Archive of Our Own

“Now, tell me five things you love about yourself.” 

“Mamá,” Mirabel groaned, pleading. 

Bruno hovered in the door of Mirabel's room, not wanting to interrupt, but not wanting to walk away either. He recognized the look in his sobrina, the gleam in her eyes, the way they flitted around the room, pupils contracted. Mirabel was a cornered animal, looking for an escape. 

“Mirabel,” Julieta warned, a little shortly. Bruno wondered how long they had been at this, for his hermana to have that tone. A tone that reminded him a little too much of his own Mamá, if he were being honest.

“Por favor, Mamá, estoy cansada.”

Mirabel’s tone had turned into a whine, like a dog showing its belly. Julieta sighed, and Bruno couldn’t help but clench his fists when his sobrina flinched at the noise.

“Lo siento, Mamá. I… uh… Me gustan mis ojos?”

“I… Okay, corazón, good. That’s one. Cuatro más, por favor.”

The urge to knock -knock, knock on wood- was growing with each desperate spin of Mira’s eyes around her bedroom, reminding him far too much of the rat that he had saved from a stray cat in the courtyard of their home.

Silent as he could, Bruno walked away. He could talk to Mirabel later.

He had meant to broach the topic gently, but his hermana found him in the kitchen trying to replenish his rapidly-dwindling salt supply, and asked if they could talk. Bruno, clutching his ruana to hide his shaking hands, followed her to the living room. She gestured to the couch, already speaking, and he could do nothing but sit where she pointed.

“Bruno, have you…. Has Mirabel….”

Bruno’s words ran faster than his brain, as they usually did, pulling out a small wince as he spoke.  

“You can't force this, Julieta, it takes time.” 

His sister lowered herself onto the sofa beside him, hip brushing his own when the cushion dipped them together. 

“I know, manito, just…. I let this go on for too long, and I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose her.. not like…” Julieta’s breath hitched, and she bit back her words with a long sigh. 

But Bruno didn't need her to finish the sentence. The rest hung between them, pained and heavy with the weight of things they didn't discuss. 

Not like you . 

“She's more like me than I think any of us want to admit,” he murmured eventually. 

A hand sought his own from where it sat on his lap, fingers lacing together in comfort. Like when they were little. Before he had that vision, and broke them. 

“I’m so worried for her,” Julieta whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, staring directly at the floor. Bruno squeezed her hand, feeling his own worry crest. 

“I am too, hermana, but… the more we show that, the more she’ll close off. She can’t carry your worry, not with everything she is already juggling. When you’ve been managing on your own for ten years, and then suddenly everyone sees you? It… it can be overwhelming.”

Julieta's grip on him spasmed, and he felt the weight of her eyes flicker to him, then away again, like so much else. 

“So… what, just, pretend like I don't see the cracks? I can't…. I can't be Mamá, Bruno.”

Bruno couldn't help it. He took his other hand and flicked Julieta’s furrowed brow right in the middle of her forehead, earning him a startled laugh from his older sister. 

“Did I say ‘be like Mamá?’ No, escuchame, Juli. This isn't about what you need, not right now. It's about Mirabel and what she needs. It has to be, comprendes?”

Julieta, still gaping at him, snapped her jaw shut and nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek like Bruno had seen Mirabel do so often before. 

“Y que… what does she need?” 

“She needs space…” Bruno started, already seeing the furrow creep back into Julieta’s brow. 

“Pero…”

“Let me finish, please,” he interrupted, squeezing her hand again. When she closed her mouth once more and nodded, he continued. 

“She needs space, and time, and patience. Opening yourself up, letting yourself rely on people? That takes a lot of trust, a lot of courage. You can't erase ten years overnight. You don't have to be like Mamá, don’t pretend everything is fine. But, just be there. Ask her how she is, and when she lies, don't push. Give it time, and eventually, she will come back to you.”

It was probably the most he had said to his hermana - any of his family apart from Mirabel, if he was being honest with himself- since he left the walls.

“But how long will that take?” Juli asked, sounding so much like a little girl again, lost and confiding in the one person who somehow always understood. Bruno wondered, distantly, when along their childhoods he had stopped being that person for her. His hand started knocking on the wood of the armrest without his consent, but Julieta said nothing. 

“Take for what, exactly?” he questioned. There were many answers he could give her. How long did it take for Mirabel to learn she could only rely on herself? How many years had she spent constructing walls no one noticed? How long has it been since Julieta was able to just have a conversation with her daughter, with no expectations of either of them? Since Mirabel was allowed to just ‘be’ without having to change herself for the comfort of those around her?

How long did it take for Julieta to notice her daughter’s answers were only ever what she wanted to hear?

“For… No sé. Her to trust me? To be mi hija again? To know she doesn’t have to do everything alone?”

“I don’t….”

“How long will it take to fix what I’ve-” Julieta gasped, interrupting him only to immediately choke on a sob. 

For all the years away, Bruno fell back on instinct. Wrapping thin arms around his older sister, he pulled her close to him, tucking her head against his shoulder and splaying his fingers over her back, rubbing up and down and up and down slowly. Until her breathing slowed, and she released a shaky breath into his ruana.

“I didn’t notice… How didn’t I notice?” she whispered.

“Sometimes,” Bruno murmured into her hair, “when it just gets easier for someone to hide, it becomes….Well, sometimes they don’t even know they aren’t being honest. If you tell yourself you’re fine, enough times. After a while, it becomes true.”

“Mirabel is not fine !”

“Yo sé, hermana, yo sé. Pero, does she? It’s different, when your entire world hinges on you being fine . So you fool everyone, even yourself, until something wakes you up…”

“Bruno….”

“And then you realize you’ve spent forty years being what everyone needs you to be. So much so that even when you’re alone, you don’t know how to separate the self from the mask.”

“Bruno….”

“Y cuando tienes que…. When there is no one to talk to but yourself, no one to worry about but yourself… You just kinda… break.”

“ Manito.” Julieta’s voice was weak, and it took Bruno a second to realize she was shaking in his arms, sobbing all anew.

“Lo siento,” she cried into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

Instantly, he wanted to tell her she had done nothing wrong. But the newer, quieter part of him that had been forced to watch his family move on without him through a crack in the wall, made him hold his words.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry too, hermana,” before he too let his head rest on her shoulder and felt the fabric beneath his cheek grow wet.

When Pepa found them later, they were both emotional messes. But, they were smiling.

Mirabel was fuming, unsure what to do with herself. This all-consuming rage was something new, this anger that had no source she could derive, no proper outlet except to pace her new bedroom until she collapsed into an exhausted heap on the bed.

The Miracle was saved. Casita was back. Abuela smiled at her now, smiled at them all more now. La familia was getting more breaks, talking about their feelings and asking for help. It was all…. Great. Perfect. Everything she had wanted.

So why was she angry?

Why did her Mamá treat her like she was about to shatter any second? Why did her Papá always say she could always find him if she wanted to talk?

She knew that. But there was nothing to talk about, now. It was all fixed!

So why wasn’t she?

The question, unbidden, brought tears to her eyes that she quickly buried into her pillow. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! This isn’t how she should be feeling!

Why do I have to ruin everything?

The thought only made her throat get tighter, forcing her to swallow around the weight of it.

Why can’t I just be happy?

She didn’t know, and that only made it all so much worse.

Bruno heard the sound of muffled sobs just before his hand connected with Mirabel’s door, making him freeze. It wasn’t an uncommon sound. In such a large family, everyone had a moment sometimes. They usually responded by ignoring it, or making a point to be more gentle with that person the following day.

But that was before his time in the walls, before he had been forced to listen to people cry knowing he could never do anything about it. Not anymore.

But he wasn’t in the walls now, and this wasn’t before. This time, he could do something. If only he knew what that something was.

Pressing his ear to the door, he heard the deep, sorrowful tears that pulled soft moans from your throat and prevented you from fully inhaling a breath, the kind he’d heard Mirabel cry after her gift ceremony. Or the kind he heard from Mamá after she called off the search for him.

He didn’t know if he should knock, or maybe try to get her attention, or….

Casita made the choice for him, quickly opening the door just enough to shift him inside via the floor tiles, and softly click it shut behind him. He heard the lock engage, and then he was alone.

Alone in a bedroom with a sobbing, heartbroken sobrina .

“Mirabel,” he crooned, kneeling beside her bed and laying a hand on the back of her head.

She startled, head flying up from her pillow as she backed herself into the wall. Her face was a mess, creased from the pillowcase and red and blotchy from her tears.

“T….Tío,” she said, quickly swiping at her cheeks and curling her mouth up in the world’s most unconvincing smile. For a second, Bruno wondered how she had fooled anyone, but then he remembered that she would have never allowed someone to see her like this. So out of control.

“Lo siento, Tío Bruno, I didn’t hear you knock. Did… Did you need anything? Want help with something?”

Bruno, ever the awkward mess, just tapped on the corner of Mirabel’s forced smile.

“Not fooling me, chiquita,” he said. Instantly, the smile fell, and Mira’s eyes flicked away to stare at her covers.

“No es nada, just… teenage girl things, sí?” she tried, her voice just a tad too bright.

“Mija, stop,” Bruno said gently, reaching out to clasp her shoulder with surprisingly steady hands. For once, he wasn’t nervous. Talking to Mirabel was like… talking to himself. He didn’t have to worry about getting it wrong. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but just don’t lie to me, por favor. If there’s things you don’t want to say, just don’t say them. I’ll never ask you for more than you’re ready to give, okay?”

Mirabel slumped, a bit of a sheepish look creeping onto her face, even as her lip quivered.

“I’m just being silly,” she huffed, voice tight, but tears still gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Settling beside her on the bed, Bruno leaned back against the wall, meeting her gaze even when hers flinched away, like the eye contact was too vulnerable to stand. 

“Want to tell me about it?” he prompted, voice light and easy. Giving her a bit of mental space, he shifted his gaze down to the bedspread, and started fiddling with the loose seam of one of the quilt squares. He felt Mirabel’s eyes follow the movement of his fingers as they traced the detached corner. Up and down and down and up and up……

“I….” she hesitated, biting her lip, before allowing herself to relax into the wall more, “Yeah…. Yeah. I think I do.. If that’s okay?”

Bruno leaned closer, bumping her shoulder with his. Abandoning the square of fabric, he sought out her hand instead, twining their fingers together in a loose grasp.

“It’s always okay, mi vida.”

Mirabel’s eyes stayed glued to their joined hands, watching his thumb brush back and forth over her pulse point, light as a breath.

“I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, kid. You’re allowed to feel things,” Bruno replied, finally bringing his eyes back up to hers. This time, Mira held his gaze, something in her dark eyes fracturing.

“But I… Everyone is so much happier, and the magic is stronger, the family is closer. So why…. Why am I so angry all the time? Why can’t I just be happy? Finally-” On the last word, her voice broke, a half-swallowed sob choking the last of her words away. She fell toward Bruno like a felled tree, still shuddering with the last swing of the axe.

He caught her, releasing her hand to wrap his arms around her heaving shoulders instead. Mirabel buried her face into his throat, just under his chin, like she had so many times when she was little. He wondered if she remembered, if his scent would awaken some buried memory to soothe away some of the ache.

“Shhh, mija, estoy aquí,” he whispered, stroking her wild curls tenderly, his throat growing tight as he listened to her cry, “Just let it out, it’s alright. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

At his words, his sobrina only cried harder, clinging to him with fingers curled tightly in his ruana, breaths harsh against his neck, trembling all over. He just held her, murmuring meaningless soothing things into her ear as he rocked them both. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a babe being lulled into slumber, her grief slowly pulled back, enough for her to breathe fully. The first full breath she took against him had her loosening her grip, just a tad. Instead of clenching his ruana, her fingers rested over his back, trembling minutely.

“So much hurt for mi mariposita . Talk to me, let me help you carry it. You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

Another shaky sob left the girl in his arms, but the earthquake had run its course. All that was left for now was the aftershocks.

“I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know how to make it go away. Why won’t it go away?”

Bruno made a low soothing noise in his throat, stroking her hair again, before pulling back just enough to see her face. She let him move her, but didn’t let go. Then again, neither did he.

“Why should it go away, Belita? Those are your emotions, you’ve got just as much right to feel them as anyone else,” he said.

Mirabel frowned, her eyes flickering away from his to stare at the bedspread, thinking.


“Because I shouldn’t have them anymore! It’s all fixed, it’s all better now! I should just be happy!”

“Should you?” Bruno asked simply, surprising her enough that her gaze found his again.

“I…..” Mirabel’s words faded off as she bit her bottom lip, looking so lost it made his chest ache.

“Should I?” he added, voice a bit challenging, refusing to back down even when she winced.

“Of course not, Tío. But, that’s different. You were… You were erased, gone for ten years, for something that wasn’t your fault.” Her face was still pained, but with every word, her voice grew stronger, holding so much conviction he didn’t doubt for a second that she believed every word.

“Y tú, Mira? Porque no tú, también?”

“Es diferente,” she repeated, “I wasn’t… I was here, and they were here. And they tried. Mamá tried so hard to make me feel accepted. Papá always made sure I knew I was loved. Y Abuela…. She apologized. She’s been working so hard to make me feel seen, since Casita was rebuilt. It’s fixed now.”

“Is it?” Bruno asked, slipping one hand away from her to fumble with the edge of the quilt square again. Mirabel’s gaze followed his movement down to it, her teeth still worrying her lower lip.

Getting an idea, Bruno flipped the quilt square into position, flattening it and smoothing out the edges with his fingers.

“Is the quilt fixed, now?” he asked.

Mirabel shook her head, looking confused but willing to let his path reach its natural point.

“No, Tío.”

“Why not? It’s in the right place, the inside is covered. It looks fixed.”

“Sí, but when you move the blanket, or something rubs against it, it’s still going to pull away again,” she indulged him patiently, using her hand to shoo his fingers away and flip the scrap of fabric back up, showing a dark brown material underneath.

“So how do you fix it?” he asked simply.

Mirabel lifted her eyes back to his, realization sparking, but answered him anyway.

“You have to remove the old stitches that are fraying, and re-attach the entire square.”

“What would happen if you just sewed the part that was already loose?

She smiled sheepishly, eyes drifting back to where he was smoothing the fabric back down.

“The other side would eventually come up. Because the issue isn’t the hole, it’s that the thread is worn and now it’s loose, so it would just keep unraveling.”

Bruno smiled at her, soft and warm and trying to convey everything he thought through the gesture. Abandoning the quilt, he wrapped his arm around her again, drawing her close for a gentle hug.

“But… I don’t know….”

Sensing her confusion, Bruno clarified the analogy for her.

“Abuela, Casita, everything that happened. That was just the hole appearing, kid. Her apologizing, us rebuilding Casita? Ripping the old stitches out.”

“And now?” she prompted, voice a little choked.

“Now, you have to do the work of sewing the entire thing back up again. Stitch by stitch, side by side,” he replied.

Mirabel burrowed further into his embrace, her eyelashes tickling his neck as she blinked, silent for a moment. Bruno just held her, letting her work out her words without pressure to rush.

“That… that sounds like a lot of work,” she whispered eventually.

“Sí, it is. But it’s worth it. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I don’t….” she swallowed back another choked breath, “I don’t know how to not do it alone.”

Bruno stroked a hand over her curls, careful not to snag any on his trailing fingers, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Neither do I, mija,” he said honestly, earning a little surprised laugh from his sobrina, “But I think it’s time we learn, don’t you?” 

In response, Mirabel just hugged him closer, releasing a breath so deep it felt like she had held it for ten years.

“Together?” she said.

“Sí, mariposa, juntos.”