So this is pretty unintentional. I wrote a one-shot for "Coco" and assumed it would be enough to satisfy my brain for a while. I was wrong. I was very wrong.

This is more of a "what if" scenario. We know that Coco was forgetting at the end, that for a moment it seemed as if she had truly forgotten Héctor and his fate was sealed. But Miguel managed to spark her memory and it was enough to save him.

But what if it was already too late. What if she'd forgotten him just long enough?

So this story is inspired by the fanfiction "Unforgettable" by Upperstories on Archive of Our Own, visuals and tidbits from "The Book of Life," the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, some mild influence from Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" series for a character, and research about Mexican culture (though with some artistic license and hopefully no disrespect). All these things ended up being swirled together until I ended up with something that I hope that you might like.

I Promised

Héctor knew that the end had been approaching for quite some time. It was part of the reason that he'd been growing more and more desperate with his attempts to cross the marigold bridge. The evidence was quite clear. He could see it in how his bones had faded to a dull shade of yellow. He could see it in how easily his body chipped, cracked, and broke in ways that would either heal slowly or not at all. And he could feel it in the chill that slowly started settling into his bones. The signs of gradually being forgotten were noticeable long before the glowing and shimmering began.

He just never expected it to happen while surrounded by his family, both those he recognized and those he never had the chance to meet before that night. And he certainly didn't expect it to happen backstage of the yearly Sunset Spectacular, near the ledge of the coliseum on one of the tallest buildings in the city. Apparently the Final Death had a flair for the dramatic.

"No, no, no, I can't leave you," pleaded Miguel, either ignoring or no longer caring that the sky was changing colors as dawn swiftly approached. "I promised I'd put your picture up. I promised you'd see Coco."

Another brief flare of light engulfed his body and made Héctor gasp. At least he was already on the ground, so he didn't collapse on the hard stone again. But it was certainly getting worse.

"We're both out of time, míjo."

"No. No! She can't forget you," said Miguel with tears in his eyes.

She could and she was. Honestly, it was a miracle she had remembered as long as she had. His little girl was only three years old when he left. She was so small and beautiful. Even if she could no longer remember him after over ninety years apart, he could never forget how much he loved his Coco.

He should have never left her. He should have been there every single day of her life, making sure that she would always remember the most important thing in the world.

"I just wanted her to know that I loved her."

Reaching for a cempazúchitl petal took more of his energy than Héctor could have imagined, but he managed to wrap his bony fingers around it.

"Héctor," sobbed Miguel, conflicted etched on his fading features.

The boy wanted to stay and help somehow, but he also didn't want to die. Because that was what would happen to his great-great-grandson if he didn't leave immediately. He had to go home or he would die.

"You have our blessing, Miguel," Héctor said tiredly.

"No conditions," added Imelda.

The cempazúchitl petal glowed in his hand. But when he tried to raise it, his limb was too shaky and weak. Imelda, kneeling beside her husband, took his hand in hers.

"No, Papá Héctor," Miguel begged. "Please!"

Their clasped hands brought the glowing petal towards the boy, even as he leaned back from it slightly. He honestly didn't know how to give up.

Giving his clever and talented descendant a weak smile, Héctor said, "Go home…"

"I promise," Miguel said stubbornly even as the petal was pressed towards him. "I won't let Coco forget—"

His words were cut off as they touched the cempazúchitl petal to the protesting boy's chest, Miguel vanishing in a swirl of orange. The marigold petals settled to the stone as sunlight officially broke the horizon. He barely escaped in time, but Miguel was safe and home.

Héctor might have failed his family and messed up countless times, but at least he did one thing right. He got his great-great-grandson home. History wouldn't repeat for the boy. He wouldn't end up like Héctor, alone and forgotten.

Imelda let go of his hand and it instantly dropped down to his side. He didn't have the energy to hold it up. Nor could he keep his head up any longer. His hat slipped off as his strength crumbled and he slumped backwards. Héctor nearly collapsed to the ground completely like a puppet with no strings, but she caught him and pulled him close.

"Easy," said Imelda, settling him so that his back leaned against her and his head was tucked against her shoulder. "He's gone home. You did good."

"For once," he said quietly.

He felt her stiffen behind him at his words, one arm wrapping around his chest protectively. It was so easy for some people to forget in the face of her temper and indominable will that Imelda could also be soft and kind in turn, the fire in her both wild and soothing. But not him. He would never forget anything to do with his wife or child. Those memories had been all he could hold onto for decades.

But before she could say anything, another flare of golden-orange light overtook his body. The first few time it happened were intense enough to knock him down like a punch to the gut would have back when he actually had guts. But the pain had dulled by now. His bones were too numb, cold, and tired for the spasms to truly hurt anymore. But they still shook his weakening body, leaving him gasping for breath and slumping limply as the shimmering light eventually faded.

Gentle fingers reached up and brushed the hair from his face as he struggled to recover. He was so tired, but he had to admit the gesture was comforting. His last hour of existence had let him spend more time with her than he had experienced in decades.

An hour with the woman he loved, even as she struggled with ancient fury and new knowledge, was more than he expected.

"You had better hold on, idiota," said Imelda, the bite in her words not enough to truly sting. "Don't you dare think about leaving me again."

Even if he couldn't turn his head far enough to see her, Héctor gave a sad smile at her words. The rest of the family saw it though. They looked away quickly from the scene, unable to watch what was happening as the sun kept creeping over the horizon. He could recognize it in their expressions. They didn't want to see the inevitable conclusion.

"I don't… want to, mi amor," he whispered. "I… never want… to leave… leave you again... But I… I don't think it's… up to me."

She tightened her grip, hugging him close. As if she could keep him in place by the power of her stubbornness and fire. Héctor had long suspected Imelda could stop the sun's journey across the sky if she truly wanted it and put her mind to the task. There was very little that could stand in her way if she made a decision. But neither he nor Imelda could stop what was happening.

But Héctor was thankful for her hold. He had missed his Imelda's embrace. He wished he could return it. He wanted to hold her almost as much as Héctor wanted to hug Coco again. But he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone anything else.

"Miguel said he would wouldn't let Coco forget. There is still time," said Imelda. Was her voice, normally so forceful and certain, wavering as she spoke? "He can still remind her. Then I can spend the next few decades telling you how angry I still am with you."

He wanted to hold onto that hope. For decades, hope was all Héctor had. Hope to cross the bridge. Hope to see his daughter again. But holding onto fleeting and fading hope was hard. Héctor didn't have the energy to try anymore.

His eyes slid closed. Imelda's arms were the only things supporting him. He was so tired. Whatever memories that Coco once held were nearly gone, meaning he was slipping away quickly.

Was this how Chicharrón felt right near the end? Was this how all those poor souls he saw succumb to the Final Death felt? Cold, numb, tired, and just so…

"I'm sorry, mi amada," he said, his voice unable to rise about a weak whisper. "For everything… I never… never deserved you."

"Idiota," said Imelda. There was definitely a choked wavering to the word, but no sharpness. "El burro sabe más que tú. You will stop sounding so dumb this instant. You are talking like my papá and I stopped listening to that man when I was sixteen. The only one who decides who I deserve is myself." She brushed back his hair again. "And I should have listened to you sooner. Even if I was angry with you, I should have let you speak. I shouldn't have let my heartache and pain turn to so much spite."

He never wanted to hurt her. He always planned to come home. He told Imelda and Coco that it was only for a little while, that he and Ernesto had to take this chance. The man was his best friend and had been like an older brother in many ways; Héctor had to go with him. He wanted to share his music. But no matter what he intended, Héctor left them and never came back. He hurt them both so much.

And now he would never be able to make amends. Not that he deserved forgiveness; forgiveness that would never come from them.

Even with his eyes closed, he could tell when his bones flared with light again. His body spasmed in Imelda's hold and left him panting when it died back down.

Struggling to get his breath back enough to speak, Héctor whispered, "She… won't… remember…"

"Don't say that. There is still time, my Héctor. You still have time," said Imelda, shaking slightly.

He wanted to smile at her. Actually, there were many things that he wanted. He wanted a glimpse of Miguel embracing both his family and music in ways that Héctor wished he could have. He wanted more time with his wife, to give her a final kiss and maybe see that familiar warmth in her eyes once more. He wanted to hold his daughter again.

He wanted to have his family back. His entire being seemed to ache and cry out for them.

But it just wasn't meant to be.

"I'm… afraid… mi alma," he said weakly, exhaustion pulling him down as a steadier glow overtook his bones, "I… don't…"

And no matter how much he wanted to stay with Imelda, no matter how desperately he wanted to see his Coco, Héctor felt something snap like a guitar string tightened too far.

Julio was incredibly thankful that though his sister directed the camera at the earlier confrontation, a useful decision that exposed Ernesto de la Cruz and his crimes to everyone, Rosita had since turned the camera away after Miguel's rescue. This wasn't a moment for the public. This was a family moment. Even if only Imelda and maybe her two brothers actually knew the fading family member.

Holding his hat in his hands, Julio kept glancing at his mother-in-law as she held the glowing skeleton desperately. He couldn't bring himself to watch too closely what was clearly becoming a private moment for the long-separated husband and wife, but he also couldn't look away for long. Trying to ignore and forget was what led to this tragedy in the first place.

He had to remember this moment so he could tell Coco someday, no matter how sad it might be. His wife deserved to know what happened to her father.

The matriarch of the family didn't seem to realize that she had an audience anymore, all her attention on the skeleton in her arms. Even after seeing Imelda pretending for decades that her husband never existed, Julio wasn't surprised by her reaction. Love was difficult to completely extinguish. Somewhere under all her anger and pain, those old feelings never died. They were just waiting.

She was a passionate woman, even in death. Burning rage. Fierce protectiveness. Unwavering determination. Julio had witnessed all of them. Imelda did nothing in moderation. In fact, there was only one reaction that he had never seen from her.

But when the glowing skeleton in her arms, the one that she hadn't completely forgiven and yet still cared about, dissolved into dust…

Julio ducked his head sadly as his mother-in-law wept from loss, her heart breaking over Héctor a second time.

She watched the falling soul, another lost and fading light among so many. Memories could hold them up like ropes forming a net, keeping them in the hearts and minds for countless generations. Memories could keep them close to their families and loved ones. This soul had been dangling by a single fraying thread for longer than most would manage. But she saw the moment that the final memory slipped away.

She also saw someone spark the lost memory once more, like someone throwing a line to a drowning man. The poor soul was remembered and those memories were quickly shared among his living family. It was a desperate and clever attempt at a rescue for someone ignored for so long.

But it wasn't enough. The memories fell short of reaching him as the lost soul slipped away. Too little, too late. He was already gone from the Land of the Dead, fading light and dust dissolving in the wind.

His soul had entered her realm.

She reached out, catching this falling soul as she did all who reached this place. Every single one was welcomed personally by her. They were her responsibility and they deserved her attention.

Not all souls came to her when they were forgotten. Only those that belonged nowhere else. Only those who needed the peace, the rest, and the comfort that any other existence would deny them. She took in the broken, the discarded, the tired, and the ones who needed to forget what came before. She guarded the forgotten outcasts.

She remembered and knew them because no one else would.

She held the poor shapeless soul gently, his previous despairing regret and desperate desire for those he loved already growing less intense. The little golden light dimmed as his memories grew fuzzy and indistinct, her realm already calming and easing his pain. She waited quietly, holding the lost soul close like a mother would an upset child. She waited until he slipped into the same peaceful and dreamless slumber as her other outcasts. It was the only comfort that she could give so many: forgetting their life and afterlife as they slept in her realm. Until they were ready for brighter and more joyful places, they would have calm and rest.

She smiled sadly at her newest arrival. He came so close. He and the boy tried so hard. But he came to her regardless.

She knew everything about him, just as she knew the others under her care. In fact, she was familiar with everyone who would or already had come to the end of their mortal life. Even those who would never come to her realm. But she'd always had a soft spot for the souls that could not find relief in life or death, those that deserved far more comfort than she could give them.

Yes, she knew this lost little soul. She knew his entire existence.

Héctor was orphaned early in his life, too young to remember his parents, but his natural affinity for music offered him opportunities. And his ambitious and mildly talented best friend, one viewed almost as an older brother, encouraged Héctor to follow those opportunities with him. People recognized his gift and hard work enough that the growing boy could earn a humble living by performing at different events in Santa Cecilia. Including when he was hired at fourteen to play at a quinceañera for a wild and passionate girl who started singing along to his music.

His heart belonged to her before the end of the night.

And though he had little to offer and his friend laughing declared that he had gone crazy, he wanted to let her know how he felt. She inspired the creation of a song that he used to express that love. In very little time, they were inseparable. Her father never approved of the idea of his daughter settling for a young musician with no family, even threatening to cut her out of his life. Her father warned that she would be left poor and heartbroken. But Imelda Rivera was never one to let others dictate her life.

Héctor and Imelda eventually married, finally giving the orphan a family in the form of a wife and two brother-in-laws who chose to stand by their sister rather than their bitter father. He adored his new family, their lives filled with laughter and song. He even adopted her family name. And just when he thought he couldn't be any happier, they had a daughter.

But that short happiness came to an end when he trusted the wrong person. A childhood friend who whispered in his ear, coaxing him to share his music with the world. Just for a little while, he promised. Just think of what we can do together with your music and my charisma, he said. Imagine others getting the chance to love your songs as much as your family and the people in our hometown, he urged.

So Héctor left, lured away by those sweet words and a dream to share his music with others. But he left with the intention to come back. And when Héctor tried to return home to his family, a strong and fast-acting poison ended twenty-one years of life.

The betrayal took everything from him: his life, his home, his family, his songs, and any chance to make things right. Because he left and never returned, heartbreak and fury spurred his wife to believe the worst and lash out. She disposed of all hints of the man and music, trying to forget about him and ensure that her family would do the same.

The man never gave up. He tried to see his daughter, year after year. When the rest of his family shunned him, his daughter gave him hope. Her memories kept him in existence and the idea of seeing his daughter again kept him from collapsing in despair. But it was not enough to preserve him forever.

The soul in her hands rested quietly. Héctor was like so many others, deserving something far better than what had befallen him. But there was also something unique about his circumstances. Several things, actually.

Even if his daughter forgot for a moment too long, he was remembered once more. Those memories were already being shared among the living. It would have been enough to keep him in the Land of the Dead for a long time if it happened just a little sooner.

And his great-great-grandson, the one who stirred up so much change and revealed the truth, managed to end up partially alive and partially dead for an entire night of Día de Muertos. That amount of time in the Land of the Dead left marks on the living. It changed the boy in small and subtle ways. And he bore the blessing of both Imelda and Héctor Rivera, his two relatives managing to send him home together.

Yes, the boy was indeed special. Not in ways that any human alive or dead would notice, but she wasn't human and never was. And though the curse that brought young Miguel Rivera so close to the grave was not enough to prevent his great-great-grandfather's fate, perhaps the lingering effects of his journey would make a difference.

She wanted to help all the souls who fell into her realm, but she could only do so much for them. Even as ancient, powerful, and endless as she might be, she could not go against the natural order completely. But for this one lost soul with these rather unique circumstances, perhaps just a little more could be done.

But there were still rules and limitation. For such a miracle, for there was no better word for what she was considering, there would have to be an exchange. There would be a price to pay and only one who could do it. And it would be up to him to do so.

But there would be time before anything could happen. Día de Muertos was over for the year and it would be a while before all the chaos of that night truly died down. She would wait for now. She would watch over all her poor forgotten dead as they slept. Eventually she would see if this single broken and lost soul would find a better fate.

Remember, writers appreciate feedback. I want to hear what you think so far. Hopefully you're enjoying the story so far. And I certainly hope that you'll like what is to come.