Work Text:
The past few hours were a horrible blur for Pepa.
She remembered she had spent most of the day with her sister, going after her everywhere, following her step in step, wanting to be a comfort, wanting to be a supportive sibling that Julieta, of all people, deserved the most.
It wasn’t easy. It was all so surreal.
To think that just like that in a few minutes their world turned upside down as their Casita ceased to exist.
Although Pepa had that thought that for her sister that day was like the end of the world. Julieta’s youngest child, her dear Mirabel died, crushed by debris falling down from their house.
Pepa couldn’t think–
No, she could think what she would have done if it had been one of her children that died that day and the mere thought was so painful and unacceptable for her that she panicked and started muttering “clear skies” all over again, forgetting that her gift was no more.
One picture was still stuck in her head. When she looked at Mirabel after all debris was moved aside… It was a sight she would never forget. It was a moment when all hope was crushed.
And it tormented her how quiet their family became in just a few moments.
When once were laughs and talks, and smiles, now there were grimaces, tears and cries.
She tried to stay strong - for her children, for her sister, for their entire family, having deep in her heart that her breakdown could bring devastation, only to be remembered a few seconds later that there wasn’t a cloud above her head and the weather didn’t answer to her anymore.
Pepa stepped in front of the door to the house where her sister and her family were located for the night but she stopped before she even tried to knock on the door.
She wondered if she should disturb Julieta at this hour when the evening was getting darker and darker and Encanto was slowly falling asleep.
She doubted that the Madrigals would have much sleep that night, but at the same time, she hoped her sister would rest. Although she doubted that too.
Julieta was the calmest and most responsible of their trio but she had her limits too. And Pepa knew her sister and knew how she valued her family, how she loved her daughters, how she cared for poor Mirabel. That night would be sleepless for her.
Pepa leaned against the wall near the door, still wondering if she should come in or come back to her own children and husband. They were waiting for her and she knew Félix was worried but she didn’t want to come back yet.
She didn’t know what else she wanted to do.
She had this urge to see her sister and cuddle with her as they did when they were younger and as they used to do when they both were expecting at the same time.
But she couldn’t look at the heartbreak that was so visible on Julieta’s face. She couldn’t look at Agustín’s hunched posture as he sat on a chair with his face in his hands, she couldn’t look at Isabela or Luisa as they sat together on the floor near their mother and kept their silence, like two statues.
Pepa turned around and pressed her back to the wall.
Their village was covered in darkness with only a few lamps to lighten it up, but even that light seemed weaker and dimmer that day.
Involuntarily, she looked at the candle that was glowing in the distance, near the entrance to Encanto.
The candle that was lit up in their church.
The candle that was burning for Mirabel.
Her breath hitched as she pushed herself away from the wall and started walking, then walking faster, and faster, and faster until she was running, although her breathing was short and unstable and soon enough she broke down into tears.
But having in mind that her outbursts were nothing good, she stopped, just on the bridge, leaned over the barrier where she rested her elbows, grasped her hair with both hands and started tugging, breathing deeply.
“Clear skies,” she muttered all over again. “Clear head. Clear skies,” her mantra was getting more desperate as her words weren’t convincing enough to calm herself down. “Clear head, estúpida!” she growled, gripping her head tighter. “Mierda!”
She tugged harder on her hair. At this point, her locks weren’t in a loose braid anymore, so her thick, red hair fell all over her face and she could sink her fingers deep into her hair and dig her nails into her scalp.
The pain was a good distraction for her, it had always been. It had always worked. Just a little longer and she would be able to return to her family. Just a little longer…
“Mami?”
She jumped as if burned as she heard that little voice somewhere behind her. She wiped her eyes frantically, trying to look her best before turning to her youngest son.
“Toñito!” she gasped, breathing deeply. “What are you doing here alone in the middle of the night?”
He shrugged, getting closer to her and wrapped his little arms around her legs.
Pepa reached out to his head and slipped her hand into his soft, curly hair. He hid his face in her dress and breathed shakily.
Antonio was probably as devastated as Julieta when he discovered that Mirabel was dead. The poor boy spent almost his whole short life with his cousin and they were very close, as Pepa noticed over the years. They were more like siblings than Camilo or Dolores were to Antonio or Isabella and Luisa had been to Mirabel.
And it must have crushed him to lose her.
It broke her heart even more to see him like that.
“Oh, niño,” she said, then she slipped down against the bridge and let him crawl into her lap. “I love you so much.”
He leaned closer to her, tucking his head under his mother’s chin. “I miss her,” he said simply, quietly.
Pepa turned her head, resting her cheek on his hair. “I miss her too.”
They sat like that for a while, without any words and Pepa was sure Antonio fell asleep but as soon as she wanted to get up, he breathed. “I feel lonely, Mami.”
She hugged him tighter. “You’re not alone, hijo,” she said, kissing his head. “You have me and papá, and Dolores, and Camilo, and–”
“But Mirabel’s–gone–” he broke down in tears and Pepa felt her own eyes watering at that.
“Ay, Toñito,” she breathed, drawing circles on his back with her index finger. “It’s–” she hesitated before uttering the next words. “It’s alright to feel upset. You lost someone important. We lost a member of our familia. It would upset anyone.”
He was silent for a moment, before asking shyly. “Then why are you here and not with the rest of family?”
Her smart little boy.
She wanted to tell him it was because of how frightened she was, how out of control she was and that it wasn’t exactly safe to be close to her when she was such an emotional wreck, but then she realized, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, that her gift was no more and there was nothing about her outburst beside emotions.
No clouds, no hurricanes, no floods, no storms.
Just her true emotions and that, somehow, scared her even more. She was too unstable to go back to people, she was too nervous to interact with her family, seeing their emotions, their pain which fueled her like dry branches fueled the fire. But telling Antonio that… It was a burden that shouldn’t be put on a child’s shoulders.
So she lied without batting an eye. “Because I like to look at the river at night,” she said instead.
Antonio sniffed. “I heard tía Julieta on my way here,” he said after a while. “She was crying.”
“She would be like that for some time,” she said delicately, feeling her throat tighten at the thought of having to move on, to grasp whatever future held for them.
“You were crying, too.”
She huffed with a little broken smile. “Aren’t you clever, Toñito?”
There was a silence again.
Antonio’s breathing started to even out slowly and Pepa looked down at him only to swallow back the sob when she saw how hard was he pinching himself, probably unconsciously, on the verge of sleep.
Of all the things he could have taken after her…
She knew her night would be sleepless, too.