Mirabel wakes up to Brunito climbing into bed with them, Dolores nearby. Her cousin is smiling as she takes in the scene before her: Mirabel, Bruno, Mirabel's father, and Antonio all in a jumbled-up pile on the bed. She meets Mirabel's gaze and catches herself, but there's still a slight upward twist of the lips as she turns to make sure Brunito's made it up.
The boy wriggles into the pile, positioning himself between Mirabel and her father, sighs softly, and immediately falls asleep. Dolores waves at her cousin, who is apparently not going anywhere anytime soon, and leaves.
Mirabel finds she doesn't really mind all that much.
They all wake up to Brunito screaming, and while Bruno initially startles, once he's figured out what's going on he simply drags the distraught boy into his arms and holds him until he calms down.
"Did he have a nightmare?" Antonio asks, yawning, then- "Are they because of your visions?"
"Sometimes," Bruno admits. "Sometimes people just have bad dreams."
And sometimes they have nightmares about people beating them up or pushing them into a river, Mirabel thinks to herself, but doesn't say.
"I had a dream that I turned into a worm once," Antonio says. "I didn't like it at all. Everything was huge, and I didn't have any arms or legs, and Isbela said I had to go live in the garden and fertilize all the plants and couldn't come inside anymore." He pauses, then looks up at his tío. "Would you still love me if I was a worm, Tío?"
"De cierto," Bruno says, smiling a little in spite of the fact that he still looks exhausted. "I'd carry you around in my front pocket, safe and sound, and bring you all the best dirt to eat."
"I don't want to go live in the garden."
"I'm pretty sure there's plenty of good dirt in your room, if that ever happened," Mirabel's father assures him. "And plenty of animal friends, so you won't get lonely."
"I can't talk to worms," Antonio informs him, making a face. "Bugs are weird."
Nobody really wants to go to dinner, but everybody's starting to get hungry. There's really not much point in putting it off any longer, and Mirabel figures that while Dolores has probably assured the other kids that Bruno's okay, they probably could stand to see it for themselves.
They take it slow, because Bruno seems to be moving more than a bit stiffly, and because Brunito insists on being carried by Mirabel's dad, and nobody wants to risk the man falling again so soon, especially not with a small child in his arms.
They make it downstairs without incident, and Mirabel is just about to let out a sigh of relief when, almost as if talking about it earlier brought it about, Bruno drops.
He hits the ground hard, eyes glowing as his head bounces off the hardwood floor, and Mirabel lets out a shriek that unfortunately brings most of la familia running.
By the time Mirabel's dad manages to set Brunito down, and before the rest of the family can fully process the sight of Bruno lying prone in the middle of the room, eyes glowing bright green, Antonio is nudging the man over onto his side in case he throws up, then sitting down beside him to wait.
By the time everyone else has figured out what's going on Mirabel has calmed down just enough to realize that Antonio is the only person in the room not freaking out.
The vision ends as abruptly as it started. Bruno draws in air in one quick, shuddering gasp as the light fades from his eyes, and he blinks for a moment before looking around from his spot on the floor.
"You hit your head," Antonio tells him when their eyes meet. Bruno brings a hand up to touch the back of his head, wincing slightly, then carefully pushes himself upright.
It's then that he notices the rest of the family, and his shoulders hunch even as his face reddens. Antonio shuffles closer, demanding his tío's attention as he invades his personal space.
"Did it hurt?" he asks, and Bruno shakes his head as the boy settles so that the two of them are sitting side by side. "What about your head?"
"Just-just a bump, Toñito," his uncle reassures him. "No te preocupas."
Antonio takes that as permission to lean in so that his head is lying against Bruno's arm. The man responds almost immediately by wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into a hug.
"Why are you embarrassed?" Is the boy's next question. It startles Bruno, and he jerks his head sideways to meet Antonio's gaze with wide eyes. "You said you don't know those ones are coming, right? That you can't help it? If it's not your fault, you shouldn't have to be embarrassed about it."
Bruno swallows, attempts some sort of half-mangled smile, and hugs the kid that much tighter.
Pepa stirs, and opens her mouth, and is immediately intercepted by Mirabel's father. It is as much as surprise to Mirabel's aunt as it is to anyone else, and maybe that's why it works, and Pepa allows herself to be gently shuffled out of the room by her brother-in-law.
Papá throws a meaningful glance in Mamá's direction as he leaves, and Mirabel's mother rouses, shooing children out of the room, suggesting that they give their uncle a moment to collect himself. She doesn't try to make Mirabel leave-or Antonio-and the girl is just as surprised by that as she is when neither her sisters nor her cousins argue about being allowed to stay as well.
Tío Felix follows his wife and Papá out the door without being prompted, leaving the four of them alone.
Mamá looks down at Bruno and Antonio for a moment before smoothing her skirts and sinking to the floor beside them.
"Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice small.
Bruno shakes his eyes without meeting her gaze.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I promised myself I'd do better, this time around, but I'm making things worse, aren't I?"
Bruno sighs. "I don't really know what I'm doing," he admits. "With Brunito? I know-I know what to avoid-to some extent. What sort of things made my gift more difficult, over the years. But I don't know how to help him. And it's hard-all of it's hard to talk about, because I've spent so many years avoiding talking about any of it. And as far as trying to get him back-I don't have a fucking clue where to even begin."
Antonio blinks up at his tío, eyes the size of dinner plates. "That's a bad word," he says.
"Lo siento," Bruno says, looking chagrined. Mirabel can tell her mother wants to say something, but instead she shakes her head and stifles a small sigh. "Your mother will never let me near you again, if she finds out you heard that from me, mijo, ¿tu sabes?"
Antonio nods solemnly. "Tío Augustín said it's only for grown-ups, and only for when things are really bad."
"Really?" Mirabel's mom wants to know. "And when did you hear Tío Augustín say that?"
"He didn't know I was there when he said it," Antonio rushes to defend his uncle. "But it was when he cut his hand last year. Remember? He sent me to get you, and wouldn't let me see. Tío Augustín said that you could fix it pretty easily, but that it was really ugly to look at."
"I remember," Mamá says. "And it was pretty ugly. But Augustín was right-it was easy to fix. How's your head, by the way, Bruno? You hit it pretty hard when you fell."
"A little sore. No concussion, I don't think."
"I'm sorry I haven't been more help."
"I know." Bruno sighs. "I'm not trying to be difficult, or secretive, and I know you all worry. But I don't know what to do other than what I've been doing. I know scolding him for not eating is only going to make it worse. I know that-as childish as it sounds-making him feel like it's not okay to-to cry or seek comfort after a vision is-it's-I don't care if he is eight years old, Juli. Some of the things he sees-But beyond that-how am I supposed to help him manage his gift when there are days when I can barely manage mine?"
"You said hugs help you, Tío." Antonio speaks up as if it hasn't occurred to him that this is a conversation meant for adults and not small children. "I think they help Brunito too. Hugs and cuddles and stories-even if it doesn't stop the visions from hurting."
Mirabel hesitates a moment before deciding to go for it. If her mom decides to make her and Antonio both leave after that, then fine. At least she'll have tried.
"He thought I was mad at him, when Papá fell, because he saw it in a vision. I think-I think he thought I blamed him for it," she says. "And Papá too-he thought Papá was mad at him as well. And-" Her resolve wavers, briefly, and she almost stops there. "And I don't think he was used to people not blaming him. I think, maybe, he might have thought it was his fault? And you keep telling him that it's okay-if he can't eat, if there's a vision, if he's upset, but-" she takes a deep breath. "I've seen Mamá and Tía scold you for not eating before, and even when they don't sometimes you look like you expect them to. So maybe he needs to know that those things are okay? Because, well..."
She stops, because Bruno is doing that thing where he hunches in on himself, and is refusing to look at any of them, and she's pretty sure that she's gotten the point across and saying more is just going to make things worse.
And then, because the longer they talk about it the worse it's going to get but it's still probably very important, she adds. "Maybe he needs to know he can ask for help, too. And that it's okay to talk about his gift, if he wants to. If he needs to."
Mamá looks at Tío Bruno, who is very carefully studying a spot on the wall and hugging his nephew tightly, then over at her daughter. And Mirabel is relieved when she sees understanding in her mother's eyes, even if it's accompanied by regret and sorrow.
She doesn't want her mom to feel bad, but even now the other adults tend to react badly on the rare occasions that Bruno saya something about his gift-or when he can't hide what it does to him.
"I'm used to being able to fix it, when someone's hurt," Mamá admits. "I don't know what to do with something my food can't heal."
Mirabel moves next to her and wraps an arm around her, because she looks like she needs a hug. She doesn't say anything though, because she understands, even if she doesn't actually have a gift herself, and even if she isn't used to being able to heal someone with just one bite of food.
Because if she could, if she had the magic, she'd make it so Bruno never had to have a vision again. That it never made him sick, or gave him headaches, or made him cry. She'd wave her hands and take away all the sadness and hurt and exhaustion so he could be happy and healthy and never have to worry about any of it again.
Her mom shifts, wrapping her own arm around Mirabel, pulling her close and holding her tight.
Author's Note: Because communication is important, and cuddles are wonderful.
Thanks to everyone who's stuck with it, through the delays and the nonsense and, of course, the trauma. It means a lot to me. And thanks to everyone who reviewed. It's always appreciated, even if it's just a note saying you liked it.
Disclaimer: Disney's Encanto does not belong to me.