Hiya folks! Here's the next oneshot for this collection! And with that... IT'S DONE! THIS IS THE LAST ONE! I AM FREE!

*thud*

So... big thanks to Jaywings and Rainy for helping me out with this. You guys are great!

I hope you guys have enjoyed this collection. Remember that if you want to see more of my fics, I'm more active on AO3. See you 'round the intarwebz! But for now...

Prompt: Slammed into a Wall
Characters: Héctor and Ernesto, pre-movie

"...so after we're done with this town, I think we can hit a few more stops before we get to Mexico City."

Héctor blinked wearily, still staring out the window. His sigh fogged up the cool glass, but it didn't matter; all he could see was the train station at Santa Cecilia, his little girl rushing up to him and jumping into his arms, and his wife wrapping the both of them into the biggest hug.

"Héctor, are you listening?"

"Oh... sí," he muttered, shifting in the worn train seat. He pressed his hands against his back, arching it until his spine popped. As he stretched, he took a moment to survey the train: it was quiet other than the clacking of the wheels below them, and the light of the setting sun cast a terrible red glow through the opposite window. He winced. It was too bright to face Ernesto directly, so he stared down at the floor instead. "This is just... so much longer than I expected to be away."

"Heh! It feels like no time at all to me," Ernesto said. He twisted in his seat to stretch his back. "Though this is probably the slowest train we've ridden yet."

"Do you think we'll—"

A piercing whistle interrupted him, followed by a shout from the conductor. Héctor didn't catch the words, but the meaning was clear enough, and he grabbed his suitcase and guitar, Ernesto following suit.

"Finally!" Ernesto said, eagerly watching the window. "I thought we'd never get here."

"But I was going to ask," Héctor said hurriedly, finally looking his friend in the face. "Do you think we'll be back by... by my birthday? I want to celebrate it with mi familia."

Brow furrowing, Ernesto sat back in his chair. "Oh," he muttered, and sighed.

Something tugged at Héctor's heart; he had a feeling what Ernesto was going to say, and his grip tightened against his luggage handles.

"I... didn't want to ruin the surprise, but the thing is, amigo, I was going to take you someplace nice for your birthday," Ernesto said finally. "We won't be heading back quite yet by then, and I thought it would be good for you to have some fun, you know?"

The train came to a stop, and Héctor rose from his seat, turning away toward the window so Ernesto wouldn't see his expression. This time when he looked outside, all he could see was the train station of an unfamiliar town, streaked red and unwelcoming in the sunset.

"I've been saving up for it," Ernesto went on, patting him on the back as a silent urge to keep moving. He kept pace with Héctor easily as they stepped off the train. "Heh, after all, I don't want to take you to some shabby place and give you food poisoning."

With a roll of his eyes, Héctor elbowed him. "You'll never let me live that down, will you?" But something else Ernesto had said pricked at his memory, and he suddenly gave a jolt, stooping to set down his luggage.

"Héctor?"

He fished through his suitcase for a moment before pulling out an envelope, and sighed. Good, it was still there. Setting it back in the suitcase, he closed it up with just the corner sticking out of it, so he could more easily find it.

"Oh, that," Ernesto said as Héctor rose to his feet, and followed him out into the city. "You know, at first I'd thought you were writing a new song."

"No, I... haven't been inspired lately." He shrugged helplessly. "But I wanted to get it mailed when we arrived—Imelda needs the money." He swung his guitar case over his shoulder and shielded his eyes as he looked around the town. The streets were woefully unfamiliar and busy, especially with the crowd leaving the train station. "Could you help me find the post office?"

"Ay, hermanito, you can worry about that tomorrow," Ernesto said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've got to get our luggage to the hotel."

"I don't want to leave the money sitting around!" Héctor cried, shrugging Ernesto's hand away. Suddenly aware that a few people were staring, he lowered his voice as he resumed walking. "You remember what happened last time."

"Sí, but we caught that 'housekeeper' before he made off with it, remember?"

"I don't want to risk it."

They stopped where the street split. Ernesto looked one way, and Héctor looked the other. "Mira," Ernesto said, pointing down the street. "I already got directions to the hotel when we were on the train. Let's just go there before it gets dark."

"No, I want to go to the post office now—it's getting late, and I don't want to get there when it's already closed."

"Why can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"I want to make sure Imelda gets it as soon as possible, or that... something doesn't happen to it."

"This is ridiculous—I know the way to the hotel, but you don't know your way around here! How are you going to find—"

"By trying. I have to," Héctor said, and ended it there, firmly marching in the opposite direction.

"Ugh, fine," Ernesto called after him. "I'll be two blocks down from here! Come back when you're done."

Watching his friend leave, Héctor heaved a tired sigh. He never understood, did he? He didn't know what it was like to have a wife and a child at home, not sure if they had enough money to eat. The letters Imelda had forwarded to him were always positive, but what if she was… well, what if she was just trying to make him feel better? Ernesto would never understand that—he had no family he needed to provide for.

Still... he'd talk it over with him later, after he dropped this letter off and returned. Two blocks down—he would remember it.

He did not remember it.

Or, well, he did remember "two blocks down," but hadn't kept track of where he'd been walking, and soon found himself in completely unfamiliar surroundings, in a city he couldn't even remember the name of, who-knows-how-far past the train station, and past twilight and drawing into night. His arms were aching from carrying his suitcase, and he was starting to wish he'd just gone with Ernesto to the hotel to at least set this stuff down.

Heaving a tired sigh, he rested his suitcase against the ground. His shoulders creaked as he rolled them while he surveyed the city around. The streets weren't well lit, but the night was clear, and the moonlight on the cobblestones and houses might have looked pretty had Héctor not felt so utterly lost. He'd been too tired to think to ask for directions until he realized there weren't any other people around. He could've even asked someone on the train, come to think of it...

Dios, he was too tired for this.

Something shifted against the cobblestones, and Héctor turned just as a man snatched his suitcase and bolted.

"Hey, wh—wait!" Too bewildered to fully panic, Héctor spun around, long legs easily enabling him to catch up with the man. "Wait, wait, wait! Stop! That's mine!"

When the man refused to turn, Héctor lunged forward, grabbing the suitcase and knocking the man off-balance. He himself collapsed, knees banging into the hard ground. His arms gripped the suitcase close to his chest.

Before he could catch his breath, someone grabbed the back of his collar, easily hoisted him back up to his feet, and slammed his chest against the nearest wall. Héctor gasped, winded, his head turned to the side, but the terror didn't hit him until he saw the moonlight hit against a metal surface, followed by something sharp poking under his jaw.

"All right, mariachi," the man said in a low voice, close enough that his terrible breath could be smelt. He pressed the knife's edge closer to Héctor's throat. "Give me the suitcase and I won't have to use this."

His thoughts moved rapidly—he was being held at knife-point, and there was no one around to help him. If he gave up his suitcase, the man might let him go, but that would risk losing his letters from Imelda and Coco, his clothing, his songbook—

"J-just—" he gulped, failing to swallow the lump in his throat, "—just take the money." He truly didn't want to lose it, and part of him was angry for giving into his terror in this moment, but a week's worth of pay was not worth his life—not worth being unable to see his family ever again. "Take the money and... and leave, por favor."

"Just the money, eh?" The robber cracked a grin. "Why, what else you got in here, mariachi? Some jewelry some señorita gave you to remember her by? Or something even more valuable than that?" He chuckled lowly. "Makes sense you'd have a bit more on you, if you can spare to send something back home."

He'd overheard him talking to Ernesto! Mentally, Héctor kicked himself—this wasn't what he'd wanted! "No, no, that wasn't what I—"

Keeping the knife pointed at Héctor's throat, the man stepped back. "Open it up, then," he said, indicating the suitcase on the ground. "Let's see what you got in there."

He was shaking badly, but maybe if he showed the robber there was nothing else here he'd want, he would just take the money and leave, and he could get out of this alive.

Héctor began to stoop down, watching the man warily. To his relief, the man drew away the knife and removed his hand from his back. Quite literally able to breathe more easily, he knelt down toward the suitcase, preparing to unlatch it.

"Héctor!"

Ernesto's voice, shockingly close, startled him enough to jump to the side. In the split second he moved, he saw the glint of a knife raised to stab him.

In that same split second, the robber whipped his head over his shoulder, where Héctor could now see Ernesto—he'd crept up behind them. Ernesto roughly shoved the man into the wall, snatching Héctor's fallen suitcase and bashing it against the robber's head. He fell, and Ernesto bolted.

Héctor scrambled after him, his heart thudding against his ribcage even as the man shouted something dazedly behind them. They took several sharp turns, and Héctor had to book it to keep up with Ernesto. Just when he felt he could run no further, Ernesto stopped at a doorway. Hector stopped beside him, panting.

"Did we lose him?" Héctor asked between gasps.

"Hopefully." Ernesto pulled a key out of his pocket. "but just in case..." Ernesto yanked him through the doorway before slamming the door shut and locking it. Belatedly Héctor realized it was the door to the hotel.

"Dios," Ernesto hissed, "what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, clearly." Automatically he shrugged off his guitar case, collapsing onto the nearest bed. (The only bed, he realized—Ernesto was trying to save money, as he'd said earlier.) "I was just... thinking about Imelda, and Coco. How much they'll need that money."

"Not as much as you need a brain," Ernesto grunted, tossing the suitcase to the floor. But he sighed, taking a seat next to him. "That was too close a call, hermanito."

"Gracias, hermano," Héctor said. He eased himself upright. "If you hadn't been there, I could've... something could have happened."

"It could have." Ernesto stared distantly at a spot on the floor.

For a moment Héctor imagined if their situation had been reversed. The image made him shudder, and he forced it out of his mind.

Finally Ernesto looked back at him. Though he didn't meet his eyes, Héctor could still see a mix of fear and relief on his face (along with something else Héctor couldn't quite identify) as he held himself tensely. "I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Eh, probably still be a successful musician," Héctor said, cracking a grin. Ernesto gave a start, but he went on: "And not have to deal with me wandering off in some random town."

Shaking his head, Ernesto slowly dropped his shoulders. "Heh, probably." A smile crossed his face, and he finally looked Héctor in the eye. "By the way, I found out where the post office is."

"You... did? How?"

"By asking the hotel clerk."

Héctor rubbed his face with his hands. He was not on the ball today.

"Now how about sticking with me from now on, amigo?" Ernesto said, and jabbed him in the side with his elbow.

"Heh... sure thing, 'Nesto."