Dolores woke up with a headache and knew it was not going to be a good day.

Everything was already much, much too loud, and most of the family was still asleep. Tía Julieta, down in the kitchen, sounded as if she was banging pots and pans together as loudly as she possibly could, even though Dolores knew for a fact that her aunt always tried to be considerate of her niece's gift as she began her day.

Papá's snoring tried to saw through the top of her skull, and Mirabel sounded as if she were jumping on the bed as she tossed and turned in her sleep. Dolores reminded herself to take a long, deep breath and got out of bed.

Tía Julieta's food would help. Maybe. Sometimes it didn't. She hoped it would, if she made it to the kitchen before things got any worse.

Every creak of the floorboards scraped painfully in her ears. Over the sounds of pots and pans being banged together Dolores could hear voices, one low, one high, but couldn't sort them out from the rest of the noise to tell what was being said.

She stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, the pots and pans even louder now. Tío Bruno sat at the table, talking to Tía Julieta's back as she cooked.

"Buenos dias, Doli." Tío Bruno greeted her, and his voice thundered in her ears. Dolores winced, closing her eyes and telling herself firmly she was not going to cry.

Tía Julieta turned and greeted her niece as well. Dolores entered the room and slumped into a seat before her suddenly shaking knees could give out on her. Her tío raised an eyebrow at her but did not comment, instead taking the loudest sip of tea Dolores had ever heard anyone take in the all the years she had had her gift.

Her tía set a plate down in front of her and Dolores nibbled gratefully at the offering only to stop when her stomach started rolling. Dismayed, she pushed the plate back, wincing as it scraped the table. Food, even her aunt's food, was not going to help. Not this time.

Other family members began to awaken and make their way downstairs for breakfast, and the noise only got worse.

Breakfast lasted far too long, was far too loud. Dolores sat hunched miserably in her seat, hoping no one would notice. She was pretty sure people were trying to talk to her, and equally sure they had all decided she was just in a bad mood. She tried to remember if she had done anything the day before to make them think that, but could barely remember making it to dinner last night, never mind whether she had argued with anybody.

Tío Bruno had somehow ended up next to her at the table. Getting up, he went to the cupboard for more tea, only for Tía Julieta to insist on getting it for him.

He waved her off when he went to sweeten it for him, insisting on doing so himself. Dolores tried to ignore the way the spoon made his tea slosh around, but really, that was a sound not meant for human ears. She prayed he wouldn't try dipping anything weird in his tea this time-she was not sure her stomach could take it.

She blinked when he absently dipped his stirring spoon into her glass of milk, disgusted to realize there had somehow still been tea in the spoon. Tea that was now in her milk. She resisted the urge to glare at him (really, when he wasn't being weird he was the best uncle ever), but across the table Isabella gagged.

The second time he did it he actually started stirring, and Dolores cleared her throat even as the sound tore through her head. The spoon retreated and did not return.

Surprisingly, her tío seemed to remain oblivious to the entire affair in spite of the fact that he was the one dripping his tea into her milk.

She watched grudgingly as he sipped his tea still far too loudly but did not touch his plate.

"Drink your milk, mija." Mama suddenly turned her attention on her daughter. Across the table, Isabella gagged again. Dolores looked from her to her mama to her uncle, then back at her milk.

For one brief, mean moment, she thought about mentioning the mishap with the spoon, but she knew they would just scold her uncle for not paying enough attention to his surroundings and get her a new glass.

She looked at the milk and reconsidered. It looked mostly normal, but there was still about two spoon's worth of her uncle's tea in it.

At least she knew the spoon had been clean, that he hadn't licked it or anything. His tea ritual was precise to a fault. New cup, new spoon. Tea leaves first, then water. Let it steep. Add three spoonfuls of sugar. Stir. Set the spoon aside.

"Dolores." Clouds formed over her mama's head.

She glared at the milk and decided the day couldn't get any worse, so she might as well drink the nasty tea-milk. She picked up her glass and gingerly took a sip.

Isabella continued to gag, but Dolores couldn't actually taste anything weird, and her mama was staring at her. Everyone was staring at her. And oddly enough, the milk didn't make her want to hurl.

She took another sip, this one larger, and felt something at the base of her skull loosen. A third, still somewhat tentative sip, and it no longer felt like someone was trying to stab a fork through her temples. She breathed a sigh of relief and considered the rest of the glass.

Beside her, Uncle Bruno startled, knocking her arm and spilling the rest. Milk spilled all over the table and on her tío's arm but somehow left her dry, and the girl had the sudden, absurd thought that maybe he had done it on purpose.

He rushed to help her clean it up, oddly quiet as he did so. It confused her, as she'd gotten used to him apologizing for far less, but she let it go. Everything was still far too loud, but her head no longer hurt quite as much.

Both resettled at the table, silent as the rest of la familia swarmed around them. Dolores made herself pick at some fruit while her uncle retrieved his mug. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him raise it ever so slightly as if in a toast, and his gaze slid sideways to meet hers.

He winked at her before turning his attention back to his tea.


Try as she might, Dolores could not find any quiet after breakfast. Even in her room she could still hear the sounds of the family running about. Camilo and Mirabel were exceptionally energetic today, shouting and shrieking and thumping around the house as loudly as possible, and Isabella and Luisa seemed angry with each other over...something. The details were a little fuzzy, as Dolores was having trouble focusing again.

Any relief she had found from her headache during breakfast vanished quickly, and the pain soon came back with twice its former strength.

She tried to skip lunch, only to have Mama come looking for her. Rather than worry her mama (or try to argue with her), she instead made her way down to the dining room determined to suffer in silence.

Tio Bruno sat beside her again, still quiet. He shot a knowing glance in her direction as she slumped into her seat and stirred his tea.

"Does your head still hurt, Tío Bruno?" Isabella asked. "You only have tea at lunch when you have a headache." Their uncle winced, but did not deny it. Behind Isabella, her mother grimaced.

"We all get headaches sometimes, mija," she told her daughter, but Dolores knew it was not the same.

She kept an eye on her uncle in spite of the pounding in her head, just in case he forgot to keep his tea to himself again, but Tío Bruno ignored her for the rest of the meal.

Lunch dragged by, and by the time it was over Dolores wanted to curl up in a dark hole and never come out. She was too miserable to even consider getting up, even as the rest of la familia finished eating and each went their separate way, one by one, until she was left alone with the clattering of dishes as her tía cleaned up.

She didn't realize Tío Bruno was still there until he stood, hunching his shoulders forward apologetically as the chair scraped against the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him cross to the stove, measuring out water that was most likely no longer warm from the teakettle into his cup.

"What are you doing?" Tía Julieta sounded suspicious, but not angry. Her brother ignored her, returning to the table and setting the now half full mug in front of Dolores. "You can't give her that, Bruno."

Dolores eyed the teacup before her. "What is it?" she asked, and her aunt sighed.

"Sometimes your tío gets headaches," she said, bracing herself for an explanation.

"I know." Dolores said. "Because the food doesn't always help." Talking hurt too much, so she stopped.

Her uncle threw a pointed glance in his sister's direction, and Tía Julieta frowned. "Do you get headaches, mija?" she asked. Slowly, carefully, Dolores nodded. It still hurt. Tía Julieta looked at Bruno, then asked. "And the food doesn't always help?"

A single tear rolled down her nose as she shook her head. Tía Julieta closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she looked reluctant. "You still can't give her that. It's way too strong."

Bruno shrugged but didn't argue. Dolores looked from her uncle to her aunt and realized that was the end of it.

Her eyes were hot and itchy, and Dolores was sure if she stayed she would start crying, so she bolted, ignoring her tía as she called after her.

She made it as far as the hall before her legs started threatening to give out on her. It was too bright, too loud. Everything seemed to stab at her, over and over again, without mercy. She needed to get away. She needed somewhere she could hide, where no one would come looking for her. That meant her room was out of the question.

Tía Juliete might mean well, but Dolores needed people to stop talking to her. She needed people to stop talking at all, really. She definitely needed to avoid her mother, who by now was probably starting to worry about her oldest child.

Dolores hated to make her family worry, but she desperately needed quiet, or, in its absence, to at least be left alone. She found a small linen closet and fumbled at the door, somehow managing to get it open and crawl inside. Pulling the door closed, she found herself in complete darkness.


She lost track of time as she lay curled up in the dark, fingers crammed painfully into her ears, trying to wait it all out while tears streamed down her face.

The door opened without warning, and Dolores cried out. It was still too bright, even with a shape she could not make out blocking a good bit of the light from the hall. Cold hands with took her by the arms and dragged her carefully from her hiding place, and she was too overwhelmed to fight them.

Green.

She was pulled back into the world and lifted into the air. Dimly she realized she was being carried, but not comfortably.

Tío.

A sudden flash of clarity, agonizingly painful. Tío Bruno was carrying her up the stairs, his hands tucked under her armpits, keeping her at an arm's length. She could still hear his heart racing, and his breath catching as he made his way past each and every door, but at least her head was not pressed right up against his chest.

She frowned when they reached her room and kept going.

His arms were shaking by the time he reached his own door. He set her on his waist just long enough to get the door open, and long enough for her to realize that the rest of his wiry frame was trembling as well.

His room was dark and cool, bringing almost instant relief, however small it was. Her uncle continued to haul her through the room, up far too many stairs, all the way to his vision cave at the very top of his room.

His breath was ragged and uneven by the time he set her down, but the only other thing she could hear was the sound of falling sand. No family. No village. No clanging of pots and pans or children screaming or cousins shouting at each other.

The sound was still loud, and he was loud, but it was nonetheless a relief not to have so many sounds assaulting her ears.

Dolores curled into a ball, pressing her forehead into the sand and squeezing her eyes shut. She could hear her uncle retreat, hear his soft padding footsteps, back to the stairs where he settled on the top step and tried to get his breathing under control.

Both his heart rate and breathing had almost returned to normal by the time he returned, sitting on the sand near her, close but not too close. Dolores appreciated the space, even as she lay there in misery.

The sand was comforting, somehow.

It took hours, but eventually the relative peace let her body relax enough for the exhausted child to drop off to sleep.


Author's note: I hope I'm not overdoing it. I'm really enjoying exploring their relationship. It's fun to write, if a bit heartbreaking at times. I hope you guys are enjoying it as well. Reviews are greatly appreciated, it's always nice to know what you all are thinking too.

Dislaimer: Encanto does not belong to me.