Archive of Our Own

The only thing Camilo could do at first was to stare, frozen on his seat with crumbs falling out of his stuffed mouth that had been devouring the dinner leftovers his siblings and cousins had gifted him. And how could he move when he wasn’t even able to wrap his head around the whole situation that had just transpired in front of his very eyes? 

How could his family be so utterly and frighteningly oblivious?

Maybe it had always been like this, Camilo thought, and he was the only one capable of cutting to the chase with his keen and observant intellect. His Gift had required him to do exactly that.

Camilo looked around the room and saw that Abuela and the rest of the adults were still talking to each other and laughing at Mariano’s jokes while the kids were sitting on the sofa, either cuddling or looking at one another with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

It was so weird.

What was even stranger, however, was the minuscule fact that… Bruno, the man who was supposed to be his uncle and who had a long history of running away, had just managed to disappear from under everyone’s noses again in the span of barely a full day.

Camilo clenched his fist under the table and bounced his leg that wanted to move after the guy who had promised his emotional Mamá he would do anything to get better only a few hours prior, luring her into security and then stabbing her in the back by leaving anyway, brazenly, after a wholesome dinner with the family.

And it had been obvious from the start, too!

The first time Camilo had noticed the weird behavior had been yesterday, after Bruno's squabble with the villagers. It didn’t make any sense, Camilo concluded for himself, feeling oddly disappointed in the man.

But he had protected Mira, apparently. 

But why would he "leave" again when his relatives had been nothing short but disgustingly infatuated by him? It couldn’t be right and the young man felt like he was the only person equipped to uncover the plot, the underlying scheme.

So, he decided to follow the guy for the safety of his family and absolutely not because his escape tactics had been impressive. 

No, not exemplary at all.

The boy shoved his napkin under the plate and ducked, expertly avoiding his family’s gazes as he crawled along under the table. He held his breath when he crept by Abuela’s old lady feet and carefully pushed the cloth aside when the door to the garden was in reach.

Camilo was fully aware that what he was doing was in no way, shape, or form, responsible. But luckily for him, it played right into his well-kept image of a trickster.

Alas, he scurried outside with a pounding heart, and almost fell right into a rosebush in his panic. But no matter, he brushed himself off quickly enough, hoping not to have had an audience for once to witness his clumsy tripping. 

A quick look around told him where the man had escaped to since the flowers by the fence were slightly disrupted.

Camilo huffed and jumped over the gate, almost getting his poncho caught on the beams. The moment his feet hit the ground, he sprinted after the green-hooded figure who he had just caught turning a sharp corner by the edge of the village square, suddenly swallowed by the dark space between two residential houses. 

The teen thought about a different way to cut him off, knowing the town like the pocket of his vest, and hurried through the busy marketplace, heaving controlled breaths and curling his toes to secure his sandals to his soles.

“Huh!” a woman shouted in surprise when he bumped into her, catching her groceries at the last second, shoving them back into her arms, and being gone like the wind. 

Camilo yelled an apology over his shoulder as he kept going, trying to pick up his speed. He avoided crashing into a few stands, jumping over baskets where it was necessary, and ducking under some of the building materials the woodworkers had brought into the village to help his family reconstruct their home.

He might have slipped a couple of times and caught himself on his hands, the gravel digging slightly into his skin. Camilo opted to change his shape into someone faster than him, someone like Luisa, perhaps, so that he had a better chance of catching the runaway.

The characteristic to blend in seamlessly came along with his will to be someone else like a well-known mantra.

Luisa, confident steps, arms swaying while she walks, sure and unyielding, lightly scowling not to appear rude but because she's concentrating…

However, instead of the instant transformation, he had expected, his height remained the same and his muscles didn’t grow. Irritated at the lack of magic, he let his arms fall to his sides, feeling the villagers’ confused eyes at the back of his neck that prickled uncomfortably as he stood there uselessly. 

Camilo growled and pushed down the sliver of self-doubt that always followed him like a clingy pet. He would not let it consume him when he had no time to lose!

Instead, he grabbed a bunch of straw from a cart and tied it around his head with a cloth he found on the sidewalk, imitating an older man with a beard. He wasn’t complete otherwise, and the worst thing he could do at this point was to lose himself, right?

Right.

(As if he had ever known who he was when the Miracle had been healthy.)

Camilo scowled in concentration, trying to absorb the speed he wished his now 'borrowed' body possessed and pushing his legs near their limits. Then, he swung himself into a side street, plucking a jacket that had been hung out to dry from a line in midair, slipping his arms into the fluttering sleeves. 

But, to his shock, he didn’t see his uncle as he had anticipated, frightened eyes flickering from side to side as the burning sensation inside his lungs urged him to slow down. 

Aside from six flowerpots, shade sails, and barrels, there was nothing notable in the alley. It was empty.

I’m a Madrigal, I can’t fail!

Although Camilo had always taken this implication, this expectation in stride other than his relatives (he claimed to do it, at least), it was ingrained in his being. And there was no risk too great than to save his family from a potential threat.

Suddenly, sounds like rapid steps advanced on him from behind and a spark of arrogance blossomed inside the boy as his plan seemed to come to fruition, after all. This hope was extinguished, however, when the noise did pass by him, but his uncle was still nowhere in sight. 

Only a raging shadow from above that fleetingly blocked out the low sun alerted Camilo and he looked up with a gasp. 

An ethereal figure glid over the roof of a house, movements so controlled and lithe it appeared as a ghost, clothes so billowing and dauntingly dark it might as well be the Reaper.

Now, Camilo lived for presentation and scary stories that made him giddy, but his childhood terrors sprung forth from inside his brain as he thought back to what his sister had told him about their mysterious uncle so long ago and his glowing eyes that found your soul.

His blood ran cold, and his legs turned into jelly, the body telling him to admit defeat. But then hot teenage rage engulfed his heart, and he bared his teeth as he watched the criminal jump down the house at end of the alley with ease.

How dare he exploit their family’s kindness? How dare he bask in their concern and love when he only repaid them in pain?

Standing there in a costume, pretending to be anyone but himself, Camilo called his uncle the unabashed liar.

Mamá was crying so loudly that Camilo had to force himself to leave her side. She was caressing the old red armchair like a saving island in the sea of rubble their collapsed Casita, their home, had left behind.

He had rarely if ever seen her lose it to that degree. It upset him because her teary face disrupted the balance of impressions he had to create for himself each and every day since he had turned the tender age of five. All to perfect his Gift where tight observation and recreation were the keys.

And being wrong about somebody turned his narrow world upside-down.

But using his Gift was only a fleeting thought as he saw her break down and coat the rotting piece of furniture with a sorrow Camilo didn’t, couldn’t, understand.

The boy felt a strong hand sneak around his wrist and Isabela pulled him away from his parents.

"What? No!” escaped his lips and he was embarrassed by how yielding he sounded as he stumbled after his oldest cousin. 

Isabela was also carrying Antonio, his brother and his responsibility, on her hip like a substitute mother. That, the townsfolk had called ‘babysitting’ when asking Camilo if he had time to take care of their children and wear their faces.

It was like all his tools were taken from his hands, sudden and destructive like an avalanche. Little did he know, how close it was to burying him completely.

He glanced back, knowing that he should help his mother calm down by offering her tea he couldn’t heat, inside a house that didn't exist anymore. He should utter reassurances to ease the lines on her forehead — body language cautious but not too skittish, a little bold and slow instead— and imitate the grounding frame and demeanor of his father.

But he stumbled after his cousin until she stopped a good distance away from his parents and set Antonio down. Isabela sighed and rested her hands on her waist, the tension leaving her shoulders. 

Camilo caught a sliver of her raw expression before she turned to the little boy, and it was like seeing her for the first time. There was something so unsettlingly different about her; a steely strength of endurance that she had either acquired in short term or a personality trait that had finally bubbled to the surface.

The boy didn’t want to entertain the latter possibility because it meant that he had always been wrong about her, too. And being wrong meant to fail with a power like his.

“It was only a matter of time until something like this would happen,” Isabela spoke bitterly, swatting a long strand of ebony-colored hair out of her face, and Antonio looked away, biting his small lip.

“You mean calling for the doctor?” Camilo asked dumbly, the feeling of being shut out spreading in his chest, as he thought back to how his other relatives had scrambled into town in order to find... Señor Ramírez was it?

Tío Agustín hadn’t even asked Camilo if he wanted to help.

Something this tiny and insignificant shouldn’t have bruised his ego as it had but Camilo didn’t like not being part of the action. It was the reason why he always wormed himself into situations that didn’t concern him, even if it was in good fun.

Isabela stared at him with a wrinkled nose, but this familiar action seemed off, somehow. She had often turned up her nose at him or rolled her eyes with disgust when he had blasted peas at her head, giggling with self-satisfaction from under the stairs.

But now, she must think he was a lost cause.

Camilo tried to hold her gaze, squinting at her to make her explain herself. Isabela built herself up to assert dominance or whatever, until his brother intervened by tugging at the hem of her dress, convincing her that looking at his puppy eyes was more important. She bowed down to him and shut the older boy out without a second thought. Cast aside like cheap perfume.

“Bruno lived in the walls,” Antonio said, childish voice oddly low and concerned although he was mimicking the furrowed brows Isabela tried to reign in.

“Yes, Mirabel told Luisa and me. It’s where you two found him, wasn't it?” the young woman spoke softly, and Antonio nodded.

The Walls? Camilo repeated drily inside his head, a laugh rising in his throat. Was that a code name for something? Was this the name of the village their newly-returned uncle had moved to ten years ago?

'Come to the Walls!' Camilo imagined an overly excited merchant to cheer, waving flyers around, 'We have the best holiday resort! All-inclusive even for ten-year stays!'

He snorted at the thought, unaware of the rage that boiled up in his cousin.

"It’s just… hard to believe that he has lived under such horrendous conditions for so long,” Isabela continued, and her voice cracked at the end, “If I had known I could have helped— I could have told him how much he matters to me, to us, more often! Ay, Tío Bruno!”

Isabela shot up to her feet with a piece of debris in hand and hurled it into the thicket with a force that immediately made Camilo cower in fear, shielding his head with his hands.

He had ducked sooner than the sound of a snapping branch could reach their ears and the rock could fall on the muffled, grassy ground. 

Camilo huffed when his little brother blinked at him, utterly unfazed by Isabela's strange behavior. In fact, the otherwise timid boy was yet another person who was acting very out of character. 

Their family had done a 180 in a matter of hours, Camilo realized with a start, but where did that leave him?

Isabela stood there, panting as if she had just poured all her pain into the throw. "Can you imagine spending such a big chunk of your life locked away in a tiny room, thinking your family hates you?"

She sniffled and slowly continued talking, pronouncing every word with the strain of experience behind it. "But you still push through it because you want to protect them?"

Camilo felt nauseous, all of a sudden, and he sat down on the sharp boulder beside him as regret blanketed his shoulders. He rubbed the skin under his eyes, a connection to snippets of the past he had long forgotten, mimicking someone with eyebags that were always bruised. 

“So, Bruno never really left?” he asked needlessly as the silence between the three children spoke for itself and the background noise of his mother crying spoke even louder, confirming it like a shout of anguish.

He thought back to the reunion in the freshly-fallen ruins when he had seen his uncle again or maybe for the first time. 

All the intel Camilo had gathered about him up to that point had been revoked in a matter of seconds— Bruno was small, definitely not seven feet tall, maybe Camilo’s height, nervous grin, and movements, animated in a dorky way — and then the rest of their family had been all over the man. It had been such an abrupt change that had left Camilo utterly confused and his side open to get elbowed by his sister.

Ouch.

Dolores must have known all along, then. A feeling of betrayal spread in his chest at the realization that only blossomed the more he analyzed the fresh events. 

Dolores, Mirabel, Antonio, Isabela, and Luisa knew their uncle had been spying on them from inside their house— and Camilo was the last to find out? He should always be one of the first ones to uncover secrets in the village.

'Am I losing my touch?' he wondered and gazed up at the too-empty sky, relating to it more than he realized.

Mariano jogged up to them and asked Isabela if she was alright, a large frame built like it could carry anything and a strained smile crossed her face again, an actress in her own right.

Camilo swore to himself that he would not fall behind again. Not one more single time. 

And really, how much danger could a man as frail-looking as Bruno pose? Finding out what his deal was would be a piece of cake, an easy win, and reassuring comfort.

Camilo was trudging through the forest, too obsessed to give up on the wild goose chase. His feet crunched a few leaves and the bulky jacket caught on some branches, but he brushed them off, trying to stay as quiet as possible, like a jaguar on the hunt.

There were some fleeting noises from the animals that rose in the dark and a shiver ran down his back. It was a golden rule in the Encanto not to venture into the jungle at dusk.

His youngest cousin Mirabel would get an earful for running away, Camilo laughed wickedly while ignoring the fact that he was doing the same thing. 

Because the family would be ever so thankful if he brought back the culprit of their troubles.

He glanced around and turned on his heels, eyes trained on every possible hiding spot. The wind shook the trees eerily and tugged at his make-shift beard that was still attached to his face. 

The boy bent down to pick up a stick, holding it between his hands like a club. He wouldn’t use it if the man came willingly.

Then, the young teen continued his search, hiding behind tree trunks occasionally so that his back was protected. 

'He has to be close!' Camilo thought and licked the itchy spot where his first real facial hair would emerge one day.

Absentmindedly, he fiddled with the bark around the stick, peeling it off to guarantee maximal grip tension. Then he froze, his head snapping up when his ears detected a ghostly noise that no bird could make. 

It sounded like throaty whistling, uncanny and piercing.

“El Silbón,” Camilo breathed, his voice hitching in his throat as his childhood terror emerged.

He should have kept his mouth shut since in that very second five black-coated beings scurried out from the vegetation around him, squeaking like feral rodents. 

They ran past the boy who tried his best not to cry out in fear. 

His eyes followed the movements of one of the rats and saw it enter an open space in the middle of the jungle. The blood-red moon above then illuminated a hooded figure, the demon Camilo had just summoned with his words, and its servants that crawled up its dark robes like skeletons of the underworld.

The screaming noises from Hell faded and Camilo pressed his back against the tree that was his cover. He was sure the stranger had noticed him but was unaware that the phantom had equipped himself with a weapon as well.

Camilo’s stomach dropped to his knees when the creepy aura came nearer and he tightened his hold around his powerful sword, although his hands were slippery sweaty and shaky. He had never been particularly brave or dumb, so he imagined himself strong and unbeatable like the typical heroic figures in fairy tales (at least in the ones that weren't told by his sister).

“T-take this!” the boy shouted and whirled around, swinging the club at the enemy with all his might.

The other man, however, easily blocked his attack and their weapons clanked, evenly matched. Camilo pulled back for another swing to continue their epic fight of good against evil but flung his stick away, accidentally. 

The stranger stared at him with deep-set eyes, raising an unimpressed brow.

Camilo balled his fists instead, challenging the phantom once more, ready to protect his home and his family’s honor. The other man mirrored him and let go of his weapon (how oddly chivalrous of him), charging at the boy. 

They wrestled and tried to pin each other down, and Camilo took pride in how long he was able to hold out the onslaught, although, in reality, both men had zero combat experience to show for and possessed below-average upper body strength.

“Gotcha!” Camilo shouted with joy at his win and pressed his hands on the man’s shoulders when he sat on top of him, leaving the robed stranger squirming and kicking his legs in vain.

“Who are you?!” the captive shouted, on the verge of giving up.

Camilo threw his head back to laugh at his expense.

Then the other man stilled and pulled his hood off his forehead, revealing dark locks with wispy gray strands, a large nose, and wide eyes that seemed to have snapped out of something, finally clear and coherent.

“Camilo?!” Bruno yelled in surprise when he studied his nephew’s face that was hidden behind a bunch of kinked straw and an embroidered shawl. There was also a jacket that definitely did not belong to the boy. “What are you doing?”

The pressure eased for a second as Camilo considered his tone but then gripped the green poncho in a vice. 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” the boy warned, straining his voice an octave deeper and unintentionally taking on an accent that was reminiscent of a pirate. All to sell his act and to intimidate his wayward uncle.

But Bruno looked utterly confused, craning his neck, and taking in their surroundings. 

“Where are we?” he asked again, this time more resigned and troubled. 

Camilo didn’t buy his pretenses for a second and huffed at the attempt to sway him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Bruno gasped when an explanation shot into his brain and the boy could practically hear his fluttering heartbeat through the thick clothing he wore. 

“Did you kidnap me?!” his uncle accused him and tried to shove him off.

That caught Camilo off guard and one of the rats he had forgotten about readied itself to bite his hand, wanting to free the older man like a loyal friend.

“No, Maria! Don’t!” Bruno yelled, but it was too late. 

The angry rat buried its sharp teeth in Camilo’s skin and he screamed in pain, shaking his hand to fling it off. The boy tumbled off his prey and clutched his hand, unmanly tears poking at the corner of his eyes.

(Papá would tell him it's okay to cry, as would Tío Agustín but there were different laws at school.)

Bruno scooped up the rat and put it in his poncho, crawling over to Camilo with fidgeting fingers and figuratively trying to extend an olive branch. 

“She’s very… territorial,” he explained mellowly but changed his advance when Camilo only huffed with anger, miffed at the ferocious rodent. 

The boy then felt a tentative hand on his back, so careful and kind that no sourness inside him could push him to shake it off. Bruno sneaked his hand around the boy’s injured arm and uncurled it, analyzing the wound. 

It wasn’t deep, it wasn’t bleeding. It had only been a worried rat’s warning, a nip.

“S-sana, sana, colita de rana,” his uncle sang, and Camilo was taken off guard, staring at Bruno, a stranger, nonplussed which the man mistook for an improvement of the situation, “Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.”

Camilo looked at the pink wound and the mindful way the other man was holding it up. He ripped the straw beard off his face, feeling secure enough to reveal himself.

'Okay, okay, we have a new situation ahead of us!' Camilo told the audience in his head, 'Adapt! Adapt!'

“Do you promise that it’ll be healed by tomorrow?” the boy asked naively, “Because there are no more healing arepas around.”

Bruno smiled and nodded, feeling very accomplished. “I promise,” he said, knocking his knuckles against the side of his head, “I can’t see the future anymore, but this will certainly be gone in a few hours.”

“Good,” Camilo sighed, his cheeks flushing, “I don’t wanna kick the bucket cuz of a dirty plague carrier.”

His uncle then snapped his fingers, his mouth in an ‘o’ shape that looked so removed that Camilo wanted to crawl out of his skin. 

“Bucket! That’s what I was doing!” the older man remembered.

Camilo stilled and turned to face the man, demanding a desperate explanation. Why would he run into the forest? And what did that have to do with a bucket? Or was it just another codeword for something?

His uncle hunched into himself and rubbed his arms, making himself smaller than he already was. Camilo knew the look in his eyes, it was one of impending doom, like the inferno that always flickered behind his mother's eyes. 

Bruno shivered and gnawed at his lip, then opened his shaky mouth and started mumbling to himself. “Wait— wait, if I’m here then I’m not there!” he forced out, his airways constricting at the realization that he had left his relatives in a very dangerous state at the Guzmáns'.

'No shit,' Camilo thought and rolled his eyes, building a defense around his heart. He tried to ignore the way his uncle reminded him even more of his mother at that moment. 

“I didn’t even tell them where I was going! They’ll be so angry— no, no, no, can’t let that happen. Pepa was finally smiling again, and I promised I wouldn’t ruin it! But of course, I have, stupid Bruno can never do anything right. I should have stayed away— Mira, why did you say you’d bring me home? Just Bad Luck all over again—!”

“Hey,” Camilo spoke but it went unnoticed. Unsettled by the lack of response, the boy sat up straight, and cautiously held the man’s arms that were vibrating with panic. 

“Hey!” the young man tried louder this time, tightening his hold, and passing over how his own skin had begun to fog up, too, like sympathy sweat. 

Terrified hazel eyes snapped up at him, so piercing and true like the village stories had made them out to be. Camilo swallowed thickly but didn’t surrender his gaze although he felt like his uncle was peeling back every well-crafted layer, he had collected over the years.

Was this the all-knowing future? Was this the Seer?

“Let’s just go back,” Camilo suggested and his confused, old uncle leaned his head to the side, considering his words with defiant determination.

“No, I can’t. The… the bucket is still important!” Bruno insisted, like a plea, “It’ll help us come home sooner.”

Then he stood up, staggering around the clearance. Camilo, still a puddle on the leafy ground, regarded him with confusion, resting his hands on his knees.

“You’re talking about a real bucket, right? The metal or wooden thing where you can put stuff into?” the boy asked, counting to ten so that his voice didn’t come out like a snap.

“Yes, of course!” the madman who even dared to chuckle at him explained, “You can tell the others that I’ll be back soon.”

Camilo frowned and pondered the suggestion. It would certainly be best to tell their family about their whereabouts but it wouldn’t solve much if Camilo returned alone.

And although Bruno didn’t deserve their attention, there was no denying that all Hell would break loose if something happened to him.

Both men weighed the words that hung between them and came to the same conclusion: They couldn’t bear to leave the other.

“We should stick together,” they said in unison and a lightning bolt sizzled through Camilo, oddly touched by his uncle’s implied concern. 

'This means nothing,' the boy thought, swallowing the warmth that had blossomed, 'Why would that stranger care for me? Nope, he knows that he’ll be in big trouble if I went missing... At least, if he doesn’t have anything nefarious planned in the first place.'

“The ‘bucket’ isn’t far from here, or is it? I don’t have this ‘wanderlust’ right now,” Camilo complained like the teenager he was and his uncle chuckled.

It was a breathless but genuine sound that lifted the trickster’s spirits and even some of his suspicions.

“It has to be around here somewhere,” the older man assured, pushing a large leaf aside as if he were offering a door to Camilo like a fine gentleman and not a scratched-up homeless guy dressed in a ratty old poncho.

“Fine,” the boy huffed and tumbled after the man; from the gloomy light into the shadows of the darkening forest, “I don’t like getting blisters on my feet, though.”

“Then you should have stolen sturdy footwork instead of a straw beard,” Bruno laughed without a pause and pointed at the very similar-looking sandals at their boney feet.

Camilo’s expression soured at the joke made at his expense and pressed down the urge to strangle him again for bruising his ego like that.

Bruno did seem kind of nice, though.

The duo slunk through the vegetation, and Camilo was annoyed at how unnamed species of insects crawled over his unprotected toes. There was quiet between the two men, as well as sticky pollen from the trees.

Camilo was tempted to cross his arms and hunch his shoulders, using his poncho as a shelter, like Bruno in front of him. But their creepiy similar style of clothing was already enough.

He observed his uncle, the way he staggered forward as if there was an imaginary force pushing him around in a freaky way. Bruno had also gestured with his hands a lot when he had talked earlier, and when he wasn’t, they would hang tensely at his sides, constricted like claws.

Camilo wrinkled his nose at the comparison.

Nope, more like fluffy paws from a wet kitten.

Seriously, this was the bane of the Encanto? The prophet with visions so horrible that no one should utter his name? A boogeyman parents used in bedtime stories to make their children behave lest he swooped in and took them away? 

When he had been younger, Camilo had been scared of his uncle as well, like any other child in the Encanto. But as he had grown older, so had his fondness or rather his intrigue. And dare he say, he had been a little proud to have an evil and mysterious relative?

“S-so,” the older man started, facing Camilo with a nervous, embarrassed fiddling of his thumbs and voice that was forcefully trying to sound laid-back, “what’s… up?”

It seemed like his uncle wanted to converse with him as if they were both the same age, mutuals. However unsophisticated Bruno was, though, like a man out of time, Camilo decided to indulge him. 

This was the best and most effortless way to gather information.

He thought his response through, laying out his words in a way that should appear light-hearted and encourage Bruno to talk about himself. 

“Oh, yeah, you know, life’s alright. Casita may be gone and we’re kinda house surfing at the moment, but aside from that things are fine. What about y—”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. We don’t have to,” the older man intervened with a sad smile and turned around again, taking a big step over a bush like they hadn't exchanged words at all.

Camilo’s plan died in his throat at being shot down like that and quickly realized that he would have to apologize to keep their conversation going. 

Oh, the pain!

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said and hurried his gait so that they were walking side-by-side, “It’s just that, uhm… I don’t even know you.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” Bruno mumbled and took one of his pets from his shoulder, scratching the fat rat between its ears, “You were so young when I left.”

“Then,” Camilo tried to save, pursing his lips, “is there anything we used to do together?”

“Oh!” Bruno exclaimed and bounced the rat, already perking up, “You loved to hide in the laundry baskets and I had to find you every Friday when it was my turn to do the washing. You also liked to cling to my legs and it was a pain to climb the stairs like that, especially with Isa and Lolita running around. Uff, but you and Mira were like partners in crime or something, always up to mischief. Good that Luisita was there to reign you in. Yeah, babysitting you guys sure was exciting. I never would have managed to do that without Casita! A sentient baby gate—” 

Camilo stared at him, put off by the incredible enthusiasm the man displayed. The way he rambled on without thinking almost convinced Camilo that he spoke the truth. Either that or the man was the greatest liar the boy had ever encountered.

“You were quite the messy kid, I have to admit. And a messy eater! But that hasn’t changed, I guess—”

“Yeah, okay!” Camilo huffed, flustered, his cheeks flushed due to things he couldn’t even remember, told to him by a stranger. The worst combination, really. “So, we were close? And then you just up and left for ten years?”

Using ‘leaving’ as a broad term here.

Bruno flinched slightly and waved his hands, the rat knowing him so well that it jumped back on his shoulder before it could slip down, joining the others nestled in his hood. “Ah, no! It’s been a little more than ten years…”

Semantics, Camilo thought, rolling his eyes while his uncle squinted at his fingers and mumbled to himself as he curled them.

“3731 days if my math isn’t off,” Bruno said nonchalantly and shrugged his shoulders, ducking under a branch.

The boy narrowly avoided being hit in the face by it and blamed it on the off-guard-catching fact that his uncle had just done the precise calculation in under four seconds.

“You’re a nerd!” the boy accused, not trying to sound mean, just over the moon to finally have a personality trait he could pin on the man.

It all made sense now! The awkward way he walked and talked, his strange obsession with rats (forgive me, Antonio), the big brain that must hide under the bird's nest he called hair, and his disconnect from the village!

“What a thought! Mamá has a dorky brother— and Tía Julieta, too. Man, you’re all so old; it’s hard to imagine you even went to school together like a bazillion years ago!”

Bruno stiffened again and wiped the skin under his left eye. When his hand left his face, his heavy eyebags looked a concerning gray and purple, visible even in the half-dark.

Has he been wearing make-up all this time?  

“We did go to school together, but we didn’t graduate at the same time,” the older man said softly.

Camilo snorted. “Why? Because you skipped a grade or something?”

“I never graduated at all, is what I meant to say,” his uncle admitted, unexpectedly somberly like it was a deep scar that was chafed open again.

A vulnerability he let him see.

This threw the young man for a loop. How was it even possible for a citizen of the Encanto, a Madrigal no less, to fail like that? 

Camilo didn’t even want to imagine how Abuela must have reacted. She always pushed them to do their best no matter the context.

“Why not?” he couldn’t help but ask, blatantly and inconsiderate. 'Like a fool!' Isabela would snap.

“Sometimes, there are greater troubles than a piece of parchment paper, Camilo,” Bruno sighed with a frown and fiddled at the large sleeves of Mariano’s shirt, “B-but you like going to school, don’t you? You’re in the drama club, I’ve heard?”

Of course, he knew that. He had been living in the walls! That was probably also why he had anticipated Camilo's secret super moves so well and accurately before.

He had probably witnessed many more cringy fails that way, too.

“Yeah, I’m one of the leading actors. Heh, because I can play any role!” Camilo gloated with a smirk, hiding the pain he felt that his Gift was no more, “The new stage we got in the theater makes practice much better than a classroom.”

The older man glanced at him with a twinkle in his eyes that dimmed slightly a second later. There was an emotion Camilo couldn’t place but would have interpreted as jealousy had he been in a more suspicious mood.

“The theater, hm?” Bruno spoke wistfully, “Must be a great place…”

Camilo waved his hand dismissively but noted that particular interest. “It’s not a palace or anything but it gets the job done. The props crew is almost done with crafting the cardboard decor, so the performance will probably be on schedule. My teacher promoted the 20th but with everything going on… maybe later.”

Bruno laughed, but it came out a little strangled and cracked, even teary. “No obstacles are too high for a true actor’s heart!”

The young man halted at the exaggeration, baffled by how their conversation had been blown out of proportion in a matter of seconds. 

Acting must be very important to him.

“Ya have any experience?” Camilo asked, trying to steer the situation into a more light-hearted direction since he could spot tears in his uncle’s eyes.

“Ah, well, n-nothing professional, but I do like acting!” the man sobbed, wringing his poncho. He wanted to sound cheerful, however, his voice came out as distraught and slightly on the verge of collapse, just like earlier.

Great, Camilo was supposed to make others laugh but the only thing he had accomplished so far was making a grown man cry. To be fair, though, his uncle behaved more like a weird cross between a child and an adult, the result being a weary, edgy teen. 

Much like Camilo himself. 

Was that why they got along so well? Was that why they could be honest with each other?

“I used to make hand puppets— you played with them too, by the way— and wrote plays for myself and here, my little actors,” he pulled out a rat again, curling its tail carefully around his ring finger while it squeaked in content, nibbling at it, “I've never had a big audience, ahah, or an audience at all.”

“Mh, maybe the Vision Rituals for the villagers count? Yeah, I’ve brought that ‘mysterious seer’ role to a whole new level! I didn’t want them to know how much their mean rumors hurt me, so I pretended that they didn’t affect me. ‘It’s your future’ I told them and left them alone to deal with it. Probably not the best thing to do because some of the visions were just horribly tragic but it got them out of my room…”

“What the Hell?!” Camilo yelled and stopped walking.

Bruno instantly reached into his poncho to pull out a small leather bag, poured a white substance into his palm, and threw it over his shoulder. Then, he rippled his knuckles over a nearby tree trunk, mumbling with obsession and then hitting his head with a clank.

“Bad Luck! Something bad is going to happen soon… no cursing,” his uncle huffed nervously, putting the bag back in its place.

That was unsettling, Camilo thought, but many people in the Encanto were superstitious. But what was even graver, was that his entire perception of his uncle had just been turned on its head.

A cold feeling overcame the boy as he looked at the older man, at his stooped spine, his unsure stance, and the way he avoided eye contact like a submissive dog. 

And there was one reason Camilo could deduct from their strained conversation about school: his uncle had been bullied.

Now, Camilo himself wasn’t always the most considerate person out there, but it was his grand mission to cheer others up, and that included defending those weaker than him. Oh yes, he liked putting bullies in their place, sometimes tallying the fine line of being a bully himself with his methods. 

But he was an ally for the underdogs and the thought that his uncle, his family, had been hurt by those hypocritical villagers that were apparently only capable of distinguishing a cob of corn from a potato and no Devil from his uncle infuriated Camilo to no end.

Family? Where did that come from?

However strange it was to think of Bruno as someone who was related to him, Camilo couldn’t help but be somewhat excited at the prospect. 

The man was just so weird and interesting! So sad, but still, so much like Camilo.

“This isn’t a job interview, dude. C’mon, chill a little,” Camilo pleaded, and it came out much more whiny than he had wanted. And it was an interview, an inconspicuous one, but his uncle didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, I never had a job either!” Bruno yelped and reached out to pull the hood over his head, but Camilo stopped him from hiding, moving before he could think, his action telling his uncle that he was safe with him.

Something passed between them, and the boy snatched his hand away, blazing and swift like the lightning bolts his mother could create.

“Argh, I’m sorry,” the older man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to pull himself together, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all that. There’s just something about you. Something trustworthy.”

Me, trustworthy?

“It’s just been… an eventful day for me,” Bruno continued with exhaustion and slumped over a thick root.

Camilo followed after him, oddly flattered and touched by his words because no one in their right mind should trust Camilo.

But it seemed like his uncle was insane somewhere in that head of his, so that evened it out.

“Welp, but in a few days, I tell you, it’s back to work anyway,” Camilo lamented and imagined his grandmother commanding, ushering, all of them around. 

It was an open question where Bruno would fall into the constellation, now.

The older man glimpsed at him and swallowed, his voice rough and aggrieved at his nephew’s festered belief.

“For someone who personifies change you do seem to be quite stuck in your ways,” he mumbled and pressed his mouth into a thin line, until he tried to pedal back on his bold statement, “Do with that what you will…”

Camilo crossed his arms and huffed, shooting back: “And you personify the enlightenment, huh?”

To his surprise, Bruno chuckled throatily, and the rats on his poncho perked up. 

“Only to those who are willing to listen,” he said and smiled at the boy, “Whatever you do or think you must do, you’re a good kid, Camilo. Never forget that.”

“Okay,” Camilo concluded and counted silently, “Considering that you’re suddenly here now, again or whatever, we should make some things very clear.”

Bruno turned around with a tense brow and rigid spine, anticipating a harsh list of requirements.

“You’re an adult and have some degree of authority over us kids. Are you going to use your power wisely?”

“Y-yes, of course! I’ve been an uncle for 21 years, Camilo…,” Bruno stuttered and nodded.

“Fine. But you have to know that I can’t just call you ‘Tío Bruno~!’” Camilo said dramatically and pitched his voice, trying to sound like his besotted cousins. He even lifted a leg and interlaced his hands, fluttering his short eyelashes. “You have to earn it. So, how about we act out some possible future scenarios? A pop quiz.”

That intrigued the older man and he agreed, having nothing else to do so he might as well entertain his nephew by fulfilling his childish demands.

Camilo cleared his throat: “Here’s scenario número uno: I wanna go hang out with my friends and drink some hard alcohol. What do you do?”

"Friends?” Bruno asked and tapped his chin in a way that made Camilo weirdly insecure about his relationships with people of his age.

“Yes… I have them,” Camilo ground out, slightly offended that this part was what made his uncle think. 

(But did he really have friends? Or did they just spend time with him because he could, would, be everything they wanted him to be, never his own person?)

“I'd tell you to have fun, of course!” Bruno exclaimed cheerfully, looking expectantly at the boy, hoping he approved.

Camilo almost choked on his spit and did a double-take: “What? You’d allow me to drink? Just like that?!”

“Of course! Alcohol has helped me through some tough times. Up in my tower or behind the walls. It numbs the pain, is what they say,” Bruno advertised and grinned.

Camilo frowned, undecided and disturbed. How was he supposed to take his uncle’s words? Were they truly meant to be encouraging and paving his way to degeneracy? 

The young boy took in his uncle’s appearance once more, grayish skin, sunken cheeks, and a jugular that almost sprung out of his throat; all topped by the manic and twisted stare of hazel eyes.

It almost made Camilo believe him, but Bruno surely wouldn't want his nephew to end up sad and pathetic like him, right? Whatever it was, two things were for certain, though: His uncle was a strange guy, and alcohol had lost its tantalizing, forbidden appeal to the young man. 

At least temporarily.

“Stop manipulating me!” Camilo groaned. However, he couldn’t help but smile when Bruno laughed lightheartedly, walking ahead with a swoosh of his poncho.

“Here’s scenario número dos, then: Mira says she’s your favorite nibling and I tell her it’s me. What do you say?”

“That’s a bet waiting to happen. Maybe even a war. What are the stakes?” Bruno asked and bent down in front of a fern, pushing a large leaf aside. He pulled out a bucket — right, that’s why they were here— and held it close.

Camilo gasped ironically, a hand over his chest. “I’d lose if you don’t pick my side! Isn’t that bad enough?”

“That’d be truly unfortunate,” Bruno spoke slowly and stood up, his bones creaking in protest.

The young boy cringed and raised a judgmental eyebrow. His uncle was truly a vessel of opposites that were jumbled together without rhyme or reason. He was agile but weak, smart and wise but in a stupid way, manipulative but awkward. Frankly, a combination to beware.

“Of course, it would be! I have a reputation to lose, too! So far, the family’s approval is neatly divided between us, so it all depends on you—!”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit…,” Bruno cut in drily.

“Hey! I’m funny, I’m… suave, and uh…,” Camilo began but trailed off.

What else was there? Who was he, deep down?

The boy didn't want to be an empty shell, jaded and trampled on like his uncle.

Camilo didn’t notice how tense Bruno suddenly got, too occupied by coming up with good qualities and personality traits that would push his popularity over his cousin’s.

“Camilo,” Bruno whispered and clenched the rim of the bucket as the rats in his hood became anxious. His eyes flickered over the thicket that was built and obscure like a fortress but feeling watched, stalked, nonetheless.

“I mean, sure, my jokes tend to cross the line, but that’s no reason to choose Mira over me, is it? I just get caught up in the moment like I’m living in a fantasy world because I do have to pretend that I’m someone else, and it’s hard, you know? But the Gifts are gone now—”

“Camilo,” his uncle hissed but couldn’t break through the boy’s rambling. 

He stumbled back, setting the bucket carefully next to his feet as he inched closer to his nephew. The man built himself up like a shield when he heard a low, guttural growl from the depths behind the nearest trees.

“It’s not that I want to be annoying to everyone but most times I'm using humor to cope! I never told that to anyone, but sometimes there's just too much s-stuff going on, and I don't know if I can handle it! Always being what people need me to be!”

“Camilo!” Bruno shouted with breathless desperation, hugging the boy to his chest and physically dragging him out of the way where suddenly a looming and animalistic figure landed, the ground trembling under its mighty paws.

Camilo screamed like a banshee when real glowing cat eyes zeroed in on him, and the huge jaguar stalked closer, head bowed and glaring. The boy shook along with the penetrating growls and sobbed in his uncle’s poncho like a babe as his life flashed before him, trying to make amends with his sins. 

His uncle hugged him closer and had a staring match with the big cat. But he quickly realized that if it had wanted, the jaguar would have already devoured them with a single bite.

Camilo couldn't stop his cries for help and talked himself into a frenzy about identity and hope: “I-if we survive I tell you, I'm gonna take you to the theater, and we'll put on the best performance ever, you'll be the actor you've always wanted to be!” 

He continued to ramble and clutched at the green fabric like a lifeline because once he ran his mouth there was no stopping it. “And a-after that, I'll make sure that you get your darn graduation and show everyone what a damn smart nerd you are, and whenever you say that you can't do it anymore I'll be standing behind you and yell at you what an uber-cool uncle you are— I love you, Tío B!”

Something hot and slimy stuck to his cheek and pulled his skin up as it left a sticky trail of saliva in its wake, smelling of putrid meat and bad jokes.

Camilo carefully opened his eyes and was met with a large snout, discovering catty orbs half-hidden behind it.

The jaguar was grinning at him, fangs on display, but with a goofy nuance to the expression.

"We found Parce," Tío B stated, rubbing Camilo's back, "And Antonio's other friends."

Lo and behold, there was his little brother's merry band of animals. Coatis were perched on a rock, looking at him with curiosity. A toucan landed on Tío B's shoulder, and a fat capybara waddled along behind a swarm of other birds.

Camilo smirked when Tío B's most confrontational rat bit the jaguar, scolding him for giving them such a fright.

The young man sighed and loosened the tension in his neck by resting it against his uncle's chest. "S-so, back to the village?"

"Sí," Tío B confirmed and picked up the bucket that had brought them nothing but trouble...

"We'll be in even deeper shit when Abuela sees us again," Camilo groaned and pulled himself to his feet, one of the coatis passing right by as it guided them back home.

Tío B halted for a moment and then put the bucket on his head. "She can't drag me by the ear like this," he explained but fiddled with his hands, fearing his mother's wrath as much as Camilo should.

But the young man laughed and slung his hand over his uncle's elbow, locking arms as they walked to their doom, but they were in this together.

So maybe his uncle was a walking mess of opposites and contradictions that drove Camilo crazy. And maybe, it was alright this way because it made Camilo feel free to be himself, too.

Tío B was like a mirror, Camilo realized, clearer and sharper than any inside his room, that revealed the truth to him. The young man finally knew why it was so extremely difficult for him to figure his uncle out.

“We’re the same,” he breathed in relief and acceptance, a small, pure smile pulling up his lips.