The Next Adventure

Waiting

A few people have asked for me to continue this, so I'm taking a page from the book of writers like Nicnac on AO3, and making a prequel.
Also, if any of you have ideas of your own that you want to write for this world, as long as you give me credit for inspiring you I say go for it.

OoOoOoOo

Maria Alzamirano was back at the entrance to the Land of the Dead, carrying a fresh basket of pan de muertos and a thermos full of tea.

Carmela sighed a little when she saw her approach; so far she had come every day for the past month, and it looked like she wasn't planning to stop anytime soon.

Señora Alzamirano daintily made her way to the figure sitting against one of the gates and offered him the food.

"Thanks," he grunted, picking up a loaf and tearing into it without much thought.

"Are you sure that you do not want to come visit the house now, Mr. Pines?" she asked, folding her hands together in front of her. "A large sailboat and the beginnings of a river appeared in our backyard today; I am sure they are for you."

His eyes lit up a tiny bit, but he shook his head firmly. "It's fine, I'll come see 'em when Ford gets here."

Señora Alzamirano bent down a little and put a bony (yet still somehow maternal) hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Pines, por favor. I am sure that your brother would not want you to stay here and do nothing."

Mr. Pines just took a swallow of tea, and showed no indication of moving.

After a moment, Señora Alzamirano sighed and patted his shoulder once before removing her hand. "I will return tomorrow."

Mr. Pines lowered the thermos. "You don't have to, ya know. I'm fine."

"You are family now, Mr. Pines," she said, giving him a stern look. And then she picked up the basket from yesterday, and turned away back home.

Seeing that nobody new seemed to be arriving just yet, Carmela decided to go on her break and pay Mr. Pines a visit.

What could she say; she had a bit of a soft spot for people here who were separated from their loved ones.

********

Stan leaned back against the gatepost, eating his snack, and watched the empty bridge in front of him.

He knew Soos's grandma meant well, but she didn't seem to understand. It was refreshing, just being able to sit and do nothing for a while.

For most of his life, he'd been working and searching and trying-first to earn millions of dollars to prove to his family and himself that he could, then to fix the machine that cost him his brother, then to keep secrets from his niece and nephew, and then to get his memories back. And yeah, the last years of his life had been great despite the crazy adventures he'd finally gotten to have with his twin, and he couldn't wait to have more...but he liked not having to work and search and try anymore.

There was nothing he had to do now, no more urgency, and there was nothing he needed to do to get Ford back. He could just wait, and sooner or later his brother would come to him.

Besides, in his one meeting with the rest of the Ramirez clan, he hadn't felt like he really belonged. A few of them had kept whispering to each other, asking why this gringo was supposed to be part of their family now, among even less flattering comments. He'd decided to wait a while before he let them know he spoke Spanish, just so he could gloat over the looks on their faces.

Some were more friendly, the ones who had spent more time visiting Soos and therefore understood their relationship better, but he still felt like a fish out of water.

Stan looked up and saw that Carmela was coming over to visit. She'd started doing that about a week after he arrived; she'd wander over during her break, and just sit and share stories with him. It had been a little confusing at first, since in his experience people usually weren't that friendly unless they wanted something, but he couldn't see any alternative motive in her talking to some weird old codger. And he had to admit, he kind of enjoyed the company. She reminded him a little bit of Wendy, except a lot less lazy as an employee.

"Hey, slick," he said, offering her the thermos.

"Gracias." She sipped the tea and sat down next to him, stretching out her legs with a sigh. "You would think being here would mean never getting achy feet again."

"Hey, this is the Land of the Dead, not Paradise," Stan said, before munching more pan de muertos.

Carmela laughed softly.

********

For a while they just sat and shared their meal, until she looked over at him.

"You know, you're really lucky."

"...That's not a phrase I hear about myself much," Stan retorted.

"You are," she insisted. "You were in real danger of being forgotten, if you'd been brought here before that one summer."

Stan gave her a nonplussed stare.

Carmela cleared her memory of a throat. "This is a place built on memories, and the stories of those who knew and loved us in life. And when they pass those stories on to others, it continues the cycle, and helps to preserve us. But when there's no one left alive who remembers us, or if nobody has heard our stories and passed them on...we fade away. We just disappear, and nobody knows where we go to. And from the sound of things, there was nobody in the land of the living who knew who you really were, and nobody at all who remembered your brother. So you were both at risk for being forgotten."

Stan felt his no-longer-existent stomach churn. "But-there were plenty of people who knew and interacted with me. I was Mr. Mystery, the guy running the best tourist trap in Oregon. And-and it's not like Ford was just drifting through the multiverse never seeing or talking to anyone, he's probably still got wanted posters in all those dimensions."

Carmela touched his arm gently. "It doesn't always work like that. They were people who knew your faces and heard your voices, but they didn't know who you truly were. Nobody did until you told your niece and nephew, did they?"

Stan shook his head after a second. For the umpteenth time, he mentally kicked himself for once again doing something that could have screwed over Ford and himself beyond belief.

"Ay, calm down," Carmela said, rubbing his shoulder, "what's important is that it didn't happen. You told your stories to those who love you, and they'll pass them on in turn, won't they?"

"...They better," Stan said with a wry smile.

********

"Carmela!"

A woman in a suit that matched hers was calling from the arrivals station, looking annoyed. "We've got a lot of people who need help being processed, and we don't pay you to sit and talk to homeless gringos all day!"

"Sorry, Yesenia!" Carmela gave Stan an apologetic smile as she rose.

He shrugged indifferently. "Not the worst thing I've been called."

"Still." She took a last sip of tea, leaving the rest for him. "Let me know if you want a book or anything else I can get you."

"Thanks." Stan went back to just waiting.

OoOoOoOo

I don't know if the 'being forgotten' process actually works like that, but the way things are for these boys it seemed like a possibility, and what kind of sadist writer would I be if I didn't include it? *Cackle cackle*
Also, quite a few writers have given Soos's abuelita the name Maria, and I figured, hey, why the heck not.