A big thank you to Cara Beatrice Green, FireChildSlytherin5, superlc529, Lavonathon, 9aza, loracarol, SingingIntrovert and guests for your reviews last chapter!
I recently posted this story over on ao3, as well :)
xxxx
Héctor finds it strange.
For so long, he had been trying his hardest to get to the Land of the Living. He'd done his best to try and see Coco before her memory of him faded forever, and he would no longer be able to even attempt to see her.
Now he's stuck in the very place he had been trying so hard to get to, but now he wants to go back to where he had been trapped for so long.
Oh, the irony.
You're alive again. You should be happy, he tells himself sternly.
How many people get to come back to life?
No one.
As far as Héctor knows, he's the first to ever come back to life. But it hadn't been his choice to come back to life. Ernesto and his group forced this fate on him, just as he had done so long ago except with poison. They might not have known what would happen exactly, but Ernesto had assumed it wouldn't be anything good. It was a good thing to be brought back to life, but not for him. He had died too long ago at the hands of his former best friend, and Héctor has to wonder if Ernesto's murder had played a part in the man's fate, as well. He hadn't been anywhere near the Final Death, yet sunrise in the Land of the Living had taken him in almost the same way.
Héctor can only guess that it doesn't matter if one is well-remembered. If a skeleton stays in the Land of the Living after sunrise, they had to face the consequences no matter who they were—even an alebrije like Dante.
But coming back to life wasn't a consequence...was it? If it had been a curse, Miguel's blessing would have worked. He hadn't stolen anything...yet.
Coming back to life is not a curse. It's a blessing, his tired mind whispers. If only he could convince himself...
If it had been anyone else besides him, they probably would be jumping for joy, especially if they were already close to being forgotten. Why couldn't it have been one of his makeshift family in Shantytown? They deserved a second chance at life more so than he ever did, even if they weren't able to cross the bridge.
Still, he would have rather been turned into an alebrije, like Felipe had suggested what might happen because of the rumors they'd heard. At least then, he would still be with his deceased family...with Imelda and Coco. He could have served a greater purpose like Dante, simply being there for his family and guiding souls to their destination. But staying out after sunrise had unpredictable consequences for each person as they had also told him, and coming back to life just so happened to be one of them.
The day is growing darker outside the window. He waits for something, anything to happen—maybe Imelda and the others will find a way to bring him back home from there, as Miguel had suggested. But nothing happens as he lays in the guest room bed, something he knows he shouldn't be getting used to.
You're with family. It isn't like when...
When Ernesto had murdered him and left him all alone. Left his body all alone...if he was physically here in person, then where was his body that was most likely put in an unmarked grave, somewhere unknown? The thought is too disturbing to even think about, so he quickly pushes it away before his stomach can bring up his disgust.
They don't know you're family, his persistent and pessimistic inner voice tells him. You don't belong here. You know you don't.
If Héctor didn't know any better, it was like he'd died all over again already. He feels a hint of gratefulness that he'd been given an unexpected second chance, but joy and happiness would be much easier to achieve...if it wasn't for his deceased family he'd left behind to be with his living one.
He faintly wonders if it would be a good idea to actually reveal the truth, to just be honest as he probably should. He and Miguel can trust their family—trust that they wouldn't panic too badly, that they would believe the two of them and wouldn't send him away somewhere. Another part of him agrees with Miguel that they should keep it a secret for now to be safe.
So what if they know? You still wouldn't belong. You're not supposed to be here. Your time was up long ago the moment you decided to leave.
But you should be happy you're here, the opposing, more optimistic voice argues.
Héctor groans quietly, wanting to put a pillow over his head to quiet his pestering thoughts, but every muscle in his living body aches. Since returning from the cemetery, he and Miguel had to rush to make it back before anyone noticed they were gone. Someone may have left him new clothes, but they probably assumed that he just needed something new to change into. Héctor figures that with his somewhat made-up story about being kicked out of home, his former clothes also fell in line with the explanation, and someone in the Rivera family had been kind enough to lend him their own.
Even little movement such as lifting his arm sends fire shooting through his newly-developed veins, and before he knows it he's stuck in the bed completely, unable to get up.
"I'm sorry I took you to the cemetery," Miguel apologizes as he comes back into the room and sits in the chair again. He holds the guitar, ready to try and come up with the new song he'd been talking about. But for now all he can focus on is his great-great grandfather, so the guitar isn't being put to good use as it rests in his grip.
"Why would you be sorry for doing that?" Héctor questions in a whisper, eyes blinking wearily at his grandson and almost unable to keep them open. "I'm glad you did," he adds to the best of his ability, but it only comes out in a tired mumble.
He was glad they had gone to the cemetery, despite how exhausted it made him because of all the walking. Even if Miguel's blessing hadn't worked, he was glad they'd tried at least something that might have been able to send him back to his home. If he had remained stuck on this bed, he didn't know what he would have done; probably try to get up without Miguel's help and hurt himself even worse than he was now.
A single, small movement of his head so he can see Miguel better from where he lays sends fire stabbing through his skull, and he can't hide a wince.
Miguel looks back at him sorrowfully.
"Because Mamá said you needed to take it easy," he says. "I guess that wasn't taking it easy, especially since you're still getting used to being...alive."
"It's okay, don't worry. I'll be fine," Héctor reassures, though from the way he's feeling now it's most likely far from the truth.
Miguel doesn't seem to be too sure.
"So your new name is Gael?" He asks curiously, as if to try and distract him from his weariness.
Héctor nods. He'd told Miguel about his new name on the way back from the cemetery before he could have forgotten altogether, which wouldn't have been a good thing if Miguel accidentally said his real name in front of anyone; he was lucky he hadn't accidentally said it himself.
"It was one of the names I used trying to get across the bridge," he says. Miguel smiles weakly, most likely thinking of just how many times he'd attempted to get across to try and see Coco. "For some reason, it's the one name that's stuck with me the most."
Laughter outside brings a tired smile to his face—Benny and Manny, if he remembers the twins' names correctly. It sounds like they're chasing each other, or being chased by someone like how he used to play with Coco. Maybe Rosa, but then he figures that she might be a little too old to be playing a game like tag.
Miguel returns the smile, listening to the outside laughter and fun-filled screams. He begins to play a simple tune on the guitar to warm up. He strums the strings, and Héctor can feel himself beginning to nod off already. Héctor can tell he's eager to begin working on his new song in case his parents ask him to play it later on. The boy doesn't pressure him into helping just yet, settling for creating a soothing melody that doesn't even need lyrics, already lulling Héctor into a more peaceful rest than he'd had the night before.
Music came naturally to the kid. If he could get him to fall asleep so soon already, then once the lyrics were written, the whole world would be sent off into a deep sleep.
Or maybe it was just so easy for him to fall asleep because this body makes him so, so tired. Skeletons never became tired or sleepy. They could sleep if they wanted to, but it wasn't needed.
"I meant to ask this earlier, but...how is Dante, Papa Héctor? I really miss him since he can only come once a year, now." Sometimes, Miguel wishes that his best friend hadn't turned into a real alebrije. If he was still just a regular dog that followed him around Santa Cecilia, he would be here now.
Héctor's smile fades at the sudden, unexpected question, but Miguel doesn't seem to notice.
"Is he getting used to his wings?" The boy presses, desperately wanting to know more about his best friend's alebrije form. Héctor wants to smile at Dante's silly antics—the way he would try to hover in place, or the many falls and crashes he'd had to endure to get used to flight—but his memory of the poor dog fading before his eyes prevents the smile from coming into existence.
Héctor sighs, knowing this moment would come sooner than later, and not expecting it to be sooner.
He knows he can't keep it from him for long, and that he especially couldn't wait until next year if the xolo wouldn't even be able to show himself to Miguel; it would definitely ruin his grandson's holiday. He has to tell him now, unless he wants Miguel to be angry that he hadn't told him sooner.
"Miguel—"
An ear-shattering scream suddenly sounds out of nowhere. Miguel's head shoots straight up, brown eyes wide with terror. Héctor can feel his insides—his blood—freeze at the sound, eyes widening just as much as Miguel's.
If I have blood, does that mean I can bleed? He can't help but question faintly. As a skeleton, he could fall apart and bring himself back together at will; he assumes it's not a good idea to try such a thing as a living person.
"That's Abuelita!" Miguel says in a rush, already suspecting that her scream might be because of a certain photo missing. "I'll be right back," he says quickly, almost sending the guitar clattering to the ground before gently placing it back in its spot.
Héctor, eyes still wide, can only guess what must have made his abuelita scream so loudly.
xxxx
Miguel finds that his suspicion is correct when he enters the ofrenda room and sees her standing by the ofrenda itself. She stares just as wide-eyed as he is at the photo that used to sit on the top, no longer in place.
"Where has it gone?!" She says wildly, pointing directly at the ofrenda and already bending to check and see if it had fallen somewhere. Luisa and Enrique rush into the room, Miguel's father panting and having to bend down himself so he could catch his breath. Abuelita Elena turns towards her son to give him an angry glare.
"It was that man. That stranger we brought into our home," she accuses sharply, pointing in the direction of the guest room. Miguel follows her gesture, frowning.
Enrique stares at the ofrenda, then glances to his wife for help. She can only shrug lightly to let him know that she's unsure. Their guest had only been with them for such a short time, but her expression falters in uncertainty.
"No! He was with me the whole time," Miguel defends Héctor quickly. He spots a newcomer out of the corner of his eye. "Right, Rosa?"
His cousin arrives as if on cue, standing by the door as she watches the group frantically search for the missing photo. Enrique is already on his knees, checking underneath and around the ofrenda. Rosa pauses for just a moment, comprehending Miguel's question before she nods. He notices that she's holding a piece of paper with typed writing from a computer, and she lifts it up with a knowing gaze. For now he can only shrug, shaking his head in confusion, but it seems as if she has some sort of plan he's unaware of.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Enrique says in an attempt to be rational. "He's been in that bed this whole time and still isn't well, Mamá. I'm still considering calling a doctor."
"No!" Miguel shouts again. His parents stare at him, obviously confused as to why he was so against the man receiving medical treatment that he needed. Miguel isn't sure why he himself is so hesitant, either; a doctor couldn't possibly deduct that Héctor was from the Land of the Dead, but he doesn't want to take any chances—they have to be careful!
"Oh...it was Héctor's first Día de los Muertos, and now this happens..." Elena says mournfully, eyes darting this way and that around the ofrenda room. They suddenly land on Miguel, and the boy can't help but shrink back. Elena takes his action the wrong way, her glare hardening suspiciously.
"Do you have something to do with this?" She asks, her tone gentle. Miguel can hear the sharpness she fails holding back, anyway.
Yes, Miguel answers in his mind. He knows exactly where the photo is, and he won't share it with anyone or put it back on the ofrenda until he feels his family is ready. Just talking about the photo is risky, the possibility of recognizing Héctor fairly high if they think about it hard enough.
"No," Miguel replies to his abuelita as honestly as he can. He doesn't look away, but he can't help gripping his arm uncomfortably. Elena isn't sure if she believes him, but doesn't push the matter further. Miguel had changed so much over the course of a year, from trying to walk out on her ofrenda 'lectures' to standing in front of it and telling baby Socorro stories about their ancestors—that they should always be remembered.
He wouldn't have anything to do with the missing photo...right?
"Tío Enrique..." Rosa speaks up, bringing forth the piece of typed paper she'd been holding.
Enrique takes the paper and stares, brow furrowing. "What's this?"
"We're doing a project at school about the homeless."
Miguel's eyes widen at her answer, and he has to hold back a smile just as wide.
"Yes...?" Luisa says.
"Well, I thought maybe I could get extra credit by actually having a homeless person stay with us, especially since that man is already here."
"For how long?" Enrique asks, uncertain how he feels about the idea yet.
"A year. Just to see how he would adjust to living with a family. Maybe I can interview him, too," she adds to keep the 'school project' idea going.
"I don't like it," Elena instantly disagrees, her head shaking. "You said he told you he made 'certain choices' that caused his mother and father disown him. What kind of choices could those have possibly been?"
"Miguel seems to trust him. He hasn't caused any trouble since we first brought him here," Enrique reasons.
"What about the photo?! For all we know, he's the one who took it!" Elena accuses again.
"Why would a homeless person want one of our photos?" Rosa can't help but chip in.
Because he's actually related to us, she answers her own question dully. Deep down however, she knows it had to have been Miguel in order to protect Héctor's identity for the time being.
"We will come to a conclusion about this on our own," Luscia scolds gently. Rosa remains quiet, staring down at the floor and mumbling a sincere apology.
"You would really trust him around Socorro and the other children?" Elena questions sharply.
"He doesn't have to be around them. Not yet," Enrique reasons again, taking a quick glance at his son. "Miguel has been keeping a pretty good eye on him so far."
Miguel can't believe it. This couldn't really be happening...could it? He hadn't even begun to think of a way he could convince his parents to let Héctor stay, but now Rosa has unexpectedly taken care of that for him. He's suddenly very glad he let her in on their little secret.
"He said he has a family, but they threw him out! He can just go back to them and apologize, make up for the things he's done somehow—he is a fully responsible adult," Elena reminds them. Enrique falters at this, unsure of how to move forward but slowly coming to his own conclusion.
He and his wife would handle Gael themselves. The man had said that he'd gotten kicked out of his home because of certain choices he had made, as Elena stressed. Enrique himself wonders just what kind of choices those were, but it can't have been anything worse than their own Papa Héctor's choice to leave his family for music. For all he knows, Gael is in a similar situation as Héctor, and just needs a little push to make things right with his own family so they would accept him again like they had. Maybe he would even be useful around the workshop if offered a job?
"As an adult, he will go back to his family when he is ready," Enrique decides, firm in his choice. "We are not his family, so we can't make that decision for him...but we can help him."
"So...does that mean he can stay?" Miguel asks, hesitant. He needs to be sure...he can't believe it was as simple as lying about a school project! He has to stop himself from jumping for joy right then and there!
"Your father and I will think about it," Luisa answers with a small smile. She's happy her son is so willing to help someone in need and based on what the man had told them, he did not currently have a family or home to go back to that was willing to take him in again. He had explained that he'd had an argument with his parents about certain choices, causing him to be kicked out. They would be sending him back into the streets, and she just doesn't feel right going through with that. There might be homeless shelters, but why not let Miguel and Rosa learn a valuable lesson all while she completed an important school project?
A bit of a coincidence that this project comes up when we have our guest, Enrique thinks to himself, but they have more important matters to worry about.
"Let's keep looking for the photo," he says, determination returning as he continues the search. "It can't have gone too far."
Miguel feels terrible for sending his parents and abuelita on a temporary wild goose chase for the photo that he had taken off of the ofrenda and hidden somewhere safe, but his joy at the idea that Héctor might be getting to stay with them overpowers the guilt.
"We need to find the photo before next year, or else our ancestors will not be able to cross over. Poor Héctor...his first and last Día de los Muertos if we don't find it soon!" Elena voices her concern, still not liking the idea of having the stranger stay with them. In the back of her mind, he's still the reason the photo was gone.
Miguel understands the importance of putting back the photo on the ofrenda, possibly more so than anyone in his family—especially now that he knows their ancestors really are out there. He'd promised himself the moment he took it off that he would put it back as soon as they found a way home for Héctor. They had, but he would have to wait a year before returning the photo. He would have no choice, seeing as Mamá Imelda and the others need the photo to be up so they can cross over. Miguel can only hope that by the time the year was over, Héctor will have changed enough in at least appearance to not raise any suspicion.
"You're a genius!" Miguel tells Rosa in his excitement as they exit the ofrenda room to get ready for bed.
"I know," she replies with a smug grin. "Aren't you glad you told me the truth?"
xxxx
Héctor wakes again, not even remembering when he'd fallen asleep. His body still feels so heavy, so limp and burning from sore muscles that he guesses he'd fallen asleep without even realizing it, waking up once again in the middle of the night.
The dead don't get to enjoy life in their land like the living do in theirs—one of the downsides of being...dead. From his living body's strange and new sensations, to eating and having to go to the bathroom, Héctor thinks he would rather be deprived of all those things and just be content to exist with his family.
Stealing...he would have to stoop to Ernesto's level to get back home to them. Just like Ernesto had stolen his songs and his life, he would have to steal something of upmost importance.
Would he really be able to go through with it?
"It might be the only way," Miguel's words ring.
That wasn't entirely true...
Héctor stares into the darkness, a shadow leaping towards and enveloping his consciousness. He doesn't fight, allowing the shadow to all but consume him. Gradually he's tempted to get up despite his burning muscles and find something sharp, or get lost somewhere no one would ever find him and stay there until he succumbs to starvation. He would become so ill that if anyone found him, he wouldn't be able to recover. It wouldn't hurt any worse than being murdered or transforming back into a human, right? It would be worth it if he was able to be with his family again...
He'd died once already. He knows what awaits him on the other side—his family that he's let down enough times already. He needs to get back to them sooner than later, but...
The door to the guest room opens, and he's surprised to find someone different come in other than Miguel. He figures that even though Miguel is on a little 'vacation' from school currently, his parents still won't allow him to stay the whole night, especially not with a stranger they hardly knew.
It's Rosa this time, and she's gazing at him with uncertain, curiosity-filled eyes that glance behind her at the door to make sure no one else will come in. Héctor suspects that either Miguel or his parents had told her not to come in and disturb him, but she hadn't listened, anyway. It wasn't like he was going to get a good night's sleep; it seemed that he always ended up waking in the middle of the night without any kind of disturbances. Maybe it had something to do with his new body becoming used to regular sleeping cycles...the dead didn't need to sleep, but they slept anyway just like they could eat, drink and breathe—all for pleasure but never real.
So far, he's grateful that he hasn't been alone yet whenever he wakes up like this.
His attention turns back to Rosa, and his sneaking suspision that he's about to be interrogated turns out to be correct. He truly doesn't mind the distraction from all the sensations of his living body for the time being, especially his sore muscles.
She jumps slightly when they make eye contact before moving to sit in the chair, obviously not expecting Héctor to actually be awake. Would she have stayed there studying him for awhile? Héctor can't blame her, but he's not sure how he feels about the idea. He supposes that he can't blame her for being so curious about a dead man coming back to life.
Who wouldn't be?
"So...you're really our great-great grandfather?" She asks as if to be sure. He understands Miguel had shown her the photo, so of course she knows but wants to hear it directly from him; it was a hard thing to believe, after all.
So he nods in confirmation, giving just the slightest smile to show she doesn't have anything to be afraid of.
"And you came from a place called the Land of the Dead..." she says in almost a murmur that he can't hear.
He nods again, unsure of where she's going with her questions. Vaguely, he wonders if this was what she'd been like with Miguel before he'd had to tell her the truth about him.
"So that means there is life after death?"
Oh.
Héctor isn't sure if he should be telling this to her, let alone anyone living, for that matter. He can trust Rosa to keep a secret, and even if she did tell someone, they likely wouldn't believe her. Yet he's not fully comfortable with revealing what nature had intended to remain a mystery. Miguel was one of the first, if not the first human to know what happens after death, and it should probably stay that way.
He nods gently again anyway, barely having enough strength to make the small movement. Rosa stays silent, processing this new information in whatever way she'll handle it until she speaks again. Héctor's eyes begin to slide shut on their own accord, but before they can close completely, Rosa interrupts once more.
"What's it like to die?"
Héctor blinks at the question, glancing back at her quickly.
You're too young to worry about death, he thinks, anxiety about why she had asked a question like that twisting in his new gut.
Gut. He actually has a gut, now...
"Just curious," she reassures, "you're here, and not many will have the opportunity to ask."
Héctor supposes that it's natural for her to be curious about what happens after death. Putting himself in her shoes, he would want to know a few details about the one thing living humans are so unsure of.
He falters, trying to find the right words.
"It's like...waking up from a long sleep. Peaceful or restless, depending on what kind you had," he whispers, satisfied with the answer he'd come up with.
That much was true. Héctor can never forget the first time he'd woken up in the Land of the Dead after being poisoned by Ernesto. Gripping his stomach in agony as the poison had done its job, he'd definitely had a 'restless sleep' while others passed much more peacefully, accepting that they wouldn't be able to see their living loved ones for a long time.
He'd never been able to accept such a thing, determined to try to find a way to see his daughter. Now that he was back in the Land of the Living, he was still having trouble just accepting that he has a heart once again, and that he's stuck in the very place he had been trying to get to for so many years.
Rosa nods in respect.
"What was it like for you?"
He thinks of all the years he'd attempted to see Coco, and all of his failed plans. He thinks of everything in between—his high and low moments, wishing he could see his daughter one last time and then miraculously meeting his great-great grandson.
"A bit of both," he chuckles lightly, only to fall into a harsh coughing fit so he has to cover his mouth. He suddenly feels cold, and his body begins to shiver underneath the bed covers. He does his best to control the shakes, but just enough so Miguel's cousin won't notice.
Why was it so cold?
Rosa soaks in the information, her glasses gleaming in the moonlight that seeps in through the window.
"So...you have to wait a year until you can go back, right?"
"Si," Héctor answers. He doesn't know what else he can say; that even if he waited a year to steal something and be sent back, it might not even work at all?
Don't think like that, he has to remind himself again.
"Thanks for telling me..." Rosa whispers. Her expression brightens a little. "Tía Luisa and Tío Enrique might let you stay!"
His eyes widen in surprise. "Really?"
"Maybe," Rosa says honestly. "They said they'll think about it, but...that's a start, right? I would try and come up with a story in case they ask you about your 'family' again."
Héctor can't believe his ears. Miguel's parents are actually considering letting him stay with them?
"Gracias for the warning," he thanks Rosa sincerely.
She smiles, getting up from the chair to leave. Before he knows it, he's alone in the room again with only his guitar propped up on the stand. He thinks about playing Remember Me again, but decides against it.
The dark shadow returns to envelop his being. But as soon as the thought reenters his mind, it leaves just as quickly. If he had gone through with his temptation, he might have never heard Rosa...he shudders, forcing his mind to block the thought out.
He would never be able to do such a thing to himself, let alone while he's with his living family. They don't know anything about him—they're already suspicious of him as a stranger, what would they think if he went through with such an act, especially if they were just considering letting him stay? What kind of example would he set for Miguel?
That when things got tough, too much to handle, you just...gave up?
No.
He imagines Miguel's pained reaction, or would he even react at all, knowing that he had died already before? To Miguel there wouldn't be anything to be sad about, especially knowing there was a Land of the Dead in the first place. The possibility scares him that his grandson may be becoming too desensitized towards that which was meant to be unknown, and only further concretes his decision to remain in the living world as he is.
He could never do such a thing to himself; he would never do that to his great-great grandson. The deed was done—he's alive now and has to make the best of it without taking any shortcuts.
He wants to make the best of it by being with his family and getting to know each of them, even if they might not know him.
A year is a long time to wait, but he tells himself that he can do it.
It would go by in the blink of an eye!
He'd waited over ninety years to see Coco; he can wait one more.
For Miguel.