Guilt Is the Worst Wound
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon characters from Book of Life; the characters belong to the movie produced by 20th Century Fox, Reel FX Creative Studios, and Jorge R. Gutierrez. No monetary gain is being made with this story, as it is simply meant to be a piece reflecting on Joaquín's feelings after Manolo and María's wedding on Día de los Muertos. See the author's note at the end for further notes. I hope you all enjoy!
Heart racing, ears pounding, and screams echoing, Joaquín Mondragón wakes up in a cold sweat for the third time in a week.
"There- There was a snake, and-" the voice of Manolo stutters in Joaquín's mind, forcing the war hero of San Ángel to relive that terrible moment that occurred merely two weeks ago.
"She's gone," Joaquín recalls himself saying in a soft whisper while cradling María's cold, lifeless body in his muscular arms. "Why didn't you protect her?!" he remembers yelling at Manolo while purely steaming with rage at having to say goodbye to one of his closest friends and the only woman he had ever truly loved.
Launching himself upright, Joaquín stumbles around in the darkness of his house before heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of tequila to chase the nightmare away for tonight at least. Though, given the past week, Joaquín Mondragón is almost certain a variation of the nightmare will come back to haunt him again soon. Relishing in the burning sensation produced as the tequila slides down his throat, the war veteran sighs, eyes clouded over due to a lack of sleep and a lack of sobriety, Joaquín lays his head down on his arms and whispers into the night air.
"I have enough demons in my head already. I can't handle another one," he admits to himself, focusing his now limited vision on a particular spot on the wall. "Especially not when I'm also trying to cope with the adjustment of only having one working eye."
Sending off a quick prayer, Joaquín downs a final glass of tequila before stumbling back to bed, nearly collapsing onto the mattress out of exhaustion.
For anyone with a keen eye, it is very obvious that Joaquín has been avoiding Manolo since the guitarrista's marriage to María nearly three weeks earlier. Joaquín and Manolo have not been seen hanging out together in the past three weeks, even though the two of them have considerably more free time now that Chakal has been defeated and Manolo is no longer having to take bullfighting lessons with his father. However, if one was to pay very close attention, he or she would see that Joaquín practically sprints across the town square to escape any form of run-in with Manolo. The two self-proclaimed brothers have not so much as spoken with one another since the wedding, and the guilt weighs Joaquín down more than any other feeling in the world. Manolo, to his credit, does not feel any anger or negative emotion towards Joaquín, as the guitarrista simply believes that his war hero best friend is simply trying to repair the damage done to San Ángel during the fight against Chakal, or that the son of Captain Mondragón is simply coming to terms with the fact that he is now blind in his left eye. However, regardless of the true reason, Manolo Sánchez could never hold a grudge against his amigo mejor, especially not in consideration of the changes Joaquín is having to face. Manolo does not have a vengeful or jealous bone in his body; it is, after all, what made La Muerte choose the guitarrista as her champion of the wager. And yet, the esteemed Joaquín Mondragón cannot gain enough confidence to look his best friend and brother in every way but blood in the eyes. With the shame of a coward, Joaquín once more turns away from Manolo when the war veteran sees the newly married guitarrista buying a bouquet of red roses for none other than María.
One day, however, Joaquín must come face to face with his guilt when Manolo catches a lightning fast glimpse of the taller man while walking towards the Sánchez home after practicing with the mariachi brothers.
"Joaquín!" Manolo calls, and the hero of San Ángel quickens his pace before skidding to a halt upon hearing Manolo's voice once more. "¡Joaquín, espera!" the black-haired guitarrista shouts after his best friend.
No running away from him today. Time to face Manolo. May La Muerte grant me courage…
"Manolo!" Joaquín greets his best friend with as much bravado as he can muster without sounding incredibly fake or disinterested.
"Where do you think you're going?" Manolo inquires, sounding for all the world like his father Carlos.
"Oh, I'm just heading home after a busy day of patrolling the town's borders. Takes a lot outta me, ya know?" Joaquín dutifully crafts an excuse, though Manolo is not so foolish.
"So, how have you been, hermano? I don't think I've seen you since my wedding with María," Manolo questions with true concern, not at all sure why he hasn't seen Joaquín in nearly three weeks.
"Oh, well, it's busy trying to train new men for the army, check surrounding areas for signs of any surviving bandits, and I guess I just haven't had time to stop by, Manny," Joaquín continues to weave his tale of deceit, all the while with a feeling of guilt crushing him from the inside and practically gnawing a hole in his stomach. "I've missed spending time with you, brother," the son of Captain Mondragón honestly admits, though his eye clouds over an emotion that Manolo can't quite place.
"Joaquín, is everything all right?" Manolo gently asks, not at all meaning to pry, but knowing some information that Joaquín has kept concealed from the guitarrista.
"Yeah! Of course, Manolo!" Joaquín assures, though deep within him, he knows that is just another lie he has told his best friend. "I'm Joaquín Mondragón, after all; you don't have to worry about me…" he begins with a confident voice and a puffed out chest before the confidence and swagger fade away.
"You know you can tell me anything, right, hermano?" Manolo reminds, hoping that whatever is bothering Joaquín will eventually come to the surface.
"Of course, brother. I mean, we've been each other's confidants since we were five. I'd let you know if something were bothering me," Joaquín admits, and he silently wishes such a confession were true.
But, this is something he just cannot bring up with Manolo. He can't inflict any more pain on those he cares for…. He can't….
"It was nice seein' ya, Manny, but I am afraid I have to head back to mi casa and get some rest before I go on watch tonight," Joaquín excuses himself quickly, clapping Manolo on the shoulder before trying to make a hasty retreat.
"Joaquín, I know you've been coming to visit with María every miércoles when I've been practicing with the mariachi brothers," Manolo states simply.
Joaquín's face visibly pales. "You know about that?"
"Sí. But, I am not mad at you, Joaquín. The three amigos are reunited, and we have so many years to catch up on. María thinks there is something bothering you; she says you've been very distant since the wedding," the raven-haired guitarrista admits, and the fact that Manolo knows something is wrong makes the pit in Joaquín's stomach get deeper.
He has been trying so hard to keep his emotions below the surface where no one could see them.
Mondragón men don't get caught up with emotions.
Mondragón men were responsible for saving the town and the people they love and care about.
Mondragón men never let harm…
"Joaquín, María and I want to help you, hermano, but we cannot help you until you tell us what is wrong," Manolo reminds, laying a comforting hand on Joaquín's shoulder. "Por favor, tell me your troubles."
For a moment, the sun's light shifts, illuminating Manolo's face, and Joaquín nearly screams as the vision of Manolo as an esqueleto never to return to the Land of the Living ever again fills his line of sight.
"I- I can't, Manolo. I'll see you later, amigo," Joaquín barely manages to get out, his vision beginning to blur and his feet feeling as if they may collapse from under him. "Lo siento. Adiós, Manolo," he hurriedly remarks, turning on his heel and heading towards the Mondragón house that has been passed down for generations.
"Joaquín!" Manolo calls after him, but soon the war veteran is masked by the shadows of the building, the sun disappearing behind a cloud.
Deciding something needs to be done about this, Manolo turns around, preparing to speak to María about this matter. Something needs to change.
Shutting the front door behind him before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, Joaquín begins to weep into his hands. Even in his own home, the heroic Joaquín Mondragón cannot find solace from the voices that plague his mind nearly every minute of every day.
"It should have been me," the voice of Manolo cries out in desperation within Joaquín's own mind.
"Yes. It should have," Joaquín's own voice echoes in the young man's head, and the twenty-year-old war hero would do anything to take those words back.
Sometimes torture isn't physical or mental.
Sometimes torture is an emotional prison of your own design.
No one in the town of San Ángel sees Joaquín in days, regardless of the fact that he has been on nightly patrol as promised. Finally having enough of her friend's disappearance, María makes the short journey to Joaquín's home, fully prepared to demand an explanation for his actions and weird behavior. Surely, one man could not change that much in ten years to be nearly unrecognizable to María, especially not if that man is Joaquín.
"Joaquín!" María calls, knocking on the door of the Mondragón mansion to try and rouse Joaquín from the depths of his own sorrow.
Just when she is about to knock again, Joaquín appears in the doorway, his sword hanging by his side and a faraway look in his eye.
"María!" Joaquín gasps, surprised to see her standing in front of him this early in the morning. "What can I do for you, girl?" he inquires, opening the front door wider to allow María to enter his home.
"You goofball!" María shouts out, fists clenching in and out at her sides. "How can you pretend everything is okay when you look tortured every miércoles when you come over to mi casa?" she demands, settling her hand on her hip and pointedly looking Joaquín in his eye, though not drawing any attention to the man's eyepatch.
"María, I have no idea what you are-" Joaquín starts, only to receive a slap on the chest from María.
"Men! Typical!" she rolls her chocolate brown eyes, not understanding why gender stereotypes must be so prevalent in every form of society. "Joaquín, you have people who truly love you and are scared something is wrong with you, and you won't let us help. Please. Tell me what is wrong, Joaquín; let me help you," María practically begs, and the last thing Joaquín wants is to be responsible for making María cry a second time as he had the morning when…
"Come here," Joaquín lightly instructs, taking María into his arms as tears begin to roll down her tanned cheeks and onto Joaquín's uniform.
The voices in Joaquín's head take this particular moment to prey on their host's weakness.
"Wait. Where's Manolo?" the voice of María inquires in Joaquín's mind as he is thrown into that terrifying morning from a month ago.
"Oh, María. Manolo-" Joaquín's own voice plays in his head, slowly torturing him more than words could ever admit. "Manolo passed away," the voice continues, and Joaquín is able to snap out of the past before any more terrifying memories can surface.
In the present, Joaquín holds María against his chest, trying to comfort both himself and his best female friend at the same time.
"María, I- I can't bear to think of that morning when I-" Joaquín begins, though he trails off, a lump forming in his throat, making it hard to swallow. "Why did you tell Manolo about our weekly meetings?" he softly inquires.
"I do not keep any secrets from my husband," María responds, casting her gaze upwards to look at Joaquín's face. "And it's not like we're having an affair, Joaquín; all we are doing is catching up. Besides, Manolo has been asking about whether or not I've seen you," she reveals.
"He has?" Joaquín asks in shock.
"Mm-hmm. He misses hanging out with you, Joaquín. We both do. Would you like to come by for cena tonight? I'm making pozole."
"That sounds wonderful María, but I can't. Nor can I tell you what is wrong with me, because I believe that is my burden to bear alone. Tell Manolo I said hola."
María respects Joaquín's wishes and leaves the house after giving Joaquín a quick hug and a squeeze for his hand, but she knows something is seriously wrong if her friend turned down pozole.
"He turned down pozole?" Manolo nearly yells that night when María tells him the story of her odd encounter with Joaquín. "Now we know there's something wrong with him; Joaquín would never turn down pozole!" the guitarrista remarks, panic evident in his voice.
"I agree. Manolo, we have to help him, mi amor," María tells her husband, feeling Manolo's arms encircle her waist as he comes up behind her, chin resting on María's shoulder while the guitarrista sways back and forth. "Manolo!" the general's daughter breathlessly laughs as Manolo spins her around until her chest is pressed against his and her hands are captured in his larger ones. "Whatever are you doing?"
"I believe I am asking you to dance, Señora Sánchez. May I have this dance, mi corazón?" Manolo tenderly asks, his brown eyes locking onto María's gaze as he stares at the beautiful woman in his arms.
"You may, Señor Sánchez," María blushes, and she and Manolo begin to sway back and forth in their kitchen, both of them content to spend time in each other's arms, dancing to the songs in their hearts.
However, after a few minutes of dancing with Manolo, María slowly spins them to a stop, her hands still laced together with Manolo's.
"Now, Manolo, mi amor, I know I promised we could have a romantic night in, but what if we take our pozole over to Joaquín's house and try to find out what exactly is bothering him?" María suggests, sweetly kissing Manolo's cheek as she remains in his arms.
"¡Perfecto, María! That sounds like a plan, and I'll make sure to grab a bottle of his favorite tequila!" Manolo laughs, giving María a tender kiss on the lips before going off to collect said bottle of tequila.
María can only hope that by bringing Joaquín dinner that she and Manolo can get to the bottom of what seems to be ailing their best friend.
Upon arriving at Joaquín's casa, he does not open the door, a fact that confuses both Manolo and María. Usually, Joaquín doesn't leave for patrol until sunset at the earliest.
"Maybe he left earlier," Manolo suggests, ever the optimist, not wanting to believe anything could have happened to the tall, muscular hero of San Ángel.
"Shh!" María practically begs, hearing a noise coming from inside Joaquín's house. "Do you hear that?" she inquires, straining to hear the noise to determine if it truly is what she believes.
Both Manolo and María are silent, and that is when the noise gets more distinct.
"María, perdóname, por favor," Manolo whispers, backing up and bunching his muscles as he prepares to do the unexpected.
"Manolo, what are you-?" María begins to inquire, a concerned tone present in her voice.
Without any warning, Manolo sprints towards Joaquín's door, slamming his own shoulder against the doorframe. The door opens, revealing the wide expanse of Joaquín's house.
"Manolo!" María shouts in alarm, setting the pozole on the windowsill before bending down to help her husband to his feet. "Are you all right?" she asks, bending down and placing her hands on his cheeks.
"Sí, María. It appears as if my time spent in the Land of the Remembered has given me super strength."
"Manolo, it looks like the door was already unlocked, mi amor."
Chuckling, Manolo gets on his feet, taking the pot of pozole from María before stepping into Joaquín's house.
"Then, perhaps, I have wasted my strength and lost my common sense."
Upon entering Casa Mondragón, Manolo sets the pozole on the kitchen table before joining María on her frantic search for Joaquín. What they find is extremely frightening and is cause for alarm. Joaquín is sitting on the floor, his head in his hands as loud sobs exit the war hero's lips.
"¿Joaquín?" María softly inquires, bending down and placing her hands on one of Joaquín's arms, offering him physical comfort with the presence of her soft hands.
"¿María?" Joaquín questions, his body trembling as he looks his best female friend in her eyes. "What are you-" he trails off, holding María's gaze.
"We came to bring you some pozole, amigo," Manolo speaks up, kneeling on the floor beside María and Joaquín.
"¿Manolo? Brother, I am so sorry," Joaquín sighs, looking Manolo in the eyes with a guilty look.
"You're sorry? For what?" Manolo inquires, placing one hand on Joaquín's shoulder. "For having meetings with María and not telling me about it? I told you that I am not angry about that, Joaquín," the guitarrista reminds, not at all wanting his best friend to think he could never speak to María in private.
"It's not that," Joaquín whispers, emotion clouding his face, averting Manolo's gaze and staring at the floor instead.
"Then, what is it, hermano?" Manolo questions, thoroughly confused by his friend's statement.
"I'M SORRY I KILLED YOU, MANOLO!" Joaquín screams suddenly, writhing in pain and anguish as he recounts that fateful morning from a month ago.
The silence that follows is nearly deafening, and Joaquín feels the voices begin to prey on him once more, tormenting him further.
Two pairs of arms encircling his shoulders and chest snap Joaquín back to reality. María and Manolo look at their war hero best friend in extreme concern, with María pressing Joaquín's head against her chest and Manolo offering Joaquín a hand.
"Joaquín, what are you saying?" María questions, a look of horror on her face as she looks at the war veteran in her arms. "You didn't kill Manolo," she assures, running a hand through Joaquín's tan hair.
"Yes, I did," Joaquín chokes out, tears spilling out of his eye.
"No, brother. You didn't kill me," Manolo reminds. "It was that dastardly snake of Xibalba's because he cheated," the raven-haired guitarrista assures the man in front of him.
"The snake killed you because of me, Manolo!" Joaquín shouts out, a frenzied look on his face to match his alarmed tone of voice. "I took Xibalba's blessing! I said those terrible things to you about how you should have died in María's stead! All of that was because of me," he whimpers, grasping Manolo's hand in his own. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Joaquín apologizes, not able to look Manolo in the eyes for fear of seeing disappointment or anger in the guitarrista's eyes. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it, Manolo…. All of those terrible things I said to you…" the hero of San Ángel continues, looking above the fireplace at the portrait of his father, Captain Mondragón. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I lost my senses and tapped into an anger I didn't know I had in me," and here Joaquín trails off, pausing to look Manolo in the eyes and finding only compassion and understanding in the eyes of the youngest Sánchez, making the guilt in Joaquín's stomach that much worse. "If I could take back everything I ever said to you that morning, I would!" he vows, and kindness mixed with sympathy shines in Manolo's eyes as he looks at his best friend suffering so much anguish over his past actions. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, rising to his feet and walking over to the fireplace in the center of the room. "I don't deserve the title of the hero of San Ángel if I can't even protect the ones I love!"
And, without any warning whatsoever, Joaquín punches the brick of the fireplace with all his strength, relishing in the pain it shoots down his hand and fully embracing the bruise that begins to immediately form on his tanned hand.
María stands almost instantly, ready to comfort Joaquín, but Manolo shakes his head gently and makes his way over to his best friend to try and smooth things over.
"Joaquín, I never blamed you. ¿Claro? Never will I ever blame you for my brief journey into the Land of the Remembered," Manolo admits, a genuine tone present in his voice. "People say a lot of things in anger, but it is our choice whether or not to listen. I knew you never meant those words, but I had to try everything in my power to get María back. It is not your fault that Xibalba cheated and intended on leaving me dead for eternity. I never want to hear you blame yourself for that! ¿Entiendes?" Manolo instructs, a firm edge to his voice that Joaquín cannot say he has heard before.
"Sí. Yo entiendo. María, I want to apologize to you as well," Joaquín admits, grasping Manolo's hand in his own before breaking the connection and walking over to the woman he would always love. "I was selfish, María. I thought I was the only man who could love you. I was wrong," Joaquín begins, sincerity dripping from every word. "When I thought you had died, I realized that I was always going to be in love with you, whether you loved me back or not. But, at that same time, I realized that if you didn't love me that I would not force you to spend the rest of your life with me," he continues, and María can feel tears beginning to collect in her chocolate brown eyes. "You are not a prize to be won, María Posada, but I can say that Manolo won the right to love you fair and square. So, I have hence decided that I may still be in love with you, but I need to learn to channel that love into loving you like a sister rather than the woman I once desperately wished I would marry. Will you ever forgive me, Señora Sánchez?" Joaquín inquires, and María leaps towards Joaquín, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling Manolo over as well where the three of them can hug and remind one another of their unwavering devotion and familial love for one another.
"Of course, I can, Joaquín! You were ready to sacrifice yourself for Manolo in the battle against Chakal; I can never thank you enough for that," María weeps, glad to have her two favorite men by her side once more and thrilled they can once again by the best three amigos like they had been before María went to finishing school in España.
"Joaquín, why exactly have you been avoiding us this whole time since the wedding, amigo? You could have brought this matter to our attention earlier if it has been torturing you this much," Manolo inquires, reminding his best friend and surrogate brother that he and María would always be there for their orphaned best friend.
"Manolo, the Medal of Everlasting Life offered me protection and immunity from any form of physical injury, but I could still feel emotional injuries that took root in my heart. My heart was broken when María went to Europa, and I always felt a sense of grief on Día de Los Muertos for my parents. So, when I thought I prompted you to take your own life Manolo, you cannot imagine the grief and guilt I felt, especially given the fact that General Posada still expected me to marry María after I had taken you away from her. So, with your temporary journey to the Land of the Remembered, brother, I learned firsthand that guilt is the worst wound a man can obtain, and I couldn't bear to inflict any of that pain onto you or María," Joaquín reveals, and the sentiment alone makes the young married couple have an even greater sense of respect for their best friend.
"Thank you for being honest, Joaquín," Manolo gratefully remarks, beginning to walk towards the kitchen to serve up the pozole before it could get below room temperature.
"But, Joaquín, if you ever hide your problems and inner conflict from us again, you will not like to see the response I will give you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" María demands, sounding for the world like a mother to her son, and Joaquín cannot help but grin.
"Yes ma'am. Now, I do believe that I smell the delicious scent of pozole; we wouldn't want it to get cold!" he shouts, practically sprinting after Manolo to join him at the dining room table.
María laughs lightly, knowing that all is right with the world now that the two most important men in her life are alive, healthy, and friends once again.
Author's Note: And there it is! My first Book of Life FanFiction! What a better way to celebrate 90 stories AND Día de Los Muertos at the same time?! I personally do not celebrate Día de Los Muertos, but I know about the holiday and culture behind it from my wonderful exposure to the Hispanic culture in my Spanish classes throughout middle school and high school. (I actually made ofrendas for two years at school, I think, and I love the idea of the holiday more than Halloween! Case in point, I hadn't dressed up for Halloween since I was eight-years-old until this year at my work costume party we had to honor the dogs who come to daycare. (I work at a doggy daycare/boarding facility/spa.) So, it is with great honor and respect that I dedicate this one-shot to the holiday of Día de Los Muertos, and I hope everyone enjoyed! Expect to see more Book of Life stories from me in the future, because I just love this movie and cannot believe I have let four years pass by without writing for this fandom! Until next time, dear readers; have an amazing day, afternoon, or night! Reviews are always appreciated.
P.S. Rival Argentica, was it as good as you had hoped?