No, You Shouldn't Have
A/N: Blame avianartist for this oneshot they made the post about it post/100885504800/wouldnt-it-be-totally-funny-if-joaquin-ran-off-to
For some reason I was only able to write it in present tense don't ask why I never write like that it's a quick little thing that begged me to write it all day at work and got done in like five hours
I don't own Book of Life I only cry over the trio and how frickin poly they are for each other man daaaamn
Joaquin knows he's made a mistake the moment the door of the Posada house shuts behind the wailing procession of nuns. It takes a trek through the rain-soaked town, set to the wails of the townspeople upon seeing the frail corpse paraded down the street, for his words to finally sink in. When they do, he recoils in horror.
"Yes, you should have."
Why in God's name did he say that?
The mourners likely expect him to join them in the house, to sit over the bed of his dead lady and weep, but he turns and runs for Casa Sanchez like a hound of hell is nipping at his heels. Every fall of his boots against the stone pavement serves as punctuation to his thoughts, hammering in the reality of his words. His best friend had come to him in grief, desperate and afraid and tormented, and he had shut him down with all the cold edge of a steel blade.
He told Manolo he wanted him dead.
Joaquin crashes into the house, nearly startling the residents into the grave themselves, and barely even pauses for breath before rattling out, "Where's Manolo?"
"He hasn't been home since last night. Joaquin, what's going-"
Carlos can't even ask why the town is screaming and crying around them before Joaquin is out of the door and making a beeline for the bridge. There's nowhere else he could be; the arena has nothing but memories of shame and disappointment, and General Posada would likely throw him out of the window if he tried to see her. He has to be there, by the tree.
Where they lost Maria.
The candles that only minutes ago lead their dearest love to the site of the attack are all extinguished, and the clouds darken the sky, but he has traveled the path his entire life, and he thunders across the bridge so fast the boards protest. The tree cuts an ominous silhouette against the grey sky, and he can't tell if Manolo is under the branches, so he shouts his name over the winds.
"Manolo!"
There's no movement by the tree, but Joaquin knows there's nowhere else, and he slows down. He knows he must apologize, and he wants to, but he's so afraid to face his childhood friend. How can he? How can the two of them still exist and coexist and carry on in a world without the third?
As he gets closer, he recognizes Manolo's form lying flat in the dirt, and he doesn't quite understand why (some form of mental defense?), but his immediate assumption is that he's lying there crying.
"Manolo, I..."
It takes a moment, but he realizes there's no sobs coming from the man on the ground, and his shoulders aren't shaking and heaving. He doesn't move at all, in fact, not even as Joaquin comes to stand over him.
"...Manolo?"
It still doesn't sink in, until he's on his knees, his hand closing around his friend's cold, limp wrist. There's no pulse, and his skin is cold, and only then does Joaquin understand.
"Manolo-!"
He's got one arm under him and against his back, and he's pulling him up into a sitting position. The younger man's head falls against his chest, and he remains still, and Joaquin starts to panic, shaking his friend by the shoulder. "Manolo! Manolo, answer me!"
There's still no response, and in desperation he draws back and slaps Manolo across the face. It accomplishes nothing, but only serves to aggravate him more. "Wake up! I said wake up!"
His words are furious and harsh, but his voice is shaky and his eyes are already starting to cloud over. He lays his friend's body down, and fumbles with the medal on his shirt with trembling fingers. He finally pulls it off, and tries to pin it to Manolo's jacket, jabbing himself several times. The pin finally catches in the hook, and Joaquin pulls back, waiting. He knows the medal is supposed to protect what is, and not revive what was, but he still tries, and hopes.
Nothing happens. Manolo's body is still.
Joaquin swallows back panic, and mechanically unpins the medal, returning it to its home under his bandoliers. He tries to keep calm, and think; he's sinking into denial, there has to be some way to fix this. His mind goes back to the fairy tales they swapped as children; delicate, poisoned waifs brought back with sweet kisses. It's a stupid and childish thought, and if Maria and Manolo were both there and alive the former would fall apart laughing while the latter fended him off in mock terror. But they're both dead, and Joaquin is very desperate, so his lips graze against Manolo's forehead. Nothing happens, and he frantically brushes against his cheeks, and pecks the tip of his nose, and finally presses against his lips, gently but feverishly.
It does nothing, and the weight of the moment fully settles. Manolo is dead, and the hero of San Angel can do nothing to bring him back.
"...I didn't mean it..."
Joaquin wraps his arms around Manolo, and his voice is quiet and fragile. "Manolo, I didn't mean it."
He's looking at Manolo's face clearly now, and his heart sinks. What he originally assumed was a frozen panicked reaction or pained grimace was, very clearly, a blissful smile. Manolo saw it coming and welcomed it.
He welcomed a chance to see Maria.
That thought sends Joaquin over the edge, and he doesn't even feel the cry of anguish rip its way out of his throat. He cradles Manolo's body close, and buries his head against the dead guitarrista's chest, and sobs. The brave hero has gone away, and left in his place the same little Joaquin Mondragon, only seven and motherless and fatherless, who clung to a nun's habit and cried when General Posada laid his father's sword at his feet. Maria and Manolo are gone, and he's left with nothing to come home to, nobody to playfully tease and flirt with, nobody to stay with him, or stay for.
Joaquin holds Manolo for a long time, and when the men of San Angel come to investigate they have to almost pry them apart. General Posada urges him to return to his house, and though Joaquin is loath to leave, he knows the remaining members of the Sanchez family deserves their time to grieve. He allows himself to be lead back to Casa Posada, and can't meet the eyes of Carlos Sanchez as he passes.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this."
Maria's eyes are still locked on him, and she seems to know what he means, but he continues, eyes cast down at the floor. "I didn't want it to happen like this."
His lovely bride, shamelessly standing before him in her gown (to hell with superstitions, everything's already gone wrong), all but glides across the room to him. "But you do want this?"
He glances up, surprised. "I want...you. I want to be with you, but..."
"It isn't the same without him, right?"
He looks away again, and she manages a slight, bittersweet smile. "Not the same without him in the front row pouting?" she teases lightly.
Joaquin flinches, and Maria regrets the joke. Something is wrong; he's not telling her. "Joaquin?"
"I'm sorry," he manages to choke out, and her heart breaks to hear the sorrow in his voice. "I didn't mean..."
"What happened to him, Joaquin?"
Her voice is soft and kind, and he wipes at his eyes like a stubborn child trying to hide that they're crying. He's ashamed, but he owes her an explanation. "When he showed up with you, I got upset, and scared, and I said something horrible, and..."
He bites his lip, shuddering, and she touches his arm, urging him on. He finishes, "He went back to the tree, and so did the snake."
Maria freezes, and she can feel her heart fall to the bottom of her stomach. The remnants of the bite on her ankle twitch painfully, and it sinks in that her efforts meant nothing in the end. The snake still bit Manolo, and she's still going to live without him. And then it hits her; he went back, knowing there was a dangerous animal in the area. He did it in spite of that, or rather, because of that.
Maria starts to realize that Manolo loved her so much that he refused to live without her, and went back to be with her. But he was wrong, everyone was wrong; she's alive, and now he's dead, and she's without him. He's dead because of her, and the realization strikes worse than the snake. The cry bubbles up in her throat, and she throws herself against Joaquin's chest, shaking and whimpering.
He wraps his arms around her small form, and he no longer tries to hide his own tears. Both of them are wracked with guilt; someone precious is gone for good, and they both take responsibility for it.
After a few minutes, she calms down and pulls back, and they stand there, making eye contact, for an extended moment. Eventually, she musters a smile, and pats his cheek. "We'll get through this, Joaquin. The town needs us to."
He's reminded that they still need time to mourn, time to breathe and take things slow after all they've lost, and he opens his mouth to object. She stands on the tip of her toes, pulls him down slightly, and brushes a kiss against his chin, and he is silent. She isn't marrying him for love, but she does love him. Not a desperate, dramatic pining like the girls who swoon for him in the streets, but there's a love in her for him. There's love for both of her boys, but only one is still here, and if she let's him go, the town will suffer. So she puts on her brave face, and turns to leave the room. "I'll see you at the church, Joaquin."
He watches her leave, and turns to the desk in the room. He pulls open the top drawer, and stares at the medal hidden within. The artifact glows, its emerald shine taking on a more sickly hue, at least in his eyes. He doesn't understand; it had brought Maria back to him without even trying, and yet...
Manolo was still gone. All his attempts to fix him had done nothing, and now Maria was being pushed to marry him too soon. The young man has spent a decade under the medals protection, but today it betrays and befuddles him. One loved one has been saved, another is dead and gone. But why?
Bells ring from the church, and Joaquin closes the drawer; he doesn't need the medal. It can't help him with this.
Maria dabs at his bad eye with a cool cloth, and Joaquin flinches. "Hey, still sensitive!"
She laughs him off, but it's a friendly laugh. "Don't be a baby. It'll hurt worse if it gets infected!"
She's leaning against a chair by her bed, which he sits on, and she examines his eye. The first look at the injury had been a painful shock; the eye itself was almost gone entirely. Manolo had dropped his guitar, running to his side and fussing over it. The hero had waved him off, though he appreciates the concern. As far as he cares, one eye is worth having his two best friends back, and together, and happy.
Maria looks down at the rag in her hand, and grimaces. "Manoloooo, can you get a clean washcloth, por favor?"
A hand comes from behind Joaquin's head, and gently presses a cold, wet rag to his face. The man yelps in panic, falling backwards onto the bed, and he looks up to see Manolo laughing playfully. Maria shakes her head, but smiles, and socks him on the shoulder, and the guitarrista shrugs. "Anything to help a friend?"
Joaquin laughs half sarcastically, reaching for a pillow. "No, you shouldn't have."
Manolo ducks, letting out an amused shout as the pillow instead knocks Maria down. Joaquin sits up and takes her hand to help her off the ground, and she drags him off the bed with a devious grin. It's Maria and Manolo's wedding night, and they spend it playfighting with their dearest friend, and regaling each other with tales of their adventures.
Those who pass by Casa Sanchez are relieved and delighted to hear the laughter and celebration going on inside the house. After ten years, and enough tragedy for several lifetimes, the Three Amigos are back, and all is well in San Angel.