"Buenos días, Ernesto," Héctor greeted him the next morning.

Ernesto stumbled down the steps to his shack and ran a hand through his disheveled hair as he took in his surroundings to this miserable place. The lights were still flickering annoyingly, and even though it was still early in the morning he could already hear conversations, loud laughter, and faint notes of music coming from radios filled with static. The sounds of guitars and other instruments floated through the air as well. Apparently the people who lived here didn't know how to keep their noise level down.

Héctor was leaning up against the wall of Ernesto's house, staring at him with a soft smile, his arms crossed and his head tilted. He watched as Ernesto stormed past him and stood up straight to follow him. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

Ernesto rolled his eyes. "How do you think?" he snapped. He rubbed his eyes roughly before making an attempt to straighten his suit, which was now creased and wrinkled from his tossing and turning on that uncomfortable mattress. He gave an irritated groan, throwing Héctor a glare over his shoulder. "Don't you have anything better to do than check up on me all the time? You know how much I hate when you do that."

"Well, one of us has to be good friend to the other," Héctor said wryly, a sarcastic grin appearing on his face, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands on his hips.

Sensing what his amigo wanted that remark to lead to, Ernesto stopped walking and whipped around to fully face him, giving him sneer. "Stop that. I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work." He pointed at Héctor sharply, almost close enough to jab him in his chest. "I already told you that you won't get any answers from me. I don't regret what I did to you."

Héctor frowned, his look almost matching Ernesto's. His hands curled to fists. "I will find a way to get an explination out of you, Ernesto. You can't escape the questions forever."

"Try me."

Now it was Héctor's turn to roll his eyes. He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "You can't hurt or surprise me anymore," he said, pointing at Ernesto as he spoke. "You already used all of your tricks on me in life. What are you going to do, attack me again? It won't stop me from trying to get an answer out of you."

Ernesto took a menacing step towards him, leaning in and lowering his voice. "You haven't seen the worst of what I can do to you, Héctor. I can do whatever I want to stop you. You have no idea how much I despise you, how much I'm glad you're suffering."

Héctor smirked. "Mi familia has disowned me, and I haven't been able to see either Imelda or Coco in twenty-one years. So I think I've seen the worst of your punishments already." His expression softened and he stared at Ernesto in disbelief. "And don't ever say those things, Superhero. You have a heart. I know you can't be that happy seeing me like this. Even when you used to get mad at me, you would never say something like that."

"People change," Ernesto replied matter-of-factly. "And I mean it this time. You always had a way of making my life unbearable. Spending time without you was one of the best feelings I ever had." He paused and threw in another jab. "And why do you sound so surprised about Imelda hating you? I told you she never cared about you, Héctor. And now you know I was right."

Héctor cringed at Ernesto's words, not responding and giving him an incredulous, hurt stare.

Ernesto felt a sudden pang of guilt at seeing his old friend's reaction to that statement, but he brushed it off a quickly as it came. If he was going to be in Héctor's prensence, he was at least going to try to enjoy it and cut him as deeply as he could.

With his mouth pressed into a thin line and his face tight like he was trying to hold back tears, Héctor walked in front of Ernesto, briskly leading the way. Neither man said anything else as they walked. Three lights in the area flickered violently and went out, almost as if they could sense the tense, cold mood and decided to accordingly.

The sounds of laughter and music became more pronnounced as Héctor led Ernesto through town. All around him, even this early, Ernesto could see that everyone was full of energy and happiness that couldn't be contained. For a moment he considered lashing out and telling them to quiet down, but something in him told him not to. He was too tired for that and besides, Héctor's friends made it clear that no one was going to take orders from him, so there was no point anyways.

Ernesto grimmaced as he looked around and saw the signs of plaeasure. Young women held drinks in their hands as they gossiped with grins on their faces. Men played games on small tables and gave mock cries of outrage when they were beaten. Older women were gathered by the water, playing cards with mismatched decks and giggling like children, snacks and tequila piled in the middle of their own table.

And where Héctor was leading him, at least seven skeletons-- Ernesto recognized Lorenzo and Carlos from yesterday in the group-- sat outside on the doorstep of one of the larger houses each with their own makeshift and horribly built instruments at their sides.

Three people held guitars, Carlos and another younger man had violins with them, and Lorenzo played the trumpet with a man who was at least two feet shorter than him with a stocky build, his hair in more disarray than Héctor's was when Ernesto first got here. All musicians wore dark, ripped suits that were a poor mocking of the ones Ernesto wore when he was alive. Lornezo and two others even wore frayed sombreros to go with theirs, which Ernesto found even more insulting.

When the group noticed Ernesto and Héctor watching them, the music they were playing trailed off abruptly. No one noticed Ernesto at first; all eyes were on Héctor and they welcomed him immidiately.

Lorenzo grinned affectionately. "Look who finally decided to join us!" He stood up from where he was sitting on the doorstep and set his instrument down, walking over to Héctor and slapping him on the back in greeting. "Took you long enough to get here, primo," he said with a light laugh.

One of the violinists eyed him, his small eyes narrowed with a perplexed look in them and the worn, faded fabric of his outfit made even more drab in the light of the lanterns hanging overhead. "Where's your guitar?" he asked in a low, rumbling voice. "Did you forget to grab it before rushing to get here, cousin?"

The others got up from their seats to talk to Héctor as well, all either adressing him as a cousin, a friend, and Carlos and another man even called him hermano along with the other names, which Ernesto listened to with confusion.

When him and Héctor were alive, Héctor lived with Ernesto and his family. Héctor's father had died of illness and his mother had abandoned him when he was only a year old simply because she hated him. After visiting the house where he lived one night and finding that he was there, alone and looking miserable, Ernesto's parents decided that they would take him home to live with them instead. The two of them had lived together for the rest of their childhood.

Ernesto knew that both of Héctor's parents had been raised alone, and even though Ernesto's mother had been one of five children, three died and she had cut ties with her younger sister before either Ernesto or his amigo had been born. And he'd never heard of his father having any siblings, either. So to hear Héctor being adressed this way, with all of these titles that you use to call someone family, upset him deeply. It felt wrong. It was all a lie and it made him furious for reasons he couldn't figure out.

He'd spent the last twenty-one years of his life not caring about Héctor at all, writing him off as nothing more than distant past and only acknowledging his existence when he had to with disdain and hatred. He'd killed Héctor after all; why waste one thought about someone you meant to get rid of?

But now, this little detail about Héctor's afterlife annoyed him greatly, and he wasn't going to let his feelings on the topic go unnoticed.

In the middle of the excitement, Ernesto gave an exasperated groan, crossing his arms. "Do you vagabundos lie to each other like this every day?" he asked. His voice was loud, containing both hot rage and cold judgement. He narrowed his eyes at the men in front of him, making Héctor flinch when Ernesto's gaze landed on him.

"What makes you think we're lying to each other?" Lorenzo asked warningly, putting one arm around Héctor as he stared Ernesto down. The lights overhead flickered and emphasized his disapproving expression and the jagged crack he had under his right eye that made his look even more contorted.

Ernesto sneered, pointing sharply at everyone. "I grew up with Héctor. I remember enough about him to know that he had no family other than me, and he told me that everyone who lives here is here because they don't any familia either." He balled his hands into sharp fists at his sides. He raised his voice for the next words. "I already suspected you people were criminals, rejects and crazy people, but I never knew that you were liars, too. Wouldn't surprise me, though; that must be one of the reasons why everyone hates you."

Ernesto inhaled sharply and looked at the expressions of the skeletons around him. Lorenzo's teeth were clenched, and he looked like he was seconds away from strangling Ernesto. Carlos' mouth was hanging open, his hand covering it in surprise. The other five men in the group just stared at him blankly, one of the shorter, stockier ones glaring at him before Ernesto stared back at him and he looked at the ground, reaching up to rub the dents and cracks that shone in his neck.

And Héctor looked at him wide-eyed and wounded, just like he had earlier. He gripped his right wrist so tightly that Ernesto could hear the bones starting to crack and give way. The indication tears was showing in eyes again, making them look damp and glassy as he stood there staring at Ernesto in tense and disbelieving silence.

He was the first to speak after taking in shaky, quivering breaths and wiping his eyes slowly. "W-we know that we aren't actually related to each other, Ernesto," he said softly, dropping his gaze to the ground. "We treat each other like family because we all know what it's like to not have an actual one. In our minds, a pretend familia is better than none at all."

Ernesto rolled his eyes. "Well, I still say it's lying," he snapped, ignoring the feeling of his non-existant heart clenching in slight sympathy. "Pretending is another way to lie, you know."

"Knock it off," Lorenzo growled. His grip on Héctor's shoulder tightened, and his other hand reached out just shy of gripping Ernesto by the arm. "We are who we are. You can't judge us if you acted the same way with Héctor when you were alive."

Ernesto took a step back and scoffed. "That was different."

"How?"

Ernesto didn't want to answer that, so he just shrugged and ignored the question. "It just is," he responded sharply. He turned to storm off in another direction, giving a frustrated huff. Before he began to walk away, he turned back and snarled. "I'm going for a walk, and no one is allowed to follow me." He glanced at Héctor and chose to ignore the one tear he saw trailing down his cheek, the way it made him remember past fights with his old friend and how felt like taking some of his words back.

He turned away again and started his heated pace. "I can't be around you guys right now."

No one said anything in response, and although Ernesto could feel the men's eyes boring into his neck, the lights once again blacking out as if they, too, sensed the tension, he ignored everything.

He didn't look back as he walked nowhere in particular, pushing out the lingering regret he felt even as a distant part of it still nagged at him like it hadn't in a long time.