Chapter Text
It had been a long day for Miguel. Even longer considering the fact that he hadn't actually slept yet. During that fateful Día de Muertos, he had managed to get himself cursed, gotten nearly killed twice by his former idol, found his long-lost great-great-grandpa Héctor, barely got his blessing to get sent home before the sun completely rose, and had managed to successfully spark Mamá Coco's memories to save Héctor from succumbing to the Final Death. After all of that, he still had one last challenge...how he was going to survive the aftermath of having disappeared for the entire night from his living family.
He knew he was going to need some kind of explanation. His parents weren't about to let him off the hook that easily. If only he could tell them the truth without sounding absolutely crazy. Fortunately, he had a reprieve. After Mamá Coco had shared her memories of her Papá Héctor with the family, the family was too stunned at the seemingly miraculous events to want to have to spoil them with any more family drama for the time being. Miguel's father, Enrique, merely told Miguel that he was to stay in the family hacienda until further notice. That was easy, since once the exhaustion of the evening caught up with him, he immediately went to his room, hid the guitar under his bed as a precaution, had a quick breakfast, a bath, and a change of clothes into a comfy t-shirt and jeans combo, he fell asleep in his room soon after.
A few hours later, he was woken up by his mother, Luisa, for lunch. His mother wasn't about to let him sleep all day, even if he was still groggy. After lunch, he at least confessed as to where the guitar had come from. So now, the adults were currently preoccupied with how to explain a stolen guitar from a tomb, even if it had belonged to a family member. Miguel stubbornly refused to give it back. He couldn't tell them about it, but he refused to let that precious guitar sit in tomb of its rightful owner's murderer any longer.
Instead, he made the argument that it rightfully belonged to the Riveras, and that the photo proved it. The letters Mamá Coco had kept also proved that Héctor's songs had also been stolen, and Ernesto de la Cruz didn't deserve the praise he had been given at all, let alone having Héctor's guitar in his tomb. Not knowing what had come over Miguel all of a sudden, but seeing how adamant he was about some sort of justice being done, the adults decided they would talk to the city officials about it once things settled down.
In the meantime, Miguel busied himself with cleaning the guitar. He borrowed some soft brushes and a clean polishing cloth from the workshop, and carefully coaxed the dust out from the nooks and crannies of the guitar, restoring it to its former glory. It really was still a sight to behold. A beautiful, one of a kind instrument that had finally found its way home. He couldn't even be upset that it had caused him to be cursed the past night. He just wished there was some way he could give it to Héctor without having to wait.
He sighed, resigning himself. "Next year, at least", he said to the guitar, as if it could understand him. "Mamá Coco remembered her papa, so he should be okay. His photo can be put on the ofrenda, he can cross over, and I'll make sure you're there waiting for him. He should be able to do that....thing...I saw the other skeletons do, and take you with him, right? At least sort of?".
He knew the physical guitar would still, at least, be left behind.
"...and I may not be Papá Héctor, but I promise I'll take care of you just like he would!", he said earnestly.
While he didn't think the guitar was really listening, and definitely didn't expect an answer, it made him feel better to talk to someone...or something in this case. He couldn't exactly talk to his family about any of this. Normally, he'd talk to Dante about his troubles but, even if he was around and not in the Land of the Dead as a new alebrije, he still wouldn't have been able to sneak him into his room.
"You know though?", he continued as he took the guitar and absentmindedly strummed a few notes, "If I could, I really would love to see Papá Héctor, Mamá Imelda, and everyone else again...if, you know...it wasn't so dangerous".
He wasn't exactly too keen on pushing his luck after his previous brushes with death. As it was, the memories made him shudder, causing the note he was currently playing to waver a bit.
He decided to focus on happier memories instead, and before he knew it, he was performing a much less raucous version of "Un Poco Loco". His family let him keep the guitar for now, but he wasn't willing to push his luck. For right now, at least, he was content to be able to play quietly in his room and he was hopeful that the music ban would be lifted for good.
Eventually he tried working on playing the melody of "La Llorona", reminiscing about his Mamá Imelda's amazing performance (including stomping on Ernesto's foot, which made him smile to himself). It was during this time his mother knocked on the door, coming in to check on him. Startled, he let out a small gasp, and there was a soft "thunk" against the guitar as he muted the sound of the strings.
"C-come in..." he called out tentatively, his nervous, sheepish smile on his face as his mother peeked inside.
"I-I'm being good mama, I promise. Look, I cleaned Papá Héctor's guitar! I just got bored so I...was playing...i-if that's okay?".
His mother merely smiled.
"Está bien. Just don't play too loudly. I don't think your abuelita is still too used to the idea of music in the house again just yet". As she saw Miguel frown a little, she added, "But I hope you'll be able to play some of those lovely songs for us someday. I'm sure your little sister would love them too, once she arrives."
He lit up at that, and his mother smiled once again before taking her leave. He remembered that his mother would have listened to music before he was born, before she'd married his father. She had to give up music for family. After last night, he finally understood what that felt like. Now, however, he was on the verge of seeing it returned, as it should be. It was a bit surreal, almost as if his Mamá Imelda's change of heart had somehow crossed the threshold of death, and made it to her living family as well.
He made a mental note to ask his mother what some of her favorite songs had been. He might be able to learn to play some of them for her later.
Miguel mostly stuck to his room the rest of the afternoon, barring a quick trip to visit his Mamá Coco in her room. He had wanted to tell her of his adventures in the Land of the Dead, and meeting her Papá (as Mamá Coco was the only person he was willing to tell). However, his abuelita Elena was already in there at the time, so he merely ended up peeking in. Mamá Coco seemed to have started becoming her usual forgetful self again. Miguel would make sure to play "Remember Me" for her as many times as he could, to help her remember. Even if she'd passed down Héctor's stories, protecting his memories for generations to come, it was still sad to think about her slowly forgetting about him again.
Eventually heading back to his room, he had taken to the task of coming up with an appropriate place to keep the guitar. A guitar stand of some kind would have been preferable, but on such short notice, it wasn't an option. He eventually made due by clearing a corner of his room of the bit of clutter any 12-year-old tends to have, and set a spare pillow there. He placed the body of the guitar on it, and carefully leaned it against the wall, so it was snug. Satisfied with his work, he smiled and hopped out to his bed, opening the nearby window above it.
The early evening air felt wonderful, and was still a comfortable temperature. He leaned on his windowsill to just appreciate the view, and the slight breeze on his face. As it neared closer to sunset, his little town of Santa Cecilia was bathed in orange hues reminiscent of the stray Marigold petals that still scattered the ground after last night's celebrations.
He heard his mother knock on his door.
"Miguelito, dinner's about ready. Go get cleaned up and come eat."
"Okay!", he called back, and closed his window and curtains for the time being, hopping off the bed and heading towards the door.
It was as he reached out to turn the doorknob that he saw it. A foreboding tinge of white at his fingertips, the skin turning transparent with only the faintest outline.
It took a moment for him to process what he was seeing, but there was no mistake...
Somehow, horrifyingly, he was once again becoming cursed.