Disclaimer - ENCANTO and all of its trademarked characters, settings etc. belong to Disney. Only the oc(s) and some story ideas belong to me. Thank you.

Warning - This chapter involves mentions of death and drowning. Please protect yourself and do not read this chapter or story if this will affect you in a negative/triggering fashion. Thank you. And another note, please understand that I actually love Alma as a character and her story in the original film was a touching, endearing part of it all. To me, she is not a villain, but a symbol of lot of our caretakers who were too prideful to admit a wrong but were never cruel. There is a difference between an actual abuser to a person with flaws.

With that said, in this story she will have beliefs and even say things that will be hurtful, close-minded, and unfathomable in today's day and age. Please understand that I, the writer, do not agree with these things and I am clearly writing these things because I know they are wrong and they are also the attitudes reflected of the time and of older people today. I apologize for going into a rant, but I felt that needed to be clarified. I'd hate for anyone to think the worst of me as a person because of what I include as a writer.

Chapter title/song inspiration - "Choro das Águas" (or The Water's Cry) again by Ivan Lins


Chapter 4

the water's cry

DEEP IN HER HEART, Alma struggled. Bruno, her youngest and her only son, was the one she worried about the most. Julieta was obedient and easy going. She never worried for her. She knew she was her good girl. Pepa, her Josefa, was beautiful. But hardheaded (and too much like herself). She was a mirror. And even though she was quick to keep the peace for the sake of the family, she was also quick to tell the truth and shame the devil. But Bruno? What did Bruno have, other than a bruised reputation? He was a delight as a child. And even when his visions came, and he was still small enough to hide behind her skirts, it was easy to calm him. To let him know that things only appeared to be scary and with a brave face, he could handle it all. When adolescence arrived, he became quieter. More observant.

She was never a fan of his friendships with the rats once she found out, but she only saw it as a phase, like many things about him. A phase. A small trial that he'd soon shake himself out of. Was she truly in denial this entire time about her son?

On the ledge, in front of her daughters' rooms, she stood and peered out into the crowd. Tonight, was meant to be joyous. Yet, she did not dance. Despite her reservations, Pepa and her new husband were a happy pair. She was a bit grateful when she learned that they would stay here, instead of moving to the coast to be with his family. She had her reasons. One reason was because she'd miss her too much, even with visits. The second, was not as kind. It was the reason why she could never look Félix's mother in the eye. Why her civility with some of the Encanto's civilians felt less warm and hollower compared to how'd she'd light up around others, even if that was never her intention. When her babies were children, she felt she had to second guess their decision of aiding some. And if so, they had to do it outside. That reason was why her fists clenched when she saw her son with that girl.

She watched them for a long time. Her mouth went dry as they drew close, she would've sprung to action then but as quick as that moment happened, so did it end. He must've said something to upset her, typical Bruno. What wasn't typical, was the fact that he followed her. In all her fifty years, at that time, she would never imagine her own son – no, no, she shook that out of her head just then. There was nothing more to this, Alma decided, still – now they were outside – and potentially alone. Without thinking, she glided down the stairs. And squeezed pass the merrymaking to find a spot in the kitchen, which was thankfully empty. The music was too loud for her to hear anything, but she had a clear view of the two underneath the moonlight. Why was so familiar with this girl? She had never seen her – not with Félix's family or anyone else. Whose daughter was this? So late out at night, no good. This girl with dark skin and the red dress... was unfamiliar.

In the middle of it all, she saw that Bruno had gone back inside, and as soon as he was far enough away – the girl had gone. Ran off into the night. Alma tsked.

Once again, who raised her?

She didn't leave the kitchen, just yet. Because as soon as she was done mentally scolding that strange girl, she had seen Bruno come down. And look at this- in his arms, a red shawl and a pair of sandals. Those same items she had questioned him earlier about – more than likely that girl's things. The need to be so secretive – for what? She did not like this, none of this. And on his sister's wedding day? Her son was an enigma. Something she could not figure out straight away no matter how hard she'd try. Maybe that's why, she too, slowly became a fortress from him. If he hid from her, why can't she? She squeezed her locket into her grasp and felt the cool metal in her hands as she saw her son run out into the night.

She bit her inner cheek as her mind thought the worst.

Whatever this was must end. Now.

She ran as fast as she could. Far enough away (but somehow, still close) from the casita to the point where the party noises disappeared behind her. When she felt safe enough, her running slowed to stomps and then a stroll once she realized something; he was following her. If Remédios wanted to completely lose him, she could've run as far as to the point where they left the canoe that afternoon and sleep there. But she didn't.

Mostly because she could feel him. It was hard to explain. To see someone without seeing them. With him, it felt like a shock throughout her body. An alert that only grew stronger and stronger with each moment. She felt him everywhere. In her head, on her skin – everywhere. She rubbed her eyes as she mentally prepped herself. Remédios stopped when she heard water. The river was heavy with water from the day's events. The shoes she borrowed were soaked with it, too, which made her shiver.

"Miss!" Bruno huffed as his own footsteps came to a halt. He was grateful for the dark of the night, for once. She didn't need to see him so sweaty and flushed. Although, at this point, he had made a fool out of himself so much that she more than likely figured he was weird. She wouldn't be the last. Not to mention how his head had begun to thump as the alcohol in his system had grown from a nice buzz to a full drunkenness. There was a reason why he drank alone. Well, many.

He kept his distance and extended her things towards her – like a priest offering a precious sacrament to a shrine.

"I told you-" He had to pause to catch his breath, "I wasn't going to be long," He smiled another meek smile, and handed her things. First, her aguayo – or her shawl, as he called it – he laid it over her shoulders. And then, it was her sandals. He planted them into her hands. As did these things, he was careful to never brush against skin, or be so close as to cast a shadow over her. Subconsciously, he knew this was strange. The last thing he wanted to do – to be – was the last thing you'd want to be alone with at night. Especially not for a girl who appeared to be so shaken up from his appearance, alone. He was also careful to never linger too long or stare at her so much. "If you were scared of being in the dark for too long, you could have waited inside-"

She held a hand up as sign for him to stop. "Please, it's fine."

He gave her an expression as if she had stabbed him. His eyes were glassy and (if he had hoped the night could hide it) his nose and cheeks were blood red. He was the definition of pitiable. "Really." His vision blurred as his body stumbled forward. His drinking from earlier had hit him and everything around him began to spin. "T-that's good," His steps were slow, his legs weighed down not by the sadness in his heart this time, but the libation in his bloodstream. He wondered if Osvaldo and his posse must've given him something harder.

They never really liked him that much to begin with.

"Are you okay?" The woman-who's-name-he-didn't-know's soft voice reverbed through his mind as he stumbled forward, "Yes, of course I am." He nodded; nor did he watch his steps. "Be careful, you're getting too close to the water!" He felt something grab him by ruana, an arm, or a hand. If an outside saw this moment from a different perspective, they would have thought she had dangled over the edge. And there was.

"Bruno?" Alma held a gaslamp in her hand as she saw them from a distance. Her worried features illuminated by its light.

"Mamá?" But Bruno, being the mama's boy that he was, moved too fast to turn himself to the direction of his mother's voice. One small step, one small move, turned into disaster. From Remédios' grasp, he would slip. His face frozen in macabre fear as he felt his balance disappear into the liquid nothingness of the river.

"Bruno!" His mother screamed so loud that it alerted the neighbors. Her screams were so loud that the party could hear. Julieta and Pepa ran out first, while everyone else either followed to help or at least ran close enough to be nosey. Magüi tottered out, her face stony, but calm. She knew what this all meant. She only hoped Remédios would do the right thing. Once it felt like the others were close, Alma in her grief had no choice but to state the obvious in her mind. "Murder!" Julieta and Pepa held her back just before she could lunge for her. The band of light had left Pepa's long red hair and was replaced with a growing cloud as their mother continued to sob, "She killed my son!" Amid Alma's yelling and accusations of homicide, amid the watchful eye of a growing crowd, Remédios braced herself and jumped in.

They say that when you die you see a movie of your life's moments before you pass on. When Bruno was swallowed up into the river, he saw only blackness as his nose and eyes burned. He could barely see his hands as they pitifully tried to grab for something, anything. As he sank, his mind jumped from fear to denial and then fear again. His kicking and thrashing only made it harder for him and easier for the river to take him. Down and down, he slipped, as he barely held onto coconscious and life. It was only then that his memories began to flood as the water filled his throat and nose. He was five again. His small hand imprinted with the candle's miracle and with a single touch of his casita's wall, did it turn into his room – a grand temple with estoraques in its formation.

When he was little, the vastness of it all frightened him at first glance, and then his first vision came to him as his ruana turned green. A strange power so strong for someone so small. Then he became thirteen. The rumblings of his self-isolation became all too clear. He wasn't as helpful or needed as Julieta, or as vivacious as Pepa. He was becoming a man. It was less cute for his eyes to glow, and his words and understanding of the situations he had seen had grown too familiar.

It disturbed his mother. Alma was always the kind to keep face, but at thirteen, that was the first time where her words began to embed into his brain and grow like weeds.

His mind had flashbacked to so many instances, back and forth. Playtime with his sisters. The hiding place where he put his sketchbooks and art supplies. The first time he saved his first and most favorite rat – Chiquis – from a hungry cat. The first time he saw the nameless woman that afternoon. As he slowly died, as he felt his memories spill from him like blood from a fresh wound, he could only pray that his death would bring his family peace.

He had been their shame for a long time. A final apology for all the things he had done. And just as he had accepted defeat, he felt another body pull him upwards.

Remédios was not the world's strongest woman. She was not the best swimmer, but she knew how to swim. She had no choice but to try. This poor man deserved better, after all he had gone all this way to give her things back – the least she could do was to fight for his life. Her mother's rosary clung tight to her skin as she swam deeper and deeper, and the conch beads in her pocket stayed put. 'For blessings…' she thought, 'For protection…' As long she kept those mantras in her heart, she knew she would be safe. It was him that needed help. Her mind went back to her confession to Magüi, of the fortune-teller's words, and her own childlike solution.

"I have to tell you something." Remédios sighed, still unsure to confess, but also relieved that she was finally free to tell the truth after so many years. "I ran away from the carnival. Ran back to the house, even. That's why when you came back, I was already fast asleep after you did all that frantic searching for me," She looked at her hands as she relayed it all to her godmother, "In the garden, I grabbed spearmint for wisdom, sage for strength, and rose for love." She sighed, "Back in the kitchen, I took a jar, some honey, and pink salt. And then I started writing." Magüi shook her head, "Child, tell me you didn't do what I think you did?" Remédios buried her face in her hands, "I did, Magüi." She wrote down the description of a man she was certain did not exist. "His favorite color was green. He'd come from a house of strong women, so he could respect me. He would be kind, even to the lowliest of creatures. Most importantly, he'd know me as soon as he saw me."

Magüi rubbed her temples as she exclaimed, "Ayyy, this child will be the death of me!" Finally, Remédios said the last part, "And I put in something silly, something, I only could recognize him with. A mark on his hand. A small dot on his index finger. I never got that close to him, but if he finds me – of which I'm sure he will – I will look at his hands before I see his eyes." Magüi smacked Remédios' thigh, "I can tell you right now – that is the man you created." She tsked, "You tested fate." She shook her head, "The very lastthing you should've done."

Her eyesight may have been obscured, but she was able to find him as his body floated. She saw bubbles hiss from his nose, so she had hope. She grabbed in him her arms. Her small body wrapped over his as she did the final, hard work of pulling them both to the surface.

"I thought if I had created a man that wouldn't exist… love could not harm me."

Her head popped through first, gasping for air and coughing. Then Bruno's, as he slumped over her shoulder, his body limp like a ragdoll's. A few townsmen were ready to grab him first and dragged him away from her as she pulled herself up onto the grass, shaking. Magüi pushed through the crowd and covered her with aguayo, "My girl, my girl, my girl… you did a good thing tonight." Remédios was shaken up, and more focused on the crowd around Bruno. The woman, of who she assumed was his mother, cried over him as the other ladies (she remembered dancing with them), tried to console her. "He's going to be okay." Magüi whispered. "He's just knocked out. You did a good thing." Wordlessly, Remédios stood and walked towards Alma and her family, "He's going to be fine," but she was quickly rejected, at least by Alma. "Stay away from me. Stay away from us!"

Julieta waved her off and shook her head, 'not now… not now'.

"He's going to be okay..." Remédios felt a hand grab her shoulder, it was Magüi again.

"Remé… not now." They were soon joined by Úrsula's daughters, "Remédios? Are you going to be okay?" said the youngest, as she was pulled back towards the direction of their aunt's home, instead of the casita.

She answered, "Of course." They couldn't tear her face from it all. A tearful crying over her son. Pepa's cloud darkening as the sky signaled for rain again. Julieta, Félix, and Agustín all stood by as his chest began to rise and his mouth cough. She only turned back once he began to show signs of life.

"He's going to be fine."