A/N: Alejandro watches, waits, and learns.


Chapter 6: It's Hard to Know They're Out There

Encantober Prompt Day 14: Love

'Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.'

The Book of John, Chapter Fifteen, Verse Thirteen.

Alejandro's father in law - a lover of proverbs, the Scriptures, and general life advice - had quoted this verse regularly, but Alejandro had always assumed that the 'laying down his life' part referred to the actual death of Jesus Christ. And while he knew Jesus was speaking of His impending death on the cross, he wondered, now, if that particular verse didn't also refer to the fact that He didn't just die for the world; every single day He was on earth He lived for it. Instead of satisfying His own desires, instead of doing what was comfortable and easy - He lived, every day, to love and serve and teach those around Him.

Alejandro no longer had a life to lay down, but he thought, perhaps, an afterlife could be just as good. And so, here he was, spending every moment of said afterlife flitting between his family and the Madrigals, watching and waiting and learning that – despite their brokenness – la familia Madrigal loved each other, deeply and consistently.

He watched for over two years, and he grew to know them and to love them almost as much as he loved Lucía and Josefina.

If he could paint their love, Julieta's would be an ever-growing mahogany tree, unfurling new, beautiful branches every day. It was old and steady and never stopped growing. He saw love in the way Julieta took time to talk to each of her daughters, with her niece and nephews, every single day, even if it was only for a few moments. Each child got a few moments of one-on-one time with her, her undivided attention focused on them, as often as she could manage. (Which, sadly, was never long.)

Luisa's would be gentle but strong, a spider's web on a dewy morning. He saw love in the way Luisa watched over her sisters, not only physically – but with her words as well. She took every opportunity to offer quiet words highlighting her sisters' accomplishments. This applied mainly to Mirabel, as she was the one without a gift and any awkward silences in company usually came around when one of her efforts to be helpful were…not. Luisa would comment on how Mirabel had repaired her skirt the other day, or about how Mirabel woke them up with a smile every morning without fail, or about how she always made them smile when she played the accordion with their Pa. Although most of her words were in support of Mirabel, she always had a kind word for Isabela too - usually agreeing with those who complimented her poise and grace.

Isabela's love was layered and complex. Perhaps he would paint it as a wild onion, or a cactus blossom? She often pricked her sister's heart with her barbs but at the same time, did her best to keep the barbs of others directed at Mirabel at bay as well. And she clearly loved her family. She was a master of self-control and worked so incredibly hard to make sure that she was the one thing none of them ever needed to worry about.

Agustín's love would be a still life of a tailor's shop, a half finished shirt on a tailor's dummy, pins sticking out, scraps of fabric draped over the shoulders with a tape measure. His love made itself evident every time he encouraged his daughters, every time he offered words of comfort and insight, and every time he willingly made himself look a fool to redirect attention onto himself when his daughters or wife needed an out or a distraction. You couldn't manufacture that sort of love; you couldn't measure it. It was handcrafted and made specifically for them.

Félix's love would be the sun rising over the open sea, always shining and always warming those around him. He showed love with every kind word, every joke, and every smile he gave his familia. He was single handedly responsible for soothing and smoothing over more than half of the family's conflicts.

Pepa's love would be a flame – sometimes a roaring forest fire, sometimes a contained, steady blaze, but it never went out. Her feelings were strong, and her love was in being a safe shoulder to cry on, in being a source of empathy and compassion.

Dolores' love would be a shrouded forest, silent and still and protecting everyone from the weight of knowing too much.

Camilo's love would be a crystal, scattering rainbows and changing color as he shifted, sparkling as he caught everyone else's light and reflected it back to them.

Antonio's love would be the moon and stars, quiet but beautiful and earnest.

Bruno's love would be a desert landscape - appearing barren to those he left behind, appearing dry, but truly full of life if one only knew where to look. If his family's love for him was water, he conserved the smallest drops of it to sustain himself in the walls. Alejandro spent countless hours watching the watcher; observing the observer. He saw how he celebrated his family's successes and mourned their losses; he saw how Bruno worked tirelessly with Casita to patch the growing cracks in the family's foundation. He saw how Bruno prayed and lived and watched and waited. If he was withered now, Alejandro just knew that if he was showered with their love, he'd blossom like a desert lily after the rains; he'd be like the creeping phlox of the Atacama desert, breathtaking and beautiful.

Alma, for all the harm she was causing, still loved her family deeply in her own way. Her love was that of a broken heart. He would paint her as the shards of a broken vase, spilled across the ground.

And Mirabel.

Alejandro had seen, in one of the books in his father-in-law's shop, a colored sketch of a white ceramic bowl, broken and mended with gold. It detailed the Japanese art of kintsugi, repairing that which was broken by using gold to piece it back together and make it more beautiful than it had been originally.

Mirabel was the living embodiment of kintsugi. If he had still been able, he would have painted her love as that. He would have used real gold dust in the paint. She was a mender, a healer, a fixer, a helper, just like her madre.

The Madrigals loved each other deeply, but they also hurt each other. Alejandro watched them, and he was reminded of another Bible verse quoted with regularity by his father in law.

Love thy neighbor as thyself.

They were so focused on fulfilling the first part of that command - loving and serving their neighbors - that they'd completely neglected the second half - to love themselves. Even Jesus took naps. Even Jesus Himself withdrew to solitary places to rest. Even Jesus told the Pharisees 'no' when they demanded a sign - when they demanded more immediate, miraculous proof that He was who He claimed to be.

Ignoring their own physical and emotional needs was cracking the foundations that held la familia Madrigal together.

Julieta was so focused on healing everyone around her she never took the rest she needed for herself. As a result, she was exhausted - physically, emotionally, and mentally. She suspected that her daughters needed help, but when they said they were fine, their blank smiles and the tension in their shoulders saying otherwise - she didn't push. Her love was strong, but her roots were so constantly providing nourishment to so many others that she was beginning to grow hollow and wither.

Luisa was so focused on protecting the family that she failed to protect her own heart, allowing it to be mishandled and tossed around like she tossed the boulders in her path. Every time her sensitive soul experienced a careless laugh at her expense, a dismissal of her concerns, or praise for shouldering the heaviest loads placed on her, the beautiful, delicate, steady strands of her love twisted and strained and they were beginning to snap.

Isabela was so focused on being perfect, on making sure no one ever needed to worry about her, that she was slowly encasing herself in thick, impenetrable skin. Soon her heart would be unreachable.

The strength of Pepa's love lay in expressing her own emotions and extracting and empathizing with those of others, but she was slowly but surely stifling that part of herself. She was so focused on her mantra of 'clear skies' that she was forgetting how valuable it was to rain and to storm every now and then. The flame of her love was bright and hot, and she was burning herself to a crisp. Alejandro saw the way she unknowingly burned Bruno every time she refused to speak of him, to avoid dealing with just how much his absence hurt her. She needed to stop smothering herself. The family could use a little more truth. They could use a few more healthy emotional outlets.

The silent forest that was Dolores was slowly crumbling with the weight of the secrets she kept.

Camilo spent so much time reflecting the light of others he was beginning to believe he didn't have a light of his own.

Antonio's love still shone with all the innocent radiance of a young child, but how long would it be before he began collapsing in on himself, creating a heavy black hole that he couldn't escape from?

Félix and Agustín, their love focused on keeping the peace and helping their loved ones stay the course - but Alejandro was beginning to see that true peace came not from keeping the status quo, but from confronting the source of conflict and changing course if need be. They could not save everyone if the family continued on this course.

Alejandro worried Bruno would be lost in the desert forever if he wasn't rescued soon; if he wasn't offered the sweet relief of his family's love, understanding, and acceptance.

The shards of Alma's broken heart were piercing everyone around her, but she couldn't see how her expectations and striving were driving the family toward collapse and ruin. She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought she was protecting her family by keeping them from knowing the truth of her broken heart. Instead of allowing them to help her heal, she insisted she was strong, they were strong, and that somehow, some way, they would earn their miracle. She couldn't see that was an impossible feat. They couldn't earn something that was given freely, something they already possessed.

Mirabel was the most perceptive of her family outside of Bruno. Perhaps being the only one without a gift (outside of Antonio, who was not yet old enough to have one) allowed her to see what a burden the gifts had become. But she was young, and her efforts to relieve those burdens barely scratched the surface - carrying a bucket for Luisa when Luisa was shouldering an entire water trough; arranging a vase of flowers for Isabela when Isa was growing an entire field; stitching together a candle holder for her Abuela when her Abuela's heart was in pieces.

He had a strong suspicion that she was the one Mercy spoke of when he'd said there would be another who would see the truth of the family's situation, but her time had not yet come.

So Alejandro watched and waited and got to know the family in a way no one else in the Encanto had ever had the opportunity to do. He watched the Madrigals and he watched Lucía.

He watched his wife struggle with so many of the same hurts. She loved Josefina so much and focused on caring for her instead of herself. (The guilt she'd had once she'd recovered from her depression after his death resulted in her doting on Josefina, to Lucía's own detriment.) She swallowed her anger and grief and moved forward, helping her father in the print shop, reading stories to the village children, and raising Josefina to be kind and compassionate and truthful and brave. But he could sense it there, below the surface. There were nights, after she tucked Josefina in and bid her father goodnight, that she sat in the chair in her bedroom and stared silently, straight ahead, for hours. She still hadn't gone into his art studio.

He watched her tell Josefina all about her wonderful padre and how creative he was, and about how much he loved her. He watched Josefina grow, proud to claim him as a father, but missing him all the same. He saw how her face would fall whenever she witnessed a child her age run into their father's embrace, or when another Father's Day passed and she presented a gift to her Abuelo and a gift to him, to be left on his grave.

While he watched, Alejandro also struggled with the potential of his Three Moments of Influence, influenced himself in equal measure by his guilt, his eagerness to fix things and make them right, and his desire to love his family and the Madrigals well.

He knew Mercy told him to wait until Casita fell or healed to begin using them, but the temptation to use them to fix hard situations immediately was intense. The first time he considered using his Influence to help was when Josefina hid in a cupboard and Lucía couldn't find her.

His wife panicked and Josefina had fallen asleep. He knew she'd be fine, it wasn't locked, she could come out any time - but he hated seeing Lucía panic. He was just about to use his Influence to tell her to look in the cupboard when Camilo Madrigal arrived, shifting back into himself after using someone else's long legs to get there quickly.

"Dolores - said - she's in the cupboard," he gasped, and Lucía pulled her out, and Josefina protested sleepily, and Alejandro's spirit sagged with relief even as he reprimanded himself for almost using one of his chances on something so…insignificant.

Casita had not yet fallen, and Casita had not yet healed.

His Influences - they had to be significant. They had to be exceptional; moments that would comfort Lucía and help her move forward, that she would treasure for the rest of her life. They had to be moments that would help her know that he died loving her, that he watched over her and Josefina - moments that would bring her peace.

And, of course, they had to be moments that would help the Madrigals; that would help them untangle their own sorrows and heal their own hurts.

How he would manage both things simultaneously was still a mystery, but he was a patient man.

Spirit.

Whatever.

He just had to wait until Casita fell or was healed, and then wait for an opportunity that involved both his family and the Madrigals. And the more he observed their interactions, the more he realized that Alma, Bruno, and Mirabel were the keys to the family healing. The family could not heal until Mirabel was acknowledged and accepted, until Bruno came home, until Alma addressed her grief.


The second time he almost used his Influence was at Antonio's gift ceremony, and then - he almost used one several times after in rapid succession.

Mirabel saw the cracks - and his spirit leapt with the knowledge that it was almost time - and she told everyone –

And no one believed her.

Alejandro was so angry on her behalf – on behalf of this precious girl, who had faithfully taken Antonio to his wife's story times in town, who had made Josefina a new dress for her doll, who had consistently and patiently drawn his wife and Josefina back into the community with her generous spirit and contagious smile -

She was a treasure to his family, to the community, and to her own family, and none of them believed her.

He almost charged Alma Madrigal in that moment – his glowing hand reached to her forehead – but then, Mercy was at his shoulder, reminding him that Casita had not yet fallen, and Casita had not yet healed.

If he had a body, he'd be clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth, but he didn't, so his spirit simply trembled in frustration.


He almost used his Influence the following day, too many times to count.

Luisa opened up to her sister about the pressure she was feeling on a daily basis.

As a result, Mirabel explored Bruno's tower and nearly gave him a heart attack - or whatever the ghostly equivalent was - collecting the pieces of Bruno's last vision. The broken pieces twinkled like little stars; little secrets buried in the sand.

His spirit sank in realization as he hovered over her shoulder - when he realized what Bruno had seen and why he had left.

The family talked about Bruno more in that single day than they had in the past few years he'd been watching them. And then, when Mirabel met Bruno in the walls and Bruno confirmed that he'd stayed to protect Mirabel, Alejandro wanted to embrace them both then. He'd known Bruno had stayed in the walls for a purpose, but the simplicity and the depth of that purpose, and the myriad ways it could have been avoided still overwhelmed him and broke his heart.

He almost used his Influence to make Bruno have another vision for his niece, but she convinced him of that on her own.

He almost used one to make Alma listen to Mirabel.

(But then Casita began cracking, the mountains themselves shuddered and moved, and he had to check on Lucía and Josefina. They were safe, they were safe, but - he'd wasted his chance to make Alma listen. Perhaps it was another act of Mercy - perhaps she would not have listened, even had he told her to. Perhaps all of her choices, all the choices of the entire family, had led to this necessary revelation. Perhaps Mercy was right. Alejandro remembered that he could not Influence Alma Madrigal to act in contrast to her core personality and desires - and her core desire was still to protect and earn the Miracle. Maybe she needed to lose the miracle in order to realize that it wasn't what was most important, after all.)

He almost used his Influence to tell Bruno to GET OUT as Casita began to collapse, but thankfully the man still had enough self-preservation instincts to take care of that on his own.

He almost used his Influence to save Mirabel, to convince Mirabel to save herself.

(He broke a little as he saw Casita fall protecting her. He attempted to help, he tried to protect her as well, knowing full well his ghostly arms were useless, but trying all the same. He'd grown to love the house almost as much as the family itself, and the shock of losing Casita prevented him from using his Influence to keep Mirabel from leaving, after Casita fell.)

He almost used one to make Alma follow Mirabel.

But she went after her of her own accord and in the end, Alejandro was grateful for Mercy's advice to wait, to watch, and to listen. Alma needed to take the first step on toward healing on her own.

He trembled with anticipation, because - Casita had fallen and it was time.

It was time to begin to use his Influence.


It took too long to check on Mirabel. He'd have liked to Influence her to go home, but he had a feeling she and her Abuela needed to have a long, hard, conversation, and that was already in motion. He offered up a prayer of protection for her out of habit and checked on Lucía and Josefina and the rest of the Madrigals instead.

Dolores was the most shaken of all of them.

It took Alejandro an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize why.

She knew about her tío in the walls and at the moment, she didn't know if he'd made it out. She didn't know if he was alright.

She tried not be obvious about it, but she trailed along the outside of Casita, where she'd last heard him, pretending to look for Mirabel while also secretly looking for evidence that her tío had made it out alive.

He considered using his Influence to try to convince Bruno to reveal himself to the family, and to relieve Dolores, but – as much as he wanted to comfort Dolores, he also needed to see if Bruno was willing to reveal himself at all.

So, satisfied that everyone else was safe for the time being, Alejandro followed Bruno as he disappeared into the jungle.

Well, he was out of the walls, at least.

And he had the habit of talking softly to his rats, and to himself, and that helped Alejandro understand his train of thought immensely.

"Okay, okay, okay, the house fell. The house fell! And Casita is – is – is gone, and – and – my vision – my vision – it came true. Oh, Bruno…bad luck, bad luck, bad luck; you never should have - " he froze and knocked on the nearest tree, tossing salt and sugar over his shoulders and crossing himself, muttering 'Dios te salve, Maria…what…what am I going to do…I can't…I can't…I can't…"

He froze as he heard someone tramping through the trees after him.

"Mirabel!" Agustín cried, his voice cracking with fear. "Mirabel! Mirabel, where are you! Mirabel, come home!"

Bruno stayed absolutely still until Agustín passed, far to his left, and then sighed. "Mirabel…" he muttered sadly, his brows drawing together in concern. And then – he turned toward the mountains, peering into the distance. "…she wouldn't."

Alejandro reached forward, ready and waiting to Influence him to go after her – all three keys in one place! Alma, Bruno, and Mirabel!

But Bruno jerked back suddenly, leaning up against a tree with a near-silent laugh, and Alejandro waited. "Of course she would. Of course she would! You would have, if it had been you. Told her the mountains were tall, and they're – ha! They're not tall any more. Crack right through them." He made a chopping motion with his hand and a little popping sound with his mouth. "How many times did you want to leave, eh?"

His face fell. "I did leave. I did leave. I - " he swallowed. "She can't leave! Mirabel can't leave, not like this! I've got to find her."

He turned away. "But I – I can't – how can I face them - "

He stopped and breathed deeply through his nose, tossing the hood of his ruana over his head. "No. I am afraid of n – nothing. I have to do this. It's for Mirabel."

He cut himself off and turned toward the road that led to the mountains, and Alejandro no longer had the benefit of knowing what he was thinking.

So he followed.

Bruno made his way down the road, sticking to the trees, and made it about half a mile before people began combing the woods, helping to search for Mirabel.

Bruno dove into a large fern just as a woman from the village walked by, calling Mirabel's name. His eyes were wide and he trembled, and he waited a long time before peeking out again.

"Okay," he muttered, biting his lip. "Okay. If I keep having to hide and wait, this isn't going to work. I'm – not used to this. Plan…plan B. Fastest way to Mirabel and the mountains is…."

Bruno turned slightly and blinked, obviously attempting to orient himself to his location. When he rose, he began walking toward the stables at the edge of town.

Alejandro's spirit leapt.

With any luck, Lucía would still be there.


A/N: There's a morbid joke somewhere here about how you can take the soul out of the artist but you can't take the artist out of the soul.

(Whoa this chapter was still a lot of exposition (and a lot of metaphor, sorry, too much?! I mean I thought it was in character for Alejandro because it fits his personality and the way he romanticizes the world but maybe still a bit too much, idk.), but I had several years to cover to bring us up to the events of the movie itself. And...we're finally there! You've all been so patient! Only three chapters to go and they're going to be long ones because Bruno and Lucia haven't even MET and yeah isn't the two of them getting together the whole point of this?! Sorry for taking so long. Get ready for a lot of action and a lot of angst, Alejandro's in for a wild ride. Next chapter will hopefully be up tomorrow night.)