#Fromaldehyde!AU

[parttwotriestowrite]

What’s It All About?

Fandom: Coco

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: N/A

Summary: He didn't catch it then, but the gears were turning in Ernesto's mind. If only he noticed

(In case Ao3 is more your fancy)

The point where Héctor would come to question everything with Ernesto came on a rooftop.

They’d drained whatever was left of the cheap tequila and spat at the world walking beneath them. Who knew being broke in Mexico City would be so damn fun?

But as the laughing died down, and the conversation grew more pensive, Héctor turned to Ernesto and finally asked, “So after all this time, what do you think it’s all about?”

“What?”

“You know,” He said, as he looked to the starless sky, “What we’re doing? You got an idea of what this mess is about, amigo?”

“Ay dios mío, that’s obvious!” Ernesto said, flopping back onto his bag and reaching up, “To be stars! We’ve got the talents, the looks-”

“I personally think you look like an ass.” Héctor said.

“Oh shut up,” He laughed. “We got every right to it! We’re gonna work our asses off, become richer than God, and then live the good life.”

Héctor was quiet for awhile, and Ernesto finally turned to him.

“What about you, then?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think this is all about? It’s only fair I know.”

Héctor turned to look at him, smiling gently. “Easy,” He said, “To have enough. You know… Provide for Imelda and Coco. That’s all I want, at least.”

And Ernesto, too, was quiet for awhile.

“I think I’m going to sleep,” Ernesto said, rolling over.

“Night, tonto.”

Looking back, the conversation would haunt Héctor. He didn’t catch it then, but the gears were turning in Ernesto’s mind.

If only he noticed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: This is a little standalone work that fits into the continuity of that main thing I’m doing (here’s the first chapter of that for those interested). Idk, it’s more of a character study of Ernesto and Hector and the conversation that may have sparked the murderous intent. 

Big thanks to The Bro @loracarol for helping me edit, as per the usual, and also to my buddy who helps with the Spanish! 

Critique is always appriciated :D

[parttwotriestowrite]

Formaldehyde Chapter: 1

Fandom: Coco

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairing: Héctor Rivera / Imelda Rivera

Summary: "I won’t tell him, and as long as he doesn’t know, you’re indebted to me.” He held out his hand for Ernesto to shake, the same mock-politeness he’d been feeding him the whole time, “¿Trato?” This wouldn't stop people from finding out anyways.

(In case you like Ao3 better) 

Héctors breathing was shallow and quiet, as he lay in a stranger's bed. He slept like the dead - like he might have been the night before.

Ernesto fidgeted; these people made him nervous. The man, Andrés, watched him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. Next to him stood his wife, Rocío. Though she was quiet, her eyes seemed to stare into him, like she could read his mind.

The doctor left Héctor’s bedside after a conversation with Andrés comprised of hushed whispers and a relieved smile.

“I owe you,” Andrés said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You saved this man's life. I’ll consider it a favor.”

“It’s my job,” the doctor replied, sighing in relief, “It’s good to finally be in your good graces.”

“You always have been.”

As soon as the door shut, Andrés, in a bastardization of hospitality, offered to let Ernesto stay the night. As he gestured broadly at the couch, his smile left no room for argument.

A strained cough and a groan sounded from the room Hector was sleeping in, and the sickly-sweet grin of the shorter man faded as he and his wife rushed back into the other room to check on their other guest.

~~~~

He woke up feeling like he had been stabbed, the pain coursing through him everywhere at once. Everything ached; his head, his muscles, Dios mío his stomach... That was the worst of it. To add to his confusion, now there were two strange people fussing over him..

“Here, I have some water for you,” one of the people said, bringing a cup up to Hector’s lips with the gentleness of a mother. “Come on - there we go, that’s it.” Whoever this was had the kindness of a mother too, something Hector was grateful for as they gently tipped the water into his mouth. The water felt like heaven, a rush of coolness into his dry, overheated body.

“Rocío, he’ll need something to eat.” The other stranger said, as he propped the pillows up behind Hector’s back, and helped him sit up.

When he was finally able to focus, Hector’s eyes fell on an odd looking man; short and lanky with soft eyes. He was looking at Hector with the same sort of concern that he’d seen in people watching stray kittens.

“How are you feeling? ¿Puedes hablar? ” The stranger crouched by Hector’s bedside and offered a placating smile.

“ Sí, sí. ” Héctors eyes scrunched up at the light from the hallway, spilling into the room, even as dim as it was, “ Mierda… Who are you?”

“My apologies,” The odd man said with a chuckle, “You’d think my Mamá would have bothered teaching me some manners before sending me off, but you’d be wrong! I’m Andrés, and the woman forcing you to drink was my wife Rocío. You’re Héctor, sí ?”

“ Sí, uh, how did you know?” He didn’t have the energy to be weary of the stranger who suddenly knew his name.

The phone rang, too loud, too bright, too present. Hector cringed, trying to recoil back from something that came from everywhere at once.

Andrés put a hand on his shoulder, “One moment, Héctor. Rocí will be back with something to eat. Then we’ll see how you’re feeling, okay?” Andrés didn’t wait for an answer, standing up sharply and shutting the door as he left, leaving Héctor in peaceful darkness.

~~~~

Rocío was steady and insistent, as she fed him spoonful after spoonful of thin broth that felt refreshing, however flavorless everything seemed to be. She was silent, and he couldn’t complain when even the clinking of the spoon against the edge of the bowl sounded as loud as thunder.  It wasn’t until he was done, that she finally spoke to him, “Do you remember what happened?”

He was taken aback by the way her voice sounded. Unlike her husband, she was almost whispering, and he was grateful, head still pounding.

“Well…?” She asked, again, “I’m curious; do you even know what happened to you?” She handed him a glass of water absentmindedly.

“Bad chorizo, apparently.” He said, laughing awkwardly. He took a long sip of water and avoided eye contact at all costs.

“ Bad chorizo? No, no, that’s definitely wrong. It was formaldehyde, apparently. You ingested it,” she paused, “Somehow.”

He coughed, water dribbling down the front of his shirt, “ Formaldehyde? ”

She nodded, silently running a rag across his face. “Your friend has been up all night. He seems worried.” He had no time to respond as she gathered up the soup bowl and the empty pitcher. “I’ll go fetch you some more water, do you need anything else?”

~~~~

Andrés had a fair number of suspicions about this Ernesto. Hector ingesting formaldehyde by accident seemed like a stretch; what sort of idiota would intentionally drink that stuff? But then, there was the man’s “friend”. He’d seen men guilty of lesser crimes sit in his living room and squirm under the gaze of Rocío. Ernesto was no different.

But that wasn’t even the most incriminating bit. There was also the phone call.

He didn’t recognize the man on the other end of the phone, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the interesting details about how a bottle of formaldehyde had, indeed, been purchased outside a bar, two nights prior, by some machismo looking guy in mariachi clothes.

“How did you know?” The kid asked.

“Just keep going. What did he look like?” Andrés said dismissively.

When the kid described the man’s strong chin and mustache, Andrés’ suspicions were confirmed. “Thank you, amigo , I’ll consider this a favor.”

Back in the room, Rocío was still caring for Héctor. Poor bastard probably wouldn’t even believe that his friend had tried to kill him. Andres wondered idly what sob story she was going to hear from their newest guest.

He cracked each knuckle absentmindedly in thought, but nothing presented itself that seemed to have any real benefit. Sure, he felt bad for Héctor, but the poor man was already in his debt. Ernesto wasn’t, not yet at least.

He didn’t look up until there were three sharp knocks at the door. “André?” Rocío opened the door a crack, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“ ¿Qué es? ”

She stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her, and leaning against the wall. “Héctor told me something that may be relevant.”

“Oh? Go on.”

~~~~

It was early when Andrés woke up Ernesto, the sun only just above the horizon when Andrés informed Ernesto that they would be meeting in the kitchen.

Setting down two coffees, Andrés smiled disarmingly and took a long sip from his own cup. On his side of the table, Ernesto was looking suspiciously at the mug left between them.

“What? I wouldn’t poison it.” Andrés said casually.

Ernesto stiffened, and something behind his eyes shifted.

Andrés set his coffee down and  stretched his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “So, satisfy my curiosity. Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ernesto said as he shrunk back, shoulders hunched over.

Andrés rolled his eyes, “ Dios mío, are we really going to do this?” He counted his points on his fingers, “Héctor was poisoned by formaldehyde. You happened to have bought some from a friend of mine. I bet, if I shuffled through your bag, I’m certain I’ll find the very bottle you used to try to kill your-”

“I didn’t try to kill him!” Ernesto’s snapped, voice raised more than he intended.

“Shh, shh, quiet down. Héctor’s sleeping two rooms over and our walls are quite thin,” Andrés gestured towards the closed door, “And I’m certain that hearing you confess to trying to murder him wouldn’t bode well for your friendship.”

“I didn’t try to kill him.” Ernesto insisted again, voice dropping low, “I just needed him to stay . I needed his songs, I-”

“More than his friendship? More than he needed to live?” Andrés rocked forward on his chair, slamming his hands on the table, nearly knocking over a vase filled with violets.

“It wasn’t supposed to kill him!” Ernesto snarled, “Your friend, he told me it was only enough to make him ill, that way he’d be stuck here for awhile-”

“Only to leave afterwards? If what he told Rocío was true, then he was trying to go home to his family. Do you really think you could stop him forever?”

“Well yes, I mean no, but-”

It seemed Andrés wasn’t in the mood to hear Ernesto’s excuses as he cut the man off for a third time. “And you’re like a brother, to him.” He chuckled darkly. “My brothers were no example to live by, but from what I understand, you two are supposed to care for one another. How would nearly killing him help either of you?”

“It was supposed to just be us , she was never a part of the plan.”

“She?” Andrés paused, a series of emotions flying across his face. “... You mean his wife?”

“We were gonna become famous - I’ve been doing all of this for him - he owes me this much! I… I   need his songs!” Ernesto said through clenched teeth as his hands balled up into fists on the table.

“You don’t seem to care much that you nearly killed him.” Rocío stood behind Ernesto, arms crossed and eyes accusatory. Ernesto startled, turning around to look at her.

“Rocí…”

She shot Andrés a sharp look and he fell silent. Joining her husband at his side of the table, she added,  “I’m just wondering if the guilt has set in, yet.” A dreamy smile crossed her face, “How in love he is! With music, with his wife, with his child, and with you, my friend.” She said, disgust creeping into her voice, slightly. “He thinks the world and then some of you. Do you know why he wanted to go home?”

Ernesto remained silent, grasping the cup to hide the trembling in his hands.

“He said he couldn’t write, here. He thought the wider world may inspire him, but it didn’t. His muses are his loved ones in Santa Cecilia, and rightfully so.” Her gaze shifted wistfully out of the window, before snapping back harshly on Ernesto. “He came out here to support his family, but even that hasn’t been so successful. He thought you knew that. Apparently he was wrong. Some brother you are.”

“He was leaving me,” Ernesto said after a long break of silence. “I didn’t want him to.” He stared into the cup, coffee still untouched.

Rocío hummed in response. Andrés watched the way Ernesto scratched his fingernail along the mug and kept his eyes away from either of them.

“I don’t know if I want to tell Hector,” Andrés said to Rocío. “On one hand, Ernesto did try to kill him, he didn’t seem to mind that fact, and I have proof of those things.”

“But on the other,” Rocío cut in, “He seems to be reconsidering what he did. Every man deserves a second chance.”

Andrés thought for a second. “Consider this a favor, amigo, ” He smiled the same disarming smile he had given Ernesto the night before. It worked just as well as it had the first time. “But know that I take favors seriously. That which I give you, you must one day return. This is a big, big favor, no? I won’t tell him, and as long as he doesn’t know, you’re indebted to me.” His tone was light, conversational even, as he continued, “You could tell him the truth, and the whole truth on your own, and would no longer owe me anything. Don’t keep up your end of the deal? He’ll learn the truth.”

He held out his hand for Ernesto to shake, the same mock-politeness he’d been feeding him the whole time, “ ¿Trato? ”

Ernesto hesitated, shoulders still hunched and still defensively keeping the coffee between them.

And then he took Andrés’ hand, and Andrés grinned manically.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

~~~~

That night, the guilt started to weigh on Ernesto's shoulders. Dinner was a blur of forcing himself to laugh at jokes he wasn’t listening to, of watching Héctor from the corner of his eye, and of desperately avoiding eye contact with any of them.

The same thoughts kept running through his mind. Was the overdose really an accident? Was he really willing to kill Héctor? What would he have told Imelda if Héctor died? Would he have ever been able to go back to Santa Cecilia? What if Hector found ou-

“Something wrong, Ernesto?” Rocío asked sweetly. “Are you feeling ill? ¿Quieres dormir? ”

“ Sí, I think I’m falling sick, I’ll just go lie down, I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”

Somehow, he managed to get up, and leave the table. His thoughts swirled, and he ended up stuck lying awake until the early hours of the morning as he went over what had happened. until he was forced to admit what he had done.

I nearly killed my best friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Big thanks to my friend who helped with Spanish and to @loracarol who edited my dumpster-fire of a fic. Critique is literally always appreciated, and feel more than free to ask any questions you may have :D