Author's Note:
This is a series of one shots based off the Biker AU; you can read more about on my tumblr [heyheyitsjuju]. The tag is DustDevils!AU.

This chapter is really a prologue to set the scene as well as introduce Officer Vasquez, who has no idea he's about to make a career chasing these boys all over town.

A man stepped out of the Santa Cecelia bus terminal, looking around at the sleepy scene spread out before him. He didn't seem to belong there; even without the impeccable charro suit or the expensive guitar case, the impression of city life seemed to cling to his combed hair, pouring from his clean-shaven jaw and distant expression. And yet this was his hometown; as he stood in the dusky twilight, a retroactive wave of homesickness filled him with a hard, desperate yearning. He'd missed home more than he realized. It only cemented the notion in his mind that had dragged him from the splendor of Mexico City's nightlife: this is where I belong.

He hefted the guitar case over his shoulder, black leather catching the lights from the surprisingly modern terminal. His suitcase was bulging, hastily packed in his hurried departure from the life he'd been steadily carving out for himself. He paused only to pull out his phone, opening a mostly one-sided conversation between him and his (ex?) best friend. He had been left on read, but he couldn't find it in him to fret over the lack of response. He'd known the minute he flaked that he would be in for a serious cold-shoulder treatment.

He'll come around, he assured himself quietly. He always comes around.

Taking a deep breath, he set off in the direction of home. The streets were almost empty, and those who saw him didn't seem to recognize him. Most everyone was inside, resting from a hard day's work and enjoying a meal with their family. With any luck, he'd be joining them soon.

In his hurry he dodged the main roads, taking the same alley shortcuts he'd been using all his life. The guitar and the suitcase were heavy, and he had to pause often to swap hands when the blood left his fingers. His back was aching from the long bus ride, and his legs burned with exertion. He'd gotten used to catching a cab, a plane, a bus anywhere he needed to go. It was partly his friend's fault—stars didn't walk the streets like everyone else.

It took too long for his liking to reach his street. The lone streetlamp at the end of the intersection was barely enough to see by, and the sun was already sinking below the horizon. He made his way by the light from his neighbor's windows, breaking into a jog and ignoring the pull of his muscles as he zeroed in on the fenced-in house at the end of the road. Home! I'm home! Oh, I can't wait to see everyone; I can't wait to hug….

He slowed to a stop, staring at the house in confusion. The front light was gone, wires hanging in the open air. The windows were shuttered, and no light filtered through the cracks. There was nothing to suggest that anyone lived there; no car, no lights, not even a potted plant on the front stoop.

The suitcase fell to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

"W-what?" He managed to wheeze, eyes wide and panicked. He stumbled to the front door, knocking three times in quick succession. They're asleep. That's all. Calm down, they just went to bed early. He waited, far longer than anyone would need to. She can't hear me. She's asleep. He knocked again, louder this time. A shudder ran down his spine.

Don't expect me to be waiting for you, Héctor Rivera!

She'd warned him, hadn't she? He'd known she was furious when she wouldn't let him kiss her goodbye. She'd hung up on all his calls, never even looked at his texts, refused to answer his emails. He'd fallen back on letters, sending the family postcards, pictures folded up and tucked into notes filled from top to bottom with his love. He wondered now if they'd ever gotten them. They had gone from city to city so fast without any kind of forwarding; any letter returned-to-sender would have been thrown away. What if she'd never read any of them?

He sunk down to the stoop, head between his knees. They were gone. She was feisty and hotheaded; it was one of the things he loved about her, despite the problems it caused him. But he never expected her to act on her threat. Had she taken them all out of town? Did anyone know where she'd gone? What about his daughter? Didn't he have rights as a father? But if she'd told the judge that he'd abandoned his family… could they take her away from him forever?!

How did he even start to go about finding them?

Imelda Rivera was a sensible woman. She had to be, after all; an entrepreneur of a profitable business had to have a steady head on her shoulders. No one else managed Rivera Shoes' online presence. She was the face of the business, the proud woman in the signature purple suit who networked with clients, advocated for local businesses, and refused corporate offers while still managing to make a sale. At the end of the day it was up to her to make enough to keep the shop running, the bills paid, and her family fed.

If she'd had a partner to help, maybe she could have relaxed more. But she couldn't even have a partner in life, it seemed; he'd skipped out on a wild goose chase for fame, leaving them with a mortgage and no money. Her anger towards that man was only dwarfed by the loneliness his absence created. She wasn't alone, of course: she had Coco, and she'd sent last year for her twin brothers to help when the orders grew too numerous to handle alone. But they couldn't make her laugh the way he did, or hold her close in the middle of the night, or sing the special song he'd written for her and her alone.

Plus, with the way the boys acted it was more like taking care of three children instead of one. Even at sixteen, the twins were much more of a handful than her own toddler. Coco was only four, but already she seemed to have more common sense then the two of them combined; Imelda had lost count of the times she'd threatened to send them back home to Mamá, frustrated beyond belief at their teenage attitudes.

Even now, Coco was being a little angel; the nurse had given her a coloring book and a box of crayons, warning them all that the doctor might be a while. She was happily employed with them, stopping every so often to twirl on the doctor's metal stool with a shriek of infantile laughter. She was so well behaved compared to the pouting knuckleheads laid up in two identical hospital beds, one sporting a cast on his arm while the other had a fractured collarbone. Both were covered in all manner of cuts and bruises; their eyes were blackened, their faces swollen.

"I'd like to know how this happened." She crossed her arms, glaring at them. The doctors could tell them apart by their injuries; Imelda could tell with a single glance, though even she sometimes wondered just how she knew that Oscar was Oscar and Felipe was Felipe. It was in the set of their mouths, she often decided, though even that wasn't always true. Oscar could be serious and deadpan just as often as Felipe could grin and snicker. She was their hermana; she just knew.

And right now, she knew that they were hiding something. Sheep, even stampeding ones, didn't cause what looked suspiciously like toned-down road rash. And they were very clearly lying through their teeth; Oscar's eyes kept drifting towards the ceiling as he spoke, while Felipe's went towards the window. They had never mastered the art of looking her in the eye when making up a story. Before either of them could repeat their excuses, a brisk knock interrupted her interrogation.

"Riveras?" The doctor entered, followed by a policeman. Imelda took one look at the cop before turning to the twins, her mouth pressed in a white line. They shrunk against the pillows, identical grimaces greeting the newcomers. "Well, I see we've got a party in here!" he joked, looking around at the twins, Imelda standing between them, and Coco on his rolling chair. He nodded at Imelda, motioning to the policeman behind him. "I'm Dr. Oropeza, and this is Officer Vasquez. You two," he addressed the twins, "are very lucky. You could have broken your necks, the way you fell off that bike."

"Excuse me… did you say bike?" Imelda stiffened, the corners of her mouth falling more with each passing minute. "You mean bicycle, right?" Her voice was high and pleasant for the officer's benefit, though her eyes blazed with hellfire. Dr. Oropeza seemed uncomfortable, tugging at his tie.

"Well, no—I mean the motorbike." He glanced from her to the twins and back. "I'm sorry, are you their mother?"

"They wish." She crossed her arms, nails biting into her flesh through the sleeves of her suit coat. "I'm their sister. They're staying with me to go to school in town."

"I see." Officer Vasquez spoke for the first time, pulling a pen from his pocket and clicking it rapidly. "You're their legal guardian, then? I suppose I should tell you exactly what happened."

"Oh, please do." She forced a tight smile onto her face, fingers beating a rapid tempo on her arm. Coco looked up from her coloring page, grinning toothily at the doctor as she brandished her masterwork en cours. He smiled back and leaned over to quietly compliment her work, keeping her busy while her mother was preoccupied.

"According to the farmer and eyewitness statements, these boys tried to jump a moving herd of sheep with a motorcycle." Oscar made a noise and they turned. He blushed, sinking into the pillow.

"We didn't try, Officer. We jumped them just fine."

"It was the coming down that didn't go so well," Felipe mumbled, looking at his cast. Both the officer and Imelda glared at them fiercely; they fell silent once more, exchanging expressions of pure dread.

"Ahem." Officer Vasquez cleared his throat pointedly. "As I was saying… none of the sheep were harmed, and so the farmer has decided not to press charges. But this one," he pointed to Felipe, "was thrown from the back of the bike, which proceeded to roll over the other one. Luckily for them, the farmer was coming out to investigate and called emergency services. But they were riding with no helmets, no protective gear—"

"And no permission," Imelda finished. She worked her jaw, composing herself as much as possible. "Just whose bike were you riding?" she asked, smile going eerie. "I'd like to know who to thank for these bills."

"That's what I'm here for," Officer Vasquez admitted. "This bike belongs, at the moment, to these two. What I want to know is who sold it to you? I've checked and neither of you even have a minor permit. Do you know how dangerous it is to buy a bike off the street? Did you check the brakes? The motor? What if it had caught fire and burned you both alive? Did you even think about what might happen?" he growled, sounding more like a protective parent than an officer of the law. With each question, the boys looked more and more ashamed until they were on the verge of tears, trying to hang onto their dignity.

"No, sir." Officer Vasquez pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it before sighing.

"The two of you don't have any type of vehicle insurance either, do you?"

"N-no, sir."

"Just how much trouble are they in?" Imelda asked. "Are we talking about jail time?" The twins gulped, but she ignored them for the moment. Officer Vasquez met her eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, looking at the beds with a thoughtful frown.

"They… technically weren't on the road. The most I could get them for is breaking onto private property, and like I said, the farmer isn't going to press charges. But my suggestion to you is that you let me confiscate the bike. It might be stolen; I'll have to run the plates to be sure, but with something off the street, it's better safe than sorry."

"I agree wholeheartedly. You have my permission to take it."

"But—!" Felipe winced, clutching at his arm as he sat up.

"We paid for that! It's not stolen, it's ours!" Oscar protested.

"Not anymore, it's not!" Imelda snapped. "You're lucky I don't make you dismantle it yourselves and sell it for scrap! Officer, you are more than welcometo take the bike," she repeated. Officer Vasquez nodded.

"Will do. And my suggestion for you…." He approached the beds, turning his sternest gaze on them. "You boys stop this nonsense. You could have been killed, and what's worse: you worried your sister for no good reason. This kind of reckless path will end with jail time. The last thing Santa Cecelia needs is a pair of no-good punks running around. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Officer," they replied sullenly. "We understand."

"If you obey your elders and do well in school, you'll grow up to be fine citizens. No more of this street bike stuff, okay? Promise me." He knelt, looking from one bed to the other. "If you buy a bike in the future—" Imelda snorted behind him, "—you wait to do it legally, when you have a license."

"We promise." He nodded.

"I'm going to hold you to it." He stood, looking down his nose at them before turning to shake Imelda's hand. "I'll take care of the bike. You may have to bring these two to the station to sign statements, though."

"That's fine. Gracias, Officer Vasquez." She smiled at him, grateful; she didn't know everything about the law, but she was sure he was pulling a few strings to give her brothers a break. "Thank you for everything." He chuckled.

"I have two grown boys of my own," he said, as if that explained everything. "It's a phase. They'll grow out of it." He winked at Coco, who giggled and waved as he left the room.

"Well, now that all that's settled, I don't suppose anyone would like to see the X-rays?" Dr. Oropeza suggested. The twins brightened, eyes going wide at the thought of seeing their own skeletons.

"Can we?!"

"You two are not worth this much." Imelda fumed, hitching Coco higher on her hip as they walked through the dark streets. The twins lagged behind, more out of anger for the loss of their bike than any real pain. The medicine they'd been given at the hospital took off the edge, and they had stronger painkillers to help them sleep when they got home.

"But Imelda—"

"And don't think you aren't grounded. You'll be lucky to leave the house for school, I'm so mad at you!"

"I don't see that we did anything wrong." Imelda stopped, whirling on her heel to scowl at Oscar.

"You're so lucky I have a child in my arms, or I'd break your bone all the way through for saying something like that."

"Hey!"

"Do you know how embarrassing it is to have a police officer tell me what you did wrong? I give you wages for working at the shop and this is what you do with them?! Well, consider your pay cut!"

"You can't do that!"

"I can so! I'm both your boss and your sister. You—" She stopped short, seeing a shadow slumped against their front door. "Who is that?" The twins stopped behind her, peering around each shoulder to see what she was talking about. The shadow shifted, but from this angle it was impossible to see if they were noticed or not. Imelda clutched her sleeping daughter to her chest, innards freezing; her first instinct was to hand Coco off to one of the boys and order them to run for help, but they were injured. She didn't know whether to trust Felipe to handle her one-handed, or for Oscar to risk further damage by trying to hold her with a fracture. Her hesitation was torture, the knowledge in the back of her mind that if someone were to pull a gun on them, she was powerless to do more than throw her own body in the middle.

"Hey you!" Before she could move, the twins surrounded her. Oscar put his body, injuries and all, between her and the shadow; Felipe pressed against her with his uninjured side, offering more protection to Coco while keeping her flank covered. "Show yourself! What do you want!?"

"No," she whispered, sandwiching Coco between her and Felipe as she grabbed for the purse hanging at her hip. She dug for her keys, preparing to offer either an escape route into the house or a sharp weapon if need be. The shadow looked at before drawing to full height; the shape of it, barely illuminated by their closest neighbor's porch light, stirred something in the back of her mind.

"Step into the light!" Felipe demanded, sounding much older and braver than Imelda knew he was. She reached around to grab Oscar's forearm with her free hand, keys clutched between her fingers. If she had to turn tail and run, they'd be coming right along with her. The shadow obeyed, walking forward until the light showed it to be a man, tall and slender with large ears and larger eyes. He stared at them, mouth partly open, and then cleared his throat.

"I-Imelda?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes lingering on her face. She came unstuck slowly, a rusty machine that needed oiling. One breath, then another, emotions rolling through so quickly that she barely had time to register them. Shock, happiness, anger, confusion: a cocktail of feeling that centered on one point: He came back.

"Who're you?" Felipe squinted. "Wait..."

"Héctor!?" Oscar squeaked. "What're you doing here?" Héctor didn't answer, first walking, then jogging in their direction. The look on his face was one of intense relief, his arms rising as if to embrace them all at once. He slowed when he came close enough to see the cast on Felipe's arm, his puzzlement chased by a warm glow at the sight of Coco nestled in her mother's arms. The twins moved away, and he reached for his daughter; Imelda stepped back, eyes flashing.

"Don't you dare wake her up," she hissed, shoulders hunching protectively over her child. "If she knows you're here, she'll never go back to sleep." Héctor obediently stopped, unable to keep the hurt from his eyes. She looked away, trying to ignore the pang she felt at the sight. "Oscar, Felipe, unlock the door and go on inside."

"Imelda—"

"Shh." She glared at him, handing the keys off to Felipe. The twins scrambled to obey, unlocking the door and throwing it open before disappearing inside with their bag of combined medicine. She followed, pretending that she only kept the door open because kicking it shut would wake Coco. She heard him follow behind her, the soft thud of his guitar case hitting the sofa. A hand touched her shoulder and she stiffened, ready to smack him away; he stopped her long enough to look at Coco once more, bending his head to kiss her cheek. She stirred but didn't wake, crumpling the coloring page she held in her fist. He smiled, the expression fading when their eyes met. He stepped back, letting her by.

She passed through the kitchen, where Felipe was reading the instructions on the pill bottles while Oscar filled two glasses with water. They both looked at her, questions swimming in their eyes. She shook her head, one finger to her lips as she went to the back of the house. She opened Coco's bedroom door, laying her down on the bed before gently tugging the paper from her hands. She replaced it with her doll, smiling when the child hugged it close; she smoothed the hair over her forehead, kissing her temple before pulling the well-worn quilt over her tiny body.

"Goodnight, mija." She crept out of the room, gently closing the door behind her before walking back into the kitchen. "Just one of those," she advised Felipe as he began shaking out pain pills. "It's late and you still have medicine in your system."

"Okay." He replaced all but two of the pills, handing one to Oscar before downing it with a grimace. "Ugh," he grumbled, looking into the water glass.

"Finish it," she ordered, pointing to the water. "Then get to your rooms and go to bed; no video games."

"Aw, come on—" Oscar wisely shut up as Imelda's nostrils flared. He gulped back his water, Felipe following suit before heading to their bedroom as quickly as possible. Felipe turned at the last second, looking at her before offering a tiny smile.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She turned from the door, not seeing how it didn't shut all the way, two brown eyes stacked on top of each other as they peered through the crack. "Héctor, you might as well get in here." He slunk through the archway, hands wringing. "Well?"

"Um… hi." He nodded to the bedrooms. "What happened to them?"

"That doesn't matter. Why did you show your face around here? Did Ernesto kick you out of the band?" Her tone was scathing, some of her lingering anger from the twins directed at him along with a year's worth of pain.

"No, I left on my own." His lips twisted as he looked around the kitchen, avoiding her eyes. "Did you—did you get any of my letters?"

"Yes," she said slowly, arching a brow. "And your emails, and your text messages, and your voicemails."

"Then why didn't you answer?" She tore the pocketbook from her shoulder, letting it fall on the table before crossing her arms.

"Because you didn't deserve the time of day, that's why!" She let herself be louder, knowing that Coco would be dead to the world now that she was in her bed and behind closed doors. "You left, Héctor!"

"I know—"

"I had to cover for all your stupid bills!"

"I—yeah—" He winced. "But I tried to send—"

"You think your stupid money orders helped?!" she snarled, the words she'd wanted to say to him for months clawing their way out of her chest. "They were barely enough to pay the mortgage, much less groceries and the electric bill and—" He looked more and more like a kicked puppy, watching her with those sad, pitiful eyes. She'd never accepted his calls, knowing that she'd break at the first sound of his voice. Now, the only way to keep him from talking was to talk over him, and she had more than enough to talk about. "We nearly went bankrupt! Do you know what I had to do?! I had to start a business just to keep up with the debt you left behind when you were out seizing your moment!" She quoted Ernesto's often spoken words with sarcastic air-quotes, trying to keep her hands from balling into fists.

"Y-You did?" He looked around, as if the business was going to hit him in the face. "What did you do?"

"I make shoes." She looked down at her own pair, sensible flats with the Rivera logo on their toes. He gaped at them.

"You made those?!" She looked up, ready to cut into him again, and then saw the look of reverent awe on his face. It was enough to make her pause, blushing.

"And so what if I did? It just proves that I don't need you to keep us alive. I'm doing well for myself and here you are, crawling back to me after your stupid plan didn't work—"

"What are you talking about?!" Now it was Héctor's turn to frown. "Our plan was working fine. We had more gigs then ever!"

"You came back to gloat, then!"

"No! I came back because I missed…" He faltered, looking away. "You. I missed you. And Coco."

"You should have thought of that before you left." He rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

"Imelda, I mean it. I'm not built for that life; Ernesto is. He's the one that likes the stage. I'm just the songwriter." He sighed, crossing his arms before nodding. "Everything I need to write songs is here. I'm going to email Ernesto new songs," he said, as though they hadn't fought about it at all. "I'll work from home, the way I used to…" He hesitated, biting his lower lip. "That is, if you'll let me stay."

"Héctor—"

"If you don't me to, I—I'll think of something. I'll get a house in town, or—" He stopped himself, closing his eyes. "I'm just… you were right, and I was wrong. I should have never left Santa Cecelia. I should have never left you and Coco. I'm sorry." She stopped short of a scoff, eyes widening. His tone touched her; this wasn't one of his timid, schmoozing 'I know I'm wrong but I as long as I get my way' fake apologies. This was sincere.

"Well…" She cleared her throat, trying to talk around the lump forming there. "You look like you've been crying," she snapped, trying to change the subject. He smiled weakly.

"There wasn't anyone here when I came. I thought—I thought you'd left."

"What?" That was surprising. "Why on earth would you think something like that?!"

"Because you told me you would," he croaked, wiping at his eyes quickly.

"We were at the hospital!" She flushed, partly from shame. Now that he mentioned it, she did remember saying something like that to him when he was getting ready to leave. He ought to know not to take anything I say seriously when I'm that mad! But that was her fault for saying it in the first place; he'd looked to her for support in following his dream, and instead she'd given him cause to think she'd go.

"Hey, hey." He gave a watery chuckle. "Don't you start crying on me, or I'll start up again."

"I'm not crying," she protested, even as his form went blurry. Her lips trembled and she looked away, blinking as fast as she could. "I'm just… I'm not crying." He said nothing, raising his arms, lowering them, raising them again as he tried to make up his mind. "No," she said, knowing what he wanted. "No, don't come here—don't—Héctor!"

His arms wrapped around her, drawing her against his chest. She was almost ashamed at how quickly she cracked, grabbing handfuls of his jacket as she clutched him to her. The need to feel him again overrode her fury and she pressed her ear to his chest, feeling the rapid pound of his heart beneath her cheek. He squeezed her as if he meant to push her into his skin, hands rising to her hair before going back to her spine, running along her jaw, trembling fingers trying to take all of her in at once.

"Don't leave again—"

"Never—" She turned just enough to bury her face, voice muffled.

"Promise."

"I do. I promise." He tilted her face up to his, wiping the wet trails from her cheeks. "Imelda…."

"You swear on your life, Héctor Rivera." Her hands covered his, holding them against her cheeks. "On your life."

"I swear." He pressed his lips fleetingly to her forehead. "I'm home for good." She dragged him down to kiss him properly, smiling against his mouth.

In the hallway the door finally closed, the two boys on the other side making equally grossed-out expressions. They crept to their beds, not trusting Héctor to keep her occupied long enough to risk venturing outside the room. Oscar tried to settle on his back, Felipe twisting so that his broken arm was on top. The pills were starting to take effect, their yawning long and drawn out.

Felipe reached out with his uninjured hand, grasping at the empty air between their beds. Oscar met him, their knuckles brushing in a light fist bump. Neither of them could sleep until they'd had that last touch, something they'd done for as long as either of them could remember. Imelda pointed out once that they'd even done it as infants, touching briefly in the crib they shared.

"If he's back," Felipe said softly, keeping his voice down, "then she might not be so mad."

"Maybe we'll get out of our grounding early?" Oscar pointed out.

"Or she'll be so distracted that she'll forget." A pause. "I don't guess we can get our bike back, though."

"Not from the police." Oscar scowled at the ceiling. "That was a whole year's pay."

"I know. It was for me, too." He muffled a yawn. "Do you suppose we save up for licenses now?"

"That sounds about right. We did promise to get a bike legally, after all."

"It'll take some time… but I think we can do it."

"Me too…. Does your arm hurt? I think mine does, kinda."

"My collarbone hurts, too."

"Oh. Well. Hmm."

"Mm… I'm tired. Goodnight, Oscar."

"Night, Felipe."