Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The lights spark and flicker with monsters much bigger than I can control now. Welcome to the panic room, where all your darkest fears are gonna come for you, come for you. Welcome to the panic room. You'll know I wasn't joking when you see them too.” - Panic Room, Au/Ra

Bruno woke in the middle of the night, heart pounding, terror freezing him in place and his head throbbing with pain.

This wasn’t new. This happened with such frequency that he’d long since accustomed himself to it. Chronic nightmares and chronic pain couldn’t be stopped, only helped- and it was help he couldn’t afford in any case. No one in such a small village could.

Sighing, he reluctantly hauled himself out of bed and went to his kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, gulped it and poured another, sitting on the counter and swinging his legs like a child, though he was…Well. Somewhere in his forties. About forty-five at least.

What had the nightmare been this time? He strained to remember. The dream had been green as usual; there’d been fire, shouting. Gunfire. Blood. 

His little village had been aflame. 

It sent shivers down his spine and, though he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t. His green nightmares always came true. But who could he even tell? He’d long since learned his lesson about being quiet; to tell anyone what he saw was to risk being branded a brujo. If he opened his mouth, he ran the risk of being beaten, whipped, maybe even killed.

And that was when people believed him. When they didn’t, he was called crazy, disturbed, impaired. 

It had been like this since he was five years old. The green dreams started then and never left. 

The nuns certainly hadn’t liked it. His back was a tapestry of their anger, their fear and displeasure. His arms and legs were a map of scars, a lifetime of being shunned and alone making itself known outwardly as his brain screamed at him that he deserved it.

The dreams weren’t all bad: sometimes he saw a good harvest, a healthy baby being born, weddings, people helping each other. But good or bad, the green dreams always came true.

But still, he’d never seen anything like this. He drank the rest of the water, still shivering. Bruno felt frozen to the spot, torn between telling someone or keeping quiet. Who could he even tell anyway? He wasn’t exactly close with anyone except his boss, the local potter, Juan Puerta. The whole street called him Abuelo, a tall man in his seventies with a crooked, gap-tooth smile for those he called his own. Bruno was on that list and had been since he arrived in this village nearly fifteen years ago. 

Maybe…Maybe he could tell Juan? This wasn’t some far-off disaster, this was their village. Their home. Bruno knew these people and none of them had ever harmed him. They thought he was odd, sure, but no one threw stones or hurt him. If he could just convince Juan that he was telling the truth then surely the villagers would listen to Juan? People liked him, people trusted him. Abuelo Puerta, always taking in strays.

He’d just climbed off the counter, resolving to find a way to tell Juan that danger was coming in the morning, when he heard a far-off scream. Then a flash. Smoke.

Fire.

Someone pounded at his door, shouting; “Bruno! BRUNO! Wake up, niño!” 

It was Juan and Bruno had never heard him sound so afraid.

He ran for the door, stumbling and unlocked it with shaking hands. He could see fire in the distance, could smell smoke in the air. People were screaming and- oh God, those were gunshots.

He was too late. They were already under attack.

Bruno knew there’d been violence, that other villages had been attacked, some small towns…But the violence had been going the other way, away from them and further down the mountains. They were so small that the village elders assured them all they’d be overlooked. Bruno wasn’t even sure if there’d been an evacuation plan.

It was a bit late to be worrying about that.

Juan pushed his way into the small home and ran immediately to Bruno’s room. He came back holding Bruno’s favourite ruana and a pair of sandals and he shoved them into Bruno’s arms.

“Come on, boy, hurry,” he said. He was sweating, his grey hair sticking up awkwardly. There was a bruise on his cheek.

Bruno didn’t question him. No hesitating, no stumbling; if he hesitated now he’d die. No arguing, no questions. He could trust Juan. If there was anything he was sure of in his life, it was this: Abuelo Juan Puerta would not hurt him. 

Juan held a small cloth bag and Bruno didn’t even have time to grab much. He grabbed his own bag by his bed, shoving in his nearly-empty wallet, a shirt and pants, some food and his most precious possession: the baby blanket he’d been found swaddled in as an infant, pale green and embroidered with his name and a single caterpillar. He didn’t own much, he never had. The food took up most of the space in his bag, which he figured was the most important thing anyway.

The shouting was getting closer, the smoke clogging the air and Bruno pulled his ruana up over his mouth and nose as he coughed.

Juan grabbed his hand like he was a child and pulled him along the street. They lived in the middle of the village and Bruno cursed that fact where he’d previously liked it. Before, living just off the village square had felt secure and it had been convenient to be so near the shops and his job. Now it meant they’d have more trouble fleeing.

“Keep your head down,” Juan said gruffly as they ran. 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Bruno mumbled. He winced at the screams, coughing on the smoke. 

Their pretty little village had turned into a warzone, the stuff of nightmares. The sky was red with fire, clogged with grey smoke. All around him his neighbours fled and died. Blood stained the cobblestones, there were horrible high-pitched screams for mercy, people shouting for family and friends, sobbing. He couldn’t block it out and he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that this was his fault. If he just hadn’t seen it in the first place, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Or if he hadn’t hesitated, if he’d just gone to Juan the second he woke up, maybe they could have woken some of their neighbours and gotten away before they were attacked…

Bang!

“Aah!” Bruno ducked on instinct as a gun fired, much closer now. Juan swore, a rare sound, and suddenly a man on horseback was blocking the street, a machete aimed at them. 

Bruno froze, terror holding him in place. He may not have remembered it, but he’d been in a situation like this once, long ago. He’d been told the story many times: how he’d been found in his father’s arms in the river, how they’d been surrounded by dead civilians and soldiers with machetes, strangely burned…

“Well, well, well,” the man drawled. “A couple of rats sneaking away?”

“We want no trouble,” Juan said, pushing Bruno behind him. They backed away, but were forced to stop; behind them was the flaming town square, the smoke, the bodies and so many more attackers.

“Please,” Juan said. “We are unarmed.” His grip on Bruno's arm tightened. “We have no money. Just let us go.”

“Juan,” Bruno whispered. “We’re tra-” He broke off with a hiss as his constant headache flared. The world flashed green- a mountain trail, a valley, a village- and the man with the machete gaped, his expression twisting.

“What the fuck was that?” the man hissed. Bruno knew that look; it was the look of the orphanage kids as they threw stones and shouted, Brujo! It was the look of the nuns as they locked him in the attic, as they brought the belt down on his back. 

It was a look that meant blood was going to be spilled.

Juan pushed Bruno back the way they’d come, eyes wide. “Run,” he said hoarsely. “Bruno, run!”

They ran through their crumbling village, ducking down side-streets, choking on smoke, their eyes watering, their lungs burning, forced to take the long way to the village edge. Bruno cursed his luck, cursed whatever had given him these damnable visions in the first place; they so rarely happened when he was awake, why did it have to happen now? 

The man had seen Bruno’s eyes glow and now…Now they were direct targets. Not just another pair of villagers, but being purposefully chased.

“I’m sorry,” Bruno panted as they ran. “Abuelo, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Juan said, still holding his hand. “Whatever that was, it’s not your fault. I know you. You hear me, niño?”

Bruno heard him, but that didn’t mean he believed him.

There were hoofbeats, so many hoofbeats and as they reached the end of the alley, Juan stopped, ducking back into the shadows.

Bruno immediately saw why: there were four men on horseback, two with machetes, two with rifles. Two more were on foot and they held rifles too; Bruno could see knives strapped to their belts.

Juan turned to Bruno just as one of the men shouted and pointed at the alley.

Abuelo Juan Puerta was an old man and he’d just spent the better part of the night running through burning streets, ducking down alleyways and avoiding burning debris and corpses lining the streets. He was shaking and panting for breath, clearly exhausted…

And he smiled as he cupped Bruno’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead.

Why did Bruno feel so cold, so small?

“Run. Run and don’t look back. God go with you, mijo,” Juan whispered and he pulled away before Bruno could hold onto him, running at their attackers.

“Will you cowards strike down an old man?” he shouted.

Bruno knew he needed to run. He needed to run and, as Juan said, not look back. He didn’t need to see this…

But he did. He saw Juan, surrounded.

He saw a man raise his rifle.

Bruno turned to run, tears stinging his eyes, but he still saw it, still heard it.

The gun shot. The bullet striking.

Juan falling to the ground as his blood stained the cobblestones.

Bruno ran, sobbing. Among all the terror, he formed only one coherent thought: history doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes. 

Because he’d been here before, hadn’t he? But as a baby he’d been too small to remember.

He didn’t have that luxury anymore. He’d never forget.

“Run. Run and don’t look back. God go with you, mijo,”

His birth father had been bent over him, trying to shield him, trying to keep him alive. Juan had walked to his certain death to distract them from Bruno and his damn curse, a curse Juan hadn’t even known about until tonight.

So Bruno followed that last instruction, that last plea; he ran and he didn’t look back. He ran right out of the burning village, realising with dread that it was getting quiet. He ran further up into the mountains and into the jungle; he ran through the river, he ran down narrow trails and stumbled over hills; he ran and ran and ran as the sun began to rise.

He ran until he couldn’t anymore, until his burning lungs and shaking legs demanded he stop.

Then and only then did Bruno fall to his knees. Chest heaving, shaking all over, he clawed at the earth and screamed.

Chapter Text

“Travelling the backroads, sleeping in the wood; taking what I needed, working when I could. Keeping up my courage, foolish as it seems. At night all alone in my dreams. In my dreams, shadows call; there’s a light at the end of a hall. Then my dreams fade away, but I know it all will come back one day.” - In My Dreams, Anastasia: Broadway

When Bruno was five, he had his first green dream. One of the nuns was going to fall down the stairs and break her hip.

He told her in the morning. She laughed.

That afternoon, she fell and broke her hip.

She was the first person to blame him for making bad things happen, but she would not be the last.

It was the first time the Mother Superior used the belt on him. 

It would not be the last.

When he was twelve, he cut his hand on a broken plate; it was his turn to help clean up after dinner and the boy with him had dropped the stack of plates. Bruno had stayed kneeling on the floor, watching the blood gather on his hand. He was barely aware of the other boy’s apologies, or the cook coming in to yell at them. 

He slipped one of the plate’s shards into his pocket. 

He was fifteen the first time he tried to die. Sixteen the second time. Each time had earned him a beating and hours in the chapel on his knees and begging for forgiveness for “such a grievous sin.”

Not long after his second attempt, he was kicked out of the orphanage. He was sixteen, old enough to look after himself, to make his way in the world.

Bruno was quite certain the nuns had only saved him for fear of going to hell themselves if they didn’t. They’d keep him alive, but that was all. As soon as they could, they washed their hands of el chico del río. 

He tried to die again, a clumsy attempt; the bridge hadn’t been nearly high enough.

He told the doctors he’d dropped his wallet off the side, that he’d slipped and fallen off the bridge as he tried to grab it. They believed him and he fled before anyone thought to question him further. He didn’t even have a wallet. 

Twenty-one and he tried again. He’d been living in a small sea-side village, so small they only had one doctor who hadn’t even really known what he was doing. There was talk of sending Bruno to an asylum in a city.

He fled again, back to the mountains, to where he’d come from in the first place.

He had the mad idea of finding the river he’d come from, maybe finally paying his respects to his father. Bruno wasn’t even sure why, he just knew he had the desperate need to find something related to his family, whoever they had been. He only vaguely knew the direction of the river in relation to the orphanage's town, he could barely remember the name the nuns had given him. He searched and gave up when he realised he was nowhere near the right jungle in the first place, picking a quiet riverbank to sit and sob until he couldn’t anymore, until his throat ached and his eyes burned, until he felt numb.

All the while, the green dreams came. All the while, his head pounded like a drum, on and on and on. He felt so tired all the time, afraid of falling asleep yet unable to stay awake. Sometimes green flashes came when he was awake and Bruno hid in alleyways and woods, dark rooms and empty fields when it happened, closing his eyes like a child- if I can’t see you, you can’t see me- praying no one saw.

Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they did. And when they did, Bruno ran again.

He had no friends, no family, not even a steady job; always the odd one out, always alone. Sadness weighed down on him, pulling him under, drowning him, clogging his lungs and choking him. It left him feeling heavy, as if he was literally being weighed down. Sometimes his temper flared and Bruno wanted to scream at everyone, absolutely everyone in the world that this wasn’t fair. He didn’t make bad things happen, he just dreamed of them and he didn’t even know why. He didn’t ask for this and he just wanted someone, anyone, to want him to stay.

And other times he felt nothing. Just numb.

After he’d cried at the river he felt numb. He’d picked up his belongings and forced himself to walk. One foot in front of the other, eyes on the ground, trying to tell himself he’d feel better tomorrow. Or the day after.

Sana sana colita de rana…

When he was thirty he arrived in the little mountain village and realised, with a jolt, that he wasn’t too far from the town he’d grown up in, from that hellish orphanage, the stones, the belt, the accusations.

He’d immediately wondered if he should move on and find somewhere else, but he’d been completely worn out by days of non-stop travel. He'd had to leave his last job in something of a rush. He told himself he’d only stay for one night.

It ended up being a lot longer than one night, obviously.

Bruno had been staying in a small room at the tavern and, on his third night, he ended up talking to Juan. The whole room lit up when the man came in, cheerfully calling his name, or shouting out, “Hola, Abuelo!” Bruno had realised fairly quickly that all these men and women could not possibly be the man’s grandchildren. A nickname then, a title. A show of affection and respect.

And Juan, for whatever reason, had found Bruno in his corner and started talking like they were old friends. Bruno didn’t exactly tell the man his life story (they’d only just met, he was even worried about telling Juan his name), but he admitted to not having a job, that his intention was only to pass through.

“One of my girls just quit,” Juan told him. “Had a baby. There’s a spot open if you’re any good with pottery.”

“I’ve never tried it,” Bruno admitted.

“Come by anyway,” Juan said.

Bruno had been sure he was joking or just being kind. A pity offer. 

He hadn’t even gone to Juan’s shop, he’d just passed by when Juan darted out, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him inside.

Bruno was hired to help clean the place. Eventually he ended up helping with the pottery; vases, bowls, plates, mugs…He preferred painting them though and that became his official job. His house only had three rooms: a main room with a kitchen nook, a bedroom and a bathroom, but it was his. He had a home. For the first time in his life, he felt safe.

But before that, two months after meeting Juan, he tried to die again.

Juan did not lecture him about God. He did not call Bruno selfish or crazy. Instead he ushered the doctor out (sternly reminding the man of patient confidentiality) and sat on the edge of Bruno’s bed.

“You said your papá was protecting you?” he asked.

Bruno stared at him in confusion. He nodded.

“Then you live for him,” Juan said, holding Bruno’s shoulder. “You live, Bruno.”

It wasn’t a magic spell that cured his depression but it gave Bruno something to think about. It was the first time anyone had ever said something like that. Maybe it should have felt like an accusation, another guilt-trip. Maybe to someone else it wouldn't have helped at all. But it lit a little spark in Bruno's mind. It got him wondering.

He didn’t know how old his father was when he died, crouching over Bruno, shielding him. But he’d been told once that his father appeared quite young. For all Bruno knew, he was older than his father already.

It was a strangely humbling thought.

You live for him.

Bruno still hadn’t been sure he wanted to live but…But maybe…

Well. Maybe he could try. For both of them.

It had been fifteen years since he last tried to die. Nine years since he last hurt himself. The green dreams remained, the infrequent flashes sometimes caught him unawares; the headaches never went away, the fatigue sometimes left him in bed, weak and feverish…But he lived.

He was happy.

He’d felt safe. Still considered odd, still left to his own devices most of the time, but in a strangely affectionate sort of way. The villagers didn’t hurt him. They didn’t want to hurt him. They liked the pottery he painted, he once helped paint a mural of the Virgin Mary for the church: he helped paint his neighbours houses and painted the schoolhouse in bright, pretty colours. He was just quiet, strange Bruno, who made up stories and sometimes mumbled to himself as he worked. Not Bruno Expósito or el chico del río; not brujo, or freak…Just Bruno. 

And now that was all gone and it was never coming back.

His village had been burned to the ground. Juan was dead. His neighbours and colleagues were dead. And the attackers had seen his eyes glow. He couldn’t turn back.

Where was he supposed to go now? What was he supposed to do? For the first time ever, Bruno didn't have an escape plan.

He wandered aimlessly up the mountains for two days. His lungs still ached, whether from the smoke or exhaustion he wasn’t sure. He didn’t really care anyway.

The numbness was coming back, dulling his senses. 

On the first day, as it grew dark, he fell down a hill, banging his head as he tumbled, badly cutting his leg on the jagged rocks and he barely registered it past the numbness blanketing him. It was a miracle he hadn’t cut his head open. Blood seeped down his leg and he tried to summon the panic he knew he should be feeling, battered and bruised.

Nothing. He lay there on the grass, surrounded by rocks and plants he barely recognised and wondered about dashing his head against one of the rocks.

Only then did he tear his nightshirt and wrap it around his leg, a makeshift bandage. If Juan knew what he was thinking, then he’d surely come back and haunt Bruno to box him around the ears.

Sighing, he checked his bag. He’d torn up his nightshirt, but his pyjama pants were in one piece. He was wearing his only other shirt and pants and his ruana. His sandals were not meant for hiking. He had food but no water. His wallet didn’t have a whole lot of money and, truth be told, he wasn’t even sure where he was.

You could just give in, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. Just lie back down and-

His head hurt, his eyes burned and Bruno closed them with a pained hiss, knowing what was coming.

A mountain, a river, a valley, a village. Green, green, green. A house on a hill, overlooking the village.

He opened his eyes and colour returned to the world. It was a flash of the same village he’d seen during the attack.

Maybe…Maybe he wasn’t far from it? 

He struggled to stand, wincing. Did his head hurt because of the flash or because of the fall? He wasn’t sure. 

You have to try, Bruno told himself, taking unsteady steps. Juan died for you. Your papá died for you. You have to try.

Even if he failed at least he’d be able to say he tried.

On the second day his leg was burning, his head was throbbing worse than ever. His throat was dry, his stomach churning; he vomited anything he managed to choke down.

And then he found the river. 

It was a wide, shallow river, surrounded by beautiful plants and the water was coloured; jewel-toned and stunningly beautiful. Whether it was a trick of the light or something else, Bruno didn't know. Butterflies were all over the area, lazily drifting from flower to flower. The current looked slow, just as lazy as the butterflies. Easy to cross.

And it was clean water, that was what mattered most. Past the dizziness, he wished he had a cup, but his hands would have to do.

After he finally managed to drink…Well. He wasn’t sure what to do then. He wasn’t sure how much further he could walk. His leg hadn’t stopped hurting; every now and then it bled a little before thankfully stopping. His head still hurt, a steady thump-thump-thump. 

Maybe I could just stay here, Bruno thought, staring at the water. He even lay down, flat on his back, feet in the river. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the sun on his face.

You tried, Bruno told himself. But you’re all alone out here, you’re lost and you’re injured. It’s a jungle, there’s no way you’ll make it much further. Just admit defeat.

And it was the strangest thing: as soon as he thought it, it felt like someone was grabbing his hand. There was a warmth, a pull.

Bruno pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared at the mountain in front of him. It was tall. It was steep. It would be madness to try and climb it in his state and yet…

A big house, bright and cheerful; smiling people, a soft bed, pain melting away.

That village he saw couldn’t be far now, not if the day flashes were hitting him so frequently. He’d never had more than one a day and never so close together; he could go months without day flashes.

Which meant they were trying to tell him something.

Maybe he was being crazy. Maybe he was delirious. But Bruno pushed himself to his feet and waded through the river. At the centre, he felt a shiver…

And he kept walking. Lips pressed together in a thin line, sweating and shaking with pain…He kept walking.

Slowly, painfully, Bruno began to make his way up the mountain.

Chapter Text

“Leaves from the vine falling so slow; like fragile, tiny shells drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy comes marching home…” - Leaves From The Vine, Avatar The Last Airbender

Dolores came running to Julieta’s stall, so wide-eyed and frantic looking that Julieta nearly dropped a plate of arepas.

“He’s hurt!” Dolores squeaked. “Tia Julieta, there’s a man- an outsider- he’s really hurt!” Even as she raised her voice she was the quietest teenager that Julieta had ever met. Even as she panicked, Julieta had to lean forward to hear her.

“An outsider?” Julieta repeated in bafflement. The last outsiders had been…Well, the last ones had been Agustín’s family actually. Her husband had only been eight and swelled up with bee stings. His father had been exhausted but unhurt; his mother had badly sprained her ankle. Julieta, only nine years old, had fed them and watched as her mother explained where they were.

The mountains only let in those who truly needed protection and help. Whoever this man was he was already injured, injured enough to panic her sobrina.

“I’ve already told Papá,” Dolores said, taking Julieta’s hand and tugging her along. “They’re looking for him now.”

So Julieta grabbed a plate and ran after her niece, leaving Agustín and Mirabel in charge of her stall.

“I’ll be back later!” Julieta called over her shoulder. Well, she'd try to be anyway. “Just hand the food out!”

Agustín gave her a thumbs up, looking at the line of people with a slightly worried smile. Mirabel just looked baffled.

Julieta ran with Dolores, hoping she’d grabbed enough food, more than enough. Her niece looked terrified- just how injured was this outsider?

“It’s bad,” Dolores whispered, as if she’d read Julieta’s mind. “Really bad. His heart’s so slow.”

Thanks to Dolores they met up with Félix and a trio of men from town fairly quickly. Dolores ran ahead of them all, up into the mountains. She kept tilting her head, listening for the hurt stranger and then racing ahead again, sometimes glancing back with rare impatience.

Healing food or not, Julieta was forty-five and not used to running up mountains; she figured she could be forgiven for being a little out of breath.

They found the stranger among the trees, on an overgrown rarely used path. He had completely collapsed, curled up on his side. He was pale, too pale and Julieta could see a bloodstained cloth wrapped around his thigh. He was covered in shallow cuts and bruises, his breathing was slow and rasping.

She took this all in within seconds. Instinct drove her and she ran to him, dropping to her knees. The poor thing was out cold and she cursed herself for not thinking to bring a flask of soup, broth, tea- something liquid, something that would be easier to feed him.

“How bad is it?” Félix asked tensely.

“Quite bad,” Julieta admitted, cautiously unwrapping the makeshift bandage; a torn up shirt. The cut on his thigh was long and inflamed, but not too deep. Mostly it was the fact it was his thigh at all that worried her. One false step and…

Well. He was here now. She could help. That was what mattered.

She tore up an arepa and, massaging the man’s throat, managed to get him to swallow a bite. Some colour returned to his face, some bruises and cuts healed, but the gash on his thigh remained and his breathing was still rasping too much for comfort.

“We need to get him to Casita,” Julieta said, re-wrapping his leg. “Get him to a proper bed and then I can get some food into him. We need liquids, I can’t do much when he’s unconscious like this.” She was already mentally going through her list of leftovers. She definitely had some soup she could reheat, that would be best.

Félix lifted the man with ease and Dolores picked up the man’s bag. It was a small thing, dark green and a little threadbare. 

“What do you think happened?” Alano Cortes asked, looking grim.

“I don’t know,” Julieta said, giving the man a worried glance. Next to Félix’s healthy pallor and clean clothes, the outsider looked weaker and sicker than before.

“I don’t know,” she repeated softly, her heart going out to him. “But I suppose we’ll find out.”

Casita opened its doors as soon as they were within sight of it. The shutters opened and closed, the roof tiles danced. The second they reached the patio, the tiles rippled, pulling them inside.

“Ay, Casita, careful!” Félix cried, keeping a careful hold on the outsider. “I don’t wanna drop him!”

Dolores squeaked. “Abuela is coming,” she whispered.

“That’s okay,” Julieta reassured her. “She’ll be able to help.” Alma may not have been able to help with feeding him, but she’d know what to do with the poor man once he was awake.

A part of Julieta wondered if her mother would use the same speech she gave to the rare outsiders all those decades ago; “You don’t need to worry; you are safe here, you will not come to harm. I am Alma Madrigal, leader of this village. I promise you will be taken care of. We look after each other here.”

Julieta would always remember that speech. It was always given to frightened, injured, lonely people and their faces always stuck in her mind.

There was only one guest room in Casita and it was very rarely used; in fact, it actually got more use as a sickroom than a guest room, when Julieta needed time to heal someone. Their last guest had stayed after a mudslide took out his home.

Once, one of the young farmhands had been badly trampled by a startled horse and, even with her healing food, took two weeks to recover. Without her food he would have died. Even with her healing they’d needed Doctor Ortega’s help. Similarly, an old woman once shattered her hip so badly that she needed to stay in Casita over the weekend. 

Sometimes even magic needed time to work.

The room was on the ground floor, by the side stairs. It was a small room, but comfortable; it was painted a pale lavender with a soft bed with a pretty painting of a meadow on the wall. Casita would never allow anything less within its walls.

Félix lay the man down and Julieta ran for the kitchen, searching for that leftover soup.

“Félix!” she called. “Check if he has a change of clothes, sí?”

“Sí!” Félix called back. While the soup heated, Julieta paced back and forth. Casita seemed eager to help, fetching a bowl and spoon for her. When Julieta turned around, Casita had even laid out a tray, complete with one of Isabela’s roses in a small glass vase and napkins neatly folded, even a small plate of leftover arepas. The floor tiles rippled, the paintings swayed from side to side.

“Don’t worry, Casita,” Julieta said, patting the wall fondly. “He’ll be okay. I’ve got him now.”

When Julieta left the kitchen, she found Dolores standing outside the guest room. Her already large eyes were even wider and she bit her lip. 

“Papá told me to wait here,” she whispered at Julieta’s questioning look. “But I still saw.”

“Saw what, amor?”

Dolores shook her head and opened the door.

The outsider was in one of Félix’s nightshirts (pale yellow and orange) and a pair of white pyjama pants. Still out cold, no surprise there. Without his oversized ruana he somehow managed to look even smaller than before. She could plainly see just how skinny he was.

Félix hovered over the outsider worriedly. “No spare clothes other than those pants,” he told Julieta. “And…” He glanced at Dolores and sighed. “His back- his arms and legs…Juli, he’s been through some shit. Someone hurt him and…” He gestured to the man and Julieta’s heart cracked. The sleeves of Félix’s nightshirt were short, but baggy on the man’s slim frame allowing her to see the scars criss-crossing his thin forearms and two long, jagged scars overlapping them all.

“Oh, the poor thing,” she breathed. She looked at her niece. “Lola, amor-”

“I’m fine,” Dolores squeaked. She gulped and sat on a stool by the window.

“You don’t need to see this,” Félix said gently.

Dolores shook her head, looking oddly determined. 

And honestly, Julieta understood. Even if leaving was an option for her, she wouldn’t want to. She wanted to help.

“Help me sit him up,” she said to Félix and, soon enough, she was coaxing some soup down the man’s throat. One spoonful, then another; a third and…

His eyes fluttered open, his breathing evened out. He blinked blearily at the ceiling with dark green eyes. Julieta was willing to bet the gash on his leg was gone; the cuts and bruises faded before her eyes.

“Hola,” Julieta said gently. Félix settled the man back against the pile of pillows, giving him a smile. The man looked completely lost, his eyes still a little glassy. 

“...Wha’...?” he mumbled, swallowing heavily. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. “I don’t…”

“My name’s Julieta,” Julieta said, setting the tray on the bedside table. “Julieta Madrigal.” She remembered her mother’s speech and added, “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Casita shivered and the man jerked back, eyes wide.

“Is that an earthquake?” he asked, voice raising to a more normal level.

“Not exactly,” Julieta said. She could hear footsteps: Alma was here.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Félix added quickly. “I’m Félix, Julieta’s cuñado. What’s your name, amigo?”

The man looked at them with wide eyes, shivering. “I…I don’t…I mean, what’s-?”

The door opened and Alma glided in, straight-back and proud, hands clasped together, lips pressed in a thin line.

“Buenos días,” she said in her usual imperial tones. Her eyes zeroed in on the man and he shrank back, eyes wider than ever. “I hear we have a visitor.”

Chapter Text

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts: the ones she had lost and the ones she had found; and the ones who had loved her the most. The ones who'd been gone for so very long she couldn't remember their names; they spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain.” - Jenny Of Oldstones, Florence And The Machine

Alma stared at the outsider and he cringed back, looking at her with wide eyes. If she had to guess, she’d say he was around Julieta and Pepa’s age. A small man with a mop of black hair, he looked at her like he was expecting to be hit.

Even with Julieta’s healing doing its job, he looked exhausted.

“Félix, Dolores, could you give us some privacy?” she asked.

Félix nodded and he and Dolores left. Of course, Dolores would hear every word anyway, but the outsider didn’t need to know that yet. 

Newcomer, Alma sternly told herself. He is a newcomer, not an outsider. This is a young man in need of your help.

The mountains so rarely let anyone in. The last new family to arrive had been Agustín’s, and the mountains only let in those who well and truly needed protection and those who could better the community.

Alma wondered how this man would grow to help them, what he would contribute. 

She pulled the stool next to the bed, sat down, and gave him the same reassuring look she gave the villagers day to day. He sat hunched over, wringing the blanket between his hands and avoiding eye-contact. The longer the silence stretched on, the more frightened he seemed.

So Alma broke the silence.

“You don’t need to worry; you are safe here,” she said, softening her voice somewhat. “You will not come to harm.” He didn’t look like he believed her. She saw the scars on his arms and her heart went out to him, poor thing. “I am Alma Madrigal, leader of this village. I promise you will be taken care of. We look after each other here.”

It was an old speech, one she’d made up on the spot when the first outsider arrived; a young woman, all alone and heavily pregnant, fleeing her brute of a husband. Alma, only thirty years old, had taken her hand and said the first thing that came to mind. Soothing words that she once so badly wished someone would say to her. It had helped calm the young woman, who gave Alma a shy, hopeful smile.

So the speech stayed. And each time she said it the newcomers gave Alma that same grateful, shy, hopeful smile; some light coming back to their eyes, chasing away the fear.

For a moment she wondered if she should have found her dear Isabela and brought her along. After all, this would be good practice for her in the future; if nothing else, it was a chance for her granddaughter to learn and see how to help those who were lost and scared.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” the newcomer whispered, still staring at his hands. “W-where am I exactly?”

“This is the Encanto,” Alma said. “Our home. I promise, these mountains protect us; they will protect you too.”

“What’s your name?” Julieta asked gently. 

“Bruno,” he muttered.

As always, the name was like a physical blow.

Alma had to look away, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, to stay in the present. She tried to banish all thoughts of Pedro and her baby, dropping into the river.

She could not say his name out loud. She could barely even think it.

“...Bruno,” Julieta repeated, her voice only slightly wavering. Alma turned back to them just in time to see Julieta take the man’s hand with a reassuring smile. “That’s- that’s a nice name. Is there a last name to go with that?”

He was tense, so tense. “Bruno Expósito,” he said, still not looking at them. “If you want to get technical. Which, uh…I’d rather not. Just Bruno’s fine.”

“Well, if you’re not fond of it maybe you can choose your own surname,” Julieta said. Alma admired her daughter’s big heart, she always had and always would. Even without the food, Julieta had a healing touch.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Alma asked Bru- the new- him.

He looked at her through the curtain of his hair.

“My village was burned down,” he said quickly, flatly, like he was trying to get it over with. “I didn’t- I mean, I…My friend was…” He swallowed. “He gave me time to run.”

It was impossible not to think of her Pedro.

Pedro, shouting at her to run, pushing her ahead of him. Pedro, bending protectively over their son as the machete came down. Pedro, looking at her as the blow struck, as he fell.

Her Pedro, the love of her life. Her Brunito, her baby, gone forever. 

Oh, the glowing door had given her hope, but…Well, what were the odds that her son would ever stumble over those mountains? 

He had a good family, a good life, somewhere out there in the big wide world. She had to believe that.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Alma said and she meant it with every fibre of your being.

He bit his lip and asked, “How long was I out? My leg feels fine- I feel fine.”

“Well…I’d say it’s been about two hours,” Julieta said, slightly sheepishly.

He sat up straight, giving Julieta a sharp disbelieving glance.

“No, really,” he said. “How long?”

Alma sighed. This was always the hardest part to explain.

“We were given a Miracle,” she began. “My daughter Julieta healed you with her Gift.”

“So you’re a doctor?” the man asked.

“Not quite,” Julieta said.

He looked between them both with utter confusion and a little suspicion. 

Alma tried to give that reassuring look again, though his name pounded in her head like a drum. She couldn’t quite look him in the eye.

“It’s a long story,” she said, more stiffly than she intended. “Allow me to explain, Br- child.”

She knew she’d have to call him by name eventually, just…Just not yet. For now, she’d focus on explaining everything to him and helping him settle. 

Then they would see what the future held.

Bruno stared ahead blankly, eyes on the door. The two women were staring at him and he kept expecting them to sprout feathery white wings or maybe horns. Because he was dead, surely. Or dreaming at least. Hallucinating. Because this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

But his leg was healed; all those cuts and bruises were gone, the nausea, the pain and exhaustion…It was all gone. Oh, his usual dull headache was there, don’t get him wrong. But everything else? Gone. As if he’d never been injured at all.

The younger woman, Julieta, gently pressed an arepa into his hand. Bruno didn’t eat it, not yet. Not until he was sure he wasn’t dead.

It didn’t feel like Hell.

“It’s okay,” Julieta said. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

That was putting it mildly. Magic! An entire magic family and a magic house!

It pulled him up short and his breathing hitched. Magic. They…Were like him?

Granted, Bruno couldn’t heal people, far from it. He couldn’t control the weather or flowers; he didn’t have super-strength, nor did he have super-hearing. He couldn’t change shape. He just…saw things. Usually bad things. Things he couldn't even change.

Maybe they weren’t alike after all, not if these people helped protect and serve an entire village. Bruno definitely couldn’t do things like that. 

A tiny spark of hope was there all the same, deep down. Maybe, just maybe they wouldn’t judge him or hate him or cast him out if they realised what he was. Maybe they’d understand...

But Bruno wasn’t exactly familiar with hoping for the best when it came to the green dreams, so he kept his mouth firmly shut.

Honestly, all he wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and sleep for a million years. He’d kept his promise to Juan and his silent promise to his Papá, hadn’t he? He’d lived, he’d gotten away and made it over the mountain. So he figured he had every right to wallow in despair for a while.

His whole life was gone.

“So…What happens now?” he asked. They were being too nice. Even the villagers hadn’t been so nice at first. They had to want something from him.

He put the arepa aside, untouched.

“Well, there’s some new homes being built right now,” Alma said, looking thoughtful. “Newlyweds and young people need their own space, you know. But they won’t be ready for three months. There won’t be many of them, but not all of them will be claimed. We can find you one.”

What?

“You- you’re not- are you serious?” Bruno blurted out. He knocked on the headboard with one hand and crossed his fingers on the other. “You’re not just giving me a house?”

“Can you build your own?” Alma asked. She didn’t sound sarcastic; she sounded genuinely curious, looking at him appraisingly.

Bruno shook his head.

“Then you may choose one,” Alma said with a dismissive wave of her hand, almost like it was an order instead of an offer. “What is your profession?”

The quick changes in topic were making his head spin. “Um, a- a potter. Sort of. I mostly painted the ceramics when they were done. I helped with the church mural and some interior stuff for my neighbours…”

“You’re an artist,” Julieta said with a little smile. She sounded approving. “You’ll get along with my youngest then.”

“An artist,” Alma repeated. She sounded thoughtful now, with a little pinched frown on her face. “Hm. Sí, I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

“For now…” Julieta glanced at her mother. “Perhaps you can stay here until the new homes are ready?”

They had to be joking.

Alma mulled over Julieta’s words and gave a sharp nod. “That may be best,” she said, not quite looking at Bruno. 

They weren’t joking.

Bruno wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or call them crazy. He pinched himself and didn’t wake up.

Maybe it was a very detailed hallucination?

Julieta patted his hand with a comforting smile. Alma didn’t quite look at his face; her gaze was more so around his shoulder; she looked sterner now, prouder. Like a leader. Straight-backed and proud, shoulders back, chin up. Oddly regal, even just sitting on a stool.

The leader of the village. Bruno could easily believe it. She had an imposing air about her.

This all still felt too good to be true. Bruno was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He bit his thumbnail and thought it all over. Well, if things went wrong he could just…Just leave again, right? He wasn’t a prisoner. He could leave if he needed to, he’d done it before, so many times. Bruno knew how to make a quick getaway if need be. 

For now he needed time to try and feel like a real person again, not a ghost. He needed time to try and banish fire, smoke, gunshots and machetes from his mind.

Bruno needed time to mourn the life he’d lost. It hadn’t been glamorous or exciting, but it was the most peaceful he’d ever been. It was safe. He’d been safe. For fifteen solid years, he'd been safe.

And now he’d lost it all, lost the closest thing to a family he’d ever had.

Oh, Juan, I’m so sorry.

He looked at Julieta and gave a tiny nod. “Gracias,” he whispered and she squeezed his hand. When she let go, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hide his scars, though he knew it was far too late for that. Still, he could try and pretend otherwise.

Bruno sighed so hard his chest ached with it. None of this felt real.

It abruptly stopped feeling like a dream when the window opened and shut on its own, when the floorboards danced and the painting swayed back and forth. Bruno had the strangest impression of complete and utter joy, like ghostly arms trying to hug him.

He jerked back so sharply that he banged his head against the headboard with a yelp.

“Casita!” Julieta scolded and Alma sighed. “Don’t frighten him like that!”

Chapter Text

“Feel my blood runnin', swear the sky's fallin'. How do I know if this shit's fabricated? Time goes by and I can't control my mind. Don't know what else to try, but you tell me every time: ‘Just keep breathin' and breathin' and breathin' and breathin'.’ And oh, I gotta keep, keep on breathin'.” - Breathin’, Ariana Grande

Blessedly, they left him alone after the explanations. Well, Julieta stayed to chat for a while, trying to coax more of the story from him, but Bruno just mumbled monosyllabic answers, his head bowed. 

Julieta seemed nice, but he was not going to start crying in front of this stranger. 

As the afternoon wore on, Bruno could hear people arriving home. Eventually, Julieta gave him a small smile and said, “Well, I’d better get a start on dinner,” and let him be.

Bruno immediately lay down, buried his face in his pillow and screamed until his voice cracked and deserted him entirely. Then he lay there, feeling like his limbs weighed a ton, unable to move, face still pressed against the pillow as his shoulders heaved, as he gasped for breath that he couldn’t quite catch.

This wasn’t actually happening, was it? This was surely the most bizarre dream of his life. Any moment now, he’d wake up back in his little house. He’d fight off the usual headache, force some breakfast down and go to work. He’d listen to his co-workers gossip and chat with Juan. And he was getting low on groceries, so he’d better go shopping before going home and then Señora Rojas wanted help painting her fence tomorrow…

But he didn’t wake up. The room around him didn’t change. The shutters gently opened and shut, almost sadly. He had the strangest impression that this house, Casita, was somehow mourning with him.

He wasn’t dreaming. His village was gone. Juan was dead. His co-workers and poor Señora Rojas were likely all dead too. There was no going back.

Bruno was…In a magical house. Surrounded by magical people. People who said they wanted to help.

They had to want something from him, surely? There was a job to do or they needed a favour. People didn’t just welcome strangers like this. These people weren’t Juan, perpetually picking up strays.

Or maybe they were this village’s Abuelo Juan. Leaders, protectors. Alma had said she was their leader. What did Bruno know?

But Bruno wasn’t exactly in the mood for charitable thoughts right now.

He curled up in a tiny ball and pulled the covers right up over his head and let himself cry in peace.

“Someone beat the shit out of him,” Félix said bluntly and Julieta winced as she served up the next plate. “His back’s covered in welts and scars, Juli. They look old, sure, but…Someone hurt him.”

“His village burned down,” Julieta confided quietly. “He says they were attacked.”

“Dios mío,” Agustín said, crossing himself. His eyes were a little too bright, his expression one of utter sympathy.

“Apparently it’s been happening for a while now,” Julieta said. “He told us other villages and towns were attacked, but they were going in the opposite way, down the mountain. His village’s leaders didn’t…” She sighed. “They didn’t prepare.”

“There’s never truly any way to prepare for such violence.” Alma’s voice startled them all and they turned to find her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, regal and queen-like as always. Ruler of her little kingdom. “We do not know exactly what he has seen.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. “So be prepared for some…Odd behaviours as he adjusts. You never know how people will handle such violence.”

Her mamá knew what she was talking about, Julieta reflected sadly. She’d know all too well. 

“Is there any way we can help him?” Agustín asked, worried and earnest as always. Her husband had a big heart.

Alma sighed. “Give him space when he needs it, talk to him when he needs it,” she said. She didn’t sound completely certain. “As I said, there’s no telling how he will react.” Her eyes darkened and her gaze held a warning now. “Do not let him hurt himself.”

“What?” Agustín looked baffled. “Why would we let-?”

“And do not let him hurt anyone else.”

“I’m sure he won’t, Alma,” Félix said gently.

“You can never be sure, Félix,” Alma said. Julieta tapped her fingers against the counter, biting her lip. 

Her mother had a point. Trauma was an ugly thing, difficult to navigate and impossible to predict, manifesting differently in every individual. Bruno didn’t trust them, that much was clear. Julieta could hardly blame him. Fleeing certain death and arriving in a safe haven, surrounded by magic, surely sounded too good to be true at best and like a cruel trick at worst.

But she’d do what she could. Julieta was a healer, it was what she did best. Someway or another, she’d help him adjust. 

And that meant starting with feeding him. Honestly, the man was skinnier than Camilo. She served up an extra plate and brought it to his room.

He was fast asleep when she entered. That wasn’t so surprising either.

Julieta left the plate on the bedside table, watching him worriedly. He’d clearly been crying and the dark shadows under his eyes were obvious. Even though he was sleeping he still looked exhausted. 

Casita’s floor shuddered and Julieta patted the doorway fondly as she left the little room.

“I know, Casita,” she said gently. “But don’t worry, we’re going to help him.”

They were the Madrigals after all. Helping was what they did. 

Bruno woke up with his normal headache; his mouth and throat were so dry it felt like he’d swallowed sand.

And there were little voices whispering outside his door.

He lay there frozen, gripping the sheets and momentarily utterly certain it was those men on horseback again and there was fire, fire, fire; smoke, gunshots, fire shining off the machetes; screams and shouts, pleas for mercy. Juan collapsing in a puddle of blood.

No, no, that wasn’t where he was. He was…He was…

Bruno squinted at the pale lavender wall. His bedroom wasn’t lavender, it was green. So he was…Where was he?

The floorboards moved up and down, the painting on the wall danced from side to side, the curtains swayed despite the closed shutters and Bruno shot up with a yelp.

Casita. Encanto. Alma and Julieta Madrigal.

Right. He’d made it over the mountain.

“You don’t need to worry; you are safe here, you will not come to harm. I am Alma Madrigal, leader of this village. I promise you will be taken care of. We look after each other here.”

Could he believe her? Did she mean it?

This felt too easy.

“I wanna wake him up!” someone hissed and- right, there were people outside the door. They sounded young.

Another voice whisper-shouted, “Mamá asked me to get him!”

A pair of kids, definitely. And not very quiet kids either. Or subtle.

Bruno made sure to pull his ruana on before opening the door. The pair of kids gaped at him before offering nearly identical sheepish smiles, clearly embarrassed about being caught. 

They were a boy and girl, maybe ten years old if Bruno had to guess. 

The girl had a pair of big green glasses and short curly black hair; her smile quickly turned from sheepish to bright and eager. She looked a little like Julieta, come to think of it. Her dress was blue and white, but brightly embroidered with all sorts of colours: pink butterflies, yellow suns, orange chameleons, green leaves and hearts; pink and purple flowers, purple dumbbells, red wavering lines (Bruno wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be- maybe they were just meant to be pretty?); yellow candles, red and orange umbrellas and, finally, bees. The embroidery was, honestly, pretty damn impressive. 

The boy was a little taller than her with lanky limbs, big green eyes and a mop of wild brown curls and freckles on his nose. He grinned up at Bruno as if they were best friends, mischief in his gaze. He wore a yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a red scarf patterned with little chameleons and bright yellow sandals. Huh, maybe these kids just really liked the little reptiles. Who was Bruno to judge, after all? His favourite animals were rats and mice.

“Hi!” the girls said, waving at him rapidly, as if worried Bruno couldn’t see her. “I’m Mirabel, this is Camilo. You’re Bruno, right?”

“Uh…Yeah,” Bruno said. Kids. Okay. He could handle kids. “Um…Good morning?” Smooth, Bruno, really.

“Good morning,” Mirabel said politely.

“Tia Julieta said to tell you breakfast is ready,” Camilo said, hands in his pockets. “We’re supposed to show you were to go.” He looked across the courtyard and nodded towards an open door. “Like, right over there. It’s like she thinks you’ll get lost or something.”

“Camilo!” Mirabel smacked him on the arm, ignoring his indignant yelp. “Don’t be rude!”

Bruno snorted, pressing his hand over his mouth. No matter where you went, kids were always the same. It was something Bruno had always appreciated about them. Honestly, they were easier to figure out than adults half the time.

“I’ll, uh, just get dressed,” Bruno said, quickly ducking back into the room. At least his clothes were easy to find, draped across the dresser.

Breakfast. Right, well…He spotted the plate of food next to the bed and winced. Right. He hadn’t actually eaten much yesterday at all. Except, apparently, Julieta’s magic food. 

He should probably bring the plate back to her. He felt weirdly guilty for not touching it, even though he’d been asleep. 

God, how long had he slept anyway?

There was a polite little knock on the door and Mirabel called out, “Señor Bruno? Are you okay?”

Bruno snapped back to reality and went back to the kids, carrying the plate of untouched food.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Gracias. So, um- breakfast?”

Camilo pointed at the plate. “You gonna eat that?”

“...It’s from yesterday, kiddo.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Mirabel huffed and dragged Camilo along, gesturing for Bruno to follow. “Ignore him,” she said primly, glancing over her shoulder. “He’ll be stealing seconds from breakfast anyway.”

The kids led him right outside onto the back patio. Bruno left his plate in the kitchen.

The back patio was overlooking a very pretty garden with a view of the village. There was a long dining table covered in a white cloth, set with plates, glasses and cutlery, even a vase of bright flowers. Another two tables, pressed against the wall, had an absolutely massive spread of breakfast. Bruno wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much food laid out in all his life.

“Buenos días, Bruno!” Julieta called. Was Bruno imagining things, or did Alma wince? He glanced at her worriedly, but the old woman walked past him, gazing straight ahead.

“Buenos días,” Bruno mumbled, rubbing his arm. “Er, sorry I didn’t- I mean, the food you left- I assume it was you anyway, but I didn’t actually eat it, I was sleeping so, er…Yeah. I left it in the kitchen.”

Julieta waved the apology away with a smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Casita will handle it.”

Bruno nodded and tried to pretend that was a totally normal thing to say. The house would handle it. Of course. Why not?

“I see the kids found you,” Julieta continued with a fond smile at Mirabel and Camilo. “Mirabel’s my youngest, Camilo’s mí sobrino.”

Ah, so Mirabel was the artist Julieta had mentioned yesterday. That explained the embroidery. 

“And- oh, here’s everyone,” Julieta said cheerfully, and Bruno winced as a long line of people poured out of the house. There was Félix and the girl from yesterday- Dolores?- a man wearing a smart vest and dress pants, a very tall muscular girl, a heavily pregnant woman with long auburn hair in a braid and another teenager in a long pink dress with flowers in her hair.

Bruno wanted the ground to open up and swallow him when they all turned to stare at him. He winced, pulling his hood up on reflex. Félix waved at him and Bruno tried to return his smile, not quite managing it. He probably just looked twitchy.

The girl in pink stepped forward with a pretty smile. Her every move was graceful and precise; Bruno wondered if she was some sort of dancer or performer. Her pink dress had delicate blossoms embroidered on its ruffled layers and there were rosebuds in her hair to match her earrings and necklace. She looked to be around the same age as Dolores and her long black hair swept to her hips in a glossy sheath. 

And then, with a wave of her hand, she summoned a beautiful pink rose and handed it to Bruno.

“Welcome to Encanto,” she said graciously, even bobbing a curtsy. “I’m Isabela Madrigal.”

Alma was watching the girl with a proud smile. In fact, the whole family softened, all of them smiling…Except Mirabel. Bruno caught her rolling her eyes, arms crossed.

But what a little sweetheart. Bruno managed a small smile, pushing his hood back down. “Gracias,” he said. He quickly added, “Oh, um, I’m Bruno, but…” He gestured between Alma and Julieta. “They p-probably…Probably already t-told you…” He was sure he sounded like a total idiot. He hadn’t stuttered so much since he was a teenager. 

Sue him, he was understandably overwhelmed. 

Isabela’s smile widened and she flipped her hair back, taking a seat at the table. Alma sat at the head, no surprises there. She took Isabela’s hand gently and quietly spoke with her, still with that soft, proud smile on her face. They were clearly close. It reminded Bruno a bit of Señora Rojas and her granddaughters. She’d always smiled at the girls like that too.

A little squeak brought him back to the present. Dolores stood next to him, head slightly tilted, a curious spark in her eyes. Her hair was held back by a bright red bow and there were golden wavering lines on her red and yellow dress, a lot like the ones on Mirabel’s skirt. “I’m Dolores,” she said so quietly that Bruno had to lean forward to hear her. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“A bit, thank you,” Bruno said. She squeaked again and hurried to the table, moving silently. She was even quieter than Bruno. Frankly, it was impressive. 

Félix clapped him on the back and said, “I hope you’re hungry!” and mercifully let him be, taking a seat next to Dolores. Camilo followed him.

The big tall girl gave him a shy smile and a little wave. Bruno waved back and the girl went to the table.

“That’s Luisa,” Mirabel said. “My sister.” She huffed and added, almost reluctantly; “Isabela’s my sister too.”

“Luisa’s a little shy,” Julieta said, pouring a cup of coffee for the red-haired woman. “This is my twin sister, Pepa, and my husband, Agustín.”

At first glance they didn’t look alike at all. Pepa was tall and pale with red hair and green eyes; Julieta was smaller (though still taller than Bruno) with black hair, tanned skin and brown eyes. Pepa’s face was narrower, Julieta’s was rounder. But they had the same cheekbones and curly hair, the same quirk of their eyebrows, even similar stances. Bruno supposed Pepa must have looked like their father, because Julieta certainly looked more like Alma. 

Agustín was tall and fair-skinned with brown hair and a little moustache; a flower was pinned to his dark blue vest. His socks were mis-matched and his glasses were a little crooked. His smile was bright and friendly, a lot like Mirabel’s.

“Hola,” Agustín said. “It’s good to meet you.”

Bruno nodded. “You too,” he mumbled.

Pepa was staring at him, one hand on her stomach. Bruno wondered how far along she was. Her earrings were shaped like the sun and there were more suns on the hem of her orange dress. 

As she stared, an honest to God cloud appeared above her head and Bruno squeaked, wide eyes trained on it.

Pepa winced and took a sip of coffee. The cloud immediately vanished.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I’m not a morning person.”

“Me neither,” Bruno mumbled, forcing himself to look away from the now empty spot where the cloud had been. Pepa’s smile was crooked, a little amused. Like Camilo, she had big green eyes.

“I know this must be a lot,” she said. 

Understatement of the century, Bruno thought. He just nodded.

She was staring again, head tilted to the side. Even as Julieta and Agustín took their seats, Pepa stayed standing and staring at him. Mirabel was still next to him and she looked between them in confusion.

Bruno wondered what he’d done already to offend her. She just kept staring, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows.

“You look…” She trailed off and shook her head. “...Familiar,” she settled on and Bruno’s eyebrows rose.

“Um…” How was he supposed to respond to that?

“Pepa,” Alma called. “Take a seat, mija.”

Pepa finally looked away and said, “Ah, sí, Mamá, we’re coming.” But even as she went to the table, she glanced back, frowning at Bruno.

Great, he’d already managed to annoy someone and he wasn’t even sure what he’d done.

A little hand took his and Bruno glanced down to find Mirabel smiling at him. “Sit with me,” she whispered and pulled him to the table.

Chapter Text

“Oh, we all are living in a dream but life ain't what it seems. Oh, everything's a mess. And all these sorrows I have seen, they lead me to believe that everything's a mess.” - Dream, Imagine Dragons

Breakfast was weird. Bruno picked at his food and avoided everyone’s curious gazes; he could feel them like pinpricks, like insects crawling across his skin. He tried, instead, to focus on Mirabel’s chatter. She happily told him all about her embroidery (“I’ve got a symbol for everyone!” she said) and how she hoped the new baby would be a boy (“We’ve got enough girls,” she said with a scowl in Isabela’s direction), and that she was learning to play the accordion. 

“I can’t play any instruments,” Bruno told her and Mirabel’s eyes widened like this was a grievous sin.

“We’ll have to fix that,” she said solemnly, as if informing him he needed a terrible operation. Bruno was helpless not to smile at her. “Papí can play the piano!”

“So can Luisa,” Agustín jumped in. “And Isa loves dancing. Honestly, we all do.”

“There’s a lot of music around here,” Félix said happily. “Hope you’re a music fan, amigo.”

Bruno liked listening to music, he just couldn’t play any. Or dance. He sometimes liked singing when he was by himself.

He nodded at Agustín and sipped at his tea while Mirabel went on a tangent about the last party they’d had and the songs Agustín had played.

They were interrupted by Alma delicately clearing her throat and tapping her fork against her glass. It wasn’t very loud, but everyone fell silent, turning towards her. Bruno sat perfectly still, eyes on his plate. 

“I will be explaining the situation to the village councillors today,” Alma announced. “But you will follow your usual schedules.”

“Yes, Abuela,” the grandchildren said. Mirabel was still quiet.

“Yes, Alma,” Félix and Agustín said.

“Yes, Mamá,” Julieta said.

Alma said, “Pepa, when is your appointment today?”

“Not until three, Mamá.”

“Then perhaps you can show Br- our guest around in the meantime. He will need new clothes as well.”

“Yes, Mamá.”

“You don’t need to,” Bruno said quickly, eyes still on his plate. “If you have work to do, I don’t want to distract you.”

“I don’t have any today,” Pepa said. Bruno dared to glance up and found her smirking at him, like they were in on some joke together. She patted her stomach with emphasis. “I’m meant to be resting.” She rolled her eyes as she said it.

Alma shook her head. “Well,” she said and stood up. “Here’s to another perfect day. La familia Madrigal!”

“La familia Madrigal!” everyone else cried. Bruno tapped the table with one hand and crossed his fingers on the other. Uno, dos, trés, four, five, six…

“Can I go with you?” Mirabel asked and Pepa reached over to ruffle her hair. Mirabel giggled and batted at her aunt’s hands.

“Of course, Mira,” Pepa said, standing up. “Vamos!”

Bruno followed, glancing back worriedly as the others began to clear the table. “Shouldn’t- I mean, I can clean up-”

“Nah,” Pepa said, dragging him along. Bruno tried not to flinch. “Trust me, you don’t want to be around Agustín and ceramics.”

“What…? Why?”

Crash!

“Ay, Agustín!” He heard Julieta groan.

Pepa rolled her eyes. “That’s why.”

People were staring. Pepa couldn’t entirely blame them, but still. It was rude and it wasn’t helping. 

Only Mirabel seemed oblivious to the stares and whispers, dancing along the road and pointing out her favourite parts of the village to Bruno. Said newcomer kept his eyes firmly on the ground, wringing the hem of his too-big ruana between his hands.

Félix had told her what he’d seen, from finding Bruno collapsed in the hills, to the scars on his back. Julieta had filled her in on the rest.

Her heart broke for him. It was a struggle to keep a cloud from forming every time she looked at him. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t like him! She needed to keep calm and keep the awful images out of her head.

But it was impossible not to imagine it. 

“I don’t have much money,” he mumbled.

“You won’t need it,” Pepa said airily. “We have a bartering and trading system around here. It’s a bit hard to make money when we’re so isolated, y’know?” Bruno looked stumped and Pepa added; “Maybe the tailor will take the money anyway, it’ll be a novelty. But you don’t need to worry; he’ll get you sorted with whatever you need and when he needs a favour we’ll help him out.”

Bruno shook his head frantically, eyes wide. “I can’t- I mean, no, I can’t let you pay for me,” he said. “Even if it’s favours. I mean, I’m the one who needs clothes, not you.”

“I need fabric,” Mirabel added. “So it evens out.”

“N-not…Really…” Bruno still looked lost.

They stopped outside the tailors and Pepa tried to give him her best encouraging smile. He did not look encouraged. 

Still, at least he followed her inside without protest. Mirabel happily ran to a pile of fabrics, examining different threads displayed on the wall.

“Ah, Señora Pepa!” The shop owner himself came forward, appearing behind a stack of fabric like a magician. He was a tall thin man, only a little older than Pepa by the name of Señor Edgardo Reyes. “And Señorita Mirabel!” His eyes widened when he spotted Bruno. “And…Who is this?”

“Our guest,” Pepa said firmly, laying her hand on Bruno's shoulder. “Bruno. He’s a newcomer; he didn’t have much time to pack when he had to leave home. We’re helping him, uh, restock, I suppose.”

“Ah, of course.” Edgardo nodded, looking less nervous; more understanding, more determined in a way. He gestured for them to follow, turning on his heel. “Well, Señor, we can take your measurements, but I also have some ready-made clothes that may suit you.”

Bruno looked terrified by the prospect but he let Pepa pull him along. 

“We’ll be over here, Mira!” she called over her shoulder.

Mirabel waved to acknowledge she’d heard, but didn’t even glance away from the fabrics she was studying. If Pepa left her to her own devices, she’d be here all day. She was the exact same with the dressmakers after all.

Bruno was clearly reluctant to take his ruana off and, without it, he seemed even smaller and skinnier. One of Pepa’s breezes could knock him over.

And, somehow, in just a shirt with the sleeves reaching his elbows, when he brushed his hair out of his eyes he looked weirdly familiar. Even more so than before.

But that couldn’t be right. Bruno had just arrived in Encanto yesterday. Pepa had never seen him until this morning. Maybe Pepa was just being paranoid. Pregnancy hormones making her see things. 

He stood still as a statue as Edgardo took his measurements, studiously avoiding their gazes. To Edgardo’s credit, he didn’t say anything or even do a double-take as he measured Bruno’s arms. 

Pepa had to look away before her cloud made a reappearance. 

In the end, they walked out with a new ruana (also green), a pair of pants that were just a little too long and two new shirts. Bruno flushed bright red when Pepa insisted on putting in an order for more clothes. If he’d let her she’d have gotten him more there and then, he plainly needed it. 

And, as it turned out, Edgardo did consider the money a novelty (“Oh, my papí had a coin collection!”) but only took one coin and refused to take anything further. Not even when Pepa argued that they could return the favour.

“It’s an honour to help,” Edgardo said, waving her promises away.

Bruno just continued to look slightly embarrassed and very, very confused. Part of Pepa wanted to insist that it was okay, this was just how things worked around here. But she wouldn’t push him. Not now. She’d wait until he seemed a little calmer and try to explain again.

Mirabel marched out with five new spools of thread and three new fabrics. Apparently she was planning to make a new skirt. The rest was just for back-up, to restock in case further inspiration hit. 

Fair enough, Pepa figured. She’d never been the best at sewing or embroidery herself, but Mirabel took to it like a champ, right from the age of four. 

“So, Bruno,” Pepa said as they walked around the village. “What do you do?”

“Um, painting mostly,” Bruno said, tugging on his hair. He stepped over a crack in the pavement, holding his breath. “And some pottery. But I usually painted them.”

“I like painting,” Mirabel said happily.

“I’m clueless about pottery,” Pepa admitted. “Did you like it?”

“Hm…” He shrugged. “It was okay. I mean, it was a- a job, you know? It paid. But I definitely preferred painting them instead.”

Yep, Mirabel was going to follow this guy around like a baby chick, Pepa was sure of it. Her sobrina’s eyes had utterly lit up with glee. 

As Mirabel asked questions about pottery and painting, Bruno seemed to relax a little. He stood up straighter and didn’t seem so conscious of the villagers’ stares and whispers. Pepa glared at anyone she caught staring, her cloud making an appearance to rumble ominously. Seriously, they were trying to make him feel welcome. Gossip was hardly going to do that. He was a newcomer, not a monkey in a zoo! Mamá was right, some people had no manners.

And as they made their way to Pepa’s favourite café, Bruno’s eyes widened as he inevitably saw the Madrigals at work. He stopped and stared as Luisa lifted a bridge and carried it a little further down the river, setting it down again. She moved the church across the square and marched away carrying a whole load of donkeys. Pepa swore the donkeys got out every second day.

Isabela was with Señora Guzman; she summoned a vine swing and gracefully stepped onto it. As she rose into the air, she summoned roses to twine around Señora Guzman’s balcony and arch over her doorway. Pepa spied Mariano watching Isabela with a smitten smile from his window. 

Camilo was with his friends, playing football in a field. He turned into an older boy from school and used his new size to his advantage, easily keeping the ball away from the opposing team.

And, of course, Julieta was hard at work at her stall, handing out healing food to anyone who needed it.

For a moment, Bruno hesitated. He bit his lip, picking at a loose thread on his ruana. He looked like he was doing some deep thinking. He looked afraid.

“Bruno?” Pepa squeezed his shoulder and he flinched with a yelp. She quickly let go, raising her hands placatingly. He looked at her with wide eyes; his smile was plainly forced.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Just, uh- lost in thought.”

“Are you okay?” Mirabel asked. He nodded, eyes on the ground.

“Well,” Pepa said. “We’re nearly there, let’s go. Some lunch will make you feel better, sí?” 

She hoped so anyway. Maybe he just needed more rest. Pepa knew she’d surely need it in his shoes.

Pepa was a Madrigal. Being a Madrigal meant you helped people. But truthfully, Pepa had no idea how to help Bruno. She wasn’t sure any of them did.

But she’d do her best. 

Camilo and Félix weren’t the only ones who liked to make people smile.

So Pepa leaned on an old failsafe: she began to recount dramatic, over-the-top stories of her and Julieta’s teen years. Julieta would surely kill her (Mirabel’s scandalised giggles promised as much) but as Bruno let out a quiet laugh and smiled, really smiled, Pepa knew she was on the right track.

“She was so drunk that I had to try to finish making her food!” Pepa said, throwing her hands up. Bruno ducked his head to hide his grin. Pepa beamed, a rainbow appearing above her. “Only, y’know, I’m not a healer and I was pretty drunk too. So I had to keep waking Juli up to do the next steps, the big ones, so her Gift would work. And, yeah, it worked- but let me tell you, it tasted like crap. ”

Mirabel laughed louder and Bruno was finally standing up straight as they reached the cafe.

It would do. For now, it would do.

As if in response, in agreement, the baby kicked. Pepa smiled, her hand resting on her stomach. She figured that was a good sign.

Honestly, it was impossible not to smile as Mirabel chattered away. Bruno could almost ignore everyone staring and whispering. 

Well, he’d been in small towns like this before. Surely the novelty of his presence would wear off soon. Hopefully. 

Pepa’s cloud sometimes flickered to existence above her head and she’d wave it away with an annoyed scowl as she ate her lunch. She always looked around apologetically when it appeared, as if expecting angry reactions. And maybe she was; Bruno was pretty sure he caught some people looking at the cloud and rolling their eyes.

Bruno wanted to reserve judgement on the villagers, really he did; he knew he should. But Pepa had been so nice that it was hard for him to not immediately categorise anyone staring at her as Nosey Bastards. 

And Mirabel was just a complete and utter sweetheart.

They’d done the impossible: they’d actually managed to distract him and keep Bruno from getting lost in his own head.

“I’m sorry if it’s rude to ask,” Bruno said shyly. “But, um, how far along are you?”

Pepa lit up (literally, there was light around her and it was shocking and beautiful) and grinned at him, both hands resting protectively on her stomach.

“Six months!” she said proudly. “Camilo’s hoping it’s a boy, Dolores is hoping for another girl.”

Bruno smiled. “Poor kid’s outnumbered with all the girls, huh?”

“Oh for sure,” Pepa said.

Mirabel nodded in agreement. “I want another boy,” she said. “We’ve got too many girls.” She’d said the same thing at breakfast and she was saying it like she was putting in a formal request.

Pepa grinned at her. “I’ll be sure to tell the baby to be a boy, Mira.”

Mirabel nodded, looking satisfied. Pepa caught Bruno’s eye and winked.

And Bruno, who wasn’t even sure if he’d ever smile again only yesterday, bit back a laugh and poured himself more coffee.

Maybe it was part of the whole magic family thing, or maybe Pepa and Mirabel were just that charismatic, but he liked them anyway. 

Speaking of magic, a thought occurred to him.

He turned to Mirabel and asked, “So, what’s your magic, chiquita?”

Mirabel froze. Pepa froze. Bruno was pretty sure he saw the waitress and some of the patrons freeze too. Yep, definitely nosey. 

“Oh, um…” Mirabel was flushing bright pink, studiously avoiding eye contact. She took a long gulp of her orange juice and blurted out, “I don’t have a Gift.”

“Oh.” Bruno shrugged and smiled. “Okay. So, what’re you gonna make with all that fabric you bought? You said something about a skirt, right?”

“Oh. Okay. So, what’re you gonna make with all that fabric you bought? You said something about a skirt, right?”

Mirabel stared at Bruno, mouth slightly open. His words were so simple but they echoed on and on in her head, a mantra. Even as she answered him, explaining her plans for a new skirt, she couldn’t get it out of her head.

“Oh. Okay. So, what’re you gonna make with all that fabric you bought? You said something about a skirt, right?”

Bruno just…Accepted it. He didn’t look at her with pity or confusion like so many adults (and even a lot of the kids her age); he didn’t hate her like Isabela or avoid her like Abuela. He didn’t go overboard like her mamá and papá, always trying to reassure her she was Just As Special As Anyone Else. He just accepted that Mirabel didn’t have a Gift and moved on.

It made Mirabel’s head spin.

“Oh. Okay. So, what’re you gonna make with all that fabric you bought? You said something about a skirt, right?”

Such small, simple words. Such a casual sentence, small talk really. Almost boring, the type of stuff adults talked about. And Mirabel couldn’t get it out of her head, she couldn’t move past it.

Bruno hadn’t sounded sad or sorry for her. He hadn’t been confused or angry or suspicious. 

He still talked to her like normal.

Even Tia Pepa had frozen up for a moment but Bruno didn’t look at Mirabel like she was a weirdo. To him, the magic was the strange thing. To him, Mirabel not having magic was normal. 

He thought Mirabel was normal. And not normal in a bad way. In a good way. He didn’t care that she was Madrigal and she was supposed to have a Gift. He didn’t seem to care about being a Madrigal at all. Maybe it was because he was new and didn’t get it yet, but right now he still smiled at Mirabel and listened to what she said.

Slowly, a grin stretched across her face. Her eyes stung and she had to wipe them quick when Bruno and Pepa weren’t looking. She was ten, she was too big to be crying over this.

But…

But he was being so normal about it. So casual. He just moved on and didn’t press or ask funny questions. 

Mirabel suddenly hoped the new houses would take longer than three months. She hoped that maybe there wouldn’t be enough after all and they’d have to wait while another house was made for Bruno. Then he could stay in Casita longer and Mirabel could keep talking to him. 

Mirabel wasn’t sure if she had all the right words to describe how she was feeling. She just knew she felt like someone had set off fireworks in her chest.

When Mirabel described the skirt she wanted to make, Bruno smiled at her the way people usually smiled at Isabela, like she’d done something really impressive.

That did it. Mirabel had to be friends with him, like right now. 

“She’s even helped make some of the baby clothes,” Pepa said proudly. As she spoke about the baby, she got a little teary-eyed and her cloud reappeared. Mirabel swatted at it with her menu.

“I’m hopeless with a needle,” Bruno said with a shrug and he sounded cheerful enough. “The last time I tried to mend one of my shirts by myself, I ended up sewing the sleeve together.”

“I can teach you!” Mirabel said eagerly. She grinned at him, an idea springing to life; she could teach him and he’d stay longer. Mamá had said to make him feel welcome and what better way to do that than just hang out? 

Bruno looked surprised by the offer.

“She means that,” Pepa said. “She actually showed Luisa how to do some sewing too.”

Bruno tilted his head a little and Mirabel thought he looked weirdly like Tia Pepa when he did that. 

He shrugged and said, “Sure, it would definitely be useful.”

That was another thing: useful. Here, Mirabel could definitely be useful. She’d be teaching Bruno something that would help him and do what Mamá said by helping to welcome him. Two birds with one stone.

Chapter Text

“Is this the place we used to love? Is this the place that I've been dreaming of? Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need something to rely on. And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it, somewhere only we know?” - Somewhere Only We Know, Lily Allen

The day was long and chaotic, so Bruno hoped it would wear him out, that he’d get some sleep. Despite sleeping a long time yesterday, he didn’t feel like he had.

But as soon as he lay down that night, it was like all his energy came pouring back. He couldn’t even close his eyes. He lay there on the bed, occasionally tapping on the headboard, humming to himself and trying to think of a story to make himself nod off.

No luck.

He closed his eyes and-

Gunshots, fire, Juan.

He opened his eyes with a sigh. Yeah, somehow he doubted he’d be getting any sleep tonight.

Bruno didn’t much fancy the risk of another green dream anyway.

He pushed himself off the bed and went to the kitchen. Hopefully the Madrigals wouldn’t mind if he made himself some tea.

Casita’s tiles rippled (seriously, how was Bruno supposed to get used to this?) as if trying to help him along. When Bruno entered the kitchen, a lamp lit itself and when he reached for a mug the shelf lowered itself.

Feeling utterly ridiculous he said, “Um, gracias.”

The very walls seemed to perk up. It looked like Casita appreciated it. 

So, weirdly enough, Bruno wasn’t alone. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that yet; was it comforting or did it freak him out? Maybe a bit of both. Still, it didn’t seem like the house wanted to hurt him.

He got to work on making the tea and Casita rolled out a plate of cookies as the water boiled.

“You’re sweet, huh?” Bruno asked and the tiles rippled again, looking almost like a dance. Flattered, agreeing. 

Okay, maybe it was comforting after all.

He sat on the counter to drink, swinging his legs like he always did. 

Then a very quiet voice spoke up; “Do you mind if I join you?”

He was startled all the same and nearly fell off the counter with a yelp. Dolores stood in the doorway, wrapped in a red dressing gown, her curls spiralling around her shoulders, looking at him with wide eyes and a curious little pout.

Well, it was her home, Bruno could hardly refuse her. So he nodded and she moved silently into the room, making herself some tea and sitting on the counter next to him. Bruno tried very hard to pretend he hadn't almost had a heart-attack.

“Did I wake you?” Bruno asked, suddenly worried. Julieta mentioned Dolores had magic hearing. Could she even turn it off? How did she sleep like that?

“No,” Dolores said, still so quiet. “I was awake anyway. There’s-” She broke off with a squeak.

Bruno raised an eyebrow, peering at her curiously. She was staring straight ahead, tapping her fingers on her knees and sitting stiffly.

“There’s what?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Hm…” She was staring resolutely at the wall. “There’s just…A neighbour writes poetry every night and I can hear it. He recites it as he writes it. He’s really good, so I wanted to listen. That’s why I was awake.”

Okay, Bruno had to admit, that was kind of adorable. He could appreciate a good poem. 

Which begged the question, how did Dolores sleep with all the noise? She didn’t look sleep deprived at all. Bruno envied it.

“Do you- with your hearing, uh…” He took one of the cookies and Dolores tilted her head curiously. “Is it hard to sleep?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “My room is soundproof.”

For her sake (and her sanity) he was glad.

They sat for a while in companionable silence. The mystery poet must have finished his recitation, because Dolores spoke up; “How was your day? I know this must all be overwhelming.”

Everyone kept saying that. Well, they were right.

“It’ll take some adjusting,” Bruno said, avoiding her gaze. “Uh, a lot of adjusting. But it- it was okay. Gonna take a while to get used to trading instead of using money too.”

“Oh, you have actual money?” Dolores perked up with interest. “My abuelo and abuela- Papá’s parents- they have some. I like the sound it makes when it clinks together.”

Bruno smiled at her. “I have some,” he said. “If you want you can have some of it.”

“Hm!” Her smile widened. “I couldn’t, I- oh, who am I kidding, yes please.” She finished her tea and hopped off the counter. “Buenas noches.”

“Buenas noches,” Bruno echoed.

She left the kitchen without a sound and, faintly, Bruno heard her bedroom door open and shut, so quietly he almost missed it. She truly was quiet as a mouse. Quieter than a mouse, even.

The tap squeaked as it swayed left to right, catching his attention.

“Ay, I know, it’s late,” he whispered and immediately felt ridiculous again. He was talking to a house. Now that was going to take some getting used to.

As he crossed the courtyard to head back to his room, the stairs clattered, making a racket.

“Shh!” Bruno hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. He didn’t want to wake anyone else.

(He closed the door behind him, missing how the stairs clattered again, more insistently.)

Even as he lay down, he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. He still felt wound up, thrumming with nervous energy.

Earlier that day, watching the Madrigals so casually use their magic, he’d wondered about telling Pepa about the green dreams. Maybe they would understand. 

But their magic was so different, so useful, and they could all control it.

And even then, he saw how some of the villagers had looked at Pepa with annoyance. 

If they looked at their leader’s daughter like that, how would they look at him? The one who saw bad things, the one so many people had been convinced made bad things happen...

Bruno sighed, rolling over onto his side and pulling the cover right up over his head. He’d keep quiet. He’d keep his big mouth shut and pray he wouldn’t see anything catastrophic ever again. 

He didn’t get much sleep that night.

Maybe that was for the best.

Alma went to her window with a frown. She could have sworn she heard Casita moving, but when she looked out over the courtyard, all was calm.

She briefly wondered if their guest was sleeping and then couldn’t fully banish the thought.

Another village burned down. Another loved one sacrificing himself. More friends and neighbours lost, more lives destroyed. 

Another desperate flight into the mountains.

Another lost boy bearing her son’s name.

Shouldn’t she have felt a companionship with him? Instead, his name tore at her heart. Among all the tragedy, it was the one detail she kept coming back to: that name.

You’ll need to call him by name, Alma reminded herself as she turned away from the window. He’ll think you’re incredibly rude otherwise. It was hardly the proper way to treat a guest, let alone a new villager who would soon look to her as the strong leader she needed to be.

But she couldn’t do it. Not yet. God, she could barely stand to think about his name, let alone say it. 

Perhaps he would not begrudge her, or even notice. She didn’t owe him her most tragic story anyway.

She’d still have to keep an eye on him. As she’d told Julieta and the others, trauma manifested in unexpected ways. She’d seen so many of her friends, usually rational people, become lost in unseen horrors, hurting themselves and others around them.

Sighing, she lay back down. It wasn’t as if she thought he was a threat, not exactly, but the possibility was there all the same. 

“And he is not a threat?” Señor De la Cruz had asked when she finished explaining what had happened. Rumours had already started circulating anyway, it was a wonder they hadn’t come knocking at Casita’s door for answers, instead waiting patiently for Alma to call on them.

“Of course not,” Alma had said briskly. “Or else the mountains would never have let him in.”

He’s unarmed, he’s alone, she did not say. Félix told me his back is covered with scars. I saw his arms myself. Someone hurt that boy again and again. Perhaps many people did. We will not be among that number. 

I will not be responsible for the loss of a life.

“He will help us grow, like all the others before him,” Alma had said instead, chin up, looking the councillors all in the eye, one by one. Trust that I would not risk our home in such a manner. “He fled a massacre much like the one we faced. He is a stranger, yes, but he does not mean us any harm.”

“He probably thinks we mean him harm,” Señora Guzman said sadly.

It was a possibility, Alma had to admit it. Even if it made her bristle on instinct, even if it made her want to protest that she would never…

“What is his name?” Padré Martinez asked, looking sympathetic.

Alma swallowed. “Bruno Expósito,” she said and quickly changed the subject to the construction of the new bridge.

Tomorrow you will call him by his name, Alma told herself as she closed her eyes. You will not ignore him and you will not walk away when someone else says his name.

And if she didn’t…Well. It wasn’t like he’d be living in Casita forever.

Chapter Text

“When I told you it was fine, it was just another lie; just like ‘Boys don’t cry.’ Lost in the threads of her little spiderwebs, got me hiding in a corner, trying not to call it. This is how the heart breaks. Just like you said, a fairytale from hell.” - OK, Alan Walker

The next day, Mirabel put her plan into action. As soon as breakfast was done, and Papá and Tio Félix started on their chores, she ran up to Bruno before he could disappear into his room.

He looked tired and she almost felt bad for disturbing him. But not really. She was going to teach him how to sew and then she’d get to keep talking to him; he’d feel welcome like Mamá wanted and Mirabel would get to be his friend. All around, everyone won! 

“I can show you how to sew today,” she said brightly.

Bruno yawned, his hand pressed over his mouth. He crossed his eyes at her and she giggled.

“Unless you’re too tired?” she asked, suddenly worried. He really looked sleepy.

“Nah,” Bruno said, shaking his head. His curls bounced as he did. “Just go easy on me, kid, I’m hopeless with needles.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be easy!” Mirabel grabbed his hand and pulled him to the stairs. Casita’s floor danced in their wake, the stairs extended so they reached them faster.

As soon as they reached the landing, the floor shuddered. The tiles rippled in one row, towards the staircase no-one touched. Towards the blank, glowing door. Her poor lost Tio's door, which no one could open. Camilo had tried once, but that was a secret. The door hadn't budged anyway.

Mirabel glanced at the candle and thought, Bring him home, okay? The candle shined steadily, like a tiny lighthouse. Not that Mirabel had ever seen a lighthouse, but she’d seen illustrations in books and the candle sometimes reminded her of those lighthouses, looking out over Encanto, always shining, guiding the way home.

Bruno had spotted the door. He looked at Abuela’s door and all the others and frowned.

“Why’s that one blank?” he asked. “Is it yours?”

“No,” Mirabel said sadly. “It’s my Tio’s.”

“Félix’s?” Bruno looked confused.

“No, no, my other Tio. He got lost a long, long time ago, when Abuelo Pedro died and went to Heaven. Abuela told me. But we’re not supposed to talk about him, because it makes Abuela and everyone else sad.”

“Oh…” Bruno bit his lip. “Sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay.” Mirabel took his hand again, pulling him towards the nursery. “My room’s this way!”

He kept glancing back at her tio’s door with a little frown. 

Come to think of it…Huh. Her Tio’s name was Bruno too! But Abuela always called him Brunito, because he’d been a baby when he was lost. Not lost like Abuelo Pedro, who went to Heaven; her Tio Bruno was actually lost. And Mamá said this Bruno’s surname was Expósito, but that he didn’t like it and might choose a new one, so she said to just call him Bruno for now, unless he said not to. In other words, be polite. Mirabel tried to imagine choosing a new name and immediately felt overwhelmed by all the possibilities. There were so many names in the world. How could you ever pick one? And what if you picked something that people made fun of? You’d have to change it again.

Besides, Madrigal was a pretty great name. Mirabel wouldn’t ever want to change it.

She pushed Bruno towards the window seat and grabbed some thread, a needle and fabric. She gave him the best serious look she could manage.

“We’re going to start with the basics,” she announced, trying to sound like her teacher. “Watch me close, okay?”

Bruno smiled at her, looking a little less tired. Score! He saluted her and leaned forward. “Aye-aye, captain,” he said and Mirabel giggled.

True to his word, Bruno watched carefully. It was such a simple row of stitches, but he seemed really impressed. 

Mirabel hoped Camilo wouldn’t try and steal him. She’d called dibs. Silent dibs, but it still counted. Besides, she was the one who’d helped show Bruno around and he seemed to like her too.

“When’d you learn all this?” Bruno asked.

“I was tiny,” Mirabel said proudly. “Mamá started showing me when I was four! It's fun.”

Bruno’s eyebrows rose and he let out a low, impressed whistle. Mirabel grinned at him.

“When’d you learn painting?” she asked.

“Uh, probably around the same age as you,” Bruno said with a little smile. “I was always drawing on stuff.”

“Did you ever draw on the walls?” Mirabel asked. “Camilo and I tried a few times, but Casita washed it away.”

There was a funny look on his face then; his smile vanished, his eyes went dim. He stared into space for a moment and Mirabel was worried that maybe his parents had yelled at him or- oh no, what if they’d hit him? Mamá and Papá told her all about bad parents like that.

But then Bruno shook his head and smiled at her again, wringing his ruana’s hem between his hands. “Heh, I tried it once,” he said. “But uh…Anyway, yeah, I was pretty small too. It was fun and, hey, practice makes perfect, right?”

“That’s what Abuela says,” Mirabel said. “And Mamí and Papí. And Tia Pepa and Tio Félix. And my teacher. I think adults just all say it.”

Bruno’s smile widened. “Guess so, kid.”

Mirabel was so sure her plan was going well. Bruno even managed a neat row of stitches. They were too big, but they were neat and way better than his first five attempts. As they worked, he told her funny stories he’d come up with when he was her age that set her off giggling so hard that she nearly dropped her sewing. 

Bruno didn’t laugh, but he smiled at her like she’d done something great. It was the way people usually looked at Luisa and Isabela. There was no pity or confusion to his smile. He looked her in the eye…At least for a few seconds. He kept glancing away. But he’d done that with everyone, so Mirabel didn’t think it was a problem with her. She hoped not.

“Do you like it here?” she asked as Agustín called them down for lunch.

Bruno looked surprised by the question. Before he could answer, Casita opened the nursery door for them, the tiles rippling in welcome.

“Lunch time!” Agustín called again. “And I didn’t even break any plates!”

“Yeah,” Mirabel heard Tio Félix scoff. “Because I carried them.”

“Does your papá always break things?” Bruno asked as they went downstairs.

“Yup,” Mirabel said. “Plates, glasses, chairs…Himself. Bees hate him, just you wait and see. He’s gonna go chop wood later and I bet he’ll get stung.”

Bruno stopped in the doorway of the dining room, watching as Agustín tripped over one of the seats and landed flat on the ground.

“I can believe it,” he muttered as Félix hurried to help her papá up. Giggling, Mirabel went to help too.

The week carried on like that. There was a strict routine with the Madrigals: breakfast was always early and they all had chores to do. Bruno hadn’t gone back into the village yet, but he learned how things worked in La Casa Madrigal.

Bruno saw pretty fast that the magical members of the family left right after breakfast to help around the village with…Pretty much everything and anything. Julieta sometimes came back to make lunch; if not, Félix handled it, or they had leftovers. However, Julieta would always be back to make dinner. Sometimes Pepa came home to rest, be it a nap or just to put her feet up. Perfectly understandable and recommended given her condition. Bruno would have been more concerned if she didn’t rest, though he knew it wasn’t his place to say so.

Félix and Agustín, with Mirabel’s help, cleaned Casita and allowed Bruno to help too. On days when the house didn’t need cleaning, the men accompanied their wives on their respective duties. Mirabel, oddly enough, stubbornly refused to go with them, following Bruno around the house like a baby duckling, telling him anecdotes and explaining what her family members did throughout the day. She was still showing him how to sew and, on days when she didn’t, she asked him about painting.

She asked about his parents once. Bruno gave an awkward chuckle, more like a squeak, and changed the subject fast.

Given his lack of sleep, he saw Luisa working out at all hours, very early in the morning and very late at night. Once, just before dawn, he saw her doing pushups in the garden. 

Isabela, as far as he could gather, was something of a decorator for the town. Bruno had heard Félix call her “Our angel,” and Señora Alma call her “mi querida,” and “mi flor,” or “our perfect Isabela,” which he honestly thought was very cute. Again, he was reminded of Señora Rojas and her granddaughters, who she’d always given sweet nicknames to.

Unlike Señora Rojas however, Señora Alma was stern. She did not tolerate anyone interrupting her during her morning speeches, nor did she want anyone to misbehave at the dinner table. Camilo, who never seemed to sit still, was on the receiving end of many lectures, as was Mirabel. Villagers sometimes came by to ask her advice or to ask for a favour; if they had a problem, it was Señora Alma they went to first and she always seemed to have the answers.

So: she was stern, she was no-nonsense and she was capable. She really was their leader. Nothing seemed to phase her. This was a small village in an isolated valley; it was hardly living among the wealthy elite of Bogotá or the royal courts of times past, but it was obvious that Señora Alma was a regal woman, queen of her own tiny kingdom.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was bothering her. Every morning, she walked right past him, her eyes roaming over him without stopping, as if he wasn’t there at all. She didn’t address him. She frowned when anyone said his name.

Well, it had been Julieta’s idea to let him stay in their house, not Alma’s. Perhaps she’d only agreed to be polite.

Just keep your head down, Bruno told himself. So long as he didn’t get on her bad side, it would be fine. She’d already welcomed him to her village, she was letting him stay in her home, regardless of her personal feelings. So Bruno would do his best to just…Not bother her.

He knew how to keep out of the way. He was an expert on keeping his mouth shut. 

Once upon a time, he might have wondered what he’d done wrong. Years and years ago, when he was still a child, he might have demanded to know what he’d done wrong and how to fix it.

He wasn’t that child anymore.

The scars on his back twinged in memory and Bruno kept his mouth shut and his head bowed as Señora Alma frowned at him.

All the while, he didn’t sleep. He did his damn best to stay awake. Well, he did sleep, but not much at all. He was left feeling light-headed as the week went on, spacing out and snapping back to reality when Mirabel called his name. His usual headache was ever-present, a steady thud-thud-thud, like someone was knocking on his forehead. The lack of sleep probably didn’t help, but Bruno was determined to keep the green dreams at bay for as long as he could.

There’d been no green dreams, thank God. But his dreams, when he finally succumbed to sleep, were weird.

(Because that’s the thing: Bruno thought he was handling it all okay. Just because he wasn’t crouched in a corner, screaming at shadows, didn’t mean he was okay. Just because he wasn’t standing on the edge of a bridge didn’t mean he was alright. He wasn’t trying to die, but a part of him was so sure the massacre was his fault. If he just hadn’t seen it…)

He dreamed he was running from something in the dark. There was shouting, hoofbeats; he could smell smoke. 

Before him was a glowing door. He never got close enough to see it properly; it was too far away, shimmering like a star. As he ran, it faded away.

Then something lashed his back until it was coated in blood and it kept going even when he stumbled and fell, unable to keep running. Other times it cut his arms and legs, and Bruno awoke with a choked gasp every time, heart pounding, head swimming, too tense to try and sleep again.

All things considered, it was a wonder he lasted to the end of the week before it went wrong.

It was simple. So simple.

Agustín dropped a plate.

Bruno had quietly offered to help him clean the dishes and Pepa, who was originally meant to help, gratefully went to lie down instead.

And Agustín dropped a plate.

It shattered on the ground, crash, and Bruno quickly knelt to pick up the pieces. But he stumbled, too tired to truly focus; he gripped a shard too tightly, it cut into his palm, drawing blood and…and…

He was twelve and kneeling on the floor as the blood trickled down his wrist and dripped onto the floor. The cook was shouting, the other boy was apologising for dropping the plate, and all Bruno could focus on was the blood.

He slipped a shard into his pocket when they weren’t looking. The pain in his hand didn’t really bother him. Not at all. In fact, it sparked an idea. An awful idea. Because when he cut his hand, something in his mind…Lessened. Something in his mind said it would help.

That night, he cut his leg and the pain in his head seemed to fade.

“Oh, mierda, Bruno, let me help!” Agustín’s voice sounded muffled.

“Diablo!” the Mother Superior shrieked as she brought the belt down. Bruno, eight years old, screamed and sobbed as blood ran down his back.

“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry!”

He’d dreamed that one of the more popular girls, Dukine, wouldn’t get adopted by that rich couple who’d been coming around after all: quiet, awkward Valerie would instead. 

He’d quietly told Valerie and, sure enough, the rich couple had chosen her.

But Dukine had heard him and she went running to the Mother Superior.

“You should be ashamed of such wickedness, cursing poor Dukine!”

He’d just been trying to help Valerie…

“Bruno? Bruno are you okay?” Agustín’s face was blurred and Bruno couldn’t breathe. There was blood coating his hand and…

He was sixteen and he’d been living on the streets for two weeks. He stood on the edge of the bridge, dispassionately watching the water below.

And he jumped.

He was sitting on a chair. Why was he on a chair? Hadn’t he been on the ground? His hand hurt, his head was pounding and he couldn’t breathe.

Julieta was there, holding a tamale. She was talking and Bruno couldn’t understand a word. He just doubled over with a sob, his arms wrapped around himself.

Juan’s blood soaked the ground, Bruno saw it, he saw it all. He’d been too slow to turn away. He ran through his burning village and he saw it all. He saw his dead neighbours, people he’d known for fifteen years. People who had never done any harm. He saw the church’s roof collapse, sending out waves of embers. 

Warm arms wrapped around him, arms that weren’t his and weren’t Juan’s. A hand stroked his hair and a gentle voice said, “It’s okay, mi amigo, I’m here, I’m right here, you’re safe.”

Was he? Was he safe? Had he ever been safe? He’d thought he’d been safe before and that had been a lie.

Bruno closed his eyes, shuddering, his cut hand twitching.

“What the hell was that?” the man on horseback hissed and Juan pushed Bruno back.

“Run. Run, Bruno!”

“It’s just me, it’s just Julieta. C’mon, Bruno, you know me. We’re friends. You’re in Casita, you’re in Encanto. You’re not- you’re not there anymore. They can never hurt you again, I promise. They’re gone. You’re safe. It’s 1945, you’re in Encanto, you’re in Casita; I’m Julieta, Agustín’s right here too…”

“Brujo!”

“Bad Luck Bruno, that’s what you are; you’re just bad luck.”

“Diablo! How dare you?”

“Devil-spawn, you’ll curse us all!”

“Chico del río, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“I’m here, just listen to my voice, Bruno; can you do that?”

There were arms around him, a hand in his hair and a quiet voice in his ear. He knew that voice, though it was a new voice. It was a woman, calm and gentle.

Julieta.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Bruno opened his eyes.

The shattered plate was still on the floor and he could see drops of blood. Agustín sat next to him, a hand on Bruno’s shoulder. Julieta was hugging him tightly, quietly murmuring to him.

He tried to stop shivering.

“I…I’m s-sorry,” he croaked. “I don’t know…” Why now? He’d been okay, hadn’t he? 

“Oh, Bruno,” Julieta said softly, sadly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

And wasn’t that always the strangest concept? Bruno leaned against her and, slowly, the shivering stopped.

“I didn’t bother Dolores, did I?” he mumbled.

“She’s in her room,” Julieta said. “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t have bothered her anyway.” She pulled back a little to look him in the eye. “I mean it. We want to help. All of us do.”

“Ready to eat something?” Agustín asked. He picked the tamale off a plate and held it out.

Bruno nibbled at it, his stomach churning, and watched with dull eyes as the cut healed itself.

“We’d better clean that up,” Julieta said, still gentle.

Bruno felt like a ragdoll as he let her lead him over to the sink to clean the blood off his hand, washing the evidence away. Behind them, Agustín cleared the broken shards and, when Bruno turned around, the blood was gone from the floor too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Agustín asked quietly.

Bruno made a strangled noise, half a laugh and half a sob.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he admitted.

“We have time,” Julieta said, her arm around his shoulders. 

Bruno looked at their gentle, earnest faces and it took all his strength to not burst into tears again.

He let Julieta lead him back to the table and sat before he could fall over entirely. 

He couldn’t tell them everything. He couldn’t. Curse aside, he hardly knew them.

But he’d told Juan once. He’d trusted Abuelo Juan then. Maybe he could try and trust Julieta and Agustín now. 

At least with some of it. Maybe.

Truth be told, he rather wanted to run to the guest room and barricade the door. He was torn between exhaustion and mortification.

Julieta squeezed his shoulder, her smile infinitely patient. Agustín’s eyes were bright and friendly.

So Bruno began to talk. He didn't need to tell them everything after all.

Chapter Text

“You may feel no purpose nor a point for existing, it's all just conjecture and gloom. And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it; do not waste yourself on this roof. Hear those bells ring deep in the soul, chiming away for a moment. Feel your breath course frankly below and see life as a worthy opponent. Today, of all days, see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you'll rise above.” - Achilles Come Down, Gang Of Youths

“I, uh, I don’t know where to start,” Bruno said.

“Anywhere,” Julieta said, squeezing his hands. Truth be told, it helped him focus. She bit her lip and asked, “What were you remembering?”

“A lot,” Bruno admitted, not managing to look her in the eye. He stared at their joined hands instead. Agustín set a cup of tea next to him.

“It was, um…I was sixteen and- and I jumped off a bridge.” His voice was quiet, so quiet, barely above a whisper. He shut his eyes and waited for the shouting, the reminders that such an act was a terrible sin; he waited to be called crazy, unhinged, dangerous.

Instead, Julieta hugged him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, squeezing him tightly. Bruno’s arms were pinned to his side, he couldn’t hug her back. It was a struggle not to burst into tears again. Agustín squeezed his shoulder, his expression devoid of any disgust or anger; he looked sympathetic and very sad.

“Didn’t work obviously,” Bruno mumbled against Julieta’s shoulder.

“Good,” Julieta said, suddenly fierce. “I’m glad it didn’t.” She pulled back to look him in the eye and Bruno felt frozen to the spot. As much as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.

He jumped, but the bridge wasn’t nearly high enough, the river’s current wasn’t strong enough. A passer-by pulled him out. No one had seen him jump though, and he managed to convince the doctors that he’d dropped his wallet over the side, that he’d slipped and fallen over the rail when he tried to grab it.

He walked right out of that hospital without anyone stopping him, slipping away before anyone could question him further or notice the holes in his story.

They’d asked about contacting his parents and a part of Bruno had the terrible urge to laugh. They’d surely lock him up if he started laughing though, so he bit his lip and said they were away for a wedding.

Then he got out of there and, as he walked through the streets, Bruno felt numb. His coat was far too big for him, but as the sun set he was grateful for it. He couldn’t seem to stop shivering, but he didn’t feel cold or ill. 

He found a quiet alley and hid behind some grates and old cardboard boxes. He tried to pretend he knew where to go next, that he had a plan. 

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t even summon enough energy to panic again. He just lay there, looking up at the stars and he tried, very hard, to pretend this wasn’t his life.

“Thank you for telling us,” Agustín said and Bruno was horrified to see tears in his eyes. “You…” He sighed and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to keep all that to yourself.”

It was only one story, not even a very long one at that, and Bruno felt worn out. He just shrugged in response. Julieta was still hugging him and Bruno wondered if he should ask her to let go. 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

For quite a long time, he’d been terrified of letting anyone touch him at all. Once, very early in his job at Juan’s shop, Juan had clapped him on the back and Bruno had completely panicked, dropping the tray of mugs he’d been carrying and locking himself in the bathroom to hyperventilate, trying to remind himself that Juan was just being nice. He wasn’t like the nuns and the belt. 

And Juan, God bless him, had sat outside the bathroom, calmly talking about anything and everything until Bruno opened the door.

Slowly, bit by bit, Bruno had gotten better about letting people touch him. Some days, he still flinched. Some days, he couldn’t stand it at all and it made his skin crawl. But, more and more, he’d gotten used to it. He’d stopped expecting to be hit. Hugs didn’t feel restricting, another person’s hands stopped feeling like chains.

Like right now. Without Julieta holding on, he thought he might fall off the chair entirely. 

He just felt so tired. 

“Sorry,” he said. Instinct, habit; embarrassment and genuine regret for worrying them.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” Julieta said. “Anyone who ever made you feel that way should be the ones begging for your forgiveness.”

Bruno had the sudden image of Julieta facing down the Mother Superior and the other nuns, rolling pin in hand, waving it threateningly like a sword. Or slapping those men who tried to mug him when he was seventeen, or any of the countless people who called him brujo or bad luck. She wasn’t a big woman (though still taller than Bruno), with small hands and kind eyes, but she suddenly looked like she could take a dragon on, fury in her eyes and in the clench of her jaw.

And none of that fury was directed at Bruno. How very strange. 

“Good luck with that,” he mumbled. Julieta’s smile was so sad. Agustín squeezed his shoulder again and Bruno didn’t flinch.

He’d consider that a personal victory.

“They’re the ones who will have to answer for it one day,” Julieta said with certainty, still with that spark of fury in her warm brown eyes.

The priest in his village had said something similar once, when Bruno had let slip that the nuns had been…less than kind to the children in their care. He hadn’t told the man much at all, he hadn’t even told him about their behaviour to Bruno specifically.

But the padré had still gone quiet, his expression grave as he said; “They will have to answer for it one day, my son. Harming a child is a terrible sin.”

Bruno had to wonder if that was true. His relationship with God was complicated to say the least. He wished he could have that faith back, that it hadn’t been beaten out of him by women of God Himself and only driven away again and again as life carried on. He’d never quite gotten it back, even after all these years.

He wasn’t really sure what he believed in, when he stopped to think about it.

Bruno lived in a world where he dreamed of the future in shades of green and those dreams came true; he lived in hell on earth for decades. He’d found peace and had it stolen again. And now he’d stumbled into a magical village, his life saved by magical strangers, living in a magical house. All of it provided by a Miracle, by one man’s sacrifice. It certainly sounded like an act of God. At any rate, it was certainly a miracle. What was Bruno to make of all that?

But Julieta looked so confident that he nodded along in agreement. At any rate, he knew Julieta believed it. 

His thoughts were going in circles again, getting jumbled. If Bruno brooded too much he’d get stuck like this.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he mumbled, forcing himself to stand. He hadn’t touched the cup of tea. 

“Okay,” Julieta said, taking his hands again and squeezing tightly. 

She called after him when he was halfway across the courtyard; “Bruno?”

“Hm?” He stopped and looked back.

Her smile was gentle and kind. “Sleep well,” she said. She looked a little too knowing.

“You too,” Bruno said and went to his little guest room, gently shutting the door behind him.

Julieta had never been a violent woman, but if she ever found anyone who contributed to Bruno feeling that way, she may just beat them with her rolling pin. At the very least, she’d send Pepa their way.

Sixteen years old, and he’d tried to jump off a bridge. She’d seen his arms. How many times had he tried to die?

Félix said there were scars and welts on his back. Who had done that to him?

Bruno Expósito…Well, the obvious conclusion was that he was an orphan, a foundling. But Julieta couldn’t rule out the possibility that one of his parents was an orphan, that it was their surname. Either way, Bruno had said he didn’t want to use his surname. He clearly wasn’t fond of it.

Either his parents had done that to him, or someone at an orphanage had. Both options made her feel sick.

How could someone do that to another person? To a child? Julieta couldn’t comprehend it. You didn’t have to be a healer to know abuse was wrong, for heaven’s sake. 

Sixteen…She tried to imagine Isabela, Luisa or Dolores in Bruno’s place and it was a struggle not to start crying there and then.

She sat down heavily, her face in her hands.

“How could they do that?” she asked, her voice breaking. “It’s- it’s sick, it’s evil.”

Yes, Bruno was around her age, but he was also tiny. Isabela and Dolores were taller than him. How small had he been as a teenager, as a child? Smaller than Mirabel, smaller than Camilo? 

Just how cold-hearted did you have to be to strike a child, to scar them for life?

Agustín was eerily quiet. When Julieta looked up, her husband’s expression was carefully blank, but she could see uncharacteristic anger in his usually warm eyes. His fists were clenched.

“I think he needs a day out,” he said abruptly.

Julieta shook her head, uncomprehending. “What?”

“Sitting around Casita all day can’t be helping,” Agustín said. “So maybe Félix and I can take him out, show him around again? He hasn’t been to the village since Pepa and Mirabel took him.”

“He might not want to,” Julieta cautioned, though she had to admit the idea had merit.

“Maybe,” Agustín said with a rueful shrug. “But no harm in asking, right?”

That was true. And maybe it would help. If Bruno was going to live here, he needed to see more of Encanto than Casita. And Julieta knew Agustín and Félix: they were one hell of a duo, always laughing together and finding ways to entertain themselves, even on the dullest of days. 

Her husband had a big heart and so did Félix. Surely they could get Bruno to smile too.

“Right,” Julieta said with a tired smile. “No harm in asking him at all.”

Of course, the whole idea hinged on Bruno saying yes, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Chapter Text

“When the night is cold, and you feel like no one knows what it's like to be the only one buried in this hole. You can make it to the sunrise. You can make it to the sunrise. Searching for a way to escape the madness; a dire need for change as we fight for better days.” - Sunrise, Our Last Night

Bruno was dreaming, though that was nothing new. He dreamed of a glowing door in the distance, of shouting and fire. He dreamed of falling into a pit of glowing green sand, sinking under the surface no matter how hard he tried to claw his way back out.

He dreamed of Juan, dead on the ground.

He dreamed of his long-gone nameless father, lying in a red river.

He dreamed that he was running in the dark and could never stop. If he stopped, he was dead. If he stopped, he was doomed.

“Brujo, brujo, brujo!”

I’m not, he thought desperately, as he had so many times before. It was so dark he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. I don’t know what I am.

Then someone took his hand and, suddenly, he was standing in Casita’s kitchen and Julieta was kneading dough, flour smeared across her apron.

“They’re the ones who will have to answer for it one day,” she said, so firmly, so sure of herself.

“I don’t know about that,” Bruno admitted.

Julieta didn’t look up from her task, but she smiled. 

“I do,” she said.

And Bruno woke up, tangled in the sheets, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The sun was just beginning to rise.

The chest of drawers rattled slightly; one floor tile rose and fell with only a small little squeak of a sound.

A question: Are you okay?

Bruno tried to untangle himself and fell off the bed. He lay there in a heap, heart still racing, his head hurting more than ever.

“Is anyone in the bathroom?” he asked with a yawn.

In response, a change of clothes was thrown at him from the drawers and the bedroom door opened.

“I take it that’s a no,” Bruno muttered, pushing himself to his feet. There was no way he was getting back to sleep and, truth be told, he didn’t really want to anyway.

But first order of business: shower. He felt disgustingly sweaty. Besides, maybe the hot water would help clear his head.

Julieta was an early riser. Well, all of the Madrigals were out of necessity, but she was always the first one awake, closely followed by Mirabel.

Still, she couldn’t say she was exactly surprised to realise Bruno was up before her.

As she passed the window, she spotted him sitting on the back patio, looking out at the garden. The light breeze ruffled his hair and Julieta was relieved to see he looked far less tense than he had yesterday. He looked, dare she say it, peaceful. At the very least, as he turned his face up towards the sun, it was the most relaxed she’d seen him.

She glanced at the list of things she needed to make today, pinned to the corkboard as always. She mentally ran through her checklist for breakfast…

And decided she had some time to spare. After what she learned last night, surely she could take a few minutes to chat with their guest, her new friend (she hoped they were friends) and make sure he was okay?

She hummed to herself as she made two big mugs of chocolate con queso and went outside to Bruno.

“Buenos días,” Julieta said, way too chipper for this early hour, and Bruno nearly fell down the steps. He scrambled to catch himself and even he could feel how awkward his smile was.

“Buenos días,” he echoed, eyebrows raising when he saw the mugs in Julieta’s hands. “Um…?”

She raised one in offering. “Do you like chocolate con queso?” she asked.

Bruno nodded, so she pressed it into his hands and sat next to him with a flick of her sky-blue skirt. She wasn’t wearing her apron yet.

Bruno sipped the drink and sighed in relief when the bumps and bruises from his tumble this morning vanished. Julieta was watching him carefully, her fingers tapping the rim of her mug.

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently. “After last night?”

“Eh…” Bruno shrugged. He’d been better. He’d been a lot worse. 

Julieta just smiled in an understanding way, sympathy in her gaze. No pity or anger to be found.

“Is it overstepping to say I’m glad you’re here?” she asked and finally took a sip of her own chocolate con queso. 

“Que?”

“I mean it,” Julieta said. “I’m glad you made it over the mountain. I’m glad you lived. I know it’s only been a week but…I hope we’re friends? Or that we can be?”

And Bruno just- it was like his brain momentarily went on the fritz. He just stared at her, swallowing heavily. 

I’m glad you lived.

Bruno…He wasn’t so sure about that himself just yet, but…But only one other person had ever said that.

“Gracias,” he said, his voice more like a croak. Then he realised he hadn’t answered her question, so he nodded and said, “Uh, sí. About the- the friends…Thing.” Friends thing. Wow. That didn’t sound stupid at all.

Her smile widened into an utterly beaming grin, her eyes shone.

“Good,” she said. She sipped her drink again and glanced at him sideways. “In the interests of friendship, I feel I should warn you that Agustín and Félix are going to invite you into town today.”

Oh God. Bruno gulped down some more of the chocolate con queso, trying to think of a response or at least a good excuse.

“And I think you should go,” Julieta added.

It wasn’t that Bruno thought she was wrong, it was just…Okay, he thought she was wrong. He really wasn’t up to facing a crowd right now.

“You need to see more than just Casita,” Julieta said, still gentle.

Well, maybe, yes. Bruno wouldn’t be living here in three months.

“Maybe they can show you where the new houses are being built?” Julieta suggested.

That…Was probably a good point, actually. Bruno had no idea where these new houses were and Alma had said to choose one. He couldn’t do that if he didn’t even know where they were.

But- but the crowd. Everyone had stared so much when Pepa and Mirabel showed him around. Bruno wasn’t sure he had the fortitude or patience for it.

“Agustín and Félix won’t force you,” Julieta said. “And if anyone bothers you, they’ll make them back off. If you really don’t want to, no one will make you, I promise.”

Could she read minds or something? Maybe Bruno was just that obvious.

Julieta looked so earnest, so hopeful. Bruno would have felt like the biggest ass in the world for turning that smile into a frown.

So he sighed, gulped the rest of his drink down and nodded, feeling like he was walking into a battle.

But Julieta’s smile grew, she looked so relieved and, as they walked back into Casita, she squeezed his shoulder and said, “You’ll be alright.”

Bruno could almost believe her.

She also immediately roped him into helping prepare breakfast, so at least that was a distraction.

“We’ll be eating inside today,” Julieta said, so Bruno went to set the dining table.

Not for the first time, his gaze went to the family tree on the wall. No doubt, it was another thing magically provided by the house itself. It was beautifully painted; honestly, it was just the sort of thing Bruno would choose to paint himself. 

The only detail he couldn’t figure out was the image between Julieta and Pepa, on the trunk of the tree: a faded green hourglass. It seemed like an odd choice.

Still, who was he to judge? Artists always used symbols in their work, Bruno included. Next to Camilo was a little unopened bud, clearly meant to be the new baby.

He went back to Julieta and Mirabel came racing down the stairs, calling a cheerful, “Good morning, Abuelo!” to Pedro Madrigal’s portrait. Bruno hadn’t really looked at it; it was on the side-stairs and he tended to go up the main staircase, it was right next to his room and he had a direct line to the bathroom that way.

Bruno wondered if that portrait was also magical or if someone had actually painted it. He wondered if (and who) he’d dare ask.

“Morning!” Mirabel said as she hurried into the kitchen. “It smells great, Mamí!”

“Gracias, Mira,” Julieta said. “Help us serve it up?”

Mirabel nodded with such a serious look on her face that you’d swear she’d been asked to carry priceless treasure. Well, Julieta’s food was delicious.

The rest of the Madrigals began to make their way downstairs, led by the smell of breakfast (and their schedules, no doubt). Camilo immediately raced for the table.

Agustín took a seat across from Bruno, closely followed by Félix. They both had hopeful smiles on their faces.

“Buenos días,” Agustín said cheerfully. Seriously, were they all morning people? Bruno envied their energy.

“Buenos días,” he said as Alma came in and took her place at the head of the table.

“Listen,” Félix said. “We were wondering, do you wanna come into town with us? We can show you around properly?”

They both looked hopeful. Bruno glanced at Julieta and she gave him a thumbs up. Mirabel and Camilo were listening with obvious interest.

Once, when Bruno was nineteen, he’d dived off a cliff into the ocean. Not in any sort of attempt on his life, but just for the fun of it; he’d seen some locals doing the same thing and wanted to try it. He remembered how quickly his heart had beat and how nervous he’d felt when he looked down at the waves.

But he also remembered how much fun it had been once he dived in.

He felt like that again, now.

So, just like back then, he crossed his fingers and took a deep breath.

“Sí,” he said and Agustín and Félix grinned at him. “That sounds like fun.” He thought he sounded pretty confident at least.

“Can I go?” Mirabel instantly asked.

“Me too!” Camilo said, pushing Mirabel back into her chair to look around her at Félix, giving his father big pleading eyes.

“Ay, okay, okay,” Félix laughed. “You can both come.”

Bruno was stupidly relieved about that. Sue him, but kids were easier to handle than adults.

He still knocked on the table. He needed all the good luck he could get.

Chapter Text

“All his life he's been told he'll be nothing when he's old. All the kicks and all the blows, he won't ever let it show. 'Cause he's stronger than you know, a heart of steel starts to grow. When you've been fighting for it all your life, you've been struggling to make things right, that's how a superhero learns to fly. Every day, every hour, turn the pain into power.” - Superheroes, The Script

Mirabel marched along happily, Camilo at her side. Bruno had his hood up and his head bowed, his arms tightly crossed as they reached the town.

Was she imagining things, or were more people staring than usual?

Mirabel was a Madrigal: Giftless or not, people often glanced at her. People outright stared at her family. And, of course, her family was already hard at work throughout Encanto; Mirabel could see Luisa carting those donkeys around again. 

These stares were different. They seemed more curious. 

They were whispering. Had they done that last time?

Mirabel glanced back at Bruno. Her Tio Félix was pointing out his parents’ house and asking Bruno if there were any shops he wanted to visit. Her papá and Tio seemed at ease, so maybe Mirabel was just imagining things?

But then Camilo muttered, “What’s their problem?” frowning at anyone he caught staring.

“I dunno,” Mirabel admitted, rubbing her arm. They were all staring at Bruno and whispering, some of them were pointing. She knew he was a newcomer and that was rare, but was it really such a big deal? People called Dolores a gossip, but at least her cousin didn’t stare and point at people like that! Mirabel would have been scolded for being rude if she did that. She thought that Abuela might even tell Isabela off if she pointed at whispered and stared like that. Abuela was all about manners after all.

Honestly, it was kind of starting to freak Mirabel out. It was clearly freaking Bruno out.

Frowning, she fell back into step with him and Camilo followed her lead. He stuck his tongue out at Osvaldo and Osvaldo nearly dropped his cupcake in surprise, but Mirabel fought back a grin. If Abuela heard about that, she’d definitely tell Camilo off for being rude, but Camilo didn’t seem to care.

“Are you gonna paint your house?” Camilo asked Bruno. “Mira says you like painting.”

“I do,” Bruno said. His voice was really quiet and he kept his head bowed, so his hood practically covered his whole face. Mirabel could just see some strands of his hair and the tip of his nose. “And…Maybe? I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, we have an arts and crafts shop,” Agustín said cheerfully. “Why don’t we pop in on the way back?”

Bruno nodded, arms still tightly crossed. His sleeve rolled up a little and Mirabel glimpsed scars criss-crossing his forearms. There were a lot of them, some big and some small. There was a long one overlapping them all. Had he been in some sort of fight?

Mirabel wasn’t used to scars. Her mamá’s food typically took care of that, but she’d seen scars before, usually on the older people in the village and on the rare newcomers; there was a woodcutter who'd been cut so deeply on his shoulder that even Julieta's food couldn't totally avoid scarring. Her papá had a scar on his leg from when he was really little, before his family came to Encanto. He’d fallen out of a tree and badly cut himself on the way down.

She couldn’t imagine Bruno climbing trees or fighting though. He was a lot smaller than her papá and he wasn’t broad and strong looking like Félix.

Bruno caught her eye and went so pale that Mirabel was worried he’d faint. He shoved his sleeve back down, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked faster.

Somehow, Bruno wasn’t surprised to see Luisa at the construction site. She was carting around huge sacks, wooden beams, bricks and helped make the cement. He could have sworn he’d seen her with donkeys on the way here. Hadn’t she taken a break yet?

“Hola, Luisa!” Agustín called, waving.

“Hola, pá!” Luisa called. She looked cheerful enough, if a little tense. How far did her super-strength go? Did she ever feel strained or sore? 

There were ten new homes being made in total, all in a neat little row, not far from the river, with a meadow at their backs. The first two were finished and would soon be taken by two newly-wed couples, one with a baby on the way.

“Three won’t be taken,” Félix said, pointing to the very last three. “So, take your pick, hombre.”

They were mostly just the bare beginnings of outlines and walls, a mess of supplies and bricks. It was hard to imagine they’d be homes so soon. And, from the looks of things, they’d all be identical anyway, rather like Bruno’s village.

“Um, the last one I guess?” Bruno said. It was closest to the river; the soft sound of rushing water could be heard. It was a sound Bruno had always liked. 

Félix went to tell the construction workers to mark the house as taken and that was that.

It was so different from literally anywhere else Bruno had been. Getting a home had never been so easy. Even in his village, he’d rented rooms above the tavern before he could afford his tiny home. 

So, what was the bargain? What did they want? He had to pay somehow. That was just how the world worked. 

Bruno had slept under bridges, in alleyways, in fields and barns. He’d rented tiny, cramped apartments that were far too expensive and were overcrowded. He’d rented a small bedroom from an elderly couple until their grandson was sent to live with them. He’d stayed in a creaky cabin by the sea, rented rooms in taverns and even stayed in quite a nice hotel over a weekend, just outside Bogotá. His small house back home, only three rooms in total, had been the one place that had ever truly been his; no roommates, no landlords, no neighbours arguing loudly at all hours, no one muttering “Weirdo,” as he passed.

He’d never, never just been given a home. 

They looked like they were nice houses too. Not particularly big, but bigger than he’d had before. It wasn’t like he’d need (or even wanted) a lot of space anyway. 

Mirabel and Camilo were pestering Luisa, so Bruno stepped closer to Agustín and said, “So, what’s the payment?”

“Hm? Payment?” Agustín looked honestly lost.

Bruno nodded to the row of houses. “Y’know, for all that. I know you don’t really use money around here, but I can work. What needs doing?”

“Nothing,” Agustín said. He adjusted his glasses, frowning a little.

“I’m serious,” Bruno said, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, I don’t mind.”

“There’s nothing,” Agustín insisted. “If anyone needs help and you can, then we can let you know, yes. But no one’s expecting anything. You just got here. If you want to help out, that’s okay, but you don’t need to rush.” 

Bruno’s frown deepened. It just didn’t sound right. Was this another Madrigal thing he didn’t understand? 

“Bruno,” Agustín said, gentler now. “No one’s going to force you to do anything.”

They’d just stopped at Julieta’s stall when Señora Pezmuerto approached. Agustín knew her well; the entire Encanto knew her well. They all called her Fish Lady, a nickname she was still (thankfully) oblivious too.

“You’re the newcomer,” she said to Bruno, getting right into his personal space. Julieta glanced over, frowning, as she handed a man with a broken wrist a buñuelo. One bite and his wrist snapped back into place with a spine-tingling crack.

“Er…” Bruno gripped his own arm, stepping back sharply. “Sí.”

Señora Pezmuerto looked him up and down, looking somehow disappointed. Félix stepped closer.

“Huh,” she said. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“What?” Bruno shook his head, baffled. “W-why?”

“Just imagined you taller,” she shrugged. “Anyway, welcome to Encanto.”

“Oh…Thanks.”

Agustín sighed in relief as she turned to go. Okay, it wasn’t the most polite greeting or welcome, but it certainly wasn’t the worst.

No sooner had she left than Bruno stiffened and suddenly bent over with a pained hiss, clutching his head. Bent over like that, his hood completely obscured his face.

“Bruno!” Félix reacted first, taking Bruno’s arm and bending down to see him better. “Mierda, are you okay?”

“Don’t repeat that,” Agustín told the kids on reflex, even as he took Bruno’s other arm, ushering him into the shade.

“Bruno!” Camilo and Mirabel ran to him, eyes wide and frightened. Julieta was rushing over.

“‘M fine,” Bruno mumbled. Félix helped him stand back up straight; Bruno’s eyes were tightly closed and he was grinding his teeth. Everyone had stopped to stare and Agustín frowned at them. They turned away, doing a bad job of pretending they weren’t watching and listening.

“Here,” Julieta said, holding out an arepa. “It’ll help.”

Bruno bit into it, but his pained expression didn’t change. It didn’t lessen in the slightest and Agustín’s concern sky-rocketed. 

Finally, Bruno opened his eyes, staring after Señora Pezmuerto with a dazed look on his face.

“Does she have a fish?” he asked. His voice sounded off. Agustín couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

“Oh, you’ve heard about her already, huh?” Félix asked with a rueful smile.

“That’s Señora Pezmuerto. Everyone calls her Fish Lady,” Camilo said, arms crossed. “She’s a fish killer.”

“Camilo!” Julieta scolded. “Keep your voice down, young man!”

“But she is, her fish always die.”

“They do,” Mirabel agreed.

Bruno shook his head (and immediately winced, one hand pressed to his forehead) and the dazed look left his eyes.

Julieta gripped his shoulder. “Don’t you feel better?” she asked worriedly.

“No,” Bruno said, almost apologetically, as if he thought he’d done something wrong.

Agustín’s heart sank. The only times he’d seen Julieta’s healing fail had been if she didn’t want to heal someone (a very rare occurrence) or if the injury or illness in question was chronic, something the other person was born with.

Ouch, Agustín thought, wincing in sympathy as Bruno gripped his head. He saw the realisation on Julieta’s face, the flicker of empathy in her warm eyes. Even Mirabel and Camilo put two and two together, frowning.

“Should we go home?” Mirabel asked.

“It’ll be back to normal in a few minutes,” Bruno said, closing his eyes again. “Don’t worry.”

The thing was, other than that fright, other than the awkwardness of Señora Pezmuerto, Agustín was reasonably happy with how things were going. When they reached the arts and crafts shop, Bruno finally pushed his hood down, a smile on his face as he looked around.

“Good call,” Félix muttered to him and Agustín smiled in relief.

It was a small shop, rather cramped, but brightly decorated. Bruno walked along the rows of shelves with more confidence, studying sketchbooks, pens, paints and coloured pencils. Camilo shape-shifted into people from different paintings and posters and Bruno grinned at him.

“What about him?” Bruno asked, pointing to a painting of a rather solemn, bored looking prince.

“Piece of cake,” Camilo declared. He spun on the spot, turning into the character and pulling a face of exaggerated disgust. Bruno snickered, his hand over his mouth. Mirabel said, “Show off,” but she was smiling.

They left with a new sketchbook, pencils and pens for Bruno, some pencils for Mirabel and a promise to get Camilo something before they went home. 

Outside, they nearly walked directly into Osvaldo.

“Hola!” he said cheerfully. “You’re Bruno?”

Bruno nodded, already looking wary. Mirabel and Camilo flanked him like miniature bodyguards.

“Is it true your village burned down?” Osvaldo asked, still so cheerful. “That’s awful.”

Agustín wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Or, preferably, he wanted it to swallow Osvaldo instead.

“Man!” Félix snapped. “Back off!”

“Oh, I don’t mean to be rude!” Osvaldo said quickly. “I just heard it was attacked. People were saying everyone was wiped out!”

Bruno had gone very still and painfully silent. His eyes glazed over, his hands shook and Camilo linked his arm with Bruno’s, glaring at Osvaldo.

To Agustín’s surprise, Bruno straightened up and glared at Osvaldo too.

“Seriously?” he asked, deadpan, the snarkiest Agustín had heard him yet. “I just- seriously?”

“I don’t mean to be-”

“Well it was rude, so save it,” Félix snapped, getting in between Bruno and Osvaldo.

For the first time, Agustín saw a spark of rage in Bruno’s eyes. So far, his eyes had been sad, with occasional glimpses of light when the kids made him laugh. Just last night, he’d seen those eyes turn dark and dead, consumed by fear and loss.

Now they blazed with life.

“I’m going back to Casita,” Bruno said stiffly. He began to walk away, Mirabel and Camilo at his heels. Only a few steps away, he paused and looked back at Osvaldo. “And as for you, Señor- if you ever experience such a loss, I pray that others will treat you with more tact than you’ve shown. I’m not your next topic of gossip, this is not a telenovela. If I told you what I saw, you wouldn’t sleep for a week. I know I haven’t.”

He marched away, clutching his purchases to his chest. Mirabel hovered at his side and Camilo paused to stick his tongue out at Osvaldo again before he ran after them.

Osvaldo looked stunned. He looked wrong-footed, as if he genuinely couldn’t understand how what he’d said was wrong.

Agustín knew which threat would work best; “Alma will hear of this,” he said and watched the blood drain from Osvaldo’s face.

“I was just asking,” Osvaldo protested, eyes wide. 

“He’s a person,” Félix said flatly. “Our new neighbour, not a source of gossip. Forget Alma, I’ll be telling your wife about this.”

If possible, Osvaldo grew paler. Agustín didn’t stay to listen to Félix read Osvaldo the riot act: he just hurried after Bruno and the kids.

Smoke, fire, gunshots. Screams, pleads for mercy. Buildings collapsing, blood on the ground.

Bruno walked faster and faster, his eyes stinging, his blood hot in his veins.

Juan, dead on the ground. The church collapsing. Frightened sobs and pained shrieks.

“Bruno?” 

Running and running, unable to stop, not daring to look back as his life collapsed behind him.

“Bruno!” Camilo’s voice rose and Bruno came back to reality, his heart pounding.

“I’m sorry,” Mirabel said quietly. “You don’t need to be scared, we’re here.”

But Bruno wasn’t just scared. Slowly, ever so slowly, anger was creeping in. When that man had spoken, Bruno had wanted to punch him in his stupid smiling face.

“Osvaldo’s always like that,” Camilo said, looking unimpressed. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach him manners?” Bruno asked and even he was surprised at how harsh his voice sounded.

“His wife tries,” Mirabel said. Bruno pitied the poor woman. 

God, he’d thought the worst thing that would happen today would be that damnable green flash. He’d been certain, so bone-deep certain, that everything was about to go wrong, that they’d see the glow even with his eyes tightly shut. 

A green flash for a soon to be dead goldfish. As if that was important! 

These stupid, damnable green flashes and dreams, these cursed visions. Why couldn’t they ever help him? Well...Bruno's footsteps slowed as he considered it. The day flashes had led him here. Which begged the question, why were the day flashes so frequent recently? They'd led him here and now they wanted to show him a dead fish? How did that make any sense? One was surely much more important than the other.

“What’re you gonna draw first?” Mirabel asked, voice forcibly bright. 

“Osvaldo’s face,” Bruno said, nose in the air. “I’ll throw darts at it.”

The kids laughed and Bruno smiled despite himself. Agustín caught up with them, panting and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“I’m sorry,” Agustín said, looking wretched. “I didn’t…I really didn’t think anything would happen, Bruno. I’m so sorry, I promise not everyone is like that.”

Bruno had seen them all staring and pointing, he’d heard the whispers. Maybe they were all like Osvaldo. Señora Pezmuerto hadn’t exactly been the warmest person either. Were they always going to treat him like a circus act? Was he ever going to fit in here? Was he ever going to fit in again?

But…But Julieta didn’t. Pepa didn’t either. Nor did Mirabel, Camilo and Dolores, or even Félix and Agustín. They’d all been kind. 

Agustín had helped him last night, had tried to help him again today and his face was still free of any judgement. He looked so upset, so let down, sort of embarrassed.

“It’s not your fault,” Bruno said, sighing.

“Maybe we can hang out tomorrow instead?” Agustín suggested.

“Maybe,” Bruno said as Félix came running. Honestly, he wasn’t so sure about that. At least, not in the village. 

Were these people going to turn him back into a hermit? He’d spent so long trying to overcome his fear and habits. He felt like he’d been thrown back decades in terms of improvement. One step forward and a hundred steps back. He jumped at every shadow; he couldn’t sleep, he kept getting flashbacks. Of course, it had only been a week, but…But…

He didn’t feel safe anymore. That was the kicker.

What will it take to feel safe again? Bruno wondered as they headed back to Casita. Anger and terror mixed together in his mind and he stepped over a crack in the pavement. 

He’d once worked in a café and the manager (a prim older woman) had said, “Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back.”

Bruno bit back the urge to remind her that he didn’t have one. But he’d always avoided cracks anyway, trying to find any good luck he could. 

As Casita came back into sight, Bruno thought he knew just what he’d draw first- or rather, who he’d draw first. 

Juan had always helped him before. Maybe a reminder would help him again. 

“Run and don’t look back. God go with you, mijo.”

He’d promised to live. One way or another, he’d find a way to live. 

“If you don’t go with Papá and Tio Félix tomorrow, can we hang out?” Mirabel asked and Bruno smiled.

“Of course, chiquita,” Bruno said and Mirabel walked next to him with a spring in her step.

At least he could still make someone smile.

“Maybe we can both draw?” Mirabel asked eagerly, her grin widening. 

“Can I join?” Camilo asked, looking curious.

“Sí,” Bruno said, willing himself to relax. “Of course.”

They high-fived, whooping in triumph, as if Bruno had just promised them a trip to Bogotá. For whatever reason, the kids liked him; Bruno wasn’t going to question it, he liked them both too. And, well, he was allowed to have favourites, so he’d admit to himself that Mirabel was his favourite.

Besides, when it came to art, Bruno knew what he was doing. He could definitely make it fun for them.

Chapter Text

“Because you are so beautiful, whoa-oh. I promise you this, I promise you this. And you are more than capable, whoa-oh. Just believe in yourself when nobody else is listening. And I may not even know your name, but I promise you I've felt the same as you do right now; you'll make it somehow.” - The Promise, Emma Blackery

Bruno wasn’t there when Félix told Alma what had happened. Their guest had been very quiet during dinner, mostly nodding along when Mirabel and Camilo talked at him, rather than to him. But he didn’t seem to mind too much. He was smiling at least; a small smile, but it was a genuine smile. Félix would count that as a victory.

Dolores, judging by her frown, knew exactly what had been said. Of course she did. She looked at Félix with concern and Félix smiled reassuringly, patting her shoulder. He’d handle it.

And so he did, catching Alma after dinner.

“Osvaldo put his foot in his mouth again,” he said, arms crossed. “He asked Bruno if it was true that his whole village had been wiped out and burned down. Very cheerfully too, might I add.”

Alma’s expression turned steely, her eyes narrowed.

“I see,” she said stiffly. “I’ll have words with him.”

Félix huffed, smirking despite himself. “I think his wife will beat you to it. I told her already.”

There was the faintest glimmer of amusement in Alma’s eyes. “Good,” was all she said and she went to her room.

Bruno was awake before dawn again and wandered out to the back patio. Luisa was already in the garden, jogging on the spot. As Bruno sat on the steps, she suddenly dropped and did push-ups, clapping each time she rose.

“Impressive,” Bruno told her.

She didn’t pause in her exercise. “Thanks,” she said with a faint smile, jumping back up to jog again. 

It was hard to believe she was only fourteen. She was so tall, taller then a lot of adults and easily the most muscular girl Bruno had ever met. He had to wonder how much of that muscle was natural and how much was magical.

“How long have you been up?” he asked.

“Oh, not long,” Luisa said. Bruno doubted that: she was sweating and red-faced, strands of her hair escaping her bun and she sounded out of breath. “What about you?”

“Not long,” Bruno echoed.

Luisa gave that faint smile again. She finally slowed down, stretching her arms above her head as the sun began to rise. 

“Do you have to exercise all the time? Or is it just, y'know, for fun?” Bruno dared to ask, knees tucked up to his chest. 

“Well…” Luisa shrugged with a somewhat embarrassed smile, not quite looking at him. “I like exercise.”

“I’m pretty hopeless,” Bruno said, flexing his own skinny arm and she giggled, a genuine grin crossing her face. “Can barely lift a plate.”

She giggled again, ducking her head. It was the most he’d spoken to her so far; she was usually very quiet. Bruno would have expected someone who took up so much space to be louder, but Luisa seemed content to let other people do the talking. Bruno could relate.

“I’d better shower,” she said. “See you at breakfast.” She darted back inside, waving over her shoulder. Bruno waved back and she was gone.

He turned towards the sun, watching it creep over the mountain.

Somehow, he wasn’t very surprised when Julieta appeared a few moments later, two mugs of chocolate con queso in her hand. She handed one to Bruno and sat on the steps with him, her ankles crossed. She hadn’t styled her hair yet and it fell in thick curls down her back; she looked younger with her hair loose but, as she frowned, she looked very much like Alma.

“I didn’t get to say it yesterday,” she said. “But I’m sorry about what happened.”

Bruno sighed, staring at his drink. “Are they always like that?”

“No,” Julieta said firmly. “I promise. Please don’t let it scare you off. There’s good people here, Bruno.”

“Well, I already know that,” Bruno said, throwing her a bemused glance. “There’s you.”

She lit up then, beaming, eyes shining. 

“Gracias. There’s you too,” she said. For a while they simply watched the sun rise before Julieta spoke up again; “So, arts and crafts, huh? Be prepared for the kids to make a mess.”

Bruno snorted, finishing his drink. “Be prepared for me to make a mess.”

Thankfully, the thought that Bruno was technically babysitting didn’t cross his mind, or he likely would have panicked at the thought of being left in charge of two kids.

But it didn’t occur to him as babysitting, as some sort of responsibility or duty. He just thought of it as entertaining Mirabel and Camilo, as a way to keep himself distracted that didn’t involve harming himself.

Baby steps. Progress.

Apparently, progress was arts and crafts. If nothing else, Bruno knew he was good at art. And what kid didn’t like being allowed to make a mess?

Bruno loved painting and drawing; he loved art of all kinds. It had always been an escape, a distraction; a skill he was admittedly proud of. He also loved writing stories, but somehow doubted that Mirabel and Camilo would want to sit and write all afternoon.

So: art time it was. 

They covered the kitchen table with an old sheet, which was already paint stained. Mirabel and Camilo brought down every tube of paint they could find, every pencil, crayon and pen and every last scrap of paper- crepe paper, normal paper, brightly coloured paper. There was glue, glitter, thread and sequins galore. Bruno found some scissors and Mirabel found her paintbrushes. 

And they got to work.

Camilo made himself a lopsided paper-crown, covered in glitter and sequins. It sat somewhat awkwardly on his curls, not big enough and in danger of falling off. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he loudly proclaimed himself “King of Casita!”

In response, Casita rattled the floor, knocking Camilo off balance and the crown off his head.

“Rude,” Camilo huffed while Mirabel cackled.

Mirabel had stuck several sheets of paper together with glue and sellotape (probably more than necessary) into one long line. On each sheet, she drew parts of the village: Casita and the beautiful garden on the first page, then the houses closest, the fields and mountains, the shops, on and on until she drew the town square on the last page. Throughout the scenery, she drew her family: Dolores with hand cupping her ear, a curious pout on her face. Luisa, carrying a donkey and Isabela surrounded by flowers. Pepa, in the fields with a rainbow above her head. Alma, speaking with villagers. Camilo, grinning and waving at the viewer; Félix and Agustín laughing together. Julieta was at her stall, holding a plate of food with a proud smile. Mirabel herself was standing just outside Casita, looking at the village. To Bruno’s surprise, she even drew him, sitting on the grass. She drew the villagers as well; that boy Bruno had seen smiling at Isabela and his grandmother, some people lining up to see Julieta, the padré outside the church. Above it all, she drew rows and rows of butterflies. She drew the candle on Alma’s windowsill and painted it in bright yellow with large rays like the sun. Then she moved on to the rest of the work, painting with utmost concentration, her tongue sticking out as she worked, holding her brush as steady as she could.

“That’s really pretty,” Bruno told her and she grinned happily.

“I’m not that short,” Camilo protested.

“I beg to differ,” Bruno muttered with a smirk. Camilo instantly made himself taller, smiling smugly. Well, Bruno supposed that was only to be expected.

As for himself…Well, he drew Juan. Mirabel went for paint and Camilo went for bright paper, glitter and sequins, but Bruno chose the coloured pencils, keeping his lines soft as he sketched, erased and sketched some more until he was finally happy. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he worked; a habit he’d always been aware of, but never managed to break. His co-workers used to tease him relentlessly for it.

It was a simple portrait, just Juan grinning with one hand raised in greeting. It was a familiar pose, one that greeted everyone who came into the old man’s shop as he cheerfully said, “Hola!” 

Julieta had suggested choosing his own surname. If Bruno had to pick, he’d choose Puerta. But somehow that didn’t feel fair. 

Maybe he’d just stick to never using a surname again. It wasn’t like he strictly needed one, not anymore.

“Who’s that?” Mirabel asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Juan,” Bruno said, swallowing heavily. “He was…He was my friend.” He saved my life. He was the closest thing to family I’ve ever had. 

“Everyone called him Abuelo,” Bruno added.

“Did he paint too?” Camilo asked, crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on them.

“Nah, he was a potter- he was good at it, really good at it, but he’d always get someone else to paint them instead.” Bruno was just thankful his eyes stayed dry, even as his voice wavered and nearly deserted him entirely. “He was…He was kind.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? The crux of it. Above all, right down to his soul, Juan Puerta had been a kind man. 

“He saved me,” Bruno said, keeping his eyes firmly on the drawing. He saved me more than once. “He was like family.”

Hesitantly, Mirabel asked; “What about your parents?”

Old grief washed over him; well-known and ever-lasting, but not nearly as soul-crushing as it used to be, more like a dull ache. He smiled sadly. “I don’t have any, chiquita.”

Both kids stared at him like he’d just said something incredibly shocking. Surely they knew what an orphan was though, right? 

“I’m sorry,” Mirabel said softly.

Bruno was saved from answering by a knock on the door. The three of them exchanged bewildered glances and hurried to the front door, Bruno keeping the kids behind him.

The front door opened by itself, revealing Osvaldo and a woman nearly as tall as him. The woman was carrying a dish covered with a cloth.

“Um…” Bruno stepped back, eyeing Osvaldo warily. Despite his height, Osvaldo managed to look small; very small and very sheepish, staring at his shoes like a scolded child. 

“Hola,” the woman said. “I’m Ofelia Ortiz, Osvaldo’s wife.”

“Oh,” Bruno said.

Ofelia held the dish out with an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry about yesterday,” she said. Camilio took the dish, peering back the cloth. He whooped with glee and cried, “Tres leche!” 

Ofelia elbowed Osvaldo and Osvaldo smiled sheepishly at Bruno.

“Lo siento,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be crass.”

Bruno wasn’t exactly in a forgiving mood, nor did he want to cause trouble. He felt stuck. Should he tell Osvaldo to ever so kindly piss off, or just accept the apology to keep the peace? He didn’t want to cause trouble. Above all, Bruno wished to fly under everyone’s radar; to just blend in.

He settled for nodding. Mirabel squeezed his hand while Camilo sniffed the cake with a happy smile.

Ofelia smiled, still looking terribly embarrassed. “I was sorry to hear about everything,” she said. “I hope you’re settling in well.”

“Er, yeah,” Bruno said, feeling more awkward by the second. “I’m fine.” And the award for biggest liar goes to Bruno Expósito! Your prize is apparently cake.

“Can we have the cake now?” Camilo asked.

“Uh, let’s wait until your parents are back,” Bruno said quickly. No way was he pumping them full of sugar without permission.

Ofelia looked pointedly at Osvaldo. He gulped and looked at Bruno again, not quite looking him in the eye, blushing pink to the tips of his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, rubbing his arm. “I hope to see you around the village again.”

Were you given lines? Bruno wondered. Or was that uncharitable of him? Emotions warred inside him; to forgive or not to forgive? 

Well, he could always act in the meantime. 

“Gracias,” he said and even he could hear how flat he sounded. So much for his acting career, eh? He turned to Ofelia and added, “And gracias for the cake, I’m sure everyone will enjoy it.” He sounded more sincere that time.

Then Casita promptly closed the door in their faces and Bruno, Mirabel and Camilo let out startled yelps.

Casita, it seemed, was most certainly not in a forgiving mood.

“Jeez, Casita, what gives?” Mirabel asked, looking around in astonishment. “You never do that.”

In response, Casita ushered them back towards the kitchen. 

Mirabel shook her head and smiled at Bruno. “Casita likes you,” she said.

Smiling for real this time, Bruno fondly patted the kitchen doorway. “Well,” he said. “That’s good, because I like Casita too.”

Chapter Text

“She's nothing but a child. A waif who needs protection, I feel a strange connection I can't allow. She says it's all a game, she trembles like a flower; but in her, there's a power. I see that now. I am nothing but a man with nothing but his orders to fulfill. "I'm innocent!" she cries, but then you see her eyes and something in them tells you that she absolutely lies! Until your heart replies, "But, still! Still...Still!"" - Still, Anastasia: Broadway

When Félix told her that Osvaldo put his foot in his mouth again, Alma’s first thought was; Oh for heaven’s sake does he ever learn?

Osvaldo was a cheerful man and well-meaning. Did that make his utter lack of tact better or worse? Alma could never quite make up her mind in that regard. She just knew that she was increasingly tired of hearing people sigh, “Oh, Osvaldo, mind your tongue.”

The fact that he so cheerfully called Mirabel’s ceremony a “total bummer,” always set her blood boiling, even if she didn’t show it.

She was Alma Madrigal, the leader and protector of the Encanto. Their people relied on her, on her leadership; they relied on the Miracle. Alma did her best to be a good, steadfast leader, to earn the Miracle each day, to help those around her.

But goodness, did she sometimes wish to slap some sense into Osvaldo. Literally if she had to.

Their guest was very quiet and went to his room early that night, and Julieta’s eyes sparked with outrage when Agustín told her what had happened. Pepa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and a hot breeze blew through the room.

“I’ll have words with him,” Alma told Félix.

Her son-in-law, despite the tension, looked amused. “I think his wife will beat you to it. I told her already.”

Ofelia Ortiz was a kind woman, sweet and bubbly, always baking something.

She also had no patience for nonsense; she was one of the only people who ever seemed to make Osvaldo understand when he’d hurt someone. Alma could only imagine the tongue-lashing he was receiving right then.

“Good,” Alma said and went to her room, trying to hide the amusement aching to break free. 

She was a leader, not a gossiping old woman. It wasn’t proper to be amused over such a thing.

Besides, she needed to plan what to say to Osvaldo in the morning. They were a community, they were meant to help each other; she didn’t want Br- their guest to think they viewed him as some sort of entertainment. 

Bruno, she thought to herself, unable to ignore the ache in her chest. His name is Bruno, just say it.

She kept telling herself she’d use his name; she kept promising herself she’d say his name, yet when she went to see Osvaldo and Ofelia, she still avoided it.

As she approached the Ortiz house, she could hear Ofelia’s raised voice through the open window and the smell of baking; “Honestly, if you’d lost everything would you want a stranger asking you about it in the middle of the street? What were you thinking?”

And Osvaldo, protesting, “I was just trying to say hello!”

Sighing, Alma knocked on the door. 

Ofelia opened it, flour smeared across her red-chequered apron, strands of her brown hair escaping from her bun.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Señora Alma!” The poor woman was blushing terribly. "Buenos días.”

“Buenos días,” Alma returned in her most gracious tones. “How are you, Ofelia?”

Ofelia smiled tiredly. “Well, I’m terribly embarrassed for a start. I’m making a tres leche for Señor Bruno.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Alma said. She had no idea if Bruno enjoyed sweets, but it was the thought that counted, no? “May I come in?”

“Sí, sí.” Ofelia stepped aside, ushering her in. The smell of baking was much stronger now; the promised tres leche no doubt.

“He will be at Casita all day,” Alma told Ofelia. “If you wish to stop by.”

“Oh, we do,” Ofelia said, shooting a narrow-eyed frown at Osvaldo.

For such a big man, Osvaldo was doing his best to look very small, shrinking into a corner with a sheepish smile.

“Ah, hola, Señora Alma,” he said with an attempt at a jaunty wave. “How- how are you?”

Alma clasped her hands before her and raised her chin. “I am well, gracias. But I need to speak to you about yesterday. Félix told me all about it.”

“Oh…” Osvaldo was blushing bright pink.

“We are not like the outside,” Alma said sternly. “We help each other here. We want to make a good impression.” If they didn’t work together, would the candle flicker again? If they chased someone away so soon after arriving, would everything Alma worked for crumble? “To show him that he is safe here and welcome.” Her family were working as hard as ever, always eager to help and eager to please, to earn the Miracle and do what they did best. But if they failed in this, in this new duty, what would happen? “I was most disappointed to hear there had been an altercation.”

“I’d heard rumours,” Osvaldo said, shame-faced. “I just- I didn’t mean to sound rude.”

To be rude, you mean, Alma thought.

“I’ll apologise,” Osvaldo added quickly. “Today.”

“Good,” Alma said. “Remember, he is one of us now. We all have to live together, so let’s make sure to do so in harmony.”

Harmony, she thought to herself as she left, off to the village to perform her duties. We need harmony. We will always help those around us.

Perhaps that was why she found her gaze continually jumping to Bruno that evening. Mirabel and Camilo had proudly showed their artwork off to the family as soon as they arrived home and Alma gave a small smile. Her grandchildren were talented, no doubt about it. She wondered just how long Mirabel had worked on that painting. Bruno, with a slightly tense laugh, just clutched his sketchbook close to his chest. Camilo had made himself a crown, and crowns for Pepa, Félix and Dolores. He’d even made a much smaller one, made from bright yellow crepe paper, which he pressed into Pepa’s hands.

“It’s for the baby, Mamí,” he said with a bright grin.

Pepa sniffled, eyes watering. Her cloud appeared, dark and threatening to drizzle.

“Pepa,” Alma called. “You have a cloud.”

“I know,” Pepa said, hugging Camilo tightly. The cloud began to drizzle as Alma suspected and Félix did his best to shoo it away.

They all had a slice of Ofelia’s cake after dinner. Isabela was telling Alma all about the bouquets she’d done for the padré and how she’d promised Señora Guzman to help with her garden tomorrow. Alma watched her proudly, patting Isabela’s hand.

“That’s my sweet girl,” she said warmly.

She looked down the table, watching her family. Pepa was beaming and Félix had his hand on her stomach- the baby was kicking again- Agustín was asking Mirabel about her painting. Dolores ate quietly as usual and Camilo was talking at Luisa and Julieta, rather than to them, boasting about his artwork.

Their guest sat at the very end of the table, head lowered. He’d finished his slice of cake and now he was lightly tapping a tune on the edge of the table with his fingertips. He brushed his hair back, looking up with a shy smile when Julieta called his name and-

And Alma’s heart stopped.

For a moment, just a moment, she could have sworn he looked like…like…

She took a drink of water, firmly pushing the thought away, frowning to herself. She was being ridiculous.

He caught her gaze and his eyes widened; he looked away quickly and his hair fell back into his face, obscuring his eyes from view.

That night, Alma stood in front of the candle, clutching her locket. She looked at the small, painted image of her beloved Pedro’s face.

The candle burned steadily; no flicker, no dimness. It burned as pure and bright as ever, like a little golden star. Their shield against the world. Pedro’s last gift to her.

Pedro…

She looked at his picture, at his warm brown eyes and gentle smile that never changed, that never would change.

“Ay, Pedro,” she sighed softly, so softly that she barely heard herself.

She was just missing him. That was all. She needed him and thought of him every day, praying he would guide her, to help her make the right decisions for their village.

Alma was always thinking of him, always catching glimpses of him in her everyday life. She'd hear his laugh in a crowd, or see someone with his hair, or a young man with a spring in his step, or someone simply showing kindness to a stranger.

She always thought of him, one way or another. Perhaps that was why, for that split second, their guest had almost looked like him.

Bruno, she reminded herself yet again, and it still hurt. His name is Bruno. 

She was so tired…

Sighing, Alma closed the locket and went to her bed.

True to his word, Bruno had given her four little coins and Dolores loved the sound they made when they clinked together. She even put them in a little jar and listened to them rattle. It was a fun sound.

There was another sound she liked even better: Mariano’s voice as he practiced his poetry.

She went downstairs, smiling to herself. She could hear him writing, muttering to himself; “No, that line won’t work…”

Dolores went to the kitchen to make herself tea and nearly walked right into Bruno. She squeaked, side-stepping him.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Dolores asked him, bemused. “You were up so early too.”

“Huh?” Bruno blinked at her. It was so odd: his eyes looked tired, his expression was tired, but he seemed all wired up, tense and thrumming with energy. “I sleep plenty.”

Liar, she thought, but didn’t push it.

He was holding a mug of half-drank tea, walking back to his room. Dolores stepped past him into the kitchen and got to work on her own drink.

“Do you want to join me?” she asked. One lovely thing about him was that he was quiet.

“You don’t mind?” Bruno asked. Dolores shook her head, so Bruno came back into the kitchen. He sat on the counter, just like last time, swinging his legs. Dolores tried not to giggle; Mirabel always did the same thing.

She’d heard what he told Mirabel and Camilo earlier; about his friend saving his life, how he didn’t have parents. She’d suspected he was an orphan, of course, given his surname and she’d already known his mysterious friend (Juan, Bruno had called him) had saved him. But it just…It made her sad, okay? She couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t he have any family at all?

Dolores was used to her big, loud family. Sometimes they drove her crazy, but she couldn’t ever imagine losing them.

“Is it the poet again?” Bruno asked as Dolores joined him on the counter.

“Sí,” Dolores said, tilting her head in the direction of Mariano’s voice.

“Are they good?”

“They are,” Dolores said with a fond smile. “And getting better all the time.”

Bruno didn’t ask any more questions. He just smiled and sipped his tea, surely lukewarm by now. Dolores listened to Mariano’s poems, still smiling to herself.

“Thank you for the coins,” she whispered.

“Hm?” Bruno looked surprised, but he grinned at her and that awful tension was gone from his shoulders. “Hey, it’s no problem, kid.”

Within the hour, as usual, Mariano fell silent. Dolores quietly wished Bruno good night. At her door, she waited to see if he’d actually go back to bed, admittedly relieved when she saw him walking back to his room only a minute after she left the kitchen.

Casita rattled the stairs and Dolores rolled her eyes, taking the hint.

But as she opened her door, she heard Mariano climb out of bed and begin to write again.

And she heard it.

“Oh, but what rhymes with Isabela? Isabela, the most perfect flower…No, the most perfect rose? C’mon, Mariano, think!”

It was a slap in the face. Tears stung her eyes and, for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Dolores practically dove into her room, slamming the door behind her so she wouldn’t have to hear any more.

Chapter Text

“Oh, you go to sleep on your own and you wake each day with your thoughts. And it scares you being alone, it's a last resort. All you want is someone onto whom you can cling. Your mother warned of strangers and the dangers they may bring. Your dreams and memories are blurring into one. The scenes which hold the waking world slowly come undone. You'll come undone.” - Sleepsong, Bastille

For a solid week, Bruno did not see Dolores in the kitchen. Well, that probably meant she was getting some sleep, right?

But she seemed so…down. Distracted. Bruno wasn’t quite sure how to put it, but something seemed off.

When he dared ask Julieta during their morning talks, Julieta looked lost.

“Lola’s always quiet,” she said, which- yeah. That was true.

He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It took an embarrassing amount of courage to ask Dolores directly. He caught up with her just after lunch; she was about to leave Casita, her head bowed, her eyes downcast.

“Is everything okay?” Bruno asked her, careful to keep his voice down. Not just in case anyone was eavesdropping (Camilo) but to spare her poor ears. Maybe that was the problem, assuming Bruno wasn’t imagining things. Maybe she was just overwhelmed.

Dolores looked startled. She stared and stared at him, her eyes getting progressively wider.

“Dolores?” Bruno was getting more concerned by the second.

Her lip trembled and she swallowed hard. “I just…Overheard something I didn’t want to,” she whispered. “I, um…There’s…There’s someone I like. And he likes someone else.”

Oh hell, Bruno thought. Relationships were so not his forte, but Dolores looked so sad. He couldn’t just stand here; he had to say something, anything.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “Whoever this guy is, he’s insane to not like you.”

She didn’t look convinced. Her eyes darted to the side, just as Isabela walked past with Alma, leaving a trail of rose petals in her wake.

“I don’t know,” Dolores said. “Not many people do.”

“Then they’re all idiots,” Bruno said firmly. Dolores was so sweet, how could people not like her? “Look, I know I’m new around here, but I think you’re pretty great.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “I- gracias.”

It didn’t magically make things better, of course. Dolores was still upset and who could blame her? She didn’t say a word at dinner, staring at her plate like it held the secrets to the universe.

But that night, she walked into the kitchen, a determined look on her face.

“How about hot chocolate this time?” Bruno suggested, if only because he was already making himself some.

Dolores nodded and took a seat on the counter. Bruno made their drinks and joined her.

This time, they talked. Not about anything important and, in fact, Dolores did most of the talking, taking Bruno by surprise. 

“Right now, Mamá and Papá are betting if the baby is a boy or girl again,” she said. “Hm! Camilo’s playing with his toys but he should be sleeping. Tio Agustín just fell out of bed.” (That last one made Bruno grin.) “Tia Julieta woke up, she’s giggling at him. Everyone else is sleeping. Well, everyone else in Casita is sleeping, some villagers are still up. Señora Guzman is reading and Señor De la Cruz is swearing because he’s spilled his wine. Apparently it was 'the good wine.'”

“Oh dear,” Bruno said, his smile widening. “Poor guy.”

“Hm. And I can hear the crickets. I’ve always liked them.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

As Dolores made her way to bed, she decided she could see why Mirabel was always following Bruno around like a little duck. She was almost tempted to do the same.

He’d noticed she was sad. If anyone else had noticed, no one said anything, but he did. Dolores loved her family dearly, but she was well aware they tended to sweep things under the rug; they ignored their problems until they built up and couldn’t be ignored anymore.

But Bruno asked her what was wrong. He listened. He didn’t tell her she’d get over it soon and find someone else. He listened, he was sympathetic- and he didn’t even know it was Isabela that Mariano liked. 

She wondered about telling him, about telling someone, anyone. She wasn’t sure she could say it out loud yet. Maybe soon. It just...It hurt to much to say right now.

For now, she was happy for the distraction. For now, she was happy to have someone listen.

His dreams were green.

He dreamed of a little boy who looked like Félix, surrounded by animals.

“Uh-huh!” the child said to a toucan, sitting on his arm. His grin was wide, delighted and astonished. “I understand you!”

He dreamed of Pepa fitting a veil onto Dolores’s hair and shooing her cloud away with a huffed, “Not today!”

He dreamed that Isabela was surrounded by new plants, wild and unusual things, with smears of pollen on her hands and on her skirt. She looked happy. Her laugh was giddy and disbelieving. 

The little boy again, sternly telling a jaguar, “Don’t eat those.”

Like a chastised pet, the jaguar slinked away from the rats it had been eyeing. The little rodents squeaked and ran…Right into Bruno’s hands.

He dreamed of Señora Alma’s candle, shining as always, before the light suddenly grew, bright as a star, nearly blinding.

He dreamed of a golden butterfly and a golden door that blazed like the sun, shining among all the green.

Bruno was not on the back steps. Julieta blinked in surprise and stepped outside, looking around the garden. No sign of him.

She knew she should be happy that he was probably sleeping in for once, but she couldn’t shake the sudden concern, the persistent nagging that something was wrong.

Biting her lip, she went back inside. 

The second she stepped into the courtyard, Casita panicked.

Every window rapidly slammed open and shut, the door to Bruno’s room flung open and the floor rose in a wave, pulling Julieta along at top speed. She stumbled and nearly went headlong, having to clutch Bruno’s doorway.

“Casita!” she gasped. “Careful, I- Bruno?”

He was shivering terribly, lying on his front with one hand dangling off the bed. He made a tiny, pained noise and Casita’s floor rumbled again.

“Bruno?” Julieta hurried to him. She could hear her family coming out of their rooms, complaining about the noise, but she ignored them. She knelt by Bruno’s bed, peering at him worriedly. He was sweating, flushed, his eyes squeezed shut and his face screwed up in pain.

“Too loud,” he mumbled, his voice slurring.

Oh no, Julieta thought, gently pressing a hand to his forehead. Sure enough, his temperature was scalding.

“Julieta?” Pepa was suddenly by her side and Julieta looked up to find her whole family staring from the doorway.

“Bruno!” Mirabel cried, darting forward.

“No, careful, amor,” Julieta said, careful to keep her voice hushed, but the damage was done and Bruno doubled over with a pained groan, gripping his head.

“I’ll get him some food,” Félix said and hurried away.

But Julieta remembered what had happened at her stall and had the awful feeling it wouldn’t work.

“Bruno?” she whispered. “Hey, amigo, it’s just Julieta.” She gulped, ignoring Mirabel’s frantic questions. (“Is he okay, Mamá? You’ll help him, won’t you? He’ll be better?”) “Bruno, how long have you gotten migraines like this?”

“Hm…”

“Bruno, please, I’m sorry but it’s important.”

“Uh…” His voice sounded so hoarse and Julieta took his hand. “S-since I was…Uh…Five I…I t-think…”

It was something chronic then. Which meant it was something Julieta couldn’t magically heal.

A sense of helplessness washed over her and she ignored Félix trying to pass her an empanada. 

But magic or not, Julieta was a healer. She straightened up and looked at her family.

“Casita, close the shutters,” she ordered. Casita did just that, dimming the room. “I’m going to need cold water and a towel for his forehead.” She’d try the cold first and, if that didn’t work, heat. “And a basin.” Better safe than sorry. If she remembered correctly, ginger could help if she could get Bruno to eat, and she knew she still had some. On second thoughts...

"And please get my medical texts," she said, turning to Agustín. She just needed to be sure, she hadn't read them in so long, hadn't needed them in so long. She needed to know what she was doing.

“Can I help, Mamá?” Mirabel asked, looking near tears.

Julieta tried to smile for her. “Get a pitcher of water and a big glass, please, mi amor. Ask Casita to make sure it’s cold.”

Mirabel ran for the kitchen, pushing past the others. Agustín and Félix leaped to follow Julieta’s orders.

“The rest of you…” Julieta sighed. “I’m sorry, but please go. He’ll need quiet.”

For once, none of the kids protested. Alma hesitated and glanced back over her shoulder, but she left with Isabela, Dolores, Luisa and Camilo, quietly shutting the door.

As soon as the door closed, Julieta heard Camilo complaining that he wanted to help and Alma ushering him away.

“And me, hermana?” Pepa asked. Casita ushered the stool to her and she sat.

“You’re going to help me,” Julieta said. She squeezed Bruno’s hand, pushing his tangled hair off his face. “Are you still with us, mi amigo?” she whispered.

“Hm.” 

Julieta would take it. At least it was some sort of response.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently. “We’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

“ You'll say, “I've been so scared. You left me here behind, do you not care? How the fuck am I supposed to carry on without you here?” And just when you're about to give up every hope you have, you'll turn around. Perched by the stairs, someone's gone and left behind a brand-new pair of scarlet welly boots.” - Welly Boots, The Amazing Devil

Pepa didn’t have much experience with sick people, not since she was five-years-old. There were the rare times when Julieta would need time to heal people, but they were few and far between (and usually after incredibly serious injuries).

She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen anything like this; someone feverish, in pain, unable to even open their eyes.

As Julieta instructed, she lay the cold damp cloth on Bruno’s forehead, but he barely even reacted. Every single sound, no matter how quiet, seemed to hurt him. His fists kept clenching, his expression one of pain. He was limp as a ragdoll and Pepa kept thinking, Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies. 

Pepa was not a stranger to feeling helpless, but this particular situation was entirely new.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, wondering if even that soft assurance was hurting him. “You’re alright, I promise.”

But was he alright? Clearly not. Julieta was the healer, not Pepa. Honestly, even as she followed her sister’s instructions, Pepa wasn’t sure if she was doing it right at all.

Mirabel had not been happy when Julieta told her she couldn’t stay. She got that stubborn look on her face, she kept looking at Bruno like she expected him to drop dead. In the end, Agustín had to drag her away, reassuring her that everything would be “right as rain, Miraboo, don’t you worry!” If Pepa was anxious she could only imagine how the kids felt, even less used to lingering illnesses than the adults.

She couldn’t imagine how Bruno felt. If he’d been feeling anxious she’d know what to do; Pepa and anxiety basically went hand in hand. But this? She’d just have to hope she was doing the right thing.

All she could do was follow Julieta’s instructions, trying to reduce his fever. The cold would help, Julieta said. If it didn’t, they’d try warm water instead. 

Pepa hadn’t been too sure what the basin was for, until Bruno clapped his hands over his mouth with a yelp. Julieta quickly helped him sit up and Pepa looked away as the poor man vomited, wincing at the pained noise he made when he was done.

Julieta held a glass of water to his lips and Bruno sipped it, shuddering. He opened his eyes a crack and immediately shut them.

“How’d you handle all this before, eh?” Pepa asked, half-teasing and half-hoping for a genuine answer, some concrete instructions that she and Julieta could follow. If anyone knew how to handle Bruno’s migraines, surely it was the man himself.

Bruno gave a weak huff of laughter, his hands pressed over his eyes. He was still shuddering with each breath.

“V-very badly,” he mumbled. “Heh. It was- was worse when I was on the streets. Really, uh…Just had t-to hope for the best then.”

“What?” Pepa cried. Her cloud appeared, thundering. Bruno bent over and Pepa was horrified to see tears on his cheeks.

“Lo siento, lo siento!” She waved at the cloud, her own eyes stinging. “Oh, shoo!” 

You should leave, she thought, furious at herself. You’re making it worse, you hurt him. 

But…But what he’d just said…

He didn’t seem to even realise what he’d just said. He flopped back down bonelessly, hands tangled in his hair. Julieta gently pulled them away, her eyes wide with horror.

“The streets?” Julieta whispered.

Bruno gave her a thumbs up, eyes closed. “Hm.”

“Oh, Bruno…” Her sister’s voice wavered, she looked near tears.

“How did you not die?” Pepa demanded. 

Bruno turned towards the sound of her voice; one green eye peered at her through his curtain of hair, too bright and bleary with pain.

Too late, she remembered his arms and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Leave, she told herself. Leave, you’re going to make everything worse.

But Bruno smirked at her, shaky and half-hearted though it may be. 

“Not for lack of trying,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again. His breathing evened out and Pepa wasn’t totally sure if he’d fallen asleep or passed out.

But with him out of it, her cloud reappeared, flashing ominously, rumbling, threatening rain any second.

“I didn’t…” She swallowed, trying to clear her throat. “I didn’t mean it like that, Juli.”

“I know,” Julieta reassured her. She pulled her into a side-hug, stroking her back. “Oh, Pepa, I know. It’s alright.”

“No it’s not,” Pepa said hoarsely. The baby kicked and she laid her hands on her stomach. “I’m making it worse.”

“No, you’re not,” Julieta said firmly. “We’ll see if his temperature has come down at all in a while and, if it has, we’ll stick with the cold towel. Okay?” Her smile was half-hearted. “Hey, maybe the rain will even help?”

“Not funny,” Pepa sighed, stroking her braid. Clear skies, clear skies. 

Julieta glanced at the basin. “Are you okay to clean that or shall I?”

Pepa’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. “Er, you, please.”

Julieta patted her shoulder and took the basin away. Pepa sat by Bruno’s bed, wishing she could read minds or just sense if he was feeling better. He didn’t look any better. How long did migraines last without magic? A day? A few days? Weeks?

Fog twisted around her ankles as she breathed in and out, chanting “Clear skies,” under her breath. Her cloud left but the fog stayed. She’d take it. At least the fog wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Julieta was going to cry. She was surely going to shatter right here and now. 

Sixteen, and he jumped off a bridge. Living with a chronic illness on the streets. How in the world had Bruno survived? What else had he not told them?

She had the awful feeling they were only scratching the surface.

When Agustín quietly asked how he was, Julieta could only shake her head and say, “Not well at all.” She took a deep breath and went back to his room. 

Not much changed that first day. Bruno’s fever stayed, he could barely open his eyes. Every single sound made him wince. Around dinnertime, he didn’t protest when Julieta made him sit up, looking slightly baffled as he had some changua. 

“Did I s-say something stupid? I said something earlier, didn't I? We were...We were talking?” he mumbled, looking at Julieta warily. He looked like he was going to fall asleep any second.

“No, nothing stupid,” Julieta said, pressing a hand to his forehead. As far as she could feel, there was no difference in his temperature, he still looked utterly miserable, but at least he was looking at her.

Pepa came back with a fresh pitcher of water, a small rainbow flickering to life above her head when she saw Bruno was sitting up, eyes open.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh…” Bruno squinted at the bowl of changua. “Like e-everything’s on fire.”

That sounded like a fair enough assessment to Julieta. 

As he lay back down, he asked, “You swear I didn’t…” He gulped, massaging his forehead. “Didn’t say anything stupid?”

“It was nothing stupid,” Julieta repeated. “But we’ll talk when you’re feeling better.”

Bruno winced, sighing heavily. He turned over, his back to them and Julieta heard him mumble, “Was ‘fraid you’d say that.”

Pepa bit her lip, stepping forward. “Bruno-”

She was cut off when the door opened, swinging open silently. To Julieta’s surprise, their mamá stood there, her hand raised to knock and looking a little surprised herself. In her other hand was a delicate porcelain cup. Julieta breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar scent of ginger tea.

Alma stepped into the room and glanced at Julieta, quickly re-taking the reins. “You said ginger should help, sí?” she asked, careful to keep her voice down.

Julieta nodded and Alma went to Bruno’s bed, setting the tea on the chest of drawers. Bruno glanced at her over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. When he realised who was standing over him, his eyes widened.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Alma beat him to it.

“Feel better,” she said, nodding at him. She left without a backwards glance, sweeping past them. The door stayed open, as if Casita was surprised too.

Pepa closed the door, looking faintly surprised. Surely Julieta wasn’t the only one who noticed how Alma tended to avoid even looking at Bruno. 

Certainly, Bruno must have noticed, because he looked gobsmacked. 

“You should drink that,” Julieta said. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“Doubt it,” Bruno mumbled, but this time he managed to push himself up on his own. His arms were shaking and he kept his eyes closed as he drank, but as he finished the ginger tea he looked relieved.

They couldn’t stay up all night and Bruno was dead to the world after the cup of tea anyway. So Julieta and Pepa reluctantly went to finish their own dinner and get some rest, while Félix insisted he’d sit with Bruno for a while.

Pepa hesitated in the doorway, biting her lip.

“Casita,” she said. “You’ll let us know if he needs help, won’t you?”

The floor clattered in agreement, so Pepa followed her sister, smiling at Félix as he took her previous place on the stool, a book in his hands as he settled in to make sure Bruno stayed in one piece.

They’d have to talk to him when he was feeling better.

Bruno’s dreams were not green, but they were jumbled and confusing; frightening the way they always were when his headaches turned into migraines. Shadows crept up walls, a river turned red and a piercing wind whistled down the mountains. Waves of sand rose and fell, shimmers of green streaking through it.

“Run. Run and don’t look back. God go with you, mijo.”

“Then you live. You live for him.”

“Brujo! Diablo!”

“I promise you will be taken care of. We look after each other here.”

“I’m glad you lived.”

A swarm of golden butterflies flew overhead in circles. Other colours bled into the river, jewel-tones of purple, yellow, green, pink and blue. Hidden in the dark, cracks grew and disappeared, depending on how Bruno looked at them.

And then there was a gentle hand on his forehead and Bruno opened his eyes to his dark room. Julieta was standing over him, hair tangled, eyes wide in concern.

“Casita woke me,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

Was he? Bruno blinked, unsure of the answer.

“I think so,” he settled on and Julieta smiled.

Chapter Text

“Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully across my memory. Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember. Things my heart used to know; things it yearns to remember. And a song someone sings, ‘Once upon a December.’” - Once Upon A December, Anastasia

The next day, Bruno’s eyes were clearer and he was sitting up by himself, against the pile of pillows that Casita had (literally) thrown at Pepa for him. He’d even managed to keep down the breakfast Julieta brought him.

Which meant it was time to talk.

“So,” Julieta began, wiping her hands on her apron, though her hands were clean. “I don’t know how much you remember, Bruno, but you mentioned living on the streets yesterday and…” She had to take a deep breath to steady herself. “You mentioned trying to kill yourself more than once.”

Next to her, Pepa was looking at Bruno with watering eyes.

Bruno himself groaned, hiding his face in his hands and slouching over. “You said I didn’t say anything stupid,” he said.

“Homelessness and suicide are not stupid,” Julieta said firmly. “And neither are you. Bruno, we’re your friends. I promise we just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Bruno said, not quite meeting her gaze. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth over the blanket. “I’m fine now.”

“But you weren’t before,” Pepa said softly. Her cloud was dark, heavy with rain that didn’t fall yet. A sudden sharp wind blew through the room, disappearing as quickly as it came.

“...No,” Bruno agreed. “I wasn’t.”

Julieta bit her lip and forced herself to ask; “How long? How long were you on the streets?”

“Uh, on and off,” Bruno said. He pulled his knees up to his chest, his gaze distant. “Not sure exactly how long overall, I didn’t always pay attention. But I was, uh, kicked out of the orphanage when I was sixteen.”

Orphanage. Julieta closed her eyes, her fists clenching. Sixteen and he’d been left all alone. And, as it turns out, her new friend was an orphan after all. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice wavering. Sixteen. Sixteen. Younger than Isabela and Dolores were now. How in the world could someone leave a child to fend for themselves like that?

Pepa took a deep, shaking breath. Her cloud grew and rumbled, flashing with lightning, but there was still no rain. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” Bruno added quickly.

“How could it not be all bad?” Pepa hissed and her cloud flashed again. “You could have died out there!”

“Well, um…” Bruno’s smile was the most awkward Julieta had ever seen it. “I went cliff-diving when I was nineteen, that was fun. And I’ve been to Bogotá. I couldn’t believe how big it was; they had a museum with free entry and I spent the whole day there looking at the paintings.”

It broke Julieta’s heart, but it caught Pepa’s interest. Her sister sniffled and wiped her eyes.

“Yeah?” Pepa asked, tilting her head. 

“Uh-huh. Once I was drawing people near the café where I worked and there was this family- the father saw my drawing and actually bought it off me, so…” He shrugged, his smile a little shyer, but a little more real. “I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

Julieta knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract them, trying to cheer them up. 

How are you still kind? she wondered. Don’t you hate them? Aren’t you angry? How did you learn to trust people again? 

Where had he gotten his big heart from? 

“And the rest?” she asked, dreading the answer. “You tried to-”

“I’d rather not get into that,” Bruno interrupted, quietly but firmly.

Did Julieta even have the right to press him? She fell silent with a reluctant nod. 

“I’m here,” she said instead. “We’re all here. If you ever want to talk about it.”

He finally met her gaze and nodded. “Gracias,” he said, still so quiet.

For a while, all three of them were quiet. Bruno brushed his hair back, taking a deep breath.

“So, what about you two?” he asked. “I mean, I know you have magic and I know how, but…I don’t think I really know that much about you.”

Well, that was fair enough. Her and Bruno’s morning talks were usually about the day before, or their plans for the day ahead. Their topics were never very serious.

“Well, we’re twins,” Julieta said. “Triplets, really. Our brother…” The ache was old and familiar. She wondered if it would ever go away.

Pepa’s cloud grew further, covering the entire ceiling. It rumbled and flashed, but Bruno didn’t flinch. His green eyes were filled with sympathy.

“Mirabel mentioned he was gone,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Was it…I’m sorry, was it the same people who killed your padré?”

“Killed…? Oh! Oh no, it’s not like our papá,” Pepa said, shaking her head. “He’s missing. He was lost the night mamá and papá had to flee their home.”

“Oh.” Bruno winced, cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, Mirabel said he was ‘lost’ the same night as her abuelo and I saw the blank door, so I just assumed…”

“It’s an easy assumption to make,” Julieta said, smiling despite herself. Her poor little brother. Where was he? How was he? Did he even suspect he had a family waiting for him?

Was he still alive? His door would surely vanish if he wasn’t, right?

“We used to pretend he’d come running over the mountains one day,” Pepa said, glancing out the window. “When we were kids. We convinced ourselves that he’d just appear, and- poof! Everything would be perfect.”

Bruno smiled at her, sympathetic and maybe even a little nostalgic himself.

“We kind of did the same thing in the orphanage,” he said. “Only, we’d pretend about our parents or our whole families. The usual stuff like, Who are they, where are they, I bet they’re really rich and looking for me! One girl always said she bet she was a missing princess. One of the boys really loved football, so he wanted his papá to be a professional footballer.” His grin grew. “It was mostly to cheer the smaller kids up, or anyone who didn’t remember their families. Some of the older kids hated it.”

The image of all those little children, playing make-believe, hoping for parents, made Julieta want to find them all and wrap them up in a hug. Those kids were all fully grown now, her own age maybe, but she still wished she could find them and keep them safe like they deserved.

“What about you?” Pepa asked with a shy smile. “What did you pick?”

Bruno shrugged. “Well, I already knew my papá was dead, so no chances there. He was killed during the war, there was a massacre; but my mamá…Well, they weren’t sure if any of the other bodies were related to me at all. There were too many and some of them had been burned. Maybe one of them was her, maybe they weren’t. I could never really…Really settle on one idea for her, y’know? She kept changing in my head as I grew up. I just…” He followed Pepa’s gaze out of the window. “I hoped she was okay. That maybe she just hadn’t been in their village when it happened or something. Then she’d find out I hadn’t been killed too and she’d come find me. I wanted…” He knocked on the headboard six times in rapid succession and crossed his fingers. “I wanted her to be nice. And I wanted siblings. I just didn’t want to be the youngest.”

“Oh?” Julieta’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

Bruno gave her a flat, dead-pan stare. “Julieta, I’m barely five-four. I was always the runt, I didn’t need to be the baby as well.”

“Aw, poor little néné,” Pepa cooed. Bruno threw a pillow at her, grinning when it hit her in the face. Pepa threw it right back, but Bruno caught it with a smug smirk.

“How old are you two again?” Julieta asked with a sigh, trying to hide her smile.

“Forty-five, hermana mayor; you should remember, we’re the same age,” Pepa said. She gave an exaggerated gasp, her hand on her heart. “Oh, is your old age getting to you?”

“Eh, around the same,” Bruno said, tapping his chin. “But I can’t be sure. Think I could pass for thirty?”

“Someone’s got his energy back,” Julieta observed happily. She took his hand and squeezed it. Bruno squeezed back and his eyes were clearer, much clearer; they had more light in them than they did even a few minutes ago.

“Guess so,” Bruno said a little shyly. He looked between them and smiled. "One time I said I wanted a twin and Dukine said that was 'cheating.' I said you can't cheat in make-believe and she wanted to be a princess, so who was really being unfair? I won that argument."

Pepa grinned at him. "Take her," she said, winking at Julieta. "But no take-backs."

"Hm..." Bruno looked like he was considering it.

"I'm sitting right here," Julieta said.

"Hush, Julieta, I'm making a deal."

Julieta rolled her eyes, settling back in her seat. "Maybe I'll just go with Bruno after all," she said. "He doesn't make fun of me."

“Anything else you wanna know?” Pepa asked a short while later, after Félix brought them all cups of tea and a plate of biscuits from Señora Guzman. “We’ve got some time to kill.”

“Hm…” Bruno looked between them. Julieta, used to Camilo, did not trust that mischievous smirk for a second. “Julieta, Pepa was telling me about this party when you were eighteen.”

“Oh, Dios, please don’t do this to me,” Pepa said, eyes widening.

By contrast, Julieta’s eyes narrowed. “What did you tell him?” she demanded.

“Nothing. I said nothing. He heard nothing.”

“No, you definitely told me about how Julieta was too drunk to finish her cooking for the next day, so you had to try and finish it.”

“You told him about that!?” Julieta shrieked, her face flushing. “Pepa!”

Pepa laughed with a vicious glee, ducking to avoid Julieta’s slapping hands. “No, come on, it was just a bit of fun!”

“I don’t drink,” Julieta said, turning to Bruno, still slapping Pepa’s arm. “I swear I’m the responsible one. She’s the brat.”

“Brat!? Oh, okay, how about the time you went swimming with Agustín and lost your-”

“We don’t speak of it!”

Bruno was laughing so hard he fell back, hands over his mouth as his shoulders shook. 

“N-no, no!” He laughed. “Please carry on.”

“I hate you,” Julieta told Pepa. “I will hate you forever.”

Pepa blew her a kiss. She sat on the bed next to Bruno and hauled him back up, flinging an arm around his shoulders. “Alright, amigo, let me set the scene. It’s a hot summer’s day-”

“Because of you,” Julieta grumbled.

“Hush, Juli, it’s story-time. Anyway, we were like…Sixteen? Julieta and Agustín decided to go swimming together, they weren’t even dating yet…”

Julieta watched them laughing together, occasionally joining in on the story (if only to protest against it); she watched Pepa’s cloud shrink and vanish entirely as she talked. She watched Bruno snickering like a schoolboy, eyes shining. He looked so much better, almost entirely well again. The shadows under his eyes still bothered her and he was still paler than usual…But he was awake, he was laughing with them. He’d even trusted them with more of his story.

She was going to make sure she kept that trust, that she kept earning it. 

She was also going to make sure that Pepa regretted ever breathing a single word of those embarrassing stories. Julieta had plenty of dirt of her own.

For now, she was content to watch her sister and her friend, and see the worry leave Pepa’s eyes and the light coming back to Bruno’s.

Chapter Text

“But wait! If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations, would that free some room up for joy? Or relaxation, or simple pleasure? Instead, we measure this growing pressure. Keeps growing, keep going. 'Cause all we know is pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop.” - Surface Pressure, Encanto

The next day, Bruno rejoined the Madrigals for breakfast. When he looked in the mirror, he saw that he was still paler than usual and the shadows under his eyes looked like bruises. Well, Bruno was used to it. It wasn’t like he’d ever really looked healthy.

Félix gave him a thumbs up and a grin when he saw Bruno setting the table with Julieta. Isabela walked into the dining room, arm in arm with Alma and smiled at him. With a wave of her hand, a trio of flor de mayo appeared in front of Bruno’s plate.

“It’s good to see you’re well again,” she said.

“Gracias,” Bruno said, smiling a little shyly. Out of all the Madrigal kids, he hadn’t really spoken to Isabela much (even less than he’d spoken to Luisa), but she was always so polite and sweet, and plainly the apple of Alma’s eye.

Indeed, Alma cupped Isabela’s face in her hands and kissed her cheek with a proud smile as the rest of the family arrived. There was a flash of- of something on Mirabel’s face when she looked at her abuela and big sister. A shuttered look, her eyes going dark for a moment.

But then she saw Bruno, squeaked and ran at him, flinging her arms tightly around him, closely followed by Camilo.

“Oh!” Bruno stumbled back under the combined force of their hug. For a moment he faltered, completely frozen.

“You’re okay,” Mirabel said against his shoulder and she sounded a little teary. “You’re okay.”

It hit him then, that they probably hadn’t seen someone seriously ill before. Not with Julieta around.

The realisation spurred him back into motion and he clumsily hugged her and Camilo, patting their backs.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, kid. I’m okay.”

Sniffling, Mirabel clung to him. Camilo pulled back to grin at him and momentarily shifted into a shorter version of Bruno before turning back to himself, still grinning.

“It’s been so boring,” Camilo complained. “You owe us more crafts!”

“Camilo,” Félix sighed.

Bruno, however, grinned and ruffled Camilo’s hair. “Deal,” he said. “Mirabel? You okay?”

She finally pulled back, shuffling from foot to foot. She pulled something from her pocket and held it out to him with a shy smile.

It was a little card, bright yellow and handmade. In big pink capital letters it read, GET WELL SOON! It was drawn with different butterflies and chameleons. When Bruno opened it he found another message in sprawling letters; Get well soon, we miss you! Love from Mirabel and Camilo

Don’t start crying, you idiot, Bruno sternly told himself. Don’t do it.

He settled for hugging them both tightly, squeezing his eyes shut until he was sure he could control himself.

“You are okay, right?” Mirabel whispered. “Promise?”

“Lo prometo, Mirabel.”

As Bruno took his seat, he glanced out the window and saw a rainbow arching over the village. He caught Pepa’s gaze and found her beaming at him, a shimmer of sunshine around her head. He grinned back and tucked the card into his pocket.

As he helped Félix with the dishes after breakfast, Camilo and Mirabel hung around, chatting away. Mirabel sat on the counter, swinging her legs and occasionally helping to put a plate away. Camilo marched around, sometimes doing handstands (ignoring Félix’s warning to behave) and shapeshifting as the mood took him.

“Hey, Bruno?” Camilo shifted back from the boy he’d seen smiling at Isabela. (Mariano? Marco? Something like that.)

“Sí, Camilo?”

“Were you in a fight?”

“Huh?” Bruno was completely lost. He looked at Félix, but Félix looked just as baffled. Bruno finished drying the plate and handed it to Mirabel. “Er…No, buddy. I was just sick.”

“No, before. Mira said you’ve got scars.”

Bruno froze, his blood running cold. Félix swore under his breath, elbow-deep in soapy water. Mirabel gave Bruno a sheepish smile, cringing back.

On autopilot, Bruno held his arm. His heart was pounding and he had to take a deep breath before he could speak.

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, Camilo. I was in a fight.”

“Did you win?” Camilo asked with an eager grin.

“Camilo,” Félix said, a warning edge to his voice. “That’s enough.”

“I…” Bruno’s grip on his arm tightened, his nails dug into his sleeve, pressing on his scars. He felt a little light-headed, but his smile wasn’t completely forced. “Heh. Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Cool,” Camilo said, looking impressed.

“Sorry,” Mirabel whispered, looking at the floor.

“No, I…It’s okay,” Bruno said. His voice sounded far-away to his own ears. “Just, um, that’s- that’s private, okay, niños?”

They both nodded. Mirabel looked solemn, Camilo looked a little excited, like he’d been let into a secret club.

“I’m so sorry,” Félix whispered as they finished the dishes. “I’ll talk to him.”

Bruno nodded, but his mind was racing.

Were you in a fight? Did you win?

Well, in a way, he was. And…Yeah. Bruno supposed he had won.

At the very least, he was still going. That counted for something, right?

Bruno was under strict orders from Julieta to rest, so he was Casita-bound. Not that he minded. If anything, he preferred it. He had the oddest sense that Casita was happy about it too.

He already knew the house liked him (and that was still such an odd thought) and he liked Casita. 

Before leaving, Luisa smiled shyly and said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Bruno smiled at her. He pushed his hair back and it immediately fell back into place. “Thank you,” he said. He was back to his usual headache, the typical dull ache always in the back of his mind. Unfortunate and a nuisance, but nothing he couldn’t handle; in fact he usually managed to ignore it.

Luisa’s smile widened slightly and she left, trailing after Julieta. He heard her say something about the new houses and a leaning wall.

Just as he turned towards his room, he spotted Isabela getting ready to leave. She flipped her hair, which smacked Mirabel in the face. Isabela, who had been so sweet at breakfast, scowled at her little sister when she noticed her.

“Get out of my way,” she snapped. Her previously sweet, pretty expression was gone, replaced by a nasty frown and narrowed eyes. Dislike radiated off her.

And, look, Bruno didn’t want to get involved, that wasn’t his place but…

“She’s just standing there,” he blurted out. Isabela turned and stared at him in surprise, and Bruno flushed in embarrassment. He knew he had no place stepping in between them (that was down to their parents), it was just that…Well, Mirabel hadn’t been doing anything wrong. She’d just been there.

The silence stretched on and Bruno wished for some wood to knock on.

Eventually, Isabela huffed.

“Exactly,” she said, throwing Mirabel one last frown, ice cold. Then, like a mask falling into place, she walked away gracefully, her head held high and that sweet smile back. As she walked out of the front doors, flowers grew around the doors, and then she was gone.

Mirabel was standing still as a statue, clutching her bag so tightly that Bruno was afraid she’d snap the strap clean in half.

“Mirabel?” He stepped closer, biting his lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No one ever tells Isabela off,” Mirabel mumbled. She looked at him with an unreadable expression, her eyes big and shiny. Strangely shy, she added, “Gracias.”

“Oh, uh…” Bruno shrugged. “Anytime, chiquita. I guess.”

Mirabel smiled then, more like her usual self.

“See you later,” she said and dashed off. Casita closed the doors behind her and Bruno was alone. Well, not really alone, considering Casita was sentient, but the point stood.

He went to his room and lay down on the bed. Maybe it was just a sibling thing, but Isabela had looked so angry. Bruno should have kept his big mouth shut.

But Mirabel looked so surprised when he spoke. Maybe even a little relieved.

In that case, it was worth it.

Without much else to do, Bruno reached under the bed and pulled his threadbare bag out. His baby blanket was hidden inside and Bruno held onto it, his thumb rubbing over his name and the little caterpillar. 

He’d always wished he had siblings but siblings were a lot more complicated than a child’s daydreams made them out to be. He wondered if he’d fight with his siblings, if they’d like each other. Would they get on? 

Granted, these questions hinged on him having any to begin with. For him to have siblings, his mother would have to be alive, or they’d have to be older than him and have escaped the massacre themselves. Who knew?

Bruno knew it was a good thing he’d only been a baby, too young to remember all the horrors of that night, but he wished he could remember any member of his family. His papá died to protect him and Bruno didn’t even know his name. The unfairness of it was always there in the back of his mind, nagging at him.

And besides, now he’d lived through his home burning down all over again. What was a little more horror on top of that, if it meant he’d have some answers?

He held the blanket tighter, closing his eyes. He’d given up on his family years ago in all honesty. Finding them seemed so impossible when he didn’t know the first thing about them, or if they were even alive in the first place. His daydreams had faded as he grew. Maybe it was just being surrounded by a happy family after so much recent trauma, but right now Bruno couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. Who knew, maybe his mother would have some answers about the green dreams.

Good luck with that, he thought to himself.

No, he wouldn’t be finding a dead woman any time soon. But there were still good things in his life; he had friends here, he’d have a home of his own again soon. This valley was protected by magic. So long as Bruno could keep the green dreams a secret and keep his bad luck at bay, it wouldn’t all come tumbling down again.

The green dreams…

His recent ones had been…Surprisingly good. There’d been a little boy. A boy who looked like Félix…

Oh! His eyes snapped open and he sat up, still clutching the baby blanket to his chest. A little boy who looked like Félix and had spoken to animals…He’d seen the baby! The unborn baby! 

It seemed Mirabel would get her wish for another boy after all.

Bruno smiled to himself and put the blanket away, hiding the bag back under the bed. What else had he seen? Dolores getting ready for a wedding, her wedding. Isabela with new flowers and plants. He’d only seen her grow roses and flor de mayo so far, but Bruno hadn’t spent much time with her, so he could hardly say what she was capable of. And there’d been…Rats? Something about a door? 

Bruno would hardly turn down some little rodent friends. Sue him, but rats were adorable.

He was sitting in the garden reading when Luisa came running back to Casita, red-faced and sweating, her hair escaping its bun.

“Luisa?” Bruno closed the book, a recommendation from Agustín. “You okay?”

“Mamá needs more food,” Luisa said, darting past. She came running back out, carrying a whole box of food. “It’s a long line today.”

“Do you need some water?” Bruno asked worriedly, getting to his feet.

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Luisa said. “I need to hurry, the donkeys got out.”

“Well…” Bruno knew he was meant to be resting, but Luisa looked weirdly frazzled. “How about I bring those to your mamá and you can find the donkeys?”

Luisa froze. Her grip on the box tightened. “I can handle it,” she said quickly. 

“I know,” Bruno said. “But if you’ve got a lot to do, I don’t mind helping. I’ve just been sitting here.”

“You’re meant to be resting.”

“I’ve rested plenty. Had a nap and everything. Super rested.”

She glanced towards the village. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Sure as sure can be.” Bruno gave her a thumbs up, making sure to smile.

Hesitantly, as if handing him delicate china (or a bomb) Luisa gave him the box of food. “Gracias,” she said, staring at her shoes. “I’ll, uh- I’m gonna get the donkeys.”

“Do you need- oh, she’s gone.” Bruno blinked at the empty spot where she’d been and watched in awe as she raced away. That girl was fast. Bruno followed behind her and he heard people call after her as she hurried through the village.

“Luisa, can you move the bridge?”

“Luisa, por favor, can you help fix the barn?”

“Luisa, the donkeys got out again!”

“I know!” Luisa called. “I’m on it! And I’ll get the bridge and barn when I get back.”

“Luisa, can you help with the new houses?”

“Sure!” she said with a grin and then she picked up the pace, vanishing around the corner in search of the wayward donkeys. Bruno stood there in the road, clutching Julieta’s food and feeling somehow off-kilter.

Move the bridge? Were they serious?

“I need her help with moving my furniture later,” he heard a man huff.

Do it yourself, Bruno thought, staring blankly ahead.

“Bruno?” Dolores was suddenly there, a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were wide as always, her head tilted to the side. “Are you okay? Your heart’s going so fast.”

“Is your prima always so busy?” he asked.

“Hm? Luisa?” She pouted slightly and sighed. “Sí.”

That didn’t sit right with him. She was just fourteen.

“That’s not fair,” he said.

Dolores smiled sadly. “I know,” she said. She nodded at the box. “Let’s go to Tia’s stall.”

Bruno walked in step with her and, with every step, he reminded himself to not judge the villagers too harshly. He didn’t know them. He didn’t know Luisa’s limits either.

Still, it didn’t sit right with him. 

Mind your business, Bruno told himself. You’ve already overstepped.

It wasn’t really his business. They weren’t his kids. But maybe he should mention something to Julieta? Then again, maybe not. She surely knew.

You’re tying yourself in knots over nothing.

Indeed, his worries soon vanished to be replaced by new ones. Julieta took one look at him and groaned, “Ay, Bruno! Get back to bed!” 

“Hola,” Bruno said sheepishly. He held out the box like a shield.

She all but snatched the box and shooed him while Dolores giggled at his affronted frown. 

“Hombre imposible,” Julieta muttered, but she was faintly smiling and she patted his back, so Bruno supposed he was off the hook.

Chapter Text

“Maybe we're sharing this beautiful night. Me on the left bank, you on the right. Almost in sight...Crossing a bridge. Every light is like a promise, every light could be a clue. One of them might be you.” - Crossing A Bridge, Anastasia: Broadway

It had been nearly a week since Bruno recovered, back to his normal dull headaches. When he admitted to Julieta and Pepa that the headaches never really went away, Pepa’s cloud thundered and Julieta got a stubborn look on her face and ever since then she kept nagging Bruno to look after himself and make sure he got plenty of rest.

Which he did. It was hard to tell Julieta no.

Who ever thought he’d be nagged into looking after himself?

Julieta just looked smug about it. Bruno did the mature thing and stuck his tongue out at her.

When he was around Julieta and Pepa, or Mirabel and Camilo, or even Dolores, it was easy to forget everything. Sometimes he could almost pretend he’d always lived in Encanto, that his home had never been destroyed.

It never lasted long. Part of moving on meant facing everything. Although he’d told Pepa, Julieta and even Agustín some of his life story, he couldn’t quite bring himself to talk about his village.

He looked at Juan’s portrait, which he’d pinned to the wall, and hoped Juan would understand. Bruno simply wasn’t ready to talk about that night yet. Someday. Just not yet. Maybe when the mere idea didn’t bring flashbacks rushing to mind and didn’t make his heart speed up.

“Run. Run and don’t look back. God go with you, mijo.”

“Then you live. You live for him.”

His father had died in a river forty-five years ago, bent over Bruno to try and keep him safe. They’d washed up on the bank and his father had still been curled around him. Bruno had only lived because authorities came looking for survivors. Somehow, Bruno had survived the night; he was found, he was taken to the orphanage. He lived.

Only a few weeks ago, Juan had died to give him time to run. Bruno’s eyes had flared green, painting a direct target on his back. Their attackers had been made aware of him, no doubt suspecting some sort of trick or witchcraft. Who knew what they’d have done to him if they’d gotten hold of him? Would they have believed Bruno when he told them he couldn’t control it?

Doubtful.

But Bruno had gotten away thanks to Juan. He’d made it through the jungle and over the mountain. He’d lived again. Despite his own efforts to the contrary, he’d lived.

Maybe Juan was right. Maybe his survival meant something. The hopeful part of him would like to think so. 

Still, when Félix came to invite Bruno along to church with the rest of them, Bruno stayed home. This was something he’d have to puzzle out on his own, without the help of a God he wasn’t sure he even believed in anymore.

He could worry about religious faith once he’d gotten some faith in himself and the world.

It was only when the rest of the Madrigals had left that he realised one of his ruanas was missing.

“Uh, Casita?” Bruno frowned at his wardrobe and the ruana did not magically reappear. “Have you seen my other ruana?” The missing ruana was a plain, soft green and about three-sizes too big for him, which Bruno preferred. Pepa had thrown up her hands in exasperation, but the tailor hadn’t batted an eye. Mirabel had declared it “a bit too boring.”

Casita rattled the floor. He had the distinct impression that Casita was giggling.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” Bruno asked, arms folded. His bedroom door swayed, a clear No.

“Is it something bad?”

No again.

Bruno sighed and picked up his book. “You’re lucky I trust you.”

He headed for the garden, ignoring how the staircase clattered as he passed. He stopped in the kitchen for some of the orange juice Julieta had made that morning and went outside to finish the book and enjoy the sunshine. After all, Julieta did have a point when she said he needed to relax.

Mirabel wondered if Bruno had noticed the missing ruana. He surely must have by now, but he didn’t say anything, which was probably for the best. That way she didn’t have to think of a lie.

The ruana was safely in the nursery, hidden among her piles of fabric. She had a plan, you see. Not just a plan, but A Plan. Super important stuff. 

That ruana was way too boring. Mirabel needed to fix it. At least Bruno’s other ruana’s (only two others) had a pattern, even if they were faint and also kind of boring by Mirabel’s standards. 

During dessert that night, Mirabel turned to him and asked, “So, what’s your favourite animal?”

“Hm?” Bruno didn’t look too surprised; Mirabel usually asked him a lot of questions. “Um, I like rats,” he said. “And mice. But mostly rats.”

“Why?” she asked.

“They’re cute,” Bruno said with a shrug. “And they’re actually really smart too.”

Rats. Okay, Mirabel could work with that.

That night, she sketched and sketched and sketched until she had a pattern she was happy with. Then she got to work.

It took two days for Mirabel to complete the ruana. As soon as she finished, she sprinted to Bruno’s room, hurried along by an excited Casita.

“Bruno!” she called. “Bruno, Bruno! I’ve got a surprise!”

He opened the door at the sound of her voice and Mirabel jumped off the last two steps, running right to him and pushing the ruana into his hands.

“Ta-da!” She beamed up at him and Bruno shook out the ruana in bemusement. His eyes widened when he saw the pattern.

Mirabel had embroidered little grey rats around the hem of the ruana; little soft grey rats with dark green eyes, seemingly chasing each other. It was much less boring now. Inside the hood, she’d embroidered a single green B. 

Bruno just continued to stare and Mirabel grew suddenly anxious. She’d taken his ruana without permission after all. What if he hated it?

She lowered her head, shuffling nervously.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I- if you’re mad, I-”

She was cut off when he hugged her tightly. Mirabel clung to him, sighing in relief. Okay then, he wasn’t mad.

“You’re brilliant, kid,” Bruno told her, ruffling her hair with a bright smile. It was the biggest smile Mirabel had seen from him. “Absolutely brilliant, you know that?”

He wore the new and improved ruana for the rest of the day and Mirabel stuck to his side like glue. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

Mirabel could do a good job after all. 

Alma Madrigal took one look at the ruana and her eyebrows rose in surprise. Bruno avoided her gaze; she wasn’t frowning or glaring this time, but he still had no idea what to do around her. She didn’t seem to like him, that hadn’t changed, so he figured the best thing to do would still be to stay out of her way.

Which begged the question why she’d brought him tea when he was sick, if he bothered her so much.

Then again, maybe she was just like that. Just helping sick or injured people. If she was the village leader then it may have been part of her job. Just another chore.

And maybe Bruno was completely overthinking the small gesture. 

It had just…Been a surprise. A big one. A small gesture, a big surprise. 

She wasn’t frowning anymore, but she still didn’t look at him much. Almost never in fact. He wondered if Isabela had told her what he said to her. He hoped not.

(Maybe they would have continued to avoid each other, if it hadn’t been for what happened the very next morning.)

Another day, another load of laundry. It was still early in the morning, just after breakfast. Their guest had claimed the bathroom first, then Félix. Then it would be Pepa’s turn; in the meantime, Alma was gathering anything that needed washing. 

She knocked on the door of the guestroom. 

“Uh, sí?” Bruno called.

“It’s just me,” Alma said, fighting to keep her voice neutral. “Have you anything for the wash?”

“Oh! Right, just a second, por favor, Señora Alma.”

But Casita did not give him a second. The door swung open on its own and Alma’s heart froze in horror as she got a clear look at Bruno’s back.

Félix had not lied about the welts and scars. Alma just hadn’t imagined there’d be so many. The scars overlapped each other, some big and some small; some more raised than others. They were clearly old and yet Alma felt a sudden fury ignite in her all the same.

She’d seen his arms when he first arrived. She hadn’t seen this.

Who had done that?

His hair was still dripping wet and when he realised the door was open, he gave a strangled gasp and immediately grabbed his nearest shirt, buttoning it so quickly that he missed half of them, leaving it lopsided. He gaped at her, frozen, eyes wide and expression utterly horrified.

Alma’s heart was ice, her blood was fire; her heart beat faster and faster.

Quietly, she stepped into the room and closed the door.

“Who did that to you?” she whispered. She could not raise her voice. If she did, she might start yelling. 

“I…I, uh…It’s n-not…” He turned away from her. “Um…”

“Bruno, who did that to you?”

They both froze in astonishment then. Bruno looked at her over his shoulder, his fists unclenching, his eyes wider than ever.

There were many things Alma ran from, (not that she truly acknowledged that) but this would not be one of them. Abuse was not something she would ignore. Had Julieta seen these? Could she heal them? But if her hija couldn’t heal his other scars, it only stood to reason she couldn’t heal these either.

It felt so unfair to her. An acknowledgement that was hidden there, in the back of her mind, fighting to break free. He’d escaped, only to be stuck with physical reminders of whatever he’d been through forever. 

Was that why he looked at her with such fear? Did he think she would do that to him?

“You…” Bruno turned to face her fully, still staring in surprise.

Alma set the basket of laundry on his bed and turned to him.

“Who did that to you?” she demanded again, calmer now.

“It- it uh, it was the nuns.” He shook his head, pushing his wet hair back. “But d-did you just, uh-?”

Steeling herself, Alma put her hand on his shoulder, her lips pressed together in a thin, stern line. Bruno’s stammerings cut off and he froze under her hand, still as a statue.

Alma took a deep breath and looked into his wide green eyes.

“Then they were cruel, evil women to do such a thing,” she said firmly. “They were not women of God.”

“Oh,” Bruno said quietly, eyes widening further. 

“It was an orphanage, sí?”

“I, uh- yes.”

“I see.” Alma stepped back, holding her hands in front of her. “They will answer for it one day.”

His lips twitched, an almost-smile. He looked very small and very sad. Somehow younger than he really was. How old was he exactly? She’d guessed he was around Julieta and Pepa’s age, but was he younger? Older? Perhaps absurdly, it felt rude to ask. At least, it felt like a ridiculous change in subject.

“Julieta said the same thing,” he muttered, glancing away. He crossed his arms. “...Thank you.”

Alma nodded. She felt somehow off-balance. Still in shock, she supposed. She hadn’t seen such physical evidence of violence in a long, long time. 

“De nada,” Alma said. She picked up her basket and turned to go. At the door, she paused. “I meant what I said when you first arrived. You are safe here, Br…” She swallowed. “Bruno. You will not come to harm.”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. She left quickly, but she still faintly heard his quiet, “Gracias.”

There, she’d done it. She’d said his name. She’d spoken with him.

Alma felt lightheaded.

She went to the dining room and sat down, clutching her locket. Had she handled that badly? Had she made it somehow worse, or had she helped at all?

“Ay, Pedro,” she whispered. “Help me, mi amor. I do not wish to harm him.” 

And she truly didn’t. His name made her heart ache, his tortured expression made her stomach churn with guilt. Alma was a stern woman, a no-nonsense woman; a leader, a matriarch, a protector. She wouldn’t wish harm on a defenceless man, alone in the world.

She helped those around her. That was how they earned their Miracle and made sure Pedro’s sacrifice was not in vain. 

Alma was not Julieta, warm and inviting. She was not Pepa, telling stories and laughing. In this, she felt terribly out of her depth. It felt like standing in the middle of a shaking, unsteady bridge.

But she’d made the first step, even accidentally. She would have to keep going. Somehow, she always did.

No one was in the courtyard. No one noticed the candle momentarily shine brighter.

Hidden inside Casita’s walls, never seen and utterly unknown by the Madrigals…A crack healed.

Dolores turned away from the town, head tilted. “Hm!” she squeaked to herself. Call her crazy, but she could have sworn she heard something in the walls for a moment…

Then she was distracted by the shrieks of children playing, of Mariano reading to his mother and the strange sound was forgotten.

Chapter Text

“All I need is a change; all I need is a chance. All I know is I can't stay on the side. Open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes. I would move the mountains, make new trees and flowers grow. Someone please just let me know, where do I go? I am waiting on a miracle, a miracle.” - Waiting On A Miracle, Encanto

There’d been a shift in La Casa Madrigal and Julieta could tell Casita was pleased.

Alma no longer frowned whenever she saw Bruno, her eyes did not skip over him as if he wasn’t even present. They were still hesitant around each other (mostly just saying “Good morning,” or “Hello,”) but her mother no longer looked pained by the mere mention of his name.

Others would mistake it for anger, but Julieta knew her mother. The differences were small and hard to spot, but Julieta had been able to see how much Alma had struggled with his name. 

But something had happened. Something had changed. Now Alma looked at him and wished him good morning. Sometimes she still tensed up, sometimes she still skipped his name and addressed him without it. Either way, the difference was obvious and Bruno seemed less afraid of her now too.

Julieta was relieved to see it.

As usual, she and Bruno were sitting on the back steps before breakfast. Today she made tea instead of chocolate con queso.

“So, mi madre finally spoke to you?” she asked.

“Sí,” Bruno said. He winced and added, “She may have seen my back and freaked out.”

Julieta winced with him. She could only imagine how Bruno had felt, or her mother. 

“She didn’t…” Yell, scare you, push for answers?

“She said the same thing you did,” Bruno said, looking thoughtful. “That they’d answer for it one day.”

Julieta still believed they would, with all her heart. If there was any justice in the world, they’d answer for it.

Julieta had the Gift of healing, given to her by a Miracle, by her father’s sacrifice. How could she not believe in karma, all things considered? Maybe it wouldn’t happen today, tomorrow, or even any time soon…But she wholeheartedly believed that anyone who ever dared to lay a hand on her friend would answer for it.

Two days later, as the younger kids headed for school, Alma approached Bruno.

“You said you are an artist,” she said.

“Uh, yes,” Bruno said, biting his thumbnail. “Do you need something painted?” He couldn’t imagine what Casita would need painted; the house seemed to keep itself bright and pretty and Agustín and Félix usually handled the cleaning.

“We have a mural in town,” Alma said, commanding as ever. “It needs touching up. Perhaps you could help?”

He’d glimpsed that mural once or twice, but he’d never actually stopped to look at it. It was near Julieta’s stall. 

Alma was looking at him expectantly, her eyebrow raising as his silence continued.

“Sure,” Bruno said. He knocked on the doorframe, one two three four five six. “Yeah, I can do that.”

The mural really was only a stone’s throw from Julieta’s stall. It took up most of a wall and was titled Los Madrigals. It showed Alma holding her candle, Julieta with a plate of food and Pepa with a cloud and sunshine. Beneath them were the kids and they were all surrounded by flowers, birds, butterflies, rays of light and even parts of the village. It was colourful, but Bruno quickly saw what Alma meant when she said it needed a touch-up; parts of the mural were noticeably faded, some of the paint had chipped away. Her candle’s light was a mere blur of yellow.

There was no sign of Félix or Agustín. That…didn’t seem right.

Bruno stepped back with a frown, studying the mural again. It was an easy job, all things considered. 

He’d taken off his ruana and pulled his hair back in a messy ponytail, reluctantly rolling his sleeves up.

One of the local men, Alano Cortes brought an armful of brushes and some canvas to cover the ground. He was followed by a handsome young man, the same boy Bruno had spotted smiling at Isabela, who Camilo sometimes shifted into and pranced around as.

“Hola!” the boy said cheerfully, carrying massive cans of paint. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “You’re Señor Bruno, sí?”

Bruno nodded and the boy beamed.

“I’m Mariano Guzman,” he said. “My abuela is friends with Señora Alma.”

Ah, so his name was Mariano. Bruno hadn’t been sure; he’d just known it started with an M.

Alano Cortes’s smile was more shy. “It’s good to see you’re well,” he said. Shyly, he added, “I was part of the group that found you.”

“Oh,” Bruno said, eyes widening. He suddenly felt very small. “W-well, I- thank you. For your help.”

Alano shook his head. “I didn’t do much,” he said, setting the brushes down and spreading out the canvas. “It was Julieta and Dolores doing most of the work, truth be told.”

“They always work hard,” Mariano added. “You know, one time when we were little, I got terribly lost in the jungle and Dolores found me all by herself!”

Bruno couldn’t help but smile. The kid was so earnest and, honestly, the mental image was adorable. 

Alano left a moment later, but Mariano hung around, watching Bruno fix up the mural as if he was the one doing magic. At her stall, Julieta healed a man with a dislocated arm; Bruno winced as it snapped back into place, but Mariano didn’t bat an eye. He supposed the villagers were just used to it. 

Mariano made himself useful by handing Bruno brushes or paints and helping clean the brushes Bruno was done with. He was a chatty kid, talking about the latest romance novel he’d read with his mother, bemoaning the tragic ending. He talked about a book of poems his abuela had gotten for him and the inspiration they’d given him. He asked Bruno about the outside world and seemed in awe of his description of Bogotá.

Around lunchtime, Bruno took a break, stretching his arms out. Big as the mural was, he was happy enough with the progress he’d made so far. He’d need to get a ladder to reach everything, but for now he could already see the improvement. 

He wondered if Alma would be angry if he managed to work Félix and Agustín in…

His train of thought was interrupted when Isabela and Dolores approached, carrying a small plate of Julieta’s food and some water. Mariano straightened up, smoothing his shirt with a smile.

“Hola,” Isabela said with her usual sweet smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear and gestured to the plate Dolores was carrying. “Mamá instructed us to make sure you’re not starving yourself.”

Sure enough, when Bruno glanced behind the girls, Julieta was watching him like a hawk.

Trying not to grin too widely, Bruno took the plate. “Gracias,” he said. He raised his voice so Julieta could hear; “Gracias, Julieta!”

“Eat up!” she called back. “You’d better clear that plate!”

Bruno saluted her and tucked in. Dolores giggled, ducking her head. Isabela rolled her eyes, looking impossibly fond as she gently set the water down.

“That dress looks lovely,” Mariano said to her. “Is it new?”

“Oh, sí,” Isabela said. She twirled on the spot and a shower of rose petals fluttered around her. Mariano’s cheeks looked a little pink as Isabela smiled at him.

Bruno was right next to Dolores and even then he barely heard her quiet, “Hm!”

He glanced at her and saw how her eyes watered, how her smile stiffened. Behind her back, her fists were clenched.

Wait, Bruno thought. His eyes widened as the pieces began to fall into place.

Someone Dolores likes who likes someone else. A poet she listens to while we talk. The week she’d been missing…Mariano was just talking about writing a poem and…And…

Oh Dios.

Dolores liked Mariano and he liked Isabela. 

His chest tightened, he felt suddenly awful on her behalf. 

Mariano seemed like a nice kid, but he was plainly an idiot to not like Dolores back, thank you very much.

Bruno barely bit back a sigh and handed her a cocada.

“That’s him, huh?” he whispered so quietly he barely heard himself, knowing she’d hear just fine.

She popped the cocada in her mouth and nodded. Biting her lip, she linked her arm with Bruno’s.

“That’s him,” she whispered. Her lip trembled. “Abuela will be happy if he asks to court Isa. His abuela’s on the council.”

“I’m more concerned if you’re happy, kid.”

Dolores sighed. “I’ll be fine,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy at all.

Bruno did what he could for the mural that first day, but he felt terribly distracted after that. Poor Dolores. That poor, poor kid. 

He knew it was none of his business, not really, but a part of him wanted to grab Mariano by the shoulders and ask, “Are you blind?” 

She was such a sweet kid…

Luisa came to fetch him, her hair starting to come loose from its bun. “Home time!” she said cheerfully, bouncing in place. She somehow managed to make even that look like exercise. 

Bruno looked around, blinking in surprise to realise the sun was setting. “Yikes,” he said. He started to clear up with Luisa quickly jumping in to help.

“Alano said we can just keep all this at Casita,” she said. She looked at the mural and smiled. “It looks better already. Abuela will love it.”

“Thanks, kid,” Bruno said. They began to walk back to Casita. “So, how was school?”

“Well, we were learning about Greek myths today,” Luisa said, her eyes brightening and a spring coming into her step. “It was pretty cool, actually! It was all about Hercules and Cerberus, and-”

“Hey! Luisa!” A middle-aged man was leaning out of his window. “I need a hand, come here!”

Her steps faltered. “Oh, um- I can be back in a few minutes-”

“I need help now,” the man said, scowling. 

Crash!

“Bruno!” Luisa dropped the rest of the paint and steadied him as he bent over double, clutching his head. “Oh, Dios, are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Bruno mumbled as the cans of paint he'd been carrying rolled away from him. His breathing was shallow and his legs shook. He scrambled for the supplies he’d been carrying.

“It’s your head again, isn’t it?” Luisa fretted, still holding his arm. “C’mon, we’re going home!” She grabbed everything else, supporting it with one arm and pulled him along. “Mamá will make sure you’re okay, promise, we’re not far from home now.”

“Gracias, niña,” Bruno said. Luisa was staring grimly ahead, her determined gaze fixated on Casita.

“Hey! Luisa!” the man yelled.

“I’m sorry, but I need to help our guest first,” Luisa said firmly, picking up the pace and, for once, not looking back.

Smirking, head perfectly clear, Bruno glanced back at the man and (like the mature forty-something adult he was) stuck his tongue out. The man’s expression went slack with shock and, when Luisa looked back, Bruno made sure his heavy-lidded gaze was on the ground.

Maybe it was a bit of a mean trick, but if it meant Luisa went home and had dinner, then Bruno would consider it a victory…Even if it meant Julieta made him lie down with a cold cloth pressed to his forehead and Camilo solemnly asked if he could have Bruno’s ruanas if he died.

Félix slapped Camilo on the head. “Mijo!” he scolded. “Come on!”

“I’m not dying yet, Camilo,” Bruno said, flicking Camilo on the forehead. “And I may not be that big, but even my ruanas are too big for you, little guy.”

Dolores looked at him knowingly but, when Bruno caught her gaze she just smiled and pressed her finger to her lips.

Chapter Text

“We swear to always help those around us, and earn the miracle that somehow found us. The town keeps growing, the world keeps turning, but work and dedication will keep the miracle burning. And each new generation must keep the miracle burning.” - The Family Madrigal, Encanto

That night, Bruno summoned all his nerve and approached Alma after dinner.

“Should you not be resting?” she asked when he walked into the living room.

“I’m fine,” Bruno said. It was true, he was. No one needed to know he’d faked that headache to make Luisa rest. “I have a question about the mural.”

“Ah, do you need more supplies?” Alma asked. “I confess, I don’t know much about art, but whatever you need, I’m sure we can find it.”

“It’s not that,” Bruno said. He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore; anxiety mounting, he looked at the ground instead, clutching his ruana’s hem. “It’s, um…Well, I was wondering- maybe I could add Félix and Agustín? T-they’re Madrigals, so…So it just s-seemed fair.” He hated stammering, he hated stuttering; he always felt like a child again when his voice wavered like this. He’d always been told off for stuttering, muttering, mumbling and stammering. 

Alma was quiet. Bruno braced himself for the worst.

Instead, she said, “That…May be a good idea,” slowly, as if the thought had never occurred to her. 

Bruno glanced at her, his hair falling in his eyes. “So, you’re okay with it?” he asked.

Alma gave a thoughtful nod, her book still open on her lap. “If you think you can manage it,” she said. “I don’t want our mural to be a mess. If it does not turn out well, I want it painted over, understood?”

That seemed like a fair exchange to him.

“I wouldn’t make a mess,” he promised.

“Then you may try,” Alma said in that regal way of hers, as if she was a queen giving orders and not a woman agreeing with a suggestion.

Still, it was all the permission Bruno needed.

The next day, after breakfast, he followed the Madrigal adults into town. Félix helped carry all the art supplies. Agustín found a ladder (which he was forbidden from carrying; Mariano brought it over instead) and, just like that, Bruno had everything he needed for the mural.

He tied his hair back, shrugged his ruana off, rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He even managed to ignore how having his sleeves up made his skin tingle, as if he had pins and needles.

Once again, Mariano stayed to help and chat. If the kid noticed anything, he didn’t comment. He didn’t even look at Bruno’s arms once.

Bruno would still like to call him an idiot for not noticing Dolores (and anyone else who didn’t like her), but he was earnest and kind. 

Bruno studied the empty spaces on the mural, next to Pepa and Julieta, and an empty space below Pepa as well. He could always leave that empty; (surely the baby would be added when he was born) but he had plenty of room to add Félix and Agustín.

Smiling to himself, he climbed the ladder and began to sketch the outlines he’d need.

If he’d just been touching up the mural, it would have taken three days tops. Since he was touching it up and adding in two more people, it took a little over a week. 

It was now officially Bruno’s second month in Encanto.

Of course, people noticed he was adding Félix and Agustín.

Julieta squeezed his hand and Pepa hugged him so hard she nearly knocked him over. Félix lifted him right into the air and Agustín hung around to watch, beaming the whole time. 

“Does Abuela Alma know you’re doing that?” Señora Pezmuerto demanded, hands on her hips.

“Considering I asked her permission, yes, I’m pretty sure she knows,” Bruno said as he painted Agustín’s glasses.

Señora Pezmuerto stormed off in a huff, muttering to herself about how the old mural was just fine, what did they need to add more for? Bruno swore he even heard her mutter something about how unfair it was to leave fish out of the mural's little blue river.

Mariano sighed, leaning against the (thankfully dry) wall. “Her fish died last night,” he said, giving Bruno a long-suffering look. “She’ll be like this for the next month.”

Ah, so the fish had finally died, huh? Of all the day flashes for Bruno to get, that one had been ridiculous.

Some villages had crazy cat ladies. This one had a crazy fish lady. Bruno supposed every village, town and city in the world had its oddities. Just look at him: he could surely be considered one.

He watched her go and shrugged, firmly deciding that it was Not His Problem.

Señora Pezmuerto was not the only villager to comment on the work in progress. Señora Sofia Guzman, Mariano’s abuela, officially introduced herself and said she thought it was, “A lovely idea.”

Señor De la Cruz gave a disapproving hum, but he said, “Well, if Alma’s sure,” and left it at that.

Padré Martinez watched curiously, but didn’t comment. His toupee was utterly awful; it reminded Bruno of a dead squirrel and it was so obviously a toupee. Whoever sold it should have been ashamed of themselves, it was terrible work. The padré was surely owed his money back. Or whatever he'd traded for it. Bruno didn't dare ask.

Alano Cortes just gave a thumbs up and offered to get more paint if it was needed.

Really, Bruno couldn’t understand the fuss. Félix and Agustín were Madrigals. Why should they be left out?

In the end, he was happy with the result.

The mural’s colours had all been touched-up, as vibrant as they would have been originally. Still titled Los Madrigals, Bruno had added more flare to the candle, emphasising its shine and the butterfly design. He’d made Alma’s expression less of a scowl and more of a thoughtful frown. He’d added more weather around Pepa; not just a cloud and sun, but raindrops, rainbows and a lightning strike. He’d added the sun-pattern of her favourite dress to her painted counterpart. Félix was next to her with a bright yellow umbrella and cheery grin; Agustín was next to Julieta, waving at the viewer. He’d added a pattern of herbs to Julieta’s sleeves and made her smile bigger, more welcoming.

As for the kids, he’d added the colourful embroidery to Mirabel’s outfit and made Camilo look less cocky and more mischievous. Luisa still held a dumbbell above her head, but Bruno painted her smiling instead of frowning in concentration. Dolores had previously looked startled and outright nervous; Bruno had added her hair-ribbon and tried to make her look more inquisitive. As for Isabela, he added more flowers around her and added her jewellery, making her dress a slightly brighter pink (it really had faded terribly in parts).

Everything else had really just needed some adjusting; the flowers, birds, butterflies and little houses around the mural’s edge and the rays of light. He’d left the spot under Pepa empty, next to Camilo, for the baby to be added later.

“Ooh!” Mirabel came running from Julieta’s stall the second she saw him put his brush down. “It looks so good!” She was practically vibrating with excitement. “You got my embroidery!”

“I did,” Bruno said. Normally he’d ruffle her hair, but his hands were covered in paint.

“Why’s that part empty?” she asked, pointing.

“For the baby to be added, chiquita.”

On queue, Mirabel groaned; “I don’t want any more girls!”

Bruno remembered the green dream and barely bit back a smile. “You know what, kid? I’ll take that bet too. I think you’re right about it being a boy.”

Mirabel smiled, looking terribly smug, as if Bruno's agreement had somehow settled the matter.

One by one, the rest of the Madrigals arrived. They all looked happy, but it was Alma’s request and Bruno’s stomach tightened with nerves as he spotted her approaching.

She looked as imposing as always, followed by her councillors. Her face remained impassive as she studied the mural. In the gathering crowd, Señora Pezmuerto looked smug, like she expected an argument. Bruno spotted Osvaldo, who was studying the mural curiously. Next to him, Ofelia was smiling.

Julieta edged closer to Bruno, her arm brushing against his.

Finally, Alma gave a single, approving nod.

“Better,” she said with the ghost of a smile. “Much better.”

Bruno breathed out in relief and dared to smile at her. To his surprise, she returned it.

Alma couldn’t say she was exactly surprised to find Bruno in the kitchen that night. After all, she’d heard Julieta bemoaning his insomnia before and Bruno protesting that he couldn’t exactly help it.

No, what surprised her was that he was asleep.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, an empty mug before him. He’d fallen asleep with his head cradled by his arms, slumped over. His cheek was pressed against a book he’d been reading; a lamp still blazed.

His hands still had faint smears of paint on them. His pyjama sleeves were too long, reaching halfway down his hands, but she could still see the colours.

Had he fallen asleep somewhere more comfortable, Alma would have let him be. As it was, she poured herself the glass of water she’d come for and gently shook him awake.

“Br- niño,” she said. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” He raised his head an inch or two, blinking slowly, his eyes dazed. “Wha’?”

“Go to your bed,” Alma said. 

Bruno blinked at her, still looking half-asleep. He yawned and got to his feet, rubbing at his eyes.

“Uh, right,” he mumbled. “Buenas noches, Señora Alma.”

“Buenas noches, Bruno.”

It still hurt, but not as badly as it had before. 

Alma went back to her room and she could feel a soft happiness radiating from Casita’s very walls.

Chapter Text

“Oh, what these, these aren’t tears. It’s just the rain that wasn’t brave enough to fall. And what they hear isn’t laughter after all; it’s just your voice learning for once to stand up tall. And when the rain came down, I made a vow out to the gods, “Please let her live just one more day.” ‘Cause she is so much more than all her scars.” - Inkpot Gods, The Amazing Devil

It was one of those days.

Bruno awoke feeling dazed, unable to properly focus. When Casita clattered worriedly, Bruno only managed a hum in response.

It wasn’t just that he felt sad. He felt like he was being physically weighed down, like his limbs weighed a ton. Even lifting his head took an effort. 

He’d been in Encanto for two months now and that realisation kept nagging at him in the back of his mind. He’d escaped a massacre and ended up taken in by a magical family.

How was that fair? Why him? What did he do to deserve it? Why not any of his neighbours? 

Bruno blinked listlessly at his wardrobe, trying to remember when he’d even stood up. His throat was dry; he felt like he’d swallowed sand. Had he been dreaming of sand? He couldn’t remember.

He sat back down on the bed, staring at the floor. Getting up suddenly seemed like a pointless thing to do. 

A part of him said, Get up, go sit with Julieta, tell her you’re not feeling well.

That part was drowned out by the buzzing in his mind, slowly drowning out all other thoughts besides, There’s no point anyway.

Just one of those days…

Bruno lay back down, pulling the covers up over his head and closing his eyes.

“Bruno?” Julieta called, softly knocking on the door. “Are you up? It’s nearly time for breakfast.” Was it another migraine? Casita hadn’t nearly flung her across the courtyard this time, but the floor had shuddered with worry.

Julieta opened the door and peered inside. Bruno was just a little lump under the covers; they were over his head.

“Bruno?”

“Hm?”

Okay, he was awake.

She crept closer, closing the door behind her. “Are you okay?” she asked, standing over him.

He was quiet, very quiet. For a moment, she wondered if he’d fallen back asleep. Maybe she should just leave him be.

But then he mumbled, “I don’t know,” his voice breaking.

“Oh, mi amigo,” she murmured, pulling the stool next to bed and sitting down. Bruno pulled the covers off his head and something about his whole expression was off. His eyes seemed darker; they were missing the spark Julieta had seen growing over the last few weeks. He looked utterly exhausted; his eyes were dry, but he looked like he was about to start crying.

“Is it a migraine?” Julieta asked, careful to stay quiet. 

“No, I just- I don’t know,” Bruno said, looking away from her. He sounded so tired, so small. “This just happens sometimes, everything’s…Everything’s wrong.”

“Okay,” Julieta said. She smoothed her skirt, concern growing in her with every passing second. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling?”

According to Bruno, he sometimes "just got like this.” He said his mind felt clouded; that he switched between feeling numb and feeling terribly sad, like nothing could ever be right again. He said it felt like there were weights holding him down, that even sitting up took a monumental effort, because everything suddenly seemed pointless.

Sometimes it just happened. It came and went. He’d felt like this when he first escaped the massacre, fleeing through the jungle.

He’d felt like this many times throughout his life.

Julieta already knew he was anxious; that had been plain to see. But this was new.

She would have just chalked it up to trauma, had it not been for Bruno’s explanations.

Depression? Surely it is, she thought. That’s what it sounds like anyway. Another thing she couldn’t cure and, admittedly, something she wasn’t very familiar with. She knew there wasn’t exactly a cure for it, but there were ways to help.

It looked like she needed to break out her medical texts again.

Mamá said to let Bruno rest, but he’d been doing nothing but resting. Even Abuela seemed worried, and Mirabel could have sworn that Abuela didn’t like Bruno until he did the mural. She’d been nicer then.

So Mirabel had let her mamá handle…Whatever was going on. She said Bruno wasn’t well. Tia Pepa, who needed to rest more than ever, sometimes sat with him or dragged him out into the garden. Papá wouldn’t let her go join them though.

“It’s grown-up stuff, Miraboo,” he said.

“I’m ten!” Mirabel protested. “That’s grown-up!” But he just smiled like she’d said something funny and tried to distract her, usually taking her to get ice-cream or to see the new houses, or visit Mamá’s stall.

It didn’t distract her for long.

It had been three days since Bruno got sick and the longer it went on, the more worried Mirabel felt.

“Tia Julieta will make it better,” Camilo said confidently, but it didn’t make Mirabel feel confident.

So today, when Papá and Tio Félix were cleaning, she took her sewing and ran to Bruno’s room.

He was sitting on his bed and he had his sketchbook open on his lap; he was tapping his pencil against the page, but he hadn’t drawn anything.

He looked surprised to see her. His hair looked limper somehow; the shadows under his eyes were darker, like he hadn’t slept much. 

Mirabel held out her sewing shyly, smiling hopefully. 

“Wanna practice?” she asked.

Bruno looked sad. Even when he smiled at her, he looked sad. Mirabel wondered how sick he was.

“Sure, kid,” he said quietly. He didn’t sound quite right either, but Mirabel jumped onto the bed and began to show him a row of small, neat stitches. She was going to turn it into a candle pattern.

Bruno watched. He still looked really tired and he didn’t say much at all, but he was paying attention.

When Tio Félix poked his head around the door, Mirabel expected to be in trouble for disturbing Bruno. Instead, her Tio smiled.

“Alright, Bruno?” he asked.

Bruno shrugged. He still had his sketchbook open on his lap; while Mirabel had been sewing, he’d started to draw a river. 

“Think you can handle some lunch?”

Bruno nodded, so Tio Félix gave a thumbs up. “Mirabel, can you gimme a hand?” he asked.

Reluctantly, Mirabel set her sewing aside and went to help Tio Félix. When they were in the kitchen, he turned to her and asked; “So, Mira, do you know what animals Bruno likes?”

“Huh?” Mirabel tilted her head to the side and adjusted her glasses. “Oh, he likes rats best.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. He says they’re really clever.”

Tio Félix’s smile widened. “Rats,” he repeated and gave a chuckle. “Well, alright then.”

Adults, Mirabel firmly decided, were weird.

When Bruno emerged for lunch, Félix jumped into action.

“So, Bruno-” Félix flung an arm around his shoulders, ignoring Bruno’s squeak. This was for a good cause; Bruno would thank him later. “Mira mentioned your favourite animals are rats?”

“Huh?” Bruno tugged on his hair. “Sí...” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Félix grinned. “Just curious. Not many people would pick them.”

Bruno shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze. He was gripping his arm tightly and Félix’s eyes flickered down, trying to make sure his nails weren’t digging into his scars, which Julieta had warned him to watch out for. They weren’t, so he let it be.

“They’re sweet,” Bruno continued. “And really intelligent.”

“That so?” Félix’s smile widened. “Tell me more?”

Later, Julieta would roll her eyes as she finished drying the dishes.

“Subtle, Félix,” she’d sigh, putting the last plate away. “Very subtle.”

And Félix would grin, unrepentant. “Well it worked, didn’t it? Now we know for sure and we can put the plan into action.”

The very next day, Félix left Casita bright and early, saying something about an errand. Pepa had once more dragged Bruno into the garden and Mirabel and Camilo were kicking a football back and forth.

Bruno still felt like he was in a fog, it was hard to concentrate most of the time. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been only yesterday, but it was far from good.

He wished it would just go away.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear Félix’s cheerful greeting; he only noticed that Félix had come back when Camilo ran to him.

Félix was holding…something. It was covered by a cloth. A box maybe?

Although Bruno could have sworn he heard something squeak.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Bruno!” Félix called happily. He marched over, Camilo dogging at his heels. 

“A what?” Bruno scooted forward on his seat, utterly baffled. Pepa was smirking, sunshine around her head. A rainbow appeared in the sky. Mirabel and Camilo looked as lost as Bruno felt.

“Ta-da!” Félix whipped the cloth away to reveal he was carrying a cage. 

Inside the cage, grooming itself, was a little grey rat. It was utterly adorable; small, chubby, with big black eyes and a splotch of black fur on one ear that almost resembled a heart. And, hiding behind it, so quiet and small that Bruno nearly missed it, was another rat; a little white and pale-grey one.

“Oh,” Bruno whispered. All of a sudden, he felt very close to crying.

“They’re both girls,” Félix explained. “They’re only a few months old. It was all Julieta’s idea really; she read that pets can be a big help with…Well, with everything.” He glanced at the kids and gave Bruno that beaming grin. “Juli got a book on how to care for them and I got some food when I went to collect them, so no worries on that front! The store-owner said they’re really social, so to get a pair at least; hope that’s okay, bro.”

“They’re so cute!” Mirabel gasped, stars in her eyes.

“Ooh,” Camilo cooed, leaning in to get a proper look.

Carefully, Félix handed the cage to Bruno. The little rats squeaked and looked at him. The bigger one, the grey one, began to climb the bars of her cage, her little pink nose poking between the gaps. The little white and grey one crept forward cautiously, squeaking.

They were utterly perfect.

“You didn’t have to,” he said and his voice shook. The tears escaped before he could stop them and Pepa squeezed his shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“Well, I wanted to,” Félix said with an easy-going shrug. “We’re friends.”

“Don’t you like them?” Mirabel asked worriedly.

“I love them,” Bruno said, wiping his eyes. He did, he already did. The grey rat climbed back down and she kept staring at him, her nose twitching. The smaller one stopped squeaking and stared as well.

“What’cha gonna name them?” Camilo asked.

“I have no idea,” Bruno said with a shaky laugh. “Maybe you two can help me think of something?”

Chapter Text

“You're gonna make it. You're gonna make it. The night can only last for so long. Whatever you're facing, if your heart is breaking, there's a promise for the ones who just hold on. Lift up your eyes and see, the sun is rising.” - The Sun Is Rising, Britt Nicole

The bigger rat was officially christened Esma and the smaller one was Luz, by the time everyone else returned to home. Other names suggested by Camilo were: Biter 1 and Biter 2, Bruna and Brunita, Climber and Sleepy, and Greedy and Tiny.

Félix and Pepa looked like they were barely biting back giggles. Mirabel gave Camilo a long-suffering look and merely said, "No."

Bruno was admittedly tempted by Greedy and Tiny, but they were such cute little ladies that they deserved cute names to match. Luz was suggested by Félix and Esma was the name of one of the characters in the book Agustín had given him to read, which Mirabel declared was, "Super pretty."

Camilo said, "Okay, I guess," and that was that.

“Do you like them?” Julieta asked hopefully.

“They’re perfect,” Bruno said, smiling from ear to ear. Luz was sitting on his hand, flattening herself into a pancake. Esma was on Camilo’s shoulder, sniffing him. Camilo seemed happy with the attention Esma was bestowing on him, smiling from ear to ear and giving her a little piece of cheese.

“Aww!” Luisa cried, hurrying over. “No one said you were getting pets!”

“No one told me either,” Bruno said, laughing for the first time in days.

“They’re cute,” Isabela said, looking surprised at her own approval. 

“Everyone always thinks rats are gross,” Bruno said, stroking Luz. “But if you give them a chance, they’ll show just how clever they are.”

“No rats in the kitchen,” Alma said firmly. “Or at the table.”

Well, that was fair enough.

To Bruno’s surprise, Agustín was nearly as enthusiastic about the rats as he was.

“I really wanted one when I was a child,” he explained. “But my mamá was allergic- we found that one out the hard way. I had to return the poor little guy.”

“You can be their babysitter then,” Bruno said, watching Esma and Luz run around in their cage. 

“They can’t be any worse than the kids,” Agustín said with a wry smirk. Félix burst out laughing and Bruno ducked his head, trying to hide his grin.

“They’re not that bad,” Bruno said.

“You say that because they behave for you,” Félix said, poking his arm. “They think you’re cool. We’re just their boring old fathers, they’ll never listen to us again.”

As if to prove Félix’s point, Camilo came running and flung himself at Bruno, jumping onto his back and nearly knocking him over.

“Can I help train the rats?” he asked eagerly. “We could teach them to play games!”

Félix smirked as if to say What did I tell you?

Agustín was feeding Esma and Luz little bits of fruit. Bruno, wheezing from Camilo tackling him, managed a smile.

“Sure, kid,” he said. “Sounds fun.”

Bruno’s “low mood” as he phrased it, didn’t magically go away. But Esma and Luz made it easier. When he didn’t want to get out of bed he thought, You need to feed them, and getting up felt easier then.

He’d only had them for a few weeks, but they looked at him like he was their whole world.

It was startling to realise that he was.

He fed them, he cleaned their cage, he was training them; he let them run all over his room and pet them whenever they pleased. These two fuzzy little creatures needed him.

It left him feeling dazed, but not in a bad way.

As per usual, Julieta came and joined him on the back steps in the early morning. This time she’d made them coffee. Esma and Luz were sleeping in his pockets. Julieta saw Esma’s tail poking out of his pocket and grinned in amusement.

“They were a good idea,” Bruno told her. “Gracias.”

“I’m glad they’re helping,” Julieta said with a smile. “Just keep them out of my pantry.”

“No promises,” Bruno said with a smirk.

Julieta shoved him and Bruno shoved her back. Luz woke with a squeak of protest, but it only made Julieta and Bruno laugh.

“Hey, Julieta?”

“Sí, Bruno?”

He stroked Luz’s head and looked out at the village, at the sun rising over the mountains.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Bruno said and he doubted he was imagining the relief in Julieta’s eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” she said and they watched the sun rise.

Chapter Text

“And then she'll get stuck and be scared of the life that's inside her, growing stronger each day ‘til it finally reminds her to fight just a little. To bring back the fire in her eyes that's been gone, but it used to be mine. Used to be mine…She is messy but she's kind. She is lonely most of the time. She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie…She is gone but she used to be mine…” - She Used To Be Mine, Waitress

The new houses would be finished by the end of the month and Mirabel wanted to cry. 

She did not, she absolutely did not want Bruno to leave.

Maybe it was selfish of her, but she loved being someone’s favourite. She loved Bruno. He was like another Tio; funny like Tio Félix, warm and sweet like Papí. He listened to Mirabel, he took her seriously. He actually liked spending time with her! Even when she probably should be leaving him alone (like when he was upset), he never told her off, or told her to go away. He’d always sit with her; he’d watch her sew and tell stories, or draw with her. Yesterday, he’d drawn a beautiful butterfly that they’d seen in the garden. He’d given the drawing to Mirabel.

He looked at Mirabel like she was special.

Bruno got her. He was the odd one out too.

He liked Camilo a lot and Dolores, and he liked Luisa; he even seemed to like Isa (ugh), but Mirabel was his favourite. He didn’t seem bored with her, he didn’t nag. He gave her the cherry off his slice of cake at dessert after Camilo stole hers. 

More than anything, Mirabel wanted him to stay. To stay in Casita, to stay with them all. To stay with her.

Bruno didn’t glare and snap like Isabela. He didn’t frown like Abuela. He didn’t need to do chores all day like Luisa, Camilo, Dolores and Tia Pepa. He didn’t tell her that she Had Nothing To Prove like Mamí and Papí, or dodge talks about magic like Tio Félix. He liked Mirabel the way she was.

Was it really so wrong of her to want to keep that?

She wanted him to stay. She hoped he wanted to stay too. If he did, maybe she could convince Julieta to talk to Abuela. Everyone else liked Bruno; even Abuela liked him now! Wouldn’t they want him to stay too?

Mirabel felt like she was going around in circles. She felt like, if she tried to voice all her feelings, she’d open her mouth and nothing would come out. She wasn’t sure how to explain everything she was feeling and what she wanted. Mostly, she just knew she was sad.

So Mirabel did what she always did when she was sad: she hid.

She went to one of her favourite spots, up on Casita’s roof (with a little help from Casita) and she sat and watched the fluffy white clouds.

Mirabel wasn’t up there for long when she heard the bricks shift to form a makeshift staircase and Bruno’s confused stammering.

“Uh, Casita, I’m not sure I’m supposed to come up h- oh! Hola, Mira.” Bruno looked utterly baffled. He was wearing the ruana Mirabel embroidered and, despite everything, it made her smile.

“Hola,” she said. She couldn’t seem to inject any enthusiasm into her voice.

Bruno noticed. Of course he noticed. That was why Mirabel liked him so much.

He carefully made his way to her, sometimes glancing over the edge with a nervous gulp. Esma poked her nose out of his pocket and Luz was squeaking in his hood. Bruno sat next to Mirabel, cross-legged.

“You okay, kid?” he asked.

So many answers were on the tip of her tongue: I’m fine, never better, I’m okay, I’m just a little tired, I needed a break, I’m good, I’m great, how are you?

What she said was: “I don’t want you to leave.” Her voice broke, her eyes watered and she had to take a deep shaking breath, trying to stop herself from crying for real.

“Aw, chiquita,” Bruno sighed, pulling her into a hug. That was another thing: she liked being called chiquita. She liked being the only Madrigal kid with her own personal Bruno nickname. Everyone got called kid or kiddo, even Mirabel, but only she was chiquita. 

And just like that, Mirabel was sobbing against Bruno’s shoulder like some stupid baby, clinging to him, trying to keep him there. He held her close and rubbed her back in circles; he’d gotten a lot better at hugs over the last few weeks. He didn’t flinch so much anymore.

“You like me,” Mirabel sobbed. “You like my embroidery, you don’t i-i-ignore me, you d-don’t tell me to be more like Isabela; y-you didn’t even care t-t-that I don’t- I don’t have a Gift. I h-hate those new houses, I hope they all fall down, I want you to stay here!”

I like you best, you like me best, you’re my friend, I want you to stay, I never ever want you to go. We’re the odd ones out together, you and me. 

“Oh, chiquita,” Bruno repeated and he sounded so sad. His chin rested on her head and he sighed. “Of course I like you, you’re brilliant, Mira. Absolutely brilliant. Anyone who says otherwise is un idiota.”

She always felt like she was fighting for attention in her big, special, chaotic family, her oh-so-important family. There were so many standards to meet and she always seemed to be doing something wrong; she was in the way, falling short by miles. She just wanted them to be proud of her, just once. 

She didn’t need to fight for Bruno to be proud of her. He just was. 

Her parents always said they were, but…But next to Luisa and Isabela…The beauty and the brawn, as the villagers called them. The ones who never did anything wrong. Señorita Perfecta and strong, reliable Luisa. How could Mirabel ever measure up? 

Besides, Julieta was always so busy and Agustín had his own chores, or he helped Julieta (or needed her help). A lot of the time, Mirabel felt like she was by herself. It was Mirabel and Casita.

Only now it was Mirabel, Casita and Bruno. Mirabel preferred it that way. 

She kept crying and he didn’t call her a baby. He just hugged her and hummed, and stayed with her until she calmed down.

“I wish you were my tio,” Mirabel mumbled against his shoulder and he went stiff. Then he sighed again, heavy and deep, and ruffled her hair.

“I don’t want you to go,” Mirabel repeated.

Bruno pulled back slightly. His smile was sad.

“Can I tell you a secret, chiquita?” he asked. Mirabel nodded, pulling her glasses off to wipe at her eyes and nose.

“I don’t want to go either,” Bruno said quietly.

Mirabel flung herself at him again, nearly knocking him flat. Bruno’s laugh was quiet, a little startled, more of an “Oof!” than anything. 

But he hugged her. 

He still hugged her.

Mirabel loved him for it.

As the days passed, Casita’s mood took a turn. Whenever Bruno so much as ventured to the garden, Casita tried to pull him back in. It was like poor Casita thought he’d get hurt if he so much took a step outside.

Julieta watched and gave a small smile, feeling a strange mix of sadness and fondness in her chest. Casita had taken to Bruno right away, trying everything to help him adjust and keep him safe and healthy.

Healthy…Safe and…And healthy…

Oh Dios, Julieta thought, eyes widening as she gripped the counter. The migraines! How in God’s name could she forget about the migraines? He’d been bedridden for two days and, by Bruno’s own admission, he’d had worse. He’d been in a depressive fog for weeks as well, only recently back to his usual self.

Was that what Casita was so worried about? Bruno living alone and falling ill again?

Now that the thought was in her mind, Julieta was worried too.

He’d lived alone before, she knew that. He’d told her so. Sometimes he’d had roommates, sometimes he didn’t. He’d lived alone for fifteen years in his village. He knew how to survive.

But life wasn’t just about surviving.

Julieta would never forgive herself if something happened and she wasn’t there.

She remembered everyone she couldn’t save and Julieta refused to add Bruno to that list. He was her friend, he was Pepa’s friend; Félix and Agustín liked him, they wanted to spend more time with him. Her little Mirabel positively worshipped him; Camilo loved him and so did Dolores. Luisa and Isabela liked him. Her mamá had been impressed by the mural, slowly warming up to him. Casita loved him too, that much was plain. Right that very second, Julieta had the feeling that Casita was keeping a protective watch as Bruno counted Luisa’s push-ups with her.

It had been Julieta’s suggestion to take him in. 

Julieta knew Bruno could handle himself. He was a survivor. He didn’t need her to baby him or fret about him, he wasn’t a child…

But he did need someone to protect him.

Julieta had stepped up and insisted on taking him in three months ago. She was prepared to step up for him again.

Now that the idea was there, she was afraid of what would happen if she left him alone again. What if his migraines got worse? What if he blacked out and hit his head? What if his depression grew worse and he…

He was her friend.

Julieta untied her apron and went in search of Alma. Through the open windows, she heard Bruno cheer; “One hundred! Luisa, that’s awesome!”

Luisa replied, “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Kid, I can’t even do one.”

She smiled fondly and told herself to calm down. Even if Alma didn’t agree to the suggestion brewing in her mind, Julieta would always be in his corner. 

“Mamá?” Julieta called, knocking on Alma’s door. “Can we talk, por favor?”

Chapter Text

“Someone holds her safe and warm, someone rescues her from the storm. Simple things but one thing’s clear: it's fate that brought us here. Painted wings (home, love, simple things), silver snow (family, simple things), whirling like a ballet.” - Quartet At The Ballet, Anastasia: Broadway

The Madrigal adults all gathered in Alma’s room. To Julieta’s mild surprise, she saw Dolores go to her room when she realised the adults were gathering; she knew all too well that her niece usually listened to the Adults Only meetings, often reporting back to Isabela and Luisa.

“So what’s this about?” Pepa asked, one hand on her stomach. She yawned and shifted in her seat. Alma shot her a quick, concerned glance. She was due towards the end of the month.

“Bruno,” Julieta said. “I’m worried about him.”

“But he’s doing better, isn’t he?” Agustín asked, immediately looking worried, leaning forward in his seat. “Did he say something? Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Julieta said. At least, she was pretty sure he was. “It’s just…The idea of him being alone again…I don’t like it. He’s been here for three months and he’s been such a help, he-” He fit right in, the kids adore him, he’s kind, helpful and funny. “He’s tried to help right from the start, looking after the kids and doing the mural. And the kids love him!”

“Julieta,” Alma sighed.

“Hear me out, Mamá,” Julieta pleaded. “Please. I know how far he made it on his own, I know he can handle himself, even after everything- that’s what you’re going to say, sí?”

Slowly, Alma nodded, looking faintly surprised. Julieta knew her mother well; she could surely guess at every argument Alma would make and try to get her own view in before Alma could put her foot down.

She had to try.

“If something happened to him I could never forgive myself,” Julieta said, looking her mother in the eye. “I know you struggled with him, but you see how kind he is, don’t you? Even Casita’s been protective lately.”

“That’s true,” Pepa said thoughtfully, tugging on her braid. “He went outside to chase those rats of his and Casita nearly threw all three of them back inside.”

“Casita doesn’t want him to leave either,” Julieta said quickly, picking up steam. “He’s my friend, I know I can’t baby him, but I want him to be safe. I want him to be happy. And it…It feels like…” Her hand rested on her heart as she struggled to find the right words. “Bruno- it’s like he belongs here.”

“The mountains let him in for a reason,” Félix added, unusually quiet. Julieta nodded, smiling gratefully.

Alma looked thoughtful then, turning to the candle. It shone bright and steady as always, illuminating them.

“What if he gets another migraine attack and ends up hurt? What if he spirals when he’s left alone?” Julieta asked. 

“We wouldn’t let that happen, amor,” Agustín said gently.

“But it could. We can’t make him take a roommate, especially someone he doesn’t know; but he knows us. He told me he’s glad he’s here.” The memory still made her feel lighter; it still made her smile despite the current conversation. “Do you have any idea what a big step that was? I think…I think he genuinely trusts us.” The idea that she’d actually earned his trust, despite all he’d been through, was humbling, and Julieta could admit that it made her proud too.

“I don’t know, mija,” Alma said, her hands on her laps. “He can’t stay forever; he would only be ten minutes down the road. He has his own life to live.”

With us! Julieta wanted to scream. He can live with us!

Instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly: “Maybe not forever. But surely a little longer? Until we can be sure he’ll be okay? We should ask him, I think he’d be happy to stay a while longer. There’s no harm in it, Mamá, it’s not like we have no space for him!”

“I’m with Juli,” Pepa said, both hands on her stomach now. Julieta wondered if the baby was kicking, or if the conversation just had Pepa feeling protective. “Bruno’s our friend. He’s one of us now, right? We help people and that includes him. I want him to stay.”

“We’ve come this far,” Félix said firmly, arms crossed. “Bruno’s come far. Seems a shame to cut our time together short, no?”

“Mirabel worships him,” Agustín said with a fond smile. “So does Cami. Luisa’s been raving about those little rats and Dolores still has those coins he gave her. You know, I saw Isabela feeding the rats yesterday? She couldn’t stop giggling. He’s a good influence.”

The floor shook as Casita agreed; the shutters swayed and every drawer in the room opened and shut. 

“Casita agrees,” Julieta said, staring her mother down. “I know you’re worried, Mamá. I know it still hurts. But you worry too, don’t you?”

Alma was still as a statue, her face carefully blank. Julieta wondered if anyone else saw the concern hidden in her eyes. Surely Pepa did at least? Alma knew how to keep a stiff upper lip, but Julieta knew her mother’s tells, every micro-expression, every twitch. 

Julieta knew her mother.

So she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what lay at the heart of Alma’s hesitance.

“We’re not replacing our Bruno,” Julieta said softly. She stood and went to Alma, leaning down to take her hands. Alma flinched; it was small, so small that anyone else would have missed it. Just like that, Julieta knew she was right. “It’s just a name, Mamí. But he’s a good person and you know what he’s been through. We’ve helped. At the end of the day, we’ve helped. We’ve done our duty as you always tell us. So let’s continue to do that. We can still help him and he can still help us. We can keep each other safe.”

“You know, I rained on him yesterday and he only laughed,” Pepa said, smiling. “He just…He didn’t care. He laughed it off and told me to let it out.”

“Smart man,” Félix said in approval. “I knew I liked him for a reason.” Pepa snorted and the sun shone more brightly outside.

“He’s so good with the kids,” Agustín added. “Right from the start, he’s been good with them.”

“He has a good heart,” Julieta said, looking Alma in the eye. “Isn’t that what matters most? The mountains let in those that need protection; those who can better our community. Bruno needs our protection and he has made an impact. A good one.”

She hadn’t seen Mirabel smile so much in a long time.

“I know you care about him too,” Julieta said, gripping Alma’s hands tighter.

Alma sighed so heavily that her whole body shuddered with it. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, bowing her head.

“Sí,” she said hoarsely. “I know he has a good heart.” She cleared her throat and continued, more like her usual self; “He is…Kind. Gentle. I know he is, mija.”

“We can’t force him, you’re right about that,” Julieta said. “But what’s the harm in asking?”

Alma was quiet, staring at their joined hands. In that moment, she looked every one of her years, and so very tired. And guilty. 

“Mamí,” Pepa said gently. Her smile wavered and she reached out to put her hand on Alma’s shoulder. “It’s just a name. At the end of the day, it’s only a name.”

“We’re not turning our backs on our Bruno,” Julieta said. “But…But he’s ours too now. And we can help him.”

Alma took a deep breath. She pulled away and stood, walking to the candle, keeping her back to them.

“I need to think about it,” she said.

Julieta knew a dismissal when she heard one.

She was the last to leave.

“Please, Mamá,” she said, standing in the doorway and staring at her mother’s back. “We swore to always help those around us, remember? I will help my friend, one way or another.”

“Ay, Juli,” Alma sighed. She shook her head and gave a sad chuckle. “You always had a big heart too.”

Alma had a lot to think about, but all she could think was, Bruno, Bruno, Bruno.

Her Brunito, her baby; her youngest. He’d been so terribly still and quiet at birth. He’d stopped breathing and Alma had prayed as she never had before, terrified of losing him when she only just got him.

Then he’d cried and she’d fallen back against the pillows, sobbing in relief.

“If he lasts the night, he should be fine,” the midwife said, but she looked doubtful. Alma had wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. Surely she wasn’t being told that her baby would die?

Had she done something wrong? Had she done something to hurt her babies?

Pedro, holding Bruno against his chest, gave the woman a stern look.

“He will,” Pedro said firmly. There was fire in his gaze. “Mi bébé is a fighter.”

Pedro stayed up with him all night. Julieta and Pepa were in their cribs next to the bed, where Alma could reach out for them, but Pedro held Bruno all night. If their son stopped breathing again, Alma didn’t know. Pedro never told her.

Here’s what she knew instead: she knew she woke with the dawn to find Pedro sitting awkwardly on the windowsill, gently singing the lullaby he’d written for their triplets. Bruno was still in his arms and this time their son was wriggling, weakly waving his tiny fists, staring up at his papá and cooing softly, looking at Pedro with such wonder, an expression mirrored by Pedro: open fragile wonder, infinite love and relief. The sun bathed them both in gold and Alma had started to cry.

Pedro handed Bruno to her. Julieta and Pepa woke up and Pedro gathered their daughters, gently placing them in Alma’s arms.

“Three little caterpillars,” Pedro said proudly. “And one stubborn little boy.”

Alma gripped her locket and stared out at the mountains. They’d let this Bruno in, granting him safety; the safety he so sorely needed. He’d fled his home in the dead of night, narrowly escaping death, saved by a brave man. 

Alma knew the feeling all too well. She wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy.

Her Brunito’s door still glowed steadily, but unformed: no carving. Somewhere out there, her boy was safe and happy. She had to believe it. He had a family; he’d been taken in and adopted by a kind couple. Maybe he even had children of his own. He had friends, a job he enjoyed. He was happy. He had to be.

Would she ever know? Alma couldn’t go find him and ask. She couldn’t help him. 

She hadn’t saved him all those years ago. Pedro had. He’d been bent over Bruno, shielding him as the machete came down; he’d looked at Alma as the blow struck.

For five years, Alma thought they were both dead, until the triplets’ fifth birthday; until that third door appeared with a B engraved on the doorknob. A glowing door that no one else could open. Alma had tried and the door hadn’t budged.

Pedro had saved their boy after all. 

Alma could not save him, if he even needed saving.

But…But there was someone she could save. If he’d like her to.

Alma suspected that this Bruno, their guest (their friend) would be amenable to the idea of staying longer.

“We’re not replacing our Bruno.”

Logically, Alma knew that. If her son could see her now, surely he’d urge her to help. All the same, emotions did not run on logic. A part of her felt like she was failing her Brunito all over again, like she was somehow giving up on him.

But this wasn’t just about her, was it?

He has such a shy smile, she thought, which was perhaps a little absurd of her. What did his smile have to do with anything, really? But the thought was there and it wouldn’t leave.

Bruno Expósito was a good man; a troubled man, shy and quiet, clever and creative. He had a big heart.

And Alma…Well. She was fond of him.

Everyone else wanted him to stay.

Next to her, her chest of drawers rattled and shook.

“You care about him, don’t you, Casita?” she asked quietly. The drawers rattled again, harder now. She had the nearly overwhelming sense of, Protect, love, happiness.

Despite it all, Alma managed a small smirk.

“You will not allow him to leave, will you?”

A harder shake and now the wardrobe shook too. 

“I see,” Alma said, turning to the candle. 

Alma Madrigal, leader of the Encanto. Alma Madrigal, a grieving widow. Alma Madrigal, a mother and grandmother. 

Alma, who could never truly stand to turn away when someone needed a helping hand.

Keep the miracle burning. Honour Pedro’s sacrifice. Earn the magic. Keep your home and family safe.

But it wasn’t just that, not truly. No, Alma cared about Bruno for his own sake, as himself.

Julieta had painted a frightening image. Alma did not want that boy to have any more scars.

Not if she could help it.

Alma held her shawl tighter around herself and went in search of her daughters and sons-in-law.

They had an offer to give.

Bruno hadn’t meant to nap, honestly. He’d been reading on his bed when his eyes began to droop and he thought, I’ll just rest them for a minute. He hadn’t slept well the night before.

He was asleep in minutes.

His dreams were green.

There was a massive party in Casita, so big that not all the guests could fit inside. Bruno could see many more in the garden, milling about on the grass. It looked like the entire village was there. Fireworks went off and Mirabel was holding his hand, beaming up at him.

The little boy he’d seen before, the unborn baby, rode a jaguar through the streets, laughing.

Mariano stopped dead in the street and threw his head back, declaring, “I love you, corazón!” He was given odd looks and he shooed away the onlookers. “Excuse me,” he said sternly. “This is a private conversation.”

There was a blank, glowing golden door getting closer and closer. A hand reached out for it.

Pepa, heavily pregnant Pepa was in the fields, wearing her favourite sun-patterned dress. She turned to go and suddenly gasped, bending over with a grimace, clutching her stomach.

“Seriously?” she gasped. “Now?”

Labour pains, Bruno realised with a jolt. She was going into labour.

She turned to him and held out her hand, lip trembling. A farmer ran, calling over his shoulder about a midwife.

Bruno took Pepa’s hand.

He woke up with a jolt, his eyes stinging, his head pounding and his body aching all over.

Bruno scrambled up and his book fell off his chest, onto the floor. 

His shutter swayed with a squeak.

“I’m okay, Casita,” he murmured, trying to catch his breath. Okay, okay, he needed to focus. What had he seen? Mariano acting weird, the unborn baby riding a jaguar of all creatures, a glowing door, a party and…And…

Pepa! Pepa in labour!

It seemed the baby was coming very, very soon.

Bruno had been there, in the green dream. He’d have to keep an eye on Pepa.

Bruno leaned back with a groan, rubbing his eyes as the piercing headache dulled down. He could handle this. He could work with this. It could be much worse.

There was a knock on the door and Julieta called out, sounding oddly excited; “Bruno? Mi amigo, are you in there?”

“Sí,” Bruno called back. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s perfect.” She sounded ready to burst with glee. “Can you come out? We need to talk to you about something important.”

Chapter Text

“And I got my heart set on what happens next, I got my eyes wide, it's not over yet. We are miracles and we're not alone. Yeah, this is home. Now I'm finally where I belong, where I belong. Yeah, this is home.” - This Is Home, Switchfoot

Bruno wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t to find all of the Madrigal adults standing outside his door. The guest bedroom door. Whatever. The point stood, they were all standing there and staring at him, and his mind immediately jumped to, What did I miss? Did I do something? Did the kids break something?

But surely if something was wrong, Julieta wouldn’t have sounded so happy when she called for him? Pepa was smiling, arm in arm with Félix. (Bruno tried not to glance at her stomach, the green dreams of the baby immediately coming to mind.) Agustín looked positively giddy. Alma, however, looked nervous. She was wearing her black shawl and tightly holding her locket.

Julieta took both of Bruno’s hands before he could even ask what was going on.

“We have an offer,” she said happily.

“Do you need something else painted?” Bruno asked.

“No, no, it’s- well…” Julieta smiled at him, earnest and hopeful. “We know the new houses will be finished soon.” Bruno tried not to think about it too much. “And we know you’ve already picked one out, but-”

“You can stay here,” Pepa cut in.

“Pepa!”

“You were dancing around it, Julieta; just ask.”

What? What were they talking about? What was going on?

Surely Bruno had completely misunderstood.

“W-what are you talking about?” he asked, trying not to wince when he stammered. Again with the damn stammering…

“You don’t have to leave,” Julieta said, still holding his hands. She shot Pepa one last impatient look and Pepa rolled her eyes. Julieta turned back to him, smiling again. “If you’d prefer- well, we’d like you to stay here.”

“...I don’t get it,” Bruno said blankly.

“We want you to stay with us,” Agustín said brightly.

“For how long?” Bruno asked. His heart was starting to pick up speed, his head felt funny; sort of floaty and unable to focus.

“As long as you’d like, hombre,” Félix said with a thumbs up and big grin.

“Preferably forever,” Pepa added. “But no pressure.”

Utterly dumbfounded, Bruno glanced at Alma. She nodded, eyebrows raised as if to say, What can you do?

“Bruno?” Julieta squeezed his hands and Bruno tried to focus on that, to anchor himself. “We mean it. We want you to stay.” She sounded so certain of everything when she added, “You belong here. You belong with us.”

How many times, growing up, did Bruno wish to hear those words? How many times had he so desperately wished that someone, anyone, would want him to stay? To stay in the world, to stay put? He’d wandered from place to place for so many years, finally finding his own little place in the world.

He remembered Juan clapping him on the back and saying, “You’re one of us, boy. You belong here now.”

Those words had played over and over again in Bruno’s mind for weeks afterwards.

Panic fought for dominance, demanding his attention. His immediate instinct was, This is too good to be true, it’s going to come crashing down again, it’ll be taken away and you’ll be all alone again.

But there was the magic that kept threats out…

But Bruno was bad luck. He was el brujo, el chico del río. He saw bad things and then those bad things happened. Sooner or later it would go wrong, wouldn’t it?

His green dreams had been…Surprisingly good here. As if the magic was wearing off on him. As if bad things simply didn’t happen here, which he knew wasn’t true; bad things happened everywhere, all the time. He just hadn’t seen one yet. 

What if he saw something bad and then they hated him?

Juan didn’t hate you, part of him whispered. He didn’t know until the end, but he saw your eyes glow and he still loved you. What if your papá was the same? What if he had green dreams too? He still loved you.

He couldn’t breathe.

He’d been dreading leaving. He hated the thought of not seeing them every day, especially Mirabel and Julieta. And now…Now they wanted him to stay?

Bruno had been through hell on earth for thirty years. He’d given up on happy endings when he’d ended up in that little mountain village. A life painting pottery, quietly living among the villagers, with his co-workers, Juan and his neighbours, were the best years of his life. It was simple, it was peaceful. He’d just been odd old Bruno, muttering to himself as he worked, coming up with stories, painting at Juan’s shop and helping his neighbours with the odd task here and there. Poor, sickly Bruno, who people didn’t accuse of being a witch or bad luck. Just odd. Just ill and in need of “special consideration” as Señora Rojas put it.

Then that had all been taken away.

When Bruno ended up in Encanto (and he still couldn’t remember much of that mountain climb, fever obscuring his memories), he’d expected to fade into the background again. Even when the Madrigals let him stay in their magic home, he hadn’t expected much. He was just a guest and soon he’d leave and then he’d try to keep his head down and stay out of trouble.

Instead, he’d found friends. People who liked him, cared about him. Julieta and Pepa had nursed him through the migraines, Félix bought him Esma and Luz. Mirabel was a joy to have around, Camilo was always making Bruno laugh. Dolores was a sweetheart, Luisa was such a gentle girl for all her muscles; Isabela was kind and Agustín doted on the rats. Alma had terrified him at first, his blood turning to ice with every frown and glare, but then…She was probably the biggest surprise of all. Bruno would even call her a friend now too.

He hadn’t expected to find a home.

They’d said to choose a house when he arrived. Now they were offering him a different sort of home and Bruno felt completely off balance. 

A part of him wanted to jump for joy. Part of him wanted to cry. Another part of him wanted to run.

“C-can I ha-have a minute?” he choked out and ran back into his room, ignoring Félix calling his name.

As soon as the door was closed, Bruno’s legs gave out. He slid down the door to the floor, his heart thundering, his head spinning. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

It was too good to be true which meant it was going to be taken away again, and if it was taken away then Bruno wouldn’t recover this time, he’d never smile again, he’d-

“You know, I hate aborrajados?” came Julieta’s calm voice. It sounded like she was sitting on the other side of the door. “Don’t tell Agustín I said that, they’re his mamá’s favourites. I wanted her to like me so badly that, when I first met her, I brought a big dish of them. She loved them, so I kept making them. She asked for more and I made them again and again. She was always happy with them, she always insisted on sharing. I had so many that I felt sick. And to this day, I still hate the blasted things. I haven’t eaten one in years.”

Bruno wasn’t sure if the sound he made was a laugh or a sob.

“Arepas are my favourite,” she continued. “They were one of the first things I ever cooked on my own, without supervision or help. They looked dreadful, but my Gift worked of course. But I remember how proud I was, how grown-up I felt. It was the first time I really felt like I could do this, you know? Like I could handle my duty, that I could help people.”

Bruno knew what she was doing. He wiped his eyes and leaned his head back against the door. He knocked quickly- one, two, three, four, five six- and once on his own head.

To his surprise, Julieta knocked too.

“You remind me of my friend Juan sometimes, y’know?” Bruno mumbled. “He did this too when I first panicked around him.”

“He sounds like a kind man,” Julieta said softly.

“He was.”

“So are you.”

Bruno was quiet.

“And what about you?” Julieta asked after a moment. “Did you ever have a moment like that? When things felt right?”

“I guess so,” Bruno said, staring at the wall. “I, um…I was supposed to help with the pottery at first. I was okay at it, I guess. But I always preferred drawing and painting, so when I got to try it again…That felt right. And…And getting my house. It was tiny, but it was mine.”

Julieta hummed in acknowledgment and Bruno swore he could hear her smile.

“What else?” she asked.

“Mornings with you,” he admitted. “Messing about with Mirabel and Camilo. Chatting with Dolores. Painting the mural. Just… Here.” He closed his eyes, gripping his knees. “Here feels right.”

“I think so too,” Julieta said. “I know we can’t force you, but we want you to stay. I mean it, Bruno; you belong here.”

Still sitting on the floor, Bruno opened the door.

Julieta was sitting on the other side; they were back to back and, when the door creaked open, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. Her eyes looked a little watery. She scrambled to face him and held her arms out, her smile hopeful.

Biting back another sob, Bruno fell into her hug, holding on tight. Julieta clung to him and Bruno…He felt safe.

“I love you, mi amigo,” she whispered. “We all do.”

Bruno pressed his face against her shoulder; his breathing hitched and shuddered.

“You too,” he mumbled, “I love you too.”

Pepa’s cloud still hadn’t gone away. Alma had given up pointing it out; Pepa would shoo it away and it would almost immediately re-appear. Félix had a protective arm around her shoulders and Agustín paced nervously.

Julieta had sent them all away as soon as Bruno ran back into his room. Alma couldn’t say she was surprised; Julieta was fiercely protective of that boy.

But then Julieta finally called for them, sounding jubilant. 

They hurried from the kitchen back to the courtyard. Julieta had an arm around Bruno and both of them were smiling. Bruno’s smile was shy, a little crooked. Julieta’s was utterly joyful.

Alma knew the answer before Julieta even said it.

“He’s staying!” Julieta declared proudly. Pepa squealed and ran to them as fast as she could, pulling Bruno into a hug. Félix whooped and hurried after her, Agustín at his heels.

Alma followed more sedately, a small smile tugging at her lips.

She didn’t hug him, but she tentatively reached out and held Bruno’s face in her hands. He looked at her nervously.

“Good,” she said simply, and Bruno relaxed. “That’s good.”

She stepped back as her daughters gushed, as Félix announced they needed to celebrate and Agustín clapped Bruno on the back, pulling him into another hug.

Alma looked towards her room and her eyes widened. The candle was on her windowsill as always, but it shone brighter than she’d ever seen it.

As soon as she saw it, all of Casita danced in celebration.

The candle blazed, their missing child was staying and more cracks slowly but surely vanished, hidden in the dark.

Dolores and Isabela were waiting for them outside the school and Mirabel eyed them suspiciously. Dolores was beaming like a crazy person, bouncing in place. When she saw Mirabel, Camilo and Luisa she squeaked and ran to them, herding all three of them towards Casita.

“Vamos, vamos,” she urged. “We need to go home.”

“Dolores, seriously, what’s going on?” Isabela demanded, hands on her hips. “We have chores!”

“This is more important,” Dolores said.

“Did Mamí have the baby?” Camilo asked eagerly and Luisa gasped, looking at Dolores with wide eyes.

“No,” Dolores said. She wouldn’t answer anymore questions; she just pressed her fingers to her lips and hummed, smiling all the while.

It must have been good news, whatever was going on, because Casita’s doors opened as soon as they were within sight of the house. A big rainbow was arching over the house. Tia Pepa hurried into the garden, waving at them with both hands.

“Kids!” she shouted. “Come on!”

The second they were close enough, Casita pulled them all inside. Mirabel could sense nothing but pure joy coming from their home.

“What’s going on?” she asked as they were ushered into the kitchen. Tia Pepa was grinning, Dolores ran ahead of them and sunshine started to radiate from Tia Pepa.

The adults were all in the kitchen. Mamá and Félix were cooking and Mirabel could see everyone’s favourite dishes were being prepared. Abuela was even helping them, a rare sight indeed.

“We’ve got some good news!” Julieta said, serving up another dish.

“Are you having a baby too, Mamá?” Luisa asked.

Julieta laughed. “No, no, bébé. Nothing like that.”

“It looks like you’re stuck with me,” Bruno said with a shy smile, his head slightly bowed. 

Mirabel’s breath caught. Wait, did he mean…?

“Bruno’s staying,” Pepa said happily, clasping her hands together. 

Camilo whooped, punching the air. Luisa squealed happily and Isabela smiled prettily, her hands on her heart. Dolores giggled at them, bouncing on her toes.

Mirabel felt stuck. Her bag dropped to the floor and she gaped at Bruno.

“Really?” she asked quietly, hopefully. Oh please, please, please let it be real, she thought.

Bruno nodded. He pushed his hair back and it immediately fell back into place. When he did, Tia Pepa tilted her head, giving him a bemused little pout, but she was soon smiling again.

And Mirabel? Well, she screamed and ran to him, tackling him into such a tight hug that she nearly knocked him off his seat. Bruno only laughed at her, hugging her just as tightly.

“Mirabel,” Abuela sighed. “Indoor voice, please.”

For the first time in her life, Mirabel ignored Abuela. She just clung to Bruno, half on his lap, babbling, “You’re staying, you’re staying!”

It was the best surprise she’d ever had. And she hadn’t even needed to ask her mamá to make him stay! They’d done it all on their own!

Bruno was staying, he was staying, he was going to live here all the time; he wasn’t going to that stupid new house, he was staying in Casita! Mirabel wanted to laugh; she wanted to dance and shout and cry, she wanted to scream from the rooftops that Bruno was staying!

“Good,” Mirabel said firmly, resting her chin on his shoulder. “You belong here.”

“Yeah,” Bruno said quietly as he held onto her. He sounded awed. “It looks like it, huh?”

Chapter Text

“Did you lose what won't return? Did you love but never learn? But did you see the flares in the sky? Were you blinded by the light? Did you feel the smoke in your eyes? Did you, did you? Did you see the sparks filled with hope? You are not alone, ‘cause someone's out there, sending out flares.” - Flares, The Script

May 21st would change everything for the Madrigals, though of course they didn’t know it at first. With hindsight, Bruno would wonder if he should have suspected something, because his dreams were strange, yet surprisingly peaceful. It wasn’t a green dream, nor a nightmare. Just odd.

He was standing in that jewel coloured river again, with a swarm of golden butterflies flying towards the horizon. Standing in the centre of the river was a man made of golden candlelight.

Pedro Madrigal. It took Bruno a moment to place him, his features obscured by the light. Besides, Bruno hadn’t even looked at his portrait all that much, usually sticking to the main staircase, closer to his room.

Pedro stood there in the river, watching the butterflies fly away. He shimmered and glittered just like the candle.

Smiling, Pedro turned to Bruno and held his hand out, glowing more than ever.

Bruno woke up, feeling disoriented, his eyes heavy like he hadn’t slept at all.

Well, at least it wasn’t a green dream. There was always that.

His next clue was that Pepa was wearing her favourite sun-patterned dress at breakfast, like she had in her last green dream. She stretched her arms above her head and declared, “One last rainfall for the fields before the baby arrives!”

The baby was due in a week and Bruno froze in his seat, remembering the last dream.

Pepa, heavily pregnant Pepa was in the fields, wearing her favourite sun-patterned dress. She turned to go and suddenly gasped, bending over with a grimace, clutching her stomach.

“Seriously?” she gasped. “Now?”

Surely not, right? Surely not today?

“Ay, I can’t go with you, amor,” Félix was saying apologetically. “I promised my parents to help clear their attic today.”

“I can go,” Bruno said quickly. They turned to him in surprise and Bruno took a deep breath, knocking on the table and his own head. “Knock, knock, knock on wood,” he muttered, before meeting Pepa’s gaze. “I can go with you,” he repeated more calmly. “I’m not doing anything else today.”

She grinned at him, reaching over to lightly punch his shoulder. “Thanks, Bruno,” she said, and that was that.

Bruno just hoped he was wrong, that it wasn’t today. 

Then again, when had his green dreams ever been wrong? He hadn’t seen Félix present in the dream.

Ay, Dios have mercy on his soul; he had no idea what he was doing. He just knew he wasn’t leaving Pepa by herself, not if there was even the slightest chance that she’d go into labour today. 

She’d been there for him. Bruno would be there for her too. Simple.

He hoped it would be simple.

Pepa wouldn’t be leaving until the afternoon, so they had some time to kill. Félix set off for his parents, Camilo ran into town to find his friends; Alma was off with the councillors, Julieta was at her stall and Agustín went to meet up with friends as well. Isabela had agreed to decorate the church for an upcoming Christening, Luisa was off chasing donkeys again and Dolores had gone to her room, looking down. Bruno wondered if Mariano was waxing poetic about Isabela again, or if they were talking in town right this minute. 

He didn’t envy that poor kid’s Gift at all. Maybe he should find something to cheer her up on the way home later.

Either way, that left Bruno with Mirabel while Pepa claimed the bathroom for, “the bubblebath of the century,” as she called it. Well, Bruno certainly wasn’t going to risk her wrath by trying to take the bathroom before her, though he still couldn’t understand why a magical house only had one bathroom. Perhaps Casita just enjoyed the chaos.

And that was when the world turned on its axis, when the little pieces began to add up and the clues began to click into place.

Bless Mirabel’s heart, but she’d always been a smart kid.

They were passing a ball back and forth as they sat on the grass. Esma and Luz tried to chase the ball and Mirabel kept giggling as the rats scampered around. 

And then the green flash hit.

“Ah!” Bruno clutched his head, his eyes squeezed shut as the pain flared. There was-

The candle blazed brighter and brighter, shining like the sun. All of Casita was dancing.

“Bruno!” Mirabel sounded terrified, her little hands resting on top of his, tangled in his hair. “Bruno, are you okay?”

He tried to answer, but-

Isabela was surrounded by new plants, some that Bruno recognised and many that he didn’t. She looked surprised, but so very happy.

“Bruno, please answer!”

It sounded like Mirabel was crying.

And Bruno, he did something he tried to never do when green flashes hit, because the last time he did, Juan died.

He opened his eyes.

The world was still tinged green and he was met with Mirabel’s wide, tear-filled gaze. Her mouth dropped open, her next breath was a strangled gasp and Bruno pushed back with a terrified yelp, falling onto his back, panic flooding through him as the green receded and the world returned to normal.

He’d opened his eyes, oh God, he’d opened his eyes before the green faded, Mirabel saw, she saw it, she saw it, everything was going to go to hell now. He’d just wanted to reassure her that he was okay and now he’d ruined everything. He braced himself for the stones, for the shouts, for the angry fists…That never came.

Instead, Mirabel hugged him, half on top of him, pinning him to the grass.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, her voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Bruno said, frozen in her skinny arms. “I’m so sorry, chiquita.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything!” She pulled back with a pout, staring and staring at his eyes. “You…You have magic?” She sounded so confused. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It’s- I don’t-” Bruno pushed himself up on trembling arms.

“Brujo!”

“Bad Luck Bruno!”

“Diablo!”

“Jinx!”

“Your eyes were glowing, if that’s not magic then I dunno what is.” She looked so much like Julieta when she frowned, her hands on her hips. 

“It’s…It’s not like your magic,” Bruno said, staring at the grass. He was shaking all over, his breathing coming in short, frantic gasps. “I can’t c-control it, chiquita. I-it’s not…It’s not good.”

“...It hurts you, doesn’t it?” Mirabel asked sadly. “Your head. It hurt you.”

Slowly, his head indeed still swimming, Bruno nodded.

“I’m sorry.” Mirabel sounded wrecked, so very small.

“What?” Bruno frowned at her. “What for?”

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” she said, straight-forward as always. She bit her lip. “Maybe Mamá can help?”

“I don’t think so,” Bruno said. 

Mirabel’s frown deepened. “That’s why you were sick before, isn’t it?” she asked, looking over her shoulder like she expected someone to be listening. Though surely if Dolores had left her room, she’d have come running by now.

Bruno sighed and held his hands out for Esma and Luz. They ran to him, climbing onto his hands. 

“Sí,” he said. “That’s, uh, that’s why.”

“And Mamá couldn’t make it better,” Mirabel realised sadly.

“Afraid not, Mira.”

“That’s so unfair.” She tucked her knees up to her chest, looking sad and curious. “But- but why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s…complicated,” Bruno said haltingly. Esma and Luz climbed into his pockets. “People, um…They knew before and they weren’t- nice about it.”

He wasn’t going to tell a ten-year-old all the horrible details, but Mirabel’s expression hardened, like she was taking a guess.

“Then they’re stupid,” she said firmly.

Bruno wasn’t sure what to say to that. He just shrugged, twisting a blade of grass around his finger. His breathing slowed somewhat, but it was still too quick. 

“Are you gonna tell?” Mirabel asked.

Bruno barely managed a tired, sad smile. “Guess I’ll have to.”

“I won’t tell yet,” Mirabel promised. She held out her pinky finger.

Trying not to laugh, trying not to cry, Bruno linked his pinky finger with hers. Mirabel solemnly said, “Pinky promise, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“M-maybe leave that last part out,” Bruno said quickly.

“Then pinky promise. I won’t tell until you want me to, okay?”

It took all his will-power not to burst into tears then and there. Instead, he pulled her into a tight hug, his chin resting on her head.

“You’re the sweetest kid in the world, you know that, Mira?”

She giggled happily, clinging to him with all her might.

“Love ya,” she said with a bright grin and if a few tears spilled then, that was Bruno’s business.

“Love you too, kid.”

The thing was, Mirabel was indeed a smart kid. 

As she and Bruno went back inside, her mind was whirling.

Bruno had magic. He had magic that hurt him. It hurt him and Julieta couldn’t make it better. It hurt him and people had been mean to him about it.

Was that where his scars came from? Was that why he’d been in fights?

Her own fists clenched and she swore she’d punch anyone who was mean to him now. Because he was her friend, he was staying, he was Mirabel’s Bruno and she was not going to let anyone scare him again, thank you very much. She may not be strong like Luisa, but she was willing to throw a punch if she had to.

Bruno…Had…Magic…

As Bruno poured her some orange juice and made her a sandwich, Mirabel couldn’t stop thinking.

It hit her then, all at once: her missing Tio’s name was Bruno.

Mirabel nearly dropped her sandwich, freezing in place.

Tia Pepa swept into the kitchen, smiling and smelling like her favourite lavender soap.

“Vamos!” she said. She held her favourite sad book, blanket and umbrella. “Mira, Dolores is in her room if you need her, okay?”

“Okay,” Mirabel whispered. She felt very odd, like she was floating.

Bruno didn’t have parents. Bruno had magic.

Bruno ruffled her hair and grabbed his dark green bag from the counter. “See you later, kid,” he said.

“Bye,” Mirabel said, her voice sounding very far away.

Did Bruno look so sick and tired all the time because his magic hurt him?

Her Tio’s name was Bruno, her Tio’s name was Bruno, her Tio’s name was Bruno…

Shaking, Mirabel jumped off her seat and ran after them.

When Bruno sat on the counter he swung his legs, like Mirabel. When he was concentrating, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth, like Mirabel. When he was curious, he tilted his head like Pepa. His smile was warm and kind like…Like…

Like Julieta’s. Like the portrait of Abuelo Pedro.

It was hard to tell because Bruno looked so pale and ill, but…But did he look like Pedro? She couldn’t be sure.

“Bruno!” she called and Casita hurried her along. “Bruno, wait!”

He was half-way down the garden path and Mirabel practically jumped out the front door, screaming his name.

“Mira?” He turned around, eyes wide. Tia Pepa was further ahead and she turned back, hands on her hips, foot tapping impatiently.

“One last question!” Mirabel was panting from the sprint to catch up. She held Bruno's arm tight enough to bruise, her heart pounding, her mind reeling.

What if, what if, what if...

“Y-you said you don't have parents,” Mirabel said. “You were found as a baby, right?”

Bruno gave her a confused sort of smile. “That's right, chiquita.”

“Where were you found?”

“Bruno!” Tia Pepa called from down the road. “C'mon!”

Mirabel stared at him pleadingly. Bruno glanced from her to Tia Pepa, gripping his bag strap tightly.

“Please,” Mirabel said desperately. “I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, I swear.”

Bruno sighed as Pepa called more impatiently. “I was found in a river, Mira,” he said.

Mirabel let him go, frozen in place as her suspicion grew into certainty.

Numbly, Mirabel turned back to Casita. There was a funny ringing noise in her ears, she couldn’t seem to get enough air.

She fell to her knees in the courtyard and Casita rattled in concern.

“Casita,” Mirabel gasped, her sweaty hands on the tiles. “I- this is gonna sound crazy-”

But was it? Was it really crazy?

“Is Bruno Tio Bruno?” Mirabel whispered.

There was a brief pause, as if Casita was holding its breath.

And then all of Casita danced and jumped and Mirabel was swept up in a feeling of pure and utter relief, joy and love.

It was all the answer she needed.

“D-Dolores!” Mirabel jumped up and ran for the dancing stairs as her cousin came running, alerted by all of Casita celebrating. “DOLORES!”

“What’s going on?” Dolores squeaked, gaping at their home as it swayed and danced. Casita pulled Dolores to the stairs and turned the stairs into a slide, pushing Dolores down to Mirabel. Mirabel grabbed her arms to steady her as she nearly tripped and she held onto her prima, sudden tears stinging her eyes.

“Mirabel?” Dolores cupped her face in her hands. “Mira, what’s wrong?”

Mirabel held Dolores’s wrists, looking into her cousin’s wide eyes.

“Lola,” she choked out. “Lola, I have something to tell you.”

Some promises, even pinky promises, had to be broken.

As the girls ran into town in search of Julieta, Bruno’s vision came to pass.

He and Pepa had barely arrived at the fields when Pepa bent over with a pained groan and water trickled down her legs. The farmers shouted in alarm and Pepa’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?” she gasped. “Now?”

“Pepa?” Bruno stepped forward. Her lips trembling, Pepa held her hand out and Bruno took it, squeezing tightly.

“Impatient little thing,” Pepa gasped. “It’s meant to be another week.”

“I’ll get the midwife!” one farmer shouted, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

“I’ll find Félix!” another shouted and, with a jolt of fright, Bruno realised that left him and Pepa alone.

Cowards, he internally cursed, helping Pepa as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, breathing out heavily.

“Don’t go,” she said, still squeezing his hand. “Please don’t go.” It started to rain.

“Not a chance,” Bruno told her, even as his own voice shook. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing; he could only pray for the first time in years that help would arrive quickly.

Chapter Text

“You thrill me, you delight me; you please me, you excite me. You're all that I've been yearning for. I love you, I adore you. I lay my life before you. I only want you more and more. And finally it seems my lonely days are through; I've been waiting for you.” - I’ve Been Waiting For You, Mamma Mia 2

Bruno had no idea what he was doing. He was quite sure that sentiment could sum up a large portion of his life.

But the point stood that he was kneeling on the grass, holding Pepa’s hand as she went through contractions. He was sure he’d never been so out of his depth before and that was saying something. But he wouldn’t leave her. Absolutely not. There was no way he was leaving her alone.

“This baby is gonna get an earful,” Pepa huffed, wincing. “Completely off schedule! And I- shit!- thought Camilo was bad by being early, at least I was home when he came!”

“Can we get you home?” Bruno asked worriedly.

Pepa swore as another contraction hit, gripping his hand tight enough to bruise. She flopped back against him, panting.

Well, that answered that question.

Come on, Bruno thought desperately, looking around the empty field. Come on, hurry up. 

Pepa’s cloud grew and a cold breeze knocked into them. Sighing, Bruno grabbed Pepa’s umbrella and held it over them. Pepa snickered, her head leaning back against his shoulder.

“Well, it’ll be one hell of a story, huh?” she said. Before Bruno could answer, her grip tightened again and she shrieked, “FUCK!” so loudly that Bruno’s ears were ringing. He wondered if even Dolores could hear it in her soundproof room.

Dolores. God, it would be handy if she was out and about right now, she’d be able to get help too.

For now, Pepa was stuck with Bruno and all he could do was follow her instructions.

“Mamá!” Mirabel screamed, racing through the streets, hand in hand with Dolores. “MAMÍ!”

“Mira?” Julieta nearly dropped a plate of food, rushing away from her stall. “Mira, baby, what’s wrong?”

Mirabel pulled away from Dolores, throwing herself at Julieta. Her mamá hugged her tightly and Mirabel clung to her with all her might, gasping for breath.

“I-it’s Bruno!” she gasped. “Mamá, he’s-”

“Is he okay?” Julieta’s voice was sharp and worried. “What happened?”

Dolores squeaked, eyes wide. She grabbed them both and pulled them into the nearest alleyway, ignoring Julieta’s baffled questions and protests. She was bouncing on the spot, wringing her hands.

“Bruno is Tio Bruno, he has a Gift and Mirabel saw it, that’s why he’s so sick all the time; she asked Casita and Casita was still dancing when we left, it’s him; Tia Julieta, it’s definitely him, he was found in a river and Mamá’s in labour right now!” Dolores said rapidly, quietly, her eyes getting bigger and bigger as she spoke.

“...Whoa,” Mirabel muttered, still clinging to her mother.

Julieta went very pale.

“What?” she whispered. She shook her head, swallowing. “W-what? I…Dolores, you’re not making sense…”

“It’s him,” Dolores said firmly.

“It’s really him,” Mirabel added. “His eyes were glowing!”

Julieta looked completely lost. She leaned against the wall, her hands still resting on Mirabel’s back. She looked like a puppet with its strings cut, as if Mirabel was the only thing keeping her standing.

“I…I need you to explain what happened,” she said slowly. “Properly. I need to understand.”

“I need to find Papá,” Dolores squeaked, agonised. “Mamá’s having the baby.”

“Ay, Dios mio,” Julieta muttered. She sounded out of breath.

“Mamá?” Mirabel looked at her worriedly.

With one last hum and squeak and one more agonised look, Dolores ran from them, off in search of Félix.

“Mamá?”

Julieta looked down at her. She suddenly seemed much younger and Mirabel was startled to see tears in her eyes.

“Mira,” she said hoarsely. “Amor, I need you to tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”

At last, the midwife came running. One of the farmers was behind her and he stopped some distance away.

She was a tall woman with greying hair and a stern face, but she certainly looked concerned.

“Ay, Pepa, I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” she said apologetically as she knelt at Pepa’s feet.

“No shit,” Pepa hissed, red-faced and sweating.

The midwife looked at Bruno, but before she could say anything, Pepa spoke up; “He’s staying.”

The midwife sighed. “This isn’t for men-”

“I’m staying,” Bruno snapped. Any other time he would have been mortified and apologised, but not now.

The midwife sighed again, rolling up her sleeves. “Have it your way. Let’s get this baby into the world, hm?”

Dolores ran for her abuela and abuelo’s house; she could hear Félix clear as day, helping them clear out their attic.

She got there just as one of the farmers did and the farmer looked relieved to see her.

Dolores darted ahead of him to pound her fist against the door.

Mamá’s having the baby and Bruno is Tio Bruno, what do we do, oh God, what do we do, how do we explain all of this? What will Abuela do?

Félix’s mamá, Beatriz, opened the door.

“Lola!” she cried happily. “How are you?”

“I need Papá,” Dolores said quickly. “Mamá’s having the baby and she’s still in the fields. We need to go now.”

“Push!” the midwife said. “Come on, Pepa, push!”

The umbrella lay abandoned and Bruno was quite sure that Pepa had broken his hand at this point. She was muttering “Clear skies,” to herself and the wind kept picking up and dying down; the rain had stopped, but dark clouds coated the fields.

“You’re okay,” Bruno said, wondering if it was even true. “You’re alright, Pepa, I promise.”

Julieta couldn’t breathe.

“His Gift hurts him,” Mirabel said.

Bruno had been sick since he was five…

“He was found in a river,” Mirabel said.

Her papá was murdered in a river. Her baby brother would have been found in the river…

His eyes glowed, Mirabel saw it. He couldn’t control it, he told her so. It hurt him.

Julieta couldn’t cure the side-effects of Gifts…

His name was Bruno, he was around forty-five years old but, by his own admission, he couldn’t be sure. He had no idea who his family was, but his papá had been murdered when he was a baby. He’d been sick since he was five and they got their Gifts when they were five.

And Casita…

Casita loved him.

“It’s him, Mamí,” Mirabel said desperately. “I know it’s him.”

Bruno was…

Bruno…

Bruno was her brother?

Her lost triplet, their missing third, the brother she thought of every day. 

He’d been right under her nose all this time.

“Oh my God,” Julieta gasped, hands over her mouth, as the truth crashed down on her. Her knees grew even weaker and she would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Mirabel.

Bruno was her brother, he was her brother.

And Pepa was in labour.

Julieta looked towards the fields and she saw the dark clouds. She took a deep breath and looked down into Mirabel’s big brown eyes.

“Oh, Mira,” she sighed. “You’re a miracle, you know that?”

Mirabel smiled at her, teary-eyed, and Julieta lifted her right up and ran with her in the direction of the fields.

For the first time in her life, she left her stall completely unattended. When people shouted after her, she called, “Just take what you need, it’s an emergency!”

She had a pair of siblings to find.

Bruno and Pepa, Pepa and Bruno…Her triplets, her little siblings, they were together.

God, she’d never let him go again.

Bruno could have cried in relief when he heard Félix shouting, “Pepa! Pepita!”

“Over here!” Bruno called and Félix sprinted towards them, Dolores at his heels.

Félix collapsed to his knees next to Pepa and took her other hand. Dolores sat next to him, eyes wide and staring at her mother in worry.

And not a moment too soon. 

Only minutes later, the baby arrived, squalling and waving his tiny fists. He was as dark as Félix with a little nose and chubby cheeks, utterly adorable and perfect in every way. He had a small thatch of dark hair and Bruno didn’t doubt his eyes would be a warm brown when they opened.

“A boy!” the midwife declared and Pepa collapsed against Félix, sobbing in exhaustion. A massive rainbow appeared as the clouds vanished; then another rainbow and another, a whole row of them arching over the village.

Pepa was still holding his hand.

“Pepa, he’s beautiful,” Bruno whispered. He couldn’t understand why he was crying.

“Mira wins the bet,” Félix chuckled, wiping at his own eyes. Dolores looked at the baby in wonder.

“Gracias,” Félix said, turning to Bruno. “For staying with her.”

“Of course,” Bruno said as the midwife handed the baby to Pepa.

Dolores scooted in closer. “What’s his name?” she asked.

“Antonio,” Pepa said proudly, gently running a finger over the baby’s cheek. “Antonio Madrigal.”

“Maybe one of the farmers has a blanket,” the midwife said, starting to stand up.

Bruno looked at Pepa, Félix, Dolores and Antonio, all crowded together. The sun shone brighter and brighter, the rainbows were the clearest Bruno had ever seen. Pepa was literally glowing with happiness.

There was a new life in the world and Bruno knew for a fact that Antonio Madrigal would grow up safe and happy.

He reacted on instinct, his hand diving into his old bag and closing over a well-known and loved bundle of fabric.

“Here,” he mumbled, holding his blanket out to Pepa. “You can use mine.”

Pepa sniffled, eyeing it curiously. “Why do you have a baby blanket?” she asked.

Bruno shrugged, feeling absurdly shy. “It’s what I was found in,” he said, eyes on the ground.

Pepa went utterly silent. So softly, she said, “Muchas gracias, mi amigo.”

Félix gently wrapped Antonio up and Pepa clutched Bruno’s hand again.

“I’ll get it back to you exactly as it is now,” she swore. “I promise, it’ll be good as new.”

Relief flooded through him. “Thank you,” he said. He wiped at his eyes again, sighing in relief when they finally stayed dry.

And then Dolores flung herself at him, hugging him so tightly that Bruno was nearly knocked onto his back.

“Oh! Lola?” He hugged her, peering down at her in surprise. She had her face against his shoulder and her arms were trembling. “Are you okay?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

One of the farmers brought a cart and Félix was carrying Pepa to it when Julieta arrived, carrying Mirabel.

“Pepa!” Julieta screamed. “Hermanita!”

“I’m okay!” Pepa called back, still glowing. “And it’s a boy!”

“I knew it!” Mirabel cheered. Julieta stopped and Mirabel jumped from her arms, running to them. She cooed over Antonio and kept grinning at Bruno.

Dolores had her arm linked with his, smiling all the while.

“Gracias a Dios,” Julieta breathed, hand on her heart. She kissed Pepa’s cheek and Félix got her settled.

“Bruno was with me,” Pepa said, cuddling Antonio as Félix climbed into the cart next to her. 

Julieta was staring at him so strangely, as if she was seeing him for the first time. She moved towards him slowly, never taking her eyes off his face.

“Julieta?” He was immediately worried.

She cupped his face in her hands, giving him a wobbly smile.

“Let’s go home,” she said gently. To Bruno’s surprise, she kissed his forehead. “We have a lot to talk about.”

They all clambered into the back of the cart. As one of the farmers drove them back to Casita, another promised to round up the rest of the Madrigals.

Julieta held Bruno’s hand the entire time.

Chapter Text

“Home, love, family. There was once a time I must have had them, too. Home, love, family; I will never be complete until I find you. One step at a time, one hope then another, who knows where this road may go? Back to who I was, on to find my future! Things my heart still needs to know. Yes, let this be a sign! Let this road be mine! Let it lead me to my past and bring me home...At last!” - Journey To The Past, Anastasia

When they arrived at Casita, Félix immediately brought Pepa and Antonio upstairs, while Julieta rushed to get her sister some healing food.

Bruno leaned against the wall, the adrenaline draining out of him. For once, he felt like he could actually sleep. Indeed, he found himself yawning and rubbing his eyes. Dolores and Mirabel hurried after the adults (though Mirabel kept glancing back at him) and Bruno went to the kitchen to grab some water.

Well then. Pepa had the baby. Thank God, they were both okay. 

He just didn’t expect Antonio to actually be born in the field. One thing to be said for life in Encanto, it was never boring.

Sitting on the counter, Bruno’s green dreams kept coming to mind. His dreams of Antonio had shown a little boy talking to animals and riding a jaguar as if it was a donkey. He meant what he said to Mirabel: he knew he had to tell the Madrigals about the dreams, so maybe the dreams of Antonio were a good place to start? They were nice dreams, some of the best he’d ever had. 

Antonio had certainly been fighting for attention.

Okay, he needed to plan this. Maybe he wouldn’t bring it up today, tomorrow would probably be better when everything was a little more settled but…But he’d do it. He’d tell them. 

Bruno just hoped they’d understand.

He was startled out of his reverie when the rest of the Madrigals came running into Casita.

Camilo immediately sprinted for the stairs, screaming, “Mamí, Mamí, Mamí!” and Bruno stood in the kitchen doorway, wringing the hem of his ruana between his hands.

Luisa spotted him first.

“Is everything okay?” Luisa asked, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Tia Pepa and the baby? They’re okay, right?”

“They’re okay,” Bruno said and he saw Alma sigh in relief. Blossoms appeared in Isabela’s hair. “It’s a boy. His name’s Antonio.”

“The midwife said you stayed with her,” Alma said.

“Uh, sí.” Surely she wasn’t upset about that?

Alma smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “Bless you, niño,” she said and hurried upstairs, calling for Pepa and Julieta. Isabela went after her and so did Luisa, but Agustín paused half-way up the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked Bruno.

“I think I need a minute,” Bruno admitted. This day had been a lot. He just needed a breather and he’d head up.

Agustín nodded in understanding (and perhaps a little amusement) and followed his daughters. Bruno went back to the kitchen and sat on the counter again, swinging his legs and taking some much-needed deep breaths.

The shelves jumped and Bruno patted the wall.

“You know what, Casita,” he said. “I’ll never be bored again.”

The shelves jumped again, apparently in agreement and Bruno leaned back with a smile.

A rainbow was hovering above Pepa’s head and the sun shone on her ceiling, surrounded by even more rainbows. Her family crowded around her and, as she ate, all the aches and pains slowly melted away.

“You’re a life-saver, Juli,” she sighed. She needed a bath, she needed a nap, she’d need to feed Antonio soon. She wondered if he’d be as loud as Camilo had been, or quiet like Dolores. She couldn’t wait to find out.

Pepa looked around with a frown. “Where’s Bruno?” she asked.

“Taking a breather,” Agustín said with a laugh.

Pepa giggled with him, beaming down at Antonio. “Ay, I can’t blame him. I probably crushed his poor hand.”

“I don’t know how you ladies do it,” Agustín said.

“Um, about Bruno,” Julieta said, her eyes darting around between them all. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Mirabel and Dolores sat up straight, their eyes on Julieta.

“Is everything alright, mija?” Alma asked, forehead creased.

“It’s…It’s wonderful,” Julieta said. She certainly looked happy, but also incredibly nervous. “But he needs to be here for this.”

“I’ll go get him then,” Félix said, standing off the bed.

“Oh, can you bring the blanket back to him?” Pepa asked. She handed it to him and Félix took it carefully.

“Why on earth would he have a baby blanket?” Alma asked, stepping forward. Julieta went still as a statue, her eyes widening.

“It’s the one he was found in,” Pepa admitted softly and Julieta gasped. It made her hold Antonio even closer, the idea of her baby being lost turning her blood to ice. The fact that Bruno had let her use it for her own child, the only link to his family that he had…Pepa couldn’t put it into words. The fact that he trusted her with it- well, that was a miracle in itself, wasn’t it?

Alma was staring at the blanket. She took another step, her eyes narrowing.

And then her eyes widened. She went so pale that Pepa was afraid she’d faint.

“Mamá?” Her voice came out sharper than intended.

“Mamá,” Julieta said quickly. “That’s what we need to talk about, it’s-”

“Let me see that,” Alma said hoarsely. She didn’t wait for a response, she just snatched the blanket from Félix’s hands.

“Mamá, careful, it’s all Bruno’s got of his family!” Pepa said. Antonio squirmed, whining in her arms.

“Mamá?” Julieta went to her and Pepa’s concern only grew; Julieta looked like she was about to cry. Mirabel was biting her lip and Dolores was watching intently.

Pepa’s eyes narrowed. What in the world was going on?

For a moment, the only noise in the room was Alma’s rasping breaths. She had completely unfolded the blanket, staring at it with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open.

She bent over with a pained cry, clutching the blanket to her chest.

“Mamá!” Pepa cried.

“Alma?” Félix helped her sit on the bed and Alma was trembling all over, sobbing as she held the blanket. “Dios mio, Alma, what’s wrong?”

Julieta had begun to cry.

“I-I made this,” Alma said, her voice breaking. “I made this.”

What?

Pepa froze, staring at her mother. She made it? No. No, she couldn’t have. Because if she did that would mean…

That would mean that Bruno was…

She looked at Julieta. Her big sister wiped her eyes and nodded.

“Oh my God!” Pepa gasped and a sharp wind burst through the room.

“What’s going on?” Luisa asked, her voice high-pitched and frightened.

Alma was still sobbing.

“Mirabel figured it out this morning,” Julieta said shakily.

“Figured what out?” Isabela demanded.

Alma unfolded the blanket, smoothing it out across her lap. Pepa leaned forward, studying it properly. It was a pale green, soft and worn with age. And there, in the bottom corner, was Bruno’s name and a little dark green stripey caterpillar.

A blanket that matched her own yellow one. A blanket that matched Julieta’s blue one.

The blankets they’d all been swaddled in, the night Pedro died and they were given their Miracle.

The night they were separated.

Pepa curled over Antonio. She barely even registered that she was crying. She felt disconnected from her body, from reality itself. There was a dull ringing in her ears, her breathing came in short gasps and all she could think was, Bruno, Bruno, Bruno, Bruno.

Bruno was her brother. He was their Bruno all this time.

“Little caterpillars,” Alma said, her voice still terribly hoarse, like every word was a battle. “That was what Pedro called you the moment I told him I was pregnant.” Her huff of laughter shook and wobbled, more like a sob. “The name stuck. Three little caterpillars…” Her gaze turned distant. “And one stubborn little boy,” she murmured, her thumb brushing over Bruno’s name, over the caterpillar. 

“He’s ours?” Pepa whispered. She felt like she was standing on thin ice; one false step, one wrong move and she’d crash beneath the surface. 

She couldn’t bear to be disappointed now.

“Bruno’s our uncle?” Camilo gasped. He grinned at Pepa, bouncing in excitement. “Mamí, that’s awesome!” He looked around at all the shell-shocked adults, his smile wavering. “It…It is good, isn’t it?”

Alma stood on shaking legs. “Where is he?” she demanded, swallowing hard and wiping her eyes. 

“I’ll go get him,” Félix said and he ran out the door.

As he ran, Casita hurried him along, the tiles pushing him to the stairs.

Pepa still found herself holding her breath, wondering if this was all some wonderful dream.

“Bruno!” Félix was shouting. “Bruno, where are you!?”

Bruno ran from the kitchen, nearly colliding with Félix. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it Pepa? Antonio? What happened?”

Félix was staring at him, eyes big and intense. His expression hardened and he grabbed Bruno by the arm, dragging him towards the side stairs.

“Come with me,” he demanded.

“Well, you’re not giving me a choice!” Bruno said. “Félix, what’s going on?”

They stopped in front of Pedro’s portrait and Félix pushed Bruno right in front of it, his hands on Bruno’s shoulders, keeping him in place.

“Dios mio,” Félix breathed, his eyes going so wide that Bruno was worried they’d pop out of his head. “Ay, Dios mio!” he repeated, voice raising.

“W-what?” Bruno pulled away, anxiety building. “Félix-?”

“Bruno?” Julieta called, leaning over the railing. She beamed at him, tears in her eyes. “Can you come here?”

Bruno pushed past Félix, heart pounding. Julieta took his hand and Félx followed them towards Pepa’s room.

Alma was standing outside the bedroom door, holding Bruno’s baby blanket tightly in one fist. What scared Bruno the most was that she’d plainly been crying.

“Bruno,” she said quietly, intensely. “Where did you get this?”

“Hm? I was found in it.” Bruno reached for it. With a shaking hand, Alma gave it to him. To Bruno’s surprise, she reached for his free hand, holding on tight. She was staring at him, hardly blinking, eyes roaming over his face.

“Where were you found, niño?” she asked.

Bruno couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her tone that was truly beginning to scare him.

She was asking where he’d been found, but she sounded like she knew the answer.

“In a river,” Bruno said, holding his blanket, the only clue he had. Alma closed her eyes, tears leaking out.

“Ay, Pedro,” she whispered, shoulders shaking. “Mi amor, you saved him.”

“What’s going on?” Bruno demanded, his voice going high as his anxiety rose. His eyes darted between their joined hands to Alma’s tears. Why was she crying, what was going on? What did Pedro Madrigal have to do with anything? 

Why was she looking at him like that? Like he was something precious…

Julieta brushed Bruno’s hair out of his eyes. “I told you before that my triplet is missing,” she said. “Mine and Pepa’s brother.”

“Yes,” Bruno said slowly. His palms were sweating, his heart beat against his ribcage like a bird, wanting out, out, out!

Julieta cupped his face in her hands. Alma was still holding his hand and Bruno’s grip on his blanket tightened.

“Our brother’s name is Bruno,” she said gently and- and-

And Bruno couldn’t understand. He just shook his head, closing his eyes. If I can’t see you, you can’t see me. It didn’t make sense. It was just a coincidence, that had to be all. Bruno’s family were all either dead or God-knew-where. He’d given up on finding them decades ago. They were just daydreams, shadows and nothing more.

“I-it’s just a c-coincidence,” he muttered. He couldn’t stop shaking, his teeth chattering. Why was it so cold in here?

“I’d recognise that blanket anywhere,” Alma said and she still sounded so tired, so unusually old. She didn’t sound like a leader. She sounded like an old woman, a mourning mother. “I made it myself. Three of them. It was the hardest I’d ever tried when it came to knitting. It wanted it to be perfect.”

Bruno could only shake his head, afraid to open his eyes. He knew it, he knew it; things were going too well. They’d realise they were wrong and change their minds about him after all. They’d be furious when they realised they were wrong and they’d hate him.

But if they were right…Oh God, if they were right…

His eyes snapped open as Alma began to pull him down the landing, towards that glowing door with no carving, hidden up a small staircase.

“A-Alma?”

“There’s one way to know for sure,” Alma said, her lips in a thin line, determination in her eyes. Bruno didn’t even have the strength to pull away from her; he just let her pull him along, fighting for enough air. Félix hung back, watching nervously. Julieta stuck to his side like glue.

Bruno didn’t want to let her down. She was his best friend, he didn’t want her to hate him.

They stopped in front of the door and Alma finally let go. Bruno stumbled back, holding the blanket to his chest like a shield.

Alma looked at him, raw desperation in her gaze.

“Open it,” she commanded, more like her normal self.

Bruno looked at the glowing golden door and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “It won’t-” It won’t work, I’ll break it somehow, you’ll see you have it wrong and you’ll hate me for getting your hopes up.

“Bruno.” Gently, Julieta turned him to her, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones; she brushed his hair back and it immediately fell back into place. “Please,” she said quietly, so much hope in her eyes that it hurt.

Bruno didn’t want to let her down.

But he’d always been bad at telling her no.

Reluctantly, he handed the blanket to her. She held it like it was a priceless treasure and Bruno turned towards the door. He had the strangest feeling that Casita was holding its breath, waiting on edge. He felt like he was being watched.

The doorknob was engraved with a B.

Somehow, that was what gave him the courage to move.

Wiping his eyes, swallowing hard, Bruno reached out and touched the doorknob.

The staircase was immediately flooded with golden light and it was like the floodgates opened. It was like something grabbed him, freezing him in place, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even blink. Warmth flooded him, green took over his vision, the sky darkened overhead, a cold wind swirled around them, his hair and clothes whipped around him in the unnatural wind and-

A much older Mirabel, an adult Mirabel, was holding the candle. She kneeled down to a small girl and held the candle out. They were standing in front of a golden door with no carvings.

“Do you promise to use your Gift for good?” she asked.

“Sí, Tia,” the little girl said.

Dolores sat in bed, exhausted and delighted, holding a pair of newborn baby twins. She cooed to them, gently rocking back and forth.

There was a birthday party, the banner said “55!” and Pepa flicked a crumb of cake at Bruno.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” she snorted. “You’re still the shortest!”

Bruno walked through the village, arm in arm with Pepa and Julieta, all of them laughing.

It stopped as suddenly as it started.

Bruno staggered back with a startled yelp, right into Julieta’s arms.

The door had changed. It was no longer blank and swirling; now it had a carving to match the rest.

The carving depicted a man surrounded by swirls and hourglasses, wearing a ruana. He had wild curls and his hands were raised upwards. At first glance, his expression was mean, a suspicious frown, but when Bruno looked more closely he saw that one corner of the man’s lips was raised in a smirk, making him look more mischievous. 

He looked powerful and confident, all the things that Bruno wasn’t, yet the carving read Bruno.

Julieta’s arms wrapped around him, she was sobbing against his shoulder and Bruno could only stare at the door in shock. His door?

For the first time since he was five, his mind felt clear. It didn’t hurt. There was no fatigue weighing him down, he didn’t feel weak or sick. 

For the first time since he was five, Bruno felt strong.

“Oh,” he whispered.

“Hermanito,” Julieta sobbed, clutching him tighter. “Mi hermanito.”

Félix hurried away, back to Pepa’s room. Slowly, carefully, Alma held Bruno’s face in her hands, like he’d break if she held on any tighter. He certainly felt like he was going to.

He was dreaming, right?

“You look like him,” she whispered, smiling shakily. “You look like your papá.”

His papá. His mysterious papá had a name at last.

Pedro Madrigal.

Which meant that Alma was…Alma…She was…

She pulled him into a tight hug, shuddering as she clung to him with all her strength.

“Mi bébé,” she breathed in awe. “My Brunito. You’re home.”

Alma was his mother?

Bruno had a mother.

Shakily, on autopilot, Bruno’s arms loosely wrapped around her. The staircase was shorter, he realised with a start. They were nearly level with the other doors.

Julieta and Alma were both clinging to him, the candle blazed on Alma’s windowsill and all of Casita bounced and danced. Bruno was swept up in a feeling of joy, love, relief, hope, mine, mine, MINE, love, love, excitement, LOVE as Casita celebrated.

“Oh,” Bruno mumbled again. It was all he could manage. If he tried to say anything else, he was sure he’d start sobbing and never stop.

The children and Agustín were all sitting on Pepa’s bed. Agustín held Mirabel on her lap and Camilo was tucked under Pepa’s arm. Dolores twiddled her thumbs, hardly seeming to breathe. Luisa cracked her knuckles, shifting uncomfortably and Isabela kept making roses and watching their petals fall onto her lap.

Antonio slept soundly, oblivious to the rising tension around him.

But then, under the crack in her door, Pepa saw a golden blast of light. Dolores bent over with a strangled sob, her hands on her mouth and Pepa knew.

Relief flooded through her and she looked at her ceiling, at the shining sun and rainbows.

“Mira,” she said softly, fondly. “You’re such a clever little girl, you know that?”

Mirabel’s smile wobbled, her eyes overly bright as Félix came running back. He was grinning from ear to ear.

He said the words that Pepa had waited forty-five years to hear.

“It’s him,” Félix confirmed as Casita started to dance and Pepa could feel their home’s joy. “Pepi, amor, he’s your brother.”

Pepa clutched Antonio tight as Camilo cheered and Agustín crossed himself, as Mirabel beamed happily and Dolores wiped at her eyes. Pepa let herself sob in sheer relief as Luisa clapped her hands and Isabela gasped in joy.

Papá, can you see this? Pepa wondered. Are you watching? Bruno’s home.

She looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps, literally shining with joy as Julieta and Alma came running back, holding Bruno in between them.

He’s home, Papá.

We’re triplets again.

Chapter Text

“Ay, mariposas; don't you hold on too tight. Both of you know it's your time to go, to fly apart, to reunite. Wonders surround you, just let the walls come down. Don't look behind you, fly till you find your way toward tomorrow.” - Dos Oruguitas, Encanto

For a moment, everyone was frozen, simply staring at each other. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Then reality rushed back.

Mirabel moved first. She leaped from Agustín’s arms and threw herself at Bruno, hugging him so tightly that Pepa thought she heard a rib crack.

“I knew it,” Mirabel said with a watery laugh. “I knew it was you!”

Bruno clung to her, bent over so Pepa couldn’t see his face. It seemed like Mirabel was the only thing keeping him standing; she could see him shaking. 

Bruno. Her brother. Her triplet.

All those moments when she’d thought he’d looked familiar, and she hadn’t been able to place it. She’d brushed it off, thinking she was seeing things, but now…Oh, she could see it. He was paler, frailer, but there was a resemblance to Pedro there.

He was her brother, and the kids all swarmed him and Mirabel didn’t move an inch, simply clinging to Bruno like a little monkey.

Pepa swallowed heavily. “Bruno?” she called softly and the children all paused, glancing back at her. They backed away; Mirabel let Bruno go with obvious reluctance. Agustín gave him one last clap on the shoulder, teary-eyed. The entire time, Julieta and Alma had a hand each on his back.

Pepa had eaten Julieta’s food, she wasn’t hurting anymore; she could get up, she could go to him, run to him if she wanted.

Before she could move, Julieta and Alma began to lead him over. Félix carefully took Antonio and Pepa shakily held her arms out to her brother.

Bruno hesitated. He looked positively terrified, smaller than ever.

“It’s okay,” Pepa said. Quietly, she added, “I’m scared too.”

She was. She was overjoyed and terrified. What if someone tried to take him again? What if this was too much for him? What if he changed his mind and wanted to leave after all? How would Pepa possibly cope then?

But that quiet admission seemed to be what Bruno needed to hear to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. Slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed with shaking, jerky movements, like a puppet. He looked utterly shattered, completely lost.

He wasn’t lost anymore. He was home.

Pepa pulled him into her arms and Bruno breathed out shakily, clinging to her with all his might. He was shaking like a leaf and Pepa clutched him to her with a choked sob.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she said. “Bruno, I’m so glad it’s you.” She’d already loved him before this; he was funny, creative and plainly adored the kids. But now? Oh, now he was ten times more precious and Pepa’s heart ached with how much she loved him.