A/N: I am back! This chapter longer than I expected it to be but whatever. As long as you guys like it. But, I'll just stop talking (writing?) and let you read.

Disclaimer: Forgot to do this last chapter but Coco does not belong to me and neither does the cover art. They are both rightful property of Disney and Pixar. Please support the official release!

Capitulo Numero 2: Much Needed Advice

Miguel sat on the edge of his bed. His window was closed, lights dimmed and face downcast as if the secrets of the universe had been discovered by him, but he was still trying to piece them together. His eyes stared off at no particular place on his wooden floor, easily inferred that he was spaced out and wandering in his own mind. A knock is heard on the door and then the creak of its wooden panels being pushed open.

"Miguel I brought you your breakfast mijo," Abuelita says kindly, staring at the tray as she opens the door by leaning on it with her back as to not drop the food and orange juice in the cheap, plastic cup. She fully steps into the room and stares at Miguel. The soft smile that was on her face falls to a look of pity at the sight of Miguel looking depressed on his bed.

"Miguel?" she asks for his attention. He doesn't answer just keeps staring at the floor between his feet. Abuelita places the tray of food carefully on the bedside table placed on the left of Miguel's bed. She goes to stand in front of Miguel and softly places her hand on his right cheek. "¿Qué pasa mijo? What's wrong?"

Miguel still doesn't answer. His eyes remain lost and empty. Abuelita sits to the right of him, her weight dipping the spring bed. She wraps her arm around his shoulders, beginning to rub comforting circles on his back.

"You need to talk to me querido," she says, letting the wisdom of her years spill into her words. Miguel slowly tilts his head up to meet his abuelitas gaze. He opens his mouth about to say something, he hesitates then lets his head fall again. Abuelita sighs.

"I know you wanted to go out but you won't get better if you don't let yourself relax," Abuelita says. Miguel had forgotten about his little temper tantrum which had led to him discovering the startling truth about Señor Calles. Going outside was the last thing on Miguel's mind right now. His abuelita reaches her hand up and rests the back of her palm on Miguel's cheek.

"You're still cold. You might actually be getting colder. You need to eat your food mijo," she says rather sadly as if the failure to get a response from Miguel affected her the same way as would the event of losing the most precious thing. She got up out of the bed and it lifts back up, Miguel's slim form causing it to remain only slightly dipped compared to his grandmother's. She looks over to him as she walks to the door and grabs the handle.

"And... if you're feeling up to it you can help with the ofrenda. But only for a while"

Miguel seems to let some light re-enter his big, brown eyes as he looks up to Abuelita. The prospect of helping give new gifts to his dead family brightened him up, at least by a little. As well as the fact that he'd actually be doing something

"I do want to help," Miguel says, as though he had lost his voice and it was slowly returning to him. The only answers he was going to get were the ones he'd find while celebrating the holiday that his culture admired. That he admired. But how was being around the memory of death going to help him feel better about the fact that he's seen Señor Calles? Seeing him wasn't bad in itself. But the more he thought of it the more he thought of how the man wasn't bones. How he wasn't a skeleton or that he wasn't glowing the same way all dead spirits do when they stand in the Land of the Living. Almost like if he was still alive but dead at the same time.

"iQue bien!" his abuelita interrupts his thoughts, clapping her hands together as she smiles widely, She opens the door and walks out. Miguel just sits there.

He stares over to the tray filled with the breakfast. Huevos con chorizo. Typical. He goes to the tray and eats a single spoonful then goes out the door following his abuelita to the kitchen. His younger cousins run around with the gold marigold flower baskets in their hands dropping petals randomly throughout the home. As they run past him, Miguel notices his baby sister running after them, most likely having woken up from her nap. When she's running past him, she clumsily trips over her own feet and drops to the floor, her basket of marigold's scattered in front of Miguel's feet. Miguel quickly drops low to pick up his crying sister.

"Ay, Socorro," Miguel say's as he adjusts his sister in his arms, "Why is it that you're trying so hard to run like our cousins even though you're only two years old?" The young girl continued to cry and had decided to bury her face in her brother's shoulder. Miguel patted her back and tried to lull her to a quiet if only to spare his own ears from the girls crys.

Then the girl sneezes. She pulls her face away from Miguel, shivering.

"F-frío," Socorro says as she tries to rub her arms for some warmth. Miguel realizes that she's talking about him. His body was cold and he couldn't even feel it, but it seemed that even his little sister felt the cold he thought only his sensitive-to-weather grandma would feel.

"Lo siento mija. Sorry," Miguel says as he places a kiss on his sister's cheek then sets her on the floor again. Socorro looks up to him from down below, her tiny finger brought to her lip, eyes big and eyebrows raised. She was questioning why her brother was so cold. But like any other child, her mind loses track of her thought process, and she gets distracted by the sound of her playing cousins. Socorro runs out to the courtyard and Miguel is left to clean up the marigold petals she dropped. He sighs.

Miguel leans down, picks up the basket and slides it into his arm. He starts to pick up the gold petals but something happens. Something he'd only dreamed of witnessing again. They glow, brightly like the time when he first crossed the Marigold Bridge and had dipped his hands into the flowers, admiring the shine of each individual piece. And now, cupped in his hands, each one was lit like the light of a candle but it wasn't hot. It was a comforting warmth. And it felt pleasant. Miguel stared at the petals glowing in his hands, the orange light reflecting off his brown eyes. But then the petals begin to dim, slowly losing their gleam.

And like that, they return to being regular pieces of a flower.

What was that?

Miguel stands up, letting all the petals drop through his fingers except for one. He examines the petal with a face relatively the same as the one his sister made when questioning his temperature. He turns the petal in his pointer finger and thumb grip. The petal does nothing as if mocking Miguel's fascination. He angrily frowns and stuffs the petal into his pant pocket. He picks up the rest of the petals and puts them into the basket, and walks into the courtyard. The fresh air feels nice. He could almost forget the revelation of this morning.

"Miguel!" he hears a voice call. A stern, old voice that could only belong to Abuelita. She was calling from the ofrenda room across the courtyard from the shoe shop and kitchen. The placement of the rooms in his house was random and confusing now that he thinks about it. He goes over to the room and enters. His Abuelita is there with a plate full of tamales in one hand and the other with pan de dulce. She was placing the food on the altar. With no pictures up yet, he didn't know which food was for who. Abuelita turns to him and looks lower to the basket of marigolds in his hands.

"Go give those to your sister. Only your mother and the children work on creating the paths," she says sternly as she turns back to the ofrenda.

"Is that all?" Miguel asks.

"Can you fetch the photos from the attic, too?"

The attic. The place of bad memories. Of the times he was alone in his love for music and in fear of the truth being discovered by his family. The times in which he worshipped a murderer and played music on a cheap guitar he pieced together himself. The times in which he lived in ignorance of the truth of his family. Of his past and of Hector. The attic just brought back bad memories. Miguel was happy everything from up there had been burned.

"Yeah. I'll get them," he answers putting a smile on his face. He turns to leave but is pulled back by his right arm. Abuelita turns him around and points her pointer finger straight at his face, her other hand on her hip.

"iRecuerda! You only have a few minutes. You have to go straight back to bed after this!" she orders.

"Si Abuelita."

She lets go of Miguel and looks at him suspiciously. Did she think he'd run away? He did that once and it almost killed him. Literally.

"Well? Go already!" she says as she turns Miguel around again so that he walks out the ofrenda room. He turns his head to see his abuelita already walking back to the ofrenda to arrange the food. He looks back into the courtyard then smiles mischievously. She may want him in bed in few minutes but she didn't say anything about not being able to get to the attic by climbing the roof.

Miguel places the basket of flowers leaning next to the wall. He runs across the courtyard, through the kitchen, up the wooden stairs, and into his room. Miguel's begins panting from the run and gets lightheaded. He forgot he had a sickness to worry about. He looks around his room and his eyes wander to every crevice. Where is it? Where did I leave it?

Miguel's eyes land on the headstock of his guitar sticking out from under his bed. He goes on hands and knees to reach under for the instrument. His finger's curl around the neck of the guitar and he pulls it out from under, a few particles of dust following its venture out. Miguel coughs as the dust enters his nose. He swats at the air to keep more from entering. The guitar in his hands had gone from one man to another and finally him. Miguel has it, but he knows that it rightfully belongs to Hector. Hector hadn't been able to keep it, because of a monster coming to steal it, and Miguel promised he wouldn't let the beautiful instrument that both Hector and he admired and cherished with all their heart gain dust. But being sick and just a few days of not playing it and the dirty floors of his room make sure the guitar gathers dust as if it'd been left alone for years.

Miguel stands up and straps the guitar over his torso. He looks into the hallway before he goes out of his room, knowing that no one would let him play, instead saying something like: "Go rest! You're sick!". Which is hypocritical since they still let him help with the ofrenda. Their hate of music is only slowly wearing off, whether they admitted it or not.

Then Miguel runs out of his room, the same way he came, but this time he passes the ofrenda room and goes through the entrance to the street. He looks to his right and notices a bunch of boxes placed strenuously but still stacked upon each other like a staircase. Miguel smiles. It's like if the universe wanted him to break the rules.

Miguel flips the guitar to his back but still keeps it strapped over his torso so that his arms can freely climb up to the roof. He puts one foot on the first box and grips a box higher up with his hand, pulling himself up and placing his other foot onto a higher box, carefully so as to not topple the pyramid. He repeats the process until he reaches his hand to grip the Spanish tile roof on his home. Miguel pulls himself up onto the roof, the tiles quivering under his weight.

Standing up and dusting himself off, Miguel adjusts the guitar on his back. He looks down to his right, onto the courtyard. It was empty. Lucky him. He walks across the roof, then hears a loud bark along with the sound of the boxes on the street toppling over. Miguel winces. Dante.

The Xolo dog is right there, the same way Miguel came up.

"Shhhh!" Miguel shushes the dog. Dante just happily stares at him, sitting obediently and letting out another bark. He runs up to Miguel and begins to follow him as he walks across the roof to reach the old entrance into the attic. The one he used when running away from his family behind the big Zapateros Rivera sign. He slides the sign over and looks into the attic. It's dusty. Obviously.

Miguel steps in and the wood creaks under his feet. Dante follows him in quickly, not wanting to get stuck under the sign. Miguel has to slouch low so he won't hit his head with the top of the attic's ceiling. Why would Abuelita leave the photos up here? He looks around the attic but finds nothing. Miguel notices the ripped curtain that used to cover the entrance to the other secret room in the attic. The one he used to enter to fully be able to play his music. He takes off his guitar and holds it in his hand as he moves the curtain aside to enter the tiny space.

The alter that used to be full of Ernesto de la Cruz merchandise was empty, save for a few broken off pieces of action figures and several marigold petals lying strenuously. And there, in the middle of the room is a box. Miguel lifts the lid and sees all the frames containing the pictures of his dead family piled up inside.

Papa Julio staring straight at the camera with a face that says: "I may be short but I got spank". Tia Victoria posing smugly with her arms crossed as if the whole world was idiotic exempt from her. Tia Rosita smiling sweetly, with her chubby cheeks adding to her caring image. Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe staring into the camera with identical smiles.

And Mama Coco slightly having her lips quirked up into a smile, her eyes closed and face conveying the wisdom of her years. Miguel did miss her but the knowledge of her safety in the Land of the Dead with the rest of the family comforted his mind. Especially since she's finally with Hector.

Miguel picks up the last photo. His Mama Imelda staring blankly at the camera, her beautiful features extenuating her every aspect. In her arms is a young Mama Coco, her face examining the camera cutely. And next to both of them is Hector. The only one smiling. The piece of his face that had been ripped off from the picture mended back on with cheap tape.

He needed his family. They would know what's happening to him right now, and they'd give him all the answers. Miguel would love to have Tia Rosita hug him so tightly he'd feel like his bones were being crushed. Or Tia Victoria and Papa Julio holding his hands as they led him across the bridge and his twin uncles making a joke about everything he'd say. Or to hug his Mama Coco again as his name slipped her mind. Hell, he'd even want the overprotective and controlling attitude of his Mama Imelda.

But most importantly, Miguel wanted to feel his great-great-grandfather's hand on his head as he ruffled his hair. And to play the music of his guitar and the music of their voices in front of an audience, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the nerves being driven out by feelings of pure happiness. Hector was the best friend he doesn't have. And he missed him. He missed everyone.

Miguel dropped the frames back into the box and sat criss-cross on the floor of the attic. He grabs his guitar and places it in the position needed to play, his left hand at the end of the neck and his right by the strings next to the bridge. He strums the guitar and turns the knobs on the headstock to tune it. Dante sits across from him as Miguel begins to play the instrument.

He lets the memories of contentment console his distraught and confused mind as his fingers press down on the right strings and pluck the perfect rhythm. No more thinking about how he was so sick. Or how that flower randomly began glowing in his hands. Or how Senor Calles strangely appeared at his window this morning. No more confusing thoughts. Just him, his music and the memories of his times with family.

Miguel's eyes are closed and his playing becomes more passionate as higher notes are being met and quicker rhythms are being made. But he doesn't notice the petals around the attic, the ones left over from his idols shrine, begin to glow. Every single petal shines and it appears like Miguel is surrounded by candles that burn at the rhythm of his music. Miguel still isn't aware as they begin to move as if being commanded to him.

Then the sound of a bang on the wood interrupts the moment. Miguel's eyes snap open and he stops his music right after the petals fall back into place, as if they were hiding there presence. He looks out to the entrance of the attic and to the other end of the tiny room he's in. Nothing. Miguel's face contorts to one of confusion. He grabs the guitar and slips the strap over himself, once again moving the instrument to his back.

"Let's go, Dante. This place is creepy anyway's," he says to his pet dog as he picks up the box of family pictures. Dante stands and follows Miguel as he crawls out of the room. He goes up to the sign and moves it aside. He carefully steps outside, holding the box between his hip and his right arm. He looks back into the attic one last time then lets the sign fall over the entrance.

In the dark of the attic, two bright green eyes with thin black pupils eerily stare the way in which Miguel had just walked out through and slowly, they vanish.

Miguel walks into the ofrenda room with the box of pictures in his hands and the guitar not on his back, but back under his bed. He walks up to Abuelita, who is now working on placing flowers on the altar. She turns and notices Miguel.

"Ay! Gracias mijo," she says kindly as she takes the box from his hands. She begins working again and Miguel just stands there. He nervously begins to twiddle with his thumbs, trying to gain the courage to ask Abuelita something he's needed help understanding.

"Abuelita?" he finally says. She stops and turns to Miguel.

"¿Qué pasa mijo?" she says. Abuelita was eager to know if she'd be able to hear her grandsons thoughts. Miguel hesitates but decides to go with it anyway.

"Have you ever been so confused and felt so alone that you just...I don't know...you just don't know what to do?"

Abuelita smiles softly and drops her flowers on the altar. She walks up to Miguel and places her hand on his shoulder.

"When your Mama Coco passed away, I was broken. I missed her so much. But I kept her memory in my heart and decided that as long as I held her close, even just in spirit, she'd never truly be gone," she says, "Whatever it is you are going through can be solved as long as your soul stays strong, your mind open and your heart radiant"

That's all he needed to hear. Miguel just wanted to be reassured and to have an answer even if his abuelita didn't fully understand why he was so confused, her answer was better than nothing. Miguel smiles at her.

"Gracias Abuelita," he says, the most genuine thing he's let out of his lips in a while. She smiles back.

"Now go back to bed!" Miguel winces at her loud tone "Go!" she commands.

Miguel quickly leaves the ofrenda room. Dante is there in the courtyard, no longer afraid of the fact that Abuelita might throw a chancla at him again. His tongue is sticking out and a big grin is on his face. Miguel smiles as well.

"I'm not gonna just go back to bed Dante." he begins to say as he starts walking through the courtyard back to his room. "There's a reason why those petals glowed. There's a reason why I'm feeling sick. And there has got to be a reason why I saw Señor Calles the way I did. And the only way I'm going to find out is by keeping my soul strong and my mind open. Which means, I need my family's help." Miguel zips up his sweater and stares intently at his dog.

"All I have to do is wait for them to cross over"

A/N: Well, hope you guys liked it. Next chapter will be in Hector's POV as the Rivera family prepare to cross over. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to update until next week. Finals are horrid! Anyway...Please review! I will try to answer every review if not most. Your beautiful comments keep me alive