Chapter Text
Sun rays shone across the Encanto skies with brilliant light and fluffy clouds streaking along the blue horizon. The soft gust of wind blew and cascaded over Agustín's form as he walked down a small hill, hand wrapped around the sweet-scented flowers he retrieved not too long ago.
His feet felt heavy as leaves and twigs crunched underneath his feet, breaking into smaller pieces with the weight of his frame. And amidst swaying grasses and tree branches bending from delicate breezes, pockets of sunshine gleaming through, Agustín adjusted his glasses, squinting to see two familiar gravestones from a distance.
One had been weathered and beaten from age, while the other was freshly dug in with no cracks or rough edges around the stone. So purely new, engraved with etches of a name and date of death, yet it did not deserve its occupancy.
Agustín felt his heart thump against his ribcage, the sight making his stomach churn in all the wrong ways. It never ceased to amaze him how easily his eyes burned with tears whenever he saw the tombstone in the middle of wildlife.
Be as it may, no salty tears fell.
He forced the crisp air into his active lungs, but each breath made it seem like he was suffocating. His palms were sweaty, but his grip did not falter, and he only held the bouquet tighter within his hand. It should have been a simple task to leave flowers and pay respects to his loved ones, but it was the opposite. No matter how many times he visited the resting place of his youngest daughter and father-in-law, his heart would race and actively leave that dull ache of grief and remorse.
Agustín had gotten used to the atmosphere that had always been hefty with sorrow and dense with misery since his Mirabel passed on, lingering in the ambiance in which he lived in. But this felt different.
It wasn't the situation he and his family was in- it was just him.
This feeling pressed down on him personally. It left a searing burn against his skin and muscles- piercing straight into the depths of his soul, trying to unravel him like a caged animal wanting to be freed.
The veins within his very body flowed with blood and oxygen, pumping it into his heart, but it pained him with every beat.
But Agustín ignored it, continuing his way to the gravestones, stopping himself at the foot of the tomb. There was no time for tears-no time to feel his despair and the stinging throb of his contrition, not when he had his esposa and hijas that needed him. Even if there was a hole inside his chest cavity, leaving him vulnerable and fragile- he would persevere.
He would not fail Julieta or his daughters-his lights in this otherwise bleak world. The only difference is that this world added a new adjective to its name: cruel.
Utterly cruel and unforgiving.
They took one of the lights he held so deeply to his heart, snuffing that innocent bright flame and leaving nothing but persistent smoke that fogged and strangled him senselessly. Agustín wondered if he would ever see that light at the end of the tunnel, fueling him again with that hopeful view.
She had always been optimistic despite the shadows that carried themselves with her. So, so, so loving and brilliant.
He heaved a large sigh, knees cracking when he knelt in front of his daughter's stone, placing the fresh, dew flowers into the vase. He remembered joking that he felt younger than his actual age, but now he felt every year of his life within his bones. The wrinkles and greying follicles of hair that settled on his scalp showed it.
And now? Now, he would be a father again just when he lost his youngest daughter.
The father's breathing hitched. He frowned, reaching out with his hands, the pads of his fingers brushing against the rough surface of the stone. He turned his hand and grimaced upon seeing dirt and dust accumulate on his skin. He glanced up, the corners of his lenses catching that glare of the giant star but also catching dead leaves toppled on top of the stone. He swiped it with a grunt, and all the leaves floated to the ground, where his eyes saw more leaves and twigs scattered across the grassy land.
There was a gentle blow of wispy air. All the leaves carelessly spread around the area, having no deep regard for whose body rested six feet underground. The more Agustín stared at the surrounding place, the more he realised how unkempt it was. Weeds sprouted from the soft soil, wrapping around Pedro's gravestone and the trees encircling this sacred territory. And no sooner than later, Mirabel's grave would quickly be overtaken by the earth. Nature was gradually encompassing this field, and Agustín felt his eyebrows furrow in reply.
He straightened and clenched his hands into fists, looking out towards the dancing branches of the trees. Absentmindedly, he began to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, fighting back the fierce protectiveness that seemed to grow inside him at the thought of this cruel and bleak world taking whatever was left of his daughter. And to be honest, it wasn't very much, but he was going to keep what he had left of her.
Stick by stick, he picked them up and threw them out into the woods. Sweat formed along his hairline, but he cared less as he proceeded to pull out the weeds that he could get ahold of.
It stung. With each yank of a weed or plucked wood left red blisters and scrapes along with his palms and fingers, however, Agustín remained unphased and ignored the stabbing pains in his hands.
He tore another weed a little more forcefully than he intended to, the flare of his skin burning. But it didn't compare to the anguish that was rooted deep within the cracks of his heart.
So there he spent, not recognizing how the day was consumed with him bent over the ground, weeding and picking up stray branches around the area. His mind was on standalone mode, but he didn't mind it whatsoever, glad that it was a distraction and that he was doing it with purpose.
Gradually, the burial place was cleared of earthly material. There was still a lot to do, though, and he found himself thinking of tools to bring the next time he came. He liked it, Agustín realised, returning back to the casa just as the sun was setting on the horizon.
It would be nice- something he could be occupied with other than standing numbly in front of her stone and simply staring at it, brooding gloomily and wondering what more could he have done to save his daughter. He would finally be helpful to his daughter, even if he wished he could have helped her when she was alive. And if he failed to keep this place from being enveloped by the flourishing environment- just like how he was unable to save Mirabel- he was a poor excuse of a father.
Dark, heavy clouds hovered over the Encanto, the sign of rain clear in its unpleasant weather. However, that did not stop Agustín from visiting the private cemetery.
The streak of visiting Mirabel's and Pedro's burial grounds twice a week to clean up and leave flowers had been a strict routine he intended not to break. Did it make it easier? It did, in some ways; Agustín finally felt like he was accomplishing something, taking action for something he did not do in the past few months when he didn't do a damn about his youngest daughter and her struggles before she died. It was compensation- an ugly compensation.
He sometimes talked, explaining the plans of how he was going to fix this place up. Or what her sisters and madre were doing these days. And sometimes, even about the baby.
"Can you believe your old pa and ma gave you a sibling?" he asked one day, tone feigning cheerfulness. Then he would slump forward somberly, shaking his head. "We didn't either."
He imagined what her reaction would be, if she were excited or merely exasperated that they were 'still doing it' but nonetheless thrilled.
The image of a smirking Mirabel and exasperated Luisa and Isabela rolling her eyes at them, but each of them with broad smiles, popped up within his mind, and he inhaled sharply.
The sentiments from each of his daughters would have been amusing, though it would never be a reality. He could picture the corners of his Mirabel's lips hiding showing but happiness... because that was what she always had been; enthusiastic, hopeful, and loving- every emotion of his daughter, he knew how she expressed.
Agustín knew her turmoil too. And every time he saw it beneath the depths of her beautiful hazel brown irises, it truly panged him. The tiny wince that crinkled the skin around her eyes spoke volumes about her deep yearning to make her familia proud. It was nearly impossible for no one to not notice Mirabel's attempts.
Julieta had always joked about how openly expressive Mirabel was and how obviously she took after him because he couldn't keep a secret for his life just like her. Still, they didn't know the severity of their daughter's self-sacrificial side – something she took after Julieta - and the desperation in Mirabel.
If only...
Agustín pounded the shovel against the dirt, hitting the large root of the overgrown and nearly dead bush. He uprooted it with a deep scowl, throwing the plant overhead and letting it join in with the giant pile of weeds and unwanted greenery he extracted. Then he poured dirt over the hole, patting it to settle the soil. The process brought him back to when he dug a pit for Mirabel's casket, remembering how he had upheaved all the dirt before lowering her into the ground ever-so-gently and then pouring back the soil to seal her unjust fate.
He would never forget the tormenting wails his wife emitted, airing her grievances into the sky. He would never forget the looks on his daughters' faces: grief-stricken and rivulets of silent tears streaming down their cheeks, hugging their mamá close. And all he could do was comfort them, wrap his arms around his girls and do his best to be there- try to push away the unimaginable. He'd break off pieces of his heart just so his children's and wife's hearts would be whole- do anything to see them eased.
But how could he when he was just as shattered? He would try and piece it all together like tiny fragments of mirrored glass, only to see himself in the fractured reflection. It frustrated him, and he hated it; he wanted to see Julieta, his hijas- all of them - in that mirror, not him.
Maybe he was the problem, all coiled with repressed feelings and the need to distract himself with whatever he could to avoid this situation he was in. Because with no one, it was easier to convey the sheer amount of suffering- to admit his faults and heartache.
So, he became the present caretaker for his family- the shoulder to cry on and comforter. He wanted to become needed, to be numbed of his own grief for a little bit, and focus on the ones that mattered the most to him.
Even if one of them was gone.
Rain began to dust his frame, harsh wind whipping at his pant leg and dishevelled hair, but Agustín disregarded it. He wouldn't leave until the work was done.
Then, a loud, resounding thundering boom drilled into his hearing. The deafening noise shook the land beneath his feet, sending shivers up his spine and mind. Agustín yelped, losing grip on his shovel and landing on his side, the softening dirt saving the fall. Irritation grew inside him, and he let out a throaty growl, the tone frustrating and vexed. His fingers dug into the earth as he crawled onto his knees, almost sinking into the abating soil. He curled them into the moist land, not caring it would get stuck underneath his nails.
Being present at this moment made him feel old and entirely drained, reminded of what he was fixing up: a personalised cemetery that should never have been inhabited by his dead daughter's corpse. Yet, he here was.
"Why?" his voice cracked, eyes trailing to the miserable, dark sky. Rain spat on his glasses, but he didn't care- he wanted answers. "Why?!"
There was no answer but a rumble.
Agustín bowed his head, feeling the rain beat harder against his trembling form, knowing very well that he would not get any answers from the heavens. Still, it was worth trying once more to ask anyone above the question he, his wife, and his family wanted to know: why.
Why Mirabel?
A rough sob escaped the gap of his mouth, and he bent forward, shoulders wracking with shivers.
He missed her; he missed their time with each other, sewing and cleaning Casita together or even playing instruments. He missed those tender moments with her.
The father's face was dampened, but he didn't know whether it was from the heavy raindrops or the many tears he was weeping- the natural instinct whenever grief's presence was near. Choked sobs and breathless gasps of air echoed throughout the silent forest, joining the pitter-patter of rain hitting the surface of each object near him. He felt his throat burn and singe as he released his quelled grief, beckoning himself to fall apart and reunite with anguish once again.
Nevertheless, it felt good to unfold his woes and tears and allow this moment to just... feel. He hadn't had the time to do it before, but he knew it would come eventually.
And so it did.
Agustín didn't know how long he cried, the upheavals of raspy sobs and quaking lament coming and going rather abruptly. When he finished, he merely stared at the floor, lungs hitching as he breathed deeply, the floodgates dry and body too sore to let out any more tears.
He was unaware of how soaked his clothing and hair were. His glasses had splatters of rain stained on the lenses, and every joint and muscle protested when he moved.
The rain didn't stop, nor did the rolling thunders that came and went. However, that did not stop him.
As if nothing had happened, he picked himself up and plucked the shovel from the ground, gripping it with such strength that it started to shake.
He resumed his work.