Mirabel wakes up to Bruno running his fingers through his sleep mussed hair. He stops when he sees her, offering a tentative smile.
"Morning," he says.
"Morning." It's an absurdly commonplace, ordinary sort of thing, but Mirabel doesn't miss the way his smile widens or his eyes glisten for just a moment before he regains control.
She pulls him into a hug, ignoring the split second in which he tenses, still not entirely used to physical contact with other people, before he relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around her in turn.
He starts fidgeting with his hair again at breakfast. Bruno's eaten what he can and is waiting for his nieces. This time Dolores notices, and setting down her coffee she gets up and leaves the kitchen for a moment. When she returns it's with a comb and brush and she starts on their tío's hair before he can utter a word in protest.
Bruno is surprised at first, but lets Dolores work through the tangles. After a moment he shifts.
"You don't have to do that," he says reluctantly. I's clear by the way he almost leans into the contact that he's enjoying the attention. "I-I do know how to use a comb."
"Hush," Dolores says, smiling at the back of his head. Mirabel and Isabella are content to just sit and watch the two of them. Their prima has finished brushing out the tangles and is playing now, pulling his hair back out of his face and running fingers through his hair. He looks a bit like one of his rats when they're being petted, the way he's practically melting.
Dolores pulls out one of her red scarves and starts pulling back her tío's hair. Bruno doesn't even try to look as she ties it, securing his hair out of his face while still leaving it down in the back. She leaves off her usual bow, letting the ends of the scarves just hang as well. She plays with the ends of his hair for a moment longer before coming around to the side to study the end result of her work.
Bruno stares back at her, and Mirabel cannot imagine that he's unaware that his sobrina just tied a bright red scarf around his hair, but he either hasn't noticed or doesn't care. It doesn't look bad though, just a little odd, and to be fair he's only been back a few days and Mirabel honestly has no idea what he used to do with his hair before he went to go live in the walls.
"Thanks," he says, a bit shyly. Dolores laughs and leans in, pressing a kiss against his temple. There's a significance to the action that Mirabel does not understand, because suddenly their uncle is looking away, his eyes once again overly damp.
He runs the sleeve of his ruana across his eyes before looking back at any of them.
"Sorry," he looks a little embarrassed, but not particularly distraught. Dolores laughs again-it sounds a little choked-and pulls him into a hug. Mirabel, grinning, gives up and throws herself at their tío as well. Isabella joins them a moment later, and the four of them suddenly find themselves precariously balanced in the midst of their group hug.
Bruno wobbles, and they almost go down. Isabella pulls herself and Mirabel clear just in time, Dolores catching their uncle. His eyes slightly wide in alarm, he nonetheless chuckles as he looks up at his nieces from his seat.
"Tío?"
Bruno pauses midway through the door and tries to ignore the way it makes his skin crawl. He looks back at Isabella, who has lost all former appearance of self-confidence and is standing with one hand resting on the kitchen table in a way that reminds him abruptly and painfully of when she was much younger, before everything went so horribly wrong and she started trying too hard to be perfect.
He turns and waves to Mirabel and Dolores, who are waiting for them outside, promising to catch up with them later.
He returns to the kitchen and to Isabella, noting the careful way the girl holds herself, and the tears that she won't let completely form but also cannot completely banish.
"What is it, Isa?" he asks, and she looks away, trying to regain her composure.
Bruno waits, heart hammering in his chest all the while, for her to tell him what's wrong. He has no idea what it is or whether he can even fix it, but he'll do his best, even though his best has rarely ever been enough.
"It's just-" her voice catches, and she looks back at him. "Do you-you don't miss your gift, do you?"
She was older when he left, nearly eleven years old, and so of course by then she and Dolores both knew that his gift gave him headaches, that it often kept him up at night, that it frequently made him dizzy and nauseous to the point that just the thought of trying to eat sent his stomach rolling. She knew his gift was the reason he was always tired and why he was so skinny, and why certain people in the village didn't like him.
Bruno smiles at her sadly. "You miss yours." It's not a question. He knows the answer.
The tears in her eyes spill over, running down her cheeks.
"I know I should be happy," she sniffs. The girl is graceful even when she's crying. "And thankful. You're back, I don't have to marry Mariano, and I don't have to pretend to be perfect any more. But-" She covers her mouth with one hand, unsuccessfully trying to muffle a sob.
Bruno wordlessly holds his arms out, as if she were still six years old and not nearly grown, and Isabella flings herself at him, burying her head in his chest and throwing her arms around his waist as if afraid of what might happen if she let go. Bruno holds her tight and lets her cry.
"I was-just-finally beginning-to-see-what-I-could-do!" She sobs, her heart breaking all over again. "What-I-could-be-if-only-" Her legs give out, and Bruno can't support them both. All he can do is slow their fall. They both end up on their knees in the floor.
Bruno wonders how long she's been holding this in.
"And it's not fair to you" She pulls her head out of his chest to look up at him. "You shouldn't have to listen to me cry like a baby just because I can't make flowers grow anymore, when all your gift ever did was hurt you." Bruno freezes a little at that, but only until Isabella tries to pull away, and then he simply hugs her even harder, as hard as he can manage. It's admittedly not much, but at least she stops trying to escape.
"And it's not fair to Mirabel. None of this has ever been fair to her, but-" She sniffs again, and hiccups. "But-"
"I think Mirabel would tell you it's okay to be sad," Bruno says, and it's probably some of the better advice he's ever given. "If I could make flowers grow I'd probably be sad if it went away too."
She looks up at him. "It doesn't make you feel bad?" she asks, and Bruno's heart aches for the child.
"To see you sad? Not because my gift was-hard at times." He offers her a crooked grin. "It might make me feel bad if you never talked about being sad because you were afraid of making me sad." He frowns. "Did that make sense?"
"I miss making things grow."
Bruno hums softly, considering this. "I mean, it wouldn't be the same, but you could still grow things. It might just take longer." He hesitates. "I don't know if that would make things worse."
"I don't know. It might be nice to try." Isabella is calmer now, if still a bit teary eyed. She wiggles around so that they're side by side, and she's leaning into him, tucked under one arm, like she used to when she was little, and Bruno feels a stab of pain at how much time he's lost with her-with all of his family, really.
It is time he desperately wants to make up.
Luisa stands at the base of a tree, staring. She has no idea what to do. The tree is large, and tall, and has a lot of branches, but Luisa is big, far too big for most of them, and has never been particularly good with heights, mostly because if she falls there is simply so much of her to hit the ground.
Antonio is doing his best but he's only five years old and cannot climb that high. If he still had his animal friends it might be different, but right now he's just a little boy, and all he can do is try to comfort the little girl his age as she cries because her kitty is stuck in a tree.
And it is definitely stuck. High, very high up. Higher than anyone in their right mind would be willing to climb. It's crying pitifully, and according to the girl it's been up there all night because none of the villagers feel confident trying to climb that high either.
Luisa turns as Isabella joins them, and knows immediately her sister has been crying. She also knows better than to say anything. A flash of red catches her eye and Tío Bruno is also there. For some reason he's wearing one of Dolores's scarves in his hair.
Luisa shrugs it off, and explains the situation to Isabella, hoping maybe her big sister has an answer. If they still had their gifts Isabella could have simply grown some plant that would lift her up there, or something like that, but that's no longer an option.
She can see her sister thinking it, though, and feels guilty for accidentally making her feel bad.
"Boost me up."
Luisa turns to stare at her uncle, who is studying the tree with interest, but without any actual concern. Luisa wonders if he might be a little mad after all those years in the walls, because nobody in their right mind should be able to even think about climbing up after that cat without being at least a little nervous.
Isabella exchanges a glance with her sister. They're pretty sure this is a bad idea, but the little girl is no longer crying, and Antonio is looking hopeful.
Luisa reluctantly obliges, because Tío Bruno's mind is clearly made up, and he is technically an adult, so he should know whether or not he's capable of climbing up there.
"Hang on," he says, pulling off his ruana. Isabella takes it for him, even though she still thinks this is a terrible idea. Their uncle then returns to the tree, and Luisa realizes he is really, really skinny underneath his ruana.
A second later she's boosting him up and can't help but notice that he weighs next to nothing. She's pretty sure Camilo weighs more than he does.
They watch Tío Bruno scramble up the tree with far more ease than any of them expected. There's a bad moment where he can't quite reach the branch overhead and has to shuffle awkwardly to the side before continuing, but it doesn't take long for him to get to the point where the branches start looking like they shouldn't be able to support even his meager weight.
The cat does not take kindly to his approach and swipes at him. Undeterred, Bruno simply lunges forward in a jerky, not quite balanced motion that makes both of his sobrinas momentarily forget how to breath, and scoops up the animal.
They can hear it protesting as he regains his balance, and Luisa is not sure, because they're pretty high up, but it looks like the cat's trying to scratch him again.
A moment later their uncle is on his way back down, somehow managing an awkward descent while fighting to keep a very angry cat held to his chest. Luisa has no idea how he's managing with only one free arm.
He's still about seven feet up when a branch breaks, and he tumbles out of the tree, letting go of the cat in the process and landing flat on his back.
The cat, which is more of a fifteen-pound monster than an actual kitten, as it turns out, yowls and makes a mad dash for home, bolting past the little girl's mother as she stands in the open doorway with a look of fascinated horror etched across her features.
"Tío!" Luisa and Isabella are beside him in less than a second, staring down at him with wide eyes, terrified that he's gone and killed himself after they just got him back.
Their uncle does not respond. He's staring up at the sky, eyes slightly unfocused, his chest heaving as he tries unsuccessfully to draw in breath, arms and legs splayed as if he has no intention of ever going anywhere again.
"Tío?" Luisa's voice is shaky. She's scared and doesn't know what to do. It doesn't help that Isabella doesn't seem to know either.
His eyes focus on her, and he turns his head slightly. He finally manages a shuddering, gasping breath.
Panting, he continues to lie on his back.
"Hi," he finally says, after several far-too-long minutes. "Knocked the wind out of me."
Luisa wants to cry with relief, except she doesn't want anyone to see her cry, so she can't. Isabella is sniffling suspiciously, her hair hanging down, covering her face.
Bruno looks from one of them to the other. "I'm not-I'm not dying," he says mildly enough, for all that he's still breathing heavily. "I fell what, seven, maybe eight feet?"
Isabella laughs, but she's also crying. Luisa bites her lip, trying not to cry as well.
Antonio throws himself into the mix, launching himself at Tío Bruno with reckless abandon. Tío doesn't catch him this time, grunting as his nephew lands hard on him and knocks the wind out of him a second time.
"You were amazing!" Antonio doesn't notice that his tío is struggling. The man somehow manages to sit up anyway and readjust the boy into a more comfortable position. "It was so high, and you just climbed all the way up! You're the coolest tío ever!"
Tío Bruno grins, albeit a bit breathlessly, and tries to sit up. His progress is completely halted when a second Antonio sized blur slams into him with just enough force, knocking the three of them back down with a pained "Oof!" on the part of their uncle.
"Thank you!" The little girl is hugging him fiercely, and Luisa sees the exact second their uncle registers that a stranger is in his personal space, touching him, and goes from a little breathless but overall fine to complete and utter blind panic. The effect is as instant as if a switch had been flipped.
He stops moving, his eyes wide. His breath hitches, and his shoulders hunch in on themselves. A slight squeak escapes him, and by the time Isabella is scooping up the girl and carrying her back to her house so she can check on her 'kitty,' all the while talking about how great Tío Bruno is, his eyes have shut and he's trembling from head to toe.
Antonio climbs down off him, worried now. "What's wrong with him?" he asks Luisa.
"Tío?" Luisa reaches out, hoping she's doing the right thing. She's looming over him, trying to block him from the view of the small crowd that had gathered to watch him defy gravity earlier, and she knows they probably need to get him out of here.
He flinches as she lays a hand on his shoulder, but doesn't pull away.
"Come on, Tío," she says, "Let's find someplace quiet where you can catch your breath." She hesitates, braces herself, and takes the man by the arm, guiding him to his feet. She is relieved beyond belief when he lets her, but once he's on his feet his eyes open again. He looks around briefly and presses himself into her side. Luisa wraps a large arm around him and guides him away from the crowd, supporting his meager weight when he stumbles.
"S-S-Sorry," he whispers, once they've found somewhere quiet and calm where it's just the three of them. They're sitting in the grass by now, cross-legged, forming a triangle of sorts, and Tío Bruno seems to finally be remembering how breathing works. "I-I-don't know...I don't know...You shouldn't have to-"
"It's okay to be scared." Antonio pats him reassuringly on the knee. "It made me scared watching you climb up."
Luisa doesn't know if her primo thinks that their uncle got scared from climbing the tree, or if he knows that the little girl scared him-or understands why-but their tío manages a weak smile, and seems to calm down just a little bit more.
Antonio offers him Rosalita, and Tío Bruno accepts gratefully. The rats seem to help him too, which is maybe why he has them in the first place. Luisa has to admit that petting them can be very relaxing.
"Did you get hurt, when you fell?" Antonio asks, a few minutes later. Tío Bruno shakes his head.
"I mean, it hurt a little," he admits. "But no broken bones or scraped knees or anything."
Luisa is pretty sure it hurt more than just a little. She's also sure there are going to be bruises, because he hit the ground pretty hard. And that he's going to be sore. She wishes she had some of Mamá's food to give him, but then she remembers that Mamá doesn't have her gift anymore either.
"I'm glad you didn't break any bones," Antonio says solemnly. Tío Bruno nods his agreement.
"Me-me too, kid."
"You got scratched, though." Antonio points to his cheek, which Luisa suddenly realizes has a scratch across it, then to his hand, which has several more, and finally to his chest, where the cat must have managed to poke a few holes in his shirt at some point.
"That's okay. The cat-the cat was really-really scared."
"I'm glad it's okay."
Tío Bruno smiles down at the boy. He looks exhausted, and he's still shaking a little, and very tense, but it's obvious when he looks at Antonio that he loves him very much, even though they only got to meet a week ago.
It's equally clear by the way Antonio beams back up at him that he positively adores his uncle.
Camilo shows up with lunch. Antonio's tío, el hombre rata, is napping. Climbing the tree must have been hard, and even if he wasn't scared of it being so high, he must have been scared when he fell. And being scared must have made him tired too.
Antonio isn't sure, but he thinks his friend scared him too, when she hugged him. He's not sure how hugs or little girls can be scary, but thinks maybe it has to do with his uncle living in the walls. He lived there for ten years-longer than Antonio's been alive. Maybe after hiding for so long, everything outside seems scary now, and his uncle just needs time to get used to it.
Camilo and Luisa let him sleep, and Antonio's glad. It's not like he ever eats much food at lunchtime anyway, though he does always hide food away, probably for the rats. And anyway, he looks so tired, like he stayed up too late last night.
Antonio feeds himself, and then he feeds the Fernando and Alejandro. Rosalita is still with Antonio's tío. After the other rats finish lunch, they go see him as well.
They love the rat-man. They all told Antonio, before he lost his gift. They told him that the rat-man is kind and gentle and takes good care of them, making sure they eat even when it means he has to go without. They told Antonio that he's clever and smart and funny, making them puzzles and games to play, and making funny voices for them when he pretends they talk like humans do. They told Antonio that he's sad and lonely (or he was before he came out of the walls), and how he hates being alone more than anything else in the world except for going away.
The rats had trouble explaining what they meant by 'going away.' He tries not to do it, they said, because of the light, and because sometimes it makes him yell, and he can't yell because he's hiding. They said he stops it from happening, somehow, but it hurts to stop it, and makes him sick, and sometimes if he's really sick or tired it happens anyways.
His eyes shine, they said. Like green fire. And then he goes away. Not his body, it stays, but the rest of him. And he sees things that scare him, or make him sad, and sometimes he cries, and sometimes he gets sick, and sometimes it hurts him.
They don't like it when his eyes shine and he goes away.
And Antonio thinks they're talking about his gift, because when he 'had a vision,' as Mirabel called it (he's not entirely sure what that means), his uncle's eyes started to glow bright green, and he was looking at the swirling sand as if he could see things that weren't there, things that Antonio couldn't see. And maybe if he hadn't been holding Mirabel's hands he would have gone away then, because he did seem upset, but then Mirabel kept helping him, so it was okay.
But if he was hiding, and he couldn't get help, maybe he couldn't stop himself from going away, and getting hurt, or sad, or scared. And the mice couldn't help, because they said sometimes when his eyes started to shine he fell, or moved really quick, and he was afraid of hurting one of them, so they couldn't be with him while it happened. They had to wait until it was over to help.
Antonio's not sure, but it sounds like his tío's gift wasn't a very nice thing to have, not if it hurt him and made him sick. He misses being able to talk to animals, but if his uncle's gift being gone means it can't hurt him anymore, maybe it will be okay.
Antonio feels like he could use a nap himself, so he crawls over to where his tío is sleeping and settles down next to him. He feels his uncle shift in his sleep, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him closer, and closes his eyes, a smile on his face.
"They're adorable," Luisa coos, watching Antonio snuggle up against their uncle.
"Sure," Camilo says, but he has to agree that it is kind of cute. And really, Antonio seems to bring out the best in the man. Bruno seems more relaxed around his baby brother, more comfortable around him than he is around anyone else in the family, maybe even Mirabel.
Part of it might be that Antonio is five and just seems to accept the man without question. He's sure that the fact that Antonio treats the man as if he's known him his entire life has a lot to do with it. And he clearly loves his uncle. The man would have to be blind to miss the way his nephew looks at him.
Camilo still thinks the guy is weird. He's wearing one of Dolores's hair scarves right now, for example. But he's kind, and gentle, and seems to care very much about all his nephews and nieces, even the ones that don't remember him very well.
Take the whole spackle thing, for example. He taught Camilo how to make spackle because he was complaining about feeling weird trying to help people as plain old Camilo. He didn't try to tell Camilo that he shouldn't feel that way, he didn't tell him to get over it and go find somebody to help.
No, he taught him to make spackle and let him help them. Admittedly after putting a bucket on his head and calling him Jorge, but Camilo never said the man wasn't a weirdo. But the point is he found a way for Camilo to help. And Camilo's been helping Señor Rodriguez every day since then. The guy's been teaching him lots of cool stuff about building houses, too.
He wasn't mad about the song, either. Camilo's not sure about that one, though. He at least thought the man's feelings would have been hurt, but he seemed to think it was funny more than anything else.
Bruno tenses slightly and opens his eyes, and Camilo's noticed that it seems to take a second for him to figure out where he is when he first wakes up, so he waits while the man looks around, then notices Antonio curled up against him, and decides to simply lay there rather than risk disturbing the boy.
"Hey," Camilo says, when his uncle finally notices him.
"Hi."
"Señor Rodriguez was asking about you. He was worried. Said he hadn't seen you in a couple of days."
"Ah." Bruno looks more than a little uncomfortable, and doesn't seem to know what to say.
"I told him about you hurting your shoulder and that you were giving it time to heal."
"Thank you."
"No problem. He's been teaching me stuff. It's kind of fun." Camilo hesitates. "He doesn't care if I can't turn into anyone else."
"Huh." Bruno looks thoughtful, but what he's thinking about, his nephew has no idea, because the man doesn't say anything else.
"He's got a nephew, but he's not really interested in the work. But I kind of like it. There's something, I don't know, soothing about it?" He waits to see if Bruno's going to laugh, and when he doesn't he continues. "And it feels good to be able to see something you helped make with your own hands."
Bruno nods, as if he understands what Camilo's trying to say, but Camilo's not really sure he understands what he's trying to say, so he has no idea how his uncle could.
"It's still kind of weird, helping someone as myself, instead of as someone else," he says, and he supposes that's what he really wants to talk about. Except he also doesn't want to talk about it either. It's weird. "Before, it was always, 'Camilo we need another Jose' or another Miguel or another Juan. It was never, 'Camilo, we need you.' Not your gift, just you."
"I remember when your prima and hermana were born." Bruno says, and he's so off topic that it completely throws Camilo for a second. He finally says something, and it has nothing to do with Camilo's trying to talk about.
Camilo shrugs it off. He doesn't really want to talk about it anyway. Well, he does, but he doesn't. He doesn't know.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. They cried a lot. Both of them. And they set each other off. One would start, and the other would follow suit almost immediately." Camilo chuckles. It's a funny image, his sister and perfect cousin as babies, screaming their heads off.
"I remember coming downstairs one day and both Juli and Pepa were exhausted. Completely drained. Nothing left. They took one look at me, standing at the bottom of the stairs, and told me it was my turn. Plopped a baby in each arm and just left me there."
"They stop crying?" Camilo wanted to know. He certainly had some sort of way with Antonio. Maybe baby charming was his real gift.
"What?" Bruno makes a face. "God, no." He shakes his head. "They screamed in my ears for the next four hours before finally falling asleep. They were cute then, so I just kept holding them. But it was the first time anyone had expected me to help with any of you kids." He pauses for a moment, offering Camilo an awkward smile. "It didn't take long for it to become a regular occurrence. I think it was the first time anyone expected anything from me that didn't have anything to do with seeing the future."
Maybe not so off topic as Camilo originally thought.
There's something he can't quite define in his tío's eyes, something weary and worn and a little bit sad, but he offers Camilo another uncertain smile. "And really, you kids never cared that I could see the future. Not when you were younger. You just wanted to play, or hear a story, or cuddle."
"I want to hear a story." Antonio's tiny, piping voice cuts through the air, startling them both. Bruno looks down, smiling at the boy.
"Sure thing, hombrecito," he says. He closes his eyes, thinking for a minute, before opening them again. "How about this one. Érase una vez, habitaba una niña se llama Pastorcita..."
Antonio listens with rapt attention. Camilo listens as well. Bruno is a great storyteller. He has a voice that's nice to listen to, that compels the listener and draws them in. It's animated and hushed in turns, as appropriate. And he's not afraid to sound silly when he does voices for the characters. The performer in Camilo doesn't only approve; he's impressed.
Camilo's also fascinated, because he knows this story. Like he's heard it a hundred times before. But he knows he's never heard it from his mamá or papá, or from Tío or Tía, or from Abuela. And his cousins and sister never really told him stories growing up, so he's not sure how he knows this one, but he does.
It feels so hauntingly familiar that for a while all Camilo can do is stare at his uncle.
"Another!" Antonio cries, when Bruno finishes this one, and the man starts a new one without a second's hesitation.
And Camilo knows this one too. It washes over him in a wave, sinking into his very bones, making Camilo feel safe and young and also more than a little uncertain. It's weird, because he knows these stories, but he also can't remember ever having heard them before.
"I used to tell these to your brother and sister, when they were your age," Bruno says when he's done, and he may be talking to Antonio, but his eyes are on Camilo.
And that-makes sense. If Bruno used to tell him all these stories when he was just little, it explains how Camilo knows them now without really knowing where he's heard them before.
It's a small connection. A tiny spark. But suddenly Camilo wants to hear more.
"Will you tell us another?" he asks, shyly, because he's fifteen and should be too old for children's stories by now.
Bruno nods and starts a new one, and Camilo realizes he could sit here like this all day.
Bruno finishes his story and watches two figures approach. It makes him nervous-every muscle in his body is suddenly tensed for flight, and he's automatically shifted positions so he's ready to bolt at any time, if it becomes necessary. He knows it's an overreaction, knows the approaching figures are the little girl from this morning and her mother, but the instinct is still there.
Antonio moves so he's no longer sitting in his uncle's lap, giving the man space, and Bruno appreciates it. He also appreciates the way the boy pats him gently on the knee as if to remind him that it's okay, even though he hates that his five-year-old nephew feels like he has to make Bruno feel better.
Camilo is still slouched comfortably on the ground, but he's watching, and Bruno also hates that his older nephew and nieces feel like they have to watch out for him, because he's supposed to be the adult, and they're just kids. They shouldn't have to worry about these sorts of things.
He can't quite bring himself to make eye contact with the girl's mother, or really even say anything, so he nods, and hopes it's enough. He's really out of practice when it comes to talking to members of the village; he really hasn't done much of it since before Luisa got her gift, and that only when there was no other way out of it.
The little girl is holding a box in her hands. Bruno can look at that, at least.
The mother clears her throat, and the girl steps forward. For a moment Bruno is terrified she's going to try to hug him again, even though he knows terror is not a rational response to being hugged by a five-year-old.
"Thank you for saving my kitty," she says. Her voice is sweet, a little higher than Antonio's. "And I'm sorry I hugged you too tight after you fell. Mamá says I pro-pro-problably hurt you."
"It's okay," he manages, because she sounds nervous, and she's shifting her weight from one foot to the other and back again, and Bruno remembers that habit from his own childhood. "I'm-I'm glad your kitty is okay."
"Papá got her for me, before he-" her voice lowers to a hushed whisper "-died. I was just a baby."
Bruno pulls a small smile from somewhere. "I was a baby when my papí died too," he says. "I don't really remember him." He manages to look at the girl, and is surprised.
She's smiling at him, and holding out the box with both hands.
"Kitty had this. I know you like them."
Bruno reluctantly accepts the box, not entirely sure what's inside, not entirely sure he wants to know. Carefully he lifts the lid, looking down inside.
Two tiny red eyes stare back at him.
It's a rat, a small one, one Bruno has never seen before, but he hasn't been to the village in over ten years, and he doesn't know every rat in the Encanto. He slides his hand in without really thinking about it, and though his movements are slow and gentle, the thing still bites him.
He hisses, pulling his now bleeding finger back, and the girl starts apologizing. "My fault," he says, looking around for something to stop the bleeding. He ran out of handkerchiefs years ago. "Spooked him. I'll be okay."
He's had worse, although it looks as if the bite is deep. He really doesn't want to get blood all over his ruana, especially since what he's currently wearing are the only clothes he has.
Camilo and Antonio are staring as if they've never seen blood before, and maybe they haven't, at least, not in the context of something that cannot simply be healed by eating some of Julieta's food.
"Here, Maria." The girl's mother offers her a handkerchief, which she in turn offers to Bruno. He puts the lid back on the box and sets it down carefully, then sees to his finger.
He's had worse injuries. And the truth is, he hasn't always been able to heal them instantly. Julieta's food hasn't been readily available for the last decade, so sometimes he simply had to make do. He applies pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding. When he's satisfied that it's mostly stopped, he wraps the handkerchief around the bite and ties it as tight as he can with his teeth and just one hand. He needs to clean it, but he can do that later, when he doesn't have three kids watching his every move.
Task complete, he turns his attention back to the rat in the box.
It is completely white, from nose to tail, with pink eyes. It's a little smaller than the average rat and-abruptly Bruno realizes why it bit him.
The rat is injured. Its back leg is stiff, held at an awkward angle, and there's blood on its flank.
Bruno looks it over and notes that besides that and the fact that it's breathing rather quickly, it seems okay. He reaches in his pocket for some crumbs, and gently drops them in the box in front of the animal.
Whiskers twitch. The rat starts sniffing. It can just reach them without having to move, and in almost no time has eaten every morsel.
"Hungry, are you?" Bruno chuckles, offering up a few more crumbs. This time he leaves his undamaged hand resting along the top of the box, close enough to notice, but not close enough to be threatening.
He continues feeding the rat, gradually moving closer each time, waiting patiently as the injured creature slowly adjusts to his presence-and voice. He has not stopped talking to it the entire time, keeping his voice soft and soothing so it gets used to that as well.
Finally he brings his hand close enough for the rat to sniff, and it must still smell like food, because the creature noses at him, looking for more to eat, nibbling at the tip of one of his fingers just enough to tickle.
He moves his hand just enough to scratch the top of its head, and then behind its ears. With painstaking slowness he works his way down the rat's back until he can get a better idea of how badly its leg is hurt.
He's ready this time, when it snaps at him, and pulls his hand back just in time.
The good news is, he thinks it'll be all right, even without Julieta's food to heal it. If it's kept warm, and safe, and has access to food and water. The leg might even heal all the way, leaving the rat good as new.
He needs water for it, though. Some sort of dish. He has no idea where to find one.
Bruno looks up and realizes he has an audience. Camilo, Antonio, the little girl, and her mother have been watching him this entire time.
He feels his face get hot. He knows what most people think about him caring so much about what are generally considered pests, and he's been scolded often enough for getting involved rather than simply letting nature run its course, but he really can't help it. It's not in him to stand by and do nothing while someone-or something-suffers. At least with the rats, he can usually figure out how to help them.
Humans, on the other hand, have never been so simple. By the time Bruno was nine, most of them didn't even want him near them anymore, afraid of what he might say.
He used to think people would want to know, if something back were going to happen. So they could be ready, maybe. Bruno used to think he would want to know, if something bad were going to happen to Julieta or Pepa or his mamí. He used to think if he knew it was the last day he'd ever see one of them, that he would just hold them tight and make sure they knew how much he loved them and never let them go until they were gone, so they didn't have to be alone when it happened.
Most people, he had learned fairly quickly, didn't see it the same way.
"Tío?" Camilo's voice brings him back to the present, and his nephew is looking at him, worried, while Antonio simply waits-for something.
What is he waiting for? Bruno isn't sure.
"Antonio thinks he knows where he can get a water dish for the rat," Camilo says, as if he can read Bruno's mind. "It needs one, right? They need water."
Bruno nods, still trying to bring himself back to the present. It's been far too easy to lose himself in his thoughts during the past ten years, with no one to notice or care but the rats.
"Maria and I will find one!" Antonio pipes up excitedly. "We'll be right back!"
The girl looks from Bruno to Antonio, then at her mother. "Okay," the womany says. A second later the two children are running across the grass, giggling.
Bruno can't help but smile.
"What else does it need?" Camilo asks. Bruno shakes his head.
"Rest. And food. She can stay in the box while she heals." A thought occurs to him, and he looks up, almost meeting the eyes of Maria's mamá. "Unless you need it back."
"Please keep it," the woman says, and Bruno tries his best not to flinch. "I know Maria said it already, but thank you. That cat means the world to her."
"Ah-" Bruno doesn't really know what to say. "You're welcome." That. That is the appropriate response when someone thanks you, his brain tells him.
Somehow it feels as if it's not enough. As if more is expected. And Bruno doesn't have more.
"Thanks for the rat," he adds. Still not enough.
The woman cannot quite repress a shudder. "Maria insisted. She said Antonio told her they were your friends." There's a note of pity there Bruno can't quite ignore, but he supposes it is a bit sad, spending ten years hidden away with only the rats for companionship.
Of course, he's sought out the company of rats longer than that, and in the back of his mind he thinks it's not quite fair, for people to think he's weird or pathetic or sad for preferring rats to humans for company when the only reason he started befriending the rats in the first place was because the humans didn't really want him around, but the rats were always happy to see him.
When he was ten he thought maybe it was because he always brought them food, and then wondered if people would be happier to see him if he brought them food, but the attempt had backfired horribly.
They had taken one look at Julieta's cooking and demanded to know what disasters he had foreseen that required his sister's healing magic. Bruno with a plate full of arepas had somehow been even less welcome than Bruno by himself.
The only exception being one little boy, two years younger than Bruno, who had somehow managed to trip on the empty street and hit his head on sidewalk. He had actually been happy to receive an arepa from Bruno.
Bruno sometimes wonders if Augustín remembers that day.
He realizes he's drifted again.
"They like the free food," he says lamely, fully aware that they've been sitting there silently for far too long for what he's saying to really be any sort of reply.
"They can do tricks." Camilo says. "And they're actually cleaner than most people think. And really smart."
The woman is nodding along even though she doesn't really agree because it's the polite thing to do, and Bruno is suddenly tired of trying to span the invisible gulf that seems to yawn between him and everyone else no matter how hard he tries.
Rosalita pops out of the folds of his ruana and squeaks, as if sensing his change in mood. He manages a half-smile and takes a deep breath.
"Sorry," he says, forcing himself to look up at the woman. "It's a little-strange, being back after so long. Still getting used to everything."
There. He's said the right thing, for once. Maria's mother relaxes, just a little bit, and breathes just a little bit more freely. The smile she gives him is sympathetic rather than pitying.
Camilo is pursing his lips in the same way Pepa does when she's not happy about something, but doesn't say anything.
"Here! Will this work?"
The kids have returned, and they seem to have picked up an extra one on their way, because now there are two girls, this second one a year or so older than the other two, her brown hair done in two braids, her chubby little legs pumping as fast as they can to keep up with Antonio and Maria.
The newcomer hangs back shyly as Antonio presents Bruno with his findings, and though he's starting to feel a little panicky at the amount of people present, he takes it and looks the dish over.
"Perfect," he says. Antonio and Maria beam at him. He notices, almost absently, that Camilo has backed away, giving them space, and is grateful. He still feels far too crowded.
"Is it okay if Maria and Ana help me watch the rats today?" Antonio asks, leaning closer to his uncle, his eager eyes staring up into Bruno's. "I'll make sure they know what to do."
Bruno nods, because he knows that Antonio will make sure the other children are careful, and because he knows that if something does happen, the rats won't bite. They'll just run away and come find him. Rosalita and Fernando are friendly and outgoing and love attention, so they should be fine.
"Maybe keep Alejandro with you?"
"Because he gets nervous," Antonio says with a nod, reassuring his uncle even more.
The three children take the rats and go, leaving Bruno once more with Camilo and Maria's mother, and he can tell the woman wants to leave, but he has no idea how to actually get her to go, and as bad as it sounds, he really needs her to go.
"Well," Camilo says after a moment. "Thanks again for the rat. We, uh, don't want to hold you up any longer. You've probably got things to do..."
It's awkward, because Camilo is still very much a kid trying to act like an adult, but it works. The woman almost startles into action, thanking Bruno again for rescuing her daughter's cat and mentioning that she still has housework waiting for her before telling them to have a nice evening and making her way back home.
Bruno watches her go. Camilo lets out a sigh of relief.
"We gotta work on your people skills," he says. Bruno flinches, because while he knows the boy doesn't mean anything by it, it still hurts. Camilo notices. "Sorry, I just meant-I don't know what I meant."
Camilo frowns, like there's something on his mind but he doesn't quite know how to say it. "Look, if I need to just shut up and mind my own business, then just tell me, and I will. But you aren't uncomfortable talking to the rats, and you aren't uncomfortable talking to Antonio, and while you're a little awkward with us older kids you still mostly do okay. And you managed with that girl-Maria-just fine."
He pauses for breath, and Bruno has no idea where he's going with all this.
"But when it comes to talking to adults, you freeze. You get all tense and uncomfortable and-I'm just going to say it-scared. Like you're afraid of what they'll do to you if you say the wrong thing. And I want to say it's silly, to be scared, because they aren't going to hurt you or anything if you say something weird, but Mirabel told me about Señor Perez, and I've seen the way other adults look at you, even Señor Rodriguez. Hell-I've seen the way mamá and Tía Julieta look at you sometimes. And the thing with Abuela-" he breaks off and gestures with his hands, frustrated. Bruno can only stare at him in horror.
"You shouldn't have to be afraid of anyone," Camilo sounds angry, and Bruno cannot help but recoil from it. This would be too much, coming from anyone. From his nephew-he feels like he's being gutted by each and every revelation. "Not because of your gift-even if you saw bad things happen-because you couldn't help it, could you? I know that now. Because yeah, you're kind of weird, but you're also nice and kind and gentle and compassionate and wouldn't do anything to hurt anybody. And if they blamed you-somebody should have told them they were wrong. Abuela, Mamá, somebody. Especially if you were just a kid."
He stops and stares at his uncle in a horror that rivals the man's own. "Did they blame you, when you were a kid? When bad things happened? Did they hurt you because of it? Is that why you're afraid?"
Bruno can't breathe.
He has two choices right now: he can run, because this conversation is triggering his flight response in all the worst ways, and find somewhere to hide while he tries to put the shattered pieces of himself back together-pieces he's sure his nephew doesn't realize he's just broken him into; or he can stay, and try to figure out how to fix whatever it is that's happening between him and his nephew, because he loves his nephew, and he knows that Camilo won't understand if he bolts now.
His sobrino will blame himself, even though he's only trying to help, only trying to figure things out. He just wants to understand, but the problem is, Bruno doesn't really understand any of it any better than the kid does. He never has.
Breathe, he reminds himself. He manages to pull in a shaky breath of air. It is nowhere near enough.
"Tío?" Camilo sounds small, scared.
Bruno closes his eyes, turns his head, and forces himself to face his nephew. He forces himself to draw in another breath of air, then another. One more, and he tries to tell himself to start talking.
He has no idea where to begin.
"What does happiness look like?" he finally asks, and Camilo just stares at him. Bruno waits for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. It's difficult, because they're scattering in thousands of different directions, trying not to be caught, trying not to be found.
"Most people, when they ask for a vision, want to know if they're going to be happy," Bruno says. "But most of the time they don't even know what happiness is. So they ask about money, or marriage, or children. Or they just ask about the future in general. I can look for specifics, but marriage doesn't necessarily mean happiness. And without specifics, I'm left open to whatever decides to show itself."
He's not used to talking about his gift. Trying to explain how it works has always been a futile, exhausting endeavor. Most of the time people don't care. Sometimes they just don't want to know.
"And it's easier to see something and recognize it as bad. Someone's fish dies. That's easy to see. Easy to pick out. Clear. Simple. Bad. Someone else breaks their arm. Again, easy to identify. Again, bad. Not good. Nobody wants that. Nobody wants to know their father is going to die tomorrow and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."
He catches himself. Camilo's only fifteen.
"But maybe it's not definitely going to happen. Maybe it might happen. Maybe it only happens because you were trying so hard to stop it. Maybe it only happens because I looked for it-sometimes simply seeing the future changes it. Maybe what I see is only a small piece of a bigger picture." He's thinking of Dolores, now, the man of her dreams betrothed to another. Not quite the whole story, but it had broken her heart all the same. "Sometimes I'm not even sure what I'm looking at."
He pauses and takes a breath. Camilo is listening, his brows furrowed as he tries to understand everything his uncle is telling him, but sometimes Bruno's not even sure he understands how his gift works.
"And back to happiness. What does happiness even look like? It could be marriage. It could be babies. It could be sitting in a field with your nephew in your lap. Or your sister snorting a piece of a tamale up her nose. Or hot coffee. Happiness doesn't seem to be one tangible, easily defined thing, and it seems to be different for every person, which makes it hard to look for. And I can honestly say I've never had a vision that insisted on being seen that was just, 'hey, this little girl finds a puppy next week and is happy.' For some reason the involuntary ones are always bad."
Camilo blinks. "Involuntary?"
Bruno sighs. "I can't always control them. Couldn't, I mean. It's not so much an issue anymore." He means it as a joke, but it's really not a very good one, and neither of them laugh.
Camilo waits for him to continue, because while he's kind of fumbled his way around trying to explain why it's so much easier to see bad news than good, at least as best as he's been able to understand it (and he's spent a lot of the last ten years thinking about it), he hasn't even touched on anything else his nephew's asked about.
"When you're constantly bringing bad news, people start to expect it. To fear it. So it gets to a point where every time you open your mouth-or even show up somewhere, someone expects you to predict some sort of disaster. And eventually they start to associate you with bad things. And then they start to think you caused the bad things. So they don't want you around, even if you're a kid, because they think you make bad things happen when you show up.
"Or they think that you're just not trying hard enough. That if you try harder, you'll see something better." Bruno catches himself again. He's already telling his fifteen year old nephew way more than any child needs to know about his life, never mind that he was a child himself for a good bit of it, but at this point he thinks refusing to talk might do more harm than good.
"So they avoid you, because you make them uncomfortable. Or you stay away, because you know you make them uncomfortable. And you stop talking as much, because every time you open your mouth someone flinches, or crosses themselves, or looks away. And you stop sharing your visions, because people get angry when you tell them things they don't want to hear."
He stops there. His nephew doesn't need to know about the violence. The hatred. The arguments with Mamí, full-on shouting matches, some of them. The quieter disagreements with his hermanas, equally damaging in a different way. This is enough-too much, probably, but Bruno's never been good at finding that balance between too much and not enough.
Camilo stares at his uncle for a moment longer, his eyes wide. He's horrified by all of this, maybe by Bruno himself. The man can freely admit to himself that while he always hid the worst of his gift from his sobrinos to try to protect them, he was almost as desperate to protect himself, afraid that if they knew how truly awful his gift was they would draw back from him in fear of it, just like the townsfolk, just like his sisters. Just like his mother. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing them.
He might anyway, now. He couldn't imagine that Camilo would keep all this to himself and not tell his sister and cousins. Bruno could hardly blame him for it either.
Camilo takes a long, steadying breath, and Bruno is sure it's over.
"Can I-" Camilo hesitates, licks his lips nervously before pressing on. "Can I hug you? I know you're really worked up right now, but is that okay?"
Bruno doesn't respond immediately. His brain has ground to a halt, trying to process whatever it is that's happening right now, and it's not doing a great job of it. Finally he manages a nod, and Camilo edges carefully closer, only to pull him into an almost painfully tight hug.
Bruno can't quite stop the tears that are suddenly rolling down his cheeks as he hugs his nephew back. Camilo doesn't seem to notice; he's too busy holding on to his uncle as if he has no intention of ever letting go.
When they finally pull apart, Camilo's crying too. He sniffs, and rubs his nose with the back of his hand while Bruno swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his ruana.
"I won't, um, tell anyone," Camilo finally says. "Not if you don't want me to. Privileged information and all that."
Bruno feels a shaky grin start to form. He's touched. By the offer. By the compassion in his nephew's voice.
"But just so you know, no one's going to hurt you." Camilo suddenly sounds much older than fifteen. "It's not going to happen. I won't let it. And neither will anyone else. And it doesn't matter if no one else knows what you told me. Isabella, Luisa, Dolores, Mirabel-none of them are going to stand by and let someone do something to you."
Bruno smiles again, though this time it's more sad than anything else. "I know," he says. He doesn't say that the worst of it always happened when he was alone, when they caught him somewhere without his sisters or mother or brothers-in-law to protect him. Or that sometimes it wasn't even violence. Just carefully chosen words that could easily go over a child's head while still doing plenty of damage. He doesn't try to explain that more than enough damage was done within Casita herself, by family, unintentional, maybe, but no less devastating.
Because Camilo is too young for any of those revelations, and while Bruno has done a terrible job of not putting adult responsibilities on his kid relative so far today, he is not going to burden him with any of that.
"Thanks," he says, because what else can he say? His nephew looks so determined to protect him, even though it should be the other way around. And after all he's just heard, he still likes his uncle, still wants to be around him. Bruno is relieved. Grateful. Definitely overwhelmed.
Bruno looks worn out when he shows up at Señora Garcia's that night. Mirabel knows he was with Camilo, but she also knows, from Isabella, that he fell out of a tree and had a small-child-induced panic attack that morning, and from Antonio that his friend Maria (the small child in question) and her mother had given her uncle a rat as thanks for saving their cat from said tree.
The thank you gift made perfect sense to Antonio. And to Mirabel, she supposes, knowing her uncle as she does.
She's more worried about the fall, and the panic attack.
He's moving stiffly by now, each movement careful and reluctant. He looks like he hurts all over. He also looks like he's been crying, though, and Antonio never said anything about that.
He has a small box in his hands-the new rat. He groans as he joins Mirabel and Dolores on the floor, but sets the box down gently next to his bedding. "Dios mio," he breathes, grimacing as he tries to find a comfortable sitting position.
He winces as he reaches for Dolores's scarf, but removes it carefully all the same, offering it back to her with a small smile and a thank you.
She accepts it and offers him something in return-he stares at the comb and brush for a moment as if not entirely sure what to do with it.
"We got you your own." Mirabel takes them from Dolores, because their uncle doesn't seem quite able. "Here. It'll be less tangled tomorrow if you brush it out tonight."
She starts brushing, but he immediately jerks forward. Mirabel stops immediately, not sure what's wrong, but certain something is.
"Sorry," he gasps. "It's-It's been-rough day."
"I don't have to, if it's going to bother you." Mirabel tells him. His shoulders hunch just a little bit, and he groans again.
"You shouldn't-shouldn't have to-I should be able to brush my own hair." He sounds absolutely miserable over the concession, and Mirabel feels one eyebrow lift.
Not he can see it.
"Hmm," she says, thoughtfully, because this seems to be an ongoing problem. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe we just like fussing over you? Because we missed you and we're glad your back and it gives us a way to show we love you? It's not like we think you're helpless. I mean, you did manage to survive ten whole years without us there to look after you."
Dolores eyes her uncle critically. "You didn't spend the afternoon telling Antonio and Camilo children's stories because they needed looking after, you did it because you enjoyed it. And you don't feed your rats because they can't feed themselves-they're more than capable of finding food. You enjoy spoiling them, because it makes you feel good to do nice things for them."
"I don't spoil them," Bruno protests feebly, and Mirabel's cousin rolls her eyes.
"You make sure they get breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus snacks anytime they ask. Some of them are fat, Tío. And you spend hours bathing them, brushing them, cleaning their paws and and feet and cooing over their whiskers and their little ears and their tails and-" she stops, only because Bruno is suddenly laughing.
"All right, all right, you win!" He raises his hands in defeat, then groans again. "God, that hurts."
"How bad is it?" Mirabel eyes the brush in her hand, uncertain whether to try again. "Luisa said you fell about ten feet."
"More like six," Bruno corrects. "I landed flat on my back. Knocked the wind out of me. At least I landed on dirt and not stone."
"Antonio said no broken bones," Dolores says. "Brush or no brush?"
"Huh? I guess if you want to, Mirabel." She takes that as an invitation. She does not miss the way he almost immediately starts to relax. "No, no broken bones. Probably lots of bruising though. Everything feels kind of tender. And my bones ache a little, I guess. Nothing serious."
"The cat got you though, looks like. And the rat?"
"Both scared. Animals will do that when they feel trapped. There's no malice involved, just sheer terror-induced instinct. Kind of saw it coming with the cat. Didn't realize the rat was injured until after it bit me."
"Can I see?"
"The rat? Or the bite?"
Dolores shakes her head. "You haven't cleaned this," she scolds, eyeing the bloody handkerchief he has wrapped around one finger. Bruno chuckles nervously.
"I meant to. Oops."
Mirabel's cousin gets up and goes looking for something to clean it with. Bruno doesn't resist while she fusses over his finger, or when she insists on cleaning the scratches on his face and hand, though he does wince a few times during the process.
"Now the rat," Dolores says, once his finger is cleaned and bandaged. "Is it okay if I take the lid off?"
"It's her leg that's hurt. Not sure she can run." Bruno sounds tired. Mirabel's almost finished with his hair. It reminds her of when she and Isabella were younger, back before they stopped getting along, when she would let Mirabel brush her hair and play dress up with her. She was very little then, and doesn't remember much, but she does remember Isabella teaching her how to brush her hair properly.
"She's white!" Dolores squeaks. "Her eyes are red."
Mirabel cranes her head over her uncle's shoulder to look, even though she doesn't like rats, and decides this one looks kind of spooky. Like a ghost-rat. She shivers, and goes back to brushing Bruno's hair.
"She's albino. Doesn't have any melanin to color her skin, fur, or eyes."
"Melanin?" Dolores asks.
"It's pigment. Coloring. It's what colors your hair, your eyes, your skin. More melanin in your skin or hair makes it darker. Less makes it lighter. This lady-she doesn't have any, so she doesn't get any coloring. That's why her fur looks white"
"She'll be okay, though?" Dolores asks. Bruno barely stops himself from nodding.
"Just needs time to heal."
Mirabel thinks about that, as they settle down for the night, and she knows he was talking about the rat, but she thinks it's true of him as well.
She has to believe it.
That Bruno will be okay.
That he just needs time to heal.
Disclaimer: Disney's Encanto does not belong to me.