Héctor was practically bouncing in his bones. True these days he wasn't quite so loose as he used to be. Side effect of being better remembered, he was no longer quite literally falling apart with each step.

Which was probably a good thing considering the speed at which he was rushing through the station. Had this been a few years ago he would have been a pile of bones several times over.

"Espera me Héctor!" Imelda called from behind him.

The skeleton stopped walking and instead bounced around in place, still overcome with giddiness as his bones made a clacking sound with all the movement.

"What, you think you're going to run off without the rest of us?" His wife scowled, giving him a flick where his ear used to be.

Héctor sniggered to himself a little bit. He knew she was just as excited as he was to visit their family in the world of the living. He was just more… exuberant than her about showing it. (What he called exuberance Imelda called childish)

"Do you think Miguelito is taller this year?" Coco mused, arm in arm with her husband Julio. The family had all caught up to them by this point.

"If he's anything like me, he's going to sprout up like a bean pole soon." Héctor grinned.

Imelda only huffed. "He's already too much like you." But beneath the ire her lips quirked up just slightly as she elbowed her husband.

"He was too thin last time." Rosita lamented. "If only I could cook for him…."

"I'm sure Elena makes sure he eats just fine." Victoria shrugged.

"I just can't wait to eat those conchas that Elena makes."

"Siempre son muy deliciosa!"

The twins sighed in unison.

Two sharp claps drew everyone's attention back to Imelda as she leveled a stern look to her family. "Come, the more we dawdle the longer it'll take to get there."

The others all nodded, but Héctor just gave a happy little sigh. His wife had always been a commanding presence, and to be frank he was glad it was a presence he was allowed to enjoy again. He wrapped an arm around her waist and gave a small kiss to her cheek, ignoring her little eye roll at him.

As they approached the marigold bridge everyone shifted to join hands, as was seemingly tradition. Just as last year Héctor had one hand in Imelda's grasp, the other holding on to Coco.

Where his heart had once been he felt a strong warmth swelling up with in him. It was as if the glow of the marigolds were reflecting his inner joy at being with his family again. Every day he thanked his lucky stars that he had his family back. But today, he was especially grateful.

And he knew it wasn't just the stars, he had his boy to thank for it too.

Miguel. Hardly a day would go by where he didn't wonder what his great great grandson had been up to.

As Héctor walked over the bridge he mused on the chico. He no doubt would be taller this year. He hoped that Miguel would play guitar again in the court yard like last year. Music was his very soul and somehow he had managed to pass it down to the kid. Nothing made him happier than thinking about Miguel plucking out chords with his old guitar. As much as he missed it, it was in good hands.

With each step the petals glowed at their feet and the pathway began to wind down, descending towards the mortal world. Héctor was hit with a wave of nostalgia as soon as his feet hit soil.

Santa Cecilia. Before last year he never thought he would see it again. A lot had changed in 90 years, but the soul of the town still felt the same.

The cemetery was full with families, scattered about the graves with their ancestors, glowing gold, watching over their living loved ones. It was enough to make Héctor smile. For over 90 years he had dreamed of just this. And even now that Coco was with them in the Land of the Dead, he was just glad he could come back to visit his mijo.

His eyes scanned across the area and fell for just a moment upon the mausoleum for De La Cruz. Héctor huffed just a smidge. No one had bothered to take down the 'forget you' sign. For the best, he thought.

He spared a moment's thought for what his old friend was up to. They had not seen him last year at Día De Los Muertos. Frankly Héctor wasn't entirely positive if he had even managed to get out from underneath that bell by that point. A small angry part of him hoped they would have just left him there.

Not entirely for his sake- OK a little for his sake. Héctor was still sore about the whole poisoning issue. He figured he had a right to be for at least another decade or two.

No the issue that got him was the (twice) attempted murder of his still living grandson. Such a transgression was not so easily forgiven. Héctor didn't consider himself a violent man (he had Imelda for that), but he knew that should he and Ernesto cross paths again it wouldn't be pretty.

Not the least of which because he was fairly positive Imelda would pull out her shoe on such an occasion.

A wise man feared the heel of Imelda's boot. Héctor certainly did.

The sudden sensation of fur against his legs drew Héctor from his thoughts. The skeleton looked down to see a cat weaving in and about the families feet.

"Pepita." Imelda cooed softly, reaching down to gently stroke the fur of her now much smaller alebrije.

"Where's Dante?" Julio wondered aloud as they walked through the town.

While the dog and cat alebrije had only known each other a short while, they were fairly inseparable. But for the last few months hardly any one had seen hide nor hair of the florecently colored dog.

Perhaps a bit of a blessing. The perro did have a habit of causing trouble around the workshop… and the house, everywhere really. Victoria had certainly chased him out of the kitchen enough times, perhaps he had finally gotten the message.

"Probably with Miguel." Felipe noted.

"I'm sure we'll see him at the house." Óscar nodded.

Music began to fill the air around them and Héctor couldn't help but smile as they passed through the plaza. His ponderings on the whereabouts of the xolo dog quickly forgotten. He let his eyes be drawn for just a moment to the gazebo where a mariachi band was playing. He quickly recognized the notes coming from the instruments as he began to sing softly along.

"You make me un poco loco~" he sang, grinning unabashedly at his wife.

She rolled her eyes at him but gave him the slightest smile. Héctor grinned and took the woman's hand, giving her a gentle spin.

A life time ago he had leaned across the rail of that gazeebo, singing the same song to the stern beauty. 'Un poquititito loco' he had hummed, nimble fingers plucking the strings of a white guitar, which he had proudly painted and decorated himself.

Ernesto had pounded him on his back and laughed, 'You'd have better luck with a queen than you would wooing Imelda.'

'One day,' Héctor had whispered, 'she's going to be my wife.'

His friend had only laughed a little more and gone back to his own guitar. The melody softly carrying through the wind in the square as they played.

In the years since his death Héctor had come to loathe many of his past songs. There was just something so… wrong about hearing them from people who didn't even know it was he who penned them. Every time he heard 'Remember Me' sung in that overcharged bravado that De la Cruz had it made him cringe.

But in the last two years, he had found his opinion changing. It was a little wondrous what one boy could do for his entire outlook on life. (And you know, the whole world finding out Ernesto was a crook. That part was good too!)

The music faded out and the audience around the square began to clap. The musicians took a bow and then righted themselves, readjusting their instruments. A stout looking man approached the microphone, he cleared his throat once and removed his blue charro hat.

"For our last song-" the Mariachi began. "We'd like to honor Miguelito Rivera." he said, a sad sort of smile creeping across his lips as he turned his head back to the rest of the band, all nodding and taking up their instruments again.

The entirety of the skeleton family paused.

"Miguel?" The twins both said in unison, exchanging a puzzled look.

Imelda held a finger to her lips and gave a quick 'shush' as they all focused back on the gazebo and the band.

"Uno.. dos…" the head mariachi began to count, the numbers giving way to a soft strumming of the guitar.

No one moved to sing, but Héctor didn't need them to. He recognized the opening chords to 'Remember Me' anywhere.

If Héctor had eyebrows they both would be raised right now.

"What do you suppose that's all about?" Julio mumbled to his wife. Coco only shrugged, turning her eyes up towards her mother and father.

Imelda shook her head. "No sé…"

Héctor felt the beginnings of anxiousness in his bones as he turned. "I'm sure we'll find out at the house," he said, assuring himself really more than anyone else.

His wife gave a firm nod and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come." She said as everyone followed the path away from the plaza to the casa de Rivera.

Even without a nose Héctor could smell the sweet aroma of pan dulce in the air, mixing with the fresh scent of marigolds that were absolutely everywhere.

But something was absent.

Héctor paused, trying to figure it out. He saw the family milling about, placing food around the table and talking. He had never gotten to know his descendants in life, what with being killed by his best friend in his early twenties, but many nights sat around the kitchen fire with Imelda going over photographs had made sure he knew what names went with what faces.

Elena gave a heavy sigh as she placed a large plate full of tamales down upon the table in the center of the courtyard. The tamales were only a portion of the vast array of delicious foods laid out. She wiped the beads of sweat that dotted her forehead.

"Mamá please sit down." A man said, coming to steer the older woman by the shoulders towards a chair. Héctor was able to recognize him as Enrique, Miguel's father. Which would make him Héctors great grandson.

If he squinted he could see the resemblance, the man Miguel would grow up to look like one day. Both seemed to take after him in looks (despite what Óscar and Felipe claimed) which made him endlessly happy.

"I still have to finish the pan de muertos and put Mamá Imelda's salad on the ofrenda and-"

"Elena, please." A woman said with a look of pleading in her eyes. "We'll finish setting the table, just take a rest." she smiled.

Coco placed a translucent bony hand on her daughters shoulder. It didn't go through, but they all knew Elena couldn't feel it. "Aye Mija…" the mother sighed.

Such was the double edged sword of Día De Muertos. They could see their living loved ones, but they couldn't truly communicate with them. Héctor tried to lift his spirits. So he couldnt put his hand on Miguel's shoulder, couldn't help him with his guitar skills, or tell him how proud he was. He could still see him at least!

In truth it felt half empty. A selfish, selfish, part of him wished he could hold Miguel in his arms again like he could his daughter. Last year he had been overjoyed to watch his boy play the guitar for everyone. But felt his phantom heart break every time he reached out for the boy only to realize nothing he did could really reach him.

So in the last few months Héctor had started a new project. It was hard to dwell on Miguel if he kept his hands occupied. So he had busied himself with preparing a room for the chamaco at their house in the Land of the Dead.

He wouldn't need it yet (not for many MANY years Héctor told himself) but it was something to help pass the time when he wasn't composing songs to play with Miguel when he finally got to see him again. So far it was simple, and Imelda had told him he was being a bit pre-emptive. But he liked it. Miguel always had a home with them. Always. He was family.

When he wasn't doing that he had been working on a new guitar for his grandson. He had managed to make a spirit copy of his old one, but his boy deserved his own guitar. It wouldn't be ready for a long while yet, and the design seemed ever changing, but he was making steady progress on it.

And when Miguel one day came to join them in the Land of the Dead there would be a warm bed and a guitar waiting for him.

And that's when it dawned on him what was missing.

"There's no music."

All the heads in the family suddenly turned to him. Quiet for a moment, listening but hearing nothing.

"You're right." Rosita whispered looking around at the family. "Before… before last year there never was any, but there should at least be little Miguel with his guitar."

Coco looked up from her perch looking over her daughter. "Si! Dónde está mi Miguelito?" She said scanning the room.

The chamaco was nowhere to be found.

Héctor felt a prickle of anxiousness run down the bones on his spine.

Julio gave a concerned look. "Where is the boy?" he looked around the courtyard. "I haven't seen him…"

"He's got to be around here somewhere." Victoria said, though she too wore a nervous expression.

"Maybe he's just helping set up." Óscar murmured.

"Or off playing his guitar somewhere else." Felipe offered.

"I'm sure he'll play some music once he arrives." They both said in unison with a nod.

"Calmanse todos." Imelda sighed. "I'm sure he's off somewhere causing trouble. It's still early in the night, we'll see him before the night is through."

Héctor nodded, reaching down to take her hand in his gently. "Si, you're right mi amor." He smiled, willing that growing feeling of anxiousness to cease.

He took a deep breath, an odd thing for a skeleton to do no doubt (what with the lack of lungs) but still, it calmed him. "Why don't we check out the ofrenda eh?" he said motioning his head towards the altar room. "I wanna see what the chamaco left me this year."

Héctor remembered last year how hesitant he had been to even cross the bridge. Coco had told him of how she saved his picture, and all his letters home. He may or may not have cried as she told him of how Miguel played her the guitar to help her remember and asked her for stories about him.

(Ok maybe he most definitely did cry. A lot.)

Though he knew there even was a photo to put up, a lingering doubt had gnawed at him all the way to the station. Would his living family accept him? Would Miguel remember to put it on the ofrenda?

Héctor quickly learned his great great grandson was never one to do anything by halves.

After decades of imagining what his family's ofrenda looked like, any expectations he had held were easy blown away by the site of the Rivera family ofrenda room on that first visit.

The others had told them that the large quantities of food were normal, but that that year it seemed especially packed with offerings.

Héctor had found a cornucopia's worth of treats for him along with new clothes, fresh guitar strings, a fresh music composition book, and his most treasured of all, a letter. He had kept and read over that letter a dozen times over.

Miguel had written about how much he hoped Héctor was around to read it (and aye that panged his heart knowing he had no way to reassure the kid that he did indeed survive), what he had been up to in the year, all the songs he had been learning, how he was telling the world about how it was Héctor that was really the greatest musician of all time. How he sang 'Remember me' to his little sister Socorro every night.

They all got letters, along with little personalized touches from the kid.

So it was with great excitement that Héctor guided his family along to the ofrenda room. Following the petals with glee.

Besides maybe they'd find Miguel in there.

Héctor entered first, Imelda right behind him and he felt a happy sigh wisp through his bones.

While Miguel wasn't in the room (which made him a little sad), the ofrenda was still beautiful.

The bright orange petals of the marigolds gave a warm glow throughout the candle lit room. The flame light flickered just slightly in the reflection on the photo frames. Fresh pan dulce and food had been laid out before every ones pictures. The room may have been small but it was packed to the gills with flowers and offerings. Each person's signature shoe style had been placed in front of the photographs, from chanclas and sandals to boots and heels.

Héctors eyes instantly went to the top of the ofrenda, smiling at the picture of him and his girls (he really needed to remember to make a spirit copy of that photo this year). Through the glass of the frame he could see the torn marks where Imelda had ripped his head off. It had been carefully taped back together, and he could just picture Miguel sitting on the floor repairing it. As he approached the altar Héctor scanned through the photos. They were all there, Victoria's stern face, Rositas smile, Óscar and Felipe's twin expressions. Julio and Coco placed right next to each other, and a new picture right below theirs on the lowest level of the ofrenda.

Despite not even having one, Héctor instantly felt his gut drop.

Nestled between a plate of tamales and bouquet of flowers was a framed photograph of Miguel.

"No, no, no no…" A choked sound escaped Héctors throat as he lunged forward, reaching for the photograph only to have his hand phase right through it. "This has to be a mistake."

It looked like a picture from last Día de Muertos, Miguel in his red charro suit, skull guitar in hand. Smiling that one dimpled smile of his.

"Miguel?" Coco whispered, raising her hands to cover her gasp while Julio gripped her shoulder.

"No." Imelda said with a shake of her head. "No.. No this is a mistake. We would know if Miguel was… if something happened to Miguel." Her eyes darting to the photo as she frowned. "The Department of Family Reunions would have called us. We would know."

"Parece que sí…"

"Pero…"

"Why would his photo be here then." The twins whispered.

Héctor hadn't been able to take his eyes off the photo, shaking hands hovering over it.

This had to be a mistake. This couldn't be real.

Miguel couldn't be dead.

When the door opened all of their collective heads snapped up to see Elena shuffle in bearing an armful of marigolds.

She walked straight through the deceased Rivera's, towards the ofrenda and layed down her burden of flowers. They all watched in a tense silence as she reached a tentative hand out for the photo of the young guitarist.

"Ay mijo…" she sighed, breath escaping her as if a sadness. "Te hecho de menos…. I wish you were here with us. Te extraño."

As Elena held the photograph close to her heart her shoulders began to shake and a quiet sob fell from her lips.

Héctor's eyes met Imelda's. "It has to be… a mistake." she whispered.

The man was out the door and running back down the path of marigolds before anyone could say a word to stop him.