Mirabel remembers her sisters and cousin talking about how Bruno's gift used to make him sick, back when they were still rebuilding Casita and their uncle had just come out of the walls.
She remembers them saying that he used to get headaches, and sometimes didn't feel like eating. She also remembers that he never seemed to be particularly upset that his gift was gone (and also practically bullying him into having the one that led to her making up with Isabella-I don't do those anymore, he had said).
She hadn't quite realized they could be this bad.
Bruno is standing next to the stove, white-knuckled hands holding the edge of the counter in a death-grip, his head bowed, eyes tightly shut, his entire body shaking. He's also sweating. Might be crying. Both, maybe? His jaw is working as if he's trying not to throw up.
Mirabel has no idea what to do.
Cue Dolores, appearing out of nowhere on silent feet, physically prying their tío's hands from the counter and guiding him to the table, pushing him gently to a seat. Once there, his head all but slams into the table and stays there. Dolores winces, but does not comment.
A small part of Mirabel doesn't think it's fair that her cousin always seems to know their uncle's moods better than anyone else, but then she remembers Dolores's gift and wonders how hard-earned that knowledge is.
Dolores starts heating water in the teakettle, then goes rummaging through the cabinets and drawers for cup, spoon, and saucer and sugar before finally pausing for a moment and looking up.
"Casita, por favor," she says, her voice tiny, and the floorboards lift her up so she can rummage in the back of one of the highest shelves, the one that no one but Mirabel's mother ever uses. Dolores reaches all the way into the back and finds a glass jar-it looks like it holds some sort of mixture of tea leaves and other herbs.
"Two teaspoons?" she asks, and Bruno moves his head only slightly to the side. He holds up a shaking finger briefly. "Just one," she corrects, and his hand drops.
"Two minutes," he rasps. "No longer." Their uncle sounds as if he is in complete and utter agony.
Dolores turns her attention back to the teakettle. Mirabel bites her bottom lip, and takes a chance. Stepping behind her tío, she reaches out and starts running her fingers slowly through his hair.
He flinches, and she pauses, waiting, but then he lets out a soft sigh. She starts again, working through any tangles, careful not to pull any hair. His shoulders uncoil ever so slightly, and it seems to be working, even if he's currently still far more tightly wound than she's ever seen him.
Bruno loves it when people play with his hair. Mirabel has no idea why, or how it works, especially for a man who still struggles with the whole physical contact thing, but she has seen him practically start melting the second someone touches his hair, stress and tension bleeding away as if it never existed in the first place.
They discovered it early on, by accident, when he had just come out of the walls and still looked like a wild man. Isabella had insisted he let her do his hair. It had taken a few days to catch on initially, but now it was not an uncommon sight to see one of his sobrinas playing with his hair, especially on days when his gift was harder on him than usual.
He's relaxed enough to drag his face out of the table by the time Dolores sets his tea beside him, though he's still hunched over, eyes barely open. Mirabel realizes something as he reaches for his tea and Dolores catches his hand and guides him to it.
His eyes, normally an almost hazel color, when he isn't in the middle of a vision, are currently flecked with glowing green specks.
"Are you holding back a vision?" she asks. He hates having them, she knows, but sometimes holding them back makes him sicker than if he just went ahead and got it over with.
"No," Bruno croaks. He brings the tea to his lips and gulps it down, draining the entire mug in one go. Mirabel is fairly certain he's burned his tongue and likely most of his mouth in the process.
A second later he launches himself from his chair, barely making it to the sink before he starts gagging, and both girls know what's coming.
Mirabel wonders if she should get her mamá, but she's in town, as is the rest of the family. She, Bruno, and Dolores are the only ones home.
And anyway, her mom's food doesn't always help, not when her tío's gift is involved.
They give him space while he retches into the sink. At this point physical touch is more likely to hurt him than to make him feel better. Never mind that he always feel embarrassed when one of his nephews or nieces catch him throwing up, and there are currently two of them standing in the room with him.
The retching stops. Bruno continues to hover over the sink, just in case.
"Can't get it to come," he pants after a moment. "Been banging against my skull all morning, and try as I might, I can't get it to show me anything."
Mirabel's pretty sure that's never happened before. At least, she's never heard of it happening.
She knows Bruno hasn't told them everything about his gift.
He sinks to the floor, sliding down the cabinets below the sink, leaning against the wooden doors. A trembling hand wraps around one of the handles as if he's trying to anchor himself.
"Dios mio," Bruno moans, misery etched across his face.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Mirabel asks. Dolores is already turning off the lights in both the kitchen and the adjacent room. Mirabel goes to pull the curtains.
Bruno shakes his head, wrapping his free arm around his abdomen in a vain attempt to comfort himself.
"Do you want us to go?" Dolores asks, and after a brief pause, their uncle shakes his head again.
"I don't-" he gasps. "I don't know what this is. And I know-I shouldn't-you're just kids, but-"
"I've heard worse." Dolores says flatly, interrupting him before he can convince himself that his nieces do not need to see him like this, and that it's selfish of him to want to stay.
He blinks, and stares at her for a moment with pain-glazed eyes that are just starting to glow bright green.
"Never mind," she says, sounding a lot like him in the moment, and she and Mirabel join him on the floor, one on either side of him, backs against the cabinet doors.
An hour later Bruno is on the ground, curled up in the fetal position, clutching at his head and trying not to make any noise.
Every once in a while a small whimper escapes him anyway. Mirabel and Dolores ignore it.
Well, Dolores winces, but Bruno can't see that, so it doesn't actually matter.
Her knees are drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. She's hunched slightly forward, her shoulders and head off the cabinet at her back.
Mirabel, on the other hand, sits with her head and shoulders square against the cabinet, her legs splayed out in front of her, and if anyone else were there to see, she'd probably be scolded for being 'unladylike.'
"Oh, God," Their tío's moan cuts through the air like a knife, and as much pain as he was in when they found him, it only seems to be getting worse.
Mirabel's not sure he even knows his nieces are still with him. She wonders if maybe they should go get help. Her mamá, perhaps. Or even her father, since it's unlikely her mother's food can do anything to help at this stage, and even less likely Bruno can get any of it down.
Her uncle spasms, his back arching, and screams. His head slams backward into the cabinet behind him before either of them can stop it, and his hands scramble for purchase on anything they can reach, one seizing a fistful of his ruana as if his life depends on it, the other clawing desperately at the floor.
They manage to drag him far enough that he won't hit his head again, then let go, unwilling to risk hurting him. His free hand continues to scrabble at the floor, his nails catching on the wood. Mirabel makes a split-second decision and takes his hand in hers.
He latches on with far more strength than he should be able to, surprising her. It hurts, a little, but he's not holding her tightly enough to break anything, so she continues to hold on.
His eyes fly open, glowing almost too brightly to look at. Then he screams again, every muscle in his body stiffening. A second later the screaming stops abruptly, his eyes roll up into his head, and he goes limp.
Mirabel stares down at him, hardly daring to breath. Blood starts trickling down her uncle's nose as he continues to lie there, unmoving.
"What do we do?" she asks Dolores. Her cousin is older, maybe she has some idea. "I know we're usually supposed to leave him alone, if he's having a vision, but this-" Tears are burning her eyes, her throat. She's having trouble seeing properly because everything is going blurry.
Dolores looks him over. "He's on his side, so he'll be okay if he throws up," she says, thinking aloud. "I don't know how badly he hit his head."
Neither of them know how to check for concussions. That's something her mother usually does, if it's needed.
"The nosebleed isn't bad," she continues. "And it doesn't look like anything's broken, or dislocated. One of us should probably sit with him, just in case."
Mirabel nods in agreement. "Should we get Mamá?" she asks. "Or somebody, at least?"
"Probably wouldn't hurt." Dolores says. "I can stay here, if you want to go get her. She's in the market. I think she's looking at produce."
Mirabel nods and climbs stiffly to her feet. They've been on the floor for a couple hours now, at least.
She heads to the front of Casita, through the courtyard, and stops abruptly.
Dark green eyes stare up at her in silence as she takes in a small boy with curly dark hair and skinny shoulders, dressed in a white collared shirt, brown trousers, and no shoes.
Author's Note: I don't know, guys. This just sort of happened.