick his hands the pockets of his faded red coat. “But it works the opposite way, too. The memories from your life are what they use to get you in the system. If you don’t have that…” He shrugged. “Well, if you’re a kid, you wind up in a home.”

Héctor’s brows drew together. “You don’t remember your life?”

Miguel shook his head. “The last thing I remember is waking up here. And when I tried to cross the first time, they told me I didn’t have a photo on an ofrenda. So I have nothing to go on. Well, except for this…” From his pocket, he pulled out an old, worn photo and held it up. Héctor took it and looked over it curiously. It looked like a class photo, with a row of ten boys lined in front of the school house. Miguel tapped on a boy off to the left, one cheek dimpling with a stifled smile.

“That’s me. See? My hair’s the same, and I have a freckle where I have this mark,” he said, tapping the swirled green circle on his upper jaw, then looked up at Héctor with bright eyes. “And since you’re famous, you can bring this back and get the word out! And then next year I can find my family on Día de Muertos!”

Héctor swallowed. Oh. That was…a heavy order. How many people had he and Ernesto played for in the past year? A hundred, maybe two? Definitely not famous enough for Miguel’s plan. He looked down at the photo again, then took a breath.

“Look, Miguel, I’m not really…” He looked up at Miguel. The boy’s eyes were bright as he looked back at Héctor, every hope of getting back to his family clear on his skull. Héctor pressed his lips together, then carefully folded the photo and tucked it into the pocket of his charro jacket. “I’m not…really sure how this whole ofrenda thing works.” He put on a smile as he leaned forward. “But by the time the next Día de Muertos comes around, all of México will know that a kid named Miguel needs to find his family.”

“Qué excelente!” Miguel jumped up to his feet with a grin. “Okay, but we’ve gotta move. You don’t have too long before sunrise, and we’ve got a lot of people to talk to.”

~

For a kid, Miguel had quite a lot of friends in odd places. Granted, he’d apparently been dead for a while (“Twenty…twenty-five years? I think? No, this is my twenty-third Día de Muertos.”), and Héctor had to admit, the kid was charming as anything. They wound their way through what felt like a dozen separate neighborhoods, each with at least one friend of Miguel’s hanging around.

“This is my friend, Héctor. He doesn’t remember his family either, but he’s a really famous mariachi! Do you remember him?” was asked over and over, but with no results aside from an increasing discomfort whenever Miguel called him famous. (At one point, Miguel suggested that Pélon could probably sniff out Héctor’s family. They spent a few minutes following him, only to have to pull him away from a pan dulce cart. That idea was scrapped pretty quickly.)

Eventually, they found their way to a huge plaza. Héctor’s eyes widened as he saw what had to have been thousands of people surrounding the stage at the far end, cheering at a very enthusiastic banda group. He let out a quick breath, glancing down at his hands. Fully skeletal now, with his wrist bones just showing beneath his sleeves.

He took a deep breath—he wasn’t panicked, but it was still worrying to be losing so much skin so fast—and set his hand on Miguel’s shoulder before he launched into the square. “This isn’t working,” he said bluntly. “There’s no way we can talk to every single person here before sunrise.”

“I-I bet if we move really fast, we could…” At Héctor’s disbelieving look, Miguel sighed. “I know,” he admitted. “But it’s not like we can ask everyone at once!”

Héctor pressed his lips together, then glanced toward the stage. A smile twitched at his lips.

“Actually, I think we can.” He looked down at Miguel, giving him a grin. “Just follow my lead, Miguelito, and we’ll both be on our way back home.”

~

“And it’s mi hermanito’s very first time performing. And we just need the guitar for one song, that’s all!” Héctor gave the skeletal duo he’d approached a hopeful smile; over his shoulder, Miguel copied it.

“Por favor?” he added. “It won’t be as good as seeing our parents, but it’d really make our night.”

The duo glanced at each other, then sighed. After a moment, one of them held up his guitar.

“Be careful with it, muchachos,” he said gruffly. Héctor and Miguel exchanged a grin.

“Por supuesto!” Héctor set Miguel down to take the guitar. “We’ll be back with it as soon as we’re done! Gracias, señores!” He nodded for Miguel to follow him, moving a little quicker as he heard one of the duo say, “Didn’t it look like that guy had a nose?”

Miguel looked up at Héctor excitedly as they walked to a secluded corner of the backstage area. “So are you going to play your most famous song?” he asked, pulling himself up to sit on a box as Héctor tuned the guitar. “They’ll definitely know who you are if you do that!”

Héctor just held back a grimace as that sick feeling returned. “Look, chamaco, don’t…don’t be disappointed if we’re not swarmed by fans, okay? I don’t think Ernesto y Héctor…” He froze suddenly, eyes wide. Oh. He didn’t have Ernesto here with him. Dios, when was the last time he performed by himself? Had he ever? He could play, sure, but his best performances came from the way he played off someone else.

“What about Ernesto y Héctor?”

Héctor looked up as Miguel’s question broke through his thoughts, and a wide smile started to spread across his face as a brilliant idea hit him. “I don’t think Ernesto y Héctor will mean much to the people here; I told you we haven’t caught on down here. Miguel y Héctor, though, that’s different.” His grin widened at the shocked look on Miguel’s face as he took off his sombrero. “After all, I did say it was mi hermanito’s very first time performing,” he added as he set the hat on Miguel’s head.

“What?!” Miguel pushed the hat up to look at Héctor with panicked eyes. Oh. That was…not the reaction he was expecting. “Bu-but I’ve never performed! I don’t even know any songs!”

Héctor sent him a disbelieving look. “I know for a fact that there are hundreds of dead revolucionarios out there in that plaza alone. You had to have heard at least a corrido or two.” His eyes widened as Miguel shrugged. “You haven’t?”

“We’re only allowed to sing hymns at the home!”

“No one’s going to listen if we play a hymn!” Héctor sucked in a breath and shook his head, then looked up at Miguel. He let out the breath he’d been holding and leaned forward. “Think back, chamaco. Are there any songs you can remember?”

Miguel’s browbone furrowed, and his skull screwed up slightly as he thought. He opened his eyes after a moment, expression soft. “There’s…one I can remember.”

Héctor grinned. “Allà vamos, Miguelito! If you can sing it for me, I can figure out—”

“No!”

Héctor blinked. “No?”

Miguel drew into himself slightly as he looked down at his knees. “That one’s special. I…it doesn’t feel right to perform it.”

Héctor looked at the boy for a moment. Well…he could understand that. He certainly had some songs that were too special to perform, even if Ernesto insisted otherwise. He let out a breath, then reached to his inside pocket. There was Miguel’s photo, and just behind it…there. He puffed out a breath as he opened up the notebook. He was still bored with what he’d written, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He grimaced a bit; most had been written for two guitars, but there had to be one…aha!

“All right, chamaco, it’s time for your first experience as a real músico.” He sat down beside Miguel on the box, holding up the notebook. “Which means we’re gonna learn this song in ten minutes or less.”

Miguel looked up at Héctor with wide eyes, then took a deep breath and put on his most determined face as he nodded. “Okay.”

Héctor had prepared for the worst, but Miguel was a surprisingly quick study. His timing was spot-on, and he carried a tune far better than Héctor could. This could actually work. And it was…fun? By their second time running through the song, Miguel was relaxed and already playing off of Héctor like they’d known each other forever. This was going to be perfect.

Until the stagehand told them that they were up next, and Miguel completely froze up.

“Hey, Miguelito?” Héctor set a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, prompting a gasp from him before he quickly shook his head.

“I can’t…I…”

Héctor’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. Okay. Two options here: He could go out alone and hope he did well enough to garner some attention (but not enough for people to realize he wasn’t actually dead).

Or…he could help Miguel out.

“Don’t talk like that, chamaco, you’re a natural. All you need to do is loosen up.” Héctor grinned at Miguel as he shook out his long limbs. He gave the boy a nod; Miguel gave him a dubious look before shaking out his own limbs with a rattle. “There we go! Now, give me your best grito.”

“My best grito?”

“You know, a shout. You’re what, twelve? You definitely know how to yell.” Miguel gave him a shrug. “It’s just like this!” Héctor wasted no time in letting out a whoop that turned several skulls toward them. He ignored them, grinning at Miguel. “Now you!”

Miguel stared at him, but sucked in a breath and let out…the most pathetic noise Héctor had ever heard. He grimaced.

“Uh, try again, chamaco.”

Miguel took another breath and let out an equally strangled noise. Héctor stared, then gave him a thumbs up. Ave María Purísma, at least the kid was cute.

As if he could hear that thought, Miguel looked even less-reassured than he had pre-grito. Héctor grimaced again, then snapped to get Miguel’s attention. “Hey, Miguel, look at me.” When he did, he gave him a smile. “It’s gonna be fine up there, okay? We’ll just have some fun like we did a few minutes ago.”

“But your blessing…”

“Doesn’t matter. Not right now. Right now, we’re músicos, and we’re gonna make sure that every skeleton out there knows that.” He gave him a grin and another thumbs up. “Suena bien?”

Miguel looked up at him, then took a breath and nodded. Héctor put a hand on his bony shoulder and led them up onto the stage as the emcee called, “And now, Miguel y Héctor!”

Héctor gave the crowd his biggest grin, then glanced down at Miguel, who looked shell-shocked. The kid still had stage-fright. What did he do? Ernesto would turn on that de la Cruz charm and hide the boy—that’d happened their very first show, after all—but…well, that wasn’t Héctor’s forte. So really, there was only one option.

Miguel turned in alarm at the loud grito that Héctor let out, but he smiled a bit at his little nod. He took the deepest breath he could, then let out a grito that was just as loud, bouncing off the buildings surrounding the plaza and sending a surprised murmur through the crowd. Héctor took that as his cue to start playing, fingers dancing quickly over the frets, and he looked up with a bright smile as Miguel jumped in like he hadn’t been scared stiff a moment ago.

“Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches

Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoritas y señores…”

Miguel carried the song exceptionally well, dancing around Héctor with a bright grin as he sang. Héctor played back, harmonizing where he could and matching the kid’s energy as he played the hardest he had in a while. Ay, it’d been so long since performing had been a joy instead of a chore; when was the last time he and Ernesto danced around the stage like this?

All too soon, the song came to an end with a prolonged rift from Héctor and one last grito from Miguel, and they both looked out with wide eyes as the crowd went wild. Héctor was the first to break from the spell, and he gave Miguel a wide grin as he ruffled his hair.

“What’d I tell you, chamaco? You’re a real músico now.”

Miguel blinked, then sent him a big grin back. He blinked, then whispered, “Let them know who you are.”

Ah, right. Héctor nodded, then turned back to the crowd and called out, “Gracias, damas y caballeros! We’re Miguel y Héctor, Santa Cecilia’s two favorite sons!”

There was another cheer from the crowd, but Héctor caught a strange look on Miguel’s face.

“Santa Cecilia?” he asked slowly, eyes focused on something very far away. Héctor half-smiled.

“Sorry to drag you into my hometown, but it was easier than…”

“No. I-I’ve heard of it. I just…” He looked up in alarm as the emcee ran onstage.

“Damas y caballeros, we’ve got an emergency alert. Be on the lookout for a living man…”

And that was their cue to leave. Before the emcee could give so much as a description, Héctor grabbed Miguel’s arm and bolted off the stage quick enough for his sombrero to fly off the boy’s head. The dog, who’d been howling off-stage, eagerly ran after them.

“Wait, your hat—”

“They can keep it!”

“Well, you can’t lead! You don’t know where we—” Miguel gasped. Héctor glanced back at him, then looked up. Several alebrijes flew overhead—but then, they’d been doing that all night. Miguel picked up his pace, jumping ahead of Héctor and dragging him behind. “Come on!”

“What? They’re just spirit animals, right?”

“Yeah, but those ones…” Miguel pointed up at the ones above them, which seemed to be very focused on them. “…belong to officers!”

As if on cue, a massive alebrije that seemed to be a mix of an eagle and a lizard swooped down toward them. Both Miguel and Héctor let out a cry of fright, picking up their pace and sprinting ahead.

“This way!” Miguel threw himself forward, bringing Héctor down with him into into a dry canal. They tumbled down the side, the dog rolling down with them, and Miguel just barely dragged Héctor up to pull him beneath a bridge. They huddled together beneath it, both breathing hard as they waited for the alebrije to give up. The beak just peaked below the top, clicking curiously. A large claw reached under; Héctor automatically threw his arm in front of Miguel as they took a step back. But they were too deep underneath. The alebrije let out a frustrated shriek, and, after a few terrifying moments, they finally heard the heavy flap of wings. Héctor lowered his arm, heart still pounding in his chest as he shook slightly.

“Is that…normal?”

Miguel let out a breath; he didn’t look quite as frightened as Héctor, but still shaken. “They use them as trackers, sometimes. Normally they’re not that big.” He let out a long breath. “They won’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t think of saying that first?!”

“I was focused on not getting dragged back to the station!” Miguel argued back.

They both huffed and turned away from each other; Héctor’s heart was still hammering. Well. Being angry wouldn’t solve anything. He let out a shaking breath, then turned back to Miguel.

“You said you knew Santa Cecilia?”

Miguel glanced back at him, then pressed his lips together. “I…I think someone I know lived there.”

Héctor’s eyes widened, and he walked up to Miguel with a hopeful smile. “Really? Can we go see them?” His brows creased as Miguel’s expression darkened. “What?”

Miguel looked away, then took a deep breath. “You swear you’ll find my family when you get home?”

“Of course, chamaco. I’ll start spreading the word the minute I get back.”

Miguel swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay. Follow me.”

~

“Can you go any faster?”

“Listen, chamaco, it’s gonna be really hard to get back to the Land of the Living if I die of a broken neck.” Héctor wavered a bit as he made his way down to the next ledge of the bridge. “Besides, I’ve got my second stolen guitar of the night on my back. That’s a big burden to carry.”

Miguel had led the way through a winding maze of side streets and semi-climbable ledges. Half the time, he let himself fall down a decent way just to gather his bones back easy as anything. Héctor…did not have that luxury, which left him picking his way down some very steep wall reliefs. There was an easier way, Miguel explained on the way, but that’d be crawling with officers and alebrijes looking for a living man and a dead boy. This was the way he took when he wanted to be sneaky.

It took all off two seconds after Miguel announced they had arrived for Héctor to realize what he was looking at. The stark building with a crucifix on the outside told him exactly where they were.

“So this is the orphanage you stay at,” he said bluntly, looking it over. Miguel shrugged.

“I mean, we’re not really orphans. Most of us have parents, they’re just still alive. Or…we can’t remember them. And it’s…” Miguel trailed off as Héctor shook his head.

“Is it run by nuns?”

“Well, yeah…”

“And is it full of kids that no one knows what to do with?”

“Yes…”

“Then that’s an orphanage. Believe me, I have experience with that.” Héctor took a breath, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder. “So who in here’s from Santa Cecilia?”

Miguel was suddenly very preoccupied with patting Pélon’s head. Finally, he sucked in a breath. “Sister Maria Rafaela,” he whispered.

Héctor could feel the blood drain from his face. Oh, no. “S-Sister Maria Rafaela?”

Miguel’s eyes widened. “You know her?”

Héctor automatically rubbed his bony knuckles with a grimace. “You don’t forget being on the end of her punishments.”

Miguel huffed. “Well, maybe if I’m with you, she won’t…”

“Miguel!”

They both looked up, and a skeletal nun marched straight toward them. Miguel started to give a smile and a little wave.

“Hola, Sis—” He yelped as she grabbed his arm tightly, pulling him away before Héctor could stop her and disregarding the dog’s growls.

“Every year you do this,” she scolded harshly, grip tight enough that Miguel couldn’t wriggle out of it. “And you would think that punishment would be enough to stop you, but you’re a stubborn little…”

A memory of belts cracking against skin flashed in Héctor’s head, and he quickly stepped forward. “It’s my fault he’s out this year, Sister. I-I just arrived and I wanted to spend the night with my tío.”

Sister Maria Rafaela looked up and frowned at him. “And who are…” She trailed off as she looked over him; Héctor made sure to keep his face directly facing her as he gave her an awkward smile. “Héctor?!”

“Hola, Sister. You know, you still look great.”

Miguel forgotten, Sister Maria Rafaela took a step toward Héctor, who shuffled back. “I knew you’d get yourself into this sort of trouble,” she hissed. “Is your friend here, too?”

“Oh, no, Ernesto’s…he’s fine. But, ah, listen, Sister, while I’m here…” As Sister Maria Rafaela kept trying to inspect him more closely, Héctor kept skittering away. “…my Tío Miguel brought up the best idea…” He stepped beside Miguel, resting a hand on the boy’s head as they both leaned away. “…and we thought you might know where my family ended up.”

Sister Maria Rafaela frowned hard at him, then started to reach for Miguel again. Without thinking, Héctor hoisted him up onto his shoulders, out of the nun’s grasp. She huffed.

“Ungrateful schemers, the both of you,” she said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m having no part of it.”

Héctor swallowed. “Sister, please. If you have any idea where…”

“And how am I supposed to know that?” she asked sharply. “We take care of the children left to us. There are no questions asked!”

“But Santa Cecilia was so small, you had to—”

“I don’t know, Héctor,” she said crisply. “Now, give that child back or…” She trailed off, suddenly, eyes fixed on Héctor’s cheek. She took a quick breath, then let it out. “I need to make a call,” she said simply, then turned and went back inside.

Both Miguel and Héctor blinked at her sudden shift, and Héctor glanced up at Miguel before bringing him down from his shoulders. “Probably too optimistic to think she’s remembered a long-lost relative of mine?”

“Definitely too opt—” Miguel looked up and gasped, eyes locked right on the same spot Sister Maria Rafaela had been looking. Héctor’s brow creased.

“What? Are we too late?” he asked, automatically reaching up to touch his cheek. He froze as he felt warm skin instead of shoe polish. But he’d been so careful! How had he…His eyes widened as he caught the long streak of white on Miguel’s knee. Oh. When he’d put Miguel on his shoulders…

“We need to go.” Miguel’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe we can smooth it out? O-or I can try and get more polish and—” He was cut off by Héctor yelping when a bony finger and thumb pinched his ear hard.

“This is a low I never expected from you,” she hissed at him. “Dragging a poor little boy along in your schemes. You dese—Ay!”

Héctor’s ear was released, and he just caught Miguel slamming his foot down on Sister Maria Rafaela’s foot.

“He’s not dragging me along, he’s helping me find my family!” he shouted, then looked up at Héctor. “Come on! If we run, we can still…”

KA-CRAWWW!

Both Miguel and Héctor scrambled back at the cry, once again face to face with the alebrije from earlier. Its beak clicked menacingly at them. Héctor glanced up at the bird, then down at Miguel. He sucked in a breath, then pushed Miguel away from him before letting out a loud grito.

The alebrije’s head shot over to him, slitted pupils widening, and he bolted in the opposite direction. Well, by this point, he was going to die anyway. Might as well let Miguel get away while he could. He was keeping away fairly well, and then…

Pélon tripped him.

Héctor tripped and skidded, but before he could pick himself up, strong talons wrapped around his arm. The alebrije gave a triumphant caw before starting to flap away. As if realizing that he’d done wrong, the dog whined before jumping into action. He grabbed a hold of Héctor’s sleeve and tried to tug him back, unaware that he was being lifted up as well. But he was too heavy for the stitching, and before Héctor could grab for him, the sleeves completely ripped off, revealing one fully-skeletal arm and sending Pélon back to the ground, barking worriedly the whole way.

Héctor tried his best to twist around. Where was Miguel? Had he managed to get away? He caught sight of the red coat, weaving quickly through the abandoned streets below. That was good. The kid would be safe. He’d manage to—

Héctor’s stomach flipped as the alebrije swooped down, and he cried out as its other claw wrapped around Miguel’s arm. The boy struggled, but it was no use; the alebrije held fast. Miguel went limp, looking up at Héctor with wide eyes as the alebrije swooped and dove its way back to the station. This was it. The sun would be rising soon, and they’d be locked away in the last place they wanted to be. Héctor went limp as well, though he frowned as he caught sight of a dark opening beneath them, with something glinting at the bottom. Was that…water? If it was…

He looked up at Miguel. “I have a really terrible idea!” he shouted.

“What?”

Instead of answering, Héctor sucked in a breath and threw his legs back. His arm twisted painfully, but with a bit of effort, he managed to swing his lower body up enough to slam one of his feet into the alebrije’s soft belly.

It gave a shriek before automatically dropping the two. Both screamed as they plummeted down. Despite it being Héctor’s idea, he shut his eyes and braced himself. If he was wrong about that pit…well, he was already dying, but this way would be a lot more painful.

The air was knocked out of him the moment he hit the water, bubbling out of his mouth as he tumbled below. He hit the silt below, completely convinced the fall killed him. It was only when he gasped in a lungful of air once he resurfaced that he figured he must not be dead just yet. He coughed several times, then looked around.

“Hey, chamaco?” he called hoarsely as he paddled to shore. “Miguel!”

“Héctor?” As Héctor stepped onto the shore, he nearly topped back into the water as Miguel threw his arms around him, bones rattling. He looked down with wide eyes as the boy sniffled.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel mumbled against his chest. “I thought it could work. I thought we’d both get home.”

Héctor let out a breath, setting a hand on Miguel’s head. “Hey, hey, it’s all right, chamaco.”

“No, it’s not!” Miguel pushed himself back, brown eyes sharp as he looked up at Héctor. “It’s my fault that you can’t go back to your fans and that I won’t ever see Mamá Coco again and—"

“Who?”

“Mamá Coco.” Miguel looked away. “She’s…she’s all I remember from before I died. We’d sing together.”

Héctor’s face softened as he put two and two together. “So the song you didn’t want to sing…?”

Miguel nodded, his palm quickly scraping against his cheekbone. “It was ours.” He took a quick breath as he sat down at the edge of the water. “I do-don’t even know if she’s alive or dead. But…but if I could just find her, somewhere, I-I know I’d be home.”

Héctor looked down at Miguel for a long moment, aware, suddenly, of the second stolen guitar still strapped to his back. He pulled it off quietly, then—after making sure it was in one piece—he sank down beside Miguel.

“Can you play?”

Miguel peeked up. “What?”

“Can you play? I didn’t ask earlier.”

Miguel swallowed. “Just a little bit.”

“That’s all you need.” He held out the guitar. “A bit of music helps bad situations feel a little better. That’s what I’ve learned, at least.”

Miguel looked down at the guitar, then up at Héctor. Very carefully, he took the guitar and flipped it around, strumming experimentally at the strings. After a few moments, the strumming settled into a simple tune, with a very soft voice accompanying it.

“Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don’t let it make you cry

For even if I’m far away

I hold you in my heart

I sing a secret song to you

each night we are apart

Remember me

Though I have to travel far

Remember me

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Know that I’m with you

The only way that I can be

Until you’re in my arms again

Remember me…”

Héctor listened raptly as Miguel sang, the quiet tune seeming to fill the whole cenote. His heart lurched, and he tucked his chin against his knees. This poor kid. All he wanted was to get home, and Héctor had him running on a wild goose chase because he hadn’t thought to tell the truth. He looked up as he felt a small weight lean against his side.

“I’m sorry, Héctor,” Miguel said quietly. “Your fans will pro—”

“I’m not famous, Miguel.”

“What?”

Héctor shut his eyes and let out a breath. “When I said I was famous? That was…it was a lie. I’m just…” His newly-bony shoulders sagged. “I’m just a nobody from Santa Cecilia. That’s it. I’m sorry.”

He glanced down at Miguel, who stared back at him.

“So…when you said you’d find my family…”

“That I meant,” he said firmly. “I…I don’t know how successful I would’ve been. But I would’ve told everyone I met about a great músico named Miguel who needed to find his family.” He rubbed his cheek awkwardly, feeling the barest resistance before bone scraped against bone. Almost sunrise then. He sighed. “Well, when I get out from a century in jail, I’ll spring you from the orphanage.”

“Really?”

“Por supuesto.” He managed a small laugh. “I may be a lying, sorry excuse of a mariachi, but Héctor Rivera never lets kids…” He trailed off at the strange look that crossed Miguel’s face. “What?”

“Rivera…? That’s…my last name,” Miguel said slowly. Héctor blinked.

“You don’t think…no, it can’t. You know how many Riveras there are here?”

“You know how many Miguel Riveras there are?” Miguel asked, then shook his head. “It’s probably a coincidence.”

Héctor nodded. “Has to be, chamaco.” He stood up. “Morning’s almost here, and we’ve got to find our way out of this pit.” He stood up straight, then let out a loud grito that bounced off the walls of the pit. “Someone should’ve heard that. Hey, chamaco, maybe if we both…” He turned to look at Miguel, who pulled something from his pocket. Héctor tilted his head, then smiled a bit at the soggy marigold in his hands.

“Look, Miguelito, that’s a sweet thought, but there’s no way…”

“Héctor.” Miguel said his name curiously, and both their eyes widened as the petals lit up. Héctor took a step back.

“Miguel, I…I can’t leave you here. Besides…” He looked up as he heard a howl. “Ah! Pélon found us!” He grinned as he saw the dog’s goofy face, then automatically froze up as he heard a deafening KA-CRAAAWW!! “And…he has friends.”

“Then we have to move fast!” Miguel put on a determined face as he held up one of the marigold petals. “Héctor, I give you my blessing to go home.” The marigold petal glowed bright as anything, and Héctor’s heartbeat—which he could feel fading away like the rest of his skin—pounded in his ribs.

“Chamaco, I don’t want you to be alone again. Just let me—”

Miguel cut him off with a small smile. “Just remember me, Héctor.” Before Héctor could protest, the petal was pressed against his chest, and he was swept away in a waterfall of glowing orange flowers.

~

Héctor was sure he was dead.

There was no other way to account for how awful he felt, facedown in the dirt of the graveyard, as the sun rose slowly in the east. It took a few moments for him to push himself up, too tired and aching to even think about the fact he was missing a sleeve from his charro suit. He blinked for a few moments, then sat up straight. Had he made it in time? Had Miguel been too late? He quickly patted himself down, then let out a loud laugh of joy as he saw normal, non-skeletal hands. He was safe! He was back home!

And Miguel…was not. And he wouldn’t be until his family could find him.

“Just remember me.”

Well, the answer of what he should do next was pretty obvious.

The beautiful, awful white guitar was still laid out on the grave in front of him. He hesitated, then glanced up at the tombstone.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my family,” he whispered, reaching out for it. He wrapped his hands around the guitar’s neck, eyes shut, and waited a moment. Then he peeked open his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief when he saw his hands keep the skin on. “Gracias!”

And just like that—dirty, exhausted, carrying a guitar that wasn’t his—Héctor ran all the way back to the Plaza.

He knew he needed to go as soon as possible, but his stomach sank as he saw how few people were out this early. Still, maybe he…

“Dios mio, where have you been?”

Strong arms gripped Héctor’s shoulders, and he was whirled around to face Ernesto. His friend’s face seemed torn between relief and anger…ah, but that didn’t matter. Miguel needed him. He shook his head.

“I’ll explain later, it’s a long story. Right now, I need to get to the mira—”

“You look half-dead! And your charro suit…”

“I’ll fix it! Later. First I…” He tugged himself away from Ernesto’s grasp and ran straight to the middle of the square. Before Ernesto could stop him, he hopped up onto the mirador, looking out at the square. A few stragglers who’d had too much fun the night before were napping here and there, a few mamas out doing some early morning shopping…he’d missed his chance. No one would hear him.

Héctor sucked in a breath and stood up straight. Well, he’d make sure he heard them. He’d play and play until everyone in Santa Cecilia listened. He started with a loud rift, the notes carrying through the sleepy plaza. A few of the revelers woke up, and a few of the mamas paused. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ernesto being torn between wanting to pull him down and not wanting to attach himself to the crazed, dirty young man in the center of the plaza.

The tune slowed, to a simple little strumming; something easily playable for a kid just learning how to play. He swallowed, shutting his eyes as he opened his mouth.

“Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don’t let it make you cry…”

He did his best to keep his voice steady and clear. Someone here had to know what had happened. Someone had to know this song.

He opened his eyes as he held out the last note, voice wavering as the scene in front of him looked exactly the same. There were a few eyes on him, yes, but nothing that suggested anyone recognized the song. His shoulders sagged, and he swallowed as his fingers stilled on the guitar. He glanced around once more, then, exhaustion and disappointment overwhelming him, he dropped down onto the mirador’s steps.

It had been a stupid idea. Of course it wouldn’t work. But…he’d hoped…

“Perdonamé, señor…but where did you hear that song?”

Héctor looked up wearily, brow furrowing as he met the sharp brown eyes of an older woman, looking at him suspiciously. It couldn’t be…ah, but there’d already been one happy coincidence tonight. Why not try for two?

“Are you Coco?” he asked softly. Her eyes widened.

“I…no, I’m not her,” she said, a little breathless. “I’m her daughter, Elena.” Her eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t know what kind of tonterías this is, but…” She was cut off as Héctor jumped to his feet.

“Then you know Miguel!”

Elena went silent, face slackening in shock. She looked away. “How could you know…”

“He’s my family! Look, it’s…it’s a really, really long story, but…but I have a photo of him! For the ofrenda! And I promised I’d get it to you, so…” He reached into his jacket pocket, ready to pull out the photo. But…nothing was there. “I…I swear, he gave it…I had…” He searched all of his pockets. He didn’t lose it in the fall, right? No, he would have seen it. So then why…

Oh.

Oh no, he hadn’t even thought.

The photo had been a spirit copy.

Héctor froze in place, eyes stinging. He’d come so close. He’d almost gotten Miguel back home. He gasped in a breath as a hand lightly rested on his arm.

“You said Miguel was family?” Elena asked gently.

Héctor nodded mutely. If he so much as opened his mouth, he knew all that would come out would be a frustrated sob. Elena pat his arm, nodding a bit.

“Then why don’t you come with me, mijo? I think there’s some things that need to be discussed.”

~

“You know, chamaco, you’re a tough guy to find.”

A year had passed since Héctor’s jaunt to the Land of the Dead, and surprisingly, not much had changed. He and Ernesto were still touring, of course, a little more known than they’d been a year ago, but nowhere near household names. Now, though, he had no shortage of inspirations for songs. He was scribbling constantly—songs about life, songs about death, songs about family—so the trip back to Santa Cecilia wasn’t for inspiration this time.

This time, it was for family.

He’d gotten the whole story of Miguel’s death last year, when Elena had brought him home and grilled him about the song. The schoolhouse just outside of the school had been caught in a landslide years ago during the rainy season; the students and their teacher were killed near-instantly. Elena had taken comfort knowing that Miguel likely had no idea what hit him (which was probably true, Héctor realized with an uncomfortable twist in his stomach, and explained the lack of memory), but even after all this time, the area was still prone to flash floods. A few of the remains had been pulled out, but most were left behind—Miguel’s included.

But, with a lot of digging, a lot of help, and some frightfully good timing, Héctor Rivera made sure that changed. And so this year, he proudly set a photo—a little dirty and water-damaged, but still clear—on the Rivera family ofrenda. He smiled as he looked at the little boy with one dimple in his cheek.

“But we got you here, Miguelito,” he said to the photo. “Hopefully you like your new place; Tía Elena said they were able to make room next to Mamá Coco for you. I hope you were able to find her before now—I know the Department’s a mess, but if she’s anything like Tía Elena, she wouldn’t rest until she found you.”

He grinned before pointing to himself. “And speaking of family, you’ve got yourself a new primo. Well. I guess we’ve always been primos, but it’s acknowledged now. Apparently she had no idea my wayward mother—she used some, ah, more colorful language—dropped me off at the orphanage. It was after most of the family packed up shop and moved after the landslide. Too much pain in Santa Cecilia, I guess.”

He glanced up out the window. “Looks like it’s just about sunset, chamaco. I’ll come visit after the talent show—heh, if I don’t end up stealing another guitar—so I’ll meet you in the graveyard.” He stood up straight, looking over the ofrenda before giving a small smile to the photo again.

“And before I forget…welcome home, Miguel. Told you I’d get you back.”

#coco fic #reverse au #Some bits are a little simplistic and I apologize for that #I maybe shouldn't have tried to do a whole AU in one go but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#Your girl slush doesn't do things by halves #Also disclaimer nuns are generally really nice ladies and I love them #Sister Maria Rafaela is an outlier and should not be counted

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