#we just keep hitting Héctor with emotional freight trains

[beckytailweaver]

[FIC] Coco - What the Xolo Dragged In  (Part 3)

Here is more fic, please enjoy!

Coco - What the Xolo Dragged In

Part 3 - Origin

Héctor had no idea what to do with the living child ensconced in his hut, any more than he knew what to do with the strange alebrije-dog that was glued to the boy like a long-tongued magnet or the multitude of startled eyes they’d passed on their way into Shantytown, or the alarmed whispers and curious questions of his neighbors.

Oh, he knew how to care for a child—it might have been many decades since he was last a parent to a youngster, but there were some things you just never forgot.  He’d gotten little Miguel out of sight into his hut and set the boy to stripping out of his sodden clothes while Héctor hung them up to dry and scrambled around to find a clean(ish) shirt or something to dress the child in.  He had no heater or stove (cold or wet wasn’t a concern to skeletons, other than a matter of comfort, but a living child could catch his death!) and nothing to burn for warmth.  In the end, Miguel sat on Héctor’s own rickety cot, snuggled up to the alebrije-dog and enveloped in a raggedy wool poncho even older than Héctor that had been doing duty as a window curtain of sorts.

What Héctor didn’t know was how he should handle the discovery of a living child in the Land of the Dead.  He’d never heard of anything like this before, and he’d heard some strange things in his afterlife.  He was pretty sure he should tell someone, perhaps the officials, or maybe try to locate the boy’s deceased family somewhere.  He wasn’t even sure if a child turning up in the Land of the Dead should still be considered alive, or if the boy was actually dead and just...hadn’t come in through the right check-in station to end up a skeleton like the rest of them.

Or something like that.  For the moment, Héctor’s primary concern was getting Miguel dry.  At least the shivering had stopped.

“...and everybody was kinda mad that Rosa an’ me followed Abel, ‘cause I’m seven and not twelve like him, but then there was this really loud scream, kind of, and everybody just ran all of a sudden, then I guess I fell in the river an’ I was really scared, but then Dante tried to save me.”  Cuddled with poncho and alebrije-dog, Miguel was chattering—shyly but with growing confidence—about his terrifying adventure of the evening.  “Then I think I saw something, while I was swimming.  Like a white ghost chasing us in the water.  But then we sank and I thought I was gonna die, but then I was here and you came.”

“Chased by a ghost, eh?” Héctor commented lightly, even as he frantically rifled through his belongings in search of something for the boy to eat.  So far, all he’d found were sticky, empty liquor bottles, which he’d quickly dumped into a box and shoved out of the child’s sight.  “That’s an interesting way to end up in the Land of the Dead.”

The boy went quiet for a long beat.  “...this is the Land of the Dead?”

...whoops.  Damn it.

“Um, yes!”  Héctor turned to grin encouragingly at the wide-eyed child, wincing again when Miguel’s lip started to tremble.

“Am...am I dead?” the boy quavered.  “The river—Abuelita always said—”

“Oh no, no no no!”  Héctor frantically waved his hands, though he couldn’t really be sure of the answer himself.  “If you were dead, you’d be a skeleton like me!  You’re just a little lost, I think.”

“Oh...”

Miguel sniffled and clung tighter to Dante, but the tears didn’t come and Héctor heaved a relieved sigh.  He really couldn’t take it if the child started crying again; it was a cruel trick of fate the boy’s eyes reminded him so sharply of his daughter’s, and the bittersweet tug of looking at them was bad enough without adding fear and weeping to the picture.

“Yeah, see?  You’re just fine,” Héctor hurried to reassure the child, abandoning his search for edibles in favor of coming over to sit on the cot, near the boy but not too close.  “I used to be alive like you, but now I’m dead as a doorknob, so I’m a skeleton.  You’re still alive, so you’ve got skin and everything.”

“Okay.”  Miguel looked mildly reassured, but not much less worried, and his small voice was tremulous.  “Héctor?  Can I go home now?  Please?”

“Don’t worry, chamaco.”  Héctor’s mouth ran away from him, ready to promise the moon to the boy with Coco’s eyes.  “I’ll find a way to get you home.  We might have to talk to some people, but I’ll figure something out!”

“You don’t know the way?”

“Well...” he hedged, cringing a little.  “It’s kind of ridiculously easy to get into the Land of the Dead, but it’s not so easy to get back out.”

It’s really God-damned difficult, actually.

“I came here from the river,” Miguel volunteered hopefully.  “Maybe if we got a boat...?”

“Oh, I wish it was that simple, kid,” Héctor sighed.  “Trust me, I’ve tried.  But you could row forever out there on the Water and I think there’s nothing but mist.  There’s a couple of places up in the city we can go to ask, where they take care of people coming and going from the Land of the Dead.”

“People come and go?”

“Sure, as long as you’re remembered and you have a photo on an ofrenda, you can go back to the land of the living on Día de Muertos, to visit your family and take your offerings.”

“So that’s why Abuelita wants all the offerings to be just right,” Miguel realized, eyes widening.  “And the path of marigold petals, and all the photos...!”

“Sounds like you have a good abuela.”  Héctor smiled wistfully.  “She takes care of your family.  So you gotta get back to them.”

“Yeah,” Miguel agreed.  “I’m already gonna be late.  Mamá’s gonna be so mad when she finds out I followed Abel...”

“That’s right, no more sneaking out at night, okay?” Héctor nudged.  “So, chamaco, can you tell me where you live?  The state, the town?  Do you know your address?  That way we can go to the right Department office, and they’ll be able to send you home faster.”

“I live in Santa Cecilia,” the boy replied easily, hopefully.

“Really!”  Héctor’s brows climbed.  “Well that makes things easier, I know the guys at the Santa Cecilia Department.”

Or it could be really awkward.

Small world indeed, to run into another Rivera from Santa Cecilia, even as common as the name was.  He tried to ignore the strange feeling that coiled into his non-existent stomach.

“Do you think they know the Rivera Familia de Zapateros?” Miguel asked him innocently, looking hopeful.  “Everybody in Santa Cecilia knows it.  That’s where I live.”

Wait, wait, wait.  What?

Héctor turned his head to stare at the boy so fast he almost lost a couple of vertebrae and nearly dropped his jawbone into his lap.  “Rivera Shoemakers?” he gulped, suddenly numb.  “You’re...?”

“My house is on the Calle del Paraíso, with a big sign on it shaped like a shoe.”

It was an effort to get his slack mouth to work.  “Do...do you know...Coco?”

“Mamá Coco?  Yeah!”  Miguel was honest and enthusiastic.  “My abuelita is her daughter.  Mamá Coco’s my favorite grandma!  I always play with her, and sometimes she even...”  The little boy trailed off, blinking wide eyes when bony fingertips traced his round cheek.

Coco’s grandson...!

Héctor couldn’t tear his eyes away from the small face, stunned shock robbing him of all other thought.  Whatever passed as his heart had leaped into his throat, whatever remained of his stomach had dropped to the floor, and whatever essence of brain that still rattled in his skull continued to spin like a dizzying tornado.

Coco’s eyes—they really were Coco’s eyes.

You’re Coco’s.  You’re family.

It hit like a crashing ocean wave.  He had a great-great-grandson.  And he’d missed his daughter’s entire life.

It felt like the first years of his death all over again.  The grief and bitterness, the self-hate and regrets, and he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, to rail and weep and shout and throw things like he had decades ago.  He’d never felt like more of a damned fool for leaving than this moment, looking into the small, innocent face of all that he’d missed.

Miguel didn’t recognize him, staring up at him in confusion with Coco’s eyes.  Héctor’s heart broke.

“Just—I need—wait here...”  He pulled away from the uneasy child, stumbling over his words as much as his own feet as he all but fled.  “Stay—stay put, I’ll...be right back...”

Mind spinning, Héctor ducked out of his hut before he could fall to pieces.

(tbc)

I really hope this is staying in character enough...