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It’d been nearly eighty-six years since he’d died. The day had started like any other. He’d awoken in his small shack in Shantytown, lovingly running his hand over his Wall of Names. Names that he’d carved into the wood—the only proof that these people had ever lived. One day, he would add his own name to this wall, he could feel it in his bones. For now, he would carry the weight of the stories and memories of the people who’d passed on. 

Sometimes he liked to think that there was another afterlife for the Forgotten. A Land of the Forgotten or something. If such was the case, then he hoped he could give strength to those who’d passed. It was an unspoken rule in Shantytown—respect and remember. Stories were told freely, and memories were shared. Not of their lives from Before, but their lives now. Even Héctor was included in that. Because while they all knew they’d one day Fade, everyone in this little pile of crap they called home shared one solitary fear—being forgotten. Not just by those in the living world, but by their fellows here in the Land of the Dead.

“Hola amigos.” He whispered softly to the wall. “I… didn’t get over the bridge again.” He sighed. “But next year! Next year, I’ll come up with the best plan.” He insisted. “So don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll… I’ll find some way to see her… one more time.” He let his forehead rest against their names. 

When he closed his eyes, he could still see them. Tío Antonio and his gap-toothed smile as he waved a bottle of whiskey and beckoned him to drink together. Tía Esmerelda and her graceful dances as they partied on the pier. Little primo Enrique, who was far too young and small to have been Forgotten—a mere boy of eight. Héctor had remembered that Fading quite clearly. Not a dry eye in Shantytown that day. 

“Ah, look at me.” He gave a low humorless laugh. “I really am getting old.” With a heavy breath he pushed himself away from the wall and left through the door. Money was hard to come by in the slums—properly known as Shantytown. But even a skeleton’s gotta eat. Well, it wasn’t as urgent of a requirement as it was for the living, but the hunger pains were still a thing, somehow. He couldn’t die from it, but it was annoying to go hungry for too long. Even death couldn’t be easy, he supposed. 

“Hola Tío Héctor!” He waved and jovially shouted back the greeting. Looked like Chicharrón was feeling a bit better today—he was sitting on the porch having a nice smoke, talking with Tía Chelo and her girls.

“Hey! Héctor!” Cheech sent him a look. “Where’s my femur you jerk?!” 

Héctor pulled the brim of his hat down a bit. “I’ll… bring it back!” He winced. 

“Yeah, just like my mini fridge?!” 

He was not about to tell Cheech that he lost his femur over the edge of the Marigold Bridge. He walked a little faster.

Héctor wasn’t quite sure where he was going until his feet brought him to the Artist’s District. A small smile tugged at his lips as he threw his arm up towards Ceci’s window and knocked. The woman opened her window with a fond scoff and an eye roll, using his own arm to knock the lever that sent down the ladder that’d let him in. 

“Gracias, amiga.” 

“Yeah, yeah. So what is it this time? Another hair-brained scheme? Día de los Muertos was yesterday.” She informed him as she went back to her work. “Have you come back to work on your little side project, or do you need more patching?” She took a moment to eye the threadbare clothes he had on. 

“I…” He hesitated for a moment. Why was he here? His feet had brought him to Ceci without thought. “Just came by for a visit, I suppose.” He shrugged. 

“Well, if you’re here for visits then you can help me while I work.” She pointed towards a few dresses that’d already been pinned. “I know I’ve taught you the right stitching methods. Put them to good practice.” 

Héctor smiled softly as he nodded and got to work. The radio played quietly in the background, and he could hear Frida working on something in the other room. The small talk was insignificant, but it allowed his mind to focus on his current stitching task and not wander down the inevitable black hole it did in the days following yet another failed Bridge Crossing. 

He privately thought that Ceci knew this too, because she always gave him tasks when he came to visit after Día de los Muertos. Héctor was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice someone else coming in. 

“Ah, Victoria.” Ceci greeted softly, startling Héctor out of his work. The woman—Victoria—sent him a curious look. “Oh, him? Héctor is an old friend of mine. He drops by from time to time.” 

“Hola.” He greeted awkwardly. He couldn’t help but notice how white her bones were. Pristine—remembered. Not a fracture or sign of yellowing. His own bones were old and brittle, yellowed with the age of being slowly forgotten, and fractured or broken from too many rough fights. It always drew looks in the nicer areas of the Land of the Dead—likely where this girl was from. 

He was pleasantly surprised to find that she neither mentioned it nor stared. “Hola, Señor.” She turned to hand Ceci a basket. “I brought you your offerings. I figured you were too busy to grab them yourself, so I visited a few ofrendas for you.” 

“You’re such a sweetheart.” Ceci smiled as she took the basket and set it aside. Héctor set his eyes back towards his work, but he couldn’t shake the strangest feeling that he’d seen Victoria somewhere. 

“So how was the show?” The girl questioned. 

“As usual, everything went by without a hitch.” Ceci grinned. “Ah, but that’s enough about me.” It looked like she was about to say something when one of the mariachi guys walked by, grinning at Héctor as he passed. 

“Hey, Chorizo! How’s it going?” He laughed. 

“Ha ha.” Héctor deadpanned. “Not funny.” 

“Chorizo?” Victoria blinked. 

“Go on, ask him how he died!” The musician laughed. “He choked on some Chorizo!” 

“It was food poisoning!” Héctor defended himself. “There’s a difference!” 

“Food poisoning?” Victoria lifted an eyebrow in disbelief, and Héctor shrugged. 

“There was a sharp pain in my stomach and the next thing I know I’m dead. Can’t think of anything else, unless I suddenly became allergic to tequila.” He waved his hand. “Nothing for you to worry about anyways. It was nearly a century ago.” That didn’t mean it didn’t bother him though. Sometimes he still had phantom pains, and there were days when he could taste the liquor on his nonexistent tongue. For some reason, tequila made him sick these days. He hated the stuff. Perhaps because it was the last thing he had before he’d died. 

The girl’s eyes narrowed as the conversation continued, now with a third participant. Victoria was pleasant company, and joined him in his sewing. As the day became night and the two of them went their separate ways, he found that he’d enjoyed getting to know her a bit. Perhaps she would become another friend of his. Like Ceci or Frida. 

Héctor was always a regular haunt in Ceci’s workshop, but he’d been coming a little more often. So had Victoria, apparently. He’d intrigued her. Not in a romantic way—Héctor would never dream of looking at anyone but Imelda like that—but he liked to imagine that his little Coco would’ve enjoyed learning how to sew like this. That maybe the two of them could’ve bonded over a shared skill. Victoria reminded him of his daughter in many ways, and Héctor found her company enjoyable. 

This went on for weeks—the two of them bonding over little things. Conversations ranged from their deaths—she died in a bus accident, the poor girl—to professions. She apparently was a shoemaker, but enjoyed drawing. He confessed that he was a musician in his youth, but had given it up for personal reasons.

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“I heard Ceci talking the other day. She said you tried to cross the bridge?” Victoria tilted her head as she studied the man beside her. She’d only met Héctor three weeks ago, but there was something about him. 

He was obviously either very old or didn’t have a large family. She didn’t often see people with bones in as bad a state as him. She was a little wary around him at first, but it was easy to see he had a heart of gold. He was a little timid and shy, but full of life and energy. Always humming under his breath as he worked, full of crappy jokes, and never had a mean thing to say. In fact, Héctor was one of the nicest people she’d ever met—living or dead. 

It was why she couldn’t understand why he always looked so lonely. 

Héctor’s fingers paused mid-stitch. “I… uh… Nobody’s ever put my picture up on the ofrenda.” He admitted softly, and Victoria felt her eyes widen in disbelief. How could a man so full of kindness and life have no one in the Living World that had put up his foto? “And there’s someone I need to see.” He let his gaze drift out the window. 

“This idiota tries to cross every year. I think he holds a record with the enforcement officers.” Ceci added nonchalantly, making Victoria jump a little. 

“Every year?” Victoria blinked. She’d heard of people attempting to cross the bridge when they had no photo or offering on their ofrenda, but they usually gave up after a year or two. Maybe five if they were determined. But Héctor had been here for a long time. He once mentioned that it’d almost been a century. 

“Without fail.” Ceci nodded firmly. 

To have tried to cross the bridge for nearly a hundred years straight without fail… Just who was he trying to see? She wanted to ask, but it seemed too insensitive a question, even for her—one of the most blunt and straightforward people in their familia. Even still, her curiosity was burning.

“You… said there was someone you needed to see.” The man before her looked distinctly uncomfortable with the topic. 

He looked at her for a moment and sighed. “My little girl.” There was a wistful look on his face. An expression of utter devotion and adoration. “I swore to her I’d come home one day… I don’t care if she can’t see me, but I need to see her. I need her to know that her papá loves her… that he tried to come home.” He clenched his fist for a moment before shaking himself. “Ah, it’s getting late. Sorry if I’m keeping you.” 

“If… if you want, I could check up on her for you? Next year?” She vaguely saw Frida sigh and shake her head out of the corner of her eye, and wondered if perhaps the other woman had already offered. 

“I appreciate that, but I need to see her. Just one more time.” His voice held a note of desperation and finality that shook her a bit more than she expected. “My little Coco.” 

Victoria stiffened at the name. “Coco…?” No, there was no way… Her mamá’s papá was a deadbeat musician who walked out on them. He never cared about their family, and he certainly wouldn’t have died so young. She once heard from Ceci that Héctor was only twenty-one! But… A hundred years ago would be just about right… “Coco… Rivera?” 

Héctor stiffened and looked up at her with wide eyes—eyes that held a light of fear. They flickered down to her shoes for the briefest of moments, as if he could identify her family by them—perhaps he could. “Oh… I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He scrambled out of his chair and backpedaled towards the door. 

“Wait!” 

“Lo siento. I shouldn’t…” He blindly grabbed the door knob. “Imelda wouldn’t want me to be around you. Lo siento.” 

He was gone before she could say another word. 

Chapter Text

Victoria was a woman on a mission. Her mamá’s papá—someone her mamá never stopped loving despite everything he’d supposedly done—wasn’t at all like the stories she’d grown up hearing. He was funny and awkward and seemed to be a genuinely good person. 

Food poisoning. His numerous bridge crossing attempts. This wasn’t a man who’d willingly left the family, this was a man who had been torn away from them. So desperate to get back to his daughter in an attempt to… apologize? Reconcile? Make sure she was okay? 

She supposed he’d get the chance to see her when she joined them, but knowing her familia he may not get that chance. Mama Imelda seemed deadset on keeping him as far from their family as possible. 

And Victoria felt like there was more to this story than what she was seeing now. So, in true Victoria Rivera fashion, she set off to investigate. 

Murder. Her hands shook as she finally put the pieces together. After nearly a solid month of searching—of asking people about timelines and everything else, she had finally stumbled across what felt like the most honest truthful answer. 

Héctor Rivera had been murdered by his best friend Ernesto de la Cruz for his music. She had no proof, and going off the way Héctor spoke of his own death, even the man himself likely hadn’t realized it. But the pieces fit. The motive was there. And she’d grilled her tíos relentlessly about Ernesto as well. 

Ernesto was becoming a somewhat popular singer around the time of Héctor’s death, but it wasn’t until after that that he really took off. Songs like Remember Me and other famous hits tore through the musical industry like wildfire. And never once had he ever mentioned a partner. Everyone said Ernesto de la Cruz wrote his own songs. But in the last century since Héctor’s death, not one new song had been released. Not a single one. 

The only reason why a man who loved fame as much as him would refuse to write more music was because he couldn’t. Because he’d murdered the man who really wrote them. 

After all, food poisoning didn’t work as quickly as Héctor had described. But poison sure did. 

She took a deep breath and set her shoulders back. It was time to have a serious talk with Mamá Imelda. This… would not be easy. 

Chapter Text

Imelda stared at her granddaughter in shock as the room shifted behind her, wary of her wrath. Victoria was the most level headed and logical person in the family. She wouldn’t be coming out with these crazy accusations unless she was entirely certain she’d found the truth. And as much as Imelda wanted to deny it, her words did ring true. 

There was logic in what Victoria had found. 

Héctor had never been anything but devoted to her and Coco. It was why his betrayal had cut her so deeply. She’d defended him time and again when people whispered about him having left her. And then she’d gotten a letter from Ernesto explaining that Héctor had run off with some other woman. The letter had sent her into a spiraling pit of depression and confusion. She’d denied it vehemently for months, years even. But when Coco had finally reached the age of six, she finally admitted that her husband wasn’t coming home. And that was when she’d cut music out of her life. It was too painful. 

But now to realize that he may have been murdered? By Ernesto of all people?! If it was true, then that letter held no more value than a pile of dirt! 

How many times had she turned Héctor away in the land of the dead? How many times had he tried to explain himself only for her to shut him out and send him away with Pepita? Had she truly been wrong this entire time, then… 

Well, perhaps Héctor wasn’t the only person who had some apologies to make. She was still angry that he left—who leaves a young daughter and wife alone for a few months to tour?!—but if Victoria was right, then Imelda had no reason to be angry for never returning. 

And now, it was time to see if there was any truth to Victoria’s words. 

“Imelda?” Óscar timidly shook her from her thoughts. 

“I think… it’s finally time I hear his side of things.” She stood from her seat, looking at Victoria. “Where is he?” 

Felipe liked to think he was a good judge of character. He and his brother never understood why Héctor would leave Imelda and Coco. He’d never been anything but devoted to his wife and daughter, and Felipe and Óscar had been proud to call him familia. Felipe in particular could recall how long it’d taken Ernesto to convince Héctor to go on that stupid tour. 

He’d sworn it’d only last a few months. Promised that he’d be home by the winter. His entire reasoning for the tour was because Ernesto had sworn that they’d be able to make enough money that Imelda would never need to worry again. 

And shortly after Día de los Muertos, the letters stopped coming. Then Ernesto sent one  more explaining that Héctor had run off, and they’d had no reason to doubt Ernesto—the man had been Héctor’s best friend since their childhood days, back at the orphanage. He’d been an honorary brother to Héctor, and practically a Rivera himself. There was no reason to suspect the man of lying about something like that… Except it was exactly what Héctor wouldn’t do.

Felipe and his brother had never quite been able to believe that their brother-in-law had run out. But they would stand by their sister’s side nonetheless. 

Even still, when Ceci hesitantly let them in and they got their first look at Héctor in nearly a hundred years, it was startling. The man was dressed in nothing but rags patched far too many times and torn in more than one place. His bones were aged and yellowed and worn, and there were several fractures that they could make out—most notably on his ribcage. Tape seemed to hold his right arm together, and his left leg was in a similar position. 

Perhaps what hurt the most was the way his eyes widened, shimmering in fear when he saw them. 

“Imelda…” He quickly stood, pulling his hat off his head and hunching his shoulders. Felipe was quite certain he wasn’t even conscious of the fact that he’d shrunken in on himself and dipped his head, like he was trying to make himself smaller. It was painful to see. 

Héctor had always been full of life and exuberance. Confidence and humility, though never arrogance. He’d never looked so fragile before. 

“Héctor.” Imelda sighed. 

“I-I swear, I didn’t know she was your granddaughter. I know… you don’t want me around, and I…” 

Your granddaughter. The wording made Felipe wince. It made sense that he’d trained himself to think of them as a family that wasn’t his—and whether that would change or not was up to his sister and no one else—but he’d said it so naturally. 

“I’m not here about that.” Imelda cut him off swiftly, and the man flinched lightly before cocking his head to the side. “I’m here… to listen.” 

“To… listen?”

“Victoria did some digging, and… I think it’s time I hear your side of the story. All of it.” 

Héctor’s eyes shimmered in hope—bright flaring hope that was nearly painful to look at. “I tried to come home.” His voice was hardly a whisper. “I got homesick after only a few months. That last letter I sent… That same night I packed my things. Ernesto practically begged me to stay, but I couldn’t stay away any longer. He sent me off with a toast.” Héctor sighed softly. “I felt a pain in my stomach… probably food poisoning or something. And I was dead before I even reached the train station.” He clenched his hat. “I tried. I just wanted to go home.” 

Felipe grasped Óscar’s hand as the twins clung to one another for silent comfort. The pain in Héctor’s voice was clear as day. In that moment, all doubt that this was a lie flew right out the window. And Imelda seemed to think the same. 

“Oh, Héctor.” The Rivera matriarch slowly walked over to him, gently cupping his face in her hand. It struck Felipe in that moment just how yellowed Héctor’s bones were. And while he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, he knew it was a sign of a hard afterlife. “Mi amor.” Everyone held their breath at that. “I am… so sorry I did not believe you.” 

“Imelda?” 

“I’m still angry with you for leaving.” She sniffed. “But… but you tried to come home.” She took another breath. “And… if you want it, home is still here for you.” 

Héctor looked at her with wide eyes, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or not. “Can I…?” 

“You must swear to me.” Imelda’s voice was like iron. “Swear you will never walk out again.” 

“I swear.” He whispered the words like a sacred prayer. “I swear upon my entire existence that I will never… Never leave you. Until we are once more separated by death, I will be by your side.” 

It was like an invisible weight had lifted from them all when Imelda pulled him into a chaste kiss. A broken rift in their family was finally being healed. Felipe wasn’t foolish enough to think that this was over. The hard part was still before them. Héctor had been cast out of their lives for nearly a hundred years. That wasn’t going to be fixed overnight with a few apologies. 

But it was a start. And that in and of itself was a beautiful thing. 

Chapter Text

Being home was decidedly strange. Nice, but strange. Héctor hadn’t lived with people for a very long time. It was strange getting used to everything again. Having a family. One of the first things they’d done for him was get him new clothes and make him shoes. He was grateful, but didn’t want to put everyone out for his sake. But Imelda had insisted, and he could never say no to her.

It was taking time to get to know everyone. He was making the most of every moment. This reconciliation was more than he thought he’d ever have. Imelda even lifted the ‘no music’ rule. And he’d been so caught up in finding his rhythm in this newfound family that he hadn’t had time to visit his old one. 

“Mi amor.” He savored the taste of the words as she turned towards him. He would never get tired of being able to call her like this. “I… need to go somewhere and let a few people know I’m okay.” He also needed to get some stuff. He knew that nobody would bother his shack until his Final Death had been confirmed. Well, confirmed or he hadn’t been seen in over a year. Then his place would be cleaned out and someone new would move in. And the thought of someone moving into his shack and not understanding the Names on the Wall bothered him more than he’d like to admit. 

“I’ll come with you.” Imelda decided at once, shooting her brothers a look that clearly said they’d be tagging along as well. 

“Uh… it may not be the best place…” He trailed off under her stern glare. “All right. But at least let me ask… have you ever been to Shantytown?” 

The people in the room stiffened a bit. Shantytown was known as the slums of the Land of the Dead. A place for the Nearly Forgotten who had no family and no ofrendas. Even the system in the afterlife could do nothing for them, so they were left to their own devices until they quietly disappeared. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place one would visit. 

“Is… is that where you’ve been living?” Imelda asked carefully, and Héctor looked away with a shrug. 

“It… really isn’t that bad.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. 

“Come on, corazón.” Imelda gave him a chaste kiss. Though he’d been living there for about four months by this point, he’d never get used to the kind touches of his family. He’d never get used to having a family. “Let’s go.

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Her brothers had a certain way of helping people relax. For as nervous as her husband was on the walk to Shantytown, he was downright joyful by the time they reached the staircase. He nearly gave her a heart attack when he leapt right off the pier, bones falling to pieces at the base before he expertly reassembled himself. The way that he pieced himself back together told her he’d done this many, many times. 

“Ay, no wonder you’re full of cracks, if this is how you get places.” Felipe frowned. 

“You need to be more careful!” Óscar agreed. 

“Eh, I do it all the time.” Héctor shrugged as they approached the gateway. He gave a sharp whistle, and several more echoed in response. 

“Hey, Cousin Héctor!” Someone called out. 

“Hey! These guys!” Héctor grinned broadly, his gold tooth shimmering in the low lighting. “Tío! How’ve you been?!” 

“We were startin’ to get worried!” A few women called out. 

“Tía Chelo!” Héctor laughed as he put a hand over his chest. “You wound me!” 

“Who… are these people?” Imelda finally asked. It was unnerving hearing him call out to strangers with such familiarity.

“They’re… like a pseudo family.” Héctor finally stated as he waved to a few more people. “We’re all we’ve got for each other. This is the place for people with no family and no fotos on the ofrenda, so we call each other Tío and cousin because we’re the only ones who will.” 

The nonchalant explanation hit her harder than she thought it would. No fotos on the ofrenda. People with no family. Héctor had lived here. And it was her fault. 

“Héctor… who’s this?” Another man, taller and middle-aged, called over to them. 

“Ah, this is mi amor.” He gave the stranger a silly grin, and the man studied her again. 

“So you found them.” The stranger gave a breathy laugh. “Good for you, kid.” 

“Ay, I’m older than you!” Héctor smirked. “And don’t worry, you’ll still see me pop by. Can’t leave Cheech on his own, now can I?” 

“Ha. He might be happier if you did!” 

Imelda didn’t even realize they were at their destination until Héctor pushed open a door to one of the small shacks. It was falling apart at the seams, and there wasn’t much inside. A broken hammock that looked to have been mended one too many times and finally scrapped, a pile of blankets, a desk filled with papers. One wall was covered in papers and drawings, all of them depicting possible ways to get across the Bridge without a foto on the ofrenda. 

Héctor would’ve probably been blushing if he could. “I know it’s not much.” He started gathering some papers from his desk and shoving them into a bag they’d gotten him.

“What’s this?” Óscar ran his hand over the wall by the door, and it took Imelda to see what he was asking about. There were names carved into it. Many, many names. 

Héctor went quiet when he saw what her brother was talking about. With a look akin to reverence he ran his own bones over the letters carved into the wall. “Familia.” He whispered. “Familia that’s been Forgotten.” 

Imelda’s breath hitched as her eyes darted back to the wall of names. These were all people that Héctor had known… and lost? It was true that Shantytown was also known as the home of the Nearly Forgotten, but it was incredibly rare for someone to witness or know someone who’d been lost to the Final Death. 

Oh, sure. Everyone knew what to look out for—gold or marigold colored flickers along one’s bones and markings. But most of the people in the main areas of the Land of the Dead were well remembered. So knowing that Héctor had lost so many people even after he’d died was sobering.

“Well… they’d be happy that I’m moving out of this place.” Héctor smiled softly as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Héctor adored his new life. It was like a dream that never ended. He had a family again. It was surreal. He got to wake up next to his beautiful wife, and eat dinner with his son-in-law and granddaughter (and wasn’t that an odd thought? Being an abuelo)... it was like a blissful dream. Rosita was wonderful company as well.

But this was his first Día de los Muertos since he’d been accepted as a Rivera once again, and it would be the first time he’d try crossing the bridge without a hairbrained scheme since his first two years. He was sure he’d have schemes the next year, if this didn’t work. Maybe he’d even rope Felipe and Óscar into it if they were up for the challenge. But he could tell that in the excitement of the holiday, one important thing had slipped everyone’s minds.

Héctor had no foto on the ofrenda.

But he didn’t want to run off without them. Not this year. Not yet. So he waited in line with them. Watched as they were scanned one by one, each member waiting at the other side of the gates for the others. 

Finally, it was his turn. He grinned sheepishly at the officer behind the scanner, who gave him a flat look an a raised eyebrow. The corrections officers on the other side were tense, ready to bolt after him should he make a run for it. “Hola Carla.” He greeted as he was scanned. The familiar buzz let him know that this year was no different than the last eighty-six times. 

“Sorry Héctor. Nobody’s put up your foto.” She seemed genuinely apologetic, and Héctor hesitantly turned towards the concerned faces of his familia. 

“Ah, looks like I’ll be staying home tonight.” He gave them a small smile, but the rest of them didn’t look like they bought it. Héctor stepped out of the way so the next person could move forward. “Don’t worry. Happens every year. I’ll be fine.” He’d learned to get used to it. 

“Is there nothing we can do?” Imelda looked at Carla, who blinked a little in surprise. 

“Lo siento, Señora. If nobody’s put up his foto, then he cannot cross. Even if I let him through, he’ll sink into the marigolds.” 

A year ago, Héctor would’ve gladly swam through those marigolds at the risk of falling to an early Final Death. But he’d made Imelda a promise, and he intended to keep it. “Go on.” He gestured towards the bridge. “I’ll be here when you come back.” 

“I’ll stay with you.” Imelda made to walk towards him but he gently turned her around. 

“No, amor. I want you to visit our little Coco. Tell me how she’s doing. I want you to describe everything to me. Okay?”

She didn’t look happy about it. None of them did, actually. But he was able to convince them to cross the bridge without him. 

“Not gonna make a run for it this year?” The officer beside him shot him a look. 

“Jorge.” He greeted with a sigh. “No, not this year. Next year, sure. But… I’ve only just reconnected with mi familia.” 

“You’re a Rivera?” Jorge blinked at him in surprise. 

“I’m Imelda’s husband.” He always got a trill of excitement when he said that. Though she’d said he could introduce himself as such, it’d been forbidden for the longest time. Old habits die hard, and Héctor was still trying to break himself of his. 

“I never would’ve guessed.” He hummed, looking between Héctor and the bridge with a new light of confusion. Imelda was infamous for many things in the Land of the Dead, and her anger towards her husband was likely among them.

“She… didn’t know I died.” He winced and the guards listening to him all winced in unison. 

“That makes so much more sense.” Jorge nodded. “Well, if you aren’t going to cause trouble tonight then you should head back.” He sounded a little disappointed. 

“How much did you lose betting on my schemes this year?” He snickered as Jorge shot him a glare.

“Enough.” He answered in annoyance. “Now scram Héctor, before I toss you in jail for the night.”

“Ay, my wife would kill me if she had to bail me out.” He laughed as he turned around to head home. “Have a good night, amigo.”

He made a detour. Shantytown was still a regular haunt of his. Just because he had a family now didn’t mean these people were any less important to him. He shared a few drinks with a few people, traded some stories and updated his makeshift familia on how he’d been. It was only after he got back home—the family home, not his shack—that he realized how exhausted he’d become. 

He was used to being tired. It was something he kept from his family, but he knew it was because he wasn’t very well remembered. But this was worse than usual. He entered the kitchen, intent on cooking something for his family when they got back, but before he could even flick on the lights, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made his nonexistent heart stutter in his chest. 

It was a golden shimmer in his hand. Hardly there, and gone so quickly that it could’ve very well been his imagination. But he knew better. He could feel the dregs of exhaustion pulling at him. There were probably less than five people in the Land of the Living who remembered him. And he had the horrible feeling that that number had just decreased by one. 

A heavy sigh escaped him as his eyes traced the shapes in the darkness. The picture frame that sat on the kitchen counter… the handmade blanket that hung over the couch… All the little homely touches that he’d never been there for. And now, he was reminded that his time was limited. 

Fading. Forgotten. The Final Death. They weren’t normalities in this part of the Land of the Dead. Not like in Shantytown where it hovered outside the door, a misty fog that blanketed their daily lives. Despite his foto not being on the ofrenda, he was quite sure his family had never stopped to think about what that meant for him. 

That he wouldn’t be there forever, like they would. He would one day be Forgotten. And that day was looking to be uncomfortably close. “I need to tell them.” He clenched a fist as the ghost of Imelda’s laughter echoed around him. “I can’t just leave like before.” He recalled her pained glare. “But…” He took another breath. They were still healing. Still getting used to having him around, and sharing their lives with him. 

He couldn’t hurt Imelda again. Not like that. He still had a few years left in him. Surely, Héctor could tell her in a couple of years. He didn’t want this hanging over their heads like it was his, after all. They would only worry. He wanted their last few years with him to be happy. 

As it turned out, Héctor did not have the strength to make them dinner that night. When the family got home, he was already asleep in his bed.

Chapter Text

Héctor shared a grin with the twins. This was his ninety-third year dead. He’d been with his family for a wonderful seven years, and they’d fallen into a comfortable arrangement. Julio was a fair bit surprised when he crossed over to learn that the man that had left Imelda had actually never left at all, but Héctor was overjoyed to welcome another member of the family home. 

They’d taken to keeping him company each Día de los Muertos. One person (or pair in the twins’ case) would stay with him each year while the rest would come back with photos and stories and all kinds of offerings that they’d share with him.

And each year, especially if it was the twins with him, he’d attempt to cross the bridge anyways. He never succeeded, but the officers had gotten a lot more creative with their bets since Óscar and Felipe had started helping him. So far the closest they’d gotten was having one of them try carrying him over the bridge. Unfortunately, his weight had started pushing them both down into the petals, so they’d started looking at alternatives. Like sleds or cars. 

They’d get there one day. Or at least leave the record for the most attempts at crossing the bridge. Héctor was just happy he could make memories with them while he could. 

This year, the officers had let him out of jail after only an hour. They always let him out before Imelda got back, unwilling to take a shoe to the skull after that first legendary attempt since he’d rejoined the family. Héctor swore he could still see the fracture in that one officer’s head. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been gentle with Héctor, who still sported a crack in his ribcage from the incident, which had ultimately been what ignited Imelda’s fury. Well, that was certainly a fonder memory for him, at least. 

“Felipe! Where’s the masa harina?” Héctor may not have been the best cook, but he’d made it a tradition to have a little something ready for the family when they got back. 

“Oh, it’s in the cabinet under the utensil drawer.” Felipe and Óscar popped up on either side of him. 

“Gracias.” He bent down to get it when his whole world tilted. An abrupt wave of exhaustion followed a ripple of intense discomfort as a wave of gold ghosted over his arms. Óscar dropped the plate with a thunderous crash as the twins stared at him in something like horror. It took Héctor only a moment to catch his breath. “Ah… sorry about that. Lost my balance.” 

“Hermano?” Felipe was the first to speak up, and Héctor winced. “What… was that?” 

He’d hoped that they hadn’t seen. It looked like he wouldn’t be that lucky tonight. “Please… don’t tell anyone.” 

“You’re… being Forgotten.” Óscar’s voice was scarcely a whisper, but it echoed like the rumble of an earthquake. 

“I still have time.” He admitted softly. “I… I don’t want to tell anyone just yet.” His own breath hitched. “I don’t know how. It’s… not like there’s anything anyone can do.” 

The twins shared a silent look that seemed to be a cross between horror and guilt. “This is…”

“...because of us.” 

“No. It’s my own fault.” Héctor hauled himself to his feet, gratefully accepting the help of his brothers-in-law. “It’s because I left, and—”

“You were murdered.” Felipe hissed. “That’s hardly your fault.”

“I trusted him.” 

“We were all fooled by him.” Óscar shook his head as he led them all over to the couch to sit. “But that’s no excuse for us… banning you like we did. It’s one thing to not put you on the ofrenda…”

“But it’s another to try to erase you from memory.” Felipe choked out the words. “I…” 

“We’re sorry.” The two of them spoke in sync. 

“Hey, enough of that.” Héctor gently flicked their foreheads. “Idiotas. Both of you. We’ve all gotta go sometime. I just happen to have a habit of dying young, is all. Not much to do about it, so let’s make the most of the time we’ve got, yeah?” He mustered up the strength to pull the twins to their feet. He wanted to curl up and sleep. He ached all the way down to his marrow, but he didn’t want to worry them more than he already had. “This food isn’t going to make itself.” 

The two of them shared a look and a nod. “You… are going to tell Imelda, right?” 

“I’m not going to leave her without a word.” Héctor nodded firmly. “I just… need to figure out how I’m going to say it is all.” 

“We’ll help you,”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Just let us know.” 

“Gracias hermanos.” Héctor wrapped an arm around their shoulders.

Chapter Text

The family had returned from that Día de los Muertos with a somewhat sullen air. Coco was sick. Well, not physically. But she had something that was making her lose her memories and ability to function. For Héctor, it was heartbreaking. He knew that it’d been an utter miracle that his daughter had remembered him for so long. But knowing now that she was going to forget him… that he wouldn’t even be able to glimpse her on this side… 

It hurt. 

But it also hurt Imelda. It hurt everyone to have to watch her wither away like this. Confused and afraid. Within a few years, it would probably be so bad that she wouldn’t even recognize her own children.

Héctor wished he could see her. Just one last time. The last thing he wanted to do in that situation was give everyone more bad news, and it seemed that Óscar and Felipe at least understood that. 

So he waited a few months. He would’ve probably waited longer if another one of his friends in Shantytown hadn’t been Forgotten recently. Having to carve yet another name into his Wall was sobering in a way he hadn’t expected. And it brought with it an understanding that sometimes it was easier to mourn if you had a little warning. 

So when he’d asked Imelda if he could speak with everyone after dinner and pulled the twins to sit next to him, they understood what this was about. It was perhaps the most serious he’d ever seen the twins, and that seriousness set the others on edge too. 

“Héctor?” Imelda’s brows furrowed in worry. 

“I… I have something you guys need to know.” He could feel the exhaustion even now—ever present, ever tugging. Tío Lupe once told him, in the days before he’d been Forgotten, that the exhaustion gets progressively worse towards the end. You can feel when your time has come. When it’s just easier to lay down and drift away into oblivion. He was starting to understand what he meant by that, but Héctor was quite sure he still had a few years left. Until Coco forgot him.

He felt Felipe and Óscar squeeze his shoulders as he took another breath. “I… I’m telling you so you’re prepared. But… I don’t think I’ll be able to welcome Coco home.” 

Everyone froze in confusion and trepidation at his words. “Why not?” Imelda looked confused. He thought it’d be obvious when he mentioned Coco, but apparently not. 

“Because I—” He cut himself off when a wave of pain—this wasn’t discomfort like last time, it was pain—passed through him. He heard the sharp intake of breaths, felt the twins holding him upright as he caught his own breath. Hesitantly, he looked up at the horrified faces of his familia. “I don’t have that much time left. Coco… is the only one who remembers me.” 

“You’re… You’re being Forgotten.” Victoria echoed numbly. 

“Sí.” He sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to ease some of the fatigue. Before he’d even looked back up, he found himself engulfed in Imelda’s hug. It was desperate. She held him like she was afraid he’d vanish that very instant. “Mi amor, calm down. I’ve still got a few years in me.” 

“Lo siento.” She whispered into his ear. “This is my fault. All my fault.” 

“No, no. Don’t you ever think that, corrazón.” He held her as tightly as he could. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I never should’ve left you and Coco.” He felt the rest of the family join the hug. Somehow, he knew none of them would be sleeping tonight.

Chapter Text

Victoria sighed as they sat at the breakfast table. It was hard to act normal again. Papá Héctor had become a large part of their lives. He and his music were always within arm’s reach. Whether he was dancing with Mamá Imelda, playing on the guitar somewhere, or simply offering a helping hand with his somewhat awkward grin. He was part of their family. And even though he couldn’t join them in the Land of the Living, none of them had stopped to think about the consequences of that. 

That he was Fading. Cutting him out of their lives so wholly and completely had not only doomed him to a frankly shitty afterlife (Victoria had heard horror stories about Shantytown and how its residents were treated in other areas of the Land of the Dead), but a short one. 

She would never forget the way her entire body froze when she saw that golden light ripple across her Abuelo. The way his face had scrunched up in pain, and how her Tíos had needed to support him so he could sit straight thereafter. It wasn’t just her that’d been frightened. 

Everyone had been scared. It was bad enough that Coco was forgetting everything, but realizing the consequences thereof was even more horrifying. After all this time… nearly a hundred years of trying to cross the bridge to see his daughter one last time, Papá Héctor would Fade before she would even reach the Land of the Dead. 

And she, more than anyone, was afraid of what that would do to Mamá Imelda. The two had been unbelievably close since his return. It as she imagined things would’ve been like if Héctor had never left. Once the initial awkwardness had faded, he’d slipped into their family and lives like he’d never vanished in the first place. Abuela had never looked so happy as she had these last few years. And Victoria was quite sure her Tíos were equally thrilled. 

And now this.

It would crush them. All of them. Imelda had stormed into the Department of Family Reunions that next day and demanded to know if there was any way—any way at all—to stop the Final Death. Despite Papá Héctor trying to calm her down, she’d nearly torn the entire department apart trying to find someone that had an answer other than “Lo siento”. 

Victoria was sure she wasn’t the only one that noticed the widened eyes of the officers and employees as their gazes followed Héctor. The dawning realization… and the flashes of grief. She knew many of the employees there had a soft spot for her Abuelo. If it wasn’t obvious enough by the yearly Día de los Muertos betting ring, then by the fact that he was always released from his cell long before sunrise—always with plenty of time to get home and start dinner.

Despite the seemingly hopeless situation that was before them, Abuela refused to give up. She swore up and down that Papá Héctor would survive. That he’d meet their Coco again. Swore it on her entire shoemaking business, even.

Victoria was just as determined, but even she felt like it was a stretch. Nobody had ever stopped the Final Death from their side of the veil. And it wasn’t like they could tell stories about him to the living somehow. Even if there was a way to do so, the stories had to be from when Héctor was alive. And the only person who could tell those stories now was losing them. 

Truly, it seemed all they could do was enjoy what little time they had left.

Chapter Text

Héctor opened his eyes in the wee hours of the pre-dawn light. There was an exhaustion to his bones—like his very marrow was made of iron and glass. He’d managed to hide the worst of the flickers from his family, but he knew. He could feel it. Just like Tío Lupe had said. 

Today was his last day. He would be lucky to live to see another sunrise. And it was Día de los Muertos, to boot. He turned his head to gaze at his sleeping wife. He marveled at how white and shiny her bones were, her colorful markings, that wonderful strip of silver in her hair. He gently swiped a hand over her cheekbone, wincing as the action caused a ripple of pain to travel along his bones. She leaned into his touch, curling around his hand in her sleep. He found his own lips tugging themselves upwards. 

He had one day left. He had to make it count. 

Héctor forced himself to climb out of bed. These last few months had been especially hard on him, but he’d managed to hide the worst of his exhausted gait from the family. Today, however, he didn’t have the energy to do so. He hobbled down to the kitchen and started on breakfast. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” Rosita smiled broadly. “Do you need a hand?” 

Héctor shot her a bright smile, masking his pain as best he could. “Cooking is always more enjoyable with company.” 

Her smile dimmed a bit when she saw his unnatural hobble—smooth and practiced, like it had become his normal way of walking. “Are you in pain Papá Héctor? Let me take care of breakfast.” 

“It’s fine.” He reassured her. “Just these old bones giving me trouble again.” She shot him a mildly disgruntled look but didn’t force him out of the kitchen. 

As the day flew by—faster than Héctor wanted it to, he swore it was moving twice as fast as it should—he spent time with each member of his familia. He saved the twins for last—seeing as they’d be staying back with him this year. 

The others had just left to head to the bridge, leaving him alone with the twins. And while Héctor had no intentions of hiding this from his family, he could hold on long enough for them to enjoy this night. 

For the moment, he and the twins were planning another hair brained scheme to get him across the bridge, and Héctor was all for it. This time, he’d be dressing up as Frida (with her permission of course). 

They were just finalizing the plan when the wave of agony enveloped him. He fell to the ground with a loud clatter, gasping as waves of marigold flickered across his bones for several seconds. Far longer than any time before. 

“Hermano?” Felipe’s concerned face had him wincing as he let Óscar help him into a sitting position. Normally, he’d be able to put on some kind of bravado and stand within a minute or so. This time, he didn’t even try. 

Héctor let out a long sigh. “My time is finally up.” His whispered admission had the twins’ bones rattling in horror.

“No… you can’t mean…” 

“You’re…” 

“I don’t think I’ll make it to sunrise.” He let his head rest against his brother’s shoulder. “But I will last long enough for everyone to enjoy tonight. I hate to ask, but can you… make sure they don’t take too long?” He felt selfish asking that, but he really didn’t want to die alone. And he couldn’t die on Imelda without saying he loved her one more time. He refused to disappear on her again. If he was going to die, he’d die with her by his side.

The twins shared a firm nod. “I’ll get them.” Óscar moved to stand, and it took Héctor a moment to realize that the twins were planning on splitting up—something they almost never did. 

“No, no. Don’t get them now.” Héctor made himself stand again, old bones creaking in protest. “Let them at least get to the ofrenda.”

“Hermano… The ofrenda will be there next year. You will not.” Felipe pulled him into a hug, and it took Héctor a moment to realize that he was crying. Could skeletons even cry? If not, then Felipe was doing a damn good job at dry sobbing. Oh, Óscar was crying too. 

“At least… let me try the Bridge. One last time.” 

The two of them nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Things went a little wonky after his yearly arrest. Felipe went to check on Imelda, who apparently had been denied access to the bridge and was now threatening to take down the entire department… again. And Óscar went to retrieve the rest of the familia so they could spend the rest of the night with Héctor. 

What Héctor hadn’t expected was to run into a living child. A child who claimed his only family was Ernesto de la Cruz. And while Héctor had never forgiven the man who’d murdered him and stolen the chance he had to watch his family grow up, he held no animosity towards the young boy, Miguel. 

And if he spent his last night helping a living child go back to the Land of the Living, then perhaps he could pass on his final message to Coco. Maybe… just maybe he could even put up Héctor’s photo on an ofrenda before the night’s end, and he could Fade beside his beloved daughter.

The performance in the plaza was exhilarating. He had done a few small performances here and there, but only for family and friends. Singing and playing for a crowd was something he hadn’t realized he’d missed until he’d done it with the chamaco. He only wished he could sing with Imelda as well on that stage. 

And then he was able to confront his old friend. Ernesto. Who admitted to what he’d done. Who had zero regrets. It’d felt good to punch him in the face, even if it fractured his hand a little. He’d be gone in less than twelve hours regardless, so he might as well take his shot while he had it. He knew his wife would be pleased, at the very least. 

And then Ernesto had the gall to throw the chamaco down the sinkhole with him. Where he learned that Miguel was not Ernesto’s great-great grandson, but his. There was a warmth in his chest at this realization that had him belting out one of the loudest grittos he’d made since Imelda agreed to be his again. 

Which, incidentally, had his wife finding them both. The utter relief in her expression spoke volumes, even as they landed on the roof. Felipe and Óscar in particular looked nauseated with relief. 

“Ay, you were supposed to stay with the twins.” Imelda scolded lightly. “When we couldn’t find you… And you.” She turned to glare at Miguel. “Why did you run off?!” 

“I… I thought you would forbid me from playing music again.” He scuffed his shoes. “But… Papá Héctor… he taught me that nothing is more important than family.” 

Imelda gave a long sigh. “The music ban has been gone for a decade.” She informed the shocked child. “Everything… was a mistake.” 

“Imelda—” Héctor’s legs crumpled beneath him and he hit the ground hard. His wife was by his side in an instant, eyes widened with horror. 

“You’re out of time.” She realized. 

“Please!” Miguel looked at her. “Ernesto de la Cruz has Héctor’s photo! We have to get it back!” 

He could see the resolve in the entire family. This was Héctor’s last chance to see Coco. And he knew they’d risk their afterlives to give him that chance. Even if he wouldn’t survive to see the sunrise himself, he would at least be able to see his beloved Coco. “Right.” Imelda helped him stand. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Felipe watched his sister dance around the stage, singing. He hadn’t seen her sing like this in a very long time. She’d danced passionately with Héctor, and they’d sung together softly in the quiet hours of a lazy afternoon. But seeing her on stage was different. Hearing her voice accompanied by Héctor’s music was sweeter than any sound he’d ever heard. Until de la Cruz showed up and started trying to steal the photo from her, disguising it as a dance. 

It was more than satisfying watching her stomp mercilessly on his foot with her heel and snatch that picture from him. Imelda ran towards them with a massive grin, leaping into Héctor’s arms with a laugh. “I’d forgotten what that felt like… performing on a stage.” 

“So had I.” Héctor gave her a kiss. 

“Eugh.” Miguel pulled a face and Felipe held back a laugh. 

“I think it’s time we get Miguel home.” Héctor smiled as the kid took his photo. Felipe felt something like excitement swell up within him. Maybe… Miguel could even help Coco remember Héctor. Maybe they could avoid the Final Death. 

Then Ernesto—that bastardo—came over and dragged Miguel away, even going as far as shoving Imelda harshly to the ground. He held Miguel up like some kind of shield. “Stay back! Stay back! Not one more step!” 

Dante tried to pull the kid back, but the Alebrije was still so young… he didn’t have the strength to do more than force the jacket from the boy’s back. 

“Ernesto, stop!” Héctor tried to go forward, but that horrible marigold shimmer passed over him along with a look of momentary agony. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut, and Felipe abruptly remembered that Miguel wasn’t the only one running dangerously low on time. “Leave the boy alone.” 

Even now, Héctor’s only thought was Miguel. Honestly, how could they have ever thought he would hurt their family? 

“I’ve worked too hard, Héctor.” Ernesto whirled about. Out of the corner of his eye, Felipe saw Rosita and Victoria trade nods, the former moving the nearby camera towards the scene unfolding before them. “Too hard to let him destroy everything.” 

“He’s a living child, Ernesto.” Héctor tried to reason. 

“He’s a threat!” Ernesto pointed towards the boy. “You think I’d let him go back to the Land of the Living with your photo?! To keep your memory alive? No.” 

The words hurt more than they should have. And worse still, they seemed to cut deep into Héctor, who looked almost as betrayed as the day they told him that Ernesto had murdered him. 

“You’re a coward!” Miguel accused, and as much as Felipe agreed with the boy, he really wished that Miguel had kept his mouth shut. 

“I am Ernesto de la Cruz. The greatest musician of all time!” 

“Héctor’s the real musician!” Miguel was on his feet a moment later. “You’re just the guy who murdered him and stole his songs!” 

Ernesto pulled the boy up by the front of his shirt. “I am the one who is willing to do what it takes to seize my moment. Whatever it takes.” Then, without a moment of hesitation, he took three large fast steps and threw Miguel over the edge. 

“NO!” Nobody was sure who did and did not shout, but everyone lurched towards the edge as if they could save Miguel.

“Apologies old friend. But the show must go on.” Ernesto sent a smirk towards Héctor, and if Felipe hadn’t been so frozen with disbelief and panic over Miguel and what just happened, then he would’ve punched the murderous bastard himself.

As it was, Héctor looked like he was in shock as much as the rest of them. Thankfully before much could be said or done or even fully processed, Pepita flew up with Miguel safely on her back. The relief was palpable. 

Until Héctor collapsed. The Flickers seemed more painful and intense this time, and Imelda was by his side in an instant. Felipe leaned heavily into his twin as he watched Héctor and Imelda send Miguel away by force just as the sunrise truly started. 

The family stood there, slowly sinking to their own knees as they sat beside their Fading family member. The Flickers were so frequent there was almost no respite. Each one seemed to tear more and more strength away from Héctor. Even his voice was strained and carried an exhaustion that Felipe knew he’d never understand. 

“Héctor… You cannot leave me.” Imelda whispered desperately. 

“If I could stay, amor… I would.” His smile was heartbreaking. “But I am glad I have mi familia with me. Please… tell Coco her papá loves her.” Another Flicker, another agonized gasp. “I… have letters. In the top drawer of my desk.” 

Letters. Héctor really had planned for everything, hadn’t he? To have even written them letters... Felipe had no doubts that there were letters for the familia he’d yet to meet as well. Those like Miguel and Elena.

This time, the Flicker had become a glow. Felipe held Óscar’s hand so tightly he was sure both their bones had cracked. Neither of them cared. Bits of golden dust started to drift away from Héctor. 

This was it. This was… the Final Death. 

As his brother closed his eyes for what Felipe was certain would be the last time, he couldn’t help but wish that skeletons could cry. Because these dry sobs of his weren’t helping relieve his grief and agony at all. 

And then… and then. It stopped. Like someone had simply turned off the glow of the Dust, or closed a vent… The Dust faded to nothingness, and Héctor’s bones started to regenerate. There was a rattling shuddering gasp, and Héctor’s eyes cracked open. 

They stared in awe. It was a miracle. The Final Death… had been stopped. 

“She… remembers me.” Héctor gave a weak—so very weak—shaky laugh. “Chamaco did it.” 

None of them cared how silly they may have looked in that moment. The whole family hugged one another, and Imelda pulled Héctor into a passionate kiss. It was only when they heard the entire stadium behind them cheer that Felipe realized the camera that Rosita and Victoria had turned on… was still broadcasting. 

Imelda didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in her understandable relief of Héctor’s miraculous survival, so Felipe and Óscar silently turned the camera off. What Imelda didn’t know… couldn’t hurt the twins. At least, they hoped not. 

“Amor…” Imelda held him close. “Don’t you ever—EVER—scare me like that again.” 

Héctor gave a breathy laugh. “I promise. So long as one person remembers me… I will be with you.”

The fact that he passed out just after that didn’t really do anyone’s nerves any favors, but the fact that the haunting golden glow remained absent put their minds at ease… as much as they could be, all things considered. 

“Let’s go home.” Imelda carefully picked Héctor up, cradling him against her chest. “All of us.”