Bruno isn't at breakfast. Neither is Mirabel's father.
The remaining adults have that look. The one that says not to ask questions.
Dolores wears a different look, one that usually means that she cannot handle anything louder than a whisper. It means something different today, Mirabel is sure, but the end result will be the same.
Brunito is all but cowering in her lap. Antonio is in Camilo's.
Nobody says a word throughout the entire meal.
Camilo tries to distract Antonio after breakfast. Luisa does her best to help. Isabela sticks close to Mirabel and Brunito, who allows himself to be carried back to the library in Mirabel's arms.
He doesn't resist when Isabela pulls a random book off the shelf and starts reading.
Neither of them know what to do when his eyes start glowing. Isabela stops reading when he can't hold back a soft whimper, marking her place with a finger while she looks him over very carefully.
"We've never done this without a grown-up before," Mirabel says nervously.
Isabela offers the boy a reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out. First things first, we want to make sure you don't fall and hurt yourself, right?"
Brunito hesitates for a moment before nodding, then slips out of Mirabel's lap to settle almost delicately on the floor. Isabela beams at him.
"Good. And we want to make sure you can't choke if you get sick, right? Can you usually tell if you're going to be sick?"
He looks at her for another moment before nodding again, but stays sitting upright.
"So, no throwing up?" she asks, and he shakes his head.
"After, we won't move you-or touch you-till you're ready." Mirabel adds. "Sound good?"
Another nod, and then he's sliding limply to one side, head thrown back, lost in whatever vision of the future is insisting on making itself seen. Isabela waits, and Mirabel waits, because there's really nothing else either of them can do.
It doesn't take long for the light in his eyes to fade, or for him to stop shaking. A few more minutes pass before he struggles back upright, reaching out to Isabela, who scoops him up without a second's hesitation.
"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asks as they settle on the bed. Brunito shoots her a disbelieving look. "You didn't throw up, did you?"
Isabela reclaims the previously abandoned book and continues reading. Brunito continues to stare at her for another few seconds before giving in and snuggling against her, his eyes following the words on the page as she reads.
It doesn't take long for him to doze off.
Mirabel eyes her sister critically, receiving an annoyed huff in response. "That wasn't so bad?"
Isabela rolls her eyes. "He didn't throw up. Or fall. I'm not saying he had a great time. But haven't you noticed that unless "Tío is intentionally summoning a vision, up in his cave, with the salt and the matches and all that, that he always fights them until he can't anymore? I'm pretty sure it makes them worse."
"He doesn't do that anymore, though," Mirabel says. "With the salt and all that." I don't do those anymore, he said, back in the walls, before Casita fell. "So what, you think that if he didn't fight them, they wouldn't be so hard on him?"
Isabela shrugs. "I don't know," she admits. "It's not like anyone openly talks about it. Even Tío barely talks about it."
Mirabel slips out of the nursery later that morning only to catch Antonio trying to sneak into Bruno's room.
"The rats said it was okay to come back."
He's staring up at her, fresh tears threatening to emerge, and once again there's both hurt and betrayal in those young eyes, and Mirabel knows that if they don't do something soon they run the risk of permanently damaging the relationship between her cousin and their uncle.
She's also pretty sure Bruno wouldn't be able to bear it.
"The rats said it was okay?" she asks, still not entirely sure this is a good idea. Antonio nods. Mirabel takes a deep breath. "Okay then. On two conditions: one, we just stop in and say hi for a couple of minutes, because Tío Bruno is probably really tired after last night." Antonio nods again. "Two: if he asks us to leave sooner no arguing. We go, and that's it. Promise?"
"I promise." Antonio looks up at her. "He was scratching himself when I came in. I know everyone thinks I'm too little to help, but he stopped when I asked him to. I held his hands so he wouldn't forget."
Mirabel blinks back fresh tears of her own. "You already help him in so many ways you can't imagine, hermano, but sometimes-sometimes I think he needs a grown-up. Just like sometimes you need hugs, and you come to me, and sometimes you skin your knee, so you go to Mamí. It doesn't mean you love me any less."
Antonio looks thoughtful for a moment, then confused. "Is that why Dolores got Tía Julieta? So she could help with her food? But why isn't he better, then? Tía's food makes everything better."
"I don't know," Mirabel admits as they open the door and make their way inside.
The sight of her father curled up in bed next her uncle would be kind of funny if not for the memory of the previous night's events.
The way a closer look suggests that he's not quite restraining her uncle doesn't make things any better.
Antonio bounces impatiently beside her but remains quiet. He's noticed that both men seem to be sleeping. Mirabel appreciates that he doesn't immediately try to wake them.
Bruno's eyes flutter briefly, then open. He blinks, his gaze landing on Mirabel, then stiffens.
Mirabel's father comes awake instantly. His eyebrows nearly disappear under his hairline when he sees her standing there with Antonio, and she can hear the question in her mind even though he doesn't immediately ask it.
What are you doing here?
"Tío?" Antonio has crept up to the edge of the bed while Mirabel was distracted. He stands there, staring at his uncle, waiting.
"Antonio," Mirabel's father speaks, and Bruno sighs.
"Está bien, Augustín. Ayudame, por favor." His voice is harsh, and raspy, and makes Mirabel's own throat just listening to it.
Papá hesitates briefly, then snakes an arm under the other man's body, dragging him along with him as he sits upright. He shifts, his other arm coming up to support his brother-in-law while he rearranges some pillows, at which point he eases Bruno back down into a semi-upright position.
He's as limp against the pillows as Brunito was in her father's arms the day before.
Antonio takes this as permission to climb into bed with their tío, and though he does it as carefully as possible, Bruno still winces as he pulls the boy into a fragile sort of half-hug.
Antonio allows it, briefly, then pulls back so he can see his uncle's face. His own expression is far too serious for his young age.
"I'm not a baby," he tells the older man solemnly, and as exhausted as he obviously is, Bruno still manages a strained smile. "I know your gift makes you sick. And makes your head hurt. And that sometimes you see things that are scary and sad and bad, but Tío-" Antonio stops to swallow, and when he continues he sounds like he's trying not to cry. "Why were you hurting yourself?
Bruno looks away at that. He also reaches as if to pull Antonio into another hug, but it feels almost like it's out of reflex, and Mirabel's not sure he's even aware that he's doing it.
Antonio leans back, away from his uncle, and Bruno blanches.
"I'm not mad at you, Tío, but this is important. Do the visions make you hurt yourself?"
Antonio, Mirabel realizes abruptly, is growing up. She's not so sure it's a good thing.
Mirabel's father moves as if to intervene. This time Bruno simply shakes his head before turning his attention back to his nephew.
"No," he says, simple as that, and whether he's talking to Papá or answering Antonio's question is not immediately clear, at least not until he continues. "But I wasn't trying to hurt myself either. I'm not always aware of what's happening during a vision. I don't always know what I'm doing. I can't always control what I'm doing."
As bad as the answer is, Mirabel can tell by the carefully neutral expression on her father's face that Antonio is still getting a heavily edited version of things, which makes her wonder not only what she's missing, but also how bad last night really was.
"That's why you send the rats away," Antonio says. "So you don't accidentally hurt them." His eyes widen as a new thought occurs. "Is that why you sent me away? So you wouldn't accidentally hurt me?"
"I don't think I could live with myself if I ever did anything to hurt you, Toñito," Bruno admits, then winces, like he didn't mean to say as much out loud.
"You sent me away," the boy reminds him, and Bruno flinches.
"I know."
"You weren't hurting me." Antonio adds. "And that's not why you wanted us to leave, is it? Because Mirabel was there too, and you didn't want her there either, and not because you were afraid of hurting her."
Bruno closes his eyes, briefly, and Mirabel is pretty sure he doesn't have the strength for this conversation right now. Maybe not ever.
"It's hard to talk about," he finally says. "To anyone. Not just you. Not because I think you're a baby." He pauses, either to collect his thoughts or gather his strength. Antonio remains silent, eyes glued to his tío's face. "Some of it, though-Some of it you are still too young to hear, even if you have your own gift. Some of your cousin is still too young to hear, entiendes?"
Antonio frowns, but doesn't argue. "Tell me what you can?" he asks. "It's scary, not knowing if you're okay. The rats try to help, but they don't really understand, so they can't really explain it well."
Bruno brings an unsteady hand up to rub at his forehead. "That's a lot to ask, Toñito," he says heavily. "You know what my gift is."
"You can see the future."
"I see visions of the future. Sometimes I can do it on purpose, like I did in your room, and look for something specific, but even then I have trouble controlling it, or even understanding it, because it's usually just little pieces of the future, and I don't always know what I'm looking at, or when, or how it happened. And sometimes it's not even the full picture-it's just a part of it." He pauses, waiting to see if any of what he's said makes sense to the boy.
"Okay," Antonio says as if it's all made perfect sense, and as if he didn't notice the way the man tensed when he admitted he had trouble controlling his visions. "But sometimes you do it accidentally too? And those are the ones that make you sick."
"The accidental ones are more complicated," Bruno admits. "I usually know they're coming, but not always. Sometimes they just hit, and down I go. If you ever see me having a vision in the middle of the floor, that's why."
"And that's when we turn you on your side so you don't choke." Antonio adds, so matter-of-fact that it momentarily throws Bruno, and it takes a second for him to get back on track.
"Right, but most of the time I can tell they're coming. And I can stop myself from having them until I'm somewhere safe, somewhere where I won't bother anyone. Like my room."
"The rats said it makes you sick to not have them." The boy frowns.
"It does," Bruno admits reluctantly. "And sometimes it hurts. And sometimes, even if I want to, it's hard to make them happen, when they're accidental. They get, I don't know...stuck?"
"Does it hurt when they get stuck?" Antonio asks, shuffling closer. This time, when Bruno reaches for him, he allows himself to be pulled into a hug. "Even if you aren't trying to stop them?"
"It still hurts, it still makes me sick." Bruno shrugs. "The longer it takes the worse I feel, usually."
"Was a vision stuck? Last night?" he asks, turning to look up at his tío when the man doesn't immediately answer. Seeing the stricken expression on his face, Antonio reaches out and pats him gently on the arm. "It's okay, Tío. Está bien."
Bruno takes in a ragged breath, blinking rapidly as he looks down at his sobrino. "Not exactly," he says, sounding somehow even more solemn than he has up to this point. "You-you know I used to live in the walls?"
Antonio nods. "Because you had a vision of the house falling and you didn't want Mirabel to get in trouble for it. And because you didn't really want to leave."
"Right." Bruno lets out a long, slow breath of air. "I didn't have visions then. It wasn't-it wasn't safe. I couldn't risk being found, even if it made me sick. It's not really-it's not really healthy, to suppress your gift like that. And you know I have trouble-" he looks down, his cheeks flushing "I have trouble eating sometimes. And sleeping. Um, I'm not-" he pauses as if hunting for the right words.
"I know it's harder for you." Antonio says. "To eat, and sleep. I know I'm almost too heavy for you, even though Mirabel and Camilo can still carry me around pretty easily. I know you get tired a lot."
"It's been worse since I came back," Bruno admits, and Mirabel wonders if he's forgotten that he's talking to his youngest nephew and not an adult. "I mean, it was pretty bad in the walls, but the visions stopped after a few years. But now-" he looks down at the boy, and maybe he hasn't forgotten after all. "I'm don't want you to worry. I'm okay-and last night I had your tío, y tu tía, y tu mamí, y tu papí, all taking care of me. But sometimes the visions are like that, and there's not really anything anyone can do to stop them."
"You mean it's going to happen again?" Antonio is sitting up, staring at his uncle, the expression of horror on his face a match for Mirabel's own. Bruno shakes his head and pulls the boy into the biggest hug he can manage.
His eyes meet Mirabel's and he nods toward the edge of the bed, inviting her to join them.
"It doesn't feel good. And it's scary. And at some point it's most likely going to happen again and when it does, I don't want you to worry because your parents-and yours, Mirabel-know what to do, how to help, and I will be okay. Entiendes, mijo?" Antonio nods, albeit reluctantly. "¿Mija?"
Mirabel nods as well, even though she doesn't want to either.
"I need you to promise, though, mijo, that you won't come looking for me if it happens again." Bruno says after a moment, shifting slightly. "Because your parents can't help me if they're worried about you, and because I don't really want you to have to see me like that again."
Antonio studies him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Their tío fidgets under the scrutiny, picking at the blanket with his free hand, and tries not to look away.
"You don't have to be embarrassed," he finally says. "Not because of your gift, or because it makes you sick, or because people don't always like what you see in your visions. It's not your fault. That's like-" he pauses, most likely unaware that his uncle is staring at him as if he's never truly seen the boy before. "That's like if Dolores got embarrassed for hearing things or Mamí got embarrassed when it rained. Or if Isabela got embarrassed because Camilo hurt his finger on one of her rosebushes. Or-"
"I think he gets it, mijo," Mirabel's father says, his tone mild, and it's the first thing he's said since helping Bruno sit up. "I think that's probably enough for now, Bruno. No need to wear yourself out. He needs to rest." He adds, and Antonio nods.
"Rest, and cuddles, and stories," the boy says confidently, as if the previous conversation never happened, and his uncle had a nightmare instead of whatever-it-was that happened last night. "I can help with that."
"He's very good at that," Mirabel admits. She does know that Antonio is good for their uncle, and that his hugs and cuddles do seem to help with a lot of the tension Bruno usually carries with him.
Her father looks uncertain, but doesn't make either of them leave, and before long the four of them are piled in bed, Antonio doing his best to recreate his favorite of Bruno's stories, with mixed degrees of success.
It does seem to be helping their uncle rest, though. And Mirabel too, if she's being honest. She soon finds herself yawning, and closing her eyes, and letting herself drift.
She barely notices when Antonio yawns and switches from talking to snoring lightly, and she's just drifting off herself when she hears her father's voice-low and slightly teasing but with an undertone of concern.
"Pepa's going to kill you when she finds out."
"Yo lo se," Bruno murmurs softly in reply.
Author's Note: I have my own personal theories on how Bruno's gift works, and so there's a little bit of that mixed in, but frankly, I'm not entirely sure that man fully understands his gift, or what to do with it, most likely because of the trauma that comes with seeing bad things happening in the future and then getting blamed for it. Anyway.
Also, thanks to all of you who are still reading, and especially to those who are still taking the time to review. It means the world to me, especially since I know there was quite a bit of a break on this one. So from the very depths of my heart and soul and all that, thanks!
Disclaimer: Disney's Encanto does not belong to me.