AN: welcome to Chapter 2. Thanks to everyone who commended, favourited, followed and just generally gave this story a chance.

Problem, I'm a post-grad uni student and I'm busy AND I got other Coco projects on AO3 so I'm sorry but my update schedule ain't ...good. At all. I'm gonna try my best though cause I do have multiple points in the story that I'm excited to write and share.

Chapter 2

~ 2016 ~

This year's Día de los Muertos was going well so far.

Miguel had managed to snatch a shower before his cousins could hog it. Breakfast was eaten in peace without his Abuelita there trying to make his stomach explode. Mamá Coco had even weakly muttered a few words of encouragement when he told her about school. Yeah, today was going to be a good day!

Collecting shoe polish and brushes, Miguel strolled out of the workshop. Almost all of his family were there, hunched over their tools and equipment. He promised his Mamá to return for lunch before racing off down the street. Neighbours greeted him, and bands located a safe distance from the Rivera property played their instruments.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Miguel was munching on a snack and checking out a bunch of alebrije figurines sitting on a table for sale. He had no money left to buy one, so he moved along, playfully tapping a garbage bin next to the table. Something inside reacted and the bin tumbled to the ground, the lid clattering loudly.

Miguel grinned when a Xolo dog emerged, eagerly flapping his bat-like ears. "Hey, Dante!"

He held the last mouthful of his pan dulce up high and tried to encourage the dog to perform a few tricks. Some were done better than others. To Miguel though, the dog behaved perfectly. "Good boy Dante!"

He tossed the last piece. Dante's mouth was wide-open, ready to catch it.

Suddenly, a brown blur rushed past them. Dante clamped his jaws shut on nothing. Miguel gasped as he saw a chihuahua enthusiastically gobble down Dante's snack. "Hey! That's not yours!"

The tinier dog swallowed without a second thought. Miguel slouched as Dante whined. The chihuahua's wet nose perked up, as though it had found another enticing scent. Before Miguel could do anything, the thief bolted away. He would have laughed watching its twig legs trying to carry its greedy belly, but he was more focused on his empty pockets and a good dog waiting for his food.

"I'm sorry boy. You'll get your treat next time."

Luckily, Dante forgave him quickly, happily licking his cheek. Then the Xolo turned to where the chihuahua had disappeared, growled softly, before switching back to licking Miguel again. For Dante's sake, Miguel put up with the slobber for a few more seconds than usual.

Despite their unusual guest, Miguel and Dante proceeded to make their way to the town plaza like they normally did. Wonderful music welcomed them upon their arrival. It brought a smile to Miguel's face, especially when Dante's tail wagged faster, as though it was moving to the song's beat. It was strange that he had more in common with a street dog than his own family, but he was used to this by now.

Miguel was not like his family and he was fine with that. Really.

~o0o~

This year's Día de los Muertos was going terribly so far.

Ernesto's shower had been rudely cut off when the apartment complex lost its hot water. Breakfast was non-existent thanks to an empty fridge and bank account. And the pay check he was supposed to get today from his clients had been withheld from him only to be replaced with a scathing email terminating their contract. It had taken all of Ernesto's willpower not to email them back, telling them exactly where they could shove that pay check. He had more important things to do anyway (like make an emergency visit to the bank).

Upon entering a main street, Ernesto reached up to tug his hood down, hoping it would adequately hide his face. Not that he was ashamed of his handsome face or anything. He just didn't need people bothering him today. His arms were already sore – one carrying grocery bags and the other, a stack of edited papers. The latter of which was supposed to be delivered today but this morning's email had proven that trip was no longer necessary. Spotting a garbage bin, Ernesto tossed the papers inside. Even though the physical weight was gone, the failure they represented still sat heavily in his ribcage.

To distract himself, he craned his neck up to gaze at the Rivera tower. It was pure white and far more majestic from a distance than up close. The owners had little care for frivolous decorations or artistry, designing the tower and the mansion on top to be practical and appropriate for a dead family and the Nearly-Forgotten community they housed. This had earned the praise of many commentators. Ernesto had rolled his eyes the first time he heard the news. Why Héctor cared for those people he'd never understand.

Yet the Rivera tower had become a consistent part of his death, gracing its guards with his presence on …more than one occasion. Maybe two. Or three …or a lot more.

And they were about to see him again.

Two guards were stationed at the entrance to the tower's funicular system. When they noticed Ernesto coming they slouched. Hilarious. Ernesto wasn't exactly peachy keen to see them either. Just as he opened his mouth to give a charming greeting, one of the guards – Justino – cut in. "Do we have to go through this today?"

Ernesto forced a smile. "You won't regret this."

The other guard – Letitia, he was familiar with them enough to know their names, and he hated it – groaned and rubbed the bones underneath her eye sockets. "I promise you, I'll regret it," she said shortly.

"…Thanks," Ernesto eventually said. "Anyway –"

Letitia shared a pained look with her partner. "Díos mio, do we have to –?"

"– Anyway, I need to talk to –"

Justino raised a palm. "– To el Señor Rivera? We know. We …" he sighed. "We know."

Without fail, Ernesto always felt like a fool around these two. "If you already know, why don't we just skip the pleasantries and you let me go ahead?"

He moved forward but Justino and Letitia sidestepped to form a solid bony wall between him and the tower. Letitia's eyes narrowed as she said with a threatening tone, "You know how this goes. He doesn't want to see you."

"I heard you the first hundred times," Ernesto muttered under his breath. He wished he was kidding. Clapping his hands together, he insisted brightly, "He will once I…see, I have a plan to help him cross the bridge."

Letitia looked bored but Justino at least had enough in him to appear interested. "If your plan sounds like it could work we'll tell el Señor Rivera."

Now we were getting somewhere! Ernesto shrugged light-heartedly, hoping he didn't come off as desperate. "That's not necessary. I can tell him myself."

Justino tiredly shut his eyes and Letitia frowned. "Or we can send you on your way."

"Bad idea," Ernesto shot it down immediately. "Now, listen. My memory is still intact –"

"– Unfortunately," Letitia mumbled.

Ernesto's grin twitched. "Therefore, I can carry Héctor while I cross the bridge." He held his arms out like he had presented the greatest gift to mankind.

Neither of the guards looked impressed. Justino awkwardly scratched the back of his skull. "You're banned from crossing the bridge," he said.

"You don't need to remind me." Ernesto was well aware of that irritating fact.

Letitia glared. "Well apparently we do! What kind of plan is this?"

"A good one, thank you!" Ernesto insisted, panicking on the inside. He was losing them! "You're telling me the bridge security wouldn't let me help my oldest, dearest friend cross?"

"Yes," the two answered.

"…that's unreasonable."

Despite being dead like everyone else in this realm, both Justino and Letitia seemed to visibly age in front of him. Justino gave Ernesto an agonising look before saying, "Here's the thing –"

"– Don't tell him!" Letitia barked, and Ernesto flinched. Instead of retreating he only drew closer.

Justino cowered under his partner's disappointment. Meekly, he said, "I'm only telling him so he'll stop bothering us."

Ernesto gritted his teeth. "Thanks. Again."

Letitia only sighed grumpily but didn't go further, allowing Justino to say his piece. "The Rivera's have already tried your idea. The rest all have pictures and they couldn't carry him across anyway."

And that's that, the guards were hoping.

Nope, said Ernesto. "Okay, but they're not as famous as me."

Letitia shook her head, visibly disgusted. "That doesn't matter, you moron. And besides, even if it did work they'd ask someone else, someone just as famous as you."

Ernesto was often full of words to share with the world but this time he found himself running short. His name was famous and beloved by México (and the whole globe, don't forget!) in the Land of the Living but there were still people out there with greater significance than him. Shocking, he knew but it was true.

"Do us a favour …" Justino spoke again when it became obvious Ernesto needed a more obvious invitation to leave. "Let us enjoy the rest of our shift in peace, please."

"This is uncalled for," Ernesto said defensively. "I'm just trying to help."

Justino and Letitia frowned sceptically, though the latter's features were infinitely sharper. "Why would el Señor Rivera want your help when it's yourfault he can't cross in the first place?" she snapped, her patience gone.

Now Ernesto was offended. "That was Imelda's fault! She's the one who didn't put up his photo."

"It helps if you're told your dead loved one is indeed dead," Justino hotly replied. Oh, that's right, Ernesto had forgotten the guard had a soft spot for Imelda. As if that stubborn woman needed any more worshippers.

Letitia then added coldly, "Bold of you to blame la Señora Rivera, you thief."

"Now, hang on –!"

"– you murderer."

A painful shiver crashed over him. Instinctively, he anxiously inspected the crowd around him in case anyone had overheard and made the connection. If he had a beating heart, it would have leapt out of his chest, splitting off the ribs. Maybe he still did, it felt like it had abandoned him. It had felt like that throughout the entire court case between him and Héctor.

"…the courts couldn't prove it," Ernesto hissed.

No one else had been there the night Héctor fell to his knees and died at the young age of twenty-one. No one else had been there to find a poisoned shot glass or a receipt for rat poison. Despite this though …

Letitia sneered. "Anyone with half a brain cell knows what you did."

Like a burst vein, Ernesto was suddenly overwhelmed with anger. "Listen! You don't know …" his voice trailed away.

At the corner of his vision, he saw them. Two chihuahuas. Living ones, not alebrijes. They looked exactly like Clara and Zita, two of the dogs he had cherished in his life and had gone without in death.

What?!

Ernesto was running before he even realised it. He ignored the guards yelling after him. He dived into the crowd, trying to get to the corner of the street where the two dogs were. He couldn't see them anymore through the numerous skulls and dressed skeleton bodies, but he had seen them! They were there!

Ernesto fell out of the crowd and his excitement cracked. The chihuahuas were gone. Unwilling to let it go, Ernesto searched every corner of the street and the nearby alleyways. He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled, calling their names. But no one answered. They were gone. As though they hadn't been there at all.

That hurt far more than Ernesto wanted to admit.

~o0o~

It wasn't every day a living animal wandered through the Land of the Dead's streets. Two of them was even rarer. Skeletons paused their conversations and stared at the two chihuahuas scurrying along without a care in the world. They weaved through the sea of bones in a committed stride. One of them yipped and gladly accepted pets from passing children, while the other turned her nose up at an offered hand. No matter the distraction, the dogs were quick to return to their duty.

Whatever that was, the skeletons wondered.

One particular woman noticed the dogs occasionally stopped and tilted their heads momentarily before moving on again. Following their direction, the woman frowned at the object of their attention: the Rivera tower.

~o0o~

Ernesto set the cups of tea down. "I thought you were too busy to visit," he said tiredly.

Across from him sat his mother. Adela gave a light-hearted shrug wearing a small smile. "Your Papá and I aren't doing much this year. Just staying in for the night." Her voice was soft and delicate, as were her movements as she picked up her tea and blew.

"That's what he's done every year. Coward still can't handle the fireworks –"

"– Tito, don't. Please."

The words died at his throat. His mother sounded exhausted, the cup trembling in her hands. A painful feeling sank in his gut. He considered apologising to quell the guilt, but it gave way to an old frustration directed at his father. By now, Ernesto was used to a sullen and distant relationship with his mother. Therefore, the only other person responsible for her fatigue was her dearest husband, who she chose to remain with in death for reasons Ernesto couldn't wrap his head around. The old goat should consider himself lucky Ernesto had been reigned back by his mother, like a cannon abandoned in the midst of war.

Adela took a tentative sip of her tea and sighed softly. Her relief made Ernesto feel slightly better, but his mood suffered again when he noticed the stack of paperwork surrounding them, strewn across all corners of the table. The rest of the apartment was a mess too. Aside from the layer of paper and stationary, the room was plain and dull, as though Ernesto had only moved in yesterday rather than a year ago. Suddenly ashamed of it, Ernesto got up and gathered the papers, ignoring his mother's query.

"Míjo? What are you …? Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

Ernesto shoved the papers into a drawer, a few them bent and crumbled. He hoped she wouldn't ask about his work.

"Are those the scripts you're working on?"

Dammit. Ernesto sighed roughly. "Not anymore."

He regretted answering when she frowned with concern. "Oh no. Has it happened again?"

The pity in her voice made Ernesto grip the draw handle tightly. He turned to her but failed to meet her eye. Adela was waiting patiently for a reply, but Ernesto far preferred the silence. It gave him a chance to collect himself. He wasn't about to blurt out any foolish statements. "It was bound to happen," he eventually said through a casual façade. He knew she wouldn't buy it, but he was too used to selling it at this point.

There was a time in his life when the director only needed to say "action" and a brand-new character was born through the great Ernesto de la Cruz's acting. Everyone admired his skills, the clarity of his dialogue, the realistic and humble gestures, and the subtle but powerful expressions. Now, he couldn't even remain anonymous without someone uncovering his identity.

This was the fifteenth time. He supposed the punks determined to sniff him out were too invested in their detective fantasies to consider how it was affecting him. No one wanted to hire him. He recalled reclining back in a chair once, casually skipping through the roles he didn't care for, out of a long list of requests. Now, Ernesto was like a starving rat, desperate to take any job he could get. In order to get hired, he'd had to adopt an anonymous name and …

…well, there was a hole in the wall of an old apartment because of that. He was named and christened Ernesto de la Cruz by his parents and he couldn't even be that anymore. And for what? Dependency on flimsy dial-up internet that screeched at him even on good days, and an apartment as silent as a hopeless musician's concert.

Ernesto quietly sat down again. His tea was finally cool enough to drink. He noticed his mother staring at him, still concerned over the news. "I'll find another job," he muttered, wanting to leave this conversation behind already.

"But you liked this one. It suited you."

Ernesto snorted. Editing scripts for low-budget independent movies, advertisements and plays no one would bother seeing, hardly suited him. Maybe if his day hadn't gone so terribly, he might have admitted that he garnered a semblance of enjoyment from it. But only to his mother, and even then, that inkling of joy died quickly whenever he remembered it should be him reciting the very lines he was editing. "It paid the bills. That's all."

He watches his mother shake her head. She used to do that all time when he was a boy and spinning tall tales that captivated the younger children in town, but never tricked her. Whenever his lies were caught like flies in a spider's web, she would press a knuckle to her lip as ideas of punishment floated in her head. They were always better than whenever his father had to do the thinking. Yet the way she currently held that familiar gesture made Ernesto feel wary.

"Míjo, join us tonight," she said, then rose her volume over her son's sigh. "Please. I'll cook your favourite. There's still time for me to –"

"– No Mamá."

"But –!" she cut herself off. Her dress was being strangled in her hands. "Your Papá, he's been wanting to see you."

"And I haven't." Irritated, he took a long sip of his tea hoping his mother would catch the hint and stop.

"Please, he's desperate to talk to you."

"If he's so desperate, he can get up out of bed and see me! But we both know he won't." Ernesto slammed the cup down. His mother flinched and didn't say anything else.

Guilt came crawling back again, tearing through his bones. But again, an apology failed to enter and ease the tension. The mother and son finished their tea in silence.

Minutes later, the door to the hallway was opened and Ernesto was watching his mother struggle to button up her woolly coat. She hissed when the third button slipped out. Her hands were trembling again. Ernesto reached out to help but she recoiled. He froze. She might as well have punished him like his Papá used to.

The meaning behind her actions abruptly hit her, and she cradled her son's hands in hers.

"Tito …"

"Mamá, are you okay? The old man hasn't been giving you trouble, has he?"

As usual, she shook her head, wistfully looking at him. She gave his hands a comforting squeeze, then muttered, "He's fine. We're fine. Just …please. I don't want you spending the whole night trying to … trying to talk to him."

Ernesto's hands stiffened in her grasp. He could never be angry with her, but this was the closet he could get. "I just need to get him to listen –"

"– He hung on to your every word when you were little," his mother interrupted. "So, if he won't listen to you now, he won't listen to you ever again."

"You don't know that! I just need him to listen. That's – that's it. I just want one conversation. That's all I need to fix things."

Adela's shoulders fell in defeat. Sadly, she whispered, "Do you really think you have the right to ask that of him?"

Ernesto removed his hands from hers. She didn't try to reconnect them. Ernesto muttered a "goodbye" as she shuffled out the door. If she had it in her to say, "Te amo," like she always did, then Ernesto didn't hear it. He had already closed the door and switched the television on.

Gossip stories and cringe-worthy journalism gave the impressions that there was someone else in the apartment other than himself. Ernesto didn't pay attention to anything that was said, just allowed the noise to flow over him. His foot bumped against a pillow on the floor. He bent down to grab it then lost motivation half way through, leaving it behind and bringing the empty cups to the kitchen sink. As he slowly washed the cups with the energy of a depleted battery, Ernesto looked out the small window situated above him. In the distance, he could see the Rivera tower.

Somewhere, at the very top, was Héctor.

And the stupid prick refused to talk to him.

Ernesto scrubbed a cup harder, scratching the porcelain.

He remembered a scrawny boy excitedly pointing to the trains and promising they'd go together.

And where are you now?

Ernesto retreated from the window. He collapsed in his single soft chair. The televisions' channel blended into pointless colours and sounds. He rested his chin in his hand and tried to think of something, anything, that would help him reach Héctor.

Scratch, scratch.

Ernesto sat upright, a chill coursing through him. Someone was at the door. The last visitor that wasn't his mother hadn't exactly been his number one fan. Ernesto wondered how his bones would handle falling from nine floors. If that was what he had to do to escape he was willing! As the scratching persisted, Ernesto flung off his chair and moved towards the window.

"Yip! Yip!"

Ernesto was climbing onto the cabinets when he heard it. He paused. The yipping continued.

He knew that bark.

Ernesto bumped his knee against the cabinet as he launched off. He definitely noticed it, swearing at the pain, but it was only the second most important thing on his list of priorities as he flung open the door.

There, sitting contently and tail wagging, was his black chihuahua Lobo.

Ernesto soaked in the sight of his old companion, hardly believing the dog was here after decades of nothing. The wonder dissolved away …

"And where have you been?!"