(A/N: I would like to mention that this tale would not exist were it not for the wonderful upperstories and varrka on Tumblr. Thank you for providing me with this great AU idea and allowing me to run away with it like a track star. Thank you uppers for betaing this and thank you everyone on Tumblr for being so supportive of this. I am going to do great things here...EVIL things...Anyway: this is a Corpse Bride AU so have fun reading!)

Perhaps this wasn't a good idea, María fretted, wringing her hands as she followed her papá down the hall. It had been forever since she had seen Joaquín, let alone talked to him, and from what she remembered he was a bit...reckless and self-centered. Still...if this was what would keep him tethered here, to protect San Angel, then it was for the best; wasn't it?

"María, you look angry. ¿Que pasa mija?" She looked at her papá, General Posada, and sighed.

"It's...nothing. I'm just a bit nervous." A lie, though a small one, that stung her lips on the way out.

"Don't worry! Joaquín is one of Mexico's best fighters and has protected small towns all across the continent from banditos twice as scary as Chakal!" General Posada chuckled as he continued to praise Joaquín. "There is nothing this man can't do! I trained him myself and he is, by far, the bravest and strongest man to come out of San Angel since his father, God bless his soul."

It's not that, María wanted to cry out. I remember Joaquín from when I was a child and we used to play together. I remember how he saved you from that boar. I remember how brave he was. What worries me is if I'm making the right choice! But she kept quiet, her fan fluttering at eye-level while they headed for the front door.

"Besides," the General continued, "He is heir to a large estate and that will allow you to feed your more...unusual habits."

Not this again, she groaned internally. Women were not supposed to enjoy reading! Women were not supposed to be able to protect themselves. Women were to be good wives. Women were to serve their husbands. 'I don't know why I ever sent you to that backwards convent in the first place!' She had heard it all before. So she liked to read; she liked to learn and reading gave her new things to ruminate on. So she could hold her own in a fight but had been able to ever since she was a precocious little brat getting into scraps with the town boys. All that extra self-defense wasn't even the Sisters' fault; that could be blamed on the stable-master's son, who fancied her and thought teaching her how to kick butt would be a good way to win her affection.

"Papá, I understand. Please forgive my apprehension." Simple words, simple kindnesses, that was all it took to appease General Posada and for that, María was grateful. Her mamá would not have been so easily placated, but she had gone to the Land of the Dead nineteen years ago, the day María was born. Speaking of the Land of the Dead, "Papá?"

"Si mija?"

"How are the preparations for los Dias de Muertos going this year?" The whole time she was away she would make a small altar to her mamá on los Dias de Muertos but it would be nice to help decorate and prepare her mamá's grave for the holiday with her papá.

"Bien," General Posada gave his daughter a warm smile, "We have marigolds and atole and plenty of bread for her and our family to enjoy this year."

"That's good." A small smile crept on her lips, the shine of a proper Dias de Muertos celebration a glimmering bit of hope in this stressful situation.

They reached the front door of the Posada family home and stopped. General Posada turned to María, clutched her hand, and looked her dead in the eyes. "Remember mija, Joaquín is the only one who can protect us from Chakal and if we were to perish, who would remember us?"

María swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded, pulling her fan over her nose and mouth to hide her apprehensive scowl. They stepped out of the doors and into the bright light of day and María blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted, but despite her momentary blindness she easily took note of a tall man with a striking moustache standing in front of her, his uniform decked with medals of all shapes and sizes. Her papá dashed forward and gestured to the man. "María, this is Joaquín Mondragon. Joaquín, this is my daughter María Posada."

The world seemed to hold its breath as María stared at the handsome man that her papá had introduced her to. He was so different from the small, gangly orphan boy she remembered so fondly. Now he was rugged and barrel-chested with strong, defined muscles and a grin that could charm any lady. Any lady but her, she supposed as she found his smile to be a bit...pompous for a lack of a better word. As if he knew he was handsome and he was just flaunting it to everyone nearby. Some of the local ladies fanned themselves but María just looked over her fan with a decisive and calculating eye. He held himself like a trained soldier but seemed a bit lax compared to the veterans that her papá consorted with—old, wizened war heroes with scars and eyes that flitted from one end of the room to the other as if anticipating an attack. He certainly was good looking and well-adorned for a hero though. She gave a vague smile and ducked her head in greeting.

Her papá seemed to relax when Joaquín smiled broadly in her direction. "Pleased to meet you Srta. Posada."

"I believe we've met before this Sr. Mondragon." María returned, offering her hand to him. He planted a soft kiss on it and then let go, looking into her eyes with unmasked excitement.

"I don't remember ever meeting someone as beautiful as you in San Angel before." Was he being coy? María could hardly tell.

"Oh, it was long ago. I was just a young girl at the time. You were young too." He laughed heartily.

"I do remember a feisty young girl who once set the pigs free in the middle of the town square but there is no way that she could be the same radiant beauty I see before me. I haven't heard tale of any animal outbreaks lately!" Now he was flirting, dancing gently in the footsteps of many men before him. She, however, was conducting this dance and he had no choice but to follow her lead.

"Not yet, Sr. Mondragon, not yet." She clicked the last syllable of yet as she spun away from his grasp and walked down the street. Her papá was still watching from the sidelines, along with the veterans, but everyone else seemed to understand that this was a private affair and had left. Joaquín followed, jogging lightly to catch up.

"Still, you sure have blossomed into quite the young lady." He tripped over his words, slurring some as he tried to come up with something that would not offend her. She smirked.

"And you a strong hero. Tell me, Sr. Mondragon: what brings you back to San Angel?"

"Los Dias de Muertos. I come here every year to celebrate mis padres." He matched her pace, standing at a respectful distance to her left.

"Your father was the great hero Mondragon who chased away Chakal so many years ago?" She asked, knowing the answer already. History was her strong suit and she knew all there was to know about San Angel.

"Yes. Despite his victory, my fa-...General Mondragon was lost at the hands of Chakal. But so far we have been lucky in that the bandito has not yet returned." They walked in silence for a while, matching step-for-step and breath-for-breath, until they reached the graveyard, where parents were already setting up the foundation for the ofrendas for their deceased children.

"Your life must have been hard then, having no parents." María watched an elderly couple cart basket upon basket of marigolds to the small grave of their grandchild, chatting about their children and how much they missed them.

"It was...until General Posada was kind enough to train me."

"You were brave, knocking him out of the way in order to keep him from being trampled by that boar." María admitted. Joaquín simultaneously blushed and smiled.

"I still have a scar from where the beast stomped on my chest on the way back. I was lucky to get out of that alive."

"Yes..." She stared pensively out at the horizon and weighed her words carefully. "Why do you go from place to place as opposed to staying in your hometown to protect us?"

Joaquín looked taken aback. "It just...felt right?" He seemed unsure of the answer himself, the slight rise of a question tacking itself to the end of 'right'. "I can help more people this way. So many towns in Mexico are unprotected or they don't have a strong band of soldiers so they're vulnerable to banditos and the ilk. I just...I want to do great things for Mexico and staying in one town for too long feels...selfish."

That took her by surprise. She hadn't expected this brave, cocky man to feel so strongly about protecting everyone. He seemed, haunted by his past, and that touched her heart. Maybe he wasn't so self-centered... "So there is nothing that would convince you to stay in San Angel?"

Joaquín met her gaze and frowned. "Are you asking me to stay?"

She looked away, "I'm merely asking what would make you stay."

His nose wrinkled and he sighed, watching a young couple pick out toys for their son's ofrenda. "Marriage probably. I wouldn't like to take anyone on my journeys against their will, nor would I like to leave my wife behind in San Angel while I was possibly dying." His words bit at her, digging their claws in and refusing to let go.

"Even if the woman in question was more than capable of protecting herself and San Angel?" She pressed, trying to chase away the dread.

"Even so. Marriage requires devotion and devotion requires love and if you love someone, you never leave them or put them in harm's way." Joaquín's voice cracked as he choked on his emotions. He struggled a few moments to regain his composure and turned to face María, eyes slightly red from holding back tears. "Does this have anything to do with Chakal and San Angel, Srta. Posada?"

Words, words everywhere! She had to pick and choose carefully, constructing her reply so as to not offend or assume. It was hard, harder still when she realized that he looked just as apprehensive as she felt. "It does..." she began, "But not in the way you believe. I knew you when you were a small boy, Sr.—Joaquín. Is there any other way I can convince you to stay?"

"Do you not find me worth marrying? Or is it that independent streak I remember from so long ago. That girl who bathed chickens and rode pigs through the town square didn't like being tied down, even to San Angel." Was his voice breaking and cracking? Was that a quiver of fear in his tone? María couldn't tell over the frantic pounding of her heart.

"You are more than worth marrying, Joaquín. Any woman would be blessed to have someone as caring as you for a husband. It's just..."

"You're scared." He supplemented. "Because to you it would be a duty, a role to fill, somewhere else you are tethered to." Joaquín smiled softly and took her hands in his, gently cupping them in his broad palms. "Because the girl I remember hated being told what to do more than anything." There was a pregnant silence as María stared at how tiny her hands looked in his. With a quiet burst of laughter he dropped her hands and slapped his forehead, "Listen to me! I sound like one of those romantic dramas!" Mockingly putting on a serious face he swung his arms about in an exaggerated manner, "But you truly love me Srta.! You just don't know it yet! Hemph hemph hemph." He dissolved into giggles, clutching his stomach and wheezing as María joined him in his laughter. It was a few minutes before they regained composure.

"I don't remember you being that funny," María admitted, wiping away a small tear in the corner of her eye.

"You still have a great laugh," Joaquín replied. He then took a deep breath, straightening his back and looking her dead in the eyes. "There is...another reason I returned to San Angel at this time."

"Oh?" No, please...please don't let it be true. Joaquín was a great guy but she couldn't just marry him so suddenly. A childhood friendship where they had not seen each other since was not a good basis for a healthy marriage.

"I was...that is...I would like to ask you if...ah...you would...do me the honor of...marrying me?" Joaquín looked so earnest, so open. The whole of his soul was bared for María to see in his deep-brown eyes and it hurt her so badly.

"I-" she began, but Joaquín cut her off with a hurried addendum.

"It's not...I didn't just randomly...¡dios mio! I mean-I've thought long and hard about this. I know that you...don't really know me. You were sent off to a convent when we were just nine but...I remember the good times we had and the laughter and tears. I remember how you did not abandon me after mi padre left the Land of the Living and... how supportive you were of my silly little dream to grow a moustache just like him." He chuckled, face flushed and tongue tied as María. "And...General Posada has asked me many times if I would stay. Chakal is hiding somewhere near here and due to San Angel's history with him and his minions I—I remembered you and how you made me feel and thought...'If I were to ever settle down, with anyone at all, I would want my wife to be someone who I knew would support me in every way possible. One who knew me long before I became the hero Joaquín. One who liked me for me and not my achievements.' And...no matter how often I thought about others...I always went back to you. I know it's sudden and you aren't really one for commitments of this magnitude...but if you would honor me by marrying me then I would stay. I would stay for San Angel. But I would mostly stay for you..."

She couldn't breathe. Her chest was pounding and her lungs were coming up short. So much was going on but she knew, she knew somehow, that it would lead to this. Her papá must have set it up! Her papá must have known far in advance...Joaquín seemed like the man to ask her papá for her hand before asking her—as was the tradition in Mexico—so she did not fault him for this. No, the blame lay squarely on her bull-headed papá.

"Joaquín..." The words wouldn't come, stuttering over her teeth and slurring over her lips like so many drunken war-heroes of old. She willed her breathing to slow, her heart to calm, so that she could properly enunciate her feelings. Her answer would be crucial for not only her but San Angel. 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.' Her wants, her selfish desires to remain as she was—spirited and free—or San Angel's need for a protector. Which was more costly: her freedom or the whole town's life.

As if he noticed her hesitation, Joaquín spoke up again, "You don't have to marry me now! Los Dias de Muertos is a time to remember, so to intrude on their day would be wrong. But...I leave on the fourth." Does that help? His wide eyes implored.

Selfish want or the town? Her freedom or hundreds of lives? They both carried such weight in her heart but...

"Yes, Joaquín. I will marry you." Her heart broke as his came alive with hope and purity. With a joyous cry he lifted her in the air and swung her around, laughing the whole time.

"Gracias María! Ah! Thank you so very much I...I promise I will be the best husband I can."

"I know you will." Her words were light but her spirit was heavy. Such a sacrifice had to be made, however, and she did not want to be the cause of San Angel's destruction. "But Joaquín..." He met her eyes, grinning broadly, "Let's make this a surprise for the rest of the town. Just tell papá, ¿vale?"

"Absolutely. Until the day before our wedding, I will hold this close in my heart." With a flourishing bow befitting of a soldier or hero, Joaquín kissed the back of her hand and bid her farewell. "¡Hasta luego María! "

She politely waved back at him, dread settling in her stomach, the kiss on the back of her hand feeling more like a brand of slavery than a mark of love. Though the midday sun was bright above her, she was cold. All that time...all that work...all those promises with herself and the sisters at the convent...for what? I will only marry for love, she had told herself once. What a lie. A bitter sigh escaped her lips and she looked towards the graveyard.

Mamá, she prayed, please. Tell me I'm doing the right thing. Prove me wrong. And if I still must marry him...please help me love him.

Then, without so much as a glance backwards, she walked back towards the town square, head held high and a purpose in her gait. What no one could see however, was her fan covering her quivering lips and deep frown. That was a secret she would take to her grave.

In the Land of the Remembered, La Muerte watched over the large procession of children as they lined up for their entrance to the Land of the Living above.

"¡Mijos!" She called out, sonorous voice ringing out over the din, despite how loud the assortment of children was. "Gather close now! Any minute the barrier will thin and you will be able to visit your loved ones but remember this: they cannot see you, nor can they hear you." A young girl cried when she said that, tears trickling down the flower-like grooves in her skull. "Now, now," La Muerte crooned, "That doesn't mean that you don't spend time with them. They will make you ofrendas with all of your favorite things and they will talk to you! They will be able to feel your presence there, even if they cannot see you, so don't fret. You will be able to see them again."

After she finished calming them, La Muerte gathered their attention again and gestured to a large, ornate clock on a skull-shaped balloon. "You see that?" The children nodded. "When that reads doce horas, that is when you can see your family. You have three days to spend with them, so spend it wisely! And have fun!"

"¡Gracias La Muerte!" Chorused the children as they went back to preparing for All Hallows Eve. Satisfied, the ruler of the Land of the Remembered retreated to her hall, sweeping the doors shut behind her. She gave a soft sigh as she walked down the large grand hall to her favorite spot in the whole building: a window-seat with a view of the whole land. She settled down into the cushioned seat and sighed contently. Every year it was just as hard to calm the new arrivals and yet she never grew tired of seeing the joy on the children's faces when they realized they were about to see their family again. As she at lost in thought, she heard the doors open.

"My lady? May I enter?"

She knew who it was without ever looking behind her. She knew the voices of most everyone in her realm but this one was special; a dying breed, if you would pardon the pun. "Si Manolo. You know you are always welcome here, as are all of the remembered. What brings you here today?"

Manolo twiddled his thumbs, not daring to meet La Muerte's eyes. "It's just...I was the last of the Sánchez line you see..."

"I know."

"And mi abuelita was the last of us to pass from the Land of the Living to here." He subconsciously traced the large holes in his outfit, eyes downcast and voice soft and stuttering. "The last of her friends passed recently and so there is no one left to remember us."

"A tragedy," La Muerte nodded, taking note of the way that his hands ran across the tassel-like adornments across his traje de luces, the traditional suit of a well-bred torero. "Are you afraid of being forgotten? You know that when you are forgotten your body will become ash and fat used to construct new candles. Pieces of you will be passed on to the next generation, despite you no longer existing."

Manolo finally met her eyes, determination shining through and sparking a small smile on La Muerte's part. There was the young Sánchez man she knew. "No, I am not afraid of being forgotten. I know my time is coming and I am willing to accept my fate. What scares me is..." Again his hands traced the holes and ran across his cracked and fragile ribs. "I don't want my family to be broken apart again. My mother will be the first to go, then my abuelita, then me, then my father, and finally mi abuelo. I just want them to have a little more time together."

Ah, La Muerte understood now. Alive or dead, Manolo had always been a selfless young man. "And what," she asked coyly, "do you wish to do about it?" As one of the three gods that ruled the Land of the Dead, it was her duty to not interfere with their lives and deaths directly but if someone came to her with a wish or desire she was more than willing to bend the rules a bit for them. Besides, unlike someone else she knew, she understood what was too far.

Manolo was silent, contemplative as he made sure he worded this correctly. Though he knew that La Muerte was kind-hearted, he remembered enough of his abuelita's stories about those who asked favors of the gods to be wary of rushing in blindly. "I would...like to be able to go and remember them for los Dias de Muertos."

"Could you not do that here, with las fiestas?" She knew the answer, she just wanted him to be more direct and careful with his wording.

"No, I mean: I want to go to the Land of the Living and remember mi familia the way the Living do so that they can have more time here, in the Land of the Remembered." Manolo was more assertive now, bony hands clenched into fists and eyes burning with determination. This was something he had to do!

"You want me to give you a Living body and allow you to remember your family so they can have more time together and happy?" La Muerte cocked an eyebrow and smirked, sending shivers down Manolo's spine. She paced about for a few minutes, her long, flowing red dress trailing marigold petals behind her as she went. When she had finished her thinking, she stood in front of Manolo and looked down at the young man. "I see no reason why I could not grant you that request."

Manolo lit up, a broad grin splitting his intricately-carved face, and he clutched her sugar-coated hand as if he had been given the most precious treasure ever. He opened his mouth to thank her but was cut off.

"But you will not appear as a Living person would. You will look no different than you do now, understand? And I cannot allow you to return to the Land of the Remembered. You would become forgotten as soon as you returned on the last day.

If Manolo had any second thoughts, it wasn't apparent to La Muerte because the dead man pumped her hand vigorously. "Agreed! Gracias, my lady! ¡Muchas gracias!" La Muerte chuckled and withdrew her hand from his overzealous handshake. She patted him on the head and smiled softly, producing a single marigold flower the color of her eyes—a flickering combination of fiery hues—and handing it to him.

"This will be the token that allows you to materialize in the Land of the Living. I will grant you passage at the same time as los niños and you can return when they do. Use All Hallows Eve to build an altar to your familia and be sure to remember them the two days following but, I should warn you. If you are killed in the Land of the Living or anything happens to the flower, the enchantment will be broken and you will become forgotten immediately. ¿Comprende?"

Manolo swallowed heavily, though he had no saliva to wash down nor a throat to clear, and nodded, accepting the token with quiet reverence. "I will inform mi familia immediately. Again, I cannot thank you enough, my lady." With an excited skip in his step, Manolo Sánchez dashed out of La Muerte's great hall and into the Land of the Remembered to inform his family of his great fortune. La Muerte reclined in a small chair and sighed. She hoped she was making the right choice this time. She hoped that Manolo would be able to fulfil his desires.

Although she might have been a God of the Dead, La Muerte was far from omniscient.