Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Camila hadn't been sleeping well for months. It had started when her daughter reached out to her from the demon realm, when she'd learned, well, everything at once. She was a veterinarian, of course, a working woman, so she needed her coffee, only lately she'd gone from two cups to three cups to five cups, and that was without the occasional energy drink or supplement.

She couldn't help it. She'd started off with one cup a day, back before becoming a mother, and giving up coffee had been the second-hardest part of pregnancy. Now she was the mother, not just to her darling little Luz, not just to Vee, but to an entire tribe of witches. Was that the right word? Tribe? Congregation? Coven? Was a coven how witches referrred to a group of themselves, or was that just a human term for them? She'd have to ask about that.

Camila tossed the melatonin into the bathroom trash. She'd tried melatonin. She'd tried NyQuil. She'd tried booze. She'd tried all the gummies and supplements in the world. Nothing could get her asleep and *keep* her asleep. Nothing could get her through the night.

At least, she'd tried everything in *this* world to help her sleep. Maybe she could ask Eda Clawthorne for something to help her sleep at night, and stay asleep until the morning.

Chapter Text

It had been another busy day at the office. A bad day, to be perfectly frank. They'd lost two patients and had to euthenize a family's first dog. She'd spent a few hours trying to unwind at a bar, and then touched up her makeup so it didn't look like she'd been crying before heading home.

Her children were having another movie night. She'd checked in with snacks and then left them to it. Guz had his notepad out. Luz and Hunter were riveted, with Amity and Willow feeding off their enthusiasm, and Vee as always was just happy to be included. That poor child had been through so much.

Manny and she had always talked about maybe having more kids, but they'd decided against it. Of course, life had thrown her a curveball, as it so often did. Once she was satisfied the kids were having a good time, she'd gone off to bed with the little powder Eda Clawthorne had given her.

Camila had read over the warning label, which was longer than the actual bottle. Most of it was interactions with various potions, elixers, and charms. Do not take if you are under a major curse or may be subject to curses. Possible side effects include drowsiness, drymouth, fetal werewolfism, and vivid dreams. Do not operate heavy machinery or cast complex spells while taking this reagant. Well, she already had enough children and had zero prospects for any more on the way, so the fetal werewolfism wasn't something to worry about. Nothing else sounded like anything to be afraid of.

"Remember, it's potent stuff. I accidentally had some and it knocked me flat on my ass for hours," Eda had said. "And those dreams can get really intense."

Dreams? She didn't care what she dreamed or how intense it was, or what hocus pocus it interacted with. Luz was the dreamer in the family, her and Manny. He had always been a little more in-tune to Radio Luz.

Camila put up the red signal on that particular train of thought and slammed the brakes, hard. She'd done the best she could, and everyone in her support group had agreed that being a single mom was hard. Being a mom in general was hard. Being a veterinarian was hard. Life was hard.

She just needed to get some quality sleep.

Camila changed into her nightclothes, got herself a glass of water, stirred the magical powder into the water wtih her finger, put her glasses away in their case on her nightstand, and sat down on the bed. Finally, she was going to get a good night's rest.

She drank the mixture down like the first glass of wine after a really bad day at work. She set down the glass on the nightstand.

"I wonder how long it takes for this stuff to kick in," Camila said.

The nightstand turned flat and fell over like a cardboard cutout.

"Oh. Right. I should have expected, with magic," Camila said, as she turned to regard her sleeping body, half on the bed and half on the floor. The skin of the world peeled back like an orange.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

Camila spun around.

For a moment, her heart leapt. Then it fell again, long and hard, hitting every bump on the way down.

"Mi amor," she sighed. "I should have guessed."

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Manny said.

Chapter Text

"I know this is a dream," Camila said, her face tugged into a smile and holding back tears at the same time.

"Of course it's a dream," Manny said. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy it together."

Camila reached out and embraced her husband. The smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the tightness of his embrace, it was all there, as real as what felt like yesterday, as real as what felt like a thousand years ago.

"I've missed you so much," Camila said. She was still trying to hold back the tears, but then, why bother? This was a dream. There was nobody to see her, nobody she had to hide her grief from, nobody whose own grief she had to make space for.

"I've missed you too," Manny said.

"You wouldn't believe the things I've been through, the things I've learned. Oh, mi amor, our little girl is all grown up."

"Tell me all about it," Manny said.

She did her best, faltering along the way. She'd never been a great storyteller. That gift belonged to Manny and Luz. She stumbled. She forgot things and had to go back over them, jumping ahead in her hast to explain, remembering details she'd left out, shifting back and forth through time in her hurry to make everything make sense. He took it all in with those understanding, wise eyes, the eyes that had met hers during that long, rambling speech the best man had given at her cousin's wedding. They'd met again in the line for the bar, and he'd asked to share a dance with her, and one dance had turned into many, just as one drink had turned into several, and they'd both promised to meet up again afterwards, and against all expectations they did meet, first for coffee, then for lunch, then for drinks, and then for dinner, and one date turned into a dozen dates turned into an engagement turned into a happy marriage.

"I always knew you were the motherly type," Manny said, when she'd finally caught him all up.

"I was so scared I'd end up like my mother," she laughed. "And you convinced me I wouldn't, because I'd have you by my side." She sniffed and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you both," Manny said, clutching her arm.

"I know, mi amor," Camila said. "But we've both had time to find a place for that pain."

"So, tell me," Manny said, smiling back at her in the two person swing-seat at her sister's house, "when did you know?"

"When did I know that I wanted to have a daughter? We've been over that," Camila said.

"No, I mean when did you know that wasn't our daughter?" Manny said, looking up at her from the hospital bed.

Chapter Text

"I...I told you. I didn't realize until I saw Vee, and realized that everything she told me was true, and--" Camila began.

They were back in the swing seat again.

"And that's it?" Manny asked, still smiling, but there was an edge to his voice. "You didn't notice anything wrong before then? No little tells? No signs? No hints?"

"I...I noticed she'd been unusually well behaved," Camila said, hesitantly.

Manny stared at her, silently, his smile inquisitive.

"There were a few other things. She'd made some new friends, she'd stopped talking about those Azura books you introduced her to, but I thought that was just...I thought she was just growing up."

Manny's smile remained there, fixed and unmoving.

"I was a little...surprised, by all those letters she sent. It wasn't her style really."

Those wise brown eyes locked onto her, like the red dot from a sniper rifle.

"I noticed she was forgetting things. That was odd, because my little girl was a bit, unconventional, maybe, and she missed things, but she'd never been that forgetful. Where we kept the sugar, when she wanted to help me out with baking. She forgot how I took my coffee too. She'd been a lot more, well, eager to please. I thought...I just thought she was trying to be on her best behavior. Maybe I worried a little that I'd been too hard on her, that camp...well everyone said it was supposed to straighten her out," she said defensively.

"Straighten her out?" Manny repeated, as they swung back and forth.

"I didn't mean *that* kind of straight!" Camila said quickly. "I just meant, she'd had so much trouble fitting in, so much trouble making friends, so much trouble in school. I wanted to do what was best for her."

"And did you think you'd done it?" Manny asked, still smiling. "That she'd just...turned things around?"

"I knew something was different," Camila said, and her own voice sounded desperate, pleading in her ears. "She'd always been a good girl, but she was so...so eager to please, like she was trying too hard, like she felt she had to earn her keep. She'd never been like that before. I was worried. What if I'd done the wrong thing, sending her to that camp? But everyone said--"

"Everyone said not to worry," Manny said, putting his left hand on her right, its warm weight comforting.

"Exactly! I thought, I thought maybe I had done the right thing, after all. I just thought she was overcompensating a little. I didn't want to pry too far. I didn't want to be one of those helicopter parents you hear about, like that horrible little blonde woman in the PTA and the HOA," Camila said. "So sure, maybe she got some details wrong about her favorite things, but I thought--I thought I was just remembering wrong. There was something up, something I couldn't put a name to."

She squeezed his hand for comfort. It had a tube going into it now.

"But you still thought she was your daughter, didn't you?" Manny said.

"Of course I did!" Camila said. "Who would I be, if I was suspicious of my own daughter? It's been so, so hard without you, and I thought I'd finally gotten her on the right track!"

"And you didn't want to second guess any of that," Manny said, still smiling. "You didn't want to doubt again. You wanted to feel like you were doing a good job as a single mother."

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, again, but she couldn't put her finger on it, and suddenly she was crying, crying over the background beep of machines and the distant calls for doctor so and so.

"I didn't know what was wrong! I knew something was wrong, but I thought, Camila, she's doing so much better now. She's making friends. She's not getting into trouble. Maybe the Counselor and the Principle were right. I didn't have you there to help me. I didn't have you there to help me realize what a mistake I was making. I didn't have you there to--"

"To recognize that your own daughter was an imposter?" Manny said, his wise eyes wet with hurt.

"I didn't...I thought..." Camila struggled to speak.

"Do you remember the promise you made, right here, by this bed?" Manny said, his face still free of anger or judgment.

"I promised I would look after her for both of us," Camila said.

"How well did you look after her?" Manny asked, imploring. "You didn't even realize she was gone."

"I thought...I thought I had her. I thought I was helping her. I never meant for any of this to happen. How could I have known she'd run off to another world?"

"You couldn't have possibly imagined that," Manny said, comfortingly. "But you should have recognized that wasn't your daughter."

That was it.

"No," Camila said.

"You failed her. You broke your promise," Manny said, his hand clutched around hers, in a grip so frail yet so unbreakable.

"'Your' daughter? She was always *our* daughter," Camila said, rising from her seat and pulling her hand free.

"I may not have been the best mother, but the Manny I know supported me. The Manny I know trusted me. You would never act this way, not even in a dream, so let's see who you really are," Camila said. "I don't know if you're some...some remant of Belos, some evil spirit or curse that's been cast upon me, but I'm going to find out who you really are."

She reached down and ripped off Manny's face.

Chapter Text

"Oh," Camila said.

There was no two-person swing. There was no hospital bed.

Manny's familiar face had been replaced with another, even more familiar one. It wasn't Belos. It wasn't a curse or an evil spirit or a monster.

It was a concerned face, framed by full hair that was going a little grey and a pair of glasses. It was her face.

"I...I didn't know," Camila said. "I didn't realize it wasn't my little girl."

"You should have figured it out," Camila said.

"How could I have? Who wants to suspect their own daughter of being an imposter?"

"Who can't recognize an imposter pretending to be her own daughter?" Camila replied. "You could have known. You should have known. There were signs. Little things. Big things. Remember the time she forgot her favorite TV show's title? Or the time she forgot her favorite voice actor's birthday? The little slip-ups. The inconsistancies. You missed it all."

"I didn't think--" Camila began.

"No, you didn't think," Camila responded, bitterly, her glasses glinting with the intensity of pure hate. "You hoped for the best, just like you always do."

"I did my best," Camila said, weakly.

"Your best wasn't good enough," Camila snapped back. "You were the one who was uncertain about this little addition to the family, you were the one who took convincing, you were the one who always had doubts. You may have given birth to her, nursed her, done your best for her," and those words were spat out like the poison they were, dripping with acid and irony, "but she was only ever her father's daughter. What were you possibly thinking? Did you think you could replace that? Did you think you could make this family whole again?"

"No, I never--"

"You failed her! Your own daughter was gone for months, risking her life in the demon realm, and you didn't even know! You may have given birth to her, but you *never* understood her."

"I tried to--"

"You didn't even recognize her! You didn't know she was gone! You let an imposter live in your house, because that was easier than raising your own daughter!"

"I didn't know!" Camila said, grabbing herself and lifting her up bodily, slamming her against the hospital wall. "How could I have possibly prepared for that?"

"Excuses," Camila snarled. "Empty words. You should have known!"

"Maybe I did know, somewhere, deep down. Maybe--"

"Oh, deep down. A fat lot of good that did her! Deep down, you knew something was wrong, just like deep down, you loved your daughter. Deep down? What good does that do anybody, what's 'deep down', under all the self-deception and misunderstanding? You think *she* was the storyteller? You're the creative one! You make up a story every day about a loving, caring, giving mother, the poor single mother who has to raise a child on her own now, but you knew *nothing* about her!"

"I know she's groing into an amazing young woman," Camila said.

"And she's grown without you, without your 'help', and is all the better for it," Camila said.

"I did my best!" Camila cried out feebly. "And I'm making up for it now!"

"You're making up for it now? What, like this is a missed anniversary or a failed birthday party? You can't 'make up' for this? Do you think you can buy off your own conscience? Do you think you can erase the guilt? Do you think anything will ever get the taste of failure out of your mouth?"

Camila slumped against the hospital wall. The bed was empty, now.

"Too little, too late, Camila Noceda," Camila said, looming over her, the slipper in hand.

"I was there for her, growing up. I was there for her as much as I could be. The support group says-" Camila said.

"You weren't there for her when it really mattered. You weren't there for her when her life was in danger, and you didn't even realize it. You got the daughter you wanted, and that was enough. That was enough to be content and happy. Because that's what you always wanted, wasn't it? A daughter you understood. A low-maintenance child. A daughter who fit in, who was easier to deal with."

"No, that's not true. I never wanted to--" Camila said.

"What? Fix her? Change her? Raising her was too much trouble to deal with, so you shipped her off to that camp and you didn't even get her back."

"I thought I had her back! I thought she was safe!" Camila protested. "Anyway, I have her now!"

"Do you? Do you really? You'll never get back those lost months. You'll never be able to forget that you couldn't see your own daughter had been replaced. I'll never let you forget that!"

"I know," Camila said.

"I hate you," Camila said.

"I know," Camila said.

"You'll never be able to get back the most important moments of your daughter's life," Camila said.

"There will be new moments," Camila said, half defiant, half exhausted. "I can't take back the past, but I can be a mother now. I can take care of all of them. It's the least I can do to--"

"Don't you dare say 'to make up for it'!" Camila screamed at her. "Don't you ever think you can make up for what you've done, and what you utterly failed to do!"

"It's the least I can do to get back on the right track," Camila said.

Camila glared at her.

"I'll be watching you," Camila said to herself.

"I know," Camila sighed.

"I'll never forgive you for this," Camila said.

"I know," Camila said.

Chapter Text

Camila woke up feeling...refreshed wasn't exactly the word for it, but well-rested. The magic powder had worked as advertised.

Birds were singing. The sun was shining. Panic flooded Camila's brain. How late for work was she? Why hadn't anyone called her?

She groped on the nightstand for her glasses, put them on, then fumbled with her phone. She was halfway through typing an apology to her boss before she remembered that it was her day off.

Camila hit the bathroom next and was surprised by how long it took. She supposed that was what happened when you didn't get up in the middle of the night for a leak.

She brushed her teeth, changed into a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants, and poured the entire bottle of magic powder down the toilet. She flushed, twice, before wondering if maybe introducing magic to the sewer system might have some kind of unexpected result. Too late too do anything about it now.

There were a lot of things it was too late to do anything about. That was life.

When she came downstairs, Luz and Vee hurried over to her with a plate of fritadas and a steaming cup of coffee.

"Sorry it's reheated. We all heard your alarm going off, but you just looked so peaceful sleeping there, I didn't have the heart to wake you," Luz explained quickly.

*I don't deserve you,* Camila thought. She pulled the two children into a tight embrace.

Luz and Vee squeezed her back enthusiastically.

"Everything okay, mama?" Luz asked.

"Everything's okay," Camila lied.