Ford opened his eyes and found that he was standing in the middle of a bridge made of glowing orange flower petals, with walking, talking skeletons passing him by.

This was extremely different from his situation the last time his eyes were open, so for a moment he just stood there, nonplussed.

The skeletons took no notice of him, except to step around him with the occasional "Excuse me." Some of them were in groups, but most were walking in ones or twos; when he took a closer look at them, he saw that they still had eyes set in their sockets, and brightly colored markings decorated their skulls-calaveras, yes, that was the word. And most of them were speaking Spanish, or heavily accented English.

It was like no world he'd ever been to, that was for sure; and he'd been to some pretty crazy worlds. What was worrying was that he couldn't even tell how he'd gotten here, or why.

In an effort to clear his head, Ford looked down at the bridge, wondering how such a thing was possible, and if there was some structure underneath all the petals to keep it together (though considering the number of things he'd seen in his long life that defied the laws of physics, you'd think nothing would surprise him anymore)-and let out a small yell when he saw his hands.

Namely, the fact that they were all bone.

No, really. Six phalanges attached to five metacarpals and eight carpals, without any skin or muscle covering them but still staying together for no apparent reason. And, upon rolling up his sleeve, he saw that yes, his arm was all bone too, and then that his turtleneck was hanging so loosely on him now because underneath there was just a spinal cord and a ribcage.

Ford gingerly poked at the space where his stomach used to be, and realized he could reach all the way to his spinal cord. While fascinating, it was a little disturbing that it was happening to his own body. Especially if it meant what he thought it meant.

With a slow, sickening clarity, Ford realized that Bill had been telling the truth about what would happen when he was ninety-two, after all. But it didn't explain where he was, or why he was a walking skeleton now. Because he knew there were some cultures who believed in that kind of afterlife, but his family had never-

"FORD!"

Before he could consider the matter further, he was crashed into and sent flying.

Even though they were both much lighter on their feet now (he didn't see his attacker's face, but he would have recognized that voice anywhere) because they were all bone, he was knocked right into the petals by his brother's tackle-hug.

As he blinked and struggled to collect himself (literally-he thought one of his feet might have become detached from his ankle upon impact, and was grateful that he still had his boots on), he realized that Stanley was babbling excitedly in his earhole, without seeing any apparent need to release him; in his excitement he sounded a lot like Mabel.

"Holy Moses I missed you so much, I'm sorry you're dead but I'm glad you finally got here, knucklehead! You're gonna love this place, there's all kinds of cool nerd stuff to look at and lots of food and-"

"Stanley, can you let me up, please? I think we're starting to sink."

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it felt like the petals were shuffling and closing around them.

Stan let out an annoyed huff, and growled, "I'm not tryin' to leave, you stupid thing! I just wanted to tell my brother hello, that okay with you?"

"Stanley," Ford reminded him in a tone filled with fond scolding.

He felt his brother's now equally-bony arms unwind from him a little, allowing Ford to push both of them up into a sitting position-where he promptly pulled Stanley into a tight hug of his own.

"I missed you too," he whispered, closing his eyes and squeezing him so tight that if he'd needed to breathe, he couldn't have in that moment.

They sat that way until someone coughed behind them. Ford glanced over Stan's shoulder, and saw two skeletons dressed like security guards standing there, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Um, sirs, would you mind moving off the bridge? You're causing a hold-up."

Ford turned his head the other way (amazing; if he wanted to, he could probably turn it all the way around like an owl), and saw that some of his fellow travelers were standing in a cluster, watching them. Several of them were saying "Awwww!" for some strange reason, and one appeared to have been buried with her phone, because she was using it to take photos.

If he'd still had skin, he would have started blushing.

"They can wait!" Stan said petulantly, not letting go of Ford. "They're not getting any deader, are they?"

"We're sorry, officers," Ford apologized, accompanying the sentence with an elbow jab into Stan's side, and began pulling them both up; Stan grumbled but didn't resist. Once they were on their feet though, Ford stopped and held his twin by the shoulders so he could finally get a good look at him.

Despite his being just a bag of bones now, Ford recognized his brother with little trouble. The same eyes, the same red beanie he'd acquired after surrendering the fez to Soos, the same wide huckster's grin that he'd been missing. His clothes hung more loosely on him now, though; had the circumstances been different, Ford might have joked about that diet and exercise regimen he'd tried to get Stan into finally paying off. As for his face, the skull was decorated with its own calavera markings, in blue and gold-the blue ones were shaped like ocean waves, and the gold mini versions of the fish symbol that had been on his fez. It made the scientist wonder what his own skull looked like. He wondered if he should be disturbed that that train of thought wasn't disturbing him.

Then Ford remembered why they'd stood up in the first place, and released Stanley so they could keep moving.

They followed the security guards across the bridge towards what looked a bit like a train station during rush hour.

"Apparently it's a lot more crowded during Dia de los Muertos," Stan commented.

However, there was still a line of people at the gate labelled "Arrivals."

When they reached the line, the security guards left them to attend to business elsewhere.

Stanley looked him over, eyes practically aglow.

"You're lookin' good," he said finally. "Way too healthy to be here, heh heh."

Ford rolled his eyes, and said, "I didn't know this was the afterlife everyone got. I thought it was just for people from Mexican culture."

Stan's laugh sounded a little nervous or uncertain this time.

"Yeah, about that…"

Before he could give what Ford was sure was about to be a very unusual explanation, they reached the front of the line, where a pretty (as can best be judged of a skeleton) young woman in a blue uniform greeted them with a bright, beaming smile.

"You finally got him back!" she said to Stan, sounding genuinely happy.

Stan nodded. "Yeah, about time." He glanced at Ford. "This is Carmela."

Carmela turned to Ford, still beaming. "It's been years since I've seen twins so glad to see each other again! It's wonderful that you made it-we couldn't even get him to leave the bridge when he first got here!"

Ford blinked. "Wait, what?"

Stan, he saw out of the corner of his eye, had suddenly become very interested in examining his shoes.

The arrival agent put her hand on her hip. "When he arrived and we told him that we had no way of knowing when you would be here, he just sat down by the gates, right over there, and said, 'That's okay, I'll wait.'" She shook her head in a way that was meant to imply exasperation but didn't fit with her still-upturned mouth. "And he didn't move an inch until he finally saw you on the bridge, not for love or money. We were worried that he wouldn't even leave for Dia de Muertos if you weren't here by then."

Ford turned to his brother with a scolding look. "Stanley!"

"What?!" he demanded, jaw clenching in defiance. "It's not like I had somewhere to be!"

He was still trying to come up with a good comeback to that, when Carmela said, "Sign here, please," and held out a paper.

Ford looked down at it-and blinked in bewilderment.

"...I think there's been some kind of a mistake," he said. "This lists us as being part of a...Ramirez family?"

"No, it's correct," she assured him.

Ford turned towards Stan and glared at him sternly. "Explanation. Now."

"Soos," Stan replied.

"...Soos?"

"Yeah. He put our photos on his ofrenda, so that makes us part of his family according to these jokers." Stan rubbed the back of his neck with one bony hand, and did that uncertain laugh again. "Crazy kid, huh?"

This time Ford couldn't speak because he was feeling a lump suddenly grow in the memory of his throat. He'd known, of course, how devoted the former handyman was to Stanley, but he had never thought the same sentiment applied to him.

Slowly he took the pen from Carmela and, after reading over the paper just in case to make sure he wasn't signing anything he might regret later, he scrawled his name on the dotted line.

"Thank you," she said, taking it. "Señora Alzamirano should be here any moment to bring you to your new home."

"Soos's grandma," Stan clarified.

"Yes, I vaguely remember her. Very...imperturbable woman."

And together they walked through the gates.

Some notes:

1. I know that in Coco the bridge is only there during Dia de Muertos; let's say just for argument's sake that a version of it is also there for when people first die, because artistic licence is a beautiful thing.

2. Quite a lot of people think Stan is going to die first, and Ford might live a few years longer. Ideally, they would just stop aging and live forever, but in the even that they must die, I think (hope?) that when one does, the other won't be too far behind, because they've spent far too many years being separated for dumb reasons, and separation via death is the dumbest reason of all. So at most I'm thinking that here they would be separated by eight months. That okay with you? If not, I'm the writer and you're not, so deal with it.