Chapter Text
Bruno Madrigal was seven years old when he was first blamed for something he saw.
He hadn't meant to see such a horrible thing happen! He hated how his vision wouldn't let him look away from the awful scene in front of him. He hated seeing the small boy, just a few years older than him, fall to the hard ground with a silent thud, hated how the horse's hooves crashed down on his arm, hated how it was bent almost completely in the wrong direction.
He was seven, feeling exhausted after finishing his seventh prophecy of the day, and feeling emotionally wrecked as the woman in front of him, the mother of the boy in his vision, screamed that what he had seen would never come to be. That Bruno's vision was wrong.
Bruno hadn't known what he should do. He didn't know whether to tell her that his prophecies always came true, or to ask her to lower her voice because of his new headache. Instead he apologized quietly, and led her out of his vision cave and into the waiting area.
He was pleased to see that only his sister was in there, a small cloud hanging over her head. Pepa's eyes were glued to the woman's back as she stormed out of the room, and she asked in a quiet voice, “What's wrong with her?”
Bruno didn't know how to answer his sister, so he didn't.
A month later, when the prophecy came true, the woman rushed to the house, carrying her ten-year-old son, and the boy was quickly given some of Julieta's cooking. The injury healed itself within seconds, but the woman didn't seem to be done with the Madrigals quite yet.
She took one look at Bruno, hanging out in the background and watching his sister's gift work its literal magic, and shouted, “This is all you're fault! How dare you do this to him! He could have died!”
Bruno shrunk back. His mother might have gotten angry at him from time to time, but he had never had an adult yell at him. Was this all his fault? Did he cause this to happen by looking into the future? But Mamá always said that his gift was special, sent from his father and God. Could it be that he made this-
“How dare you speak to my son that way!” Senora Alma yelled back, moving to stand in between Bruno and the woman. “He did nothing to your son. It was his own stupidity that brought this upon himself. And now, with the help of my daughter, he is healed.”
The woman shrank back, her son moaning a bit as he sat up and felt up and down his previously broken arm. Alma drew herself up to her full height, looking like the leader of the village, and said, “My son is perfect, and he would never do something like this. If I hear word that you have been speaking of him like this again I will make sure that severe punishment is placed upon you.”
She looked at her younger daughter, and said, “Pepa, please escort our... guests to the door. I will comfort my son.” Lightning flashed in her eyes, and Pepa rushed to do what her mother had commanded.
Alma turned towards Bruno, who stared after the three people leaving the room. She knelt down to his level, and took his hands in hers. “Brunito,” Alma said, a loving tone filling her voice. Bruno dropped his eyes to the floor, tears starting to build up inside of them. “Bruno, look at me.”
Bruno forced himself to do what his mother said, and Alma cupped the side of his face in her hand, “Bruno that woman was wrong about you. You didn't do this. Nothing you see inside of your visions are your fault. You are perfect. No matter what anyone else says.”
Bruno nodded deftly, and matched the smile his mother was giving him. “You are a Madrigal,” Alma said, smoothing the collar on his shirt. “And no one can ever take that from you.”
Bruno didn't really have any bad visions when he was younger. Mostly because the questions people asked were more age-appropriate. It was hard to look at a nine-year-old and ask him questions about death, or children, or diseases. But, of course, when he was older, they broke out of their shells.
Most of the time the villager's fears were unfounded. They were just paranoid, and overly anxious like his mother. But, sometimes... They had good reason to worry.
Bruno locked himself in his room after a particular vision, flashes of what he had seen playing through his mind. Even though he was fourteen, he had never had to grapple with the concept of death before. But now he had seen it. Experienced it himself like he was dying along with the man he had seen.
He didn't mention a word of it to his mother. Didn't say a word as he kept going through his normal daily routine. The most he did was tell his sister to cook some more food to take into town that day. But he was always making vague statements like that, he always hung out just on the outside of the family.
So when the event happened, and only he, and the (now dead) man's son were the only two to know about how it was fated to be, he was of course put to blame.
The man, Señor Hernando Perez, a kind and generous man, who had acted like a surrogate father to many of the adults who had fled with the Madrigals to the Encanto, had only one son. And Mateo Perez was a far cry from his father. Hernando had been slipping away, little by little, but had shown no true signs of being anywhere near death. But Mateo had worried, ever since the passing of his mother five years prior he had become almost co-dependent on his father, and so had asked Bruno to see what his fate was.
So, or course, when he died, Mateo wanted someone to blame. And who else besides the boy who had shown him this happening in the first place.
“This is all your fault Madrigal!” Mateo shouted as people came to comfort him. Bruno, who had found himself loitering around the Perez residence ever since the malfavored vision had been made, was caught completely unawares at the man's angered scream.
He recoiled, wanting to run as far away from the grieving man as possible, but finding his feet stuck in place. His eyes flicked between Mateo's angered face, and the bystanders, who all looked like they didn't know what to do.
“If you hadn't had that damned vision my father would still be alive!” Mateo shouted, and Bruno found his hands creeping up to the hood of his ruana. He wasn't much better at getting yelled at than he had been seven years prior, and felt like burying himself in a hole and never coming out again.
Mateo started marching towards Bruno, and people gasped loudly. But what they were gasping at was not Mateo's raised fist, or the look of pure hatred evident on his face, but the woman who was walking towards them.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” Alma Madrigal roared, and Mateo spun around to face her. He glared at her and shouted, “Your son murdered my father!”
Alma's eyes flicked to the son in question, and she asked, “You believe that my Bruno would do something like this? Kill a man in cold blood?”
“His vision-”
“His vision isn't what writes the future Señor Perez! My son simply sees the future. How dare you blame him, a child, who will one day be your leader, in the sight of all of these witnesses!” Alma shouted, and, even though she was at least half a foot shorter than Mateo, she still was able to dominate him.
Mateo froze, seeing that he was surrounded on all sides by enemies. He swallowed deeply, unable to speak a word against Señora Madrigal. So instead he looked over at Bruno, who had his hands folded together in a worried manner.
“I'm leaving.” he said, and did as he said, pushing past the other townsfolk to enter his own house.
With him gone it was like Bruno could breathe again. He watched as the other people began to whisper around him, but was too distracted by his mother walking up to him and cupping his face in her hands.
“Oh Brunito, I'm sorry you had to witness that.” Alma said, but there was a proud look on her face. “You stood your ground like a man. You're doing so well.”
Bruno fought down a sob that threatened to bubble to the surface. Instead he nodded once, and watched his mother's proud eyes. Then she sighed, and dropped her hands to her sides. “I will have a more thorough discussion with Señor Perez, but for now we will leave him be. The grieving process can be a difficult one.”
A nod was all she received from her son, and she sighed loudly. “Oh mijo...” she said, taking his hand in hers.
“Did you mean it?” Bruno blurted out, and his mother blinked at him. “That I'd be the leader?” Alma smiled at him, and squeezed his hand in hers. “Of course Bruno. You are my only son after all.
“You are my perfect son. The face of La Familia Madrigal.”