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Chapter Text

It was the night of Antonio’s gift ceremony. The whole town had gathered into the great Casita Madrigal, full of excitement and a little apprehension. After all, who could forget the disappointment of the last Madrigal gift ceremony. Mirabel certainly hadn’t. She rubbed her wrist in anticipation, nervous for her little Antonio. Sharing a room for all those years, Mirabel watched Antonio grow up. They may be cousins by blood, but they were closer than any Madrigal siblings were.

As Mirabel ushered Antonio forward, into the spotlight waiting for him, she couldn’t help but think back to earlier that day.

“Nervous?” Mirabel asked, sliding under the bed.

Antonio let out a sigh, eyes downcast.

“You have nothing to worry about. You’re going to get your gift and open that door and it’s going to be the coolest ever. I know it,” Mirabel assured him.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Antonia whispered softly.

“Well, in that impossible scenario, you’ll stay here in the nursery, with me, and I’ll get you all to myself! You will still be loved, you will still make la family Madrigal proud. Because you have the greatest family ever!”

Mirabel wished she meant what she said, but in this family, she knew Antonio would need a gift to survive. She would always love Antonio just the same, but that couldn’t be said for the other family members. Mirabel rubbed the bump on her head unconsciously, where Abuela had hit her with her wooden cane when she tried to help with the decorations. Even outside of her Abuela and her obvious disapproval, the fifteen-year-old could see her parents’ disappointment, how they struggled with having an outcast for a daughter. How they had begun to believe what Abuela insinuated, about Mirabel hurting the casita, hurting the miracle.

Ever since Mirabel’s door failed the show up, ever since that first beating, for letting down the family, for failing to provide for the townsfolk, the house had begun to change. Mirabel noticed it, in the dead of night: the candle, flickering, threatening to blow out, when it had only ever stood strong before. The small cracks in the walls, the tiles moving slower than normal. It wasn’t just the house, too. As the candle burned shorter, Abuela grew older, more fragile. Only a few years after Mirabel’s ceremony, Abuela started having trouble walking, getting a cane to help her. More wrinkles found their way onto her face, and while she stood strong in front of the town, Mirabel saw when her back slumped, too weak to hold her upright. Not that she let the frailness of her body stop her from maintaining her iron grip over the family, from punishing Mirabel for her various wrongdoings.

Mirabel had always taken it in stride, always striving to do better, to be better, for her family, for her Abuela. Maybe one day she could prove that she was worthy of the Madrigal name; maybe one day she would be enough. Abuela would look at her the same way she looked at her cousins and her sisters: with pride. The same way she would look at Antonio after he got his gift.

But Antonio wasn’t moving, wasn’t walking to the staircase with the confidence of his father. No, he was looking at Mirabel. With a hand, he reached out for her. Mirabel shook her head, ideas of what her Abuela would do to her if she dared show her face tumbling through her mind. But there was Antonio, with his wide eyes, looking terrified. Terrified of the crowd, or of ending up like Mirabel, she wasn’t sure, but her heart tore to leave him there.

“I need you,” Antonio said longingly, desperately.

Mirabel took a deep breath, avoiding her Abuela’s glare as she stepped forward, taking Antonio’s hand into her own. The boy shuffled closer, clutching her tightly as they walked, the raw fear and anxiety she could feel emanating from her much too young primo making her certain that she made the right decision. Despite the beating she knew was sure to come later, she was glad she could be there, to hold Antonio’s hand in his time of need.

They reached the top of the staircase, the casita waving down the stairs in encouragement, the last sound before the crowd fell into an anticipating silence. Abuela smiled fondly at Antonio, before moving her gaze to Mirabel, hardening in a way that promised punishment. Mirabel dropped Antonio’s hand reflexively, and didn’t dare grab it again, so close to their Abuela. Mirabel gave Antonio a reassuring smile, before walking to join her parents and sisters. She hurried past Tio Felix, whose gaze was tethered to his son, and Tia Pepa, who lightly glared at her as she passed. Tia Pepa had grown to take on her mother’s ideas, including a deep mistrust and dislike of Mirabel (and Tio Bruno).

Mirabel stood in front of her papa as Abuela began the ceremony, feeling the comforting hand of her father rest on her shoulder. But when she spared a glance at her mama, she saw thinly veiled disappointment, no doubt for ruining Antonio’s big day.

Finally, it was time. Antonio placed his hand on the door handle, the villagers inhaling in anticipation. And then - and then - no no no! The door began to fade, just as it had at Mirabel’s ceremony. Antonio’s whole body slumped, disappointment and sadness overcoming him. He launched himself into his mama’s arms, oblivious to the disappointment on her face. Upset at having attended yet another failed ceremony, the townspeople cleared out with grumblings of annoyance and murmurs of waning faith.

Soon, the family was alone in their casita, the wind howling unnaturally. It was when the hand on her shoulder squeezed tighter that Mirabel realized what this meant for her. She saw the resignation on her father’s face, the anger on her mother’s. She looked on, at her Abuela and her Tia Pepa, and saw that anger reflected. Her heart dropped. Some part of her knew that she would be blamed for Antonio’s ceremony, but it was so much worse now, having been by Antonio’s side. But she couldn’t regret it, giving her primo the support he needed. She could feel the thinly veiled anger her Abuela was directing at her, her body tensing in anticipation for the beating that was sure to come, worse than any she had endured before.

Tia Pepa’s wind howled, swirling into a storm that rained through the house. As rainwater flooded the casita, the candle flickered, turning the rain into a light drizzle, for a second. Mirabel flinched as her Tia Pepa whipped around, pushing Antonio into his father’s arms before stalking towards Mirabel, thunder growing louder with every step. Lightning began to flash through the sky, a bolt striking the ground behind Tia Pepa. The woman paid it no mind, another bolt striking just to the left of Mirabel, grazing her arm. Mirabel bit her lip, smoothing her face to hide her pain. Mirabel tried to back up, stumbling over her feet as lightning bolts rained down, leaving Mirabel to duck one aimed right at her. Not that the rest of the family would ever acknowledge it. Before Tia Pepa could reach Mirabel, though, little Antonio came barrelling into Mirabel’s arms, crying into her dress, stopping Tia Pepa in her tracks.

Mirabel leaned down, grabbing Antonio and lifting him up, settling the boy on her hip.

“I’m going to take Antonio to bed,” she said, false bravado lining her voice.

Tio Felix nodded, and suddenly everyone else was being ushered away to bed as the storm mellowed. Through the chaos, Mirabel caught the eye of her Abuela. There was fury there, but that wasn’t what terrified her. It was the look she was giving Antonio, one filled with the same shame and anger that was normally directed at Mirabel; it shook Mirabel to her bones. The girl turned on her heels, hurrying to the nursery, letting out an involuntary sigh of relief as casita closed the door behind them.

She sat in the rocking chair, holding Antonio close to her chest.

“Hey, chiquito, don’t cry. Everything’s going to be alright, I promise. You’re still my special little primo, just like I told you.”

Antonio just sniffled, his tears not slowing.

“Oh chiquito, I’m here. I still love you, my little warrior. We’ll get through this together.”

“But- but mama, and papa?” Antonio asked through his tears, sounding so uncertain.

“They still love you too. They will always love you, no matter what.”

“But—but your mama and papa don’t, not like with Isa and Luisa,” Antonio said, wiping his tears with his fist. Mirabel’s heart broke, to hear that Antonio had noticed that, to know that it really was true, not just some figment of her own imagination, something more for her to sulk about. “And- and mama- she’s never been mad at me. But she- it hurts, Mira,” Antonio said, tearing up once more.

Mirabel was on sharp alert, her heart stopping. “What hurts, Antonio? I need you to show me.”

“My- my shoulder.” The young boy pulled down the neckline of his shirt, showing Mirabel the newly formed bruises that lay there, the shape of a hand. It must have been when his mama was holding him. In her anger, she must have squeezed too tightly. It must have been an accident. But the family would say the lightning bolt aimed at her was an accident too. Mirabel knew better. She may never know for sure whether the bruise on Antonio was an accident or not, but Mirabel had a feeling she didn’t want to stick around to find out.

Antonio winced as she prodded it, making Mirabel’s decision that much easier.

“It’s a good thing I snuck an arepa off my mama, then, isn’t it?” Mirabel said with a smile, pulling the arepa out of her bag. She had been saving it for after her Abuela ‘visited’ her, but Antonio was so small, so new to pain, that she couldn’t withhold it from him. She played with him for a minute, pulling it just out of his reach, holding it up high, even doing a couple magic tricks she learned. As she pulled it out from behind his ear, Antonio finally giggled. It was like music to Mirabel’s ears. With a smile firmly planted on her face, she fed Antonio the arepa, watching as the bruises faded to nothing.

Finishing the arepa, Mirabel felt Antonio sag in her arms. It had been a long day for the boy, and Mirabel figured it might not be such a bad time to put him to bed.

She tucked him in with his new stuffed animal and a soft kiss to the forehead, grateful that she was the one putting him to bed tonight. Unlike her own ceremony night, when her parents had let Abuela put her to bed. That was the start of her never-ending nightmare, and, would you look at that, it just seemed to continue on forever, Mirabel thought sarcastically, as her Abuela nudged the door open with her cane.

“Mirabel, go wait in my room,” Abuela demanded

Mirabel nearly moved, muscle memory from the many times she had been summoned there before. But this time Abuela’s rage was directed at someone else, someone she had to protect at all costs; just as she wished her sisters and prima had done for her.

“No. I’m not leaving you with Antonio.”

Abuela’s face hardened.

“I said, go to my room. Now. I will not be disobeyed, Mirabel.”

“You can have me, Abuela. But you can’t touch Antonio. He’s innocent.”

“He is a disappointment to this family, just as you are. But he is not the curse. You are. It was you who cursed him, and now he is gift-less, just like you. Are you happy, Mirabel? You are finally not the only useless one. Were you planning this all along, to take your innocent primo down with you?”

“No, Abuela, no, of course not,” Mirabel pleaded, still trying to appease her Abuela, even as she knew it was a losing battle.

“Please, just leave Antonio alone. He won’t be like me. I promise.”

Abuela’s expression hardened, but Mirabel didn’t back down. She had a fire in her eyes, finally standing her ground against her Abuela.

“Fine,” Abuela conceded, stepping out of the room.

Mirabel didn’t comment, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She kept her mouth shut as they walked to Abuela’s room, as the door locked behind her, as the first strike of the cane made her fall to her knees.

Chapter Text

Mirabel hobbled back to the nursery, Abuela’s words ringing in her ears. “He is a disappointment to this family.”

She may have spared Antonio tonight, but she couldn’t protect him forever, and she knew first-hand how determined Abuela was to fix any flaw in her perfect family, by any means necessary.

As Mirabel passed Tio Bruno’s room, the wheels began turning in her head. She knew what she had to do.

Mirabel wasted no time packing their things, only filling a large duffel bag for the two of them. She packed as much of Antonio’s things as she could, only fitting a few outfits for herself in there, and her sewing kit. Mirabel hoped she could make money as a seamstress, could support Antonio the best she could. But most of all, she just wanted Antonio to grow up safe and loved, away from the harmful oppression of the Madrigal family.

Mirabel gently shook Antonio awake, aware that they only had a few hours before her mama woke up to start cooking.

“Mmm,” Antonio said, turning over in his bed. Antonio was so adorable in his sleep, void of the troubles the day had held.

“C’mon Chiquito, time to wake up. We have to go,” Mirabel whispered, shaking Antonio. For once, she was glad that Dolores’s super-hearing was something she could control, only listening to those she tried to listen to, and especially glad that Dolores’s room blocked out sounds of the outside world.

Antonio turned back over, blinking awake as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. But Antonio went from half-asleep to wide awake in seconds, fear clouding his young face.

Mirabel turns quickly, sure she would see her Abuela standing in the doorway, with a whip dangling from her hand like an extension of her limb, but there was no one there. She turned back to Antonio, but Antonio was staring at her. He was scared of her. Looking down, Mirabel saw the red streaks marring her white night dress. With a start, Mirabel realized what she must look like. Blood trailing down her head, all over her hands. Black and purple bruises lining her exposed skin, wounds staining her dress, now more red than white.

“I- oh Antonio, it’s alright. I’m sorry Chiquito, I didn’t want to scare you. Oh, but we don’t have time to—oh, I’ll explain later Antonio. We have to go now though.”

The urgency in her tone must have struck something in Antonio, for the niño let Mirabel lift him out of bed, still clutching his jaguar cuddly that Mirabel have gifted him earlier that day.

It’s now or never. With her duffel bag over one shoulder and her primo on her other hip, she rushed out of the house, her casita quieting her footsteps as she fled.

She stopped at the stables to grab her horse, Maximus, letting the stallion gallop her and Antonio away from the Encanto. Through their ride out of the village, Mirabel only spared one glance behind her, to see her casita, to let a tear fall for her family. One that she would never see again. But one glance at her sleeping primo cradled in her arms, and she knew it was worth it. It was all worth it.

They rode for days before finding a village. El Hertán. It was a simple village, nowhere near as extravagant and colourful and rich as the Encanto was, but it would have to do. Despite their stops for water and some fruits grabbed from trees and bushes, it was obvious Antonio needed a rest. And if she was being honest, so did Mirabel.

They stayed there for a few weeks, living in an abandoned tent by the river. It didn’t offer much protection from the rain, too worn and thin, small holes littering their cloth roof, but it was enough. Mirabel earned money washing clothes in the river, and one woman, a nice lady with two kids, was kind enough to give her a dress, to replace her ruined nightgown. If she wasn’t washing clothes in the river, she was taking babysitting jobs, and those were the best, because she could take Antonio with her, let him play with the other kids and give him an actual bed or couch to sleep on, if only for a few hours. She saved up for materials, using it to sew up the holes in their tent and the clothes Antonio had torn playing football with the village kids.

Word got around that Mirabel was good at sewing, and she suddenly had another skill she could add to her resume. She babysat day and night, sewing while taking care of the kids of the town, and washed peoples’ clothes in the river while Antonio slept at night. She was running herself ragged, she knew, and her wounds had yet to heal because of it, but Antonio needed food, and in a couple months when winter came around, he would need warmth, too.

They were there maybe three weeks before someone mentioned that there were a few strangers on horseback coming to the village from the north. Mirabel knew, in her gut, that it was her Abuela’s doing, the people of Encanto coming to drag her and Antonio back. She packed their things quickly, and grabbed Antonio from his new friend’s house, riding through the village in a fury as they galloped away.

Mirabel turned them in many directions, making sure they were difficult to track, taking care to clean up whenever they stopped for the night, wipe any traces of them away. What Mirabel didn’t know was that the villagers hadn’t given her up. They had lied to the strangers asking after a girl and a little boy, protecting the girl they barely knew, because they remembered her first day in the village in that bloodstained gown, remembered her kindness and her smile.

They travelled for a couple weeks, by foot and on horseback, walking near the riverbanks where the fruits sprung ripe, setting up the tent she had taken with her from the village to protect them on the rainy nights. They rode past many villages, but Mirabel didn’t dare stop, knowing that in a village that small, they were sitting ducks. It would be too easy to find them, and word between villages would travel fast. Travellers did not come often, and two young runaways would be the talk of the small province if they settled down again.

Finally, though, the air began to get colder, and the wind howled through the thinning trees. Mirabel knew it would be time for them to settle down soon, and so she led them off the path towards the thickening forest, heading to wear the trees thinned and church bells rang loud.

After a few days, they were finally close enough to hear the bells ring every hour, no longer needing the wind to carry the faint sounds towards them. It was a town, a big town, and Mirabel was glad for it. Her and Antonio cleaned up in the river on the outskirts of the town, trying to look like they belonged, and almost immediately Antonio made a friend, heading off to play football with them in the town square, as Mirabel trailed behind.

She decided to ask around for some work and maybe some food, making Antonio promise to wait for her at the square fountain. She picked up some bread for her and Antonio and told all the shops and all the people she could find that she was looking for work. No one took her up on her offer, but Mirabel persisted, walking through the town every day, asking around. Eventually, someone took her up on her offer to sew, and then someone else asked her to sew, and then word got around that she was really good. She was happy to be paid with food if they didn’t have money, and that kept Antonio fed and Mirabel working with everyone in the town, from those living in tents like herself to those in huge houses that reminded Mirabel of her Casita. She worked hard, as her fingers bleed and her hands covered in blisters, but Antonio never went hungry, even if she did sometimes, and she saved up enough to buy him a thicker runa to protect him from the wind, and a small blanket for them to use in the night.

They were just scraping by, and Mirabel would need a miracle to help them afford a home, a real home, before the rain season came, after the howling wind and cool nights that made up winter finally passed, but Mirabel was never one to give up hope. After all, as long as Antonio was happy, she knew she had done something right.

Chapter Text

Antonio had begged Mirabel to take him to the baker’s that morning. It was on the other side of town, but they made the best muffins, even if they were a little pricey. Mirabel counted the meagre coins they had, just enough to buy them both supper that day, after splurging on new shoes for Antonio, his old ones falling apart at the seams. As she looked to Antonio to tell him no, though, she saw that devastated look on his face, resigned to their new life.

“We’re going to the muffin man!” Mirabel sang out, poking at Antonio as the boy giggled in joy. She hated saying no to him, having forced him into this life of poverty. He didn’t even understand why they had to leave, he was too young, and Mirabel wasn’t ready to ruin his memories of their family. So, if she had to go hungry tonight to keep that smile on her cousin’s face, to preserve his childish innocence, she would.

The baker was kind enough to give them a second muffin for free, one that Mirabel split with Antonio, the boy hungry as they had only had lunch the day before. As they finished, the baker’s daughter came out, a few years older than Antonio, only eight, looking adorable in her pigtails and flowery sundress.

“Antonio, can we pleaseeeeee go play make-belief?”

“Can we play the princess and the iguana? There’s a few in the grass over by the church!”

“Okay, but only if I get to be the princess.”

“No fair, you got to be the princess last time. I wanna be the princess, you can be the evil dragon! Rawr!”

“I’m wearing a dress, I can’t be a dragon!”

“Then you can be the…the evil fairy!”

“Yay! Hold on, let me get you a tiara!”

The girl ran up the stairs, coming back down with a plastic tiara, setting it on top of Antonio’s wild curls.

“Perfect,” Mirabel said, chuckling a little. She kissed Antonio’s head before motioning for them to go, and the two ran off, giggling as they went.

With a thank you to the baker, Mirabel left as well, heading through a quieter part of town she didn’t frequent much. The people there weren’t as friendly, but Ms. Herrara lived down there, a seamstress for the wealthier people in town, and she was always willing to give Mirabel some work when she really needed it, teaching her how to sew delicate lacy patterns and rhinestones on a corset gown.

Down the cobbled street she went, walking past a scrawny man with curly hair and a faded green runa, not taking any notice of the vaguely familiar face. Mirabel wouldn’t have even remembered him in a few hours’ time if not for—

“Mirabel?”

Mirabel spun around, fear coursing through her. Why did he know her name? Who was he?

“Mirabel, it’s me… Tio Bruno,” the man said, with pleading eyes hoping she remembered him.

And all at once, it hit her like a ton of bricks. Flashbacks of her tio, spinning her around as she giggled, stood in the middle of a storm of sand, glowing green eyes. Him wandering into the kitchen with sleepless eyes and a defeated stance. Fights with her mama, with her Tia Pepa. Cowering to her Abuela. That green runa. Brighter in her memories, faded from the years now.

It was instinctive, it was impulsive, but she knew it was him.

She let out a gasp. “Tio Bruno! What… what are you doing here?”

“I… well, I kind of live here,” he said sheepishly. “But, what about you? Where is your mama and papa? Why are you here all alone?”

“Antonio and I are, well, we live her now too I suppose. Antonio is Tia Pepa’s mijo. And, um, our padres aren’t here. We, um, left.”

It seemed Bruno finally took in Mirabel’s appearance, her worn hands and fading scars, her matted hair, and her small frame, malnourished and pale.

“Mirabel, what…what happened?”

Mirabel couldn’t find the words, feigning a cheery smile instead.

“I… come stay with me, Mira. I know you don’t really know me, and I must seem like a stranger to you, but please, I insist. Family first, you know. Except, well… you know.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Mirabel said after a pause, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear sadly. As much as she was worried, she knew she had to think of Antonio first. Her Tio Bruno may be a mystery, especially because of the official Madrigal policy: ‘We don’t talk about Bruno’, but she hoped he was trustworthy. She had to take a leap of faith, if only for Antonio.  

Her money was stretched thin enough as it was, and Antonio needed a roof, and she needed to save money so she could buy the quickly growing boy new clothes, and soon. Mirabel had always prided herself on being able to trust her gut, and her instincts seemed to believe Tio Bruno to be a safe choice.

She nodded, and Bruno smiled wide, lurching forward to twirl her around in a hug, before pausing as she jerked back a little, opting for an awkward hug instead.

She followed him back to his home, a second story apartment with one bedroom and a small kitchen. The living room was covered in sand, no furniture in sight, and the sign on the door said Bruno’s Prophecies: Look Into Your Future.

Bruno brought a chair out of the bedroom, and Mirabel sat down as Bruno hopped onto the kitchen counter.

“Why did you leave?”

“I—I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Please? I’ll, I’ll tell you why we left,” Mirabel pleaded.

“Okay,” Bruno sighed, giving in. He could never say no to his prima, any of them. That was why he was so glad Dolores hadn’t asked him to stay, when she caught him leaving that night. She left him with a hug and a promise to keep his secret till morning, long enough for him to get away.

“From when we first got our gifts, we had to please the townsfolk, to help them,” Bruno started. “Even if it hurt us. Your abuela made it our mission, and soon, it came before our wants and needs—before our childhood. Before our pain. Your mama, she would wake up every morning at dawn and start cooking for the town. She would have burns on her fingers and welts on her feet, but your abuela wouldn’t let her stop, lest she let down the townsfolk. Your Tia Pepa, she was made to control her emotions, not an easy feat. She had to grow the crops, keep the sun shining for the town. She wasn’t allowed to show emotion, to express her sadness, her fears, or her true joy. Only your Tio Felix managed to bring that out in her. As for me, I had more of a curse than a gift. I could see the future, but only in glimpses. And if people didn’t like what I saw, then Abuela would take it out on me. And the more open the future they wanted me to look at, the more it hurt. I would get terribly sick, but she wouldn’t let Julieta heal me after. The night of your gift ceremony, she had me look at the future—I knew I couldn’t stay. It would only get worse for me, and she might let her anger for me turn to you, if she knew what I saw. I couldn’t let that happen. So I left. And I’ve been here ever since. Well, kind of.”

Tears began to well in Mirabel’s eyes. A dark, dark part of her wishes her Tio had stayed. Wished he had taken the beating for her like she had for Antonio. Wished she had someone to protect her. But she was better than that, and once she got past her own anger, her own hurt, she could see it.

“I—I left for a similar reason. The night of my gift ceremony was horrible. Abuela has a way with a whip,” Mirabel let out a self-deprecating laugh. “It only got worse from there. I tried so hard to make her proud, but it was never enough. Never,” a tear fell from her face, “never enough. No matter what I did, how hard I tried. But I endured, because I loved her, because I loved la family Madrigal. But, it was Antonio’s gift ceremony, and his door faded,” because of me, “and I could see it in her eyes, she was going to hurt him too. And I couldn’t let her. So we left that night.”

“Oh Mira. Come here,” Bruno said, arms outstretched, eyes filled with pain.

Mirabel fell into his outstretched arms, letting the sobs rack through her body. Letting the pain she had refused to acknowledge thus far out. And boy, it felt good. She felt a tear from her uncle wet her shoulder, but she paid it no mind. They went through the same pain. And now, they can heal together. They will heal, remake their own family. Bruno, Mirabel, and Antonio would make their own life, a new family Madrigal, better and stronger, filled with love and care, with none of the fear that once ruled their lives. And best of all, they would be happy.