Thank you to alex, FireChildSlytherin5, superlc529, MysteryGirl7Freak, Cara Beatrice Green, 9aza, loracarol, bleh, Alysia Of The Pen, Abby2241 and all guests for reviewing last chapter!
Apologies for the wait...the words just wouldn't come to me for this chapter and I struggled a bit, but I think I'm finally satisfied with how it came out ;)
xxxx
Héctor stares suspiciously at the cup of water that Miguel holds out to him.
First he had to eat...
Now he has to drink? He'd forgotten just how needy the human body was. The last time he had taken a drink, it had ended his life. Who knew what was in this cup? Not that it would matter if his life ended a second time, but Héctor's unbridled human emotions can't help feeling anxiety. Besides, he'd promised himself that he was going to live—live for Miguel. He'd already broken one promise to Coco, so he wouldn't allow himself to break another so soon.
"You're dehydrated," Miguel explains as he brings the cup closer towards his stubborn great-great grandfather. Héctor shakes his head, pulling the bed sheets over himself to block his mouth.
"It's okay," Miguel reassures softly in understanding. If he was in Héctor's place, he would be suspicious as well, even if the water came from someone he could trust.
It's Miguel, Héctor tries in vain to comfort himself. Your great-great grandson. He is not Ernesto.
He inwardly smacks himself for even thinking such a thing. But the glass, and the water...it was all too similar to the night he would rather just forget altogether.
"You need it," Miguel insists, "you'll feel much better if you get some liquids in you."
Héctor lifts his head up from under the covers. Miguel was probably repeating words that his Mamá or Papá had told him regarding their guest's current state of health. Nevertheless, it didn't change the fact that yes, he needed something to drink.
"I'm sending you off with a toast!"
To the best of his ability, he doesn't allow the memory to materialize any further.
It's Miguel, he tells himself again to stop the creeping anxiety. Your family. You can trust your family.
The former skeleton knows he has no choice, unless he wants to make his body weaker than it already is. He desperately wants to get up, to start helping his family in the workshop—do anything to make time go by faster, but until he's finally used to being alive, none of that will happen.
Eating, getting up, walking and now drinking were all things beginning to take a toll on him when they really shouldn't be—it was all normal (as close to normal as he could get, anyway) and natural for humans.
He has to remind himself that he's a human again himself now, sitting up a little straighter. Miguel smiles brightly, waiting patiently.
"If you don't drink something soon, we might have to take you to the hospital," he adds seriously. The hospital was a no-no. Who knew what they would find out about him, and what they would do after the fact? They couldn't let that happen!
Miguel's smile widens further when Héctor decides to give in at last, reaching a hand forward to take hold of the glass cup.
It's still a shock to him that he can actually touch objects in the Land of the Living now, his hand tensing as it grips the cup. Miguel releases his own hand and Héctor reluctantly brings it to his mouth, tipping his head slightly backwards. His mouth opens and he allows the liquid to enter, shivering slightly as the cool sensation travels into his stomach. It had always been strange to him that as a skeleton, liquids would simply just disappear into stomachs that they no longer possessed; he'd figured that they would at least see liquids disappear. It was no different as a human, and Héctor is grateful that at least one thing is the same, or similar at least to his skeleton body.
He drinks until there's hardly anything left in the glass, which makes Miguel satisfied as he takes the cup back to set it on the stand.
Héctor has to admit that he does indeed feel a little better now that he has some fluids in him, his sore and hidden bones relaxing just the slightest. He thinks back to before Coco had remembered him—back to when his bones were fragile and could easily fall apart due to not being as well-remembered as other skeletons. Whether or not his past injuries play a part in how tired and weak he is now, he isn't sure.
Since Miguel had helped Coco remember him in time before the Final Death claimed him, his bones had changed from their discolored status to more of the pure white like Imelda and the others. Miguel had kept his promise; he'd made Coco remember, passing down her stories of him to their family and his home in the living world, so he figures that injuries like his limp hadn't been passed down to his current human form.
He'd been walking more than he should have already, and no limp had been present as far as he could tell. It was just because of walking so much that he was feeling so tired.
Miguel strums a few strings on the guitar where he sits, working on the melody for his new lullaby. The lyrics still haven't been written, but Héctor has a feeling they may be inspired by what had happened to his grandfather since being stuck in the Land of the Living as the words 'marigold petals' flow from his mouth, or perhaps about his adventure in the Land of the Dead the year prior. Either way, Miguel certainly had a lot of inspiration at hand when it came to writing a new song. He just hopes no one would start asking the boy questions if they became suspicious because of a few lyrics—not that anyone would believe him.
The word 'alebrije' causes his heart to skip a beat—a sensation that he still hasn't gotten used to—and he isn't sure if he ever will.
Miguel doesn't ask about Dante again, but Héctor knows he has to tell him. He can't keep holding back, or his grandson would be even more heartbroken later on. He sighs a bit loudly, but Miguel doesn't seem to hear the sound through the guitar.
"Miguel..." Héctor says slowly. Miguel stops playing, glancing up at his grandfather.
"Do you want some more water?" Miguel asks.
Héctor could say yes. He could say yes, and avoid the subject of Dante altogether...but he can't. He has to deal with the lost alebrije now. He shakes his head in response to the question about water, preparing himself for a possible emotional outbreak from the both of them—Miguel likely to be first since Dante was his best friend.
"I was going to tell you this earlier, but then your abuelita screamed..." Héctor says, regretting that he had ever even said something.
"Oh, yeah...that." Miguel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I kind of took your photo down from the ofrenda."
Héctor hadn't expected that to be the reason why Elena had screamed, but it was perfectly understandable. Still...
"What?! Why would you do that?" Héctor asks almost sharply, but he keeps a harsh tone from emerging.
"So they don't find out that you're...you! That you're Papa Héctor who's supposed to be gone," Miguel explains to defend his decision about the photo.
Héctor should have known. Miguel wants to keep his true identity a secret from the others, and Héctor agrees with him that they should—it would just be too much of a shock, and if anyone else found out that he had returned from the dead, who knew what would happen?
"Is the photo safe?" Héctor asks cautiously. He knows the answer already, but he just wants to make sure.
Miguel nods. "I know exactly where it is," he confirms.
"Show me," Héctor can't help but state. His body may still be a little sore, but it wasn't as bad as when they had returned from the cemetery. He might make the sore feeling worse by walking again, but so be it. The photo was important, and even if he had faith in Miguel to keep it safe, he wants to see it with his own eyes.
"Are you sure? You're not that sore now?" Miguel asks, as if he'd read his mind.
Héctor shakes his head. He needs to see the photo, the issue of Dante slipping his mind. He's grateful the subject had once again been avoided, but he can't keep it hidden forever.
"Please. Not that I don't trust you, but...I need to know it's safe," he says, already starting to get up from the bed. If any of the other Riveras saw him up and about, it was a risky move—especially if he wanted to be able to stay. Once someone saw him, he would not have any excuses to stay in the bed.
Miguel understands his need to see for himself. The photo—apart from his family—was one of the most important aspects of Héctor's afterlife. It was perfectly reasonable that he wanted to check and see if it was okay, so Miguel agrees.
Despite the fact that his muscles aren't as sore, his legs wobble as he attempts to stand and walk for the second time. Miguel sticks close by his side in case he needs support, but Héctor pushes himself forward with as much effort as he can muster on his own, knowing that he has to get used to walking on skin-covered legs sooner or later. If he was going to stay in the Land of the Living for a year, he has to start learning how to live again, and it was better that he did so sooner than later.
Once his shoes are on, the two make their way out of the bedroom. Miguel leads him past the ofrenda room, but a quiet sob causes him to stop and go back. Miguel turns, reaching forward to tug at his shirt sleeves.
"Come on," he whispers in a rush. They have to hurry before anyone catches them wandering around, or if someone finds Héctor missing from the bed.
But Héctor stays put besides the ofrenda room door, just out of sight of whoever might be inside.
"I'm sorry," Miguel's abuelita says so softly that they almost can't hear. "I'm sorry we lost the photo. We couldn't find it, and I have no clue where else to look. I'm so sorry to the both of you...especially you, Papa Héctor."
Miguel's eyes widen at the word 'Papa.' While Abuelita had grown to be more accepting of Héctor since learning about him through Mamá Coco's stories, she only ever said his first name, and even that was a shock after she had refused to say anything about him for so long.
"It was your first Día de los Muertos, and now it looks like it may be your last...it was the only photo we had of you two."
Héctor's heart pounds in equal sorrow. Poor Mamá Elena...she doesn't deserve to think that the photo might be gone forever.
"But don't worry. We still have one for dear Coco," she says gratefully, staring at the single photo of Coco itself. She sighs mournfully, smiling sadly. "I'm just sorry you two won't be able to cross over with her next year..."
Héctor shakes his head, ashamed. He doesn't like this...he doesn't like it one bit. While the holiday was over and Imelda didn't currently need to cross over, the photo should be up where it belongs.
Without warning, the single photo of his daughter suddenly falls flat on the ofrenda, and he has to fight the urge to run forward to put it back up. Elena grunts, but for some reason, she doesn't seem surprised.
"It keeps falling over today," Elena mutters to herself in frustration. "I'm sorry, Mamá," she apologizes softly, quickly yet gently placing the photo upright. "We better not have a ghost wandering around here."
Héctor ignores the ghost comment, sighing quietly in relief as Coco's photo stands upright as it should, thankful that Elena had taken care of it so quickly.
"Miguel...this isn't right," he whispers as they begin walking away. Héctor notices that they seem to be heading towards a certain attic, and he wonders just how he's going to get up there, making him realize that it was indeed the perfect place for Miguel to hide his love of music, as well as a certain photo.
"I know," Miguel admits, visibly cringing in discomfort. He doesn't like it either, but they have to be safe. "When it's time, I promise I'll put it back. Mamá Imelda would probably find a way to hit me with a shoe if I don't."
Another promise made, and Héctor trusts Miguel more than he trusts himself to keep it.
xxxx
"Nobody ever really comes up here except for me, so I knew this would be the perfect place to hide it," Miguel says as they enter the attic. Even after they had discovered his hidden passion for music, the only condition for him to keep on using it was that he would never keep secrets from them again.
Héctor has to duck so his head won't hit the ceiling, then pause to get his breath back; he's not surprised at why no other Riveras ever bothered trying. He doesn't have much luck getting his breath back when another ofrenda catches his eye.
But it wasn't just any ofrenda...
In the middle of an old television sat the familiar, orange marigold petals alongside glowing yellow candles that lit the dim atmosphere of the attic so they could see, since there were no windows to let in the sun.
"Wow," he breathes in and out just to remind himself how. "This is..."
He stares at the ofrenda, taking in the framed letters that sit next to the televison, and also the ones pinned to the wall. His eyes finally rest on the photo he's been looking for, the one he worries about the most. It sits directly in the center next to the television, and he can finally breathe a sigh of relief now that he knows for sure it's safe and sound, all thanks to his grandson.
"Dumb? Too cheesy? I kind of figured," Miguel whispers plainly, like it's what he'd expected Héctor to think—but that was far from the truth. "I got rid of all of the de la Cruz stuff and the movies, especially the one where...you know."
Héctor knows. The one movie that revealed how he had really died. Now that he has a stomach, it makes him sick to think that Ernesto had glorified and exagerrated his death in a movie scene, like it hadn't bothered him at all that he'd murdered his best friend.
"No, it's...I don't know what to say," he says honestly to Miguel. "But it's not dumb or cheesy," he reassures the boy.
"I didn't have a photo of just you," Miguel explains, "so I put together a few copies of your letters to Mamá Coco. It was a blank space until I had the idea to hide the photo here."
"I love it," Héctor says in confirmation, continuing to stare in awe. Adding the letters was such a simple gesture, yet to him it means the world—that they were going to be preserved and loved for a long time, possibly even passed down to the next generation of Riveras. Just that thought alone was humbling...
"It all used to be for de la Cruz," Miguel mentions, his voice growing quiet at the murderer's name. "You know, before I found out what he did. Well, one of the first things I did when I got back after Mamá Coco remembered was making an ofrenda for you, even if I didn't have an extra photo with just you in it."
"Gracias, Miguel. It's perfect. I wouldn't change a thing," he says, eternally thankful that Miguel had even thought of doing such a thing. For so long, he had been left off the family ofrenda, but now he (technically) had two. Though his human heart weighed in heavily on his losses, it was also capable of thumping with warmth, and so he places a hand over his chest to feel the steady beat beat, beat beat.
"Now you're being cheesy, Papa Héctor—I mean...Gael," Miguel scolds him playfully. "I have to get used to calling you by your new name."
Héctor laughs mildly, putting his new tongue to use and sticking it out, to which Miguel responds by punching him gently in the arm.
His gaze on the photo becomes downcast as he recalls the moment where everything had gone wrong, unable to get the horrified image of his daughter away. Ernesto fading to dust, and Dante just...fading into nothing along with him.
"I think Ernesto is gone for good now..." Héctor mumbles.
Miguel glances up in shock at the news, not that he was upset by it. "But isn't he still well-remembered by the world? I thought it would be a long time before the Final Death happened to him," he says in confusion.
Héctor sighs, knowing the unavoidable subject that's coming next. There was no more avoiding it, no matter how much both of their hearts were going to break. Telling Miguel would only make the fact official, that it had actually happened and Dante most likely was never going to come back.
"It doesn't matter if you're still well-remembered. He was stuck on the other side of the bridge, too...because of Dante," Héctor explains wearily, picturing the poor alebrije fading in front of his eyes.
"Dante?" Miguel asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. Héctor's heart thuds now with anything but warmth as the words continue to flow from his mouth.
"He was there when Ernesto's group kept me from crossing. He managed to push Ernesto himself into the Land of the Living, causing him to fade away almost like the Final Death," Héctor says slowly so that Miguel can take it in. However he was going to react he was going to be there for him. He would no longer have to grieve the loss of Dante alone once Miguel knows.
"What do you mean?" Miguel asks, not putting two and two together yet. But based on the way Héctor talks, it can't be anything good.
"He tried to protect me by attacking Ernesto, but he was stuck in the Land of the Living, too," Héctor reveals, and just as he had anticipated, Miguel's brown eyes begin to shine with unreleased tears.
He makes sure to leave out the fact that Ernesto had kicked his beloved friend; Miguel has enough reasons to loathe de la Cruz already, and he doesn't need another that would hurt his heart almost as much as what Héctor had finally revealed.
"He can't be gone! He has to have survived somehow!" Miguel has to stop himself from shouting, lest he wants any of his family to hear.
"He faded away like Ernesto, Miguel—"
"No! You said when you first woke up that unpredictable things happen to skeletons after sunrise in the Land of the Living! It might affect an alebrije differently, too!"
Héctor blinks at his barely-contained outburst, unsure of how to react at first.
"I just really miss him," Miguel says, and Héctor can tell he's trying to stop his tears from flowing. He follows his gut to pull the boy close into a hug.
Dante may have faded away like Ernesto, but one slight difference was that he hadn't been consumed by any dust; he'd just simply...faded, vanishing into thin air.
"It's okay, mijo. It's okay," he comforts Miguel softly. "You're right—he has to have survived somehow. Maybe he was just affected in a way we don't know, yet."
"We'll find him. I know we will," Miguel whispers in Héctor's grip. "Even if it won't be in a year and I can't help in the Land of the Dead."
Just like how Héctor knows that he has to 'find' the photo and return it to where it rightfully belongs. Elena crying was enough to break his heart even more than it already was, and he wasn't able to take anymore heartache...even if it meant revealing who he really was.
As they leave the attic, the photo wobbles—seemingly of its own accord—and drops from the ofrenda, leaving the glass broken and shattered.
xxxx
The pain of losing her husband again is almost unbearable, but she pushes through for the sake of her family.
For Coco.
She has to remain strong. She can't break down in front of them—not again like she had done in Family Grievances.
They stand near the marigold bridge, tempted to try and cross even if they can't, because the holiday is over and has been for the past few days.
Why had she come here, again? She can't seem to remember what she had originally planned to do, apart from attempting to see her husband.
But even if security would be willing to let them cross anyway, what would be the point? They would be able to cross the bridge, but only to the end where the invisible barrier blocked the dead from going any further. Then there was the issue of Héctor even being there in the cemetery, and that was no guarantee.
It was pointless, especially if he wouldn't be able to see them; just the thought alone makes her heart that she no longer has want to break.
The clerk had been right about needing to be careful next year. Skeletons wanted to know what had happened, why and how it had happened. There were those that just didn't seem to value privacy, or the fact that Héctor's family was too saddened by their loss to respond to questions they didn't have the answer to.
She's almost grateful that Héctor hasn't yet returned to the Land of the Dead, only to be bombarded by the same questions of how he had come back to life. He would be just as famous, if not more famous than de la Cruz. He would forever from that point on be known as the one skeleton that had a second chance at life. She and Coco are lucky they're not being overcrowded now by those desperately wanting to be reunited with their living family, or those who would use the opportunity for other, more malicious reasons.
If they wanted a chance to come back to life, they would have to find out by staying in the Land of the Living after sunrise on Día de los Muertos. Even then—as the clerk had said—there was a very high chance they wouldn't have the same outcome, and Imelda doesn't know how to explain that in the right words so the desperate ones would understand.
If anyone in the living world found out a dead person had come back to life, all the fuss might be even worse. She can only hope that Héctor and Miguel are being smart—that they won't reveal the truth to anyone but their family, even if their family might be a risk, as well.
"It's alright, Mamá," her daughter says in a gentle attempt at comfort. Imelda is thankful that she's trying, but it just isn't working, though she will not say that aloud directly to her.
"Miguel is taking good care of him; I know he is," she finishes with a small smile.
"Gracias, Coco...I know, too. It's just..." Imelda trails off. Of course Miguel was taking care of Héctor; she can only wonder how he's getting used to his new human body—if he's tried eating and drinking yet, or even walking. But what if he hadn't woken up at all? What if the transformation had been too much for him to handle, and he was trapped in some sort of coma? If he had passed due to his transformation, they would know. He would be here right now with them...just as he was meant to be all along.
But he's not.
Coco smiles sadly as her Mamá appears lost in thought. She simply tells herself that Papá deserves this. He deserves a second chance at life maybe more than any of the other skeletons here, or at least more than anyone in their family.
She grips Imelda's hand, and Imelda grips back.
"I know," Coco responds gently.
They would get through this—they would get through it together...
Until they were all together, no matter how long they would have to wait.
xxxx
Enrique still doesn't know what to think of their guest. He seems to be okay, but they don't know anything about him. They don't know what he's done to make his family disown him, and just thinking of what kind of 'choices' he had made in the past leaves him concerned for his own family's safety.
What confuses him the most, however, is that Miguel seems to be completely comfortable around him, willing to watch him for them while they're busy in the workshop. His son had only met him once last year, yet it seems like he's known him for longer, or at least has an idea of who he really is.
What wasn't he telling them, and why did he seem somehow...familiar, like he'd seen those brown eyes somewhere before?
Enrique stands in the ofrenda room, pondering just how the photo could have gone missing. Was his Mamá right? Had the man gotten up from bed without them noticing, and had he come in here to steal their photo?
Why would a homeless person want one of our photos? Rosa's question echoes. In truth, he wants to know the same thing. It just didn't make any sense...
"I'm sorry we couldn't find it, Papá," the voice of his son startles him out of his thinking. Miguel comes to stand next to him, gazing at the empty top of the ofrenda.
"It's alright, mijo," Enrique tells him softly. "I'm sure we'll find it eventually."
Though is it just him, or does Miguel not seem to be too worried that the only photo they have of his great-great grandfather is missing? When Mamá Coco had remembered her father, she had told their family lots of stories, and Miguel had taken each one to heart—very close to the heart. So much that he would make sure to repeat them every chance he got, almost like a broken record, and tell them to anyone on the street who would listen. Why does he not seem very concerned now about where the photo might have gone?
Miguel turns around so suddenly that Enrique has to do a double take when he spots their guest standing by the ofrenda room door—Gael. Miguel stares wide-eyed, obviously not expecting him to be up and about, especially since it was getting late now.
"Holá, Señor," Enrique says calmly as he can. When he notices a piece of paper in the man's hand, he realizes with horror that it's not just a piece of paper...
Miguel stands behind Enrique, shaking his head no in warning to Héctor.
What are you doing? He wants to shout at him. Don't do it. We don't know what could happen...what they'll do.
But what worries Miguel even more is the way Héctor's body shakes, a sign that maybe climbing up to the attic was even more strenuous than he had been willing to admit.
"I found this laying on the ground," Héctor says with no hesitation; otherwise, it would seem like he's not telling the truth. Carefully, he reaches his arm out towards Enrique. "I think the frame broke, somehow...I'm sorry."
It's their missing photo now returned by the one his Mamá had suspected to be the thief.
Miguel instantly has to stop himself from screaming Héctor's name. He even has to stop himself from shouting his new name—Gael—unless he wants his father to become suspicious, anyway.
It was too late. This was either going to make his family even more untrustworthy of him, or it would help gain a little more of their trust. Héctor can only hope against all hope that it's going to be the latter.
Enrique reaches his own arm forward, his hand settling on the photo no longer missing, his hold gentle while Héctor's hand trembles from weariness and building anxiety that he's actually revealing the truth to Miguel's Papá.
He smiles gratefully as he takes the photo in his own hands, and Héctor lets go.
"Gracias, Señor," Enrique says brightly. His Mamá had been wrong about the man. Perhaps he may have gotten up from the bed at some point and stolen the photo, but now he was returning it, and Enrique was willing to take it back with no questions asked.
"This means a lot to our family," he says as he glances down at the photo. Miguel holds his breath, just waiting for the moment when it would click for his Papá that the man in the photo and the person right in front of him are one and the same.
I know, Héctor thinks apologetically. I'm so sorry we took it down.
Climbing back up to the attic again while Miguel had gotten ready for bed was no simple task. When he had found the photo laying broken on the attic floor, it had only further sealed his decision to return it so nothing else would happen.
Enrique pauses when the photo comes into his full view as he lifts it up to his eyes, and Gael stands just in front of him.
Wait.
It couldn't be...was this why the man was so familiar?
They...they can't be the same person, his mind races. That's impossible.
But does that mean he's somehow related to them? That he really is family?
The man named 'Gael' trembles even worse, as if he can't handle what he'd just done. He quickly covers his mouth as a coughing fit erupts, and Enrique takes a cautious step back. If 'Gael' was still sick, then why was he out of bed?
To Miguel's horror, Héctor drops on the spot to the ground, and he doesn't get back up. Enrique collects himself enough to step forward and bend down, placing his free hand that doesn't hold the photo on the man's head.
"He's burning up," he says, and Miguel isn't fond of how serious his tone is.
What was he going to tell his family? That the man they had taken in was somehow...related to them? But Enrique is suddenly far more concerned by the man's health than he is about possibly being related to him, which was just impossible.
They would deal with the possible relation issue once he was better at last, when he was able to answer the million questions that were racing through his head.
Miguel's stomach drops when his father says the words he'd dreaded since finding Héctor in the cemetery, the words that he'd done his best to avoid until now.
Héctor had given in and taken the photo off of his personal ofrenda, choosing to return it to their family. He'd said that he didn't feel as sore, meaning that he was probably starting to feel the slightest bit more comfortable in his human body.
Miguel now knows that it was the complete opposite—that Héctor still has a ways to go before he gets used to being alive during the year that he has.
He knows it's impossible for anyone to discover the truth unless they specifically told them that Héctor had come back from the dead, which was out of the question aside from his family that was about to discover the truth.
But what if they did?
Enrique's decision is firm.
"We need to call a doctor, now."