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Chapter Text

Camilo tucks his head against his cousin’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut, and fighting against every cry of pain that wants to force its way out of him.

For every bump and jolt that Luisa can’t avoid brings with it a string of harried apologies through clenched teeth.

She can’t afford to slow down and Camilo knows this.

Unfortunately, he remains conscious for the entirety of the trip.

Which means he feels every single one of those missteps. 

He keeps his hand pressed tightly to his side- his tía’s gift meant injuries were seldom, if ever, deadly- but she still had insisted on them knowing the most basic of first aid.

That included keeping pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. 

Except the red stain is spreading across his ruana and he’s starting to feel lightheaded and nauseous. 

“Luisa,” he chokes, gripping her sleeve. When she falters, mouth twisted in concern, he dry heaves.

The contortion only brings more pain and he cries out, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Is he dying?

Is this what dying feels like?

He thinks this might be what dying feels like.

“We need to get him to tía.” Dolores catches up. She’s out of breath, but her eyes are wide and frantic when they land on her brother.

It makes Camilo’s stomach tie up in knots. Realistically, he knows none of this is his fault, but… it kind of is, isn’t it?

He’s the reason his cousin and his sister are so worried. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Dolores exchanges a glance with Luisa. Whatever passes between them, Luisa nods and picks up her pace again.

Camilo shuts his eyes and tries to endure the rest of the trip.

/

Luisa bursts into the kitchen, her precious cargo cradled protectively against her chest. 

Dolores has already darted up the stairs, fetching both her parents.

Camilo’s eyes are screwed shut and his face has already lost so much color. There’s so much blood staining his clothes… It’s looking really, really bad.

Her parents are standing close together. Her father has his arm around her mother’s waist, leaning in tenderly.

They’re clearly sharing a moment and, under any other circumstances, Luisa would feel terrible for interrupting them, but not today.

“Mam á, ” she gasps. “Camilo, he…!” She falters. How does she bring herself to say this? How does she say that it was someone in their Encanto who did this?

But her mother doesn’t need her explanation and has already pulled away from her father and hurried to her side. 

Augustín lingers, ready to help if needed, but understanding that this is his wife’s area.

Her face pales considerably when she sees the blood, but she keeps her composure. “Camilo, can you hear me?” She strokes his hair back from his forehead. 

A small nod is her only answer. His breathing is labored and Julieta’s brows tighten in concern. “Let me see him.” She puts her hand on Camilo’s arm and gives it a squeeze. “I’m going to lift your ruana and take a look. Is that alright?”

Camilo nods again. “Yes,” he whispers.

Julieta nods, biting her lip as she slowly peels the ruana from his side, fingers gently probing the torn fabric of his shirt to get a look at the wound.

She exhales softly.

“Augustín, Luisa, let's get him to the couch.” 

She doesn’t ask about what happened, although Luisa suspects she wants to. It’s obvious, of course, that what happened to Camilo wasn’t an accident.

Someone hurt him. Deliberately. 

It’s something Luisa is still struggling to wrap her mind around, because why would anyone want to hurt her sweet, playful cousin? What has he ever done to any of them?

Her mother doesn’t seem outwardly affected by the same concerns weighing Luisa down.

Instead, her focus is on the situation at hand and what needs to be done about it.

It’s times like this that Luisa finds herself truly admiring her mother’s strength of will.

Julieta’s eyes are filled only with worry when they meet Luisa’s own. “My arepas haven’t finished,” she says, tone hushed.

Luisa nods and tries to pretend her stomach doesn’t roil at the words. Her mother almost always has arepas ready for those who need them, but she’d spent the day in town and… apparently, she hasn’t had the time to make more before she burst in.

Her mother is amazing, yes, but she has her limits. 

She tries hard not to begrudge any of those arepas to the townspeople who had needed them. None of them had any idea this was going to happen. 

Camilo is going to be fine- he’s not going to expire in the time it takes her mother to finish her cooking.

There’s no way he won’t be fine. 

Because that’s how this family works. 

Luisa protects and, what she can’t protect, her mother heals.

Always.

That doesn’t take away from the fact that she wishes she could have done more. That she should have been there to protect him before that man even had the chance to attack him.

As it stands, it’s pure chance that she had been helping Dolores run errands, that they’d been near enough to do anything about it in the first place.

If Dolores had been back at Casita, then she may have wound up listening to her hermanito die. 

That’s a thought that shakes her to her core.

Dios, she could have killed that man when she’d seen him standing over her baby cousin.

She doesn’t want to have to hurt anyone- her gift is meant to help people, not hurt them- but seeing Camilo like that? 

It had simply been too much. 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Her bottom lip trembles and she takes a deep breath.

What is her tía always saying? 

Clear skies.

Chapter Text

Dolores almost stumbles over herself in her haste to get up the stairs. 

“Mami!” she gasps. “Pap á ! Something happened!” Only then does it occur to her that perhaps she should be more discreet and she falls silent. 

“Dolores?” Isabela meets her at the top of the stairs, grasping her arms, eyes wide and concerned, and, for an instant, Dolores thinks she might just collapse on top of her from exhaustion. 

“What on earth is going on?”

The Madrigal family matriarch is staring at them both, brows pinched in consternation. 

Isabela steps back, uncertainty taking over. She rubs her arm and shoots Dolores a helpless glance.

“Abuela!” Dolores squeaks. Her heart is racing. “It’s Camilo, he…” Her mouth hangs open; she can’t quite get the words out.

How is she supposed to phrase this?

Her baby brother was attacked in the village. Someone tried to kill him. 

“What happened?” Abuela’s tone is sharp, impatience drawn in the lines of her face. “Dolores…”

“Dolores?” Now her parents have heard them and come out to see what the fuss is all about.

Dolores should feel relieved to see them, but all she feels is a myriad of emotions threatening to drown her.

Wisps of a cloud are forming over her mother’s head. 

Oh, dios, she’s about to make it even worse…

“Amor, what happened to Camilo?” her father asks, gentle as always, but concern burns brightly in his eyes.

All eyes are on her now.

Dolores grips Casita’s railings instinctively, trying to quell her nerves. “Someone hurt him.”

/

“Camilo!” Pepa’s anguished cry and the crash of thunder that follows has Luisa jerking her head up and Augustín rushing to the door. “What happened? My baby!”

She can hear Julieta’s softer voice- she’s placating her sister, but her tía is fiercely protective of her children. She won’t be able to calm down until she knows that Camilo is safe.

Tío F é lix says something. This seems to work better than whatever her mother had said because Pepa doesn’t come thundering into the room.

Luisa bites her lip, unable to move her gaze, even as she refuses to leave her cousin’s side. Camilo is clutching her hand like it’s a lifeline, but he’s staring after his parents. He hasn’t said anything, but she knows he wants to see them. 

He’s always been especially close to his mother.

Keeping them apart seems cruel, even if she understands the reason behind it. 

“It’s done!” Julieta rushes to their side, a plate of still hot arepas in her hands. “I’m so sorry.” she thrusts an arepa his way. 

The change is immediate once he eats it. 

His pallor doesn’t change altogether- he still looks far too pale- but he’s far more alert than he had been. 

Julieta practically wilts with relief, handing the plate of arepas off to her daughter, and pulling him into a brief embrace. 

Camilo hugs her back, fingers gripping her blouse like he’s scared of ever letting her go.

“I’ll tell your parents it’s alright to see you now,” she whispers.

Camilo nods against her shoulder. “Okay.”

She pulls away, gripping Camilo’s shoulder in reassurance. She stands and, after cupping one hand to Luisa’s cheek, leaves.

/

Something is wrong. 

Mirabel feels it in the feel of the atmosphere, in the Casita greets her with less enthusiasm than is normal.

“Mirabel?” Antonio grips her hand a little tighter, picking up on her unease. 

“It’s fine.” She hastens to reassure him, but the house is… quiet. 

Too quiet. 

Even with the family taking care to respect Dolores and her gift, there’s always some sort of noise.

“Mirabel?” Isabela appears at the top of the stairs and, for once, Mirabel doesn’t feel like her sister is indifferent. 

Instead, she looks… vulnerable. 

Vulnerable in a way Mirabel doesn’t think she’s ever imagined her perfect sister could be and it leaves her feeling shaken.

“Isa, what…?”

“Mirabel!” Her mother wraps them both in a tight hug. “Where were you both?”

Her question is addressed to Mirabel but Antonio is the one who answers. “On the mountain.”

“We were watching the birds. Mam á , did something happen?” Mirabel squirms out of her mother’s embrace and grasps her hands in earnest. 

Because her mother’s face is haggard in a way that scares her. 

She thinks of both her sisters, of Isabela’s face at the top of the stairs.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wonders… has something happened to Luisa?

Julieta opens her mouth, before she glances uncertainly at Antonio.

Placing a soft hand on his shoulder, she smiles at him. “Tonito, your sister is waiting for you in the other room. Will you join her?”

He looks at Mirabel, eyes wide and uncertain, before finally nodding and obeying. 

“Mami,” Mirabel whispers, “what… happened? Why is everyone…?”

“Someone hurt Camilo.”

It’s like the air has been sucked out of her lungs. She’s drowning in icy cold water. 

She wants to believe that this isn’t true, that no one in their Encanto would hurt her family, but her mother’s face is grave and, besides, she would never lie about something like this.

“What? No…”

Julieta grasps her hands and holds them gently, rubbing her thumbs over Mirabel’s knuckles. “He’ll be alright,” she says. 

Mirabel never doubted that- not with her mother’s gift. 

The problem… the problem is that someone hurt him.

Someone hurt him. In their Encanto.

And Mirabel can’t fathom why anyone would do that. 

/

Alma hasn’t been able to face her grandson. 

She’s retreated to her own room where she now sits on her bed, thoughts heavy. 

It’s been fifty years since Pedro… Since their miracle was given to her, and in those fifty years, violence in her Encanto has been unheard of. 

This miracle was supposed to protect them…

How does she continue to do so if even that isn’t enough? If even in their Encanto, there are people willing to bring harm to her family, to her grandson who never did an ounce of harm to anyone else?

“Abuela?” Isabela hesitates at the doorway.

“Come in, mi amorcita.” Alma pats the side of the bed next to her and Isabela haltingly comes forward. 

She sinks onto the mattress beside her, folding her hands in her lap, the very picture of composure, even if this must be causing her just as much grief.

“Are you… okay?” she asks softly.

Alma sighs, her hand coming to rest on Isabela’s silky black hair. “I am okay,” she assures her, smiling to show she means it. “This family is strong.”

Isabela returns her smile, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

She’s worried. 

Alma takes a deep breath and brushes Isabela’s hair away from her face- it’s her duty to be strong for her family, so strong she must be. “Don’t worry, cariño,” she assures her. “He is going to be fine. We all will be.”

We are the Madrigals. We must always be strong.