Chapter Text
It was dusk. The sun was setting on a crimson sky and shadows stretched over the hard, hot stone the two young men paved. Hot air clung to the clothing they wore and after a long day of travelling it was really taking a toll on their muscles, the weight of each step growing slower and slower until—
“Miguel? Oi!” Hector paused to turn after noticing his brother had come to a halt. “What is it?”
“Just... give me a second” Miguel’s eyes were fluttering as he struggled to keep focus and a spike of concern passed up Hector’s spine.
“Vamonos hermano” he urged with a beaten tone. “We’re losing light, come on, I’ll carry your guitar.”
“No gracias. I’m okay” Miguel’s voice was barely above a whisper. He looked exhausted. “But, can we take a break?”
Hector’s lips pursed together in a thin line, his eyes moving between the younger Rivera and the dimming street ahead of them.
“Ehhh, no” he concluded guiltily. This earned him an indignant groan.
Miguel looked like he wanted to argue, in-fact Hector could pinpoint the exact moment he considered it — but not a second later his fatigue won and he inched his way back to Hector’s side. The older Rivera counted his blessings that Miguel was too tired to start questioning his leadership; he was already doing that enough himself.
As they began to wander he peered down at the other and his brow-line creased. Guilt wouldn’t stop gnawing at his chest, Miguel wouldn’t be in this situation if it hadn’t been for him. Idly slinging his arm over the boy’s shoulder he hoped to offer some comfort, when there was no protest he decided it was okay.
Their family had made it abundantly clear they wanted nothing to do with Hector nor his dream of becoming a musician. Music seemed to be an age old curse on their bloodline — any Rivera involved with it was stripped of that pleasure before it got out of hand. Hurt and angry he’d packed his bags in the dead of night and fled; clinging to the dream of becoming famous and returning home with wealth ... something, anything to prove music wasn’t a lost cause.
Too late did he realise he was being followed. The youngest of his siblings, Miguel, had woken and decided to tag along, much to his protest. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, they both shared a distaste for the family shoemaking business and Hector had taught the kid to play the moment he caught him strumming a guitar. It’s probably why they were so close.
What scared the man the most though, was this new weight of responsibility — to raise Miguel, to keep him safe, to support him. Hector had tried to convince him to go back, they’d even fought over it. This had only ended in Miguel running off in tears — they reunited quickly after, having scared the older Rivera half to death. But hey, Hector was an adult! He was twenty now, going on twenty-one in a month! Legally he had the right to live his life as he wanted, he could look after his brother, whether he was supported or not.
Unfortunately for them Santa Cecelia was a small town, so it didn’t take long for the two brothers to catch wind of their escape. A couple of days into their journey and rumour was spread that one of the Rivera’s kidnapped their little brother and ran away — soon that he threatened his familia with a knife, after that he robbed them of their savings. Hector rolled his eyes, sure he might’ve grabbed a little cash but he didn’t completely rob them.
After hearing this Hector had considered sending Miguel home again, but after the first time with the kid running off in tears and almost getting lost he knew better than to try again. It was too much of a risk. He’d also proposed the idea of handing himself in, but after hearing how gruesomely Santa Cecelia had painted his side of the story his fear got the better of him. — The last thing he wanted was to be labelled a criminal — he’d never live his dream then.
No, they just had to lay low and leave Santa Cecelia, they’d start a better life.
Regardless, they were on the run.
“Pull your hood up Miguel” Hector instructed.
It was late in the afternoon, they were surely on the outskirts of town by now. However word travelled far and the last thing Hector wanted was to be recognised after they’d gotten so far.
“What will happen if we get caught?” Miguel asked, his eyes cast low in thought.
“That is for me to know, and for you to not worry about!”
“Hey! If we’re partners now you have to tell me the truth!” Hector glanced at the other, surprised. “No secrets okay?”
“I dunno Chamaco!” An amused smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Lying is kind of my thing”
“Oh come on!” Miguel laughed and punched the other in the side.
Hector couldn’t help but chuckle back. He respected his little bro for wanting an honest relationship between them, especially now when they didn’t really have anyone they could rely on. So, accepting his request he replied. “It won’t happen, but if we do you’ll be taken back to Abuelita”
Miguel shivered at that. They loved their Abuelita but her tactics for control were bordering on scary. “And you? What will happen to you?”
“Well, word is you’re here against your will, I don’t think it’ll be a slap on the wrist” Hector felt the boy’s shoulder tense beneath his hand and he squeezed lightly. The last thing he wanted was for Miguel to start blaming himself, but he’d asked for the truth.
Stewing in worry they both continued their trek in silence. However it wasn’t long before the eery peace was broken by a gurgling growl. Hector arched an eyebrow in surprise.
“What... was that?”
“Lo siento” Miguel replied sheepishly. Two hands came to rest against his stomach and he winced as his body responded with another bark. “I’m really hungry, can we get something to eat?”
Hector mentally slapped himself, he’d forgotten how important it was for kids to have a decent meal every couple of hours. They’d gotten breakfast at a stand selling sweet bread, but since then he’d been more focused on laying low than feeding his little brother.
Burying his hands in his pockets he felt around for spare change but as he’d feared his fingers only ran over two small coins. This wouldn’t be enough. They’d already used most of the money for a change of clothes and shelter — he hadn’t anticipated Miguel joining him on this trip so he only had resources for one person.
“Thing is chamaco, following on from the no secrets rule— we don’t have enough money” he confessed.
Miguel’s face dropped and he jerked back. “What? But— how are we going to catch the train if we don’t have money?! How are we going to eat?! Hector!”
“Oi, oi, hey, it’s okay! You’re with me! I always have a plan!” He noticed Miguel’s face pale.
——
“You wait here chamaco, watch me lay on my rugged charm”
Their feet had led them into a small bar sitting at the side of the road, coaxed by the smell of food. It was a bit run down, paint chipping from the walls, bottles littered underneath table tops, not to mention they seemed to be the only people there. However, as Hector made his way to the bar counter he noticed a short figure behind it. He cleared his throat and held his hat in his hands, something he did when he was being his most sincere and polite.
“Hola!”
The figure stirred. “Hola. What can I do for you?”
“Well amigo, I’m glad you asked because I could really use your help” he began.
The man watched him carefully, already suspicious of Hector’s proposal. He looked to be in his fifties, his chin jutted out and his head was home to a few grey hairs; he didn’t look like someone who wanted to be bargained with. Just Hector’s luck.
“To skip straight to the point, I need food, and my financial situation isn’t exactly—”
“Go away, I don’t do handouts.”
“No see that’s the thing! I’ll work for food! You have a job you need done I offer my help — in exchange for dinner. Eh? Pretty good deal no?”
“Not interested.” The older man grunted at him, turning his head away for good measure.
“Come on. You don’t have a single job? I could sweep the floor, clean up bottles, I’ll even kiss your boots if you’re into—” Hector’s words were forced to an abrupt halt as his necktie was used as leverage to drag him down. He was now face to face with the old man, the stench of alcohol impossible to miss.
“Listen calaca, I have nothing for you. Go grovel for scraps somewhere else.”
A sinking feeling began in his chest and followed down to his stomach, Miguel was no doubt watching, he could feel his eyes on the back of his head. He didn’t want to grovel, he didn’t want this to be the example set for the younger Rivera — what if Miguel grew up thinking the only way he could get something in the world was to lie and beg. Hector swallowed his shame.
“Por favor ... I have a kid” his voice was quiet and pleading as he beckoned with his nose to the back of the restaurant.
The stranger followed his gaze and spotted Miguel in the corner. Sure enough his eyes were wide and anxious, his hands squeezing the neck of his guitar — wondering whether to intervene or not. Understanding passed over the older man’s brittle features and his grip on Hector eased off.
“We’ve been travelling all day, I wouldn’t be doing this if I had other options” he met the other man’s eyes and the malice behind them faded, replaced with weariness. “I give you my word, I’ll repay you.”
“Thing is ...” he began. “I don’t have a lot to spare—”
“Chicharron? Who is this my friend, is he giving you trouble?”
A voice to the back of the bar had Hector craning his neck in surprise. There stood a man, dressed in an expensive white mariachi suit, brandishing a couple of medals and adorned with a large glistening sombrero. There was no mistaking the fact that this stranger was well built — Hector caught his eyes drifting a little too far and he reeled them back up to face. The mariachi’s hair was slick and the beginning of a moustache sat above his top lip.
“He’s okay, Ernesto” Chicharron dismissed as he released Hector.
Miguel was suddenly jumping from his seat, throwing the guitar back over his shoulder and running into the middle of the bar. “Ernesto?! A-as in — Ernesto De La Cruz?!”
This so called Ernesto strolled inside, forgetting the commotion up front to beam down at the Rivera boy. “Yes that is correct, hola niño”
“I’m-! I’m such a big fan I—!” Miguel spun on his heel to stare at his older brother. Hector had never seen him so excited. “I watched him perform in the plaza! He goes on tour and—and—”
A throaty laugh bubbled up from Ernesto’s chest at the enthusiasm and he leaned down to ruffle his hair. Hector was almost worried Miguel was about to faint but his soul returned when the other complimented their guitar — going on to ask if the younger boy played himself, which Miguel confirmed to be true.
While the two continued to introduce themselves the older rivera wondered how he’d missed his brothers infatuation with this man. He’d never heard of him, but from what Miguel was saying it sounded like he’d made quite a reputation for himself.
Peering down he noticed Ernesto was carrying a guitar case, no doubt here to perform for the night. Having a popular artist play would coax in starstruck customers. Sure enough as Hector passed a glance around the room he was able to identify a small stage in the corner. Envy for this man’s lifestyle flickered in his chest, he longed to be like him someday.
“What’s your name my friend?” Ernesto asked his brother.
At this question Hector felt his blood run cold, he hadn’t explained to Miguel the importance of keeping his identity confidential — nor had he suggested they come up with fake names given the off-chance they’d have to use them.
“Miguel! M-my name is Miguel”
Mierda! Hector cursed under his breath.
There was a heavy silence in the bar, one that made Hector feel sick ... until...
“It’s very nice to meet you my boy! The world needs more musicians like you ay?” Miguel was grinning ear to ear as Ernesto patted him on the shoulder, seemingly unaware of the heart attack he’d given his brother. “So, what’s his business here?”
It took Hector a good second to realise the mariachi was referring to him.
“He’s travelling with that kid, they need dinner so he’s been trying to bargain it out of me” the older man — Chicharron — chuckled hoarsely.
Ernesto parked his guitar case against the bar counter, shuffling his weight to balance more on one hip as he looked Hector up and down — sizing him up. A twinkle of something he couldn’t pinpoint sparkled in Ernesto’s light brown eyes.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty” Hector responded. It was the truth, but the way Ernesto was watching him made him want to check his birth certificate, just to make sure.
The sides of his mouth quirked into a charming smile and Hector swallowed.
“You’re twenty with a kid and don’t have money?”
Ernesto asked this with a hint of amusement and Hector’s eyebrows furrowed in response — defensive. “I-I... something came up and we had to leave our family in a rush, we’re just trying to get out of Santa Cecelia.”
He didn’t want to feel any more humiliated.
“Is that right? Well, surely you’re going to help these poor boys?” Ernesto removed his piercing gaze from Hector onto Chicharron. His body language relaxed — suggesting these two men had history together.
“This is none of your business Ernesto, you stick your big nose somewhere else.”
Taking Chicharron’s word for it the man smirked in response, dragging his eyes down Hector’s form once more before strolling over to the stage to set up. There was something about his confidence that had him mesmerised.
“Kid, listen here!” Chicharron demanded and the older brother jerked back to attention. “If I had a job for you I’d be happy to help, you seem like a good man but I’m sorry, you came on the wrong night—”
“I have a job for him!” Ernesto called from the side.
Chicharron rolled his eyes. “No you don’t.”
“I do! In-fact I’ve been hoping to find someone as enthusiastic as him for the task!” He retorted, returning to lean his arm over the countertop. The old man only squinted suspiciously at him. “How much are you paying me for tonight Chich?”
“An arm and a leg” he grumbled.
“If this man does a good job, you can keep that money and give them a meal”
Hector couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It’s not that he hadn’t expected his plan to go well, but more that he’d never experienced genuine kindness from a stranger before — at-least a stranger willing to give Hector a chance to prove himself. He couldn’t help the relieved, grateful smile that pulled across his face and the mariachi returned it.
“Ernesto” Chicharron’s voice was low and sceptical as he glowered at the musician. “I know what you’re playing at. Don’t.”
A finger was pointed accusingly in Ernesto’s face and the man rolled his eyes, playfully batting the older man’s hand away.
“Come on” he gestured to Hector. “I’m trying to help. He just wants to feed his boy!”
“You know nothing about him. You don’t even know his name!”
Hector hardly understood why names and personal information was required for a short dinner job but as they both looked to him for confirmation he realised he had to come up with something.
“G ... Gael” he murmured. “Gael Garcia”
Ernesto threw a smug glance in Chicharron’s direction, lifting his eyebrows as if to say. See?
“Well Gael, if you’ll just follow me into the back I can get you set up”
As Hector was led away there was something unreadable on Chicharron’s face — like he had more to say, but the words died on his lips as his cold features fixed into a defeated crease.
Sure, there was something in the back of Hector’s head suggesting he should investigate the man’s behaviour but his stomach growled, dismissing the idea before it could come to fruition.
It’s fine — Hector told himself as Ernesto pulled back a divider, beckoning him to follow. And he did.
Miguel made to follow the two men but Chicharron stopped him with an outstretched peg-leg. “Not you, you stay here.” He barked roughly.