Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I married a smug bastard.

Pepa comes to the conclusion as she stalks away, unbraided hair flapping grimly behind her, and Félix grins in satisfaction, pattering after her and gesturing at the rainbow blooming above her head that betrays her real mood.

"Can you at least let me pretend to be angry at you in peace?" Pepa huffs, and the hearts nearly popping out of her husband's eyes make her rainbow arch wider and her cheeks redden like she's a teenager (except that she'd never have dared to let her feelings show so plainly back then, would have tried to suppress them, but she doesn't have to now and the thought almost makes her smile and ruin her irritated act).

"Of course, mi vida." And Félix's expression morphs from teasing smugness to exaggeratedly contrite "I am so ashamed of my behaviour, my love, I shall never behave in such disgraceful manner again. Won't you let me... earn my forgiveness? I'll accept whatever punishment you give, I aim only to please you."

Pepa does blush this time, furiously, especially at his suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and snaps her fingers agitatedly.

"Not in front of the kids, Félix!"

"We don't mind!" Isabela yells from where she's perched up a tree, her faded, patchy pants spattered with something sticky.

Mirabel, Luisa and Camilo peer at them from the picnic blanket under it with wide, caught-out eyes, a delighted glint in the younger two's.

"See, amor, the kids are fine." Félix's grin is positively shit-eating now, and Pepa narrows her eyes at him.

"The kids are not fine!" Dolores doesn't shout, but she hisses loudly which is close enough, "Those are my mami and papi!"

"Boo, sex negative." Mirabel deadpans, and Isabela and Camilo cackle.

"What are you all talking about?" Antonio turns innocent eyes on them all, and as the children dissolve into chaos, Pepa drags her husband away by the arm.

"You are an unbelievable man." she hisses, her mouth twitching as they steer clear of the garden.

"Ah, but I am your unbelievable man, mi arcoiris." Félix loops an arm around her waist, "And more importantly, I was right! I win!"

"Unbelievable." Pepa mutters fondly, letting him twirl her around.

"I told you, didn't I? I've been saying you should let yourself feel things!" her husband practically crows as they dance around the lawn. In the background, Casita begins to clink tiles together as if she's providing music. "I said you'd be happier if you did! I said your powers would be fine - better, even! And now I get to say I told you so! Haha!"

"Félix, it's been over a month, are you ever going to let this go, you ridiculous tonto?"

"Not a chance, my love!"

Pepa groans playfully, but allows herself to be led into a careless dance, her cheeks hurting from the grin that's spreading across them.

Ever since Casita was rebuilt and the Miracle was restored, life has been so, so different for the Madrigals. And Pepa has felt it so very acutely.

The fact that best shows the change, Pepa thinks, is the way the glass dome is no longer present in her and her husband's rebuilt room.

Now as she relearns to express herself, her Loud days, the days when everything is just a little more noisy and bright and unbearable than usual, the days that are more likely to end up in an overload of everything spilling over the edges of her sanity, are unhidden and taken care of before they get to the point of bursting out of her and scarring her arms with lightning again. She can curl up with Dolores in her soundproof room, both of them revelling in the dulled sensation that threatens to overrun them usually, and she loves spending time with her oldest (who has taken to fawning and giggling over the antics of that Guzman boy as he woos her in spite of the fact that she is already with him) - or she can mull around with her brother, her Brunito, getting reacquainted with him after so long, both feeling a little out of place in the house and sticking together as they often did as children. If any situation makes her uncomfortable, she's allowed to leave, and there's a whole family ready to snap in her defence at anyone who demands she keep her emotions in bounds, should she ask them to.

When she does peak into a meltdown, sudden and without warning, Pepa can rage and storm all she wants outside, her hurricanes and hurts no longer a secret shame, and the townspeople can just deal with the fact that they can't have perfect weather everyday. Félix will be waiting for her with a towel and her sister will cook her favourites when she's done, and then she sleeps like a baby, tired out. And that will be the end of it, no scoldings and scathing insults in store.

Mama still starts to reprimand sometimes, a "Pepa, you're storming" that she cuts off mid-sentence, biting her tongue, but she's trying. She's adapting to the change, to accepting what's good for Pepa, for them all, the whole family is.

Pepa is allowed to feel things now, and that feeling itself, the sensation of not having to squash down whatever wells up in her chest, is such a novel thing she doesn't know what to do with herself sometimes. She bundles up in Félix's arms most times when she's feeling her emotions intensely, trying to sort out and name what she feels for perhaps the first time ever, babbling at him with incomplete sentences running over each other. He brushes Pepa's hair patiently and hears her out before offering his thoughts, and the whole process is so jarringly different from the usual dynamic of her keeping everything bottled up until she snaps and him trying to get her to open up, that it's almost funny.

But it works. It works so well.

Her heart feels so much lighter and cleaner, now, somehow, and Pepa feels like she's glowing with it (although that might just be the sunlight brightening with her happiness).

She has more control over her gift too, can channel and direct it more easily now that she's in touch with it rather than fighting against herself. Pepa can consciously make her storms fizz out in more pleasantly cool wind or welcome rain rather than a thundering cloud. She can launch a few clouds and rainbows with her joy instead of only overwhelmingly hot sunlight. She can crackle lightning threateningly at anyone so much as looks like they will harm her niños or sobrinas, or force them into anything they're not up for.

Pepa's feelings are still a little too public to be entirely comfortable, that's out of her control, but the thing is, nobody gets a say about it anymore. She has a right to them, to feel what she does, and if people celebrate and benefit from her power then they can damn well learn to live with her dancing on the full spectrum of her emotions whenever she wants to.

And Félix, the insufferable little man that he is, will not stop being smug about the fact that he's always told Pepa exactly that. Always been by her side, getting up in the face of anyone who badmouths her before him when she's too insecure to, always told her her feelings are okay and don't ruin anything, always been encouraging her to do what she wants and supporting her however she needs.

Félix would sigh unhappily everytime she had to force herself to cry for someone's fields, but sit under an umbrella and read a tragedy novel with her anyway. He's all too delighted in getting to read her whatever he picks from around town every night now, and loves watching her guffaw undignifiedly over some silly comic series.

So in a way, she supposed Félix has really earned his smugness. He hums obnoxiously as he laughs up at her, dancing for no particular reason, and Pepa can't help but feel incredibly full of love.

Love for her family. Love for Julieta and Bruno, the three of them rekindling their bond now, her kindred spirits and partners in crime, never to split apart again. Love for her children, her protective Dolores and sweet Camilo and darling Antonio, who love her and each other so fiercely. Love for Mirabel, for starting this, for shaking everything from the very foundations, and for all three of her nieces who are growing into themselves so beautifully now. Love for her Mama, learning along with them, loving them more openly. Love even for her gift, for the beauty and magic of it that's so wonderful now that she can embrace it fully.

Love for Félix, her eye in the hurricane, her beacon of happiness, the smug bastard she married.

Chapter Text

Julieta is well aware that she is lurking.

Lurking in her own kitchen, nonetheless; but said kitchen has been hijacked by a horde of hyperactive children, one impatient and overconfident sister and her giggly husband, and one timid Bruno, none of whom know a single thing about functioning in a kitchen.

Julieta was kicked out at daybreak by three very determined daughters who pointed out that she was the only person yet to stop stringing herself out since the Miracle was restored. Luisa had apologetically placed her in front of Augustín, who proceeded to aggressively smother her with blankets and affection.

And to his credit, spending time with Augustín for once was wonderful, loving and unhurried and not in the middle of work, but it wasn't long before worry was nagging at Julieta's insides. It nagged all through their morning walk through the hills, where her husband chivalrously managed to get injured about thirty times (fortunately she always had some of her food handy for him), it nagged through their jaunt through town and refreshing breakfast of fruit, it nagged throughout their cuddle session in the sunlight with face-masks on until she finally gave in and let the worry win.

The thing is, Julieta's gift isn't like the others in the family. She doesn't just help, she's necessary.

That's not to make light of the others, of course. Their village would be nowhere near as pleasant or prosperous as it is without Pepa's control of the weather, and there would be barely any development and construction without Luisa that she seems to do with ease. Isabela and Camilo make people smile, pick up the slack of everyday services where the others provide structure, and Dolores ties them all together. Now even Antonio helps with the wildlife and domestic animals, although he hasn't spent years pouring himself into it (and thank Casita for that!). And even without a gift, Mirabel is always helpful and present with her never ending energy and odd ideas, and Bruno is... Bruno.

But Julieta's gift is the primary form of healthcare their society has. They've never developed a lot of medicine or turned out many doctors in the village, not since Julieta was very small, and logically, who can blame them? Who would spend years studying and work hard and pay for uncertain results, when they could simply eat an arepa con queso and be healed of what ever ailed them within seconds?

And Julieta has always been giving, always kind and protective and warm, helpless to say no to anyone's pleading eyes. She would do anything within her power to help those who ask for it, and when her power works through her cooking, an activity she has always loved anyway, then who was she to deny people the help they needed?

So Julieta spent her whole life in that kitchen, cooking relentlessly for not only the village, but eventually even taking over all the meals for the family. The kitchen has always been understood as her natural domain.

Thus, it's odd to be pushed out of it now, and Julieta feels like a stranger in the rest of the house. She manages to escape Augustín's admittedly sweet attempts to get her to relax by waiting till he's relaxed enough to fall asleep, and then slinks to the kitchen, peering through the doorway and wincing as her boisterous family clatters around with her utensils.

None of them know how to cook, or do anything beyond washing a cup or kneading dough with the ingredients already mixed in - the closest to knowing anything at all are Bruno and Mirabel, since they both had a habit of hovering close to her and asking if they could help, and even they usually got sent away by Mama so as not to bother Julieta, and look remarkably lost as a result.

Isabela grunts over a colander, eyes narrowed as she tries to clean some greens that look more stalks than leaves, and Dolores and Luisa are eyeing the stove warily, almost comically nervous around it. Julieta resists the urge to sweep in and take charge.

"This is going to be your break day, mama," Mirabel had informed her gravely as she barricaded the kitchen door, and Isabela had nodded forcefully, arms crossed. Julieta's protests of how people needed her, needed her cooking, how it was her job to take care and cook for everyone, were ignored.

"You look after everyone, mama," Luisa pleaded, "Let us look after you for once. Take a break, go relax."

And the second Julieta sighed in acceptance, the rest of the kids and her siblings, who had apparently been listening from around the corner, piled in as if they owned the kitchen, grinning and waving her off.

Julieta fights off waves of anxiety as she watches Camilo flounder around with a bag of flour until Mirabel takes pity on him and tries to help - and immediately covers them both in white powder.

The sun is high in the sky and it will be time for lunch soon, and they need to have a meal ready. Mama hasn't been well lately either, bedridden most of the time, and she should be given regular meals, nutrition is so important to getting well soon even without magic.

She knows they mean well, appreciates the thought, but the family really isn't doing so good at this. Juli should really be helping, dios mio this is a disaster -

"REET!" screeches a rat, scurrying across the floor as Parce chases after it, and Antonio and Bruno both stop what they're doing to exclaim over them and try to break up the scuffle. Pepa makes a high-pitched keening noise, she's never liked rodents much, and just like that Julieta's headache intensifies.

This day is really turning out to be a lot more suffering in silence than actually relaxing.

It's fortunate that they always have a stockpile of Julieta's cooking, mostly dry and less easily perishable foods, that could last the village a week in an emergency. At least the children and siblings bumbling around in her overcrowded kitchen only have to worry about one meal, not helping anyone else. She's not directly letting anyone down, no one's going to be harmed if she doesn't cook today.

Wait a minute.

The stockpile! Oh, the food that has to reach the village for everyday injuries, the one that fixes broken bones and sprains and wounds, has anyone taken it for distribution yet?

Looking at the chaos unfolding before her, Julieta seriously doubts it.

Well, someone has to do it, she reasons. Surely they'll let her step into the kitchen for this one thing, and no-one can blame her if she looks around a little when she's already in there. It just makes sense!

Still, Julieta finds herself launching a spare tomato through the air so it lands with a splat on the cabinet next to Dolores.

Her oldest sobrina blinks.

"Whose tomato was that?" She squeaks, and it's enough to draw people's attention to her. Everyone looks confused for a moment.

"Must have been Isa's." Mirabel shrugs finally. Isabela rounds on her with an offended shriek.

"What?! What do you mean, mine?"

"You're the one cutting the vegetables, Isa, and we all know your plants tend to go a little..." Mira makes childlike explosion noises, "... when you get frustrated. It's no big deal. Get another one."

"No big deal? You come into my house, insult my good name, and say it's 'no big deal'? I'll have you know, all my vegetables are perfectly intact right here! And besides, shouldn't we be looking at Camilo? He's the troublemaker! He probably got bored!"

"Not fair! You're all making enough trouble to entertain me without my help! Besides, Luisa's the one whose strength -"

"I swear it wasn't me!"

"Yeah, no one would believe it was Luisa, Cami -"

"He never said she did it on purpose! It could easily have been her by accident!"

"Mama, aren't you supposed to be the adult here?"

"Shush, Dolores, let your mother speak!"

"Uh, guys?" Bruno pipes up, "Antonio's being really quiet..."

"What?!"

"Tío, he's a child, he honestly shouldn't even be in the kitchen, how do you think he'd -"

"I don't trust his animals, Mira! They keep chasing my rats!"

Julieta watches them, fascinated at how easily they were brought to complete disarray, before shaking herself out of her daze. No matter how hilarious this is, she has a job. Right.

Nobody notices her slinking into the kitchen, keeping by the walls, and rummaging around in the pantry for some bags of food. Casita, the absolute traitor, tries vigorously to get the squabbling family's attention by rattling the counters and shelves, but they don't notice, bless them.

Julieta's zipping out when she notices a pot of ajiaco simmering on the stove. Her fingers twitch quite without her permission. She can sense it somehow, her instinct is telling her, that the soup's missing something. It's going to taste bland at best, and inedible at worst - and currently, her instinct is leaning towards the 'inedible' side.

A quick glance tells her the others are still too busy to notice her - and Isabela is now hissing curse words that make Julieta frown and wonder where she even learnt them, while Mirabel covers Antonio's ears and Félix covers Dolores', and they all scream.

There's just enough time for her to chop up a few herbs and make a few adjustments to the soup, taste it and decide it's delicious, and then slip out as quietly as she came, leaving Casita and the splattered tomato glaring accusingly after her.

She finds Augustín looking frantically for her, and he gives her a suspicious once-over when he sees the bag of food and she tells him that Bruno tasked her to take it to the villagers. But Julieta's always been a surprisingly good liar - who better to cover for her siblings to Mama when they were children than the golden daughter? - and her sweet Augustín has always been a little gullible, so he shrugs, and they make their way down to the village together, chattering enthusiastically and Julieta feeling lighter now that she has something to do.

When they return, it's late afternoon, verging on evening, and the actual children and technically-adult children are all standing around the dining table, looking like they've battled one of Pepa's hurricanes, but with proud smiles on their faces. Mama sits at the head of the table, looking somewhere between bewildered, longsuffering, and fond, and she smiles as the rest of the family swarms around Julieta as soon as they catch sight of her.

"Where have you been?!" Pepa pouts, hands waving agitatedly. There are lentils stuck in her hair, but Julieta thinks it's wise not to point it out.

"Out." She says pleasantly. Her sister blinks, apparently just now noticing her lighthearted smile, and cracks a smile of her own.

"I'm glad you and Papi had fun, Mama!" Luisa grins happily.

"Yeah! See, told you this was a good idea! Isabela's always right." Isa preens. Mirabel steps on her foot.

"It wasn't even your idea, princessita!"

"Come, sit down and eat." Félix gently herds them to the table before another war breaks out, and Julieta and Augustín exchange an amused look, holding hands.

"This ajiaco is delicious!" Mama says in surprise as they start eating, and looks a little guilty when she realizes it sounded like she was expecting everything to be bad. "I mean, everything is, of course, but this especially..."

Julieta nods encouragingly as everyone looks sheepish, and winces as Augustín fails to hide his own shocked delight.

"It almost tastes like Juli's!" He says.

"Haha, how curious. Moving on..." Julieta tries to change the subject, swallowing a rock-hard arepa with difficulty.

"Oh let's face it." Camilo groans finally, sprawling dramatically in his seat, "Everything else is awful. Only the soup is somehow edible. Tío Bruno is the only one who can cook."

"I mean, you helped with getting the... water... and Isabela and Dolores cut the vegetables and chicken, and Mira stirred it, so..." Bruno ventures, looking bizarrely guilty. Julieta is sure she can feel her soul wither up and die.

They're all distracted by a shout from Mirabel.

"What the hell? My burn just healed!"

"Language!" Mama hisses, gesturing at Antonio, then blinks. "Wait, what?"

"You got burned?" Julieta is instantly out of her chair, worry and panic flooding her.

"Show me that!" Isabela demands, taking Mira's arm and inspecting it. Relief flashes across her face. "She's right! Mira's okay!"

"Roll this back, Mirabel got burned? Cariño, are you okay?" Julieta hurries to her daughter's side. Mirabel squawks indignantly.

"I'm fine, I just want to know how I suddenly healed when we cooked today instead of Mama!"

"Oh, I made some adjustments to the ajiaco when you weren't looking." Julieta waves off, "Show me where the burn was. How big was it? Are you hurt?"

Nobody answers her, and it takes Julieta a moment to realize just what she said. She looks up, and finds eleven sets of eyes staring balefully at her. Casita squeaks the stairs smugly like she's laughing.

"You cooked?" Luisa asks, sounding sad, and Julieta bites her lip, caught out.

"I just put some spices in, that's all." She explains softly. The expressions around the table range from guilty to sad to annoyed, all with some degree of failure on them. Julieta sighs.

"Come on, it's not your fault you don't know how to cook everything. I've always cooked, every day in this house, since we were teenagers. You all did give me a wonderful break today, you know..."

"Yeah, but you still worked. We wanted to make sure you rested for once." Isabela sniffs.

"It was just a few seconds, not even a full minute." She reassures, petting her daughter's hair. Mirabel then makes another noise that draws everyone's attention to her, a gasp this time.

"Isa! Lui! Tía! Tí - everyone! You know what this means?" She yells, and Dolores winces, so Mirabel lowers her voice before continuing excitedly, "This means, Mama's healing gift works even when she hasn't cooked the whole dish! It works even when she just makes a few adjustments! She can just add some salt or something, we can figure out the whole extent of it, and the meal will still be as tasty and nutritious and magical as if she cooked the whole of it!"

The downtrodden expressions of the family have slowly brightened as Mirabel finished her tirade, and Camilo whoops, pleased.

"So we can all take turns cooking with Tía in the kitchen until we learn to cook properly ourselves!" Dolores says, and Isabela nods furiously.

"And Mama doesn't even have to cook everyday! She can just help a little for the healing food, we can take over cooking eventually when we get good enough!"

"And maybe we won't be throwing vegetables around and waste an hour fighting over it." Luisa suggests brightly, and Augustín and Mama look baffled.

"Oh, the tomato was me, I had to distract you somehow." Julieta says offhandedly as she sinks back into her seat, her heart feeling incredibly warm and happy and bright. Everyone's head spins around to her, jaw dropped.

"You what?!"

Chapter Text

They're on in three minutes, and Bruno's costars are simply refusing to get along.
Bruno frets, tapping frantically on the wood of the stage, as he tries to sort out whatever the problem is.

"Squee! Squee! SQUEAK!" squeaks Camila indignantly, vibrating like a yellow ball of condensed rage in her puffy dress.

"REEEEEEEEEEEEET!" screeches Isobel, equally furious and ripping into his props until the feathered cap and cloak are unrecognizable.

"Ohhhh... Mirabel worked hard on those costumes..." Bruno laments, his right hand starting to knock on his own head instead.

It really doesn't help that for all his intuition and familiarity with the rats he's built over all these years, Bruno still can't understand what they're saying. Oh, he can tell when they're scared, when they're happy, what they need from him and the general idea of whatever they want to give or show him, but he still can't understand the meaning of their little squeaks and chirrups.

Which is all well and good usually, because he doesn't need to completely understand his rats to love them, but it's a serious pain in situations like this when they're saying things rapid-fire in their own language and he doesn't know enough to help.

Bruno has the fleeting thought of dragging Antonio backstage for his help, but the kid is already a VIP guest in the show anyway and Bruno doesn't want to overburden his youngest sobrino.

"Camila! Iso! Please, can you two sort this out after the show?" He pleads, sighing when they turn to him and begin jointly screaming at him instead. "Dios mio, you're uncontrollable around each other. Why the plot pushed you two to be the romantic leads I'll never understand..."

Dora watches unimpressed from Bruno's shoulder, looking up at him with a remarkably longsuffering expression for a rat. Pepé and Félicia are off doing whatever Pepé and Félicia do, they're always back just in time anyway, and Luis, Julie, Anton and Tína are awaiting instruction with varying levels of impatience.

"Wait, where's Mira -"

Before he can finish the sentence, a clang resounds as one of the small curtain stands crashes down. Isobel and Camila jump apart with a high-pitched scream that Bruno's pretty sure will make him go deaf, and Iso immediately scurries around to see if Camila's okay.

Huh.

"Squeep."

Bruno turns his attention to the small rat staring up at him with smugness gleaming in her big brown eyes. Mirana chirps a series of chirps that leave Isobel and Camila indignant, but they finally, finally take position.

"Thanks, Mira. Although maybe a little less property damage next time?" Bruno chuckles as the rat clambers up his ruana and snuggles into the fabric at his shoulder. She eeps in a tone that suggests no promises, but Bruno will take it.

When he emerges among the makeshift seats around the town square, the small audience of children and chattering adults are busy munching on snacks and waiting pensively. Bruno scans the crowd for his family - quite a turnout this time, the coma-love-triangle plotline is really paying off! - and finally spots them near the front, Mirabel, Camilo and Antonio waving frantically for him. He smiles as he joins them, Luisa and Dolores shifting to give him his favourite spot under the tree. He waves at Angélique, who has become a regular watcher of his ratanovela and an almost-friend, before he throws a handful of salt over his shoulder and signals his rats to begin.

Even though this is routine at this point, his sisters entrusting the children to him as they take a weekly break, it never fails to make warmth blossom in Bruno's chest when he's curled up with his sobrinos before the small, colourful stage while the crowd swells and gasps with the storyline.

Part of it is probably the fact that even Bruno doesn't know what the plot is going  to be on any given day, so it's a fascinating surpise to even him. The rats get most of the creative freedom over the show now, with Bruno only providing an outline, and the performance is translated for everyone by Antonio, who sits wide-eyed at the very front.

"No!" The five-year-old gasps as Isobel drapes himself dramatically over the stage.

"What? What is it??" Dolores demands with urgency, everyone vibrating with tension around the kid. Antonio turns his anxious gaze on them.

"Esteban was too late, so Rosalíta's marrying Diego!"

The audience gasps, horrified. Camilo's mouth falls open comically around a mouthful of popcorn, and Luisa gently pushes it shut.

Bruno shakes his head. The rats have always had a flair for convoluted arcs.
He catches Mirabel's eye over Antonio's curly head, and her scandalized expression melts into a smile as he shrugs in a what can I do way.

'Unbelievable!' She mouths at him, and Bruno grins. As a prime supporter of the Estelíta ship, he supposes she has a right to be offended. He's just lucky Dolores can't murder people with her eyes, and he's determinedly not looking at her.

Reconnecting with his family has been simultaneously some of the best and the weirdest experiences of his life over the past three months.

After Mama was done with an initial week of fawning over him and showering him with way too much affection, she had to make concentrated efforts to not reprimand him for his oddnesses or ask him to accommodate the townspeople who made him intensely uncomfortable, and while Bruno appreciates her trying, he can't help the anxiety he automatically feels around her. Their relationship is strained at best, to the point where Bruno hardly dares to visit her even as she's bedridden in a way not even Julieta can seem to heal.

His relationship with his sisters is much better. They've changed over time of course, and so has he, and it's no use pretending they're not still affected by the way he disappeared so suddenly years ago - Pepa spent a good portion of time yelling about it once she figured out she could, and he's still a little terrified of Julieta's guilt-inducing reproachful looks. But they're close now, growing closer still, almost like they used to be as children, and Bruno has missed them so much, it's like a physical wound being healed.

But by far the easiest and most joyful development has been getting to know his nieces and nephews, spending time with them, actually being with them in person rather than watching through the walls as they grow and aching to be around.

It makes sense that Bruno finds it easiest to be around the children. There's no complicated history or conflicting emotions there, no sourness or painful memories. There's nothing to rebuild, it's all being built for the first time. He's just a funky uncle figure who popped straight out of the cool mysterious myths that only the older kids know about, and while he's not the best Tío, he knows, Bruno's doing his best to be involved in the children's lives.

Dolores and he already have a rapport, always have had it, they're both used to hearing and seeing things they don't want to. They spend a lot of time talking about anything and everything, helping each other out of tough spots - and he even gets invites to her and Isabela's makeover-and-chat nights, which are always fun. Isabela herself tends to look up to him as something of mould-breaker as she tries to discover herself, and often asks for his advice (he just stays quiet and lets her talk at him until she inevitably figures it out herself).

Luisa spends a lot of time trying out different hobbies and relaxing at home now that she's not forcing herself to work 24/7, and it's always fun to mess around with perfectly good paints and learn the piano with her and Augustín. She's very into intricate needlework and origami too, and that's always great bonding material because it frustrates them both no end.

Camilo seemed disappointed that Bruno wasn't 7 feet tall, but he was excited to meet all his rats; and even though he largely avoids Bruno at night due to the traumatic experience of running into him as a kid after listening to too many horror stories, he does enlist his help in pranks a lot, and the rats even have a dedicated Mischief Task Force they think Bruno doesn't know about.

Antonio and he have something of a stalemate of a relationship - they're clean slates, totally new to each other, and they like each other as a matter of principle, but at the same time they're often on opposite sides of an animal war. Antonio's leopard, Parce, who comes wholesale with a litter of cubs now, loves chasing Bruno's rats, and the capybaras and rats have a well-recorded turf war. Outside of the truce of ratanovela translation, Bruno and Antonio's relationship is more benevolently antagonistic than anything else.

And then there's Mirabel. Bruno loves and respects his niece of course, adores her to the ends of the earth, but he's also a little... scared of her.

Or not scared of her exactly, more like scared for her.

He sees too much of himself in her, is the thing. Not his irritating tics or obsession with pattern, but the same tendency of being considered annoying and not really understanding social cues. Not his cursed gift, but the same struggle of being the black sheep in a family of exceptional and beloved and useful people. The same sensitivity and empathy despite not always getting people, the same inability to stick to the accepted norm.

The same surreptitious clothes-adjusting, careful movements, spacing out and hitched breaths. High, intense emotions covered up, leaving the room shaking and coming back calm, and wincing when no one's around to see it.

He might be wrong. Bruno hopes and prays he's wrong, he wants so badly to be misreading things. But Bruno spent most of his teenage years, his whole life in fact, dealing with highs and lows this way, with careful blades and hidden scars, and he's sadly sure he's not imagining it with Mirabel.

He doesn't know how to broach the subject, doesn't know how to approach her. No one ever noticed or talked to him, and frankly, Bruno had preferred it that way. Until the recent months where he meticulously broke the habit of doing it himself, he didn't even think it was something that needed fixing - he knew it wasn't good, but it helped, and he was okay with it. It wasn't until he started trying to break out of his thought spirals with the changes in his life, that he realized how much it actually hurt him more than healed.

Mirabel doesn't do it often, not that he can tell anyway, but Bruno worries. He loves his sobrina, wishes she could realize how important and wonderful she is, wishes he could give her the world if she wants it, but he doesn't even know how to help.

So he'll watch distantly for now, until he can figure out what to do. He'll help around town with her, carry her fabrics and threads and listen to her ramble about her latest project, tell her badly-plotted prospective new episodes when she's bored and restless, and just... be there.

Be there for his whole family, this time, no escapes, no take-backs. Be there with them while his ratanovelas have gained him fame and a place in the community, be there even when he's glared at and side-eyed as long as his family is with him in turn.

A rousing cheer resounds as Camila and Isobel finally ride off into the sunset onstage, Esteban having gatecrashed Rosalíta's wedding. Bruno's pretty sure he can spot them cuddle up close and commence... not-child-friendly activities... backstage from where he's sitting, and he makes a small dying-balloon noise in the back of his throat.

He just lost a betting pool with Mirana and Dora on those two. 

The children gathered around him whoop, though, oblivious to his pain, and Dolores wipes a tear out of her eye, hugging Luisa and Isabela aggressively as they look a little alarmed. Bruno smiles and taps at the wood of the tree behind him, just happy to be there with them.

Just be.

Just be Bruno.

Chapter Text

The office hours were Mariano's idea, and she loves him for it.

Dolores has always had a lot to say, but her duty has always been to listen, so she's never quite been able to get out everything she has swirling around in her brain. Mama and Papa used to joke about where their little chatterbox had gone once she got her gift, and abruptly stopped talking all the time like she used to. 

There were just too many things she could hear, that she was needed to hear, and too many secrets she couldn't let slip through. She had once, on accident, and she still remembers the ugly whispers that followed her and the drama it caused. Twelve year old Dolores really hadn't meant to let slip that Don Joaquin was sleeping with young Pamela, his wife none the wiser - but she was still the subject of disdainful whispers and gossip-hungry questions, and the label of "town tattletale" had stuck.

When the family was planning out their readjustment after the rebuilding of Casita, a lot of concerned looks had come Dolores' way, because her gift was a dilemma, different from the others'. It was a problem that refused to be solved.

Her gift couldn't be helped by lowering pressure or familial support or more freedom, like Luisa, Tío Bruno or Isabela. It couldn't be switched off or controlled, not even for a second. There was no break for Dolores, no choice not to shapeshift, no clear skies when she was calm.

So for almost a month as the rest of her familia slowly got better and received the support they'd needed so badly, Dolores had felt... frozen. As if she was stuck in place, or worse, going back - because now she could also hear the whispers about the fallibility of the Madrigals, the speculation about whatever had made the Miracle fade away in the first place. 

She spent all her energy plastering on a smile as she walked around with her ears ringing, so no one would suspect her internal screaming for the same help, the same attention that she saw her hermanos and primas getting, but it was no use because she knew it wouldn't actually help her. And it wasn't that she wasn't happy for them, she just wished she wasn't stuck with this gift - this curse - that kept isolating her from the people she loved, from being the way she wanted to be. And she wished someone else would hear her spiralling for a change.

As it turns out, no one did. But someone did see her.

"Hey, mi tesoro." Mariano sidled in next to her one morning.

"Hola." Dolores smiled, a little dimmer than usual. It was one of the worse days.

"I... Dolores, I wanted to - well..." Mariano twisted the edge of his shirt, a nervous tic, "I just... you're not okay."
The words seem to have taken a lot of effort, and Dolores blinked, taken aback.

"I'm... sorry?" 

"No, no, not like that, querida! I meant, you're not doing so well... ever since Casita was rebuilt, you seem to be feeling so much worse. You barely smile anymore, and I get the feeling you stop yourself from speaking all the time. And you get overwhelmed so much, that's not... that can't be good for you, Dolores."

It took a minute before Dolores could respond. She was just stunned that anyone had noticed. Had she been that obvious? Mariano and her had been seeing each other for just a month then, ever since Casita was rebuilt in fact, and even then they had been keeping it mostly casual... For him to have noticed, means she hadn't been doing her job right.

Mariano seemed to take her silence the wrong way - or the right way? She didn't really know anymore.

"It's your Gift, isn't it?"

She whipped her head around to stare at him, mouth parted in shock or to deny it, she didn't know which.

Mariano smiled softly and reached for her hand. Dolores felt the first years trickle down her cheeks, and let him hold her.

"We'll figure something out. I... might have an idea."
That was almost two months ago.

Things have been so much better since than, better in ways Dolores hadn't ever thought they could be. She's been able to function without breaking down for over four weeks, she's gotten to spend more time with her family than ever before, getting to know them for what feels like all over again. And of course, she's more comfortable and happy with Mariano, not only spending more time but feeling more confident in their relationship.

 She'd been scared and insecure in the beginning, although she'd never admit it, since it basically felt like she was a rebound Mariano had settled for since he couldn't be with Isabela. It wouldn't have been the first time someone saw her as a knock-off discount Isabela, she knows compared to her Señorita Perfecta prima, people find her lacking, and that thought has eaten her up as much as her Gift had.

But Mariano cared for her, so very clearly, he saw her for who she was and he wanted her to be happy as she was. It was a novel feeling, and she was in love with it, with him. She loved the way he checked in on her everyday, even when he couldn't spend much time together, she loved the cheesy poems he recited in his room for her to hear, both love poems that she was beginning to realize were written for her in the first place, and funny poems about things he saw.

And the solution was his idea to begin with.

Dolores never got to switch off her Gift. She probably never will, she's come to accept that. But she does get to be spared of overtaxing it.

The first step was getting Casita to make a few modifications. The magic for the rooms was much more concentrated and specialized, so Casita couldn't exactly recreate the soundproofing Dolores' room had for the whole house, but a few subtle changes in architecture and a thin layer of magic, and every sound was much more muffled in here. Sort of how outdoor things sound like indoors, to normal people. 

Second, her family all started helping her more in earnest, now that they had an idea what to do, and that Dolores had finally asked for help - she'd never done that before. Isabela grew moss around the house, since it was sound absorbent and honestly Dolores loved the texture. Tía Julieta would insist she ate healing food for her overwhelmed headaches and dizziness. Mirabel made a pair of really soft earmuffs for when she does go out, and while the material doesn't really do much, it's the gesture that makes Dolores go all warm and fuzzy inside. 

And finally, the office hours.

People don't get to expect her to be around, or to take messages for them all the time and then get mad when she overhears something she wasn't meant to. There are times in the day - ten in the morning, to seven in the evening, when Dolores can be called to ask for help - and every request must be worded politely and specifically, calling by her name instead of hurriedly demanding help. And that's all in the time when Dolores is down in town, which on weekends she rarely is. 
If there's an emergency at night, or the Madrigals are needed outside that time, people can simply come to their door or find them around town, and fetch them themselves like they would have had to anyway.

There's really nothing they can reasonably do about all the general noise of people living in the village, as Mariano explains sadly, but Dolores shuts him up with a sweet kiss, because this is so much more than she could have ever hoped for already. It's never going to be perfect, but background noise not meant for her is easier to drown out when she knows what she has to look out for instead of scanning the general goings-on constantly. And getting her peace at home, whenever she likes? It's heavenly.

And she's grateful to be able to read and chat everyday with her mama, and play around with Antonio and Cami, and mess around with her primas, and finally talk to her Tío Bruno properly after all these years and fangirl over his ratanovelas to his face.

And she's grateful to have time with Mariano, and to have time to herself most of all. Time to just explore her hobbies - Luisa sometimes joins her for that - and sit in a cosy nook and nap sometimes, "like a cat" Mira says.
All in all, it's a good life.