"Dinner's probably cold by now," Mamá says, stirring. For some reason the observation startles a laugh out of Bruno, who immediately ducks his head, apologizing. Mirabel's mom shakes her head, smiling a bit herself, and he relaxes.
Dolores pokes her head into the room. "Papa's keeping things warm in the kitchen," she says, only to immediately retreat.
Antonio's belly growls loudly at that, and he looks up at Bruno. "It's okay if you don't feel like eating, Tío, but can you still sit with me?" His uncle nods, prompting a warm smile from the boy, and in the next second Antonio's on his feet and pulling Bruno along with him toward the kitchen.
Mirabel and her mother follow as well, Mirabel's own stomach complaining that she's missed too many meals today.
Tío Félix immediately fills a plate and offers it to Antonio, who smiles up at his father and says "gracias," in that soft, sweet voice of his as he accepts the meal. Mirabel accepts her own plate with a somewhat more tired smile and a word of thanks as well, and so does her mother.
Tío Félix reaches for the last plate. "Bruno?" he asks, raising an eyebrow towards Mirabel's other uncle. When the man looks uncomfortable instead of answering, Félix sighs. "Or should I just assume that Camilo, wherever he currently is, will demonstrate his usual uncanny knack for knowing when you have food and set you up with his favorite foods for when he inevitably shows up and pilfers half your plate?"
Bruno snorts, because while Camilo hasn't done any such thing since Brunito arrived, he has been in the habit of stealing food off his uncle's plate since the man came back. It used to annoy Mirabel, until she figured out that it was intentional, and that, for whatever reason, Bruno usually ended up eating more than he would have otherwise in the process.
Félix laughs as well, and if it sounds just a bit forced, no one comments. "He's already eaten dinner, though-Dolores bullied him and the others into getting something to eat a little while ago-so maybe I should just go ahead and serve dessert."
There is no actual dessert, but it doesn't seem to matter, because Bruno doesn't cringe when Tío Félix offers him a plate with smaller portions than Antonio currently has, instead accepting it with a small nod and muttered "gracias," of his own.
Tío Félix joins them at the table, and since it's just the five of them, and since it isn't really a formal meal, they all end up clustered at the end of the table where the kids usually sit.
"I owe you an apology, cuñado," Tío Félix says as they sit down. "I'm pretty sure I've been all but useless since Brunito arrived, unless you count picking him up and making him scream."
Bruno shrugs, his eyes on his plate, studying part of his meal as if trying to decide whether or not it's actually edible, even though everything Mirabel's mother makes is always delicious.
"I'll admit it was pure reflex-a small child bolting for the front door in a panic. I'm afraid it did more harm than good, though."
Another shrug. Tío Félix doesn't press the matter, but after a moment Bruno looks up. "Pretty sure he wasn't thinking clearly," he allows. "And having him loose in the village would probably not have been a good thing, especially in that state."
Bruno reaches up to rub his face with one hand. "Dios mio, but I'm tired," he admits.
Tío Félix lets out a small chuckle. "I believe it," he says. He starts to say something else but catches himself, his gaze drifting to his son, who is actually sitting in his own seat rather than in either Bruno or Mirabel's lap without prompting, eating dinner, and looking for all the world like he hasn't a care in the world.
Bruno's gaze also drifts down to Antonio. "I said as much as I felt I needed to," he says, his tone steady even as he braces himself. "I won't apologize. Not for that."
Mirabel's other uncle sighs. "As parents we want to protect our children from the harsh realities of life," he admits. "I'm sure you can understand that. Sometimes-sometimes we try to do so even at the cost of others."
"I know you're talking about me." Antonio says without looking up. "I'm not a baby, Papí."
"I didn't say that we should," his father counters. "Or that it wasn't a mistake. We thought-I thought we were protecting both of you, but maybe that wasn't the case."
They find Brunito in the nursery after dinner. He's sharing the bed with Isabela and Luisa, head propped up against the oldest girl, eyes only partially open. The three of them are watching Camilo as he shape-shifts through various members of the family, doing his 'best' overly-exaggerated impression of each member while Luisa giggles and Isabela smiles. Brunito himself looks vaguely interested, but probably doesn't know the rest of the family well enough yet to get the joke.
He looks relaxed, though. And nearly half asleep. He doesn't seem to notice the others standing in the doorway, and neither do the girls.
Camilo does, though he barely misses a step in his routine and keeps going as if Mirabel isn't there to watch him pretending to be her.
Antonio giggles and decides to join the group, climbing up on Isabela's other side. She shifts to make room for him without disturbing the other boy.
Bruno takes one look around the room and turns to Mirabel. There's something careful in the way he looks at her, something she can't decipher, but he also looks more than a bit relieved. "I might-he seems to be in good hands, so I think I might-"
"If we need you we can come and get you?" Mirabel suggests. "I mean, Dolores pretty much always knows where you are."
"Thank you," he says, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. "I know he's not your responsibility, and certainly you take on more than your fair share-"
"Go get some rest," Mirabel interrupts him gently. He nods tersely, turning away and heading back to his room.
Brunito finally gives in to sleep as Mirabel joins the group and sleeps for about an hour. When he wakes up he immediately looks for Antonio, who drags out paper and crayons, and the two spend the rest of the evening coloring, though Brunito still insists on drawing the same pictures over and over.
Antonio doesn't say anything about it, though he does look over a couple of times as they color, as if checking to make sure the other boy is okay.
None of the other kids say anything either, although at some point Isabela steals a few crayons and a piece of paper and starts drawing various flowers and plants, only some of which Mirabel has ever seen before.
At bedtime Brunito settles down in one of the nursery beds without a fuss, Mirabel beside them, and falls asleep much more easily that the older girl would have expected.
He wakes them both up several hours later, screaming for his mother.
"Mamí!" The boy is up and out of the bed in a flash, running out the door so fast that all Mirabel can is follow, out into the hall and, to Mirabel's surprise and concern, straight for Abuela's door.
The door opens to reveal Abuela herself, and the child practically launches himself at her, panting and crying, burying his face in her nightdress and hugging her legs desperately.
By this time Mirabel is not the only other Madrigal standing out in the hall, nor is she the only one holding her breath.
Abuela looks down at the boy, uncertain, then stoops, gently wrapping her arms around him and pulling him even closer.
"¿Que paso, mijo?" she asks, her voice low. "Are you hurt?"
Face buried, he shakes his head, but keeps crying. Abuela looks at the top of his head, perplexed, but doesn't let him go.
She looks for help, down the hall at Bruno, who is all but leaning against the wall near his door, his own expression carefully, painfully blank. He shakes his own head, one tiny, agitated motion, before looking away.
Abuela's lips purse, and she goes back to studying the boy who is by now all but trying to melt against her. A small sigh, and then she picks him up, cradling him against her. His head moves to bury itself against her shoulder.
"Go back to bed," she tells the rest of the house.
Mirabel's mother stirs, coming to join Abuela, guiding the older woman back into her room and closing the door behind her, though not before throwing a meaningful glance in her sister's direction.
"Back to bed," Pepa echoes, as the door closes. "Ahora."
Most of them obey, even Papá and Tío Félix. Mirabel remains where she is, worried about Brunito, worried about what's happening with him and her mom and Abuela behind that closed door, and worried about Tío Bruno, who hasn't moved a muscle since turning his gaze on the floor.
A moment later there are only three of them left in the hall: Bruno, Pepa, and Mirabel herself. Before she can do anything, though, her uncle lets out a loud sniff and slides unceremoniously to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in his knees.
Pepa reaches him before Mirabel does, and drops to the floor beside him, throwing an arm across his shoulders and pulling him towards her. He resists for all of two seconds before giving in, arms wrapping around her in turn. In the moment before he buries his face in Pepa's shoulder, Mirabel catches a glimpse of his tear-stained face and the agony in his eyes.
Mirabel sits down on Pepa's other side, not sure how to help, but not willing to leave either. Tía Pepa ignores her, all her attention on the girl's Tío as she mutters soothingly in his ear, rocking them both ever so slightly.
"Está bien, hermano," she murmurs, even though it clearly is not. "Está bien."
Mirabel has no idea how long they've been sitting there when Bruno lets out another very loud, very wet sniff and pulls away, moving to rest the back of his head against the wall. His eyes are red from crying, and he doesn't look completely finished, but he seems to be at least trying to pull himself together.
"Lo siento," Pepa says, her voice low, and Bruno nearly starts crying again. "Vision, or nightmare?"
"Yes," Bruno's voice breaks on that one word. He doesn't offer an explanation.
Pepa doesn't ask for one.
Another hour passes before Pepa shifts. "I know this is usually Juli's line, but I think we could all use a cup of tea." When Bruno doesn't respond she gently prods him into a position more conducive to standing before guiding him to his feet with a care the woman rarely shows for anybody.
Pepa is usually sharp angles and harsh tones, or was before Casita fell. She still has her days, though it's obvious to Mirabel that she's trying, and for some reason Bruno seems to always catch her at her most impatient, and at her least kind.
Now, though, the woman is soft and reassuring in a way that would give Mamá a run for her money as she leads a nearly catatonic Bruno downstairs and into the kitchen, steering him towards a corner and settling him there before turning her attention toward the stove and the process of making tea.
Mirabel finds a seat next to her uncle, sitting close enough that he can lean in if he wants, but far enough away to give him space if he needs it.
He leans in, and they wait, shoulder to shoulder, while Pepa starts the kettle and starts gathering mugs and spoons and tea leaves and sugar.
"It's good though," she says out of nowhere, startling Mirabel. "Isn't it? I know it doesn't feel good."
Bruno swallows. His voice, when he speaks, sounds somehow rusty. "Once I had my gift, she said-she thought-"
"You were too old to let yourself get so worked up over a bad dream," Pepa finishes, because he clearly doesn't seem to be able to. "I don't think she really understood. I know I didn't. Neither did Juli."
"How could you?" he asks, but there's a bitterness to the question. "You were just a kid. We were all just kids."
"Mamí should have realized," Pepa admits. "Seeing him tonight, as an adult-there's no mistaking that for just some ordinary bad dream. Even if she didn't understand-even if she didn't know back then-that your visions could be awful, she still should have been able to tell at a glance that you were beside yourself, and not just scared."
Bruno sniffs again, and Pepa falls silent as she reaches for a glass from the cabinet and turns to fill it with water from the sink.
"Still, I'm sorry you had to go through that alone," she adds as she offers him the glass, bringing both hands up to grip it in much the way she used to guide Antonio, back when he was much younger and still learning how to use a cup. They way Bruno's hands tremble as he drains half the glass in one go, Mirabel's surprised he doesn't spill it anyway. "And that you had to watch her comfort him after she spent so many years denying you."
"Better than the alternative." A weary sigh escapes the man, and Mirabel finds herself blinking back tears of her own at the revelation.
And shoving down a sudden wave of anger.
Bruno sets the glass carefully aside before abruptly throwing an arm around Mirabel and dragging her into a hug she isn't entirely prepared for.
"I'll be okay, mija," he mutters into the top of her head. "No te preocupes por mí."
"It's not right," she sniffs, and now the tears are escaping anyway. Bruno only hugs her tighter.
"No," he agrees. "But we can't change the past, niña. The best we can hope for is to do better when the opportunity comes around again."
"If it comes around again," Pepa mutters darkly, and Bruno lets out another world-weary sigh. He holds on to Mirabel for a moment longer before releasing her. His shoulder bumps against hers and stays there until the tea is finally ready.
It is, without a doubt, the worst tea Mirabel has ever endured in her life-worse even than Tía Pepa's coffee. She takes a sip and nearly spits it out in surprise before catching herself.
Bruno meekly takes a sip as Pepa joins them with her own mug, his expression carefully neutral as he swallows. "Gracias," he says.
Mirabel's aunt smiles at him. She can't hide the sorrow in her eyes, or the anger, or the worry, as she takes a sip of her own only to immediately spit it back into the cup.
"Dios, you could have told me it was that bad," she accuses, glaring at her brother. To Mirabel's horror, Bruno simply raises his own mug as if in salute before taking another drink. "Don't drink that," the woman snaps, reaching forward and plucking the cup from his hands. "It's disgusting."
"I've had worse, hermanita," he tells her, his tone one of weary amusement.
"There's nothing wrong with my coffee," the woman insists. "The rest of you are just weak."
"I will admit it's just the thing when I haven't slept for two weeks straight."
"I'll keep that in mind the next time you ask me if I can 'help' you make a pot," Pepa grouses, though Mirabel can tell her aunt isn't actually annoyed.
Disclaimer: Disney's Encanto does not belong to me.
Author's Note: This has been really fun to write. I love being able to explore these characters more deeply. I think, too, in a way, that it's a bit therapeutic for me. Maybe even a bit cathartic. It's possible that's what drew me to the movie in the first place (other than that it's a fantastic film), and to the characters. And I will confess, these stories might have been, at times, a safe space in which to explore and process my own feelings concerning my own family.
That being said, your support is, as always, greatly appreciated. While I frequently tell myself that I write first and foremost for myself, the fact remains that there is a sense of community to be found here, especially when something I've written (a piece of myself, if you will) inspires a response or a reaction from you guys. And I think that's what it's about. Sharing. Connecting. Feeling.
Anyway, enough mushy philosophical stuff. Any more and I run the risk of sounding like I'm begging for feedback. No, it's an honor to be able to share with you, whether you're a longtime lurker or an avid responder or just thought you would give this particular piece a chance and see how it goes, and it's been an honor to be apart of this community.
(Still not quite getting away from the mushiness, am I?)
