Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Tío Bruno, what are you doing?”

“Ay! Mirabel, please don’t- don’t sneak up on me like that…”

The girl in question tilted her head, smiling apologetically despite her obvious and well-founded confusion. Readily accepting that it was her fault Bruno was spacing out and unaware of his surroundings. “Sorry, Tío,” she said, but Bruno was already shaking his head.

“No, no, ‘s not your fault,” he murmured. “I’m just a little jumpy. You know?”

“I’m still sorry,” she smiled. Her tone had the same calm finality to it that Julieta’s did whenever she decided an argument was pointless. And just like her mamá, Mirabel expertly pulled the focus back to the situation at hand.

The situation being Bruno, standing in front of the door to his room, as he had done for the past fifteen minutes or so. Staring, lost in thought, and utterly unable to enter. It was really no wonder she had questioned what was going on, Bruno imagined it probably looked strange. His hand had moved to open the door several times already. Every time, he’d be unable to touch the doorknob, hand falling limply to his side again. Or running nervously through his hair. Or clutching at the weathered fabric of his ruana.

He could physically touch it. The magic may be back, but contrary to what it felt like, there was no actual barrier between him and the room beyond. Aside from the door itself. A regular door in anything but its magical engravings. Slowly, he let his gaze lift to face the grim expression of his depiction on the wood.

When Casita was rebuilt, it was done so with the original structure in mind. Everyone had helped, making sure the layout would be as similar as possible to how it had been. Seeing as the house had basically created itself, there were no blueprints to follow. Still, most of its inhabitants were familiar enough with the house to relay which room should go where, and how it should look.  

Bruno was surprised to find his knowledge of the house not only acknowledged but greatly appreciated. He might know more than most, a fact that the others quickly discovered and used to their advantage in planning.

For one, he’d grown up there. Ever since he was a child, he’d always found nooks and crannies, otherwise gone unnoticed, in his search for quiet places to just be alone. Most people wouldn’t know the exact size of the space beneath staircases, unless they spent hours there, hiding from the world. Secondly, of course, he’d resided in the actual walls for ten years. That was plenty time to memorize the general size of the house and the more finnicky structural details.

His pathways in the walls were not included in the new build. It was only thanks to Casita’s magic that they had been there in the first place, as they didn’t make much sense from a structural point of view. The house had stretched to accommodate him, that night, ten years ago. Whether it did so because it simply didn’t want him to leave the house or the Encanto, or because it needed someone to find and patch the cracks, Bruno would never truly know.

Even if he had wanted the pathways to be included, seeing the rubble of his old room in the walls had been enough to make the family swear never to let him go through that again. Bruno would never forget the way his mamá burst into tears over the remains of his table and makeshift plate, which had somehow avoided being shattered to splinters. As he’d held her afterwards, let her cling to him and shower him with apologies, he’d been torn between regret that she had to see it and selfish relief.

Bruno had no desire to go back to living in the walls, separated from his family. Sometimes, though, a part of him wished the pathways were still there. That his small living space was still available, even just temporarily. At least then, he’d have a place to retire to for the night, other than secretly sleeping on the sofa or in the hammock in the garden, as he’d done for the past week since Casita was officially restored and everyone had moved back into their own rooms. As he should have done. As everyone assumed he had done.

The room had been built basically in the same place it had been. Due to Mirabel’s insistence, however, the door itself was no longer hidden away in a dark, secluded corridor, instead being slightly closer to the walkway, with only a couple of steps leading up to it. That, thankfully, hadn’t changed when the magic returned, just as the engravings looked the same as they had before Casita broke.

When rebuilding their home, the previously magically proportioned rooms had to be restricted to fit the house. Although everyone got a say in how they wanted their room to be, they still fully expected them to be ordinary bedrooms. Mostly everyone had been happy with that, content in the knowledge that there was a lot more to each of them than the magical abilities they’d had. None had been more content than Bruno.

Then, the magic returned, once again encompassing the entire building, making it come alive. With it, the doors and subsequently their rooms, awoke and transformed once again. The moment each family member touched the doorknob, the engravings were back. There were some differences, however, reflecting altered perspectives or newfound confidence. Isabela’s engravings were no longer perfectly symmetrical, and her expression looked fiercer. Less perfect, but no less beautiful. Luisa’s looked more relaxed. Pepa’s not quite as tranquil, and Dolores’ slightly more so. In general, they looked… happier. Even if the changes were subtle, the mood was markedly different.

His was the exception to this rule, it seemed. The figure on his door was just as solemn, just as imposing as it had been since he was five. In discovering this, his expectations of whatever awaited on the other side, had faltered. He hadn’t yet dared to enter to find his suspicions confirmed.

“Tío Bruno?” Mirabel’s voice was soft, but he couldn’t help the flinch at yet again being pulled out of his own spiralling thoughts.

“Hm?” he asked, in what he hoped was a neutral tone. Tearing his gaze away to look at her, and regretting it once he noticed the concern in his sobrina’s expression.

“Is something wrong with your door?” She followed his expression to the engravings, and for some reason it made him nervous. Somehow, he felt the engravings were shameful, and he found himself wishing the door really was hidden away in the dark, the way it had been. It would have made it less obvious to everyone walking past that the only figure on any of the doors that looked utterly unhappy, was him. When really, he should be the happiest of all, being back with his family, welcomed warmly with forgiveness and readiness to include him in their lives.

“What? No, no, nothing’s wrong, why- why would anything be wrong?” he could hear the tremor in his voice, despite his desperate attempts to sound normal. It was far from convincing. “I was just about to- to retire, for the night, and I uh… I must have spaced out. Guess I was more- more tired than I thought.”

His hand twitched, yet again, to touch the doorknob. And, yet again, he couldn’t. His fingers hovered over the glinting metal, trembling and pathetic. He stared at the offending appendage as a mixture of shame, anger and despair twisted his insides, to the point where he felt somewhat nauseous.

Mirabel was silent beside him. He could feel her gaze studying the situation. Could practically hear her mind connecting the dots. Then, just as Bruno was about to pull the hand back, he found it wrapped between her warmer, smaller ones. After a breath, she looked up at him. “You… don’t want to go inside?”

Bruno swallowed and deflated like a balloon without air. Shook his head slowly before letting his gaze fall shamefully to the floor.

“Why?” The question was soft, and Bruno’s responding huff of self-deprecating laughter felt harsh in comparison.

“Why?” he repeated quietly. “You went inside before, right? Surely it’s obvious?” At her startled silence, guilt joined the rest of dizzying emotions and he immediately backtracked. “Sorry- I’m sorry, I… didn’t mean to sound so bitter. It’s not your fault my room is the way it is.”

Mirabel just held his hand tighter, eyes big and compassionate in a way that meant Bruno was unable to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds before once again looking away. She was so much like Julieta in that way; embodying the same will to heal and help. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have any magical ability to do so. That compassion and sense of purpose was a gift in itself.

“Have you actually been in there at all since the magic returned?” she suddenly asked, as if the thought only now occurred to her. As he shook his head again, she looked stunned. “Then, where have you been sleeping?”

“Here and there,” Bruno shrugged. “The sofa’s actually pretty comfortable compared to- to…” he drifted off, realizing her expression was starting to turn almost heartbroken, and the words ‘the floor in the walls’ surely wouldn’t help. Saying that he’d used to sleep in the old armchair in there just as often as the small pile of blankets on the floor, probably wouldn’t be much more reassuring.

The silence spoke for itself, though. Where the others had only seen enough of the broken remains to partially connect the dots, with the use of some imagination, Mirabel was the only one who had actually seen how he had been living. He could tell from the slight shine in her eyes that she knew exactly where he’d been sleeping.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, after taking a few breaths to steady herself. “I would have let you sleep in my room. I’m used to sharing, remember?”

It was a nod to her time using the nursery as a bedroom, since she never received her own, something that still hurt Bruno to think about. Mirabel had convinced him repeatedly that it was fine, and that it had felt like her room in all ways that counted anyway. That she and Antonio got along great, so sharing the room with him never bothered her.

Even so, Bruno recalled the tears rolling down her smiling cheeks when, while rebuilding Casita, she was finally given her own space. There may be no magical marks on the door, but her name was carefully engraved into the wood, along with a startingly detailed image of a butterfly. Bruno had seen Camilo spend hours after helping out with the rest of the house, trying to get that butterfly just right. His fingers bandaged in several places, and his tired eyes utterly focused as he worked.

She finally had a room all to herself. There was no way Bruno could have imposed on that.

“It’s fine. I’m just being stupid, anyway. I have a room, just like the rest. I should just- just use it, like a normal person, but…” his voice wobbled, the sentence fading away and leaving the silence between them tense and uncomfortable until Mirabel broke it with her soft observation.

“You’re… scared?”

“Terrified.” His confession wasn’t much more than a whisper, but it was the truth. The fear in itself was complicated, however. ‘Terrified’ didn’t quite do it justice, as there was more to it than just fear. There wasn’t one specific thing about his room that scared him. Not the sand, not the dizzying heights, and certainly not the rats – those had been one of the only upsides to his living conditions, really. At least he hadn’t been alone with his fear.  

“Would it help if we went in together?”

Bruno twitched. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Scorn for being too much of a coward to even twist the doorknob, perhaps. Ridicule or pity for his childishness? Regarding her now, with her patient smile, he felt horrible for thinking she would be anything other than accepting.

“No, no, you don’t have to, I- I don’t want to be a bother-”

“You’re not,” she cut him off kindly. “And I want to help, if I can.”

Silently watching her for a moment, Bruno was reminded of Antonio’s gift ceremony. He had been in the walls, quietly praying that everything would go well. Watching anxiously through the cracks as his youngest sobrino came up the stairs, clutching to Mirabel like she gave him strength just by being there. Bruno’s eyes fell on his hand, still held between hers. He had a feeling he knew why Antonio had reached out to Mirabel for support that night.

Unlike Antonio, however, Bruno was a grown man. He should feel ashamed of this ridiculous need to have his hand held, as though he was a small child. Instead, he just felt… blessed. That he was given this opportunity after he had fully accepted that he would live out the rest of his days in the walls. Alone and isolated, until his body finally couldn’t take it anymore and succumbed to the crushing loneliness, as it had threatened to do so many times already.

He couldn’t help it. He accepted her support. Clutched her hands back with his own trembling ones and allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that perhaps he was allowed some hope after all. Like a man lost in a desert might weep at the sight of water, fully knowing it might just be a mirage.

“Tío Bruno?”

“Would… would you enter with me? Por favor? I- I don’t think I can, on my- on my own.”

“Of course.”

Mirabel waited patiently as he breathed, gathering courage before nodding to himself. With her holding one of his hands, he was finally able to lift the other to actually touch the doorknob, only pausing to knock on the wood before doing so. The metal was strangely warm to the touch, almost inviting. He drew in a breath, and couldn’t help but hold it as he finally swung the door open and stepped inside before he could change his mind.

As the door shut quietly behind them, Bruno tried not to flinch, gaze fixed nervously ahead. Feeling Mirabel squeeze his hand briefly, he managed a tiny smile in her direction before moving forward. As per usual, the sand falling at the hourglass entrance stopped once he approached, allowing them to walk through.

“Oh hey, that’s neat,” he heard Mirabel say, surprised. He’d almost forgotten that she had been in here already. And as she had surely noticed, the flow of sand didn’t cease for anyone but him. As they walked through the entrance, he heard the sand resume its constant course to the steps behind them.

It had been so long since he had been in here. For years already, he had fully believed that he would never see the room again. Standing here now, letting his gaze roam around, he was surprised to find disappointment settling heavily in his chest. It wasn’t that he had expected it to look any different. He thought he had made peace with that when he saw how his door remained unchanged. Still, after hearing some of the others talk about how their rooms had changed to better suit them, part of him seemed to have harboured a tiny flicker of hope after all.

If anything, the room looked worse than the last time he saw it. The cavern walls were rougher, the dunes of sand even larger. The winding stairs almost too tall to properly see all the way to the top. The artificial sunlight, shining through cracks in the stone walls, did little to properly illuminate the vastness of the room.

A long, weary sigh left his lips. As if his body took this as a chance to expel every ounce of nervous energy, he sank down to sit on the steps by the entrance, hand slipping out of Mirabel’s in order to not pull her down with him. He’d managed to get inside. Already, he felt trapped within the tall walls. Defeated, somehow, like the room had managed to pull him back into its grip and never planned to let go.

He watched as Mirabel trudged past him, further into the room, looking around. Awe and something else, something sadder, fought for dominance on her face. “I don’t get it,” she said after a while. “I thought the rooms were supposed to be an embodiment of you guys. Your needs and your wishes materialized, or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Bruno murmured.

Mirabel’s brows furrowed. “Then why does your room look like this? I just can’t imagine little, five-year-old you entering this… this!” she waved her arms out to the sides, gesturing around as her rising volumes sent an echo climbing the walls. After doing so, she seemed to deflate, turning back to look at him with eyes that longed to understand. Perhaps that’s why he found himself uttering the secret that no one apart from his hermanas and mamá knew, if they even remembered.

“It wasn’t always like this.”

Mirabel froze for a second, before walking back. As she sat down next to him on the steps, Bruno knew that he had sealed his own fate by mentioning it. She wouldn’t let it go with just that comment, not until she knew the rest of the story. And she would be able to tell if he tried to dismiss her. She had always been perceptive, and Bruno had always been terrible at lying.

“What do you mean?” came the inevitable question, and Bruno allowed himself a deep, steadying breath before closing his eyes. Trying to picture the room as it had once been. When he had first stepped through the doors, young and naïve and blissfully ignorant to the magnitude of their gifts. Looking back, the engravings on his door had likely been a warning of what was to come.

“It was, well, smaller, for one, and more like an actual room. More wood, less rock. The entrance was the same, but there was no falling sand.” He opened his eyes, but the memory of the room remained, and he could almost see it before him. “There was sand, but… I mean, it’s like comparing a sandbox to a desert. The stairs leading up the vision cave wasn’t much more than a few steps then.”

“What, really?” Mirabel looked shocked. “Then, how…” she looked up, and he followed her gaze. It was indeed hard to imagine such a drastic change being possible, even in a magical room.

“Did you know, Mirabel, that I had no idea what my powers were in the beginning?” Bruno said instead. She shook her head, still watching him intently. “I mean, it makes sense, really. We were the first generation given… gifts like these, so it wasn’t like any of us knew what to expect. Pepa discovered hers by accident almost immediately. She was so nervous about the whole magic thing that it started snowing.” He smiled slightly at the memory. It was the first time either of them had seen snow. “Julieta knew what hers was the next morning. She helped Mamá make breakfast, and any bruises or cuts we had just- poof! Disappeared.”

Bruno’s smile faded as he recalled sitting in his room, watching his hermanas try to figure out what his gift might be. There weren’t many hints in the room itself, as the vision cave didn’t look like much more than a circular room with fancy engravings and a sandpit in the middle. The hourglasses didn’t make much sense to their young eyes either, though Pepa had excitedly speculated he might be immortal or something. He still remembered unhappily muttering that he didn’t want to be immortal. The thought of someday being without his hermanas, and having to keep living without them forever, had been devastating.

“It took about two weeks, I think, before I had my first proper vision. There might have been smaller hints before that. Odd headaches that would come and go. A feeling of knowing what would happen a few moments before it did, but- but I guess I just dismissed it.” He swallowed. His throat felt dry, as though the sand around them was pulling any moisture out of the air. It had been a long time since he’d had to think about these old memories, and he was honestly a little surprised at how clear some of them seemed, even now.

“What happened?” Mirabel’s voice brought him back to the present, somewhat, and he was grateful. Trying to stay grounded in the present might help him talk about the events that happened without getting too emotional.

“It- It came out of nowhere, really. I mean, I’d had a headache all day, but I didn’t know what that meant yet. One moment I was seated at the dinner table, laughing at something Pepa said. The next, I was lying on the floor, watching Señor Rojas fall off his horse, breaking his neck. Julieta said I screamed for an hour…”

Horror danced in Mirabel’s wide eyes, as she brought her hands up to her mouth. “That was your first vision? When you were just five?”

“Mhm. You’d think the miracle would be kind enough to include a guidance manual on uh, on what to expect, I guess…” He chuckled, though it held no real humour. The sound promptly got stuck in his throat when he saw how close Mirabel’s eyes were to overflowing. “Oh- oh no, I’m sorry, Mirabel, I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“No, don’t apologize,” Mirabel shook her head defiantly, curls dancing. She quickly lifted a hand to push away any tears that managed to slip out, as if determined not to let them fall. “I’m upset, sure, but that’s only because you had to go through that. I’ll be fine.”

“Still, maybe we should continue this some other-”

“No! Please, Tío… I’d like to learn more.”

“Why?”

Mirabel hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess, because I always feel like sharing heavy things make me feel lighter? And I think you could do with getting a little… lighter…”

Bruno couldn’t help but smile as he watched his sobrina’s eyes take in his small, frail stature and widening as she realized what she had just said and the irony in the word she’d used. “You realize that if I get any lighter, you’ll probably have to start tying me down whenever the wind gets too strong?” He gestured to himself, amused.

“I didn’t mean- I was speaking metaphorically, like- Oh, don’t laugh, you know what I meant!” Mirabel’s words ended in a laugh of her own as she gave Bruno a light shove.

“Sí, I know, I know,” Bruno chuckled. It felt strange to be laughing at all after what he had just told her, but it was certainly a relief. For both of them, probably. After a moment, they settled again, the mood around them not quite as heavy anymore.

“Where did you sleep?” Mirabel suddenly asked. “I don’t really remember seeing a bedroom or anything like it when I was up there.”

“There used to be a bedroom next to my vision cave,” Bruno hummed thoughtfully. It had been fairly nice in the beginning, a room suited for a child, with bright walls and a soft bed. There used to be a little reading nook with a comfortable armchair to curl up in on sleepless nights. As the years went by, he likely slept more in that armchair than on the actual bed, which had always felt too big somehow. “Maybe it disappeared when I did, seeing as I wasn’t using it anymore?”

Mirabel hummed, before standing, brushing sand off her skirt. “Well, only one way to find out, right?” she said, holding out a hand. Bruno stared at it. “Come on,” she urged him, and grabbed his hand before he could hesitate any further. With surprising strength, she pulled him up to his feet, and headed for the stairs.

“Wait, you don’t have to- These stairs are a nightmare to climb, I’ll just go alone-”

“Nope, I’m coming along whether you like it or not.”

“But-”

“Tío Bruno,” she stopped a few steps up and turned to look at him, arms planted firmly in her sides. “I want to go with you. No matter how tall these stairs are, I want to climb them with you. Because I don’t want you to be alone anymore.”

Bruno drew in a shaky breath, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. Unable to speak, he just nodded silently. Thankfully, Mirabel turned around and started walking before her dazzling smile actually made him cry. Blinking rapidly, he followed behind her, starting the climb.

As they walked, Bruno’s mind drifted to his younger years, when he finally learned how to better control the visions. When his gift, while he was already painfully familiar with the darker sides of it, grew to feel more like an asset than a problem.

“When I first started doing visions for people who requested them, everyone seemed really excited,” he murmured. Mirabel didn’t pause the climb, but slowed her pace and turned her head slightly to let him know he had her attention. “I think I was around six when I was able to control it enough to give visions to those who asked for them. Most of it was just small stuff, and since I was just a kid, no one was too upset if they didn’t get the answer they hoped for. It wasn’t until I was seven that things… changed.”

“Changed? In what way?” Mirabel asked, a little out of breath from the climb. Bruno stopped, to give her a little break. Or perhaps because he too needed a short pause as he talked. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and years in the walls hadn’t exactly provided ample opportunities to exercise.

“How do I explain it,” he murmured to himself, trying to figure out where to start. “See- There are two ways I can have visions – well, three ways, if you count the nightmares-”

“Wait, you have visions while you sleep?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” Most times, honestly, but she didn’t need to know that. They were usually more jumbled and confusing anyway. More like hints mixed in with dreams to create a mess of incidents that may or may not happen. “Anyway… One of the ways I can have visions, is with the whole ritual and everything. Those are the ones I can do on demand, and it creates the tablets, like the ones you’ve seen. Prophecies, if you will.”

“I thought you had to do that in order to get visions at all, until you told me about the first one you had,” Mirabel confessed quietly. Bruno shook his head.

“No, I wish I had that kind of control on my powers,” he sighed. “I’ve always been getting involuntary visions. Most aren’t as bad as my first one,” he hurried to say when Mirabel looked concerned. “They’re still different from the ritual ones, though. The way I always pictured it was that- that the ritual sort of functions as a funnel? It helps me focus on the specific thing I am supposed to envision. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” Mirabel nodded slowly, and she really did seem to try her best to understand. “So, if you don’t have the funnel… you can’t control as well what you’re going to see?”

Bruno smiled. “Exactly. It’s like my mind picks up random events that will happen. Some happen only seconds after, others can take weeks or months. The ritual ones, though, can sometimes take years to happen.”

“Can they be changed, or have different possible outcomes? Like mine?” Mirabel wondered, and Bruno’s smile faltered.

“Well, yours was different in several ways, but… yeah. Sometimes. It depends on the vision, though.”

“How come?” Mirabel seemed almost hesitant, likely picking up on Bruno’s discomfort. He tried to smile again, tried to appear more confident than he felt. Honestly, he wasn’t used to talking so much about the nature of his visions. Most weren’t open to hear about how they actually worked, either making assumptions on their own or finding the whole thing to be too creepy to ask about. Mirabel had claimed she didn’t find it creepy. Didn’t find him creepy. He still wasn’t entirely sure if she would maintain this view once she learned more.

“Well… Some- some things I see can be changed because the warning they got can make the people involved make different choices. Like, for example, if a kid’s going to fall out of a tree, making sure they don’t climb the tree in the first place might stop it, right?” Mirabel nodded, listening intently.

“The issue with that, though, is that I don’t know exactly when things will happen. And you might not be able to keep that kid out of that tree for an extended period of time. Sometimes, the kid will even climb a different tree, and the events will still happen similarly to what I saw in the vision. Some things seem- seem like they are meant to happen, no matter what actions we take to prevent it.”

“You mean, like… fate?” Mirabel murmured. Bruno shrugged. Using that word was always tricky in his case, and had often caused people to get even more upset with him. As if it was he who decided what could or could not be changed. What was fate and what wasn’t. He knew very well what they used to say about him behind his back. ‘Your fate is sealed when your prophecy is read’.

“Can you tell when you have the visions, if they can be changed or not?” Mirabel was asking, and he gazed up at her. He wasn’t sure if she saw something in his face or if she simply regretted asking, but she looked apologetic. “Sorry... You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. I was just curious.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled faintly. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just not- not used to talking so much about this.”

“You want me to stop?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Bruno let his gaze roam around the room. Careful not to look directly down, as they were already quite high up. “No, it’s okay,” he said, voice not much more than a whisper. Clearing his throat, he motioned to the stairs, and Mirabel got the hint as they started walking again.

For a while they were quiet as they walked. Mirabel waited patiently for him to keep talking, instead of pressuring him into it with more questions. Even so, when he finally did find the strength to resume, she perked up, clearly eager to hear more.

“For the first year or so, when people came to me for visions, the things they wanted answers to were innocent enough. Like, ‘What will mamá make for dinner tomorrow?’ or ‘is Carlos going to kiss me after our date tonight?’ Coming to me was usually for entertainment or curiosity more than anything. They did so because they could, not because they actually needed answers.” He paused for a moment, catching his breath. “Shortly after I turned seven, I had a growth spurt. Not much, just- enough to make me look older. And so, I suppose they thought it okay to start asking about heavier stuff.”

“Heavier how?” Mirabel asked carefully, glancing back at him though she was still careful where she stepped on the stairs, one hand trailing against the wall to keep her balance.

“They would want to know about things like, um, whether the harvest would be good that year, or whether their child would be born healthy and strong. Or if- if someone they cared about, who was sick, would… survive.”

“What?” That stopped Mirabel in her tracks, and she turned to stare at him. “Why would they- I mean, didn’t they think about what they might do if you said ‘no’?”

Bruno chuckled humourlessly. “That’s the problem. They would say that they wouldn’t be upset, no matter the outcome. But no one who came to me were truly prepared for a negative answer. After all, no one wants to believe that their loved on will die. Or that their child will never- never draw its first breath.”

Mirabel was silent, but Bruno could practically hear her mind working to piece everything together. “You were just a kid,” she said after a long moment of thought. “Did they not stop to think that you would have to actually see that? Like how you saw that man fall and break his neck?”

Yet again taken aback by her ability to read between the lines of what he was saying, Bruno shook his head. “You know,” he began hoarsely, before clearing his throat, “I don’t think anyone except you ever really considered that. You were the first one I actually let stay with me while I had the vision, so you know how it works. I guess they figured I just… knew, I guess. No pain or trauma involved, just ‘ask a question, get an answer’.”

“What? But- You still had to see all of it, and that must have affected you, right? Did no one notice?”

Bruno had often thought the same thing. It had affected him. Very much so. The visions had always been taxing, whether the result was bad or good. Having them was exhausting in and of itself. Add to that the burden of seeing horrible events play out in front of his eyes, and the weight of it all would often threaten to crush him. But… “People tend to not notice these things when they’re blinded by grief or anger. I was just the carrier of bad news, what reason did they have to care about me?”

“What about Abuela? Mamá or Tía Pepa? Surely they noticed?” Bruno’s silence seemed answer enough, and Mirabel’s face fell. “They… they didn’t?”

“It’s not their fault,” Bruno hurried to say, “I never said anything. Mamá wanted us all to help the village in any way we could, and this was my way to do so. Refusing would mean I wasn’t willing to help, or that- that I was trying to shy away from my responsibilities.”

“But, that’s not…” Mirabel protested weakly, her voice breaking under the newfound knowledge of his childhood troubles. “That’s not fair!”

Bruno thought about his own reflection in the mirror. Always smaller than he should be. His skin always a few shades paler, more sickly, than the rest of his family. By the time he was eight, the dark circles under his eyes were already a constant and prominent feature of his face.

His family did notice, to some extent. They never truly seemed to make the connection between his gift and his appearance, though. Instead, his drawn complexion was blamed on a lack of sunlight. His vision headaches and fainting spells were blamed on a weak constitution. The believed solution? Spend more time outside. Work harder in order to get stronger. Learn to deal with it.

It wasn’t fair, no. But Bruno couldn’t find it in his heart to think badly of them for it. Not when he remembered warm evenings spent snuggled up to his hermanas on the grass outside. Watching the stars drift by and chatting idly about the day’s events until they reluctantly parted for the night. Not when he recalled how Mamá’s tight hold shook around him when he woke after passing out again. How small she seemed then, her eyes so scared, until she hid her fear behind a scolding reprimand about not eating enough or getting enough sleep.

No. Bruno blamed himself more than anything. He learned early to shoulder his gift alone. Rather than tell them anything, he hid behind half-truths or changed subjects. Biting his teeth and doing what he was told would ensure the safety and well-being of the Encanto. Trying his best to not get in the way, trying to avoid conflict in any way he knew how. Putting on a smile and doing what he could to make Mamá proud. To make his hermanas happy.

“Cariño…” Bruno sighed softly, raising a hand to gently touch Mirabel’s arm. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to put my struggles on your shoulders. Please don’t cry. I’m okay.”

Mirabel just sniffled, lifting a hand to rub at her cheeks, though her tears didn’t stop. “You’re not,” she managed to get out after steadying her voice again. “If you were, your room wouldn’t look like this!”

Bruno watched her silently, hand falling back to his side as she again attempted to dry her tears. So, she had noticed the same thing he had. The severe expression on his figure on the door. The fact that this room still looked like abandoned desert ruins, when everyone else’s rooms were supposedly havens of comfort for them.

“Tío Bruno… why did your room get this way?”

Bruno swallowed. Opened his mouth to answer, but found that he couldn’t. Instead, he reached out and carefully righted her glasses, which had begun to slip off her nose during her attempts to still the tears. “Let’s- let’s just get to the top, Mirabel.” His voice came out more pleading than he had meant for it to. A desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable, if only for a short while.

Mirabel said nothing. Instead, she yet again held out her hand. Bruno took it gratefully, and together they began the last stretch of the climb to the top. Neither of them spoke, and the silence felt heavy. The weight of everything that had been said and everything left unspoken could be felt in Bruno’s trembling limbs. Could be seen in Mirabel’s wet cheeks and tight lips.

Getting to the top didn’t feel like an accomplishment. It did provide a momentary distraction, however, as both of them stopped to catch their breath and recover from the long climb. Mirabel was the first to break the silence. Considering the tears still clinging stubbornly to her lashes, Bruno was surprised that she broke it with a small huff of laughter.

“A bridge,” she said, like it was the funniest thing to her. “Of course, now there is a bridge.”

“There was always a bridge,” Bruno protested, confused.

“Not when I was last here,” Mirabel shook her head. “I had to swing across using this.” She motioned to the rope running alongside the steps. Likely noticing Bruno’s horrified stare, she chuckled sheepishly, lifting her glasses to rub away the remaining tears. With them, she seemed to rub away some of the sorrow as well, and her expression was nervous but determined when she met his eyes again. “Let’s go?” she turned and started walking across the bridge.

Bruno hesitantly followed her, glancing over the side of the bridge and swallowing his nausea at the thought of Mirabel swinging across the dizzying chasm in order to help her family. “Am I supposed to just ignore what you just told me?” he muttered shakily.

“Try not to think about it?” Mirabel suggested, though she too had made the mistake of looking down and sounded a little less confident than she had a moment ago. “I made it. That’s what matters.”

Bruno swallowed heavily. Paused to knock methodically on one of the wooden beams supporting the rope railing. “Try not to think about it. Right.”

They made it to the other side without incident, and as Bruno looked around, any thoughts about Mirabel’s perilous quest for the truth, did in fact fade into the back of his mind. Confusion pulled at his brows and he stepped forward, pausing a bit off to the side of the hallway leading to the vision cave. “That’s… weird.”

“What is?” Mirabel came up beside him, staring into the hallway. “It looks the same as when I was last here. Just as… off-putting.” Her gaze had fallen on one of the carvings in the stone walls.

“Sí…” Bruno nodded distractedly. “That part is the same as it’s been for years.” Putting a hand against the stone wall, he found it warm to the touch, as though the artificial light illuminating the wall was in fact the heat of a sun. “There used to be a bedroom up here, but- but it’s not here anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t it be back now that you’re back, though?” Mirabel sounded confused. “I mean, the bridge is back, so the room seems to have noticed your return, right?”

“Right…” Bruno honestly wasn’t sure what to do now. Feeling somewhat defeated, he turned around. Taking a few steps towards the edge of the platform they were standing on, he took in the sight from the top of the cavern for the first time in years. Not just the years he’d been in the walls, either; somehow, he couldn’t even recall the last time he took the time to properly notice the room around him. When had the roof become so endlessly tall? When had the walls been replaced by stone? Lamps replaced by artificial sunlight? Why couldn’t he remember?

“Tío Bruno? Are you okay?”

He hummed a vague response, though Mirabel’s voice sounded far away. His mind flashed to green for a moment. The view in front of him washed away by a ghost of a vision he had in the past. He might have been around sixteen maybe. He couldn’t see what the vision was about, but as if he was back there, he saw clearly the furious tears on the face of the girl before him. He could almost feel the crack of her palm against his cheek, sending him face first into the sand. She had spat on him as she left, and he’d remained there for a long time before mustering the energy to walk back down. If there were more steps than there used to be, he had been too drained to care.

“Tío Bruno?”

More faces flashed before his eyes. Some young, some old. Some distorted in their anger, some twisted with despair. Others staring at him with terror, like they were facing down a soulless monster who wanted nothing more than to devour them in their moment of weakness. With every face, every scream, every slap, every sob, the room changed around him.

As if following a mirage of himself, Bruno found himself walking down the hallway to that cursed doorway. He could almost hear the desperate requests of people walking behind him, and wanted nothing more than for them to go away. He didn’t want to enter, didn’t want to see. But he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t turn them away. More would come, and he would accept their requests as always.

“Tío Br-”

“-uno! Think of the Encanto, Bruno. These people only ask for a chance to know. To prepare. That is the nature of your gift-”

Gifts, Mamá had called them, these strange powers that had been bestowed upon her children. Bruno wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. How was this a gift? When it left him wheezing for breath and unable to see straight because his head hurt too much? When what was supposed to help the people, only seemed to bring out the worst in them? When he had stopped sleeping because he was plagued not just by the visions he’d seen, but also the faces of those left desperately scrambling to change fate. Some managing to do so, others unwittingly fulfilling the prophecies themselves by not even trying.

The vision cave was a dark abyss before him, door opening to beckon him inside. There was enough magic in the walls that it lit up once he entered, though. It swirled and pulsed faintly in the carvings around him. Soon, that light would be swallowed by green as he forced himself to search for futures nobody truly wanted in the first place. For now, though, he let the door swing shut behind him. Wrapped his own arms around his body, yet feeling endlessly cold as he fell to his knees in the sand.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Mamá…” he could whisper, but only to himself. Only in the suffocating solitude of this room. “Please. I… I don’t want them to come here anymore.”

No one would hear the quiet pleads, except himself and the ever-shifting confines of the rooms around him. He could only sit there, breathing and preparing to yet again push his own needs away in favour of the community. That was his purpose, after all. That was his gift.

The fires were lit, their lights flickering in his glassy eyes for just a brief moment, before the lights in his eyes consumed everything. Around him, the sand began swirling, and his mind swirled along with it. He couldn’t recall who he was doing a vision for. What was he looking for this time?

“Tío Bruno! Tío, please!”

He blinked, confused. The room was soundproof. He never brought anyone along when having a vision. So why did he hear someone calling? Why were his hands so warm?

“- Bruno! Please, you need to stop!”

Stop? He couldn’t stop now. The images had already begun swirling around them. Except, they didn’t really make sense, switching so quickly he could barely tell what he was looking at. Glimpses of faces flickered around him, painfully familiar. He saw Pepa, tears cascading down her cheeks as she clung to her husband- Her children laughing about something funny that had been said- Julieta, sobbing as she threw plate after plate against the wall- No, she was cooking, smiling as Agustín entered the kitchen. Kissing him fondly on a swollen nose before feeding him an arepa-

“Tío Bruno!”

He saw Mamá, smiling in that way she had begun to smile when looking at her family. Like she was seeing them for the first time and never wanted to look at anything else again- No… Mamá wasn’t smiling, she was screaming. Bent over someone lying lifelessly on the floor, trying to pull them into her arms like she had when he was little and passed out-

He saw himself, standing in a dark room, eyes greener and face paler than ever- He was alone- No, someone else was there? But that didn’t make sense, he never let anyone see what he saw. That was his burden to bear. His responsibility. His gift. And if he could help anyone, he would use it. Letting the sands of time whittle away tiny pieces of him in the process until he disappeared completely-

He saw himself, falling limply to the sand, chest stuttering to a stop-

“No, you need to stop! Please stop!”

“I- I can’t,” he managed to stutter out, confused. “It’s… it’s my gift, they need me to- to use it. To help the Encanto. It’s all that I have. All I’m good for…”

“It’s not! Tío Bruno – that’s not what you want. Please, just tell me what you want to do. What do you need?”

“What do I… need?”

He blinked, dazedly. The images around him, around them, seemed to slow down slightly. Dizzy, he tried to focus. It was so much harder than it should be, partially because his mind was still trying to piece together what he was even doing, why he was even here. His head hurt, his eyes hurt-

He saw himself, lying in the sand in a dark room, alone. Unmoving. Forgotten as the steps grew too steep around him for anyone to reach him in time. The sound of sobbing startled him enough that the image flickered for a brief moment. The visions weren’t supposed to have sound.

“No! This is not your future! Tío Bruno, it can’t be!”

He saw himself, lying in the sand in a dark room, alone- He saw his sobrinas and sobrinos, standing huddled together as they wept. Clinging to each other, seeking comfort and providing steadiness when one of them faltered. Saw the grief in their faces, in the tears rolling down their cheeks-

“No- no, I don’t want that,” he found himself whispering hoarsely. “Please, I- Anything but that-”

He saw Pepa and Julieta, arms circling their mamá, trying to hold her up even as they all broke down-

“No, please,” he begged, voice breaking until he could barely get any sound out at all, “I just want them to be happy… that’s all I ever wanted!”

“Then you need to stop, Tío Bruno. Please… You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. No one is expecting you to just start doing visions for people again. It is your choice. So please… what do you need? How can we help?”

The images around him stopped flickering, the sand slowing its frantic swirl until it wasn’t much more than a lazy drift of shimmering particles, dancing in the air.

He saw himself, sitting in a dark room, alone, arms around himself. Except, he wasn’t alone. Someone else was there with him. Those weren’t his own arms around him, those were-

As if awakening from a long dream, he drew in a sharp breath. He saw the flash of green as a tablet was created, falling to the floor along with the sand, and then everything was still. For a moment he saw nothing, his mind too overwhelmed at the moment to see any more. His body trembled with the effort of keeping him upright, and he might have collapsed completely if it wasn’t for the arms around him.

Forcing his eyes open, unsure of when he had closed them, he blinked away the fog that threatened to consume everything. Focusing on the mess of curls tickling his nose as Mirabel hid her face in his shoulder. Focusing on the warmth of her arms around him, clutching to the back of his ruana like she was afraid he would disappear if she let go.

Her quiet sniffles echoed in the room around them, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her. Yet, all he could do was lean his head against hers, too exhausted to do much else. Clearing his throat, he tried to muster up the energy to speak.

“I’m sorry, Mirabel. I… I must have scared you.” She shook her head against his shoulder, but the way she was trembling belied her protests.

“Are you… okay?” her voice was small, reminding him of when she was just a little girl. Gently, he straightened. Reluctantly letting his arms move her away from him. Just enough to meet her teary eyes. As carefully as he could, he put his hands on her cheeks, drying away the tracks of tears and sand with his thumbs.

“I’ll be okay,” he smiled, and was relieved to find that it felt like the truth. “I have you to thank for that, Cariño.” She leaned into his touch with a faint smile.

A shimmer of green in the sand drew his focus back to the discarded tablet. Regretfully, he let go of his sobrina, reaching out to take hold of it. It took way more effort to do so than he expected, and when he finally did manage to grab it, he had to close his eyes and just breathe for a moment before opening them again to look at it.

“You asked me what I need,” he whispered as he took in the image of his family, crying over his lifeless body on the floor in front of them. Overwhelmed by the weight of that image more than the weight of the tablet itself, he would have dropped it, if Mirabel’s hands hadn’t covered his. Slowly, she tilted the tablet. Enough that the image shifted to show him standing amidst his family. Tears shimmering on his cheeks, even as he smiled, comforted by their touch, their warmth, their joy.

“I think- I think I had what I needed all this time,” he gasped out, barely getting sound out through the lump in his throat. “I just- I didn’t realize that…”

Mirabel’s smile seemed to light up the room more than his eyes ever could. “That we needed you too?” she whispered.

Bruno could only nod, clutching the tablet to his chest. Falling forward, he felt her arms move around him again, holding him closely as he cried. Exhausted, physically and emotionally, he couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. Mirabel didn’t seem to mind. Simply shifted so they were seated more comfortably in the sand, leaning on each other.

It seemed like an eternity later when the tears finally stilled, and he felt a little more in control of himself again. Trying in vain to breathe in through a stuffed nose, he chuckled weakly. “I think I also need to sleep for- for a week, maybe.”

Thankfully, she responded in turn with a wet laugh of her own. “Well. The sofa in my room is always an option.”

“Thank you, Cariño,” Bruno smiled, softly, “but… somehow, I feel like that won’t be necessary.”

When she pulled away to look at him with confusion, he took it as his cue to finally get moving again. Trying to stand on wobbling legs, he was relieved when she got up first and helped him to his feet. He kept holding onto her as his vision swam and vertigo threatened to knock him back down. Eventually, though, he managed to walk without falling.

The door swung open, like it had when they entered the vision cave. Rather than a large, circular door, though, it was just a regular door. Leading out into a regular room. Bruno grinned weakly as Mirabel gasped in wonder next to him, taking in the impossible change around them. To her, this was like stepping into an entirely new room.

To Bruno, it felt like coming home. The door to the vision cave closed softly behind him, one of two doors on the landing, only a couple of steps leading down to what was now a smaller, cosier living space. It was strangely similar to his room in the walls, except a lot tidier and less cramped. The sand was gone entirely, the only remainder locked away in the vision cave they left behind. The large arm chair he recognized from his youth was there, as well as more seats for any family member wanting to come in to visit. It was warm, and inviting, in a way his room had never been before.

“This is…” Mirabel let go of him briefly to lean on the wooden railing, looking down and taking in the details of the room with shining eyes. “Is this how it used to look like?”

Bruno shook his head. “It’s better.” The smile on his face lingered even as he stumbled and nearly fell again. Mirabel hurried to catch him, supporting him through the second door on the landing as it opened for them.

The bedroom was now just a bedroom, seeing as the reading nook and living space had been moved downstairs. The bed wasn’t as big anymore either, just big enough and soft enough to look inviting. Bruno collapsed down onto it, noting how the lamps seemed to dim on their own.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he heard Mirabel ask, even as his eyes drifted shut, despite his efforts to keep them open. The worry in her tone could easily be explained by the worrisome images she had been forced to witness in his vision. “Do you need me to fetch some of Mamá’s cooking?”

“I’m okay,” he smiled drowsily, shaking his head. “Just… exhausted.”

He felt the bed dip slightly as she sat down on the edge. As she draped one of the many blankets over him, he managed to force his eyes open. “Then sleep,” she smiled. “For as long as you need.”

Content, but at the same time oddly fearful of the sleep he could feel pulling at his consciousness, Bruno sighed. “This… feels like a dream,” he admitted quietly. “What if I wake up, and- and it’s all gone? After all, what have I done to- to deserve this?”

“You don’t have to do anything to deserve it,” Mirabel said. “You deserve it because you’re you. That’s all you need to be. Your room will still be here when you wake up. We will still be here when you wake up.”

Bruno hummed, snuggling into the blanket subconsciously. Even if this was in fact a dream- even if he’d wake up cold and alone in the walls, like part of him expected every time he went to bed, at least he would have been happy for a little while. “It would be- would be nice… if this was real,” he sighed.

As he drifted off, he could feel Mirabel’s hands around his own. An anchor, reassuring and solid. He thought perhaps she was saying something, but he was already too far gone to hear. His smile remained on his face as everything else faded away.

And as Bruno finally slept fitfully, Mirabel remained seated on the edge of the bed. Holding his hand as her mind processed everything that had happened. After a long while, she stood, tucking her tío in with another blanket, before silently leaving the room.

As she closed the door quietly behind her, she paused to look back at the engraved image of Bruno on the door. Tears threatening to well up again, she let her fingers trace the peaceful contours of the smiling figure. Let them run along the outstretched arms, now looking more like they were inviting someone in rather than holding up the weight of the world.

With a final smile, Mirabel yawned and wandered back to her own room. Once there, she pulled the tablet from her satchel, running her hands along it before storing it safely in a drawer of her nightstand, along with her most precious items.

Bruno would never ask for it, and no one else would ever know it was there. But to Mirabel, it would always serve as a reminder. Of how the future, even if it seemed set in stone, might be changed if one took the time to stop. To listen. To hold a hand that was pulling away.

Safe in the knowledge that everything would be all right, Mirabel fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.