Hunched over in his prison cell, Ernesto stares at the ground. Nothing has gone his way since that stupid incident at the Sunrise Spectacular, where everyone had seen him confess his crimes. After being dragged out from under the bell (which hurt when it smashed him, just like it had when he was alive), he was immediately arrested, which he found completely disrespectful. He was Ernesto de la Cruz, the former greatest musician ever. They could at least treat him nicer.

Or they could've left him alone completely.

Either way, this was worse than being under the bell. Ernesto groaned. He was now the most hated person in the Land of the Dead. At least if he still had his lavish mansion, things would be a little better.

But he didn't.

And anyway, even his own home wouldn't protect him from what he experienced every night.

Usually, just before he closed his eyes, he'd hear familliar laughter. Or crowds calling his name as he began a performance. Or someone shouting angrily at him.

These nightmares of sounds in his brain plagued his nights up to the point where he was afraid to close his eyes for even a second. But even when he was awake, one person took up his thinking.

Ernesto grimmaced and pressed his hand to his head.

It's not like all thoughts about Héctor were bad ones: he usually thought about their time as kids, when Héctor was afraid to be away from Ernesto for five minutes. Or some of the concerts they did together, when Ernesto restrained himself from telling Héctor that dancing onstage was only aloud if you didn't jump around the stage like a freakshow.

But other times weren't so pleasent. That's when he thought about him and Héctor's fights when they had toured Mexico together. The words I'm going home echoed in Ernesto's head almost as much as Héctor's laughing did.

And there was absolutely nothing good about thinking of some of the fights him and Imelda had, where often he'd recieve one or two or even three boot hits, depending on how mad Imelda was.

When Ernesto was famous for music, he only thought about those thoughts half the time.

Now they were all he could think about, and it was all Héctor's fault. He should've stayed with Ernesto for the whole tour. Life would've been easier for both of them.

Ernesto felt his eyes pull downward, and he startled. He wasn't going to go to bed. Not tonight. Not with the thought of his former amigo still in his mind. Ernesto slapped his face. Stay awake, he thought, it'll be easier on you. Just stay awake and you'll be fine.

Not that Ernesto believed that he was going to be fine. But staying awake was way better than sleeping. Way better. Especially when he started hearing the voices in his mind again.

But this one was different. Worse.

Instead of five voices in his head, he only heard one.

Héctor's. Superhero!Ernesto cringed and shuddered.

While Héctor and Ernesto were used to each other's quirks, Ernesto didn't understand why Héctor chose that nickname for him. Yes, Ernesto was used to Héctor nicknaming his amigos, but Ernesto was no superhero. He wished Héctor had chosen a different one. Ernesto was not a superhero. He was a civilized human being.

As the guard running the jail that night called Lights Out, Ernesto scoffed.

No point in sleeping when he can't get Héctor's stupid voice out of his head.