Title: The Marigold Bridge
Category: Coco (2017)
Prompt: "Crossing the Marigold Bridge" from Coco
Summary: Miguel can See the dead. It's not a huge deal; he's met lots of dead at this point. Miguel can See the marigold bridge. That's a bigger deal; just looking at it makes him remember how it felt when his heart stopped beating in his chest.
Words: 1085

(also available on tumblr and ao3; same username, same title)

Chapter 1: Seeing the Marigold Bridge

Miguel doesn't like to go near the bridge.

The first time he sees it after Día de los Muertos, he needs to grab his mother's hand to steady himself. He ignores the shudder that grips his nerves, focusing instead on repeating fervently, it's okay, I'm okay, I'm still alive, I'm holding her hand, I'm not cursed again. He doesn't feel better until they're home and he has given everyone in his family a great, big hug, to assure himself he can.

The next time he sees it, shimmering in and out of view as it arches out of the graveyard, he stumbles to a stop.

At the bridge's base…a group of skeletons. It isn't Día de los Muertos. They shouldn't be there.

Then, he looks closer and realizes he recognizes them. They're a family—a mamá, a papá, a teenaged daughter, and a little boy—who died just recently. The parents are looking at the bridge uncertainly as they discuss something in low tones and the boy clings to his mother. The daughter hugs herself tightly, as if she fears her bones will come apart. All of their faces bear patterns of blue petals across their jaws and cheekbones.

Miguel drifts closer despite himself. "Uh…disculpe, Señor? Señora?"

The parents don't seem to hear him, but the girl starts to look up only to check herself with a shudder. Miguel focuses on her; he recognizes her as someone his Primo Abel once had a crush on. What was her name?

"Hey, are you alright?" He draws closer still. The bright glow of the bridge is disorienting—it washes over him, drawing strange shadows on his skin, but doesn't seem to touch the family. "Can you hear me?" Name, name… "You're…Regina, right?"

The whole family looks up suddenly, startled, and Miguel stumbles back a pace. "Uh…hi."

"Miguel Rivera?" Regina's papá looks stunned. "You can see us?"

"I guess so." Miguel shrugs.

"You're… But… How are you so calm?" Regina demands. "We're dead!"

"Well…yeah." Miguel rubs his arm. "I'm sorry about that. And also for missing your funeral. Abuelita wouldn't let any of us go because of…well, you know." The Riveras aren't famous for just shoes, after all.

Regina's mamá eyes him consideringly. "Miguel, maybe you can help us; we need directions."

"To where?" Miguel asks at the same time as her husband says, "How is he supposed to know? He's living!"

"Niño, you know where this bridge goes, right?" Regina's mamá persists.

"Yeah, to the Land of the Dead." Was that a trick question? "Is that where you're trying to go?"

"Sí, but we don't know the way."

"Oh, okay!" Miguel grins, relieved to be asked a question he can answer. "All you have to do is cross this bridge. When you get to the end, there'll be a big building with a bunch of gates and people in blue uniforms who can tell you where to go; they'll help you find your family and stuff."

"Have you been there?"

It's the first time the little boy has spoken; he clings to his mother's skirt and sneaks a wide-eyed look at the huge bridge.

Miguel crouches down and smiles at him gently. "Sí, I have! It's not scary, I promise. It's amazing! The whole city is all lit up; it looks like a dream!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

Miguel glances up at the adults and finds them staring at him, eyes wide. He quickly stands up and backs away, grinning nervously.

"Uh…so, yeah. Just…cross this bridge, and you'll be fine. That's it."

"…Thank you." The man says it slowly, as if he's not sure he means it.

"Are you telling the truth?" Regina asks bluntly. "You've been to the Land of the Dead?"

"Sí, it's true. You can ask anyone there." Miguel shuffles awkwardly. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, we're fine," Regina's papá says quickly before anyone in his family can prolong the conversation. "Muchas gracias, Miguel."

As they turn to leave, a thought finally occurs to Miguel. "Oh! Perdon, if you meet any Riveras, can you tell them 'thank you' for me?"

"Sí, of course." Regina's mamá's smile is warm and understanding; Miguel's not sure what she thinks she knows. "Anything else?"

Regina's papá passes through the barrier and the orange glow falls away from his bones.

"Just that I'm okay, Mamá Coco's okay—the whole family is fine."

Regina hesitates, but follows suit.

"Sí, I'll remember. Cuídese, Miguel."

The little boy sees the way the barrier distorts the air and shies away with an uncertain sound.

"It's okay," Miguel assures him with a smile. "It's safe."

As the little boy and his mamá pass through and the family starts their journey, Miguel's smile falls away despite his words. He turns his back on the bridge, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

Without the family to distract him, the bridge is too close—much too close.

He walks home quickly and hides out in Mamá Coco's room for the entire evening.

As the weeks following Día de los Muertos turn into months, it becomes almost a routine. He meets the dead everywhere, in the most random of places—from the plaza to the market to right outside the shoe shop—and he does his best to help them, whether they need directions or comfort. Many of them, he personally leads to the bridge.

He grows to think of it as a duty of sorts—he's a guide, to make sure no soul gets lost before they make it home to their family.

However, he only ever goes as far as the bridge. There, he stands back, gives the dead their final instructions and, sometimes, a message for his family. Then, unable to watch them disappear over the bridge, he turns away and leaves immediately.

He's not entirely sure why he does it. The bridge isn't scary—it's beautiful, glowing like a sunset, lighting up under skeletal feet like magic. Every time he sees it, part of him wants to see if it still supports his weight—if he could maybe go see his family again, see if Héctor's okay—

He shudders and wraps his arms around himself. Part of him wants to cross, but most of him feels hollow and very aware of how close he once came to disappearing entirely.

He can't shake the irrational feeling that stepping onto the bridge would mean disappearing again.

lll

Just a few months after Día de los Muertos, Mamá Coco dies.