Title: Remember

Rating: K+

Spoilers: many parts of Coco

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

Author Notes: This was originally shorter, but there were some scenes from the movie that, after I started writing this, I wanted to add to. So instead of doing multiple stories about the same scene, I just add them here. Also today would have been my grandpa's 100th birthday so this is sort of in honour of him.

Reviews: SCREAMING, Agent Numbah 227, demon doritto, animal 1, alex- I'm glad you like the first chapter. I didn't originally plan on continuing that story line but since there is interest... Maybe? *shifty eyes* It might be a while though. I have some others I want to do first.


"Mamá Coco, please! Don't forget him!" Miguel pleaded. But even as he did so, he could tell that he was too late. The memory of her papá was gone. Héctor was gone. Mamá Coco would never get to see him again. Miguel couldn't fulfill his promise. Tears filled his eyes and clogged his throat. He didn't even hear the jangle of keys in the door nor when it opened to admit his living familia. As Abuelita rushed to comfort her mamá, Miguel felt his own parents come up behind him.

"What's gotten into you?" his papá demanded. Miguel couldn't answer. He was still too caught up with grief and failure. He spun around and flung himself at his father, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist as Miguel buried his tears into Papá's shirt. He felt arms close around him and heard his father say, "I thought I'd lost you, Miguel."

"I'm sorry, Papá." He managed to choke out. He wasn't just apologizing to his parents for running off and disappearing all night. Nor for causing them to worry so much. They would never know it, but he was also apologizing to Papá Héctor for failing him. If only he had been faster. If only he had tried harder. If only he hadn't wasted so much time believing the wrong thing.

He felt his mamá's arms join his papá's, stroking his hair. "We're all together now. That's what matters." She said softly.

He knew they were supposed to be comforting words. That they were supposed to make him feel better. But they felt more like a punch to the gut. "Not all of us." he mumbled into Papá's shirt. His parents, the entire familia, would never know or understand why that was not true. Those words would never be true again. How could they possibly be true when a part of their family would forever be gone?

A moment later Abeulita turned to him. "Miguel, you apologize to your Mamá Coco." she demanded harshly.

Miguel knew she was right. He pulled away from his parents, sniffed, and stepped forward. He would apologize, though not for the reasons they thought. They probably all thought his apology was for disturbing the elderly woman, but in reality he was going to apologize for not keeping his final promise to Héctor. "Mamá Coco?..." His words trailed off as his foot bumped the guitar on the floor. Miguel looked down at it, having forgotten that he had indeed grabbed it after waking up on the floor of Ernesto de la Cruz's crypt. The sight of it sparked a memory and Miguel's eyes widened.


Miguel steadied the stack of boxes he had bumped. The interior of the so called bungalow he and Héctor had entered was so dim that it was difficult to make out anything. It didn't help that much of what was discernable seemed to be nothing more than piles of junk. There didn't seem to be anyone there.

Héctor set one of the two shot glasses down on a chair next to a hammock that appeared to be filled with more junk. "Buena noches, Chicharrón!" He said cheerfully, lifting a large ragged straw had from among the mess, revealing a rather angry skeleton. The man glared at Héctor.

"I don't want to see your stupid face, Héctor." he growled sharply. This skeleton seemed even less put together than Héctor was. Miguel couldn't imagine how he was at all comfortable lying among what to him seemed like so much trash.

"Come on. It's Dia de Muertos." If Héctor was at all put off by the less than warm welcome, he didn't show it. He wiggled the shot glass in his hand as he set the hat on top of the other skeleton's head. "I brought you a little offering."

Clearly Chicharrón was not interested. He turned to bury himself into the junk sharing his hammock. "Get out of here."

Héctor set down his glass. "I would, Cheech." He said in that not so sincere apologetic tone Miguel had heard from him before. "But the thing is, me and my friend, Miguel…" he paused for a moment before continuing in a rush, "We really need to borrow your guitar."

That got a reaction. Chicharrón snatched up the guitar that had been half buried in the other junk in his hammock. "My guitar?"

"Yes." Héctor answered.

"My prized beloved guitar?" he clutched the instrument tightly, eyeing Héctor both suspiciously and with horror.

"I promise we'll bring it right back." The tall gangly skeleton reassured him.

That seemed to do nothing except make the grumpy man even more suspicious. "Like the time you promised to bring back my van? Or my mini-fridge? Or my good napkins?! My lasso!? MY FEMUR!" with each item added to the list of things Héctor had 'borrowed' from him, Chicharrón grew more agitated. Héctor kept trying to interject excuses and assurances that this was 'not like those times'. Miguel had to wonder what on earth Héctor was doing that he needed a mini-fridge, napkins, and part of some guy's leg. Chicharrón levered himself up enough to grab one of Héctor's suspenders. "Where is my femur?! You…" the man's angry tirade broke off as a sudden bright golden light washed over his bones. He collapsed back into the hammock, coughing weakly.

Something about that light caused an uneasy feeling in the pit of Miguel's stomach. Even though he knew very little about the Land of the Dead, there was something troubling about that light. It meant something significant. Yet Miguel didn't know what. Maybe it was because of the concerned way Héctor said, "Woah, woah. You okay, amigo?"

Chicharrón let out a tired sigh. "I'm fading, Héctor. I can feel it. I couldn't even play that thing if I wanted to." He pinned the taller skeleton with a gimlet look. To Miguel's surprise, he said, "You play me something."

Héctor jerked back and shook his head, holding up his hands. "No. You know I don't play anymore, Cheech. The guitar is for the kid." The older skeleton wasn't having any of it.

"You want it, you've got to earn it."

Miguel watched in confusion as Héctor hesitated for long moment before letting out a soft sigh and reach for the neck of the guitar. "Ay, only for you, amigo." He strummed a couple of notes and tuned one of the strings with what to Miguel looked like practiced ease. Sitting down on the edge of the hammock, Héctor asked, "Any requests?"

Chicharrón gave out a dry raspy chuckle and waved a hand. "You know my favourite, Héctor."

Héctor gave a small huff of a laugh and began to pick out a soft tune. Slowly Miguel sat on one of the crates, listening in awe as the skeleton man began to sing. Miguel had no idea he could play. Especially since Héctor had made his dislike and distain for musicians in general, and Ernesto de la Cruz (for all he claimed to be a close friend of the músico) in particular, very clear. And yet here he was, expertly playing for the crotchety old skeleton who they had come to borrow a guitar from. And while Miguel didn't quite understand Chicharrón's complaint that Héctor had changed the words to the song nor Héctor's hissed excuse about children being present, he still found the song fascinating. Then again, he found all music fascinating.

As the last notes faded away, Chicharrón gave a soft chuckle. "Brings back memories." he murmured, pulling off his hat as he settled back among the junk sharing the hammock with him. "Gracias." Resting his hat over his chest, the old skeleton let out a deep sigh all out of proportion to his size. His bones began to glow again with that golden light. It grew brighter and brighter, illuminating the entire shack. Miguel watched as if in a trance, unable to understand what was going on and unable to move, as the bones under the light turned to dust and the motes drifted off on the slight breeze that came in through the open wall of the shack. He barely noticed how Héctor looked away with a sad and solemn expression.

The hammock sifted, dropping a little, as only Héctor's weight remained.

After a few minutes, Héctor stood, holding the guitar by the neck. He picked up one of the shot glasses of tequila, raising it in a silent 'salud', and tossed back the alcohol. After setting the empty glass upside down next to the second, full, one, Héctor turned and headed back to the doorway. Miguel stood up to follow, but he couldn't quite turn away from the empty room.

"Wait. What happened?" he asked softly. Héctor stopped just before the door.

"He's been forgotten." The tone of his voice was strange. There was a tiredness that Miguel had never heard before. It didn't fit in with the exuberant skeleton man that Miguel had known up until now. "When there's no one left in living world that remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the Final Death."

Miguel glanced around, unsure, and stammered, "Wh-where did he go?"

"No one knows."

"But I've met him." An idea occurred to Miguel. He turned to face Héctor. "I could remember him when I go back!"

But Héctor shook his head. "No, it doesn't work like that, chamaco. Our memories, they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life… in the stories they tell about us. But there's no one left alive to pass down Cheech's stories."

Something about this new information tugged at Miguel. It reminded him of his Abuelita's explanation for the reasons behind Dia de los Muertos. And the story of his own family. And that uneasy feeling he had had, at the first sign of that golden light along Chicharrón's bones, grew stronger for some reason.

Then Héctor shook himself all over, much like Dante did after it rained, and his whole attitude changed back to cheerfulness. It was like he was shaking off some dark thought. "Hey, it happens to everyone eventually." He handed the guitar to Miguel and headed out the door. "Come on, de la Cruzito, you've got a contest to win."

Miguel glanced around the empty shack one more time before following. Stepping outside, he saw Héctor was already half way up the boardwalk. The three lady skeletons were still playing cards across the way from now empty bungalow. The one Héctor had called Tía Chelo had turned halfway around in her seat, watching the tall skeleton man walking away. She shook her head sadly with an odd look on her face. Like she wasn't expecting to see Héctor again. As she turned back to the card game, she noticed Miguel standing there. Raising a brow-ridge, she gave him a strange knowing look.

"You better catch up, muchacho." she said, nodding in the direction of Héctor's disappearing back. "You could lose that one before you know it."


He hadn't understood at the time, merely nodded, thanked the ladies, and hurried after Héctor. There were many things about that moment that, in hindsight, he wished he had paid attention to. But it was Chicharrón's last words that really struck him at that moment. And then another flash of memory hit.


"…I want to go home!" Miguel fell to his knees as the last echoes of his shouting faded away. Terror and panic coursed through him and was soon joined by despair. He could barely think. Finding out his great-great-grandfather was a fraud and a murderer was horrible. That he had actually met the man that Ernesto de la Cruz had killed made it worse. And that Miguel was partly responsible for whatever happened to the poor man. If he hadn't figured out the connection to El Camino a Casa. And yet surely Héctor deserved to know the truth.

But now Miguel was trapped. Trapped in a cenote and no one knew where he was. Not his living family and not his dead family. He looked down at his hands, his bones clearly visible, the reminder of what would be his fate in a few short hours if nobody found him. And his harsh words to Abeulita echoed in his head as well. He just knew his living family would forget him. He would end up just like Chicharrón and the others in Shantytown. He would end up just like Héctor.

There was a rustle behind him and Miguel gasped, jerking around to look. It could have been anything. Some monster of the Land of the Dead. However it was Héctor, stumbling out from behind some broken carved boulders. The skeleton's foot slipped on one of the rocks, causing him to fall to his knees.

"Héctor?" Miguel called out, not sure he could believe his eyes.

"Kid?" Héctor looked up as if just as surprised to see Miguel.

Miguel scrambled to his feel and ran to him. "Oh Héctor! You were right." Colliding with him, Miguel wrapped his arms around the man's torso. Words started to tumble out of him. "I should have gone back to my family. They told me not to be like de la Cruz, but I didn't listen." As he babbled he was dimly aware of Héctor trying to calm him down and comfort him. "I told them I didn't care if they remembered me. I told them I didn't care if I was on their stupid ofrenda." His own words reminded him that Héctor was stuck with that same fate and that just made everything hurt all the more.

Héctor gently pulled him into a hug. "Hey, chamaco. It's okay. It's okay." Despite the fact that he was only bones, his arms around Miguel felt just like normal flesh and blood arms. It felt like it was his own father holding him. That just brought it home that he was never going to see his family again.

With his cheek against Héctor's ribcage, Miguel whispered, "I told them I didn't care." Tears filled his eyes. All of a sudden, golden light flashed over Héctor's bones. He pushed away from Miguel, stumbling back and fell back onto the ground with a gasping cry. "Héctor! Héctor?" Miguel cried in alarm, his own fears and worries forgotten as he knelt next to him.

"She's…" the skeleton man murmured in a broken voice as he curled in on himself. A look of utter despair took over his expression as he looked up at the opening of the cenote. "…forgetting me."

"Who?" Miguel found himself asking.

Héctor hung his head. "My daughter."

Things suddenly all clicked into place. Miguel suddenly realized, "She's the reason you wanted to cross the bridge."

"I just wanted to see her again." Héctor explained, a deep sorrow heavy in his voice. "I never should have left Santa Cecilia. I wish I could apologize. I wish I could tell her that her papá was trying to come home. That he loved her so much." His head dropped further. "My Coco…"

That softly whispered name felt like splash of cold water, like when Miguel had hit the water of the cenote. It couldn't be, could it? He frowned slightly as he repeated, "Coco?" Slowly he stood and pulled the foto from his pocket. He looked at it for a second before holding it out to Héctor.

The skeleton man glanced at it dully for a moment and took it from his hand. As he turned it properly, his eyes widened. "Where did you get this?"

"That's my Mamá Coco." Miguel said, pointing to the picture. "That's my Mamá Imelda. Is that… you?"

"We're…" Héctor started, sounding just as surprised as Miguel was. Miguel joined him to say, "…family?"

That word, spoken in awed unison by two voices, echoed around the cenote. Miguel couldn't help but share in the wondrous, almost shy, smile that appeared on Héctor's (his real great-great-grandfather!) skull face. Even as his mind reeled from all the surprising revelations for the last hour or so, from finding out Ernesto de la Cruz had murdered someone and stole his songs to having the músico be so callous as to trap a supposed member of his family in the Land of the Dead just to protect his reputation, Miguel felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. Relief and joy. It was Héctor who was his great-great-grandfather! Not de la Cruz!

Héctor looked back at the foto, running the bones of his thumb gently against the image of his daughter. "I always hoped I'd see her again. That she'd miss me. Maybe put up my photo. But it never happened. You know the worst part?" He didn't wait for Miguel to answer, not that Miguel could guess. "Even if I never got to see Coco in the living world… I thought at least one day I'd see her here. Give her the biggest hug." The distant happy smile he had as he looked at the foto faded. Miguel suddenly knew where the direction this was going. "But she's the last person who remembers me. The moment she is gone from the living world…"

"You disappear… from this one." Miguel finished, remember what Héctor had said after Chicharrón. It really hit him then. Hit him hard at how unfair the entire situation was to Héctor. Nevermind his own problems, Héctor had gone through far worse. "You'll never get to see her."

"Ever again…" Héctor confirmed. "You know, I wrote her a song once. We used to sing it every night at the same time. No matter how far apart we were. What I wouldn't give to sing it to her one… last… time…" And softly Héctor began to sing.


An idea began to form. Chicharrón had said that the song about Juanita brought back memories to him. Could Miguel possible be able to do the same for Mamá Coco? He wasn't sure, but he had to try.

"Well? Apologize!" Abuelita ordered, though Miguel was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear her.

Carefully he stepped over the guitar and knelt next to his great-grandmother. "Mamá Coco? Your papá, he-he want you to have this." He set the foto on the floor, picked up the guitar, and softly began to play. If nothing else he could give this gift for Héctor. Even if he never played another note (and if this didn't work, he wasn't sure if he would want to), Miguel could play the song Héctor wrote for his daughter for him. And he did, strumming the notes just like Héctor had sung them in the cenote. As a lullaby instead of the boisterous and loud version he had known the song as by Ernesto de la Cruz.

It was hard to do only because of the unshed tears still clogging his throat. Vaguely he was aware of his entire family watching and listening, but all his focus was on Mamá Coco. As he sang, he tried to put all the heart and emotion that he knew Héctor felt for his daughter into the song. Tried to put the love, devotion, and longing he had witnessed. Of how even in death, Héctor had spent all these years trying to come back to her.

And miracle of miracles, a second voice joined his half way through. Mamá Coco began to sing along and even though her voice was rough and cracked with age, Miguel could hear the little girl she had been way back when her papá last sang with her. Miguel's heart lifted and tears filled his eyes.

It had worked.

She remembered.

Mamá Coco smiled at him as the song ended, her eyes disappearing into the wrinkles of her face. A sniffling sound broke into their little moment, making both to turn and look at their familia. Abuelita was actually crying even as a smile hovered on her lips, something that startled Miguel. "Elena?" Mamá Coco asked. For the first time that Miguel ever knew of, she recognized her daughter. "What's wrong, mija?"

"Nothing, Mamá." Abuelita shook her head slightly, sniffing back her tears. "Nothing at all."

"My papá used to sing me that song." Mamá Coco started to explain.

Now it was Miguel's turn to sniff back tears. The sheer joy at knowing that she remembered now was overwhelming. Now she could pass on Héctor's story. Miguel, the whole family maybe, could now remember him for her and she would be able to see him in the Land of the Dead. "He loved you, Mamá Coco." he said earnestly, "Your papá loved you so much."

She blinked for a moment and then smiled again, as if completely understanding everything Miguel tried to convey in those words. As if she knew what he had gone through and who he had met. She reached out a hand and cupped his cheek, just like Héctor had in those last moments Miguel had spent in the Land of the Dead. Then, to his surprise, she reached into the drawer of the table beside her wheelchair and pulled out a worn red notebook.

"I kept his letters. Poems he wrote me." She opened the cover and extracted a small scrap of paper. She held it out to Miguel. "And…"

He didn't even have to see it to know what it was. Miguel set the guitar against the wall and picked up the foto from the ofrenda. He held the small scrap containing Héctor's face so that it matched up with the rest, finally restoring the picture (and Héctor). Finally after all this time, the family was whole again.