The First Year
It took the family about three days to realize that he was missing, and after the fear set it in, it took another two days for the entirety of the Encanto to be searched. A few of the townsfolk helped, but not many, and even less of them were sorry to hear he had gone.
They asked Dolores if she could hear him, and when her only reply was, "Yes, he's still here," Pepa sent her to her room.
They really stopped looking for him after the triplets' forty-first birthday.
The Second Year
By the middle of the second year, he had grown used to the near constant hunger, the near constant darkness, and the near constant fear. Fear for his next meal, his next drink, the cracks, his discovery. He'd been able to sneak into the kitchen every few days, but it seemed like he was always almost being caught.
He had, at least, perfected the spackle and patched the worst of the cracks, and the rats had stopped stealing his food once he started taking enough to share. Some of them were almost friendly and liked to spend time in his pockets.
It wasn't the same as a hug, but it helped.
The Third Year
When Mirabel turned seven, Abuela caught her running her fingers over the blank stretch of wall where she would have had a door and told her off, sending her back to the nursery in tears. Mira didn't come down for dinner, and Casita wouldn't let anyone in to check on her. When he went for food that night, he took a very small buñuelo back up to Mira's room and knocked lightly. Casita let him in, and he set it on her desk with a note: "Happy birthday. You are loved."
When his own birthday came around that year, he found the plate full of food at the dining room table with a note on the back of the page he had used: "We miss you."
Dolores still made her W's with one too many loops.
The Fourth Year
His hair had become so long that it got tangled in the rafters any time he had to climb up to fill a crack. He had managed to keep it relatively clean and combed, but he obviously could not stop it from growing. He ran the side of the trowel over some of the larger stones in the garden, until it was sharp enough to cut through the gnarled salt-and-pepper locks. He saved the knots of hair for the rats to line their nests with.
He named three of them: Miel, Agave, y Joya.
The rest still came around mostly for free food, but when he had their attention, he told them stories.
The Fifth Year
Every day that passed, Pepa positively bloomed in pregnancy. She had a much easier time with this one than with either Dolores or Camilo, and another sobrino joined the family in late May.
Antonio. Priceless. Worthy of praise.
And he was, for the smile he brought to Pepa's face is one Bruno hadn't seen in years.
The Sixth Year
Forty-five came and went without too much pomp. Most of that had to do with everyone adjusting to a teething toddler. Dolores spent much more time of the house than he liked. One night, she came home in a rainstorm, hair flattened against her head, dirty and disheveled, and the next day, she was so sick that she couldn't eat.
Bruno had his suspicions but never found out what happened.
The Seventh Year
Joya was the first of the tamed rats to pass, and while he had the others, he still mourned. They had become something of a family, all hidden together. Miel and Agave's brood had known nothing but the wraith living in the walls with them and wouldn't survive in the wild. He stripped some of the bamboo rafters and made tunnels for them to play in.
The cracks still got him up early and kept him up late, but he'd become much more adept at spotting and sealing even the smallest of them before they could spread too far.
The family went almost an entire week without saying his name.
The Eighth Year
Miel y Agave passed as life-mates within a day of each other, and he buried them together in the bushes behind the family's graveyard. Not counting the rats, it held only two graves
Pedro Madrigal – Born 19 November 1877. Died 17 October 1901. Beloved.
Bruno Madrigal – Born 17 October 1901. Disappeared 6 March 1942.
The wreath laying against his head stone had withered with age.
The Ninth Year
Mirabel took it upon herself to ensure that Julieta and Pepa had the best fiftieth birthday cake ever. He watched with great amusement as she scaled the kitchen cabinets, searching for her mother's cookbook, only to fall off of it and quite literally be caught by her mother within minutes. She wasn't deterred though. She'd left the house for a bit and came back with a battered old recipe book.
It was the most hideous cake that had ever graced the dining room table, but it was edible, and even Mamá broke character and smiled tightly at Mirabel's antics. Mira volunteered to clean up to give her mother a break and had just finished wiping down the counter when she noticed one uneaten piece of cake still on the platter.
"Who didn't get any?" She wondered aloud. "Oh! Casita, could you pass me a plate?"
A single dinner plate rolled out of the cabinet and across the table to Mirabel, who sat the cake on it and brought it before the family portrait.
"Happy birthday, Tío Bruno."
He cried himself to sleep for the first time in a long time.
The Tenth Year
Dolores wakes in the middle of the night and comes looking for him, and for a moment, it's like he never left. He knows the look of a nightmare – wide eyes, soft words, shaking hands. He can't do much more than hold her steady in his gaze and briefly squeeze her slender fingers before the morning takes her away.
His sisters haven't spoken to him in a while, and it breaks his heart a little more to hear Pepa sigh over a half-empty coffee mug and murmur apologies into the wind. Julieta works herself to the bone trying to get everything ready for tonight, but when she finally stops for a break, she salutes him with an arepa that's a little too dark on the bottom, and his mouth waters.
He hates that the family feels a need to put on this show for the town. Poor Antonio is terrified, Mirabel is terrified, he himself can barely stand for his quaking knees, can only watch as one more sobrino is offered up to the mercy of the Magic and withstands. He sinks down to praise God that it worked and doesn't realize how loud he's being until he's caught.
Dolores doesn't exactly tower over him, but she's blossomed into a fine young woman. They reunite for the briefest of moments, only to be torn apart when Mirabel... It's his vision, his worst nightmare come to life, and he bolts, fear getting the better of him. And when Dolores follows, he loses her, too. He barely touches the food she left out for him and doesn't sleep at all, and when the family comes down to breakfast, he doesn't blame her for putting distance between them.
But after ten years, she's not the scared little girl anymore. She's intelligent, capable, angry, and determined, and he doesn't see the pieces in motion around him until the dinner table explodes in loose magic, screams, and one fractured vision on display for all to see.
"Mira found Bruno's vision! She's in it! She's going to destroy the Magic, and then we're all doomed!"
Miér...coles.
Author's Note: I think we have three more chapters after this, but it may still be tweaked a tad in that I may add a chapter or that the chapters I have may be slightly longer to account for all the happenings toward the end. We are nearing the end, though. The tense change at the end was intentional; I had to bring him forward in time ten years. And while I think it would be quite the journey, Bruno's time in the walls isn't the main focus here, and I also don't think any of our hearts could take it.
I looked up a few different meanings for 'Antonio' and its English equivalent (Anthony) and picked the two I thought fit him.
Also, I know of a fan theory that suggests Dolores set the events of the dinner disaster in motion intentionally but that is not my interpretation of her role. I think that learning the contents of the vision was the proverbial straw that broke the dam of secrets, and while it might have been her intent to use Mirabel to get Bruno back, I don't think she wanted the Miracle or the family to end up as collateral damage.
Oddly specific question: It's been about 10 years (ironically) since I was really active on . Is it the culture to directly respond to comments? I feel like it's just DM clutter, but I could be wrong. Should I keep doing general acknowledgements with the occasional shout-out in the A/N? Idk, just curious. I'm so thankful for all the support, and I just want to let you guys know!
Would love to hear your thoughts! -WW