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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

Miguel's POV

'Where am I?' My eyebrows scrunched as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, taking in my surroundings.

There were buildings all around me, covered in the light of the fading sun. Overgrown weeds towered in front of the old wooden structures, giving what may have once been a beautiful neighborhood a rundown look. Most of the buildings were houses, with nailed-up boards covering the windows and doors, and faded 'for sale' signs just barely visible through the tall grass. However, one small house still looked to be in use, and I could see a light coming from within.

I walked towards it slowly, looking all around me as the wind blew through the plants, making eerie noises that sent shivers up my neck. The sun had set completely by the time I reached the house, and looking at it again I realized how tiny it truly was. It was one-story, looking to only have a few rooms. I bit my lip nervously as I contemplated what I should do for a moment, before knocking.

"Woah!" I exclaimed loudly as my hand went through the rotting wood. I pulled it back quickly, taking sharp, shallow breaths as I tried to figure out what had happened. 'Am I a spirit again...?' My eyes widened as I stared at my fingers in horror. 'The last thing I remember is going to bed.'
I tried to recall how I got here, to no avail. 'Maybe someone in there can help me,' I hoped, swallowing the lump in my throat.

A few moments passed before I tentatively raised my hand again,  slowly letting my arm pass through the door. It didn't hurt, so I carefully stuck my head through the door as well. I looked around, realizing the place was practically empty. With the light from the full moon shining brightly outside, I could see there was no wood or drapes covering the window. The walls had peeling, yellow paint, and there was nothing that revealed who lived there as far as pictures or paintings went. I could hear voices coming from somewhere in the house, so I walked through the rest of the door, searching the building for the occupants.

I scurried through the entry room, making my way to the living room. I grimaced at the rotten smell as I walked through the passageway. Glancing around, I noticed an old, ugly-looking couch with a moth-eaten sheet over it, and two large chairs that looked to be used recently, as they were the only objects that didn't have a thick layer of dust. The windows had no covering over them, leaving the wooden ground near them moldy from years of rain. The moonlight cast twisted shadows on the wall, the darkness moving as the trees and plants outside swayed in the wind.

Looking closer at the floor, I could see shoe prints in the dust. There were two paths, one leading back to the front of the house, and the other through a door I could barely make out in the moonlight. 'It must be the bedroom,' I reasoned, as I could hear muffled voices coming from within. I took a deep breath, before reluctantly walking to the closed door, an uneasy feeling stirring in my stomach. I looked behind me one more time, then hesitantly passed through the door.

The voices instantly became clear as I entered the room. I gasped, my eyes widening as I realized who the voices belonged to. "No more, Ernesto," Papá Héctor ordered as he finished packing his bag. "I miss my family. I don't want to spend another day away from them." 

Papá Héctor headed for the door. I jumped when Ernesto moved to grab him, a vicious snarl on his face. I was about to try to intervene, when Ernesto seemed to think better of assaulting Papá Héctor, straightening with a large, fake-looking smile.

"Alright, my old amigo. I understand," he said with a sympathetic look as Papá Héctor stopped at the door, turning slightly to face Ernesto. "You have a beautiful wife to go home to, and a young daughter to raise. Who am I to try to keep you waiting?" The large man said with a small, sad chuckle. "Let's have one last toast to our friendship though, that we may part as friends before you go back home." Ernesto grinned, but I could see a dark glint in his eyes in the lantern's dim light.

"Of course," Papá Héctor replied with a small smile, setting his suitcase down momentarily.

"No!" I cried, startled as I watched Ernesto pour the drinks, putting a powdery substance in one of them.

"Don't drink it Papá Héctor!" I shouted, trying to warn him.

He couldn't hear me though, as he took the drink from Ernesto with a smile. I tried to knock it from his hands, to stop him from drinking it, but my hands passed through him and the cup, as if I wasn't even there. I screamed as Papá Héctor drank the poisoned alcohol in a jovial spirit, while Ernesto watched him with a wicked smirk. I could do nothing but stare as Papá Héctor set the empty cup down, and they headed to the train station.

I followed behind, watching as Papá Héctor would occasionally wince, rubbing his stomach. It wasn't until a half hour later, when they had reached the station, that the poison started to complete its job. Papá Héctor's face contorted into a pained grimace as he fell to his knees, clutching his midsection.

"Are you okay, my friend?" Ernesto asked, fanning concern. "Perhaps it was something you ate?"

"You lying murderer!" I yelled, glaring at Ernesto, before rushing to Papá Héctor's side. His breathing was harsh as he trembled from the pain, small groans coming from his mouth as the poison slowly killed him. I looked around, just realizing that the station was practically empty, and that there was no one to help Papá Héctor. Minutes passed before he passed out from the agony, his breaths growing increasingly labored. Slowly, they came farther and farther apart, until finally, after one last shuddering inhale and exhale, they stopped.

"No!" I screamed, trying desperately to find some sign that he was still alive somehow.

"No, this can't be happening, this—this can't." I muttered to myself, pulling my hair harshly with my hands, trying desperately to not fall apart. Tears streamed down my face as I watched Ernesto drag Papá Héctor away.

"No!" I bolted upright with a shout, my heart beating out of my chest.

My eyes darted wildly around the room, searching for hidden enemies. I scrambled off my bed, pushing myself into a corner of the room as I hyperventilated. The shadows danced on the walls as the trees outside shook in the wind, the image eerily similar to what I had seen only moments ago. I pulled my knees to my chest as I tried to forget my dream and focus on the fact that Papá Héctor was fine now, that he was alright, and that Coco had remembered him in time.

I took a shuddery breath, gripping my hair tightly. Tugging at the short black strands, I desperately attempted to calm myself down. My face felt wet, and my clothes were soaked with sweat, though I shivered from an imaginary cold.

"Just a dream," I murmured quietly. "Only a dream."

'It doesn't help that you know it wasn't really just a dream. A long time ago now, a variation of that event did happen.' A voice inside my head whispered, one I was quick to lock up.

Pushing myself up from the floor, I changed into dry pajamas, climbing back into bed. I lay there for several minutes, unable to suppress the urge to continue frantically examining my room. Finally, I sighed, checking the time on my clock.

I grimaced. "How is it only one o'clock...?" I muttered with a groan. I rolled over, knowing that if I wanted to be somewhat functional tomorrow, I'd need more than three hours of sleep. I forced my body to let go of its tension, trying to close my eyes. 

As soon as my eyelids fell shut though, I saw Papá Héctor lying on the ground, his glazed eyes open, but unseeing. I winced, my own eyes flying open. I knew it was just a dream, but it felt so real! It'd only been a a couple weeks since Día de los Muertos, and finding out who my great-great-grandfather was. Since that hectic night, I'd had trouble sleeping, whether from horrible nightmares or my mind racing too fast to even bother trying to rest.

It affected other parts of my life, too. I wasn't eating as much, my appetite diminished by my exhaustion probably, and I was having trouble staying awake in school. I knew I should probably try to get a few more hours of sleep, but try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes and risk returning to the land of horrors that may await me. I contemplated staying here till morning, or going to see if I could crawl into my parent's bed for the night. I frowned as I considered that idea, as I hadn't done anything that childish in years, and it was a habit I thought I'd broken.

'They must be tired. After all, they have little Socorro to look after now. I wouldn't want to be too much of a hassle.' I rolled over in bed, attempting to count sheep jumping over a creek in my head. I slammed my arms against my bed in frustration once I reached 161, and still felt wide awake. 

'On the other hand,' I thought, re-examining my previous plan. 'I probably won't get another wink of sleep if I stay here all night.'

Suddenly, thunder crashed outside, making my decision for me. I shrieked, before racing to my parents' room, slowing down slightly so as to not wake up the rest of my familia. Cautiously, I opened their door, being careful not to let it squeak. I tread as silently as I could to their bed, doing my best not to step on any of the creaky boards. Finally, I reached their bed, practically inching my way between them as I attempted not to wake them up. I had almost reached the pillows when I heard a loud squeak come from the mattress below me. I watched in horror as mi padre sleepily opened his eyes, looking at me in confusion for a moment.

"Miguel? What are you doing in our bed?" He asked, turning the bedside lamp on, the dim glow waking up mi madre as well.

"Why are you here?" she asked as she rubbed her eyes groggily, sitting up slightly in bed to look at me better.

"I just...uh..." I whispered quietly, trying to say I'd had a nightmare, but in a way that didn't make me look like a complete baby for running to my parents after a bad dream.

"Miguel," mi padre began gently. "You're getting too old for this. We love you, but we need our sleep as well, especially with the baby now."

I looked down at the blanket, fiddling absentmindedly with a loose string on the hem of my shirt. I bit my lip, trying to hold back tears as I realized I probably wouldn't be allowed to stay. It hurt, but I knew he was right. They didn't have time to deal with me. I was just being a nuisance.

"Miguel, we love you." Mi madre said, choosing her words carefully. "It's just the baby needs us more than you do right now, and you have to be a big boy, and not come running to us because of storms."

I opened my mouth, about to tell her that wasn't the problem, before shutting it so quickly my teeth clicked. 'Even if that isn't the problem, it doesn't matter. She doesn't need to know that I actually had a nightmare, that I woke up terrified, looking all around and checking, and double checking, and triple checking to make sure I was truly alone, making sure that he wasn't there, that he wasn't going to try to poison me, or—'

"Sí, Mamá." I muttered as I looked up at her, mustering up the biggest smile I could.

She softly cupped my cheek with the palm of her hand, kissing my forehead. Mi padre hugged me, and I slowly crawled off the bed, shuffling off to my room. Sighing deeply, I rubbed my eyes, feeling like my room was a kilometer away. After what felt like an hour, I opened my door, fearfully glanced around the room before running to my bed and diving under the covers.

'I know it's stupid, to be so terrified of something I know couldn't possibly be there.' I pursed my lips as I looked around my room once more. Lightning struck outside, and I flinched as the light briefly illuminated the corners previously shadowed in darkness.

'I can't help it though! The nightmare, and what happened on Día de los Muertos, I...I can't seem to close my eyes for a moment, without seeing him in my mind's eye. If only I could sleep in my parents' bed, just for a few hours.' I lamented, my eyes flickering to the door. 'Maybe if I just explain—no. They have bigger things to worry about than some baby 12-year-old who had a bad dream about a dead guy! Besides, they wouldn't understand anyways, they weren't there.' I thought dejectedly, attempting to get comfortable in bed.

'Face it,' a creature deep inside of me whispered, with a voice like nails on a chalkboard. 'Your parents have a baby now. They don't need you. They'll forget all about you, just you wait. It'll start small, sure. No more good night hugs or kisses, forgetting to wake you up in the mornings, things like that. Soon enough though, they'll forget they even had a second kid!' It hissed, filling me with despair.

"No!" I muttered hoarsely, violently shaking my head against the ridiculous notion of being forgotten. "My parents love me!"

I tried to close my eyes and push away all the doubts and worries in my head. 'And—' I looked at the window pane, watching the rain beat against it. 'They always will...right?'

Chapter Text

Miguel's POV

I ended up not getting any more sleep, mostly because I was too scared to close my eyes for any time period longer than a minute. I waited in bed for my parents to wake me up like they usually do at 6:45 or so, but when it reached 7:15 on my clock, I realized they probably forgot to make sure I was up for school. It wouldn't be that unusual, as they'd done it before, though it'd been becoming a more and more regular thing.

'They're forgetting you,' a dark voice whispered gleefully in my mind. 'No!' I shook my head vehemently as I got dressed for school. I put on my school uniform, which consisted of an uncomfortable white dress shirt with a black tie, as well as an itchy red vest to go over it that had my school's emblem on it, and black pants. I looked at the small hand-held mirror I had in my room, trying to tame the rat's nest I called my hair. Giving up after a couple minutes, I quickly pulled on my old black jacket, walking out of my bedroom. I hurried to the bathroom, grinning when I found it was empty, a very rare sight in the morning for a family as big as mine. I brushed my teeth and then ran down the stairs to breakfast.

"Ay, Miguel! No running in the house!" Scolded Abuelita. "Sorry," I smiled sheepishly at her as I sat down, watching as she piled too much food onto my plate.

I looked for my parents, realizing with a frown that they weren't there. "Where are Papá and Mamá?" I asked, cutting up my food into small pieces, so it would look like I'd eaten when I really hadn't. I felt bad, tricking my Abuelita into thinking I'd eaten, but I really wasn't hungry. Just the thought of food made me nauseous.

"They're taking care of Coco," said Rosa as she ate her breakfast slowly, one hand supporting her head as she brought her fork to her mouth with her other.

"Your parents are very busy these days with the baby. You can't expect them to spend the same amount of time with you as before." Aunt Gloria gently reminded me.

"I...I know," I muttered, looking down as I pushed the food on my plate around some. "I...was just going to say good morning to them." I lied, glancing up at my aunt with a weak smile. She didn't need to know about all of my childish insecurities.

I fought back a sigh as I gave the excuse that I had to get to school early to ask a teacher a question, before I quickly grabbed my backpack, and ran out the door.

"No running, Miguel!" I heard Abuelo yell faintly as I headed to school. I chuckled slightly, slowing my pace to a walk so I could take in my surroundings.

It was a nice day out, and there was no sign of the dark gray clouds from yesterday. I was careful to avoid the puddles left from last night as I began my walk to school, which would take at least twenty minutes.

I kicked at a pebble, thinking over the past 24 hours. 'Gosh, I acted like such a baby last night, running to my parents,' I kicked the rock farther away, into the street. 'Why can't I just be like normal kids, and have nightmares about, I don't know, snakes and heights or whatever.' I thought glumly.

'I wish I could tell my family what happened,' I sighed dismally as I spotted the school, lifting the hood on my jacket. 'They'd just think I'm loco though, and put me in an asylum.' I shuddered, imagining myself being forced into a straight jacket as my parents told me it was for my own good.

In my peripheral vision, I could see two large boys coming towards me, twin sneers on their faces. My eyes widened as I recognized them, and I attempted to make a break for it into the school, knowing that they couldn't hurt me in front of a teacher. I made it a few feet before I was pushed forcefully from behind, falling hard to the ground.

Pain shot through my palms as my hands broke my fall on the concrete, but I knew I couldn't stay there. I tried to stand back up quickly, knowing I needed to get away, but it was useless. I coughed as I was grabbed roughly from behind by my jacket, lifted up into the air to face my third assailant.

"Well hello there, Enano," the big teenager grinned predatorily. "Pleasure seeing you at this fine establishment," he crooned, his voice oozing sarcasm.

His two lackeys walked up to join him, laughing obnoxiously loud at my predicament.

"Nice catch, Jake!" The large kid with bright, carrot-colored hair cackled.

"Let me go!" I shouted, swinging my arms at him wildly.

"I agree, Juan. A very nice catch indeed." Jake smirked, watching me struggle futilely.

"What are we gonna do to him?" Asked the last teenager. His acne-covered face made him look boyish, but he was taller than the other two by half a foot at least.

"We, Tomás, are going to enjoy our catch the best way he can." Jake set me down. "By pummeling him, till he's blue all over!" Jake finished with a vicious sneer, punching me in the gut.

The air was stolen from my lungs as I bent over, clutching my stomach. I desperately tried to catch my breath, but it seemed the harder I tried, the less air I got. I felt a kick to the back of my knees that left me sprawled on the ground. I took a few more shaky breaths, and finally got my breathing under control, right before I felt myself being lifted into the air again. I lost count of how many times they punched me, their fists coming down all over my body. It felt like ages before I heard the warning bell ring, and I was dropped to the cement like a sack of potatoes.

"See you around, Enano." Jake laughed, kicking me in the head. My vision went dark momentarily, and by the time I was able to see again, he and his sidekicks were gone.

I sat up cautiously, trying to figure out what all was hurt. Nothing seemed too bad besides a couple of bleeding scratches, so I carefully stood, wincing as the fog in my head cleared some, making the pain more noticeable. I checked my teeth, making sure I hadn't lost any, before spitting out blood.

'Well, that can't be good. Probably just a split lip though,' I hoped, pulling up my hood. I took a step forward, trying to maintain my balance as the world spun around me.

It took a few minutes, but once I finally felt like I could walk without passing out, I looked around for my backpack. It took a moment or two, but I spotted it eventually a few meters away. 'Oh right,' I recalled. 'I dropped it when I tried to make a break for it. Like that ever works.' I scoffed to myself, shaking my head slightly, before wincing. 'Man, my head kills.'

I reached under my hoodie and touched the right side of my head, where it hurt the most. I hissed as I pulled back my hand quickly. I gulped silently when I noticed my fingers were drenched in blood, as if it were finger paint. 'But at least my hair pretty much covers up all of it.' I thought hysterically, wishing I didn't have to consider things like that

'And on the bright side, my family will probably be too busy to notice that anything's wrong!' I comforted myself darkly, limping to the school doors. I picked up my pace to a slight jog as I realized that I was going to be late if I didn't hurry. Ignoring the pain that seemed to envelope my body, I rushed into the classroom, fighting against the black dots spotting my vision. Finally reaching my desk, I groaned quietly as I sat down, seconds before the tardy bell rang.

The teacher performed roll call as I lowered my head into my arms, the lights turning the roaring in my head to an unbearable level. Soon, the teacher began talking about fractions, and their importance in everyday life. I tried to pay attention as best I could, but found myself zoning out for larger and larger periods of time. Before I knew it, we were lining up to wait for the next teacher, and it was time for Biology.

I grimaced at the realization I'd have to go through hours more of school until I could go home. By the time my last class came around, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. My head was killing me, and all I wanted to do was go home and sleep forever.

'It doesn't help,' I grimaced, looking at my scratched palms. 'That I've been taking notes all day with these stupid cuts on my hands. It burns!' I fought down a hiss at the pain for what felt like the hundredth time today. I was tempted to go to the nurse's office, but I didn't want to seem like a wimp who couldn't handle a little pain, so I ended up just trying to write as best as I could with them.

After what felt like literal days, the last bell rang, and I rushed out the door before I could get caught in the mob of students. I ran as fast as I could, hoping to outrun Jake and his friends.

I cheered inwardly when I reached my house without seeing hide nor hair of them, sneaking up the stairs to my room before I could get roped into doing any chores for Abuelita.

Closing my bedroom door behind me, I quickly took off my uniform and inspected the damage. My eyes widened as I took in the vivid blue and black bruise that spread across my stomach and chest. I touched it tentatively, wincing when I put the smallest amount of pressure on it. I quickly checked the rest of my body, and noted a few bruises on my back, along with a couple on my arms and legs, though none of them looked as bad as my chest.

I put on a faded black shirt, hissing quietly when the movement hurt my chest, before putting on a pair of loose jeans. I opened my door slightly to see if anyone was there, before rushing into the bathroom and locking the door. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and wet it with water from the sink, carefully dabbing the damp sheets at the side of my head. I clenched my teeth tightly, trying to ignore the pain and not make a single sound. I pulled the makeshift washcloth away, frowning slightly at the amount of blood on it. After cleaning the cut as well as I could, I covered it with my hair, before throwing away the toilet paper and heading downstairs for lunch.

"And then he dumped me for some girl with frizzy hair and braces!" I heard Rosa complain as I neared the kitchen. I tuned out the rest of her conversation with Tía Carmen, taking my spot at the table. I noticed the two chairs that were usually occupied by my parents were empty. Instead of commenting, I swallowed down a few bites of the tacos Abuelita had made, before retreating back to my room.

'No one even said hi to me,' I sighed, flopping onto my bed. I had planned on doing homework once I'd finished lunch, but my eyelids felt so heavy, and I still had plenty of time until dinner. I wriggled under the covers, quickly deciding to take a short nap before starting on my homework.

I closed my eyes, turning my head into the cool pillow. I tried to relax, and before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep.

~•~

I woke up slowly, my senses gradually awakening as I took a deep breath. I kept my eyes closed, but was able to note that the light that filtered through my eyelids was considerably dimmer.

'I must have slept for a couple hours at least.' I took in the noises coming in through the window, the street dogs barking, children playing, and vendors selling. I could smell dinner being made down below; if I had to guess, it was probably chicken quesadillas.

I opened my eyes, rubbing away the sleep goo from them. Sitting up, I checked my clock, smiling when I realized it was 6:45, and I'd managed to sleep for around three hours. Sliding off my bed, I grabbed my backpack from beside my desk, before sitting down and starting on my homework.

I struggled through the worksheets that contained numbers and words I didn't remember, and rubbed my head, trying somehow to soothe the pain within my skull from the outside. It took me around an hour to finish everything, much longer than it usually took me, and by then, I was exhausted, and everything was slightly blurry.

I considered just going back to sleep. My bed looked so warm, and cozy, and my eyelids were so heavy, and—

"Miguel! Time for dinner!" I heard my Tío Berto yell faintly from downstairs.

I sighed, sending one last longing glance at my bed before dragging my body up from the desk, and heading downstairs.

I got a glass of water before sitting in my chair and taking a small quesadilla. I tried to block out the noise my family was making, all of the racket caused by the forks on plates, their loud chewing, and the deafening chatter. I ate around half of my quesadilla, before cutting up the rest and subtly hiding it with a napkin. I looked around for mis padres, but I didn't see them.

"Where are—" I started, until Abel interrupted with an annoyed groan, his face scrunched up in a sneer.

"Miguel! Your parents are looking after Coco!" He said, enunciating each word slowly, as if I was an idiot.

"How did you—" I began, confused, before Rosa, too, interrupted me.

"It's all you ever talk about anymore! You're always asking about them like a clingy little baby! Just grow up! They have Coco to care for now, and don't need you begging for them constantly." She scowled, her voice like ice.

"You—you don't mean that!" I spluttered, tears rising to my eyes.

By this time the entire family had stopped talking and eating, and were watching the conversation with wide eyes. Abuelita looked like she was about to say something, but before she could, Rosa continued.

"All you are is a burden and an annoyance, one they don't need anymore!" She crossed her arms with a huff.

"Rosa! That wasn't nice. Apologize, right now!" Tío Berto scolded, leading her to offer up a mumbled 'sorry'.

But I couldn't help but notice that he hadn't told her that she was wrong—just that what she said wasn't nice. I looked around at my family, waiting for someone to say she was wrong, to tell me that my parents still cared for me, to say something!

A few moments passed before I turned to Abuelita, hoping she of all my family would tell me it wasn't true.

Abuelita sighed as she looked me in my eyes. "I'm...I'm not a nuisance...am I?" I asked weakly, trying to keep tears from falling down my face.

"You're not a nuisance..." Abuelita glared at Rosa, who simply shrugged indifferently back. "However...you need to understand that your parents don't have time for all of your antics right now. They have baby Coco to care for." She said, her words leaving me breathless in a way even worse than Jake's punches had.

I felt something break inside of me as I looked at my family, and saw on their faces that they agreed with her. I couldn't believe it! 'No, no, no, this is all just a bad dream, this, this can't really be happening!'

'You saw the signs,' said the voice deep within me, and this time...I couldn't deny it. After all, it was right. My family didn't care about me.

I forced myself to focus on my abuela in front of me, and on coming up with some sort of reply. I didn't want them to see me cry, to prove them right, so instead, I focused on the other emotion I was feeling right now—betrayal. 'If they don't want me, fine. I don't need them. I...I don't need their love.' I hardened my resolve.

"May I be excused?" I asked, my voice quiet as I glared down at my plate.

"But, you, you've hardly eaten! Have some more quesadillas!" Abuela insisted hesitantly, clearly startled by my sudden change of emotion.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, not looking up from my plate.

"I asked if you wanted more quesadillas." Abuela said, using a tone of voice that made everyone wish to obey her out of fear of angering or upsetting the old woman.

My family went back to eating, probably assuming I was fine, that I'd eat some more quesadillas before going up to bed like the rest of the family. After all, no one in our family dared to go against Abuela when she used that voice. Normally, I'd cower at it as well, and accept more food with a hesitant smile.

Not today though. For the first time ever, in my twelve years of existence, I wouldn't let myself be pushed into making myself sick all night with a too full stomach. 'I'm tired of this. Tired of being treated like a pet, something they can just push to the side when they get a newer, better one.'

"No." I whispered, my voice cold as I glared down at my hands clenched tightly in my lap.

There was a sudden hush, the lack of sound making it easy to hear as a fork fell to the ground.

"What did you say?" Abuela hissed, and I could see her grabbing her chancla from the corner of my eyes.

"I said no." I looked up at her, channeling all the hatred, anger, and hurt I had felt for so long into glare. She stumbled back slightly at my fierce expression, before regaining her balance.

"I will hit you with my chancla!" She yelled, shaking it in the air, as if I was somehow stupid enough not to have known why she was holding it.

"I don't care, hit me if you like." I practically hissed, unfazed. My tone was firm, and I could see it unnerved her. I was usually a very peaceful kid, and hardly ever argued, except for where music was involved. My whole family was staring at me now in shock, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Finally, my Abuela regained her composure. "Against the wall, then. For disobeying me, ten hits." I knew she was going light on me, as it was the first time she'd ever used her chancla on me. Compared to the other children, I was basically an angel. However, I'd seen my cousins get the chancla before, and by the end of it, they were always crying.

'I won't cry!' I got up from my chair, walking to the wall. I put my hands on the wood, and braced myself for the pain to come. 'They do not get to make me cry.'

The first hit was brought down and it stung my bottom; however, I realized it wasn't nearly as bad as my cousins made it out to be. The next swats hurt a bit more as she built up momentum, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as Jake's kick to the head today did.

By the time my Abuela hit me for the last time, my behind burned slightly, but it was still way better than the beating I'd gotten earlier at school. I turned around as she put her slipper back on, and I watched as my family's expressions morphed from understanding winces to shocked gaping.

'I guess they really thought I was a baby, huh.' I glanced at my Abuela, raising one of my eyebrows.

"May I be excused?" I asked, only somewhat attempting to make the question not sound sarcastic.

"Y-yes, I suppose so." My abuela stuttered out, shocked to see I didn't look any worse for wear.

I quickly grabbed my plate and cup, putting them in the sink. I exited the room in a relaxed gait, taking in the hushed voices of my family as I did so. Scurrying up the stairs to my room, I closed the door behind me with a sigh, leaning against the old wood for a moment.

Walking over to my bed, I practically fell onto it, trying to process what had just happened. Tears streamed down my face as I finally let myself fully realize what my family had said. I cried quietly for what must have been hours, the noise from downstairs slowly ceasing as one by one everyone went to bed. When my tears finally slowed, I rubbed my eyes, suddenly feeling very exhausted from the events of the day.

I looked at my alarm clock, realizing it was eleven, and my parents had forgotten to say goodnight to me again. 'Face it Miguel,' I bit my lip, sighing deeply as tears came to my eyes again. 'They're not forgetting you. That would imply that they were going to say goodnight to you and then forgot; they were never going to say goodnight to you in the first place. After all, why would they even talk to a kid they no longer love?'

I turned into my pillow and started sobbing again. I knew I was being a baby, but I didn't care anymore. It was all just too much for me to handle.

However, I froze at the feeling of a cool breeze against my wet cheek. Opening my eyes, I was shocked when I noticed a swirling, golden light getting brighter and brighter, right in the middle of my room.

I shielded my eyes with my hand as the glow became too bright for me, and the wind blew back my hair. Yet, as quickly as it started, the light began to dim. After a few more minutes, it vanished completely, along with the strange wind. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the darkness of my room once more, and when I was finally able to see again, it took me several seconds to fully comprehend what was in my room.

Or rather, who.

My eyes widened in shock at what the golden light had left behind.

"Papá Héctor?"

Chapter Text

Miguel's POV

"¿Papá Héctor?" I stared at the human figure sitting on the floor in front of me. Rubbing my eyes, I wondered if this was another twisted dream, or if my brain was more damaged by Jake than I thought.

"Miguel?" Papá Héctor stood up shakily as he inspected his skin-covered hands in awe, before looking back at me with a smile on his face.

I grinned at him, a slightly hysterical laugh coming out of my mouth against my will. 'He...he's really here. He's here!' I shot off my bed, jumping into his arms. He caught me and twirled me around as we both cheered joyously, glad to see each other again.

He set me down, but I clung to him tightly, refusing to let him go again. He must have felt similarly, because he gripped me firmly in his own arms, which I could not help but notice were much warmer than they were a week or so ago. Our hug lasted for what must have been minutes, but felt like seconds, before I pulled away to get a better look at him.

I inspected the face I'd only seen in photos, the one with a large nose, bushy eyebrows, and ears that could rival an elephants. As I looked him over, I realized he was wearing different clothing from when I'd last seen him. He had on a red long-sleeved shirt with neater-looking brown pants, though they were small on him, as they didn't quite reach his feet.

"How...how is this possible? How are you here?" I couldn't stop staring at him, trying to process the fact that somehow my century dead tatarabuelo was somehow in my room and looked to be alive again.

'And only a few years older than Abel, too.' I mentally noted, taking in his lack of gray hairs and wrinkles. 'He could pass as my cousin, maybe even my brother!'

"I...I don't know. One minute I was laying down in bed and Imelda and I were talking...well, more so her telling me what had happened after we sent you home, and I passed out. Actually, I just woke up for the first time today. What a surprise it was to wake up to Pepita's big face right above me!" Papá Héctor shook his head, shuddering at the memory, and I laughed as I imagined how he must have reacted.

"So anyways, I was in bed one moment with Imelda mentioning how I needed new shoes, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground in front of your bed!" Papá Héctor motioned to the wood boards underneath us, scratching his shaggy mane of hair in bewilderment.

I sniffled slightly, and Papá Héctor's head whipped back around to focus on me. "Are you sick, Chamaco?" He kneeled on the ground to get a better look at me in the dark, feeling my forehead with the back of his hand.

I saw his eyes widen as he took in what I looked like, after what had been a spectacularly awful day. I pursed my lips, knowing that I probably looked more dead than he did based on what I had seen in the school's bathroom mirrors earlier.

"Were...were you crying, Miguelito?" His voice was gentle and laced with concern. I found my eyes becoming wet again again as I realized I'd missed this. I'd missed having someone there for me, that I could talk to if I had a problem, or if I just wanted a hug. Someone to tell me that it'd be alright, and that they loved me. I knew those were stupid and childish desires, but I couldn't help myself from wanting them as I practically threw myself at the man I'd only known for a night. Tears poured down my cheeks as I clutched the back of his shirt, desperately hoping he wouldn't shove me away.

He hugged me for a few minutes, before picking me up, holding me gently in his arms as I brought my hands in front of me once more, fisting them into the material of his shirt. I lay my head against his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of old wood and leather that clung to the fabric. I closed my eyes, trying to slow down my erratic breathing.

I felt Papá Héctor move to the bed, sitting down on the old, creaky mattress slowly. He set me down in his lap and I sensed him moving his legs onto the mattress. After a moment, I opened my eyelids, dimly surprised at how much effort such a simple action took.

"It's alright, Mijo. Rest." His tone was commanding, but soft. He started to sing quietly, rocking me back and forth in a manner quite soothing. Part of me was indignant, wondering if this was what my parents had done with baby Coco only a few hours ago. But the other part of me...thought it was nice. As a once in a while sort of thing.

 I felt my eyes closing involuntarily, and couldn't muster up the mental or physical strength to fight the wave of exhaustion that washed over me. I let myself relax, and fall asleep to the soothing sound of my Papá singing Remember Me.

Héctor's POV

I sang quietly until I saw Miguel's breaths deepen. I sighed as I held him tight to me, wanting to never let go. It seemed like he'd had a hard couple of weeks since our adventure together, and I could not help but wonder what had occurred while I was busy recuperating en la Tierra de los Muertos. Inspecting Miguel closer with the help of the moonlight trickling in through the window, I noticed he had bags under his eyes, and that his hands had scratches on them that looked new.

'He hasn't had it easy,' I looked around at his room, my frown deepening as I noticed the lack of any personal touches, except for a few toys, and a familiar white guitar propped against the bed. I wondered momentarily how he'd gotten it, before deciding I probably didn't want to know.

'His toys explain partially why he was so interested in music, though.' I glanced again at the used objects that were all damaged in some way, and had clearly seen better days.

'What kid wouldn't, if this is all he had to entertain himself. Heck, I had more toys as a kid, and I had five siblings!' I mentally exclaimed. Even now, I held tightly to the many memories of playing with my little sisters and brothers I had. Although I was the oldest, I never really minded babysitting when it meant spending time with them, even though I complained as a kid.

I grimaced as my thoughts drifted to a far less pleasant memory. I was coming home one day after getting groceries at the market, and was excited to show them the guitar I'd gotten. It'd taken all of the money I'd made at side jobs over the last six months, but I thought it was worth it. I was shocked to find that our house was on fire, with a large crowd around it, trying to put it out. My childhood home and my entire family was gone, in less than a day. I was only 17 at the time, and I ended up living on the streets after that.

'If only I'd known about the rules. If only I'd shared stories of my family.' I thought forlornly, as I recalled looking for my family in la Tierra de los Muertos, only to find out that they had all suffered the Final Death together, the moment I died. I shook my head, trying to force myself to focus on the present.

Pushing the memories to the back of my mind, I noticed that my cheeks felt wet. 'Am I crying?' I carefully detangled one of my arms from under Miguel, trying not to shift him too much. 'I am! For the first time in a century, I'm crying!' I laughed at how ridiculous it was to be overjoyed to have the ability to express sorrow.

Miguel shifted at the noise, and I quickly put my arm under him again to better support him, letting out a soft sigh as he became still once more. 'How is this possible? The dead can't cry!'

I looked down at my skin covered hand, as it held Miguel to my chest. 'I'm really alive...aren't I?' I let that thought sink in as I stared at my body, from my dirty fingernails, to my hairy calves.

'How did this happen?' I wondered with a yawn. My eyes were sore from the tears, so I closed them, letting my head fall back against the headboard.

~•~

I awoke quickly, my eyes darting rapidly around the room.

'I could have sworn I heard something...'

I glanced at the clock next to Miguel's bed, wondering if it had gone off, and that was what had woken me up. However, after realizing it was only 2:30 in the morning, I decided to try to get a few more hours of sleep.

'It's weird.' I laid my head down again. 'I'm usually a very deep sleeper.'

I was about to fall asleep, when I heard a scream. Jolting, my eyes shot to the child in my arms as I realized what had woken me up.

"No! Don't hurt him! Get away Ernesto! Papá Héctor, you can't die! Please!" Miguel shouted, thrashing around in my arms. There was sweat shining on his face in the dim moonlight, and goosebumps along his arms.

I stared at his pinched expression, taking in the tears streaming down his cheeks, and jumped into action. I quickly started trying to shake him awake, finding it unbearable to watch him in pain, and attempted to tell him that I was alright, hoping that somehow he could hear me. I winced as Miguel shrieked in terror, before I continued my efforts with renewed vigor, being gentle but firm as I shook his chest.

"Come on, kid! Wake up!"

Abruptly, Miguel's eyes shot open, pushing me away as his motions to escape increased in vigor. I held my hands up placatingly, trying to soothe him with my words, only for him to face me with fear written all over his face.

I was hurt momentarily, until I realized that Miguel wasn't looking at me, so much as through me. 'He's not here...he's having a panic attack!' I realized, dumbfounded as I watched him trying desperately to crawl away from me, before falling off the bed.

"Miguel!" I shouted, leaning forward to catch him. Unfortunately, I was too slow, and he landed on the ground in a heap of windmilling limbs.

I got off the bed as Miguel scuttered back on his hands and heels to the corner of the room. He kept looking all around him, as if he saw something in the shadows that would come out and eat him if he let down his guard. Seemingly not calmed by the lack of visible danger, Miguel brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them, shaking back and forth slightly. My heart broke as he whimpered quietly, tears still streaming down his face.

I slowly walked towards him, keeping my hands up and open, trying to show him I meant no harm. "It's okay, Miguel; it's alright. It's just me, Papá Héctor. I'm not gonna hurt you," I whispered soothingly.

I waited a few seconds, yet he didn't react at all to my words. 'I don't know what to do! What can I do to get him to recognize me, to pull him from his mind, to remember—that's it!' I scolded myself mentally for not thinking of this sooner, as I took a deep breath, and began to sing.

I watched Miguel closely, smiling slightly when he started to blink in confusion. I continued to sing softly, and he eventually stopped rocking and whimpering. Finally, after I'd sung through Remember Me five times, Miguel sniffled, his gaze finally focusing on me.

"Papá Héctor?" He asked weakly, rubbing his red, swollen eyes.

"Sí, Mijo," I replied, gathering him up into my arms. I did my best to ignore how he flinched slightly before throwing his arms around my neck, and wrapping his legs around my stomach. I pulled his head to my shoulder with my right hand, putting my left appendage under him to support some of his weight.

I continued to hold him tight to me, inwardly rejoicing when I heard small sniffles transition slowly into deep breaths. I hummed softly while swaying around the room, trying to help him relax so he would fall back to sleep. After around fifteen minutes, I felt Miguel's hold on me loosen, and I knew he was no longer awake. By that point, I, too, was exhausted, and I was sorely tempted to join him in the land of dreams.

Yet, I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes, and wake up to Miguel's screams of terror again. Sighing, I walked over to the bed, shifting Miguel so I was once more holding him bridal style. Sitting on the bed, I resigned myself to a silent vigil for the rest of the night.

Miguel's POV
The first thing I realized upon waking up was my slight headache, along with the itchiness that came from dried tear tracks. However, the second thing I noticed was that I felt more well-rested than I had in weeks, if not months. I shifted slightly, about to check what time it was on my clock, when I abruptly realized that I wasn't in my bed. I frowned slightly as I noticed my pillow was warmer than usual, and...moving?

"Good morning, Chamaco," said a quiet voice above me. My eyes shot open, and I abruptly noticed that someone was holding me. 'Was I kidnapped?!' I thought frantically, trying to escape, struggling against the arms that tightened around me.

"Miguel! Miguel, relax! It's just me, Papá Héctor!" The voice said soothingly.

I instantly stopped struggling and looked up at who was holding me. My eyes widened as I suddenly remembered what happened last night.

"I-I'm sorry Papá Héctor, I for-forgot, I thought you were—" I stuttered, shuddering at the thought of him, before Papá Héctor shushed me gently.

"It's alright, Mijo, you didn't know. Just relax," his voice was soothing, and I took a deep breath, before laying my head down against his chest. I felt Papá Héctor drag his hand through my messy hair, and I smiled slightly at what felt like the first loving physical touch I'd had in ages.

He continued to rake his hands through my hair, not pausing as he asked, "Miguel, why were you crying last night?" 

I was tempted to try to change the subject, but I knew I'd have to tell him eventually. I sighed, and kept my head on his chest, knowing I couldn't bear to tell him if I was facing him. "Just wait till the end to say anything, okay?" I asked pleadingly.

"Okay, Miguelito," Papá Héctor whispered, kissing the top of my head.

I decided to start with how I tried to ask where my parents were at dinner. He didn't need to know that I was bullied at school for being such a wimp. I explained how Rosa and Abel scolded me, and how Abuela said that I needed to stop acting up, that my parents didn't need me making trouble for them.

I forced back tears at that point, and took a deep breath, before explaining how I asked to be excused, but she wouldn't let me leave. When I got to the point where I said I didn't care if I got hit with the chancla, Papá Héctor stopped moving his fingers through my hair for a moment.

I paused, wondering why he had stopped. Before I could question him on it, though, he resumed the action with a muttered apology. Figuring it couldn't be anything too concerning, I grinned as I told mi papá how I didn't cry at all, and just walked calmly up to my room after the punishment was over.

"I...I cried for a couple hours, before looking at the clock, and realizing...they weren't coming. My parents had forgotten me again. Or...or just weren't going to bother to say goodnight to me in the first place." I muttered, a couple tears falling down my cheeks before I brushed them away angrily. 'I'm so weak. I started crying just thinking of them. No wonder they think I'm a nuisance, I'm such a baby!' I scolded myself mentally.

"Miguel, look at me." Papá Héctor's hand stilled, turning into a comforting weight on the top of my head.

I didn't want to do that though. I couldn't bring myself to look up, and see the disappointment in his eyes. While I knew that he would be nicer about it than the rest of my family had been, it would still sting to see him discard me as well.

"Miguel, please," he insisted. His voice was like honey, and I felt his other hand on my chin, gently tilting my head upwards. I braced myself to see anger, and maybe even annoyance on his face, and was shocked when I saw neither. He just looked kind of...sad?

"Mijo, I'm not upset with you. You're just a boy, and whether you realize it or not, you need your parents. If you didn't, they wouldn't make you stay with them until you're 18, right?" He explained calmly, with his eyebrows slightly raised.

'That...kind of makes sense. I guess I never thought of it like that.' I nodded slowly, and he continued.

"Your family is busy with baby Coco."

 I looked down at my lap with tears in my eyes, as I realized he was going to say the same thing everyone else did last night. "I...I know it's selfish..." I whispered, interrupting him. "But for once, why can't someone realize that I need someone there for me too.

"Not all the time!" I hurried to add, hoping he wouldn't get the wrong idea. "Just once in a while! A—a hug good night maybe or, or just someone asking me how my day was..." I explained, barely noticing how wet my cheeks were becoming.

I sniffled, rubbing my eyes. I expected to be pushed away, maybe ridiculed for having such a childish fantasy. But instead of doing that, Papá's arms tightened around me, pulling me closer to him. 

After a few moments, I pushed away, and he rubbed the tears from my cheeks. I could feel my cheeks getting hotter at being treated like a little kid, but I liked it enough to not complain about it and risk having him actually stop.

"What I was going to say was that even though your parents are busy with Coco, they should still make time for you." Papá Héctor explained, giving me a gentle smile.

I examined his face, trying to see if he was lying to me, but he looked like he was telling the truth. His eyebrows were all scrunched up, and his small smile seemed more sad than anything else.

I tore my eyes from his face, picking at some of the dried blood underneath my fingernails. 'Why is he being so nice? I'm already 12, shouldn't I be starting to act more independent? Why isn't he scolding me like everyone else?'

"You mean...it's not something I did? I didn't mess up?" My voice was hesitant as I tried to damper the hope rising up inside of me.

"Of course not, Mijo. If anything, they're in the wrong for ignoring you like this, and not realizing you felt this way. Have they talked to you at all these past few days?" While I wasn't looking at him, his voice made it sound as though he was irritated.

"Well...not really. A couple days ago I had a nightmare, and I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't stop seeing...him, in the shadows. So I tried to crawl into their bed for the rest of the night. The mattress creaked though, and they caught me and told me that since I'm a big boy and they have Coco now, I can't do that anymore..." I trailed off, glancing at Papá. He looked angry, and for a moment, I was worried I'd done something wrong, before I realized the anger wasn't directed at me.

"They just told you off?! Por Dios, you're just a child! Any good parent would realize when their kid is scared, let alone terrified!" Papá Héctor muttered a few words that I didn't know, but they didn't sound very flattering.

"You probably had a panic attack then, too!" He frowned, glancing at the corner of my room.

"Panic attack? What's that?"

'I'd been attacked? Was he talking about Jake and his lackeys? How could he have known?' I bit my lip, hoping I was wrong. I didn't like getting beat up, but even though mi familia seemed to think I was a baby, I was smart enough to know that getting adults involved would only make it worse.

Papá Héctor sighed deeply, dragging me back into his lap. "A panic attack, to put it simply, is a moment when one becomes terrified for no physical reason. They're not very fun, and I only know about them because one of my tíos back in Shantytown got them occasionally."

I thought back to last night, and could faintly remember waking up from another nightmare, and being scared senseless again that he was in the room, and he was trying to kill me. I had crawled into the corner of the room, like I usually did, to wait for a while until I stopped seeing him in every shadow and crevice. Thinking back though, this time I'd heard a familiar voice, one that made me think of love and peace. If I was remembering correctly, the voice had even sung a soothing lullaby.

"That...that's what they are? Panic attacks?" At least now I knew their names, which was way better than calling them 'episodes where I briefly go insane' in my head.

"I...I think yours may be caused by ASD," Héctor's arms squeezed tightly for a moment, before loosening again. He leaned back against the headboard, his expression a lot more grimm than it was earlier. 

Before I could ask what that ASD was, he continued. "ASD stands for acute stress disorder, which is something you get when you go through something terrifying or painful." 

I must have looked confused at his strange knowledge of psychology, because he gave me a wry grin. "You learn a lot in Shantytown, kid. Not all of it is about, uh, adult stuff." He finished, turning away as his smile faded.

My eyes widened as I realized what he was saying. 'My nightmares are all because of Día de los Muertos, and my nightmares are causing my panic attacks...which means all of this is happening because of what happened on Día de los Muertos, and he—'

I sat up straight, grabbing onto Papá Hector's upper arms. "I don't blame you for what happened on Día de los Muertos. I never have, and I never will. That was not your fault." 

Papá Héctor looked at me, and I could see his eyebrows all scrunched up. "If I'd have just gotten you home sooner, or taken you to Imelda—"

I shook my head, not letting him continue. "First of all, I lied to you, and said that I had no other family, so you had no idea I had various other dead family members—and that's not even mentioning the fact that Mamá Imelda and you were two of them. And second, you tried to make me go home as soon as you realized I had more family members. I was the stubborn one who wouldn't listen to you!" I spoke loudly, making sure not to hesitate or stumble—I needed him to believe me.

'In no way, at all, was my AS whatever and nightmares his fault.'

"But I—" he began, before I covered his mouth with my hand.

"If you're blaming yourself for me getting myself cursed, then am I to blame for my parents ignoring me?" 

I had to make him see reason. I could see the struggle going on in his head, as he tried to find a fault in my logic, before sighing. Seeing the acceptance on his face, I pulled my hand away.

"No, you're not." He admitted. "I just wish it could be different. You're having all these troubles because of that wretched curse. You're only twelve! You don't deserve to have ASD, or nightmares, or panic attacks..." he shook his head, and his shoulders sagged, looking defeated.

"At least you're here." I smiled at him and he gave me a warm smile in return. "My family ignoring me isn't something either of us had any part in, and if you weren't here, I don't know what I'd have done."

I frowned as I recalled how lonely I'd felt recently, ever since Coco was born. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to blame her. She was just a baby, and I loved her! She made everyone so happy, especially Mamá Coco. It wasn't her fault that she stole all of my parents' attention.

'If anyone is to blame,' I realized suddenly. 'It's my parents. After all, why would you need two people to calm down one baby? They could take turns, spending time with her and me. I don't need two parents with me. I don't even need one with me all the time, either. I just want one, every once in a while...'

I forced those thoughts to the very corner of my head, trying to bring myself back to the present. Papá Héctor seemed to be deep in thought, so I just sat there, taking in the smell of huevos rancheros being cooked downstairs, and the sound of the vendors setting up and—suddenly Papá Héctor grabbed my shoulders, firmly but gently. I turned to look him in the eye, and was surprised to see his grim expression.

"Miguel." 

'Did I do something wrong? All I did was sit here...' I thought, almost flinching when he opened his mouth again. 

"Did you forget how much your family loves you?"

Chapter Text

Miguel's POV

"Did you forget how much your family loves you?"

At first, I thought that was a rather random question. It took me a few seconds to understand what he was implying, but when my brain finally filled in the missing pieces, my eyes widened.

'Is that why he's here? Because I didn't keep my promise?' I tried to remember what exactly was going through my head before Papá Héctor showed up, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall exactly what I was thinking. However, I knew that Papá Héctor's theory made sense.

"I think so," I whispered as I crossed my arms over my chest, and looked at the corners of the room in a desperate attempt to avoid facing him.

"Mijo," He placed his hand on my cheek, and I looked up at him. "It's alright. No harm done. I'm just glad I got to see you again." He smiled warmly at me, and I returned the gesture, glad that he wasn't upset.

"If what you're saying is true though...how can you get back to la Tierra de los Muertos?" I asked, concerned that Mamá Imelda would start to panic if he didn't return soon, as he probably just disappeared in a ball of gold—

'This is really bad.' I grabbed my hair, tugging on it anxiously, hoping I was wrong. 'Really, really—'

"Miguel, what is it?" Papá Héctor sounded worried, but I couldn't stop thinking about Mamá Imelda.

"Papá Héctor, when you showed up here, you showed up in a ball of golden light. How do you think Imelda reacted when you disappeared in one?!"

Papá Hector gaped for a moment, before slapping his forehead with a muttered curse. "If only I could see her, tell her that I'm alright!" Papá Héctor groaned, holding his head in his hands.

I thought for a moment, trying to come up with some sort of idea on how to get Papá Héctor home. 'I don't want to say goodbye, but I can't stand the thought of Mamá Imelda thinking he's...gone,' I sighed, wishing there was some way that I could be with Papá Héctor and still have the comfort of knowing Mamá Imelda was alright, and not mourning over someone she just got back.

"Maybe...if I just remember how much my family loves me...you can go back?" I suggested hesitantly. Papá Héctor stared at me at, and I wondered what he was thinking. I tried to hide my sorrow at him leaving so soon, but I knew he saw it when he gave me a sad smile and ruffled my hair.

"Hey!" I complained, batting his hands away. He laughed as I scowled, trying to flatten it as best I could. I groaned a few moments later, realizing my hair would be untamable today. With a sigh, I gave up trying to make it look more presentable, reasoning no one would see me anyways as it was a Saturday.

'That reminds me,' I scrunched up my nose in disgust as I looked at my backpack, thinking of what was inside it. 'Stupid history assignment.' Unfortunately, I hadn't been able to convince my family to get a computer yet, so I was stuck going to the library to read dozens of old books every time I had a report.

'It's so boring there, and the old ladies in charge are so mean!' I winced mentally at the thought of having to go there before next Friday, when the project was due. However, looking back at Papá Héctor, I got an idea.

"Maybe one of the books in the library can help us?" I got up and went into my closet as I got dressed for the day, putting on a pair of jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.

"That's not a bad idea!" Papá Héctor said, grabbing my brush as he, too, tried to make my unruly mane look neater, to no avail.

"Face it, Papá Héctor," I looked up at Papá Héctor with a slight grin. "I inherited your musical talent and horrible hair!"

Papá Héctor gasped dramatically, holding his hand to his chest in mock pain. "You take that back! My hair is glorious!" He put his hand on his hip, running his other hand's fingers through his raven locks.

I gave him a mock doubtful look.

"The ladies loved my hair," Papá Héctor proclaimed loudly with a grin. "Especially Imelda."

I laughed at his antics, and I was about to head to the bathroom, before I realized I couldn't take Papá Héctor with me. Turning to him, I could see the same thought process going through his head as well. 'I don't even want to imagine what would happen if they saw him here.' I shuddered at the image of my Abuela hitting him over the head repeatedly with her chancla.

"Papá Héctor—" I rubbed my arm anxiously. "they don't know about your innocence yet. I've been saving up money, to buy an investigator, and prove that the letters you sent Mamá Coco are real. In those letters, you wrote the lyrics to many songs that...he claimed were his, but if I can get someone to prove those letters were written when they were, people will know it was you who wrote them, and maybe, learn how you were...murdered..." I trailed off, glancing at the ground as I waited for him to say something.

A few seconds passed, and I began to worry he was angry at me for not telling my family yet. 'I just don't want them to think I'm crazy, it's bad enough—'

My thoughts trailed off as I heard a loud sniffle. Concerned, I looked up. "Papá Héctor," I started, before he rushed over to me, gathering me up into a bone-crushing hug. "Are...are you okay?" I asked hesitantly, glancing at the tears falling down his cheeks.

He didn't answer. I was about to repeat my question, when he sent me a beam that was brighter than the sun. "Mijo, I am more than okay. I have the best great-great-grandson in the world!" He stated proudly, twirling me around and around. Finally, when I was sure I couldn't endure the spinning anymore without puking, Papá Héctor set me back on my feet, continuing to grin down at me joyously.

I laughed as I smiled shyly back up at him, secretly pleased at the high praise. I'd never gotten a compliment like that before, and coming from him, it mattered even more! "Why don't I go brush my teeth, and after, I can sneak you out so we can go to the library together?" I suggested, hoping that we could at least spend the day with each other.

"Won't your family notice if you go missing?" He asked, clearly anxious that my family would freak out if I just disappeared.

"Nah, they don't really care where I go, as long as I stay out of illegal stuff, do my chores, and am back for dinner." I listed off on my fingers the few rules I had, along with the obvious 'no music' one I didn't obey.

'I could probably be dead for hours and they'd never even notice,' I thought bitterly, before pushing the thought to the back of my head.

"Are you kidding me?! That's completely irresponsible of them! You could be kidnapped or something, and they'd have no clue!" Papá Héctor looked infuriated, his face red, and steam practically coming out of his ears.

"Papá Héctor, you need to calm down, or someone will hear you!" I hissed at him. My eyes widened as I heard someone walking in the hall outside. I grimaced when they stepped on the loose board in front of my door.

Papá Héctor's mouth snapped shut, and he gave me an apologetic look. His lips pursed when he heard the creak as well, and he looked frantically around the room, as if searching for an invisible hiding space. We waited a few more seconds, to be sure the coast was clear, before I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"That was close," I muttered under my breath, shivering bit at the close call. "I can't believe they haven't heard us at all so far."

I tilted my head. "Then again, my room is pretty far from all the others...besides the bathroom, that is. No one really cares what I do in here, and it's been a couple weeks since anyone's actually checked to see if I'm in here at night." I explained to Papá Héctor.

'Heck,' I glanced at the window, and to my bed sheets, which I could easily imagine as a makeshift rope. 'When I become a teen, that'll be very helpful if I want to go to parties that don't end till one in the morning.'

Turning back to Papá Héctor, I winced at his narrowed eyes as he, too, looked to my window. I watched as the pieces clicked together in his mind, and he whipped his head around, wagging his finger at me. "Your parents may not care where you go at night, but I certainly do! You will not be going who knows where in the middle of the night! Not now, or at any time in the future, until you're at least 18. Understand?" His voice was firm, and I could tell he would not bend on this matter.

"Fine,"I muttered, crossing my arms in front of my chest, and looking at the ground with a pout. 'It's not as if he would be able to stop me once he's back in la Tierra de los Muertos.' I reassured myself, although something about that thought made my chest hurt.

"Why don't you go brush your teeth, and we'll sneak out to the library, hmmm?" Papá Héctor's tone was softer as he laid his hand on my shoulder, clearly trying to change the subject. I decided not to push the matter, mostly because we really did have a bigger problem right now.

Instead, I gave him a small smile, before carefully eased open my bedroom door. I glanced both ways, listening closely for running water or footsteps. After several seconds of silence, I figured the coast was clear, and rushed out of my room to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth as fast as I could, practically sprinting back to my room just in case someone did decide to talk to me for some reason.

"You ready to go?" I grinned up at him. I couldn't wait to spend the day together!

"Sure, Chamaco," he laughed, tossing me my jacket.

We snuck out of the room, trying to be quiet as we tiptoed down the stairs. Luckily, the kitchen was on the other side of the first floor, which meant that the chances of us being caught were small, given that everyone was still at breakfast. We winced when the door squeaked on its hinges as Papá Héctor opened it. Scurrying outside, we closed the door behind us as silently as possible.

"So, where is the library?" Papá Héctor inquired as he walked down the street, his arms spread out under the sun.

"It's around twenty minutes from here—" I pointed to my left—"that way."

"Well, then why are we going this way?" Papá Héctor asked, pointing forward.

"Because it gets really busy around there in the morning on Saturday, so if we use this route, it won't take much longer and less people will see us." I explained.

At first, Papá Héctor looked like he was offended that I didn't want to be seen with him, until his eyes widened, and he nodded slowly in understanding. "That makes sense. If people saw us together, they'd wonder why we know each other, and who I am."

Papá Héctor let out a nervous chuckle, before smiling down at me. "Smart choice, Chamaco."

I couldn't help straightening slightly at his praise, feeling proud of myself for my quick-thinking. We headed to the library, enjoying the warm weather and each other's presence. It was a rather nice day, and there were even some younger kids playing fútbol in the streets.

We reached the library pretty quickly, and were about to enter, before we heard a man selling food from a vendor. "Warm tacos and tamales!" He called, trying to convince those passing on the street to buy his food.

"We should get something to eat. You haven't eaten since last night," Papá Héctor commented as he started to head over to the vendor, dragging me by the arm with him.

'The smell!' I tried not to gag. 'Why is it making me nauseous?'

"What do you want, Chamaco?" Papá Héctor pulled some coins from the pockets of his pants.

"I'm...I'm not hungry," I tried to make my voice sound relaxed, even though it was getting harder and harder for me not to react to the overwhelming stench.

"Nonsense, Mijo! You should eat something!" He looked from the vendor down to me. I must have looked as sick as I felt, because he hurriedly added, "unless you're not feeling well. It's fine."

I quickly nodded my head, and he bought himself a taco, eating it as we walked away. I could tell Papá Héctor was going to ask what was wrong with me, so before he could, I ran to the entrance of the library.

"Hey, Miguel! Wait up!" He threw away his taco wrapper, jogging to catch up with me. I grinned, dramatically opening the doors to the library.

"Woah," Papá Héctor stared in awe at the tall shelves full of books.

I laughed, realizing that the library we had now in our city was probably a lot different from the one they had when he lived here. "Do they have libraries in la Tierra de los Muertos?" I wondered out loud.

"They do," Papá Héctor seemed pained. "They just...they don't let people...people like me in there, though..." He trailed off, his eyes falling to the ground.

"People like...oh." I went silent as I realized what he meant. The forgotten, or those who were being forgotten, anyway. The people who lived in Shantytown.

Suddenly, I was filled with rage. 'Why are they so mean to those who are being forgotten? They get shoved away to the darkest part of la Tierra de los Muertos, so not only can they be forgotten by the living, but by the other dead as well?! That's so messed up!' ' I realized, grinding my teeth at the unfairness of it all. 'Why, if a group of people were treated like that in the living world, for no reason, it'd be called racism!'

'But...there's nothing I can do about that,' I sighed quietly, realizing I had no control over anyone or anything in la Tierra de los Muertos. I was still alive; I shouldn't even know about that place, technically.

"Hey, cheer up, Chamaco," Papá Héctor smiled down at me, "I can help change that when I get back. In fact, I'm planning on helping the nearly-forgotten a lot when I do return to la Tierra de los Muertos.

"Starting, of course, by bridging the gap between the well-remembered and the nearly-forgotten. I'm going to make sure that the well-remembered acknowledge that the nearly-forgotten are there, and can't just be pushed to the side because it's the easiest thing to do." He declared with a decisive nod.

I stared up at him for a moment, amazed yet again at how Papá Héctor seemed to practically read my mind. "I think that's a great idea." I whispered as a couple of people walked past us, chatting about what books they were going to get.

"Thank you, Mijo." Papá Héctor grabbed my hand, giving it a small squeeze. "Now, let's start looking for books." He said, glancing around at the many shelves

I wasn't a big fan of reading, my hobbies leaning more towards playing music or fútbol. However, I knew that there were librarians that could help us. "Let's go get a librarian's help." I said, dragging Papá Héctor over to a desk with an older woman at it who was reading.

"Hello, Mrs.—" I glanced at her name tag—"Rodriguez. I was wondering if you could help us find some books about...supernatural stuff."

I smiled nervously at her as she gave us a suspicious look, before standing up, and leading us to an area in the back of the library. I coughed slightly as I breathed in the dust that practically surrounded the corner, barely able to make out the titles in the weak light that filtered through the grimy windows.

"This is it." She gestured to the five shelves of books, and started shuffling back to her desk before I could even thank her. I scrunched up my nose at the shelves, grimacing at the musty smell.

The books looked old, and judging by the fingerprints left behind when I touched one of the spines, not used recently. Despite this, I grabbed one from the end of the top shelf, opening it up reluctantly. I sat on the floor as I began to read, looking for stories that might be able to help.

~•~

"This is hopeless!" I was about to throw the book on the ground, but thought better of it, and just placed it on the 'read' pile with a groan.

"We've been at this for—" I glanced at the clock on the wall—"four hours! And we've found nothing useful!" I stretched my back, wincing when I heard a series of cracks.

I waited for Papá Héctor to say something, but it was as if he hadn't heard anything I said. He was holding a rather large tome, and his eyes were flying back and forth on the page, growing wider the further down he read.

"Miguel, I think I found something!" He exclaimed after a few minutes. Quickly, he began to read out loud.""In the late 1800's, there was a young man named Diego García. At age 23, he disappeared on Día de los Muertos, after claiming he was going to find and take some unheard of hidden treasure that once belonged to Benito Juarez." But it says here that he never did find the treasure, and came back from his hunt with mysterious powers, claiming he had traveled to a place called la Tierra de los Muertos."

I gasped, and was about to start asking questions, before I realized he wasn't done talking yet. "From that day on, whenever handed a picture or painting of a dead person, he could wish that he was with them, and he'd vanish into thin air, in a flash of silver!" Papá Héctor closed the book quickly, letting out a loud grito.

"Shhh!" We heard the librarian scold him from her desk, although we couldn't see her this far back in the building.

"Oops." Papá Héctor winced with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
I laughed as he realized he was still in a library, where it was supposed to be quiet. 'I've done that too,' I thought, remembering the time I shouted for joy as I finally found the answer after searching for it for twenty minutes.

'Maybe that was when the librarians started disliking me...' I pondered to myself, before shaking my head, and focusing on the present.

"Do you know what this means, Miguel?!" Papá Héctor asked. I didn't get a chance to answer, as he continued with a large grin. "This means you can visit us, any time you want!" He picked me up and spun me around as I grinned so hard it hurt.

Finally, he set me down, though we both couldn't wipe our happy expressions off our faces. 'I can't believe it! I can see them all the time!' I hugged Papá Héctor in my excitement, and thought of all the fun we could have together.

We put back the books, and left the library in high spirits. Hurrying back to the house, we snuck in quietly, walking down the hall to my room—

"Miguel! You have to do your chores! Don't you dare forget to sweep the floor in the workshop like last time!" I heard my Tía Carmen yell from downstairs.

"Okay Tía Carmen, I will," I shouted down to her, hastily entering my room before there were any more interactions with the rest of my family. 'I'm just lucky she's probably too busy to spend time dragging me down there to help.'

I grabbed a picture of Mamá Imelda from my desk, one I'd found in organizing the attic while getting rid of the shrine for...him.' I shuddered mentally, disgusted at how much I worshiped that filthy murderer.

The picture was an old, faded one, from the day that Papá Héctor married Mamá Imelda. Mamá Imelda was stunning in her simple white gown, with her small veil pulled back and placed on top of her fancy hairdo. She was looking at the camera, a joyful expression lighting up her face, and seeming more at peace than I had ever seen her. Papá Héctor, though...

He was gazing down at his new wife, awe and love clearly seen in his every feature. It was like to him, nothing else mattered in that moment besides the woman next to him. I would never admit it, but it was really sweet...even if the idea of being that in love with someone seemed crazy to me.

Papá Héctor's fingers trembled as they traced Mamá Imelda. I wondered, as I had when I first found the picture, just why and how it was there. I thought that all of the fotos of him, besides the one stashed by Mamá Coco, were gone. But maybe...maybe Mamá Imelda couldn't bear to get rid of this one, even before she knew what happened to Papá Héctor.

"What if...what if it doesn't work?" I stuttered, forcing back tears as I tried not to grip the old picture too tightly. Papá Héctor placed his hands on my shoulders, and I looked up at him.

"It will, Mijo. I know it will." He assured me with a gentle squeeze.

"But on the chance that it doesn't..." I trailed off as I voiced my worry. 'Will I never see him again, once he goes back, for as long as I live? I....I don't know if I could handle that. Not now that I've had a chance to experience it.'

"Then we'll find another way. I won't just abandon you, Chamaco," he hugged me tightly.

I melted into the embrace, sighing in contentment. After a couple minutes, I pulled away, grinning up at him. "Here goes nothing," I said, studying the foto one last time. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

"I wish to be with Mamá Imelda."

Chapter Text

Miguel's POV

"I wish to be with Mamá Imelda."

I could imagine how she looked, from her purple dress and black boots, to her intricate facial markings. I even tried to remember what her black, handmade shoes looked like. I inhaled sharply as I felt a powerful tug from inside of me, as if someone was trying to pull out my organs. It hurt, and I felt like I was going to throw up what little I had eaten last night. The pain became worse until, in a blinding light, it disappeared, and I felt myself falling.

"Ahhh!" I couldn't help but scream as I landed on a hard surface. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to make them adjust quicker to the sudden loss of light.

"Miguel?!" I heard a familiar voice shout my name.

'Could it be...?' I hoped. My hands fell, and I looked around me.

I grinned happily, noticing that my whole family was here! 'I can't believe it...it actually worked!' I let out a loud grito, unable to contain a slightly hysterical laugh at the impossible situation. I stared at everyone for a few seconds more, surprised that they were all in the same place at one time, and sitting around the table.

'Which, I landed on.'

I grimaced at the thought. Slowly, I slid off the table, rubbing my sore bottom. 'I wish that the weird magic had placed me somewhere with more cushioning. Maybe I should start wearing some pads and a helmet when I—'

"What did you do this time?!" Mamá Imelda's eyes were wider than I'd ever seen, and I scurried back fearfully.

"I—I didn't do a-anything! I promise!" I stuttered nervously, trying to retreat without looking away from her enraged expression.

Mamá Imelda glared at me for a few more seconds, before she seemed to deflate into herself. "I'm sorry, Mijo," she sighed, staring sadly at the ground. "It's been a rough day. Héctor, he—"

"He's fine!" I interrupted, giving them my best grin. "He's in the living world, actually." I winced when they all gaped at me, even more so than when I had shown up half-dead. 'I really need to get better at my explanations. Maybe I should practice—'

"He's what?!" Mamá Imelda shrieked, her jaw dropping to the floor. She picked it up, putting it back in place quickly, and the look on her face told me I better start talking.

"Well, last night Papá Héctor showed up in a ball of golden light. I was as shocked as you were when he arrived, but was really happy to see him of course, even if it was weird that he had skin and everything." I paused for a second, wondering what it must have been like to suddenly have it back after, like, a century. "He spent the night in my room, because I knew my family wouldn't react very well to him showing up. They'd probably think I'm crazy if I tried to explain how I knew him, and would have dragged us both off to an asylum, so that wasn't happening."

I shuddered a bit at that thought, before continuing with my story. 'No point in dwelling on what-ifs, Miguel—you know that.'

"The next day, we discovered that he was probably there because I didn't obey the condition he put on the petal. It was no longer Diá de los Muertos though, so instead of me returning here, we figured out that the dead relative who initiated the blessing was sent to the living world, to try and make me...obey the rule, I guess..." I trailed off, uncertain if that was actually true.

"We never found out exactly how that worked, otherwise Papá Héctor would be back right now, and obviously he isn't." I explained with a half-shrug. "And we didn't try to send him back immediately, because we thought I'd never get to see him or you guys again until I died. We wanted to spend a lot of time together, but once we realized that you—" I gestured to Mamá Imelda—"probably believed he was gone forever, we tried to figure out a way that I could still see him and everyone else if I wanted to, once we got him back here.

"So, me and Papá Héctor went to the library to see if they had any books that could help us. It took us hours to find anything, but eventually Papá Héctor found this story about a guy who lived over a century ago. Apparently he visited la Tierra de los Muertos regularly after stealing treasure from a dead guy on Día de los Muertos. Because of his theft, he was able to visit people here by holding a picture of them, and saying he wished to be with them. We went back home, tried it out, and here I am!" I spread my arms wide in a ta-da pose, breathing hard; once I'd gotten on a roll, it was hard to remember to stop to take breaths!

My family just blinked at me, their brains probably trying to process the information. It was a lot to hear, and I knew if I didn't live through it, I would be struggling as much as them. So, I decided that that was enough information for now.

Luckily, it only took around thirty seconds for Tío Felipe and Tío Oscar to glance at each other, before beaming down at me.

"All the fun we can have together!" They declared in unison.

"The pranks—" Tío Oscar began.

"—and the parties!" Tío Felipe interrupted.

"We'll have a blast!" They shouted together, cheering loudly.

I laughed, imagining how awesome it would be. 'We could play games all night, and they could tell me all about the tricks they pulled when they were kids!' I thought, my grin growing wider. 'Maybe they'll even help me with Rosa—'

"That's enough you two," Mamá Imelda scolded lightly, though it looked like she was trying to hold back a smile. "So, Miguel." She turned to me, her expression stern. I fiddled with the bottom of my shirt, pursing my lips.

"If I remember correctly, Héctor only gave you one condition. That condition was to never forget how much your family loves you. So tell me—" her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward—"what exactly happened, that you are not telling us?"

My head dropped even lower as I sighed, knowing it was foolish to think I could avoid telling them anything—they were my family, of course they were as nosy as me. "I..I really don't want to talk about it..." I muttered, figuring it couldn't hurt to try at least once to have them forget about it.

"Miguel," Mamá Imelda kneeled down, putting her hands on my shoulder. I looked up at her through my hair, not sure what to expect. "You may not want to tell us, but you need to so that we can help you fix the problem, and figure out how to send Héctor home."

She spoke with a gentle tone, far kinder than I usually heard these days. And I understood what she was saying. 'Did I wish he could stay with me? Yes. But...' I glanced down at the picture I still held in my hand. 'They deserve to be together again. They've waited long enough, and I...I can't get in the way of that.'

So I nodded, biting my lip as I wondered where to start. "My parents, they've...they've been really busy with my little sister, Socorro. She's just a baby—you guys haven't even met her yet because of the whole disaster this Día de los Muertos. And—" I blinked hard, taking a deep breath. I tried to keep my voice even as I said, "I know they need to spend a lot of time with her, but I never even talk with them anymore, and they haven't been at meals, so I—I asked where they were a couple times too many, and my family...well, Rosa, actually." I clarified, realizing it wasn't fair to lump everyone together. "She said I was a baby, and an annoyance." I choked out, rubbing my eyes angrily, wishing I could force the tears back.

"And Abuela, she...she said I need t-to st-stop my antics." I fumbled over the words, finding it hard to retell the horrible night. "I—I didn't do a-anything though! I—I haven't been starting fights o-or anything like that!" I stammered, desperately trying to defend myself. I wouldn't be able to stand it if mi familia here also thought the worst of me.

"I...I just wanted to leave. To go to my room, the workshop, anywhere. When I tried to leave though, Abuela said I needed to eat more. And I was exhausted, and angry, and she wouldn't let me go, so I said no. I refused to eat any more of her quesadillas."

I could hear everyone's gasps, but I just wanted to get the story over with. I didn't bother to stop talking, and chose to ignore their whispers. "She warned me what would happen if I didn't eat more, but I didn't care at that point. She hit me with her chancla ten times, and then I was finally allowed to go up to my room. And Papá Héctor showed up later that night—"

"She hit you with her chancla? Are you ok?!" Tía Rosita squeaked, looking worried.

I startled, not expecting the question. "I—yeah, it wasn't even that bad. With the way my primos always cry, I thought it'd be excruciating." I smirked, crossing my arms

"What do you mean 'it wasn't that bad'?! Every other child in this family that's gotten the chancla has started bawling after four or five hits!" Mamá Imelda exclaimed, her eyebrows all scrunched up.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "They must just be the babies then. I didn't even cry." I stated, secretly proud of what was apparently a great feat. "It was nothing compared to what Jake—" I cut myself off abruptly as every head swiveled to face me, some almost going flying because of the speed at which they'd turned. I gulped nervously, knowing I'd said too much.

"Who is this Jake, and what did he do to you?!" Mamá Imelda questioned, her voice like shards of ice.

I winced slightly at the noise, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously. "He...he's just some bully at school." I said as nonchalantly as possible, wishing I was a better liar.

"What did he do to you?!" Mamá Imelda hissed, looking a lot like her alebrije.

"I-It's just a few sc-scrapes and bruises!" I stuttered.

Grabbing my hand in her own, Mamá Imelda gave my fingers a soft squeeze, avoiding the scrapes on them. "Show me!" She commanded in a firm, gentle voice.

I tried desperately to think of some way to avoid showing them, but as the seconds passed by, and nothing came to mind, I knew it was hopeless. Slowly, I lifted my shirt.

Everyone's eyes grew wide when they saw my chest, and I heard a couple muttered curses. Deciding a few seconds was long enough, I let my shirt drop back into place. My back wasn't that bad anyways, but my head...well. I brushed my hair away from the bloody gash on my head, grimacing when my fingers touched the cut.

"I...I have a few more bruises on my legs, but they're not as bad." I looked at the ground, trying to avoid their pitying expressions. 'I don't want their pity!' I thought angrily. 'And I don't need it! I'm fine! It doesn't even hurt that bad anymore.' I lied to myself. My head felt like it was hit by a rock, and if I didn't move carefully, my stomach would rub against my shirt, making me wince in pain.

I flinched at bony hand reaching under my chin, tilting my head up. I gazed into deep brown eyes, and realized they weren't filled with pity, but...concern.

'They're...concerned. About me!'

I was shocked at the unhidden worry on all of their faces as I looked around the room. Yet, I was even more surprised when I noticed that some of their faces held anger as well. Sure, these people were my family, but most of them had never even met me besides during Día de los Muertos, so why...

'Why do they care so much?'

"Those no good bullies!" Tía Victoria shouted, banging her hand on the table. "Where were the teachers?! Why weren't they stopping them?! Better yet, why did no one in la familia notice?!"

"Yeah! Your parents may have a baby, but to spend so little time with you that they miss this?! Unacceptable!" Papá Julio scolded, looking like he wished he could give my parents a piece of his mind.

"Come, Mijo! We should bandage that gash on your head." Tía Rosita dragged me away by my arm to the bathroom. She sat me down on the edge of the tub, quickly grabbing a bowl and a washcloth from the cabinet under the sink.

"Wait here." She ordered, before rushing out of the room.

I sat for a couple minutes, wondering why they even had a bathroom, until she returned with a medical kit in her hand. Opening it up, she took out a small roll of gauze, similar to what I'd seen around Papá Héctor's broken bones. She filled the bucket with water, and using the washcloth, gently dabbed away the blood from my wound. I hissed slightly, even the lightest pressure bringing pain.

"I'm sorry, Miguel," she said softly, her expression so sad that I started to feel bad for being hurt.

"It's okay, Tía Rosita," I gave her a small smile, hoping she would smile back.

"You know—" Tía Rosita began bandaging my head—"your parents...they made a mistake. They never should have ignored you like they did."

"Th-They're just busy with Socorro." I rushed to defend them. "I understand. When she's a bit older, they'll start spending more time with me again."

I wasn't sure where the words were coming from, or why I bothered saying them; even to my own ears, it sounded like I was trying to convince myself more than her. And from how her lips twisted into a small frown, they didn't do any good for either of us.

"Miguel," she started hesitantly, before stopping, tying the bandage in place. She looked at me for a moment, and I knew she was contemplating what to say. She had a gentle expression on her face as she continued to kneel in front of me, her eyes examining her work.

I couldn't remember the last time I had someone take care of my injuries like this. The nurses at school sometimes helped, but they always scolded me for getting hurt because of the excuses I gave them about being clumsy or playing fútbol. Tía Rosita wasn't rushing to get rid of me though, and seemed like she actually liked helping me, which was...weird.

"I remember what it's like to have a little sibling." She finally said, her eyes distant. "Believe it or not, I was extremely unhappy when Julio came along. My parents had to spend time with him, time I was used to having, and I—"

Sighing, she shook her head, grabbing my hands. "I was very jealous, and just wanted him gone." She looked bashful at this, adding, "it was wrong of me to feel that way, of course. But I was only eight at the time, and I had difficulty understanding why my parents couldn't be with me as much anymore."

She squeezed my hands gently between her two skeletal ones, running her thumb over my scrapes with a feather-light touch. "However, when they saw how I was feeling, they explained to me that a baby needs a lot of care, and they tried to spend more time with me."

I frowned when she stopped talking. 'I don't understand what she's trying to say. Is she saying it's alright to want to spend more time with my parents? She was way younger than me though, so she needed her parents. Then is she saying I'm acting younger than I should be? Like Rosa was saying?'

My own thoughts were confusing me, and I was about to ask her to explain what her point was, before she sighed, tilting her head. "Now, I was jealous, and they were still spending every meal with me, and I was almost always with one of them. I was younger than you, yes. Yet, you are still a child. Twelve may seem very old to you right now, but to someone like me, who has been around for almost a century..." She trailed off, and seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment.

Shaking herself, she took a deep breath. "The point I'm trying to make is that even if you don't realize it, you are still so very young. You need your parents, whether you realize it or not. They should be paying more attention to you, especially now, so you don't end up having the crazy notion that they love Socorro more than you."

She spoke with so much confidence, and I knew she really believed what she was saying. Still, I wasn't sure. She didn't know my parents, not really. Sure, she might have known mi papá when he was a kid, but...that was years ago.

I must have looked doubtful at her words, because she pointed her finger at me sternly. "Socorro is not any more important than you are, Mijo. If you do think that right now, then it's because your parents have been doing a horrible job of caring for you along with watching over her." Her tone was serious, and even though almost everything my living family members had said went against her words, what she said felt...nice.

'That was the same thing Papá Héctor told me. And maybe it's wrong, and my living family is right, but...' I thought about how my parents still wouldn't stop ignoring me any time soon. I remembered the way it felt, being practically invisible in my own home to the rest of my living family unless I had chores to do.

And glancing at mi tía, I realized something wonderful. 'I don't need them—not really. I have Papá Héctor, Mamá Imelda, Tía Rosita, and all of my other dead relatives. I don't need my living family. I can just be with my skeleton family all the time! They're the only ones who like being with me anyways.' I smiled, content with this plan.

"There's that cute smile!" Tía Rosita squealed, patting my cheek. "Let's go back to the rest of the family," she said, standing up and putting the medical supplies away.

I gladly followed her back into the kitchen, where everyone was sitting down. There were two empty seats, and one with a plate in front of it stacked high with food. At that moment, my stomach made its hunger known, grumbling loudly. I blushed slightly as my family chuckled, and Tía Rosita guided me to the chair next to the food. My mouth watered as I stared at the chilaquiles, but I noticed that no one else had food in front of them yet, so I forced myself not to grab one.

Mamá Imelda seemed to read my thoughts, though, because she gestured to the plate absentmindedly before I could ask who it was for. "You "dropped in" for a visit at the end of our lunch," she joked wryly. "However, we noticed that you failed to mention eating at all today. So, we thought you might be hungry," she explained, turning from my face to the plate in question.

"It's for me, then?" I asked hesitantly, unused to being the center of attention.

"Of course, Miguel," Tía Victoria said with a small smile, nudging the plate a bit closer.

I took a bite of the food, and groaned at the wonderful taste, shoveling more into my mouth as quickly as possible. It was the best food I'd had in months, though I couldn't figure out why. Surely the food couldn't be that different from what Abuela made!

"Slow down, Chamaco! You're going to choke!" Papá Julio chuckled.

I forced myself to eat a little slower, not all that keen on permanently joining my dead relatives.

"This is really good!" I commented between bites.

"It's Rosita's recipe. She's the best cook in our family. Taught Elena everything she knows." Papá Julio smiled, patting his sister's shoulder.

"She may have taught her, but Abuela's cooking isn't nearly this good!" I stated as I finished the food on the plate with a smile.

"It never was Elena's thing. She always did prefer making shoes." Tía Rosita commented lightly, taking the empty plate to the sink.

"Now, Miguel," I looked over at Mamá Imelda. "Do you have any idea how to get back to the living world?" She asked, her voice hopeful.

I winced. "I was hoping you would." I admitted, watching as her expression dropped. I wished I did have an idea about how to get back for her sake, even if I didn't really want to leave.

'I like her smile much better. Her smile made her even more beautiful on her wedding day.' I put my hand in my pocket, touching the photo, before I brought it out. 'Maybe...maybe if I wish to be with Papá Héctor, I'll go back?' I wondered.

"Maybe I can do the same thing I did to get here." I showed them the picture I'd used to get to la Tierra de los Muertos.

"That just might work," Mamá Imelda grinned at my idea. "Maybe, you can even send Héctor back that way! You can hold his hand as you wish to be with one of us." She suggested, her eyes bright with hope.

"That's a great idea! I'll try it, and if I come back in a few minutes, you'll know it worked." I exclaimed, feeling my own spirits lifting as we came up with a plan, and a good one at that.
I looked at the foto held tightly in my grasp. "I wish to be with Papá Héctor!" I said loudly, imagining how happy Papá Héctor would be to see me again.

I felt the same tugging as before, but this time I expected it, and it wasn't as nauseating. There was a flash of silver, and I was back in my room. I noticed it was considerably darker than before, the sun shining through the windows making long shadows on the walls. My room didn't look a whole lot different, but it felt like it was missing a very important detail.

'Maybe Papá Héctor—' my eyes widened as I realized what was missing—or rather, who. I sprinted out of my room, abruptly noticing the sound of yelling coming from below me. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs, and followed the voices into the kitchen, where I froze in horror at what I saw.

"What are you doing here?! How dare you come to this house? How are you even here?!" Abuela shouted at a cowering Papá Héctor, hitting him repeatedly in the head with her chancla as he kneeled on the ground.

Everyone else was watching the interaction happen, mixed expressions on their faces. While some seemed viciously happy (AKA, Rosa), others seemed more shocked and confused. The sound of another yelp brought me out of my daze though, and raced over to Papá Héctor, shielding him with my body.

"No, Abuela!" I yelled, lifting my hands. Her chancla froze a few inches from me as she gaped, looking between Papá Héctor and I, before glaring.

"You knew he was here?! Did you bring him to your room?! Where were you?!" She shrieked, the questions coming quicker than I could answer them.

"I knew he was here, but he's only here because—"

"I'll deal with you later, Miguel." She hissed. "It doesn't matter why he's here. Out of my way, this músico knew better than to come in here, whether you let him in or not!" She interrupted, trying to force me to the side.

"No!" I yelled, standing firm. "I won't let you hurt him. He doesn't deserve it. If you'd just let me explain—"

"There's nothing to explain! He left Mamá Imelda, plain and simple. This diablo chose to chase after fame, and never came back!" Abuela tried to push me away again, and I noticed her shove was more forceful this time.

"Abuela, you're wrong! He didn't—"

My head whipped to the side, and a burning pain burst out across the side of my face. Touching my stinging cheek, I hissed quietly as I felt a sticky sensation on my skin. I blinked at the red on my fingertips, looking up at Abuela.

Her chancla was still in the air, and she looked furious. Her expression was even worse than it was on Dia de los Muertos, which I didn't think was possible. Slowly, she lowered the tool, her mouth opening and shutting with no words coming out.

'She...she hit me! I was only trying to explain!' I thought miserably, coming to terms with what had just happened. 'She hit me! I was only talking, and she hit me!'

The thought went 'round in my head on a loop, anger quickly replacing any sadness and fear I may have previously felt. I glared at Abuela, and though she looked slightly guilty, she didn't move to apologize. She didn't even seem to notice the blood on her shoe.

"You shouldn't have done that." Papá Héctor stood up, hugging me close to him. I let myself sink into the embrace, but turned my body slightly so I could still face the rest of my family.

"Who are you to tell us how to discipline our children? You don't even know Miguel!" Mi padre exclaimed, though he didn't sound all that angry. If anything, he sounded more...cautious?

"He's just a kid! He was only trying to explain, and you wouldn't even listen to him!" Papá Héctor reprimanded, squeezing me tighter. "Not to mention he's clearly already hurt!"

"I'm not sure who you are, but you are not his father. For all we know, it was you who hurt him in the first place!" Mi padre accused, pointing his finger at Papá Héctor. "Miguel, get over here, right now!" Mi padre demanded, spit practically flying from his mouth.

I let my eyes shift to him, and thought about his command for a moment. "No thanks," I said calmly, pulling out the photo from my pocket.

"'No thanks!' You will listen to tu papá!" Abuela shrieked, enraged at my blatant disobedience. Apparently, she'd decided if I was okay enough to argue back, then she clearly hadn't hit me all that hard—even if the cut on my face was still bleeding, and my head was pounding worse now.

'But I don't need them. I'm going to a family that loves me, and cares for me, and doesn't only notice me when they think I should be punished.'

So I ignored them in favor of looking up at Papá Héctor. "You ready to go home, Papá Héctor?" I asked, showing him the foto. He had blood dripping down his face as well, not that he seemed to notice.

He looked confused at my question, so I said, "Mamá Imelda thought that maybe if I wish to be with her, while holding onto you, you'll be brought along as well!" I smiled up at him, still feeling rather proud of my idea, trying to ignore how smiling kind of hurt my face now.

"Mamá Imelda! You saw her?! Where is she?" Abuela stared at me, her eyes wide.

"Ah, I see. Well, it's worth a shot!" Papá Héctor grinned back down at me, ruffling my hair.I held on tight to him, and turned away from everyone else, looking at the picture.

"Where'd you get the picture, Miguel?" I heard Rosa ask, her tone revealing she was just trying to get me into more trouble.

Instead of replying, I concentrated on imagining Mamá Imelda in my head, from her Rivera boots all the way up to her sophisticated hairstyle. I was about to say the words before I hesitated, glancing at my living family once more.

"I'll be back." I said, deciding to not explain what was about to happen; odds are they wouldn't believe me anyways. By the look on Papá Héctor's face, I could see he agreed that they deserved a little shock.

'It's not as if it'll kill them. And besides, they won't worry.' I thought bitterly, figuring if they weren't going to prevent me getting beat up, then they should have no problem with me disappearing for a night.

"Oh no, Miguel! You're not leaving this room! I won't have you running about who knows where with this no-good músico!" Mi padre shouted as Abel and Uncle Berto ran to cover the exits.

Papá Héctor and I looked at each other, before we both burst out into laughter. "You think we're just going to run off together into the sunset?" I chuckled. "I'll see you later, Papá."

"Don't let them escape!" Mi padre screeched, jolting forward.

'I appreciate the concern, Padre. But I'm a lot safer with Papá Héctor than with you.' I thought sadly, imagining my tatarabuela.

"I wish to be with Mamá Imelda."

Chapter Text

Miguel's POV

"I wish to be with Mamá Imelda."

I closed my eyes for a moment, only opening them when I could see a growing light behind my eyelids. This time, though, I noticed it was different. It was a radiant glow, the swirling combination of silver and gold all I could see around me; it was absolutely mesmerizing. The closest thing I could possibly describe it to was a picture of the Milky Way galaxy our teacher had shown us at school, but even that couldn't compare to its beauty.

As the light became too bright for my eyes, I closed them once more. My stomach felt strange, but this time it was more like the feeling you get when going down a hill really fast. My clothes were shifting in the wind that came with the glow, and I abruptly realized that I was still holding onto not only the foto, but Papá Héctor as well, even if I couldn't see him through the light.

The brightness eventually faded, and I blinked rapidly to get rid of the remaining spots. My dead family loudly greeted me, especially when they noticed who I brought back with me. This time, it appeared we were in what must have been the living room, which contained two large, dark brown couches, along with a huge armchair in the same shade. The wooden floor looked worn, as if it was rather old, and the beige walls were covered in black and white fotos. There was no television, but there was a gigantic radio in the corner of the room, and a dial telephone on a coffee table wedged between the two couches.

Mamá Imelda immediately jumped off the couch and raced over to us, capturing Papá Héctor in her arms. She hugged him so hard that he looked like he was going to break a rib! Papá Héctor's eyes widened much at the loving display, I was worried they would pop out! He seemed paralyzed at her reaction, but slowly wrapped his arms around her as well, a small smile forming on his face. I grinned fondly at them as they lovingly held each other, glad he was safely back home, even though I'd miss having him in my room.

"Oh, Héctor! I thought you were gone for good!" She laid her head down on his chest for a moment, before pushing herself out of his embrace.

"If you ever worry me like that again, I'll kill you myself!" She shrieked, wagging a bony finger at him. To a stranger, she may have looked at the man like Papá Héctor had just tried to steal her purse, but I knew differently. Mamá Imelda's eyes spoke volumes, showing relief and happiness, even as she continued to scold Papá Héctor for leaving her with no note or heads up.

"I swear, Imelda, I didn't do it on purpose! Miguel, he—"

"I know, and I don't care! No more leaving! Period!" She huffed, falling back down onto the couch.

"Glad you're back, Héctor!" Tía Rosita squealed.

"Yes! Even if—" Tío Felipe began.

"You're a little worse for wear." Tío Oscar gestured to the small cracks on Papá Héctor's skull.

It was then that it sunk in what had happened. "You're a skeleton again!" I cried.

Papá Héctor immediately looked down at his hands, before feeling his face. "I am!" He exclaimed. He looked happy to be back to normal, but perhaps also a little bit sad that he was just bones again.

"But what happened to you, Miguel?" Tío Oscar pointed at me, seemingly alarmed by the blood on my face.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I looked to the wall in a daze, brushing my hand against the scratch gently. I stared at myself in the glass covering one of the fotos. The cut looked like it had started to scab over, but there were lines of dried blood that ran down all the way to my neck. I knew it was my reflection I was seeing in the cover of a foto of Tía Rosita and Papá Julio, but...I looked much more roughed up than I had when I started the day.

"What happened?" Mamá Imelda kneeled beside me, gently cupping my uninjured cheek.

I couldn't bear to look at her, so I pulled away, my eyes dropping to the ground. "I don't want to talk about it." I muttered, clenching my mouth shut.

"Nonsense, tell me who did this—"

"Imelda." Papá Héctor interrupted her. There must have been some silent communication between them, because a few seconds later Mamá Imelda sighed. Hesitantly, I glanced up at her, relaxing a bit when she just smiled down at me, kissing my forehead.

"Come, Mijo. Let's go clean that cut, hmmm?" Tía Victoria stood up from the couch, holding her hand out to me.

I grabbed it, and let her lead me to the bathroom. I stared for a moment at her bony appendage, holding tight to my own skin-covered hand. 'Their bodies feel so weird still. Will I ever get used to it?'

She had me sit on the edge of the bathtub, and got out the same bowl Tía Rosita had used earlier today, along with a new washcloth. 'Was that really just today? It feels like weeks ago. I'm so tired.'

I struggled to keep my eyes open, and barely felt her rubbing off the dirtied blood with warm water, as she kneeled before me. She patted the cut lightly, and I did my best not to flinch away at the cold, stinging sensation.

"It's already mostly scabbed, and it doesn't look infected, so I'll leave that be." She muttered to herself, standing up. She dumped out the water, placing both the bowl and the red-stained fabric by the sink.

I blinked slowly up at her, rubbing my eyes as I fought off a yawn. She chuckled quietly, picking me up like she would a baby in one fluid motion. I was about to protest that I wasn't a little kid, and I could walk on my own, before she started to hum. It was such a nice tune, though I couldn't quite recall where I'd heard it before.

I fought to keep my eyes open for a moment longer, but as I laid my head on her skeletal chest, I ultimately gave in to sleep.

•~•

Héctor's POV

'Poor Chamaco.' I sighed, watching Victoria lead him away.

"Out with it, Héctor. What happened?" Imelda inquired. I could see a multitude of emotions on her face, with rage, worry, and relief battling each other for dominance.

'Where do I even begin?' I groaned, hanging my head at the feeling of a headache coming on.
Gentle hands guided me to the couch, and I sat down, just now noticing how worn out I was. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend this whole night never happened, but I knew that wouldn't solve anything. Not only that, but it could be dangerous for Miguel, and after everything he'd been through...he deserved to be safe and happy.

"Elena, she...she came into Miguel's room while he was gone, looking for him so he could do his chores. But when she found me, well...sh-she dragged me downstairs. She started to hit me with her chancla, and screamed about how...how I abandoned you, Imelda." I choked out the words, swallowing a lump in my throat. I couldn't bear to look at her, or the others, so I kept my gaze locked firmly on the floor, taking note of all the grooves and scratches in the ancient wood.

"She didn't stop...not even when Miguel showed up and came between us. He was just trying to tell them the truth, but they wouldn't even listen." I wished I could cry still, if only as an outlet for the misery in my heart. 'Why is life so unfair to him? Why can't he just enjoy being a kid? I would do anything for him to have a regular childhood, like I had.'

My mind brought forth days of playing games with my family, going shopping with my mamá, and making dinner with my papá. There were moments when I missed them terribly, yes. But I wouldn't give those memories up for anything, even if remembering made me more sad than anything else sometimes.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to clear away the miserable melancholy that came with thinking of my old familia. "Elena, she...she hit him. With her chancla, straight across the cheek." I pursed my lips at the various gasps and muttered curses, taking comfort in the fact that I wasn't the only one who was enraged. "After that, we left. Right in front of them, actually."

I chuckled, recalling how I even spotted the man who seemed to be Miguel's padre gaping in disbelief at us teleporting away in a ball of light. "I have no idea what they must think is going on, and frankly, I don't really care. They deserve to wonder what happened for at least a few hours."

There were muttered agreements at that, even from the more forgiving Riveras. Almost all of us had children of our own, and though the chancla was sometimes used as a punishment, to use it with such force and longevity was never done. And to use it on a child's face? Why, if a stranger had tried that, they could very well have ended up in a shallow grave, or at the very least permanently disfigured.

"They don't deserve Miguel." I continued, looking up. My anger was growing exponentially as I thought over all Miguel had gone through, and how little his family seemed to understand about his life. "They didn't know or apparently care about what happened on Día de los Muertos. They didn't even know about the nightmares he has about it!" I hissed, trying and failing to comprehend how they could miss something so big.

"And they didn't know that he's bullied at school!" Imelda scoffed, crossing her arms.

"He is?!" I exclaimed, my eyes almost popping out of my skull in my surprise. Swearing colorfully, I complained, "is there nowhere that he's safe?!"

I had seen the bruises and scrapes, of course, but I'd foolishly hoped that they were from being a little clumsy in the workshop, or maybe playing with his friends. I'd forgotten how Miguel avoided the workshop like it was a charging bull. And in retrospect, I wasn't even sure how many friends Miguel had, what with the music ban in place until only recently. I would like to think kids would still befriend him even with the weird tradition, but I knew deep down how awful children could be to someone they viewed as different.

'Heck, I was made fun of a ton when I was his age because of my freakishly large nose and ears, and I could play the guitar. Miguel never even mentioned having any interests outside of music, and we've spent a day or two together at this point!'

"It appears that way." Julio sighed, answering my somewhat rhetorical question. "But maybe...maybe this can be his safe haven?" He suggested quietly, glancing around the room.

'That's not a bad idea.' I absentmindedly rubbed my goatee between my thumb and finger. 'He can get here easily enough. It's just the getting back that might be the problem. Though, as long as he has a picture of his living family, he should be fine.' I grinned, realizing that Julio's idea just might work.

"That's a great idea, Julio! He can have his own room and everything! We'll have family dinners, play songs together—"

"Now hold on a minute," Imelda interrupted with a small frown on her face. "We can have him here occasionally, yes. But who knows what kind of side effects there could be if he stays here too long? And besides, this is la Tierra de los Muertos. He's supposed to be enjoying his life, spending it with the...well, the living!" She emphasized with a sigh.

'Right. I'm not supposed to be able to see him, let alone interact with him on a regular basis. I knew that. I just...' my eyes fell to my hands folded neatly in my lap. 'I want to be there for him. I don't want to have to wait over half a century to see him again, like with Coco.'

I bit what remained of my lower lip. 'But I don't want him to die young either!' I fought down a shudder at the mental image of Miguel being murdered in some alleyway, or worse, getting too badly hurt here to return to the Land of the Living for medical care. 'I just wish I could be a part of his life. Is that so wrong?'

"However," I looked up at Imelda, seeing the hesitance on her face. She glanced at me, and I knew she'd probably figured out what I was thinking, and was maybe having similar thoughts of her own.

I'd never been very good at hiding my emotions from those I was close to. When we were dating, Imelda usually knew what I was going to say before I even said it, which was quite sweet. 'But there were times when I wish I had a better poker face.' I mentally admitted, my thoughts drifting to the day I was going to propose to her, and she asked in the middle of our date if she could see the ring already.

'Héctor, quit thinking of the past, and focus on the present!' I berated myself, dragging my attention back to my wife as she continued to speak.

"That doesn't mean he can't stay here sometimes, though. But no longer than twenty-four hours!" She commanded, staring everyone down. "Heaven forbid he gets stuck here for good somehow." She shook her head, clearly worried something would go wrong.

'Which isn't entirely unfair. I mean, he's been here three times, and already he's almost died or shown up here hurt twice. If he gets hurt here, there's not a whole lot we can do to help him. There aren't any of those new fancy medical machines here, made of shiny metal and a bazillion wires.'

I could just picture Miguel falling from some great height, and Pepita not being there to catch him this time. I shivered at the thought of us only being able to stand by and comfort him as he died. His familia would never know what happened, they may not even think to put up his foto, and...I was starting to understand why Imelda was so concerned.

'We just have to be careful. I'm not going to waste this opportunity on "ifs".' I pushed away the potential outcomes, trying to convince myself that as long as we were cautious, everything would be ok.

I yawned, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. Now that Miguel was safe, and I was back home, I was finding it difficult to keep running on empty. It had been a long two days, and I hadn't gotten more than an hour or two of sleep last night while I was watching Miguel. My eyelids drooped against my will, and I could feel bony arms wrapping around me.

Startled, I started to fight against the hold, my eyes shooting open.

"It's okay, Héctor. Rest. You are safe, mi amado." The voice was smooth as honey, and barely more than a whisper.

'Imelda'.

I relaxed, and drifted off to sleep, with one thought echoing around in my mind. 'It's been a century since I've been called amado. I...I didn't realize how much I missed it.'

I dreamt I was in a small house with my beautiful wife, and my wonderful daughter. I spent an incredible day with them talking, cleaning the house, and baking galletas. Deep down, I knew it wasn't real—that I had lost the chance to ever do this again a lifetime ago. Still, a part of me wished I could stay there forever.

If only a little.

Enrique's POV

I stared in astonishment at the bright light, desperately attempting to reach mi hijo as the wind pushed me further from him. Eventually, the glow started to fade, finally disappearing after a few minutes. And with it, Miguel.

"Where is he?!" I shouted, my eyes racing around the room for a glimpse of mi hijo. 'What just happened? What have we done? Where did my hijo go?'

I could hear through the baby monitor that little Coco had woken up, and was crying for someone to hold her and rock her back to sleep. However, at the moment, that was the least of my worries. At least with her monitor on, I knew where she was, and that she was safe.

Instead, I turned to face my mamá. "What have you done?! You hit mi hijo with your chancla, and his face no less! You had no right to punish him!" I yelled, beyond furious that it had gone this far. "He's never gotten the chancla before, and quite frankly, he didn't deserve it!"

"Well, actually, last night..." I turned to Rosa, who shrunk back a bit at being the center of my rage.

Remembering she wasn't who I was furious with, my head turned as fast as a whip to mi mamá. "What did you do!" I hissed. My voice was cold, and hardly louder than a whisper, but I could see the way her lip wobbled as she swallowed. My mother had gone too far this time, and she knew it.

"He—he wouldn't listen! I—I told him to eat more, and he refused! So I...I hit him with my chancla. But only ten times! He didn't even cry!" She explained quickly, the words like lava falling from her lips. The rage that filled me as she spoke was unlike any other I'd ever experienced. It consumed me, and I knew I needed to calm myself down, before I did something I would regret.

I took a deep breath, trying to reign in the urge I had to pack up my stuff, leave with my wife and child, and never come back. 'But then I'd probably never see mi hijo again, and I can't let that happen. It's just...they sat there, and watched her beat him!' I felt disgusted by my family, the people I loved and watched over and had even helped raise in some cases. 'That they would let mi mamá punish and hurt my child, without me present...I don't even want to be in the same room as them right now.'

"He...he was actually fine, until Rosa called him a baby and stuff for asking where you and Tía Luisa were." Abel muttered, his eyes glued to the floor.

"Rosa!" Luisa scolded. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Well...he just keeps asking where you two are—" she gestured to Luisa and I—"and I know that you're busy with the baby, so I hoped he'd get over it if he realized how childish he was being." She said slowly, fiddling with her fingers. She wouldn't look me in the eye, either, and seemed rather embarrassed about what she'd done now, at least.

'He was asking for us? Why? What could he have needed?' I tried to think back to the last time we'd talked, hoping it would help me recall what he could have wanted us for. Maybe he even gave us a clue, about where he disappeared to just now.

Unfortunately, all I could remember was him coming to our room at night a couple days ago, and us asking him to watch Coco a couple times last week.

I frowned, tuning out the sounds of mi familia muttering. 'When was the last time we really talked together? It...' I forced myself to concentrate, feeling rather ridiculous at how hard it was to draw up recent memories of spending time with mi hijo. 'Actually, when was the last time we did something together, just the three of us? The last thing I can recall was going to get ice cream in June, but it wasn't that long ago...was it?'

Worry settled heavily in my stomach. 'Have we been...ignoring him?'

Luisa and I looked at each other. Where she had been panicking like I was before at Miguel disappearing into thin air, now her face showed an even deeper despair.

"You don't think..." I trailed off, uncertain how to finish my sentence. No, that was a lie; I just couldn't bring myself to speak the words out loud.

"That we've been forgetting about Miguel?" Luisa finished weakly. I didn't like seeing her upset, but there were no words I could think of to reassure her that everything was fine, and we'd done nothing wrong. Ones that were truthful, anyway.

I groaned, tilting my head back. "We messed up. Big time." I mumbled, running my hands through my hair as I sighed deeply.

"Where...where do you think he is?" Asked Gloria, staring at the spot where we'd last seen Miguel.

"I have no idea." I confessed, hating myself a bit more as I realized just how screwed I really was. Mijo had just disappeared with a man that was meant to be dead, a man that seemed to care for and know Miguel better than anyone else in the room currently did.

'How on earth was Héctor even here? How did Miguel know him? How was Héctor alive? And how was he still a young adult?!'

I had countless questions, so many of which only Miguel could answer. And now, he was gone. 'I don't know how he left, or where he went, or when he'll be back!' I realized, the panic my anger had been suppressing slowly growing. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths, trying to convince myself it wasn't as bad it looked. That is, until a single thought made my face pale, and left me feeling like a spirit had just walked through my body.

'I don't even know if he'll be back.'

'I...I could never see him again. He could...he could die thinking that I—I didn't care enough to spend time with him, that I pushed him away again and again. I can't even remember the last time I told him I loved him!' I clutched my head, ashamed of how focused I'd been on Socorro. Yes, she was a baby, and I was her padre, but that was no excuse to ignore my other child!

'Dios mio, he must hate us!' I groaned, filled with distress at what I'd done. 'No wonder he ran off with Héctor. If I were a kid with...'

I didn't even want to think about the word. That nasty word I'd read about in books and seen on the news. The word that made me feel sick inside just considering its implications. I wanted to deny it, to cover it up, to forget all about my mistakes.

I knew deep down I couldn't though. I knew that if I wanted to have a healthy relationship with mi hijo, I'd need to face my blunders sooner rather than later, for Miguel's sake. 'If...if I were a kid with neglectful parents...I'd run off to anyone who was willing to spend time with me, and to love me.' I swallowed the lump in my throat. 'Even if the adult was questionably safe.'

"We've got to find him." My voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion. There was no way I was going to leave mi hijo with a man who, though he seemed nice enough, was known for abandoning people.

"Of course, but...how? We have no idea where he went, or how he left in the first place!" Mi mamá cried. I glared at her, still angry at her for what she'd done to Miguel.

"Put up posters, alert the police; give them any information we do have that doesn't make us all look loco. Otherwise, we...we search, and wait for him to come back." I sighed, wishing I had a better plan. 'If he comes back.' A small voice whispered in my head. I pushed the unbearable thought to the back of my mind, unwilling to even consider a future without Miguel in it.

"He hasn't eaten today, so we can make him food, for when he comes back." Rosa suggested.

"He didn't eat lunch? Or breakfast? And no one bothered to drag him down here, or see if he was okay?!" I asked, horrified at the realization that Miguel could have been hurt or even kidnapped, and no one would have known.

"We didn't want to force him to eat. We saw how well that went last night." Berto scoffed, glancing at mi mamá. "And we figured you guys would know if he was sick or something. I mean, he is your son." He motioned to Luisa and I.

I had nothing to say to that. At least, nothing besides self-criticism.

"You're right." Luisa said, rubbing her forehead. "We should have known. We've been...neglecting him, in favor of spending time with Socorro." She choked the last sentence out, like it physically pained her to say it.

I wrapped her in my arms, ignoring the growing wet spot on my shirt. "And now we'll make it right. Miguel will come back, and when he does, we'll show him how much we missed him and love him." I said, my voice full of a confidence I didn't truly feel.

"We have to make this right. For Miguel."

Chapter Text

Miguel's POV

I woke to light shining across my face. 'That's strange,' I thought, shifting slightly in bed, covering my head with a pillow. 'Light doesn't shine on me from the windows usually.'

I was about to drift back off to sleep, before my eyes shot open. 'Where am I?!' I sat up quickly, looking around the room I was in. There was a window with beautiful purple drapes on the wall to the left, which looked out on a street, but it was hard to see what was out there with the sun in my eyes. A tall, wooden dresser stood in the corner of the room, with detailed carvings of leaves and roses on it. There was even a vanity against the wall facing the bed that had a few bottles on it, and three long, violet ribbons.

I didn't bother to investigate the rest of the room, instead focusing on the strips of fabric. 'I know I've seen those somewhere....' I mentally struggled as I tried to discover why they seemed so familiar. 'Purple hair ribbons, who wears—oh! Those are Mamá Imelda's! So that must mean—' I glanced down at the white bedsheets around me, noticing the intricate floral designs on them in gold.

"This must be Mamá Imelda's room! I'm in la Tierra de los Muertos!"

I marveled at the strange situation, realizing how weird it was that I had technically been sleeping in a dead person's bed. Like, were all beds here technically coffins...? My living family would definitely—

My eyes widened as I remembered the events from last night. I was about to jump off the bed and run downstairs to say hi to my dead familia, when I heard a groan from beside me. Startled, I yelped, which woke the other occupant of the bed completely; the occupant I had somehow failed to notice until just then.

"Let me sleeeeeeep." The person beside me mumbled. The voice was quiet, and hard to hear, but I knew I'd recognize it anywhere—well, that and his floppy hair.

"¿iPapá Héctor?!" I shouted, a grin breaking out across my face.

Papá Héctor bolted into a sitting position when he heard me. His eyes almost fell out of his skull, they were rolling around so quickly, before finally settling on me. He flashed his pearly whites, his gold tooth shining brightly in the sunlight. "Chamaco!" He cried, gathering me into a hug so tight I couldn't take a breath without my ribs creaking, and my bruises aching horribly.

"Can't—breathe—" I wheezed, black spots edging my vision.

Papá Héctor immediately let go of me, and I gulped in air, coughing every time I fought to fill my lungs. He placed his hands on my shoulders, muttering apologies as I struggled to calm my erratic heartbeat.

"Easy, Mijo, easy." He soothed, rubbing circles on my back as he muttered apologies. I took comfort in the physical touch, and could practically feel every tense muscle in my body relaxing under his bones. After the past couple of weeks I'd had, it felt good to know I was safe, and that everything was fine, if just for a moment.

It'd felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders ever since Día de los Muertos. First it was getting the blessing, then getting Papá Héctor's foto on the ofrenda, then making sure he wasn't forgotten, then trying to clear his name. 'The list goes on and on! I—I can't do this anymore!' I swallowed the lump in my throat, wishing I could hide from the world under the bed covers and never come back out.

'I don't know what to do! I'm just a kid!' I sniffled, trying to fight back tears. 'How am I supposed to do this all on my own?'

I looked up at Papá Héctor, wondering if he had any advice. He was still rubbing my back though, and was saying something else besides the same calming mantras now.

"It's alright, Mijo, I've got you. I'm here. It'll be fine. I'm not going anywhere." He whispered quietly, patting my back a few times before wrapping his arms around me again. Sighing, I melted into his arms like honey, choosing to allow myself to enjoy this moment.

I took a deep breath as I rested my head against his shoulder. 'Maybe...maybe I don't have to do this all on my own. Maybe...mi familia will help me.' I considered, thinking about how they never stopped trying to get me home when I was cursed, though it was dangerous for them at times; of how mi familia didn't scold me for showing up with injuries, like my living family would have. Instead, Tía Rosita and Tía Victoria were both so gentle as they took care of me. They even carried me when I was tired, and put me to bed.

'They're there for me when my living family isn't, when I needed help, and didn't think I'd receive it. Maybe that's what family is. Not just there to support you in your dreams, but there to pick you up after your nightmares as well.'

I flinched at the door banging open, the loud noise startling me. Luckily, Papá Héctor was still holding me, or I probably would have jumped off the bed in shock. I chuckled when I realized it was just Mamá Imelda entering the room, wondering how I forgot that this wasn't actually my or Papá Héctor's bed.

"What's wrong? I heard a scream!" She exclaimed, rushing over to me. "Are you okay, Miguel? Is your head hurting? Are you sick? Hungry?" She asked, spewing questions too fast for me to answer.

I could see her reaching for my head, most likely to check if I was fine herself. I brushed her hands away with a small chuckle, secretly happy at the concern on her face. 'It's nice to know someone cares,' a dark part of me whispered.

"I'm good, Mamá Imelda," I reassured her, giving her my best grin. Unfortunately, that pulled on the cut I forgot about, making me wince, which only served to worry her more.

"Really." I insisted, ignoring the lingering pain. "I was just surprised when I found Papá Héctor next to me," I explained, gesturing to the man behind me who was falling asleep again.

Mamá Imelda looked at Papá Héctor in surprise for a moment, as if she'd forgotten that it wasn't just me and her in the room. She smiled sadly at her husband when she saw his eyes closing again. I raised my hand to shake him awake, weirded out by how tired he seemed.

"Don't, Mijo," Mamá Imelda whispered, grabbing me gently. I glanced at her, confused.

"He...he needs rest. To heal. He still hasn't fully healed after Día de los Muertos, and I imagine that the past couple days have been rather...taxing."

It looked like the words pained her, and I realized that she, to some degree, probably felt guilty for his condition. I was about to tell her that it wasn't her fault, that he was to be blamed for Papá Héctor's state, but before I could, she plastered a big smile on her face.

"Come, Miguel." She dragged me by my arm out of the room, closing the door behind us. "You must be hungry."

We hurried down the stairs, and she led me to the bathroom, before we both followed the wonderful aroma of cooking food. She ushered me into the kitchen, making a beeline for the table. It was almost robotic, the way she sat me down in a chair and put a plate with burritos on it in front of me.

'Not that I'm complaining.' I licked my lips, practically drooling. I was surprised at how hungry I was, until I remembered I'd had an early dinner last night. However, I restrained myself, making sure to wait until everyone else was sitting down and had food before eagerly digging in.

"Slow down, Miguel! We wouldn't want you to choke." Papá Julio said with a chuckle. I grinned sheepishly, realizing I was eating like a hungry pig.

"It's very good," I remarked, sitting up a bit straighter in my seat. "Who made it?"

"Ah, you have your Tía Rosita to thank for breakfast." Mamá Imelda frowned slightly, as if she seemed a bit bitter about this fact.

"Oh, come now. You're a good cook!" Tía Rosita said, smiling at her cuñada.

"Be honest, Rosita: have you ever actually tasted my cooking?" Mamá Imelda asked, stabbing a bite of stray huevos.

Tía Rosita pondered that for a minute, a confused expression making its way onto her face. "I...I don't think I've ever had the pleasure." She confessed, seeming surprised. "Do you not like to cook?"

"It's not so much she doesn't like to cook—" Tío Oscar began.

"—but that she can't cook." Tío Felipe grinned.

"Oh, she's tried! Many times, actually." Tío Oscar looked at his brother. "Do you think we can remember them all?"

"The time she dented the pan."

"The time she set off the new smoke alarm."

"The time she tried making pan dulce, and they came out black."

"The time she burned down half the kitchen."

"The time she—"

"They get the point!" Mamá Imelda interrupted, scowling at them both. "I can't cook," she admitted, gripping the table tightly.

Her brothers opened their mouths, but before they could interrupt, she shot them a vicious look, making them wilt slightly. "Or bake." She continued, crossing her arms in what was clearly a defensive posture.

"Don't get me wrong, I've tried. Many times, as mis hermanos are so eager to point out." She glared at her brothers for a moment longer, then sighed defeatedly. "Those two—" she gestured to the twins—"always had to cook for us. Until Rosita came along, that is."

"Maybe I could teach you?" Rosita suggested, grabbing her hand. Mamá Imelda smiled at Rosita, but shook her head.

"Believe me, it's hopeless—I'm a lost cause." She gave a little shrug, an amused smile making its way across her face. "I can't tell you how many hours I've spent trying, how much time Héctor and I..." she trailed off, and in her eyes I could tell she was no longer sitting at the table with us. She was in a different kitchen, probably a smaller one, with her husband and young daughter. A kitchen gone in all but memories.

"Mamá Imelda," I said slowly, trying to pull her back to the present. She glanced at me, and for a moment, it felt like she wasn't seeing me, so much as seeing through me. I thought back briefly to that fright-filled night, and how horrifying it was to discover my parents couldn't see me.

But then Mamá Imelda shook her head slightly, sighing again. "I'm sorry, sometimes it's just...hard," she bit her lip, letting go of Tía Rosita. "It's been so long..." she grimaced, and I had a feeling that she was thinking of all the times that she had pushed Papá Héctor away; what he must have gone through, year after year, trying desperately to see his daughter one more time.

"Mamá Imelda, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known that...that he murdered Papá Héctor." My voice was firm, and I looked her in her warm brown eyes as I spoke.

"I should have though!" Mamá Imelda groaned, her face pained. "I should have known! He sent letters every week, letters pages long! He gave us money, more than enough to feed us and clothe us and—and—" she gave a small cry, her head falling into her hands.

"The money and the letters stopped a few months after he left," She muttered, hiding her face in her shaking fingers. "I...I should have known something happened to him. I should have looked for him, tried to find out what happened. But the townspeople—" she moaned, running her hands through her messy hair—"they gossiped, and rumors spread about how...how Héctor left me for a prettier woman, for a more luxurious life.

"And slowly..." Her voice was so quiet, my ears strained to pick up the words. "As the months passed, and the money ran out, and no more letters came...I started to believe their speculations." She admitted, her eyebrows scrunched up tight.

"I should have searched for him. I should have known he'd come back! But, I didn't. I built the shoe shop, with the help of my brothers. I didn't want to remember him, but that alone wasn't enough. I wanted everyone to forget him. And once I came here—" she gestured vaguely around her—"I avoided him like the plague. I didn't pause to think, to realize...that he was disappearing, before my very eyes.

"And now..." She trailed off, her shoulders drooping, as if they carried the weight of much more than just her dress. "Now, he's here with us, again. And being forgotten for over a century...it takes its toll. I just hope, with time, he gets better." She finished in a small voice, one that I would never have thought I'd hear my fierce, willful Mamá Imelda use.

I could see the guilt that was eating at her, feeding off of the horror and anguish she felt at what she'd done. I couldn't stand to see her so upset. I jumped out of my chair, raced over to her, and wrapped my arms tightly around her bony body. "It's alright now, Mamá Imelda. Everything's going to be fine. Papá Héctor is upstairs sleeping, and he's not going anywhere. And—and 'm going to make sure the world knows what a fake that—that Ernesto is." I spat out the name, hating the bitter taste it left in my mouth.

"But how?! I threw away everything! The letters, and his photo, and all of his stuff!" Mamá Imelda cried, gripping me back with all her strength.

"About that..." I chuckled nervously, leaning back. "Mamá Coco actually kept it." I winced slightly. 'Probably could have sugar-coated that a bit more. Oh well. Too late now.'

I looked anxiously at Mamá Imelda, trying to gauge her reaction. She seemed shocked, and was silent for a long time, before she smiled softly.

Chuckling, she gave me one final squeeze, before ushering me gently back to my seat. "She always was a little rebel, wasn't she?" Mamá Imelda said fondly. "In fact," she gestured to Papá Julio, a small smirk on her face. "Wasn't that how she met you? Singing together in the plaza?"

Papá Julio looked nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I..." He trailed off, and I knew whatever came out of his mouth next would be a lie. "Can't remember." He finished. I had no doubt that if he were still alive, he would be sweating bullets.

Mamá Imelda's eyebrows rose. "Of course, of course. It was a long time ago." Her eyes gleamed, a light in them that reminded me of how Abel looked when he was teasing Rosa.

'She's just messing with him! She's not really angry.' I thought incredulously, amazed at the scene before me. I'd heard all the stories about how strict and hardworking Mamá Imelda was, but I'd never once heard a story about any other side of her. I watched as Papá Julio stared warily at Mamá Imelda, his eyes narrowed as he attempted to read her expression.

'Though, perhaps that's because she couldn't afford to be anything but hard. I mean, a single mother back then with no way to support her and her daughter would have had it pretty rough.' I frowned slightly, imagining what it must have been like for her, trying to earn enough money each day just to feed little Mamá Coco, let alone clothe her and find shelter for them both.

Mamá Imelda finally smirked, apparently satisfied with her little victory. Papá Julio looked confused for a moment, before his expression twisted into something more sullen. "You know I'm not good at being able to tell when you're joking." He whined as we laughed at his expense.

"Oh come on, Julio. After all this time, you're still scared of me?" Mamá Imelda rolled her eyes, clearly amused.

"...no." Papá Julio sounded unsure of himself, like he didn't quite believe what he said.

Mamá Imelda laughed under her breath, but took pity on him, and didn't push the subject further. "I should probably go check on Héctor, and maybe bring him some food. I swear, he never eats!" Mamá Imelda shook her head, clearly exasperated.

"Do you guys...have to eat?" I asked hesitantly, hoping I didn't come across as rude. 'I mean, it's not as if they'll actually starve or anything.'

"Technically, no." Tía Victoria answered, adjusting her glasses. "However, it's good for us to. It keeps our bones whiter, harder to break, and the connection between them stronger."

I must have looked confused, because Mamá Imelda rolled her eyes. "She means eating makes it harder for our bones to separate."

"Oh." I thought back to how I'd accidentally pulled Papá Héctor's arm from his body at the beginning of Día de los Muertos. "Is that why Papá Héctor comes apart so easily?"

"Partly," Tía Victoria sighed. "The other problem is...the less people remember you in the living world, the less you are tethered to la Tierra de los Muertos. And with just Mamá Coco's fraying memory..." she trailed off, glancing down.

"But I can fix that!" I beamed. "My family on the other side know about him now, and I can prove that Papá Héctor is the one who wrote Remember Me and all the other songs. And I will!"

"Even with the letters, that's an awfully big project." Tío Oscar said.

"People aren't going to like finding out their idol is a murderer and a fake either." Tío Felipe added, giving me a concerned look.

My shoulders slumped, and I ran my fingers over the grain marks on the table. "I know, but I have to try. I can't stand seeing statues of him all over Santa Cecilia, watching everyone practically worship him like he's some sort of god." I grimaced, finding it hard to believe that I was a fan of the man only a month ago.

"Can I bring up Papá Héctor's breakfast with you?" I asked Mamá Imelda eagerly, not all that keen on anyone trying to change my mind. 'I know what I'm doing, and I'm not going to let anyone stop me from clearing Papá Héctor's name.

Mamá Imelda blinked at the sudden change of subject, before giving me a warm smile. "Of course, Mijo."

She moved fluidly around the table, gathering different foods onto a plate. I followed her up the stairs, where she opened the door to her room with a slight squeak.

Immediately, the sound of snoring reached our ears, causing Imelda to chuckle. "He's snored for as long as I've known him, but every time I mention it, he denies it!" She whispered to me, rolling her eyes.

I laughed, feeling a little wistful as I recalled, "Sounds like my papá. Mamá's always telling him he snores, but he always claims she's lying."

Shaking our heads at our disbelieving relatives, we walked into the room, shutting the door behind us. Setting aside some books, Mamá Imelda placed the dish on the bedside table, moving carefully to avoid making any unnecessary noise.

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, we both winced as it creaked due to the extra weight; it probably wasn't really made to hold living humans, which wasn't something either of us had apparently considered. But we needn't have worried, because Papá Héctor continued sleeping, with no indication he'd even heard the sound.

"He's a deep sleeper too, I take it." I murmured.

"Not usually, actually." Mamá Imelda admitted, sounding concerned. "Though I suppose he's just tired," she suggested, giving me a weak smile.

"I'm positive that's what it is." I assured her. I tried to convince myself I believed in my words, one hundred percent, but I knew deep down I didn't. In the depths of my head, a voice I didn't dare listen to cackled:

'And if he isn't....?'

I shoved the thought back to the dark corner it belonged to, and forced myself to think of something else, anything else—like my new little sister! I visualized her chubby cheeks, her small hands, and her cute, bubbly laugh. I beamed at the mental image of her, remembering how nice it was to hold her while she slept.

'It's not her fault she steals my parents'—' my train of thought abruptly stopped as my eyes widened.

"Mamá Imelda!" I hissed. "I spent the night here!"

"I already knew that," her grin was a bit stronger, but it faded when she saw the fear on my face. "What is it, Miguel?"

"My family—well, my living one—they don't know where I am!" I hissed. I knew I sounded frantic, but I couldn't bring myself to care. They had to have noticed that I was gone this time, considering how I left—and I could only imagine how furious they would be at me for disappearing for so long. Sure, last night I'd kind of wanted them to be annoyed, but—I glanced at the clock—twelve hours was pushing it.

Mamá Imelda grimaced, realizing how bad the situation was. She pushed me out of the room, closing the door behind us. "We've got to get you back. Quickly! Even if your parents do deserve to worry a bit in my opinion." She smirked wryly, muttering some unsavory things under her breath.

"But how?! Last time I got here because I had a picture with Papá Héctor in it, and he was in the living world. I don't have a picture of my living family with me." I cried, waving around my empty hands.

I felt nauseous as I grabbed the foto from my pocket. Tears came to my eyes when I imagined staying here forever. 'No one will ever know the truth about Ernesto. They'll never know how Papá Héctor wrote all those songs.' I looked up at Mamá Imelda. 'I'll have to wait decades to see my family again.'

"Mamá Imelda, will I—will I ever be able to go home?"