Earlier that day his Mamá Coco had left them. She lay there, peaceful and smiling as if sleeping, while her family cried around her. Miguel had said goodbye, kissed her cold cheek, and ran to his room for the rest of the day.

That night, he kept thinking of her as he lay awake in his dark room. Was she ok now? Was Mamá Coco with her family again? Was… was her Papá there? Or… or what if…

He brought his hand to his mouth, knuckles pressed against his lips to hold back the sob threatening to escape. The house was dark and quiet, and he didn't need his family to hear him crying. He had already cried for his Mamá Coco, but there was something else, something no one else could understand. Ever since his journey into the Land of the Dead, he had held onto a small unspeakable fear…

What if he had been too late?

That morning when he had returned to the living, he had run as fast as he could to find Mamá Coco and make her remember. He had tried… he had really tried! But what if it wasn't enough? What if Héctor was… gone?

Tears threatened to spill over as he remembered those last few moments with him, just as the sun was rising above the horizon. Héctor had been fading so quickly, he had been so weak, he couldn't even stand…

Miguel choked back a lump in his throat. What if he had been too slow? He didn't know… He would never know, not as long as he lived.

And with Coco gone, Miguel couldn't stop wondering: was she with him? Did he get to tell her how much he loved her? Or was he gone? Gone forever…

That thought made new tears streak down his cheek, and he was glad no one was around to see them. He rolled over on his bed, curling up as if he might crush the pain in his heart. With a sniff, he looked up and across the room where Héctor's guitar seemed to stare back at him. He might not ever see him again, not even in death. It wasn't fair.

He closed his eyes, felt his body shudder with repressed sobs, and was slowly fading into sleep when there came a hand on his shoulder. Miguel kept his eyes closed, not wanting to talk to his mom or dad or even his abuelita- they couldn't understand. But the voice that spoke was none of them.

"Miguel?"

His eyes flew open, and for a moment he couldn't move. It couldn't be… but it was. Héctor stood there, in the flesh, with the same crooked grin.

"Héctor?" he said, holding his breath.

"Hey, mijo."

Miguel lunged forward, throwing his arms around his great-great-grandfather, no longer just bones, but solid flesh beneath a thin jacket.

"I thought I'd never see you again. But you're here! And you're not a skeleton. How…"

"Ha, easy there," he said, rustling his hair as Miguel held him tight. "I'm not quite here, exactly. When Coco passed over to our world, the barrier gets a little thin, you know? Spirit stuff, it's complicated. And lucky for us I have connections," he said, pulling on his suspenders with a smug grin.

"That's great! I-I can't believe you're here," Miguel said, pulling back and looking at him for real. He was still gangly except now with big ears and a long nose. But he had the same cheeky smile, the same eyes, same frayed neckerchief and jacket, although it was now only a vest.

Héctor let out a breath, his face softening into a bittersweet smile. "I saw Coco today."

"You did? Is she...?"

"She's good. She's with the rest of the family right now, they're all welcoming her to her new home. I was there when she first arrived, and... ay mi Dios." His voice cracked and his brown eyes suddenly shone with tears. "She's beautiful. I… I finally told her how much I love her, how much I missed her. And she forgave me, for not being there all those years."

"I told her about you," Miguel said desperately, wanting him to know. It was so important that he know! "I told her. I sang her your song. She… she still remembered you."

"I know. I know you did." He put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, mijo. You did good. Real good! It sounds like you brought music back to the family."

"I-I did. I told them about you, about how you tried to come back home, and what de la Cruz did. Mamá Coco still had your old letters, we can prove they were your lyrics. We're going to let the world know what you did, you'll finally get the credit you deserve."

"Oh, I don't care about that," Héctor said, throwing his arms. "I have my family again! I have Imelda and Coco, all of them. And it's thanks to you."

Miguel suddenly felt very small, and looked down to watch his fingers twist in his lap.

"But I… I wasn't sure... I had made it in time. I thought, I was afraid that..." he bit his lip, and felt tears threaten again.

Steady arms pulled him in. "Hey, it's all right. You saved me, mijo. If it weren't for you, I would already be gone. But I'm here!"

Miguel sniffed, almost afraid to let go. "Will I ever see you again?"

"No, not in this world anyway. But as long as you keep me in memory, I won't fade. Even if... even if I can't cross the bridge. But that's all right!" he said quickly, holding up his hands up. "I know you did your best, I didn't mean—"

"Eh? Mamá Coco didn't tell you? She had your picture. We have it!"

Héctor's face went slack. "W-what?"

"All these years she kept your photo- from the one I showed you. After I talked to my family, we taped it back up with you and Mamá Imelda and it's on the ofrendas. It's there! It's there right now!"

Héctor pulled a hand down over his hanging mouth, down his narrow chin. "It's there? You mean..."

"You can come back! You can visit us on the next Dia de los Muertos. It'll be great! We'll bake you pan de muerto and I'll leave a bottle of pulque for you, and, and I'll play your music, you'll see."

"Y-yeah? Yeah… ah, make sure it's a good bottle, all right?" he said with a crooked grin, although he couldn't hide the tremor in his voice. He looked down, barely seeming to breath.

"I… I can come back…" His voice came out little more than a whisper.

Miguel watched him, saw the various emotions ripple across his young face, making him look suddenly old, tired. He thought about how Héctor must have waited so long for this moment, year upon year upon year, hoping for someone to put his photo up.

"I wish you could have come back sooner," Miguel whispered. But what he wanted to say was I wish you didn't have to be alone for so long.

"Ay, me too," he said with a sigh. But it only lasted a moment before he sat up and clapped Miguel on the back. "But hey, it all worked out! I'm good, you're good, Coco is good… it's all good."

Miguel sniffed and smiled up at him as Héctor looked around his room, still apparently overcome with the thought that yes, things were good. Then Héctor's smile fell, his mouth dropping open.

"Is… is that…?" he whispered, slowly rising to his feet. Miguel followed his gaze to the old white guitar still leaning against the far wall.

"It is your old guitar, isn't it?" Miguel said, watching him intently.

He stepped over to it, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and even though he was no longer a walking skeleton, he still had the same lanky steps, as if his old bones rattled just beneath the skin. Without a word he knelt down but stopped an inch away, as if afraid to touch it. Then with trembling hands he gently picked it up and stood again, a look of disbelief clear on his face.

"I-I thought it was gone. I was sure it would have been lost. I can't believe it..."

"De la Cruz had it. I mean, it was with his coffin, but I got it back. You know, I think it's what made me go back to the Land of the Dead in the first place."

"That so?" He strummed a cord and then laughed. "Heh, hear that? It's still in tune."

Miguel watched him pluck at the strings, and suddenly wondered if he had the right to play it, when it truly belonged to Héctor.

"I'll take good care of it," Miguel said earnestly, sitting up straight. "I will. I-I'll keep it clean and tuned for as long as I live."

Héctor didn't say anything, just pulled his thumb over the taut strings, a far-off look in his eye.

"Or... or I can hang it up in your memory, if you'd prefer," Miguel said in a softer voice, making Héctor look up with faint surprise. He blinked, and then shook his head, smiling.

"Ah Miguel… it's yours now." He held it out to him, but Miguel didn't take it right away, just gazed up with an unspoken plea.

With a faint laugh Héctor sat beside him, his feet kicking up as he sank into the mattress. Then he began to pluck out a cord as if it was the most natural thing, and began to play a sweet, simple tune. Miguel shifted closer to him, watching how his fingers brushed over the strings like an old familiar dance. He looked up to see Héctor beaming and watching him from the corner of his eyes as he continued to play.

"Guess you'll be the musician of the family now. First one in generations, can you believe it! Just wait, you'll make your very own music someday. I just know it."

"It won't be as good as yours."

"Eh, maybe not," he said with a cheeky grin.

Miguel smiled and leaned against him, letting the music flow through him, into his heart, his soul. After a time, he noticed how the music slowed, each chord lingering like a sigh. Then it went quiet and still.

"Miguel?" Héctor said softly, setting aside the guitar. "You know… I'll always be proud of you. And I want you to never forget that your family will always love you."

It sounded like a goodbye, and his heart felt tight in his chest. He didn't want to let him go, not yet. Miguel put his arms around him, his fingers clutching at the old, worn fabric. "I-I won't forget you. I'll remember you, I promise."

He closed his eyes, and there was a gentle hand ruffling his hair, a lingering kiss on his forehead…

When Miguel next opened his eyes it was morning, and he was alone. He slowly sat up, holding the blanket close as he desperately thought back, trying to remember every detail of the dream: how he smiled, how he pulled his hand through his hair, the way his fingers flew over the strings.

Miguel looked across the room and for a moment his heart stopped: the guitar was gone. Then his feet kicked something and he realized that Héctor's guitar was on his bed, somehow. He pulled it close to his chest, his cheek resting against it as he stared out to the empty room, watched the dust float in the pale sunbeams.

He wouldn't forget.

A thought struck him, and he pushed off the blanket, stepping onto the cold floor and found a scrap of paper and a pen. He began to write, wiping away a tear even as he smiled.

Call me crazy, or call me a fool…
But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you…

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Do you have any idea how much I needed this in my life (as of… two days ago).

I fell in love with this movie instantly, and I was thinking and it struck me… Miguel doesn't know if he had made it in time. The audience does, but what if Miguel never found out? So this was the obvious solution.

I've been playing 'Proud Corazon' over and over again and my heart is still breaking. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with the stupid skeleton, what happened?

(also I may write a second story with Héctor… hopefully.)