They're rebuilding Casita.
Is it still Casita if the miracle's gone?
Mirabel will figure that out later.
Everyone is helping. The villagers. The family. Antonio is running around with the other children, getting underfoot, but he is only five, and he did just lose his gift. At least he's not crying anymore.
Mirabel is helping wherever she can, and for once, people are actually letting her help. It's-nice, even if they don't have a home right now, even if the rest of the family just lost their gifts.
Señor Rodriguez is lurking just beyond the edge of her vision, as if he wants to say something but isn't sure he should. At first Mirabel leaves him alone because he's an adult, and she's fifteen, and surely if it's important he'll say something.
Five minutes later he still hasn't said anything-or moved at all. She decides to take pity on him.
"Hola, Señor Rodriguez, what can I do for you?" She asks, turning to face the man, and he jumps.
Señor Rodriguez reddens, stammers for a moment, then braces himself and points.
She follows the invisible line from his finger to where her uncle is standing, his shoulders hunched forward, picking at the hem of his ruana, staring at a bucket.
"That's Uncle Bruno. He's, um, back." She really isn't sure what else to say, but Señor Rodriguez only shakes his head.
"He's been staring at that bucket ever since I set it down." The man explains nervously. "My nephew was supposed to be helping me, but-" the man makes a vague gesture. Jose is thirteen, still very much a young boy, and ducks out of work as much as possible to go play with his friends. And Señor Rodriguez generally lets him, even though it makes more work for him in the long run, because Jose's parents died when he was just a baby and he just wants to see his nephew happy.
Mirabel looks back at her uncle, who by now has shuffled just the tiniest bit closer to the bucket, then back to Señor Rodriguez, who is also looking at Bruno.
"Maybe he wants to help?" Mirabel offers tentatively. Her tío did seem to be the only adult present not doing anything to help. Señor Rodriguez rubs the back of his neck uncertainly. "He knows how to make spackle," she adds. "Might try to do it with a bucket on his head," she mumbles to herself.
"That's what my nephew was supposed to be doing." Señor Rodriguez admits reluctantly. "Ah, but he has no interest in the work, if I'm honest. I need to find something else for him. Something he can enjoy." The man looks nervously at Mirabel. "I wouldn't mind the help," he says, almost shyly, looking back over Bruno.
He's afraid to go talk to Bruno himself, Mirabel realizes abruptly. It's been ten years since anyone in the village saw him, ten years since anyone so much as uttered a word about him. And from what I've heard, he wasn't well thought of even before he left.
"Come on," she says, taking the man by the arm. "I'll introduce you, and we'll see if he's interested." She leads the still nervous man over to where her tío still stands, still staring at the abandoned bucket. Bruno startles at their arrival, looking from Mirabel to her companion, then seems to catch himself.
"Hi."
He doesn't quite meet either of their gazes, but he doesn't bolt either, and Mirabel has the feeling he wants to. She smiles at her uncle and hopes it's reassuring.
"Tío Bruno, this is Señor Rodriguez. He's been helping rebuild Casita. Señor Rodriguez, this is my tío." Both men shuffle awkwardly, not quite meeting each other's eyes, so Mirabel continues. "Okay...so Señor Rodriguez's nephew is supposed to be helping him, but he's kind of...wandered off. If you don't want to it's fine, but we thought we'd ask if maybe, you wanted to-help? I know you know how to make spackle..."
"Jorge makes the spackle," Bruno points out almost automatically, but Mirabel doesn't miss the way his eyes light up briefly before his gaze flickers towards Señor Rodriguez. "If it's okay, I mean, I'd love to help, if-"
Señor Rodriguez interrupts the other man by unexpectedly closing the distance between them and slapping him on the shoulder. Bruno startles again, then he grins, rubbing his arm.
"I know you've been watching me climb up and down that ladder for the last hour." Señor Rodriguez says to Bruno. "Come on. We'll put you to use."
Mirabel watches them work for a while, just in case. The two men start out tentative, not quite certain what to do with each other, but gradually they relax into the work and an admittedly one-sided conversation, but Señor Rodriguez has always been more than capable of carrying both sides of any conversation, so Mirabel isn't really worried about that.
At one point she looks away, and when she looks back again she realizes they must have found another bucket somewhere, because now her uncle is indeed wearing it over his head. To Mirabel's surprise and relief, Señor Rodriguez doesn't seem to mind, but keeps talking as if he's used to getting help from long-lost, bucket-wearing Madrigals every day.
She wonders briefly if she should be worried about the bucket, but considering Bruno spent the last ten years hiding in the walls between Casita, and considering that this was only his first day out, she decides to let it go. It's not hurting anyone, and again, Señor Rodriguez doesn't seem to mind.
She gets back to work.
Antonio finds her not much later, wanting to help, and she's not sure how to let him. She knows it's important, though, because he's no longer playing with the other kids, and there are tears in his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.
She settles for asking him to hold stuff for her, and he does, following her around with an armload of stuff Mirabel doesn't actually need, and she thinks he knows that it's just busywork, but he doesn't say anything. Just stands there with a determined look on his face.
Señor Rodriguez is back and once again hovering nervously in her peripheral view. Tío Bruno is not with him. Mirabel sets aside her work and goes to him. Antonio sets down his own burden, and follows.
"Señor?" she asks, and he hesitates. Suddenly Mirabel is certain that Bruno is gone again, because looking around she can't see him anywhere. "What is it?"
"I wasn't sure whether to say anything." Señor Rodriguez begins, then stops. "He said he didn't want anyone to worry." Mirabel feels a lump settle heavily in her stomach.
"Bruno?" she asks. Señor Rodriguez ducks his head, confirming her guess.
"He said he was just tired." The man is walking away from her now, away from the house and all the work, towards some nearby trees. Mirabel follows him, her throat tight, not knowing what to expect. Antonio follows her.
They find Bruno leaning against a tree, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes closed. Mirabel's first thought is that he is hurt-or worse. She immediately wonders why her mind goes there so quickly and moves to sit down beside him.
He stirs slightly, hazel eyes cracking open. His gaze focuses slowly on her. He looks tired.
"Mirabel?" his eyebrows furrow slightly for a moment, but then his expression clears. He looks around and catches sight of Señor Rodriguez, who is slowly backing away, now that Mirabel has found her uncle.
"Hey." Behind her Antonio sits, waiting patiently, and Mirabel's heart breaks for a little boy who currently doesn't know any other way to help than to be quiet and stay out of the way. "You okay?" He blinks at her a few times. "Because you're sitting here in the grass, under a tree, and Señor Rodriguez was worried about you?" she clarifies, and she can see the moment understanding dawns.
"Oh." He looks away for less than a second before meeting her gaze once again. "Just tired," he explains, echoing the other man's earlier statement. "Sorry-I didn't mean to worry you."
She smiles at her uncle. "I know it's a lot," she offers, and his eyes acknowledge the truth in the words.
He shrugs, though, and changes the subject. "I don't think we were ever actually introduced," he says, looking around Mirabel. "Or said thank you for letting us use your room."
Antonio smiles. "The rats said you're nice." His entire expression wobbles as he tries to hold back tears. "I can't talk to them anymore." He sniffs, and Mirabel just wants to scoop him up and hug all the sadness away.
Bruno just stares at him. "Of course you can," he tells the boy, and Mirabel wonders if the man realizes that with Casita gone, so are their gifts. Maybe he hasn't tried to have another vision, so he doesn't know.
She doesn't think he's that out of it.
She also doesn't think he's cruel, but Antonio is sniffling even louder now.
Bruno frowns, then reaches into his ruana. "What I meant was-here." He holds a rat out to Antonio, who takes it without thinking. Mirabel tries not to shudder. "This is Rosalita. Just because you don't have your... gift anymore, you can still talk to her." He turns his attention to the rat. "Rosalita, this is Antonio. Say hello."
The rat lifts itself onto its hind legs and squeaks. Antonio grins and laughs even as a few tears run down his cheek.
"Antonio, this is Rosalita." Bruno continues softly. "She can stay with you, for a while. If you want. You can talk to her...she doesn't talk back, exactly, but she does squeak a lot."
The rat squeaks again, and Mirabel almost feels like it's agreeing with her tío.
"Hello," Antonio says, his voice quiet. The rat scurries up his arm to cling to his shoulder.
Bruno clears his throat. "Wanna meet the others?" Antonio nods, and their uncle starts rifling around in his ruana. "Fernando, Alejandro, donde estas?" As if summoned by their very names, two more rats appear, one from a pocket in his ruana, one out from his sleeve. "Ah, there you are."
He gently sets them down in his lap and turns them to face Antonio. "Fernando, Alejandro, this is mi sobrino Antonio. Antonio, Fernando," he lays a finger on the forehead of a black rat, "and Alejandro." He offers his hand to the other, this one light brown in color, and it scurries up his arm, disappearing briefly into his hair before peeking back out, a tiny nose and two glimmering eyes all that are visible.
Antonio giggles.
"Alejandro-he's a little bit shy," Bruno explains. The rat in question squeaks. Fernando raises onto his back legs, sniffing the air. "And they're hungry again. Hang on." He starts digging in his ruana, pulling out what looks like part of an arepa, and starts tearing it into pieces. Mirabel doesn't want to think about how long he's been carrying it around.
Rosalita squeaks again, and Alejandro reappears on Bruno's shoulder. He offers a piece to each of the rats still with him, then to Antonio.
The boy accepts the offering, and Rosalita climbs down into his lap, sniffing daintily. Antonio holds out the portion to her, and she noses it curiously before taking it from him. Once she's eaten, she climbs back onto his shoulder and nuzzles against his neck. Antonio laughs, the first real laugh Mirabel has heard from him since the candle went out.
She goes to smile at Bruno and her expression changes abruptly as he absently breaks off another piece of the arepa and pops it in his mouth. Antonio doesn't notice, and she doesn't say anything, but Bruno sees her staring and after a moment seems to catch on. He ducks his head and stuffs what's left of the arepa back in his pocket.
"Old habits," he chuckles nervously. Looking back over at Antonio, he seems to come to a decision. "Hey, kid." Antonio looks up. "I was supposed to be helping, you know, with the spackle? But the problem is, the rats tend to get into mischief if I don't keep a close enough eye on them. And I don't really know who else to ask, but do you think maybe you could keep an eye on them for me?"
Antonio stares at his tío. "You want me to take care of Rosalita?"
"And Fernando. Alejandro too. I'd hate for him to fall into the spackle. They'll stay with you, especially if you feed them." Antonio smiles.
"Of course!" he says, and Bruno immediately drops the other two rats into his lap before retrieving what's left of the arepa. He offers it to Antonio, who accepts it starts tearing it into rat-sized chunks.
"Thanks, kid." Bruno says fondly, watching the rats beg for more food.
"I'll take good care of them, don't you worry."
Bruno suggests that Antonio keep the rats away from people, and Antonio seems to understand that not everybody likes rats, and promises to stay where he is. The rats finish eating and are more interested in curling up in the boy's lap than anything else. Antonio is petting each of them in turn as Mirabel and Bruno walk away.
"Thanks," she says, and Bruno shoots her a questioning glance. "He's been really upset, and wants to help, but he's so little..." she trails off.
"Alejandro almost fell in the spackle earlier." Bruno comments. Mirabel's not sure how the two are related. Her uncle is awkward and weird and not everything he says makes sense, but that might just be a side effect of living in the walls for ten years with only rats to keep him company.
He reaches absently into a pocket only to stop himself. "They'll keep an eye on him. Rosa will let me, she'll let me know if he gets into any trouble." He turns and smiles at her. "Thanks."
Mirabel has no idea why he's thanking her. Stopping in her tracks, she studies him carefully for a long moment. When he doesn't offer an explanation, she asks for one. "For what?"
He frowns. "I never got to know Antonio. I mean, I saw, you know, saw him through the cracks, but-it's not really the same." He looks away for a moment, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I didn't think I'd ever get to meet him," he admits.
He tenses when she pulls him into a hug, and never fully relaxes into it, but Mirabel figures that's okay, that he's got plenty of time to practice. Plenty of time to get the hang of it.
She remembers why she went looking for him in the first place. "Are you okay?" she asks again. Bruno sighs.
"I'm just tired," he says again. "Well, I haven't really slept since-I guess it's been a few days, really, and being out and being back and seeing everyone again is great, you know." He realizes he's rambling. "I just needed to catch my breath."
"Well, don't overdo it. It is only your first day back. And Señor Rodriguez seems to have taken a liking to you."
"He likes Jorge. Jorge-"
"Makes the spackle?" she asks, and gets a wry, self-deprecating smile for her trouble. "But seriously. Take a break if you need it."
To her surprise and utter delight, he rolls his eyes at her. "I'm pretty sure I'm the tío and you're the sobrina. I should be saying as much to you." He smiles. "It's good to be home."
They go their separate ways; a few minutes later he's back to helping Señor Rodriguez. He's also got that bucket back on his head, and Mirabel wonders if she worries too much.
Fernando climbs onto the edge of the bucket and like his fellow rat earlier, nearly falls into the spackle. Bruno is not expecting to see him, and startles badly, throwing the trowel with a yelp and somehow managing not to hit anyone.
Fernando races up his arm, squeaking and trembling, and Bruno's heart freezes in his chest at the thought of something happening to Antonio. He has a vague notion that five-year-olds are not supposed to be left alone for extended periods of time, though it's not an idea that's supported by any personal experience.
Did memories of lonely days spent learning to use his gift and terrifying nights learning to fear it count?
He leaves the spackle, leaves the bucket-helmet and the illusion of Jorge-and safety-behind, and goes in search of his nephew.
Bruno never thought he would get to meet his youngest sobrino. It's a little bit of a miracle, in spite of everything else that's happened. In spite of the fact that they lost Casita and their gifts.
He doesn't miss his gift. He's not sad at all to see it gone. He's sorry for the rest of the family, sympathizes with their heartbreak and sorrow, but he freely admits that he doesn't really understand, can't understand, because losing his gift is possibly the best thing that's ever happened to him.
His sobrinos are nice. Being able to see all of them again, talk to them again, that might be just as good. He wonders if he's allowed to have two good things happen to him to so close together, two wonderful things, really, or if something very, very bad is going to happen soon to balance it out.
He hopes not, but he's not particularly confident. They didn't call him 'Bad Luck Bruno' for nothing.
Something very, very small in the back of his mind reminds him that he can't control the future, that the bad things that happen aren't really his fault, but he's gotten so used to taking the blame that the voice trying to tell him this is barely audible and easily ignored.
Bruno finds the boy right where he and Mirabel left him, curled up on his side, sobbing as if his heart would break-or had broken already.
"Toñito?" His voice sounds too loud, too harsh. Bruno kneels beside the kid. Fernando races down his arm and back toward the boy, trying to bury himself in Antonio's hair.
Antonio sniffs and launches himself at his uncle's stomach, latching onto his ruana and burying his face in the green cloth. Bruno settles into a sitting position and wraps his arms around the niño, making shushing sounds and feeling entirely inadequate to the task of comforting him.
Eventually the boy cries himself out and tries to shove himself even further into Bruno's ruana.
"I can't hear them." A tiny, piping voice reaches his ears, and Bruno's heart breaks at the sorrow he hears in it. "All they do is squeak, and I can't understand what they're saying."
Bruno sighs, feels his shoulders hunch, drawn even tighter than they were before. "Lo siento, mijo. I am so sorry." He hugs the boy even tighter. "I thought the rats would make you feel better."
"They did, at first." Antonio admitted, sniffling wetly into Bruno's chest. "I just wanted to be able to talk to them so bad."
"I know." He wonders if Pepa is going to kill him when she finds out that he made her son cry.
It's starting to get dark and la familia is realizing that they don't actually have anywhere to sleep tonight. People immediately start offering their homes, but Mirabel quickly realizes that there are twelve of them in need of a place to sleep-they're going to have to split up.
Fortunately, there are enough people opening their homes up to them that it doesn't take long to find a place for everyone to sleep, although there is a moment when it looks like nobody, not even Señor Rodriguez, is interested in having Bruno stay with them even for a night, until an ancient looking woman speaks up, saying that sweet little Brunito can stay with her for as long as needed. Brunito and anyone else who hasn't been spoken for, and that just so happens to be Mirabel and Dolores.
It is then that Mirabel realizes she has no idea where her uncle Bruno is. That she hasn't seen him since they parted ways earlier. Unfortunately Pepa realizes at the same time that no one has Antonio, and panics.
Mirabel suspects that it won't do any good to explain about the rats, but instead tells Pepa she saw him earlier and leads him back towards the trees, hoping he's still where they left him. She also realizes she probably should have gone and gotten him earlier; the truth was, she forgot, and guilt makes her stomach churn.
She finds him right where she left him, with one notable change. Bruno is with him.
The two of them are asleep, Bruno curled up on his side, Antonio tucked securely against his chest, the ruana covering them both. All three rats are plainly visible: one is tucked under Antonio's chin, one is in his arms, and one is poking out of Bruno's hair.
Pepa frowns when she sees the rats, then relaxes as she looks down at her son. The rats, on the other hand, seem to notice the two newcomers. They squeak and disappear somewhere inside Bruno's ruana. Antonio stirs and opens his eyes. Bruno does not.
"Mamá?" Antonio rubs his eyes sleepily. They're red, like he's been crying again. "Mirabel?"
"Hey, bebé," Pepa says softly, kneeling down next to her son and consequently, her brother. "You okay?"
"Mmm-hmmm." He smiles up at his mother, looking more than a little like an angel. Mirabel's heart melts at the sight of him snuggling even closer up against their tío.
Bruno's breath hitches, and his eyes fly open wide. He sees his nephew and relaxes, then sees Pepa and tenses all over again.
"Hi." He doesn't quite meet his sister's eyes. "He was, um, upset. About, you know, about his gift. I-I-I-" he doesn't finish. Mirabel has no idea what he means to say. Pepa stands with her hands on her hips, staring down at her brother, her brows furrowed. Mirabel feels the urge to say something, but doesn't know what.
"I remember when Camilo used to do that," Pepa says at last. "After he got his gift, we'd find the two of you curled up together all over Casita, napping." She smiles, and Bruno relaxes minutely.
He looks around and seems to realize it's getting dark. "Must have fallen asleep," he mutters, not looking at either of them. "Sorry."
Pepa flinches. She doesn't seem to know what to say. Bruno remains silent. Mirabel takes a deep breath before speaking up.
"So they figured out sleeping arrangements for everyone," she says, and doesn't miss the way Bruno's eyes widen in alarm. "Señora Garcia said she could take you, me, and Dolores for as long as we needed, but her house is really small and it's just her, so I kind of get the feeling we might all end up on the floor."
Bruno looks relieved, just a little, as he shrugs. "I don't mind the floor," he admits. He starts to get up, then looks down at Antonio, who has fallen back asleep, his forehead pressed once again into his uncle's chest. "Huh."
"Here." Pepa reaches down, gently disentangling her son from her brother. Bruno tenses again, and Mirabel realizes that he is uncomfortable with his sister so close.
Pepa straightens, a still sleeping Antonio in her arms. "Thank you," she says, and Bruno looks away, mumbling something neither woman could hear.
Antonio stirs. "Rosalita?" His eyes open and he looks over at his uncle, who is getting to his feet.
Pepa looks down at her son. "What is it, mijo?"
Bruno laughs nervously, attracting her attention. He's rubbing his arm again. "I-I may have told him he could-could hang...on...to Rosalita for a bit?" The rat in question pokes her nose from under his collar.
Pepa looks at him. "The rat?" she asks, her tone flat. Bruno nods.
She looks back down at her son, who is already holding his hands out, and deflates. She cannot deny him this, no matter how much she dislikes the rats. "It stays with you, mijo. We are going to be guests, we can't have a rat running around, scaring people."
Antonio smiles and nods. "Of course, mamá."
Bruno mutters something at the rat in question, his brows furrowed. He scoops her up and presents her to the boy. Pepa tries not to shudder.
Bruno ducks his head apologetically and doesn't quite meet her eyes.
They make their way toward the village, Antonio quickly falling back asleep, cradling Rosalita gently in his arms. Pepa is silent, trying to ignore the rat in her son's arms. Bruno is quiet as well. Mirabel watches them both. It occurs to her that Bruno coming back may not be as simple a thing as she originally thought.
Pepa, Felix, and Antonio are staying with the Lopez famly. Señor and Señora Lopez insist that the three of them take their bed. Señor Lopez insists on taking the couch while his wife tells them she can sleep with their youngest. They resist at first, but the family insists.
Felix doesn't bat an eye at the rat and asks its name. Antonio wakes up at that, and holds it up towards his father, grinning.
"This is Rosalita, she's the oldest. She's madly in love with Fernando, but likes to travel, while Fernando likes to stay home. But she'll stay close to me, so she doesn't accidentally scare anyone. She doesn't like to scare people." His smile fades. "She didn't tell me herself. I can't understand them anymore." The tears are back.
Felix pulls his son into a gentle embrace, mindful of the rat in his arms. "I know, mijo."
Felix puts himself between Pepa and her son, and in the process, between his wife and the rat. Even after all these years she still doesn't like them, and going ten years without seeing any in the house has ruined any tolerance she had once built up.
But she had endured them for her brother. She could endure them for her son.
They find Dolores, who nods briefly to their uncle before leading the way to Señora Garcia's casa. Bruno hovers nervously in the doorway when they get there, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares at a spot on the floor.
"Brunito!" he jumps, and the ancient old woman chuckles. Crossing the room, she takes each of Bruno's hands in her own and gently brings him inside. To the surprise of both Mirabel and Dolores, she pulls him into a hug. "It's been a long time, niño."
He laughs nervously, but doesn't pull away. "Sí, lo siento," he apologizes. "I-"
He doesn't have an explanation.
Señora Garcia releases him. "I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the floor," she tells him, "but I have plenty of blankets. You should be able to manage."
"We-we'll be fine. I'm sure it'll be fine," he assures her.
They get the blankets, and there are a lot of them. They arrange them on the floor into makeshift beds, and Mirabel agrees that it should be fine. They're all exhausted anyway, and Mirabel figures she could sleep on a pile of rocks tonight if she had to, she's so tired.
Señora Garcia reappears as they get the blankets arranged, taking Bruno's arm gently. "I drew you a hot bath, Brunito."
The words are quietly spoken but the house is small, and Dolores and Mirabel hear anyway. They also see the way he blushes and ducks his head, his shoulders hunching forward as he stammers his way through yet another apology.
Mirabel is a little relieved by the offer, because while her tío doesn't stink, exactly, he does smell more than a little musty. She figures all in all he's done a pretty good job keeping clean for the last ten years, and wonders how he managed it, but she's also glad that he'll be freshly washed when they go to bed.
The old woman waves it off, reaching out and pinching his cheek. "I still have some of Javiert's old clothes. They might be a little big, but they're clean. I can wash yours in the morning."
"I-I-you don't, you don't have to do-to do that," he stammers, but the woman again waves him off.
"Tomorrow is laundry day anyway, niño," she tells him. "I don't mind."
He hesitates only for a moment. "Gracias," he says, ducking his head once more. He disappears into another room.
Señora Garcia turns and asks the girls if they need anything. Both shake their heads, and she leaves them to settle down among their blankets.
Mirabel considers her prima for a long moment. Dolores meets her gaze unblinkingly.
"So," Mirabel says, then stops. Her cousin simply waits. "You knew he was there the whole time, didn't you? In the walls, I mean."
Dolores nods.
"But why? Why didn't you say anything?" Mirabel explodes, and the older girl offers her a pointed glance.
"I told you I could hear him."
Mirabel reconsiders her cousin's earlier words.
I can always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling.
I associate him with the sound of falling sand.
Do you understand?
I can hear him now.
Dolores had all but told Mirabel he was there.
"Why didn't you tell anyone else? Mamá? Abuela?"
Dolores frowns. "He didn't want to be found. By the time I figured out he wasn't coming back out, it was too late to say anything. We don't talk about Bruno." She shrugs.
"You didn't seem to dislike him." Mirabel realizes. Dolores's lips purse.
"Our gifts aren't always fun. Weren't always fun," she corrects herself. She looks as if she's trying to decide how much to say. "People weren't always happy with what Tío Bruno saw. Most of the time, actually. But I don't think it was his fault." She pauses for a moment before adding, "He was always nice to us. Always had time for a story, or a game, even if he was tired. Even if he had a headache."
Mirabel considers this. "I'm glad he's back."
"Me too." Dolores agrees with her, and Mirabel realizes this is the most substantial conversation she's had with her prima in years.
"Me too."
They turn, and Bruno is standing there in brown trousers and a white ruffled shirt that are far too big for him-the shirt hangs down past his knees-and she has no idea how long he's been standing there or how much he's heard.
Dolores squeaks and throws herself across the room, flinging her arms around the man. Bruno yelps and stumbles a bit, but then he puts his arms around her too, awkwardly, patting her shoulder as she cries into his.
"Ay, mija," he murmurs, then falls silent.
It doesn't take long for Dolores to pull herself back together, and when she does she takes their uncle's hand and leads him back to where Mirabel is still standing, watching them and wondering if she should say something or if she should just give them a minute.
Bruno smiles shyly at Mirabel, and she figures it's okay to stay. The three of them settle back down in their blankets, all grinning a bit madly, unshed tears in everyone's eyes, and a happiness that seems a bit fragile warms the room.
"Goodnight, Tío," Dolores whispers, and Mirabel gets the feeling it's automatic, as if it's something she does every night before she closes her eyes, and somehow it hurts even though maybe it means that her uncle wasn't as entirely alone for the past ten years as he could have been.
"Goodnight, Doli." It does, however, feel like the first time Bruno has answered. Both are sniffling suspiciously under their blankets. "Goodnight, Mirabel," doesn't have the same revelations attached, he's just saying goodnight, but she doesn't mind.
"Goodnight, Tío."
Dolores lays awake for a long time, listening to her uncle sleep.
She can't remember the last time he fell asleep so quickly (passing out didn't count). Or the last time he slept so peacefully.
She can't hear his heart anymore, can only hear his breathing because everything else is so quiet and he's right next to her in the darkness. But she can still tell he's sleeping more soundly than he has in years, perhaps in as long as she can remember.
He's back, Mirabel says. And though he never physically left the house, there's a truth to it. She can talk to him again, talk about him. Best of all, he can even talk back.
She wonders what they'll talk about, though. It's very unlikely, based on what she can remember of him before he disappeared, that he will have any interest in discussing anything she might have heard while he was in the walls.
He's more likely to apologize for her overhearing than anything else.
She wants to tell him it's not his fault. Not his fault she spent those years worrying about him. That sometimes she heard things that in his mind she was probably too young to hear-he had always been protective of her childhood. Had tried to protect all of them, really, from the harsh realities of his gift.
She wants to tell him that of all the things her gift has burdened her with over the years, this is one she does not resent.
But she knows better.
And anyway, his gift is gone now.
So is hers.
And she isn't sad. Antonio is heartbroken, Camilo is-lost, really. Isabella is mourning what hers could have been, if only she hadn't lost it when she did. Luisa is lost as well.
Dolores doesn't know about her mother or aunt. They've been tight-lipped about it all day, their attention on comforting their children, on trying to help rebuild their home. And Dolores can no longer hear them whispering when they think no one else is around.
She doesn't mind. It's nice, for once, not to know if the adults are upset. She doesn't have to figure out how much to pretend she doesn't know and how much to acknowledge. She can just be a kid for once, only worrying about the things said right in front of her.
She feels guilty, like she's betraying her family. Or like she's enjoying the fact that Antonio has lost all of his animal friends. Or like she doesn't properly appreciate the miracle they had all these years.
And she doesn't know what to do with all these feelings.
A sigh escapes her, louder than she realizes, because to her right there's the sound of movement, and her tío's voice reaches out to her in the darkness.
"Que hubo, Doli?" His voice is thick with sleep and slightly slurred. Dolores shakes her head, then remembers he can't see her.
"Nada, Tío Bruno," she says.
"Uh, huh." He does not sound convinced.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"Fernando's whiskers tickled my ear. He gets lonely when Rosalita's not here." Dolores wonders whether he's trying to say she didn't actually wake him or he's only trying to make her think that. "I tend to be up most nights anyways, you know that."
"But you're tired," she points out. On his other side, Mirabel stirs, but does not fully waken. "It's just-" she tries to think of where to begin. It's probably not the best way to go about it, but maybe it'll get the point across. "Do you miss your gift?"
She can't hear anything in the darkness. Or see. She doesn't know if she's actually broken him, or if her tío is simply trying to figure out how to answer her. She wonders if she should apologize, but the truth is, if he isn't willing to answer, then they can't really have this conversation.
"No."
His voice is small and defeated. Dolores wonders how much the admission cost him. She doesn't ask.
"Me neither," she says instead.
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
For a long moment they are quiet again, before Dolores adds. "Antonio is heartbroken." She hears him sigh in reply. "Camilo, Isabella, they're all upset." She pauses a moment before continuing. "But I'm, well, I'm-"
"Relieved."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"How can I stand there and be happy when everyone else is devastated? I mean, how could anyone be so cruel? They're all hurting, and I'm-I'm-" She doesn't know when she started crying, but her face is wet and her eyes are hot and suddenly her uncle is pulling her into a hug as if she were five years old instead of twenty-one.
He rubs her back while she cries silently into his shoulder, and Mirabel never stirs. When she finally stops and pulls back, she still can't see much, but her uncle takes her hands in his, his thumb rubbing circles absently on her wrist.
"Are you glad that Antonio lost his gift?" he asks, and Dolores almost pulls away.
"No."
"Camilo?"
"No."
"Isabella? Luisa? Julieta?"
"No."
"What about me?"
Dolores stops. She knows his gift used to give him headaches, that sometimes he had trouble sleeping, that sometimes it made him sick. Was she glad he no longer had to deal with that? Absolutely. Was she glad he could no longer see the future?
She didn't know.
"Never mind," he says firmly. "Doli, you can be sad your little brothers lost their gifts and still be glad not to have to deal with the side effects of your own. It doesn't mean you're glad they lost theirs. It certainly doesn't mean you wanted them to."
"But what do I say? When they talk about how sad they are, but I'm just relieved."
"Tell them you're sorry. You don't have to tell them how you feel about yours. Let them talk. Let them cry. They don't need to know you don't feel the same way."
Dolores is surprised. She wasn't actually expecting advice. He had never been particularly good at it, before.
"It's okay not to feel the same way. It doesn't make you a bad person," he adds, and Dolores starts crying all over again.
Disclaimer: Encanto does not belong to me.