Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“HECTOR!” Imelda didn’t know when she had started screaming her dead husband’s name, but she wished he were here. Even if he hated her for what she had done, for leaving Coco and becoming what she had become, she still wanted to see him.

“Your husband left, chiquita, but he said he’ll come back when the baby is born.” The midwife was trying to be comforting, but her words had the opposite of their desired effect. Imelda screamed again, tears streaming down her face as she started to thrash around the bed.

“He’s not my husband! I want Hector! Hec-!” She had to stop as another brutal contraction ripped through her. The midwife wiped a few strands of hair off her sweaty face, her round face suddenly hard.

“Perhaps you should have thought of Hector before having a baby with another man,” she said coldly, not bothering to comfort Imelda anymore as she writhed in pain.

“I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to! He made me!” Imelda sobbed. “For Coco, the money-” She was cut off by another scream as the pain intensified. Somewhere in the back of her mind Imelda was aware that having Coco hadn’t hurt nearly this much, but mostly she was preoccupied with getting it out.

“You’re crowning, Señora,” the midwife told her without feeling. “It shouldn’t be too long now.” Imelda grit her teeth and pushed with all her might, not bothering to wait for the midwife’s instructions. After what seemed like an eternity, the horrendous pressure was released.

“Congratulations, Señora,” the midwife said dryly. “You have a boy.”

“I don’t want him, give him to Ernesto, I don’t want-” Suddenly, a wave of pain had her curling up on herself, squeezing her eyes shut. It was the wrong kind of pain, sharp and intense, not what she had felt after having Coco. A small cry had her eyes snapping open, her arms reaching out instinctively, and the midwife raised an eyebrow before handing the baby over.

Imelda thanked God that the baby looked nothing like Ernesto, he had her nose and cheekbones. She stared into his face for a moment, emotions battling within her, until the midwife swept him away as she hunched over in pain again.

“What’s--happening--?” she panted as the midwife started cleaning the baby off and swaddling him in a clean white blanket. The midwife sat next to her, making sure to settle the baby close to Imelda’s face as a trace of pity finally flashed in her eyes.

“You’re hemorrhaging, Señora. Lo siento, there’s nothing I can do.” Imelda’s eyes widened in panic as she understood.

“But Coco- the twins- how will they live? They need the money-” The baby started to wail, and Imelda reached for him even as another shock of pain swept the strength from her. The most she could do was touch his small face as every regret, every choice that had led her here flashed through her mind, torturing her with lost possibilities. Letting Hector leave. It was only supposed to be four months!

Letting Ernesto stay. Just for one night, on the floor of their tiny living room.

Not trying harder to get another job, learn another trade. You’re that woman that let a man stay in her house. I have no work for you.

Leaving her daughter and her home to sing with Ernesto. It was the only way to support them!

Letting Ernesto touch her, selling herself to him so she would have more money to send home. For Coco.

And now, she was dying. She would never know her son, never see her daughter again, never thank her brothers for caring for Coco so well.

She was vaguely aware that Ernesto was there, saying something to the midwife, but she didn't pay him any attention until his large, rough hands lifted her son away from her.

“No-” She struggled to sit up, but the pain was too much. “Ernesto, please-” She didn't know his intentions, but as she looked at him, she didn't trust him not to throw her baby off a cliff at the first opportunity. “Take him to my brothers, please, Ernesto.” His face was unreadable as he stared down at the squirming infant in his hands.

“A son. I have a son.” His words sent chills up her spine. The baby was hers , not his. Never his. “He could be a credit to me.” Overwhelmed by the pain, Imelda could only watch as Ernesto inspected her son like a piece of meat. Darkness was gathering on the edges of her vision, the midwife was smoothing her hair, and for a moment, Imelda remembered her mother and hoped she couldn't see her now. She hurt everywhere, she wanted-

“Hector.” Her normally strong, ringing voice had been reduced to a whimper, and she heard Ernesto shift next to her bed.

“Hm. It’s a nice name,” he said. “And after all, his songs got me famous. It is the least I can do.” That was important, Imelda could sense that something Ernesto had just said was significant, but she couldn't make herself care as she slipped into nothingness.

---

She was flying. It took her what seemed like a long time to realize why that was strange; it was because, at some point before, she hadn't been flying. Instinctively, she opened her eyes.

Her face was pressed into soft, glowing fur that was so comfortable Imelda almost closed her eyes again. But it occurred to her that she didn't know what this huge, furry thing was, and she thought she should check, just to see if there was any reason for concern.

It had wings, they were enormous and powerful, propelling them through the air at what Imelda guessed was a great speed. She twisted around to look behind her and saw that the creature had a long, lizard-like tail that was swaying slightly, apparently helping it to steer.

She jerked a little as they started their descent, clutching the creature’s thick fur as she felt herself start to slip forward. They landed on one side of a bridge made of petals, and Imelda stared at it for a moment as she dismounted, before the creature nudged her, drawing her attention back to herself.

She could now see that it was a giant, spotted cat, and it rubbed its head against her whole body the way the cat she’d had in her childhood used to rub her ankles.

“You’re like Pepita,” she said after she stumbled back. The cat purred and looked up at her with big yellow eyes that she had never seen before, but somehow seemed familiar. “Wait…”

“Hola, Señorita!” She jumped back and tripped on her dress, and the cat steadied her with its tail. “Welcome to the Land of the Dead!” She found the source of the voice, not bothering to process what he had said.

It was a skeleton, sitting behind a desk next to what looked like a toll booth. He was leaning back, slightly, and sending nervous glances at the big cat as he tried to smile welcomingly.

Imelda stared at him for a moment, not comprehending what she was seeing. Then she blinked, and it was as though she had finally heard what he had said; his words finally pieced themselves together in her mind.

“The Land of the…?”

“Dead, Señorita.”

“Ah, I see.” In a small part of her mind, Imelda had been aware that her own body was only a skeleton. She flexed her hands, staring at the bones as they moved and bent. After a moment, Imelda crossed her arms and leaned back into the cat. She had a warm, reassuring presence, and gave Imelda the strength to hide her confusion. “So I am…?”

“Dead, Señorita,” he said again, his friendly smile starting to freeze on his face. She could tell he had been through this several times before, and she nodded, trying to appear businesslike and in complete control of the situation. Memories were starting to trickle back into her mind, memories of love and loss and deep sadness. She remembered she had two children, both of them very young, and one of them had only been a baby. She would never know him, not until he got here. She would never see him or his sister grow up, never hold them in her arms again as children.

“Well,” she said briskly, glancing around for a distraction. “Who is this?” she asked, tilting her head back at the cat, which was crouched behind her.

“That is an alebrije. I don't recognize her, she must be yours.” Imelda turned around and looked up into the cat’s big eyes. It nuzzled her again, this time more gently, and she didn’t stumble back.

“Mine?” she asked softly. She reached up to stroke the cat’s soft fur, running her new skeleton hands through the fur on top of it’s head.

“Si, Señorita. I’ve never seen her before, so you must be the first soul she brought here, which means she must have been waiting for you.”

“So?” Imelda asked, still petting the top of the cat’s head.

“So… if she was waiting for you, Señorita, she must be yours.” Imelda turned.

“Why do I feel like I recognize her?” she asked. “I’ve never seen anything like her.” The skeleton man sighed. Apparently, she was asking questions he had answered before, many times.

“Did you ever have a pet cat, Señorita, that lived an unnaturally long life?”

“Si.” Her childhood pet, Pepita, had lived over twenty years. She had died shortly after Imelda left to sing with Ernesto. “This is Pepita?”

“Si, Señorita,” the skeleton man replied, obviously relieved that she had figured it out herself. “Now, do you have any family here you’d like to contact?”

Imelda thought of her parents, who had died of influenza months after disinheriting her for running off with a musician, and of her husband, who she had failed and betrayed after his death.

“No. No one.” That gave the skeleton pause, it seemed that it was not the normal response.

“Are-are you sure, Señorita? I’m sure we can-”

“No,” she answered again, more firmly this time. “I’m sure. May I go through?” The skeleton man blinked and hesitated, looking unsure. Imelda took the initiative; she walked purposefully up to the booth and waited for him to open it. After a moment, she sent him a glare, and he gulped and let her through. Pepita flew over the booth, she was far too large to fit through it.

Once she was through, Imelda looked around, taking stock of her surroundings. She was in a bright, bustling city, though it wasn’t a city like Imelda had ever seen. The buildings were were tall and ungainly, all of them looking a breath away from crashing down. She would need a place to live, she thought. Hopefully not at the top of one of these disasters-waiting-to-happen.

She walked further into the city, taking note of the second-hand shops and cantinas. She would need work, too.

---

It only took Imelda an hour to beg enough money for a second-hand dress that fit well enough. Five years ago, she would have died before accepting charity from strangers, but her time with Ernesto had stripped her of any sense of pride. And she certainly looked pitiable enough, in her bloody nightgown, and several young-looking women had given her money and understanding looks.

And so, armed with her clean dress and a wicker basket, Imelda found herself a neighborhood square that had a lot of foot traffic, but not too much noise, and she positioned herself next to a fountain and put her basket in front of her. Hopefully, she could find a job soon, but today she needed money immediately, for food and a place to stay.

Imelda closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and started to sing.

Y aunque la vida mi cueste, Llorona

No dejare, de quererte…

Chapter Text

“Mis subi al pino mas alto, Llorona

A ver si te divisaba…”

Hector froze. A ringing, achingly familiar voice was echoing down his street, stopping several people in their tracks. It was coming from the neighborhood square, and a small crowd was gathering there, hiding the singer from him.

It couldn’t be. As much as he wanted to see her again, he couldn’t accept it. Her birthday had been a month ago, she was only twenty-six. She should have years, decades left, before she joined him here. He tried to turn, to walk away and force himself to ignore what he was hearing, but there was no denying that voice. It was still the most beautiful voice he had ever heard; it enchanted him, and all over again, he found himself drawn to it, as irresistibly as he had been when he was a teenager.

“Como el pino era tierno, Llorona,

Al verme llorar, lloraba…”

That was her favorite song. He had never really understood why. The tune was nice, he supposed, but she had always seemed more interested in the words, and the story behind them. Something about love that never died, that never stopped searching or trying to come home, he’d never really paid that close attention. He’d always been too preoccupied with her mesmerizing voice, and with the flush that rose in her cheeks when she saw him staring to notice the exact words.

The crowd was small enough that Hector could see over it easily enough, and if he still had a heart, it would have stopped. It was her.

Her eyes were closed and she was swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the song, her hands clasped together over her ribcage. She wasn’t wearing any shoes or jewelry, only a threadbare dress that didn’t quite fit right. His face twitched into a ghost of a smile; it was purple, of course.

Hector stayed at the back of the crowd as she continued her song, his battling desires keeping him rooted in place. It was Imelda, he was certain, and more than almost anything he wanted to run forward and sweep her into his arms. But something in him hesitated. She was so still, so expressionless. Five years ago, she would have been smiling and dancing and filled with joy as she sang. But she only swayed, keeping her eyes shut tight, and there was a sadness in her demeanor, like she had forgotten how to be happy. His phantom heart ached, what could have happened since he had died to leave her so unhappy? And how was she here, so soon? He hadn’t seen her since the first Dia de los Muertos after he had died, but he had gathered that she had left to sing and sent money home regularly, judging by what Coco told his picture every year.

Coco, he thought. She had no papa already, and now she had no mama. He hoped the twins could take care of her.

“No dejare, de quererte,

Ay, ay, ay, ay!”

It was a huge finish that she performed effortlessly, and should have been accompanied by something, a smile, spreading her arms out to her sides, even a few heaving breaths after. But she only stood, unchanged, as her small audience applauded and threw spare coins into her basket. Hector wanted to scream at them. Couldn’t they see that something was wrong, that something terrible must have happened to her? He stumbled back as the crowd started to break up, murmuring amongst themselves and already moving on with their days. Hector stared at her, still conflicted. He loved her, of course, he would always love her. But seeing her like this, a skeleton that was even more lifeless than any of the dead around her, it scared him. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how or even if she would react to seeing him again. He stepped back again, only to run into something very large and very furry.

“Madre de Dios!” he yelped. The giant cat shoved him forward, and Imelda opened her eyes. Hector almost cried. Her eyes, once sparkling with joy and laughter, were empty. What had happened? She stared at him for a moment, then glanced down at her basket. He could tell she wanted to grab it, but she seemed unwilling to step forward.

“Hola, Imelda,” Hector finally said, and winced when she flinched back from him. “Imelda, how-?” He didn’t finish his question, he couldn’t. He didn’t even know what to ask first. Imelda glanced up at him, and her face hardened.

“Childbirth. Last night.” It took Hector a moment to understand, and Imelda took advantage of his brief distraction to dart forward and take her basket. She tried to edge around the fountain, to get away from him, but the giant cat moved and blocked her path. She looked up at it, confused.

“Pepita, what-?” The cat shoved her back towards him, then spread its wings and sat behind them, blocking any path of escape and forcing them uncomfortably close together. They were both silent for a moment and the tension built between them, until Hector cleared his throat.

“You remarried.”

“No.” His head snapped up. “It was for the money.” Again, Hector wanted to pull her into his arms as he understood, to hold her and never let go, but, again, he hesitated.

“Oh.”

“Singing was not enough. Ernesto’s been getting some recognition-” The way she said his name, so familiarly, but also so venomously, made Hector feel a jolt where his stomach used to be as he realized who’s child she must have died having. “-but he didn’t pay me enough to keep Coco and the twins fed. He offered me double if I would-”

“I understand.” He didn’t want to hear it, but more than that, he didn’t want her to have to say it. The idea that Ernesto, his oldest friend, would have made Imelda such an offer, knowing that she would do anything for Coco… it was too terrible to think about. He swallowed.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” The words were quiet, too quiet, as though she was afraid to let him hear them. She clutched her basket to her chest and determinedly looked everywhere except his face, though Pepita’s wings and the ground were really the only other things to look at.

“Do you-um.” Hector cleared his throat. He was extremely aware of how little space there was between them, how easy it would be to reach out and touch her, to lean down and- “Do you have a place to stay?” he asked, and cringed internally at how tense he sounded. Imelda nodded down at her basket.

“This looks like enough for one night.” Hector glanced into the basket and grimaced. She had, admittedly, done very well for one song, but it was definitely not enough for a night in a place you could trust not to give you bedbugs. Imelda’s arms tightened around her basket defensively. “I’ll manage, Hector.”

“You could stay with me,” he offered, nervously rocking back in his heels and shooting forward when he brushed against Pepita. He smiled awkwardly when he realized how close to Imelda he had moved; they were practically toe-to-toe. “We are married.”

“‘Til death do us part,’ Hector. And I don’t want your pity. I’ll accept it from strangers, but not from you.”

“Pity? Imelda, I don’t-” Imelda tried to step away, but Pepita rebuffed her with a wing. She huffed, trying to look irritated, but Hector saw the tears welling in her eyes.

“Why else would you invite me to stay with you? Si, Hector, we were married, but I have betrayed you in every sense of the word. What I have done is unforgivable.” She didn’t realize she had dropped her basket, unconsciously freeing up her arms for movement.

“Imelda-”

“Por que en el nombre de Dios would you allow me into your home unless it was out of pity?”

“Te amo, Imelda!” he said when she opened her mouth to continue. He couldn’t stand to hear any more, knowing what she thought he thought of her. He grabbed her wrists as he spoke, and pulled her close so that she would have to look into his eyes. “If you want forgiveness, you have it, a thousand times. Te amo, Imelda. Te amo siempre.” She stared up into his eyes, searching desperately for any deceit or hesitation. She found none.

“How?” she asked as the tears started to roll. “How can you, when I’ve-” He kissed her before she could finish, pulling her skeleton even closer so she was flush against him. It was strange and dry, and their lips were somehow soft and hard at the same time, but it was so undeniably Hector , and Imelda melted into him.

Hector broke the kiss, but before Imelda could pull him back down to her he wrapped her tighter in his arms and crushed her against him in a hug. Imelda clutched to his coat with an iron grip, swearing to herself that she would never let him go again, not when he had been given back to her against all odds.

“Te amo, Hector,” she whispered into his collarbone, and she heard his breath catch. He stroked her hair, gently and slowly, and kissed the top of her head.

“Please come stay with me, Imelda.” She pulled back slightly to look up at him.

“What would we do?” She was talking about work and he knew it, but he chose to answer her exact question, hoping he could draw a smile out of her.

“SIng and dance, and wait for Coco.” Imelda tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, absentmindedly running her skeletal fingers over the markings on his face. Then she looked up at him and smiled, and Hector grinned at the spark of hope in her eyes.

“That sounds perfecto.”

Chapter Text

“Don’t be late for rehearsal, mijo.” Hector didn’t pause on the way out the door.

“Si, Papa!” he called, and shut the door with some relief. His papa was not in a good mood today, Hector was glad to have gotten any time to himself at all. He walked down the hallway, the tension in his shoulders easing with every step he took away from his papa. He pretended he was on his way out of the building, but after a glance around, he ducked into a small dressing room and closed the door behind him.

“Hola, Tia.”

“Ay, Hector!” Tia Carmen exclaimed as she jumped and nearly dropped her book. “You startled me! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Hector smiled, and Tia Carmen rolled her eyes, one hand still clutched to her chest.

“Feliz cumpleanos, Hector.” His smile grew wider. His papa had forgotten, Tia Carmen was the only person who ever remembered.

Tia Carmen wasn't really his tia, but she had been one of his papa’s background singers since before he’d been born, and she had raised him more than his papa ever had. She was short and round, in a matronly sort of way, and had a loud, silvery alto voice that she often said had complimented his mama’s perfectly.

“Gracias, Tia.” There were only two chairs in the small room, and Hector sat down in the one across from Tia Carmen and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. She pursed her lips at his expectant posture.

“Are you ever going to get tired of those stories, mijo?”

“Please, Tia, tell me again,” he answered without hesitating, and she put down her book with a long-suffering sigh.

“All right. Her name was Imelda Rivera.” Hector settled into his chair, listening intently. He knew everything Tia Carmen was going to tell him, and she pretended to be annoyed every time he asked, but it was a tradition of theirs; every year, on his birthday, Tia Carmen would tell him about his mama. It made him feel closer to her, somehow, even though she had died minutes after giving birth to him. “She was strong, and loyal, and hard-working, and she loved to sing La Llorona.”

“Where was she from?” It was a prompt more than it was a real question; he already knew the answer.

“A town called Santa Cecilia.”

“How did she become a singer?” He knew this answer, too, it was longer than the others and involved his papa whisking his mama away from her quiet town into a life of fame and fortune. But for the first time, Tia Carmen broke the pattern, and she asked him a question of her own.

“Do you really want to know, mijo?” Her voice had become soft and gentle, and he frowned at her in confusion. “I’ve been keeping it from you, you were too young.”

“I’m-” he began indignantly, but she cut him off.

“Seventeen now, lo sé. That’s why I’m letting you decide: do you really want to know?” Hector analyzed his tia’s face, a little apprehensive. The sad way she was looking at him, the way she usually looked when his papa was angry at him and she could do nothing, made him think that perhaps he didn’t want to know, that knowing would hurt him.

Hector squared his shoulders and shook off his doubts. Tia Carmen wouldn’t hurt him, she wouldn’t tell him more than she thought he could handle.

“Si, Tia. How did she become a singer?” She didn’t answer for a long moment, instead giving him a piercing, questioning look, before she appeared to gather her thoughts.

“It started when her husband died.” Hector’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt. “He was your papa’s partner before he got famous. Ernesto went home to Santa Cecilia to tell your mama, and she let him stay the night on the floor. He offered to let her sing with him, and she refused, but after he left no one would give her work.”

“Why?” Hector asked without thinking. Tia Carmen pursed her lips at the interruption, and he smiled sheepishly.

“It was 1921, mijo, and she let a man who wasn’t her husband stay in her house for a night.”

“Oh,” Hector said quietly. “What happened next?”

“She wrote to Ernesto, and he let her sing with him. He’d just gotten some recognition, it was right after his first album came out.” Tia Carmen sighed. Her eyes were filled with pity, but Hector could tell she wasn’t really seeing him when she looked up. “She hated it. All of it; the parties, the crowds, recording studios, she even hated me for a while. Of course, I managed to win her over soon enough.” Hector looked down at his hands, a question burning on his tongue, but for once, he wasn’t looking forward to the answer.

“What about Papa? And-” He swallowed. “-what about me? Did she hate-”

“No, mijo. She loved you,” Tia Carmen rushed to tell him, and he felt a tight knot of fear ease in his chest. “But she hated your papa, more than anything, because he took her husband away. They were on tour when he died, and Imelda never stopped blaming Ernesto for that.” Hector nodded his resigned acceptance, he knew his papa was a hard man to love, before he frowned in confusion.

“But then-how was I-”

“Again, mijo, do you really want to know? I know you love your papa, but-”

“Tell me.” Hector swallowed. “Please, Tia.” She stared at him for a moment, trying to measure him up, and Hector set his shoulders. She took a deep breath, and Hector braced himself.

“He paid her. She needed the extra money, to send home to her daughter.” She said the last part slowly, as if she could tell it was going to send his world crashing down around him.

He paid her.

She hated him.

She had a daughter.

And she was his mama, so that must mean that her daughter-

“I have a sister?” he said in a strangled voice, torn between his instinct to trust Tia Carmen and his desire to believe that his papa had any decency in him. He had known for years that his papa was not a good man, Tia Carmen had always made sure that he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that good men were not as cruel and manipulative as Ernesto, and that good fathers didn’t hit and scare their children. But Hector still loved him, through the slaps and the yelling. Ernesto was his papa, who had taught him to sing and play guitar, and though he wasn’t a good man, Hector hadn’t thought he was completely bad, either.

But this-forcing his friend’s widow to sell herself to him-if this was true, it was unforgivable.

“Si, niño. Her name is Coco.”

Coco.

He had a sister, and her name was Coco, and his papa never told him about her.

The worst part was that he believed it without hesitating, he already knew in his heart that his papa was capable of such acts and he didn't even have to think about it.

He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. “What happened to her?”

“I always assumed your mama’s brothers took care of her. Imelda had left Coco with them when she came to sing with Ernesto.”

“Brothers?” His voice cracked. It was too much, all of it. He had a sister, his papa was a monster, and now he had tios, too?

“Si, she had two. They’re twins.” Hector took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he leaned forward, his head in his hands.

Tia Carmen didn’t say anything for a moment. She knew him, better than anyone, she knew that what she had told him would be overwhelming, and that he would prefer to work out his thoughts in silence.

It wasn't a lot. Not really. He had a sister, and two tios. Simple facts. And yet, it was also so much , too much to comprehend. He had a family, a real family that could have loved him, and raised him, if things had been different. And now, they didn't know he existed, and they probably didn't want to know. His shoulders sagged and a ghost of a sardonic smile appeared on his face as he imagined that conversation. Hi, I’m Hector, I’m your bastard half-brother and by the way your mama died giving birth to me. The thought brought another question to his mind.

“Do they know she’s dead?” Tia Carmen shook her head.

“I wanted to write to them, but I didn’t know the address, and your papa destroyed all her letters the day you were born. Poor Coco,” she said sadly. “She must have thought your mama abandoned her.” Hector nodded, feeling numb. Any desperate hope that his papa had any shred of decency in him shriveled up and died in that moment. Tia Carmen had always told him that Mama had loved him, he had always at least known that. But Coco never got to know, had had to live with not knowing for seventeen years, and it was Ernesto’s fault.

“He destroyed everything?” he asked, his voice thick, and fought off the pricks of heat behind his eyes. He glanced up at Tia Carmen, and blinked when he found her smiling.

“I managed to hide a few things, niño. I’ve been saving them for you.” Hector stared at her, his jaw slack, as she turned and opened a drawer on her makeup table that he’d never been allowed to look in. She pulled out a small tin box and turned back to him, and forced the rusty hinges open with a squeak that made him cringe.

“Your mama gave me this to take care of. It hurt her too much to look at.” She plucked something out of the box and carefully placed it into Hector’s outstretched hand.

It was a wedding ring, and Hector slipped it on without thinking. She must have had small hands, he thought, for her wedding ring to barely fit on his little finger.

Tia Carmen didn’t ask for the ring back, instead she held something else out to him, and he stopped staring at the ring shining on his finger to hold out his hand for it.

“I borrowed that from her when she was pregnant with you.” She dropped a purple ribbon into his hand, carefully rolled up and secured with a piece of tape. “She always wore ribbons in her hair.” Hector pulled off the tape and let the ribbon unfurl, mesmerized by the gleam of light reflecting off of it. He carefully slid it through his fingers, to feel the smoothness of it.

Tia Carmen drew two photos out of the box and held them out to him, and he handed her the ribbon so he could take them, trusting her to roll it back up and put it away.

The photo on top was a headshot of a man. He had big ears and a long, pointy nose, and Hector frowned in confusion. “Who is this?”

“That’s Hector.” He glanced up in surprise. “Your mama’s husband.” Hector blinked and looked back down at the photo.

“She named me after her husband?”

“I assume it was her. Your papa would have named you Ernesto, I’d bet a night’s pay.” Tia Carmen laughed, and the corner of Hector’s mouth twitched into a small smile, but he didn’t look up. He tilted his head, trying to measure up this man he had never met, who his mama had loved enough to name him after. He wasn’t handsome, by any means, certainly not like Hector’s papa. But he wasn’t ugly, either, he had a sort of scraggly, boyish charm that made Hector think he would have liked him. His hair was hanging in his wide, excited eyes, and his smile was crooked, like he had just tricked you somehow and was trying and failing to look innocent. He had a small tuft of a goatee, and Hector scratched his own chin thoughtfully as he considered whether he could grow enough facial hair to get it to look like that. He stared at the photo until Tia Carmen shifted in her seat, and Hector glanced up with a sheepish smile and handed her the photo before glancing down at the second one.

It was a full-body shot, this one of a woman. Hector stared at her, trying to memorize everything he could see. Her ears were pierced. She was wearing a black choker. She looked sad.

She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had dark eyes and black hair, and she was looking intensely at the camera, like she was trying to make it explode through sheer force of will. She was slender, but there was also a strength and solidity about her, something in the way she was holding herself. She looked a little like him, they had the same nose, and the shape of her face reminded him of the pictures of himself he’d seen in newspapers and on album covers.

“Mama.”

“Si, niño. That’s Imelda.” Hector looked at her for a minute, but eventually held the photo out to Tia Carmen. He felt tears coming, felt his emotions trying and failing to keep up with everything he had been told. He knew he was going to start crying soon, and he wanted to leave before then, to try to get it over with somewhere private. Papa didn’t like when he cried, it made it hard for him to sing well. And it was hard enough for Hector to breathe on stage, with so many people watching him every night, he didn’t need any more difficulties.

He had been performing with his papa since he had been old enough to hold a guitar, and his nearly petrifying stage-fright, which his papa had always told him would get better, had in fact gotten worse over the years. He enjoyed playing by himself, or for Tia Carmen, but his papa had always been so intense in his descriptions of performing, Hector had been scared of playing for an audience long before he had ever set foot on a stage.

He stood up to leave, but Tia Carmen grabbed his wrist before he could bolt. “There’s one more picture, Hector.” He hesitated. “Just one more.” Tia Carmen slowly let go of his wrist, watching to see if he would try to slip away. He stood, rooted in place, and Tia Carmen hurriedly pressed another photo into his hand.

There were three people in this one, two men and a girl, and Hector’s breath caught when he realized who they must be. The men were long and lanky, like me, Hector thought, and they were holding the girl up between them. She looked around six years old, and she had an arm around each of her tios. She wasn't pudgy, but she wasn't skinny, she was solid, like her mama. She had the same strength in her presence as Imelda as well, a strength Hector and the two men lacked. The girl was smiling. Her smile looks like mine , he thought. He looked over them one by one, and was filled with wonder at the small similarities he could see between these people's faces and his own.

He touched the girl’s small face, trying not to clench the photo too hard. “Coco,” he whispered. They had the same mama. They were connected.

“Si, and those two are Oscar and Felipe.”

“Which one is which?” Tia Carmen shrugged.

“I could never tell. Your mama told me a dozen times, but I could never remember. She gave me this, it’s a copy of the one they sent to her.”

Hector took one, shuddering breath, still staring at Coco’s face, and knew that he wasn’t going to make it out of this room. He collapsed back into his chair as the first tears started rolling down.

Chapter Text

“What was that, Hector?” Hector’s knuckles whitened on his guitar as he lowered it into its case.

“What do you mean, Papa?” he asked quietly, failing to keep a tremor out of his voice. His papa grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around, his tight, painful grip keeping Hector from flinching back.

“‘What do you mean, Papa,’ I mean your voice! Have you been crying?” Hector hesitated for a split-second too long, and Ernesto’s face darkened. “Stupid boy! Don’t you know crying ruins your voice?”

“Si, Papa,” Hector answered quietly. “Lo siento.” Ernesto stared at him for another moment, before letting go and backing away, like he couldn’t bear to touch him. Hector watched him as he started to pace, trying to reconcile the monster Tia Carmen had told him about with this man in front of him.

It was easier than it should have been.

“You can’t pull stunts like this, Hector!” his papa suddenly yelled, and Hector jumped. “Crying, ruining your voice for a whole performance--you’re a man, Hector, I can’t protect you from mistakes like this forever.” Hector shrank back and frowned, confused by his papa’s words and scared of his volume at the same time.

“Mistakes, Papa?” Ernesto’s eyes snapped to his, and his glare sent a chill down to Hector’s bones.

“Your performance must always be the best you can offer, Hector! People will not come if it isn’t! You will never reach your dream if you continue to-”

“My dream?” For a moment, the only emotion on Ernesto’s face was shock. Hector had never interrupted his papa before, and the sudden terror on his face made it clear that he had surprised himself, as well. But he swallowed, and set his shoulders, an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him.

Hector had never had much of a temper, he didn’t have much experience with anger. But suddenly, the idea of yelling at his papa, of hitting him and scaring him and making him feel even the smallest amount of inner turmoil and grief Hector was feeling because of the things Tia Carmen had told him sounded… good. In some corner of his mind, this new desire disturbed Hector greatly, but it also made him brave. “This is your dream, Papa. Not mine.” Ernesto’s eyes widened, and before they clouded over with fury, Hector thought he saw a hint of fear in them, too.

Ernesto’s face spasmed, and then he was back in control of himself, speaking calmly and politely. “And what is your dream, then? I guess you’ll want to leave, to find it.” Hector blinked, thrown for a loop. It hadn’t occurred to him to even want to leave, and he wondered why that was the first thought to come to his papa’s mind. He almost said no, he wouldn’t leave, this theater was all he had ever known.

But then he thought of Coco. His sister he had never met, who didn’t know he was alive, who didn’t know her mama was dead. He clenched his hands into fists.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he finally said, and was surprised by the ice in his voice. His papa didn’t respond for a long time; instead he stared at Hector, darkness swelling in his eyes until Hector broke and looked down at the floor, unable to hold Ernesto’s gaze.

“Did I ever tell you about the man I named you after?” His voice was soft, smooth. Deadly. “He was my partner for years. We were going to be famous, together, like we are now. But then,” Ernesto paused, and Hector’s hands started to shake. “He tried to leave. Do you know what happened to him, Hector?” Hector didn’t answer, he was struggling to breathe through his sudden panic. No, it wasn’t true, everything else he could believe, did believe, but not this, please…

“He died.” Hector’s heart was in his throat, he couldn’t breathe, Suddenly his papa was so close, his voice was so low and gentle and threatening, and Hector couldn’t help leaning back, away from him. “Do you understand, mijo?” He didn’t want to, he wished he didn’t. He swallowed and nodded.

“Si, Papa.” Ernesto stared into Hector’s eyes for a moment, until he finally blinked and backed away, and Hector almost crumpled to the floor in relief.

“Go to your room, Hector.” Hector couldn’t move, he felt frozen. But after a moment his papa’s eyebrow twitched, and suddenly he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. He grabbed his guitar case and all but ran to the door, only breaking into a full sprint when he was sure he was out of sight. He burst into Tia Carmen’s dressing room, ghostly pale and heaving and sputtering his breaths.

“Hector?” she asked, her confusion quickly morphing into concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I have-” he gasped. “I have--to go. I have to get away. Papa--Papa murdered Hector, I have to get away before he kills me, too-” Years later, Hector would wonder and feel slightly sick at how immediately she believed him, how she didn’t even ask any questions before pulling out the box of his mama’s things and enough money for a train ticket.

“Go, niño,” she said urgently, shoving them into his hands.

“What about you?” he asked, his chest tightening in fear. She smiled wickedly at him.

“Someone has to keep Ernesto too drunk to notice you’re gone.” Hector blinked, for a split-second completely distracted, but then she poked her head out of her door and glanced around, before pushing him out of her room and down the hall. At the door that led outside, she stopped and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Adios, Hector,” she whispered, before letting go and opening the door. For a moment, he only stood, staring at her, his jaw slack. Leaving her, leaving this theater, would have seemed impossible only a day before, and now… “Go,” she said. “You’re not safe here.” Hector hesitated, still worried for Tia Carmen, scared to leave her alone with his papa, but also scared to stay anywhere near the man. Her eyes hardened, her back straightened. “Go,” she said again, more forcefully this time. Hector swallowed, then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before slipping out the door, running as fast as he could for the train station, Tia Carmen’s box and money in one hand and his guitar clutched in the other.

---

Hector stumbled into the town square, so exhausted he could barely see straight. He had been on the train all night, in one of the cheapest seats available, and he hadn't gotten any sleep. Instead, he’d stared at the photos in the box, wondering about Coco and her tios, and whether he would be able to find them. He had tried to think of what he would say, if he would be able to say anything, but had come up short whichever way he turned. He didn't know her, he didn't know how she would respond to him turning up at her door, or finding her in the market, or sending a letter, he didn't know anything. Except that she was his sister.

Hector collapsed onto the edge of a fountain in the town square, slumping forward over his knees. It was early in the morning, and Santa Cecilia was beginning to stir. Doors and windows were opening, vendors were setting up their booths, and Hector watched as people started walking through the square. A few of them gave him shifty looks, the women pulling their children closer as they passed, and he sheepishly realized what he must look like: a dirty stranger with a haggard face. One young boy approached him cautiously, and Hector gave him a small smile, trying not to look threatening. The boy smiled back, only to be yanked away by his mother, who narrowed her eyes at Hector before swiftly walking away. Hector felt himself deflate, sensing the stares starting to center on him. This was a mistake. What if Coco hated him? Or didn't believe him? What if, when he found her, she gave him the same look that boy’s mother had just given him, the one that clearly said he was unwelcome?

His grip tightened on his guitar case. There would be a train out soon, he could leave and Coco would never-

“Don't pay attention to Maria, she looks at everyone like that.” Hector froze. A woman had walked up behind him, and he slowly turned his head to look at her.

She was short, probably barely up to his shoulders, and her black hair was wound into two long braids. In one hand she held a basket, her other hand was resting on her round belly. Hector blinked, surprised at the kindness in her eyes, before he suddenly remembered his manners. He sprang up, tiredness forgotten, and tipped his head, wiping his dirty hands on his pants before holding one out for her to shake. Her lips twitched up in amusement as she shook his hand, before growing into a full smile as he awkwardly gestured to the fountain. She sat down with a small huff as Hector shut his mouth, having realized he’d been gaping at her like a fish.

“I-uh,” he said as he slowly sat down next to her, “I’m Hector.” He almost said his last name, too, but decided against it. Hector was enough of a name for him, it was from his mama, he didn't need de la Cruz attached as well.

The woman’s face twitched slightly, and sadness flashed in her eyes. Hector frowned. For a split second, as a crease appeared in her brow and her mouth tightened, she looked familiar, almost like-

“Hola, Hector,” she said quietly, rubbing her belly absentmindedly as a smile once again appeared on her face. “I’m Coco.”

Hector almost stopped breathing. His heart felt swollen in his chest and he heard a distant ringing in his ears as he realized why she had looked familiar. He opened Tia Carmen’s box and pulled out the photos, all without looking away from Coco’s face. She frowned, looking concerned, and he saw her lips moving as he held out the photos to her, but his mind did not register her words. She eventually took the photos to calm him down, and gave the top one a cursory glance before doing a double take.

“This is-” The picture of her and her tios was on top, and she frowned as she looked at it. “This is me, and my tios.” She picked it up off the pile and held it closer to her face, and Hector could tell that she was trying to think of an explanation that a strange boy should have a seventeen-year-old picture of her. She glanced down at the pile, and her eyes widened. She put down the picture of herself and snatched the next one off her lap. “Papa!” she cried, her startled eyes darting to Hector and then back to the photo. “I don’t understand, how do you-” Hector opened his mouth, but no words came out. He struggled to find something to say, anything, but he could only manage a vague gesture towards the last picture. Now wary, Coco, carefully set the picture of her papa back in the box before looking down at the last picture. Something inside her seemed to shrivel up and die in the second she first saw the photo of her mama. She didn’t pick it up, only stared at it, her eyes bleak and empty.

“Where did you get these photos, Hector?” she asked in a monotone, her voice empty of any emotion. Hector slowly reached out to take the photo, and Coco didn’t stop him.

“This-” he started, hoping Coco would believe him, “This is my mama.” Coco breathed in sharply, and her hand clenched on her basket. “She-she died, giving birth to me, seventeen years ago.” Coco had frozen, the only sign of her inner turmoil in the emotions flickering through her eyes too quickly to be followed. Hector took a deep breath, deciding to get everything out now, when she was listening, and while he still had the nerve. “Ernesto de la Cruz paid her to sleep with him.” Coco’s head snapped up to look at him.

“Tio Nesto?” she asked in a strangled voice. “He-he made her-”

“Si,” Hector said. “And-” He hesitated, not knowing how to say what he knew he also had to tell her. “He killed Hector Rivera. When he tried to come home, Ernesto wouldn’t let him.” Coco’s chin started to tremble, and she wrapped her arms tight around her stomach. Hector didn’t know what to do, he wished he could help her, that he could go back and make sure his papa was never born and that he never tore her family apart, but all he could do was sit in silence as she started to cry.

“Lo siento, Coco,” he said in a low voice, unable to think of anything else.

“Why are you here?” she asked harshly through her tears, and Hector flinched.

“I didn’t-” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know any of this until yesterday, and I-I don’t know what happened, really, I was-I was angry and then Ernesto was telling me that I would die if I tried to leave and then I-” He swallowed. “I ran.” Coco stared up at him, her eyes boring into his, searching for any flicker of deceit.

“She didn’t forget me?” she asked, and Hector’s eyes widened as he shook his head.

“No! Everything-” He paused, considering reaching for one of Coco’s hands and deciding against it. “Everything she did was for you.” In that moment, a weight seemed to lift off of Coco’s shoulders. An almost delirious smile slowly grew on her face, and she took a deep breath as years of pain seemed to roll off of her. Hector’s mouth twitched up into a smile, too, upon seeing her happiness. But he couldn’t help feeling isolated, cut off from her joy. He would never really know if his mama really had loved him, or if he had just been the son of the monster that took her away from her daughter. Coco, perhaps sensing his pain and sadness, cupped his cheek in her palm.

“Mama loved you, too, Hector. I know it.” Hector blinked down at her in amazement. He had just told her that his papa had destroyed her family, and here she was comforting him, sharing with him the love of the woman who had died because of him. “Are you going to stay here?” Hector opened his mouth, then closed it again. Coco smiled and took his hand. She stood up energetically, bouncing on her heels in her excitement. “Come with me, hermano. I’ll introduce you to our family.”

Chapter Text

“Hola, Señora.” Hector confidently handed over his ID, flashing a charming smile at the crossing agent as she examined it and compared it to her list. She didn’t look up, Hector’s smile faltered a bit and he glanced at Imelda. She didn’t look very hopeful, though she was trying to hide it. She was only really there because Hector made her keep trying. In the last seventeen years, Imelda’s photo hadn’t been on an ofrenda once, and she had grown to hate Dia de los Muertos and dreaded its approach every year. She had given up hope, she never expected to ever cross the bridge. But every year, Hector insisted on trying, peppering his pleas with descriptions of Coco and the pharmacy her brothers had opened. He wanted her to be able to see them so badly, she never had the heart to turn him down.

After a moment, the crossing agent held out Hector’s ID and said, “Everything seems to be in order, Señor. Have a nice visit.” Hector grinned as he accepted his ID, giving Imelda an encouraging glance.

“Thank you very much, I fully intend to,” Hector said, walking towards the bridge and subtly leading Imelda along behind him.

“Perdon, Señorita, I need to see your ID.” Imelda stopped in her tracks, and her shoulders slumped.

“You just did, don’t you remember?” Hector asked, tugging Imelda towards the bridge as he spoke. “We’re just gonna head on over there.” The crossing agent signalled for a guard, unimpressed, and turned to Imelda.

“You can’t cross without an ID.” Hector’s grip on her hand tightened, and for a second, Imelda was certain he was going to run for it, and drag her with him. But then the security guard placed a large hand on Hector’s shoulder, and Hector seemed to deflate. Imelda looked down, unable to face his disappointment, and attempted to shape her face into a neutral expression.

“You go, Hector,” she said, gesturing towards the bridge. “I’ll just go home.” She turned to walk away, having forcefully crushed any foolish hope she might have had into dust. But Hector slipped out of the guard’s grip and grabbed Imelda’s wrist before she could disappear.

“Imelda, please-” She stopped, her shoulders tightening. “Maybe-maybe this year there will be a photo, maybe this year-” Imelda looked back to face him, pain slipping through the cracks on her carefully constructed mask.

“Hector, please, I can’t take it-”

“Imelda.” Hector stepped forward and cradled her head in his hands, pressing her forehead against his. “Mi amor, you’ll never know if you don’t try.” Imelda tried to say no, she genuinely didn’t know if she could handle hearing again that no one wanted to remember her, that no one cared enough. But there was so much desperate hope in Hector’s voice, she couldn’t help but think maybe, just maybe, she should keep hoping too. Reluctantly, she walked back the crossing agent, slowly drawing her ID out of her pocket. The agent took it without a word and began to search her list. Imelda tried to brace herself, almost knowing what was coming, almost certain of what the agent was going to say.

The agent’s browline raised in surprise.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Rivera.” If Imelda had a heart, it would have stopped then. Her brain froze, unable to understand what the agent was talking about. “You’re on the list.” The agent held out her ID, and Imelda took it as if she were in a daze, before turning back to Hector in stunned silence. A wide, shocked grin spread across Hector’s face, and he darted forward to sweep her into his arms, bouncing up and down in his excitement as he gave her a kiss that left her breathless and let out a piercing grito.

“I told you, Imelda, I told you! Come, mi amor, the night isn’t getting any younger!” He grabbed her hand and ran over to the bridge, dragging her across it without looking back and babbling so much in his excitement that she didn’t have to say anything.

Imelda didn’t understand. She knew what was happening, objectively, but she didn’t know how it could be happening. Her photo was up? After all these years, had Coco finally forgiven her?

She didn’t notice Santa Cecilia as they ran through it, she was only dimly aware of the orange petals scattered everywhere as they made their way to the town square. Before Imelda could say anything, Hector stopped short.

“There it is, Imelda. Wait-” He frowned. “It’s different, there used to be-” He squinted at the building in front of him, examining it thoroughly as Imelda could only stare.

The pharmacy was more than she could have ever hoped for her hija and hermanos. It was large, and obviously well kept, and three stories tall. Hector had told her that the family lived above the pharmacy, so she was prepared for that, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sign-

“Rivera Pharmacy and General Store”

Obviously, Hector hadn’t been prepared for that, either, as he kept glancing at the sign suspiciously.

“Last year,” he said, “it was just ‘Rivera Pharmacy.’ Arturo Vasquez’s son Julio has been running the general store, I wonder if Oscar and Felipe bought it?”

“Hector,” Imelda said tightly, before he could continue on his tangent. Hector immediately shut his mouth, giving her a sheepish grin before taking her hand and gently leading her inside.

It was brightly lit and bustling with activity, and Imelda felt her phantom throat starting to close up as she saw her brothers. They were both so tall, and so grown up, she thought proudly as tears finally started rolling down her face. They were as identical as ever, even moving in unison as they directed the festivities in strong, confident voices.

Imelda didn’t recognize two of the other people in the room, a man and a woman who looked like brother and sister, but she hardly had time to care as another woman stepped lightly into the room. Imelda’s knees shook as she stepped forward, ghostly fingers reaching for her daughter’s face.

“She’s so beautiful,” she whispered to Hector through her tears, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to help keep her upright. “Hector, she’s so-”

“I know, mi amor,” he said quietly. “She got that from you, eh?” She let out a watery chuckle, her eyes drinking in Coco’s every movement as she flitted to the table, holding two dishes full of food.

“Rosita?” she said, and Imelda gasped upon hearing her voice. “Could you help me bring in the rest of the food?”

“Rosita is Julio Vasquez’s sister,” Hector said in a low voice. “I wonder why they’re here?” Imelda didn’t answer as she watched Rosita nod and head out of the room, presumably toward the kitchen, as Coco adjusted the dishes she had put on the table.

“It looks wonderful, mi amor,” the man who looked like Rosita’s brother said to Coco, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Imelda smiled, and Hector’s mouth dropped open.

“I guess that answers that question,” Imelda said, amused, as Hector spluttered.

“I-what-Coco-” Imelda laughed, her tears now joyful.

“Coco,” Oscar said, and Imelda looked at him. “Where is Victoria?” Imelda frowned and glanced at Hector, who could only shrug.

“Hector and Carmen have her in the ofrenda room,” Coco answered, and Oscar and Felipe nodded. Imelda shot Hector another confused look, an explanation coming to her mind that she was almost certain was impossible.

“Hector and Carmen?” she asked.

“I don’t know, mi amor, perhaps-” Imelda wasn’t listening. Without having made a conscious decision to, she was urgently searching for the ofrenda room. She was getting nowhere until she saw a woman she’d never expected to see again come out of a small room near the back.

“Carmen!” she gasped as Hector caught up with her. “If she’s here-” She stepped into the room warily, not knowing what to think, and Hector followed.

A teenage boy was in the center of the room, facing the ofrenda and swaying back and forth, holding something small that Imelda couldn't see.

“Tia Carmen is silly, isn't she?” he cooed. “I’m not going to drop mi sobrinita.”

“Sobrin-” Hector said, trying to put puzzle pieces together as Imelda stepped forward on unsteady legs, reaching a shaking hand for the boy’s back.

“No I’m not,” the boy said, snuggling whatever he was holding closer to his chest. Imelda walked around him to see his face, Hector following.

They reacted to different things first; the boy was holding a tiny baby, no more than a month old, and Hector’s mouth dropped open upon seeing her, but Imelda had eyes only for the boy’s face. He looks like Coco, she thought, a hand over her mouth. He looks like me. She grabbed her husband’s arm, gripping him with every ounce of strength in her body.

“It’s him, it’s my son.” Hector blinked, momentarily distracted from the baby.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she only nodded, unable to speak.

The boy, oblivious to Imelda and Hector’s presence, kept talking to the baby.

“Let me introduce you to your grandparents,” he said, stepping closer to the small ofrenda. “That’s your abuelo.” He nodded at a picture of Hector as he rocked the baby back and forth. “He died a long time ago, but he loved your mama, and he loves you, too.” The baby snuffled a little and yawned, and the boy grinned. “You can't sleep yet, Victoria,” he chided, “you have to meet your abuela first.” The boy- Hector, my baby Hector, Imelda thought-looked up at another picture.

“She was very beautiful, si?” he said softly, looking at a picture of Imelda with admiration. “She loved your mama more than anything in the world.”

“Hector?” The boy and the two skeletons looked back at the door, where Coco was standing, a gentle smile on her face. “We’re ready to start eating.”

“Si, Coco,” he said. “I’m just telling her about her family.” Coco walked further into the room, smiling down at Victoria and putting a hand on Hector’s shoulder. They smiled at each other, neither of them seeming to need words.

Imelda broke down and wept, her face shining with happiness.