Disclaimer: Everyone within this story belongs to Disney and Pixar.
Chapter 1: The Lost Músico
Long ago, around the time Mexico was experiencing its revolution, there lived a happy family in a quiet, peaceful village called Santa Cecilia. The family was made up of a husband and wife, their little girl, and the mamá's goofy twin brothers. The papá was a musician, and he would write songs for his family, and they would sing and dance and count their blessings. The papá's singing was so good that he became the most popular musician in town.
But one day, a terrible man broke into the family's home. He threatened the family if the papá didn't agree to take his guitar and songs and go away with the man. Terrified for his family's safety, the papá agreed. He promised his family that he would do everything he could to return to them. And then he took his guitar and left.
The family never saw him again.
But the monster who took him away went on to become famous, playing the papá's songs and claiming them as his own. No one believed the mamá or her hermanos when they insisted that the papá had written those songs. They told the family to keep quiet about it, and to worry about providing for their niña, who had, in their opinion, been abandoned by her papá.
The mamá knew in her heart that her músico was never coming home. But she didn't have time to cry over him. She had a daughter to care for. So after banishing all music from her home, she rolled up her sleeves and learned to make shoes. She could've made fireworks or candy or even toys. But she chose shoes. Her brothers learned as well. When the daughter was old enough, her mamá taught her how to make shoes. Then the girl's husband got roped in.
The family and the business grew. Music had torn the family apart. But shoes held them together.
"And that woman is your Abuelita Imelda. She built the family business from nothing, and has carried our family through rain and sun for many years. One day, you will inherit the zapateria from her, and continue to make the family proud."
Victória gave a vigorous nod as her mamá finished the story. Beside her, little Elena had already fallen asleep. Both girls had heard this tale a dozen times, but Victória at least always enjoyed listening to it. At four years old, she considered her family members to be her greatest heroes. Especially her sweet, shy papá, whom she had once witnessed knocking down a mugger twice his size to get a purse back for the neighbor lady; and her abuelita, who had survived a terrible attack on her family and rebuilt them from practically nothing.
"I want to be just like Abuelita someday," Victória exclaimed. "She's so strong and brave, and not scared to say what she likes. And she's really good at scaring mean people away with la chancla."
That made her mamá chuckle. Coco glanced back and forth between her two girls, suspecting that they would both take after their abuelita in one way or another. And she was fine with that. Her mamá was a rock, and Coco couldn't be more grateful for that. She had been only three years old when her family was attacked, and had blocked the trauma from her young memory. Her only understanding of the event came through the story her mamá would tell around the time of Dia de los Muertos every year, or repeat when she had to explain why the family did not allow music in their home. Though, on occasion, whenever Coco would sing her secret song softly at night, alone in her room while the girls were asleep and her husband Júlio had not yet come to bed, she would have flashes of a gentle face with a big nose and eyes so full of love that she could weep. Mamá may not like the painful memories associated with music, but Coco would cling desperately to them if they were the only way to also hang onto the memory of her father's face.
"Do you think our abuelo will ever come home?" Victoria asked.
Coco gave a sigh. "I'm afraid, mija, that if your abuelo could have come home, he would have by now."
"Is he dead?"
Coco stiffened at that. She hated acknowledging that reality. After all, there was no possible way her papá could still be alive, but a part of her kept clinging to the hope that he would miraculously appear in the compound of the hacienda one day and sweep her up in a big hug.
"Si, mija," she said after a moment. "He is gone."
"Then why isn't his picture on our ofrenda?"
It was just like Victória to want to gather all the facts. She was always very thorough and prompt about everything; prim, proper, persistent. But sometimes her questions cut like a knife.
"When the terrible man came and took your abuelo away, he also tore up our family portrait," Coco explained sadly. "He didn't even want your abuelo to be watching over us from the ofrenda."
"Oh," Victória said simply. She pondered this information for a moment, then asked, "What's Abuelo's name?"
"Héctor," Coco answered.
"What was he like?"
That drew a smile from Coco, as she reminisced about her papá, and what little she could recall of her life before he left.
"Well, he was a very good singer, and he played a beautiful white guitar. He and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs. He loved to play games with me. Sometimes we'd just run around in the meadow together, practicing our gritos. Whenever Mamá was in a bad mood, Papá would act very silly to try and make her smile. Most of the time it worked, but sometimes he got la chancla to the head. He would always encourage your tios to try new things. You know how much they love to tinker. And as silly as your abuelo was, he was also kind of shy. Mamá said he was a mess when they first met. He was stumbling all over his words, and he was convinced she wouldn't even give him a second glance."
"No, Mamá, I mean what did he look like?"
Coco was a bit stunned by that. "Wha...why do you ask, mija?"
"Well, Abuelita says that our ancestors come and visit us on Dia de los Muertos, but they can't come if they don't have a picture on the ofrenda. So if Abuelo is going to come visit us, then we need a picture for him. I can draw one. Abuelita says drawings count. But I don't know what Abuelo looks like."
Victória looked perfectly serious, sitting straight, adjusting her glasses slightly as she announced her plan, as if she were discussing a business strategy that she was about to execute. Despite her professional demeanor (that girl was a businesswoman in the making if ever there was one), her words and obvious determination to follow through on them warmed Coco's heart. And Coco knew she could do it, too; Victória was quite the budding artist.
"Okay, well," Coco began, trying to recall her father's face. "I...know he looked...he had a big nose and big ears. And...kind eyes."
"Mamá, I don't know how to draw 'kind' eyes."
Coco gave a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry, mija, but it's so hard for me to remember. It was so long ago." She stooped to scoop up a still-sleeping Elena in her arms. "If you want to know more about what your Abuelo Héctor looked like, you should try asking Abuelita, or maybe your tios."
Victoria raised a finger to her chin in contemplation, then said, "Si, I think I will do that. But I need paper first, so I can start drawing right away."
With that, the girl hopped up and ran off to her room. Coco smiled as she followed behind at her own pace, trying not to wake Elena. It was well past the toddler's bedtime, and should be Victória's as well, but Coco wasn't about to interrupt her firstborn's self-appointed mission. Not just yet, anyway.
Coco came into the kitchen after putting Elena down, overhearing her mamá talking to Victória as she approached.
"Mija, why do you want to know what your abuelo looks like?"
"Because he needs a picture on our ofrenda, Abuelita," Victória stated with a hint of exasperation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Mamá said the bad man who took Abuelo away also tore up his photo, so I'm going to draw a picture for him instead."
Imelda sat stunned for just a moment. "I...that's a good idea, Vicita. But...it's hard to remember without feeling sad."
"Well, he needs to be on the ofrenda, whether we feel sad or not, so I need to know what he looks like."
Coco gasped a bit at Victória's bluntness. She was never known to be disrespectful to her elders, especially her abuelita. "Victória!" she scolded. "You should be more sensitive! If Abuelita doesn't feel comfortable talking about this..."
"It's alright, mija," Imelda said, holding up a hand. "She's right, her abuelo needs to be on the ofrenda." She turned back to her granddaughter. "Abuelo Héctor was a very tall, skinny man. He was Mestizo; more Indian than Spanish. He had a big, hooked nose, with big ears and big eyebrows to match. And a pointy chin. With a little beard at the end of it. He was shy most of the time, but when he smiled, it was a big, goofy smile that made his whole face light up. And...I remember he had freckles. You couldn't see them unless you got very close to his face, but they were there. His hair used to hang down in his face a lot. It drove me crazy because no amount of brushing it would keep it in its place. People used to say he was very plain looking, and some even said he was too awkward and gangly. But I thought he was muy guapo."
Imelda was starting to get misty-eyed as she reminisced. Victória didn't notice, however, as she was too busy scribbling all this information down.
Just then, Júlio joined Coco. "What's going on?" he asked. "I thought both the girls were in bed."
"Our Vicita has decided she's going to be a forensic artist," Coco explained. "She's currently questioning a witness."
"Is that so?" Júlio said with a chuckle.
"I need quiet, por favor, Papá," Victória scolded. "I have to concentrate, or I'll never get Abuelo Héctor's face just right, and he can't come to see us on Dia de los Muertos." She looked up at her grandmother. "Abuelita, what clothes did Abuelo wear?"
Imelda gave a shaky sigh. Her emotions were starting to get the better of her. She rose from her seat at the table and said, "Sorry, mija, but this is a little difficult for me right now. And it's past your bedtime. Why don't we pick this up in the morning, okay?"
Victória gave a bit of a pout, but nodded. "Si, Abuelita. Good night."
Imelda stooped to let the little girl kiss her on the cheek, then watched as she collected her paper and pencil and left the kitchen.
"Your papá will be in to tuck you into bed shortly, mija," Coco called after her.
"So what brought all that about?" Júlio asked.
"I was just about to ask the same," Imelda said.
"Oh, Victória caught Elena trying to dance and scolded her for it," Coco explained. "When Elena asked why she couldn't dance, Victória told her music and dancing weren't allowed in the house. Naturally, Elena asked why, and Victória asked me to tell the story of how Papá was taken away. She asked me if Papá was dead, and what happened to his photo. Then she declared that she was going to replace it with a drawing."
"That's our hija," Júlio said proudly. "Always ready with a plan to succeed, no matter what life throws at her."
"Just like her abuelita," Coco said.
Imelda gave a small eye roll, but couldn't help basking in the praise.
Suddenly, Coco's twin tios burst into the kitchen, one of them shaking a newspaper.
"Have you seen the paper?"
"It's headline news!"
"Every radio station is talking about it too!"
"It's gone international!"
The other three people in the room internally groaned. The switchback talking typical of twins, they were used to. But Oscar and Felipe had never been terribly adept at cutting right to the point, which annoyed their sister to no end.
"What's gone international?" Imelda asked curtly.
Oscar unfurled the paper, revealing the large photo splashed across it, featuring a familiar and hated face. Above it, bold letters proclaimed the news that the twins shouted aloud, in unison:
"Ernesto de la Cruz is dead!"
Their audience gasped audibly, glancing at one another in shock. For a moment, they couldn't believe it was actually true. But there it was, in the Sunday paper, right on the front page.
The monster who had taken Héctor Rivera from his family was finally, albeit unexpectedly, dead.
AN: My other multi-chapter Coco story will be on hold while I focus on this one. I will still update my one-shot stories as the inspiration strikes. But this idea came to me and wouldn't leave me alone, so I'd like to develop it. It will follow the movie format for the most part, with three acts and the narrative roughly paralleling that of the canon storyline. How quickly I'll be able to update, I don't know at this time. So bear with me.
The Cursed!Coco AU is one of the more popular ones in the fandom, but most Cocolocos portray Coco as a child around Miguel's age. That often necessitates killing off de la Cruz before he has a chance to become famous to the point that he was in 1942. I wanted to keep de la Cruz's date of death and explore the idea of Coco as a young wife and mother, journeying to the Land of the Dead to seek justice for her father. So this story will take some inspiration from the Secret of Nimh, except without a sick child on death's doorstep. Instead, it'll be an impulsive yet determined mother who invited herself into death's house for dinner and an interrogation.