A moment of silence, followed by uproar. Dolores clamps her hands over her ears. Camilo demands to know what the hell Mirabel is talking about. Pepa is threatening to thunder, crossing the living room to demand answers from her brother while her husband tries to calm her down.
Everything is sheer chaos.
"Quiet. Silencio." Bruno's voice, though not loud, has an edge to it that cuts through the room like a dagger. In its wake, the rest of the family falls silent.
"It is me. Sort of. Not exactly. He's eight years old. And right now he's asleep, so unless you want every prediction I make for the next thirty years to be nothing but death, doom, and disaster-I'm looking right at you, Pepa-you will not wake him."
Pepa's jaw closes with an audible snap, but she does not look happy.
"Look." Suddenly he's their uncle again, a little weird, a little awkward, but not really scary-except for the part where he apparently can be scary, when he wants to. "I'll try to explain. I mean, I'm not-I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I have a guess."
"What happened, then?" It is Abuela, predictably, who takes charge from there.
"I think-based on his age-I'm pretty sure-Camilo," he says, turning to his nephew. "What's the number one rule for seeing the future, if you want to live a long and happy life?"
Camilo smirks, because he knows this. "Never look at your own."
"Right," Bruno agrees. "Now why on earth would I say something like that often enough for you to be able to repeat it accurately, down to the very last word?"
Camilo blanks. Mirabel's mind fills in the answer.
"Because you tried." she answers for him. Bruno nods.
"It did not go well."
Julieta shakes her head. "But you never left us. I mean, you were unconscious for a while, but you were still there. How could that be you?"
Bruno looks uncertain. "I don't know. I don't really understand it. But I know that kid up there. Know him as well as I know myself." He chuckles nervously. "Think about it, Juli. He's eight years old. He doesn't talk. He has nightmares trying to take a nap in the middle of the day. Did you even look at him?"
"But his eyes..."
Pepa starts, her eyes widening. "Don't you remember?" She turns to her sister. "He had green eyes for about three years when he was younger. It started when he turned eight, and went on until what, his eleventh birthday?" She turns to Bruno, and her expression changes abruptly. "Didn't you wet the bed a lot during that time too? It was almost every night, wasn't it?"
Bruno flushes, but stands his ground. "My visions started getting worse after my eighth birthday," he says, his voice slightly strangled. "More-frightening."
"I seem to remember you always complaining that they were frightening." Pepa's not trying to be mean, Mirabel knows it, but sometimes her and Bruno's personalities mix like oil and fire, and inevitably one of them ends up storming off.
"I've had visions regularly through the night since I was five years old," Bruno counters stiffly, "and seen things no adult should ever have to witness, never mind a child."
Pepa blinks, and stops talking. A silent moment of understanding passes between the two. A silent apology.
Julieta pulls their focus back to the child asleep upstairs. "What's most important, right now? How do we get him home? Can we even send him home? Or do we have to wait it out, because it's vision related, and let it run its course?"
Bruno shakes his head. "I have no idea," he admits.
Augustín frowns. "But you said you did it, in the past?"
"I was eight." Bruno reminds him wearily. "And I really don't remember anything, except-" he hesitates.
"Bruno?"
"I remember seeing flashes of faces. Hearing garbled words. And I remember it hurt, more than anything has ever hurt in my life. I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out, while my brain was being run through a blender."
Isabella looks up. "What's a blender?"
"Eh," Bruno flaps a hand at her. "Never mind. The point is, nothing I can remember about the experience is going to be any use on this side of it." He frowns. "I might be able to figure something out. With time. Maybe." He sounds doubtful.
Julieta stirs again. "Then right now, since we have no way of knowing how long he's going to be here, or how to get him back, or whether or not what happens to him here might accidentally change the past-" Bruno considers this for a moment before waving his hand dismissively.
"Should be fine," he says. Pepe rolls her eyes at him. Julieta clears her throat.
"Either way, he's just a child. Our first priority should be keeping him safe."
It seems like an easy enough task to Mirabel, but Bruno does not look particularly relieved, even as heads nod in agreement all around the room.
Luisa shifts as if she wants to say something, then looks back down. Mirabel gets the feeling that she's going to let whatever it is go, but Bruno is watching her now, waiting. Her sister looks back up.
"It's just-if he's from the past, what happens when he meets all of us. Or you-himself? What if it messes something-?"
"Nope." Bruno cuts her off, shaking his head. "Not even gonna think about it, because thinking about these things always messes them up." He takes a step backwards to knock on the bookshelf.
Pepa looks reluctant as she opens her mouth. "I'm more worried about how we're going to take care of him, Bruno. It's not like everything went great the first time around."
There's a heaviness there. Pepa and Bruno can clearly feel the weight of her words, but so can Julieta, and Abuela-
Abuela looks horrified. "Bruno-" She whispers his name, and Bruno twitches.
"We'll figure it out," he says. He starts to say something else as well, but his eyes suddenly start glowing, and his legs give out beneath him. He drops to his knees, his head craned back, staring at nothing.
For a long moment, all anyone can do is stare.
They startle as he closes his eyes, turning his head to the side, and rolls his shoulders. His eyes are still glowing as he stands back up, but Mirabel gets the feeling that he's looking at her, and that he actually sees her.
"Bruno?" Julieta asks, gently, because whatever just happened is not within the normal range of behavior for any of his visions, and they're all a bit worried now.
"Hmm?" He turns toward her, and again Mirabel feels like he can actually see her mother, even though he's clearly in the middle of a vision.
"Are you okay?" He blinks, and she hesitates briefly before saying it. "Your eyes are glowing."
He frowns. "Huh," he says, then shrugs it off. "It's not really a vision. Well, not a new one. More of an echo, really. I think it's the kid-ah-perdoname."
He darts up the stairs without another word.
A second later he reemerges from the nursery with a small bundle in his arms. He's murmuring Spanish in the child's ear as he descends the stairway.
Augustín stands up as Bruno rejoins them, offering his seat, and his brother-in-law accepts gratefully, sinking down between Mirabel's mother and oldest sister.
"Sana, sana, colita de rana, Si no sana hoy, sanará mañano," he half sings, quietly, and Julieta turns to stare at him.
"I didn't know you remembered that." Bruno manages a small smile.
"Of course I remember."
Antonio climbs up into his aunt's lap to look, taking care not to wake the other boy.
"Why's he so small?" he asks, looking up at Bruno. "If he's older than me, shouldn't he be bigger?"
"Ay, hermano, it's cause Tío Bruno never ate his vegetables growing up." Camilo answers, so his uncle doesn't have to, keeping his voice low.
Antonio makes a face, as if he's not quite sure he's being teased. And Pepa stands up again.
"Bedtime, Toñito," she says. "You can make friends tomorrow."
"Promise?" he asks, but he's looking at Bruno, who hesitates for less than a second before nodding.
One by one, the kids are sent off to bed, or rather, Camilo and Mirabel are sent off together, and then the three older girls simply exchange a brief glance before heading upstairs without needing to be told.
Bruno doesn't move from his spot on the couch, and the boy in his arms sleeps on. Every once in a while the man's eyes light up, but it's always been less of an issue if he's sitting down, and none of the visions seem to be causing him actual pain.
Augustín and Félix say goodnight shortly after the girls, sensing that their wives both want to be alone with their brother. Abuela sits them for a while, but still has not quite figured out how to bridge the gap between her and her son. Eventually she too, leaves them.
"I'm worried," Julieta admits.
"Why, because Bruno's childhood was un disastre?" Pepa asks, an edge to her tone, but she's also managed to say exactly what her sister's thinking. "Or because if we actually want to take care of this kid while he's here instead of traumatizing him, Bruno's going to have to share all the dirty, ugly secrets of his youth?"
Bruno's jaw tightens, but they all know she's right on both counts.
"What's most important right now?" Julieta asks, not for the first time. "We need to figure out how best to look after him while he's here. And we need to figure out what it means if he's here, but won't remember any of this when he...gets back? Wakes up? You were unconscious for a while, could that be what this is?"
"I don't know." Bruno admits. "I don't think anything we do here is going to make a difference when he gets back."
"When you get back?" Pepa wants to know, "Are you saying it didn't help you? That it doesn't matter what happens because you don't remember any of it?"
Bruno shakes his head. "Of course it matters. He still has feelings. Thoughts of his own. Just because I don't remember any of this doesn't mean he's not real, not experiencing it right now! I just-" He stops, abruptly, unable to properly explain himself.
"It's complicated." Julieta says. "We shouldn't try to use Brunito as an opportunity to fix our Bruno, is that what you're saying? Not that we shouldn't try to help him for his own sake."
"We're not really the same person." Bruno offers not entirely certainly. "Different ages, different stages of life, different experiences. I don't remember any of this happening, and he hasn't lived through most of the things I have, so you might as well just think of us as two different people."
"Complicated," Pepa complains, burying her face in her hands.
"Where do we start?" Julieta wants to know. "Is he going to be okay being around the rest of the family, or does he need to be kept separate?"
"I think keeping him away from everyone is a bad idea." Bruno admits. "But someone should probably keep an eye on him at all times. And-" he hesitates only briefly before continuing. "I think it might be best if he isn't left alone with Mamí."
Pepa purses her lips, and Julieta frowns.
"Would you like to explain why?" Julieta asks carefully. Bruno's shoulders hunch. He can't properly fidget, though, because there's a child sleeping in his lap.
"Not really." Seeing the look on her face, he tries to reassure her. "It's not that-she didn't-It's not because of any one specific thing. It's just-a lot of things happened, after I turned eight. And I know Mamí's trying, and she's gotten a lot better, but I'm also not entirely sure she won't lose patience with him either."
"She used to scold you a lot." Pepa remembers.
"I don't think she really knew what to do with me, a lot of the time." Bruno admits.
"So he can mingle with the family, but we need to make sure someone, preferably an adult, preferably not Mamá, is with him at all times, just in case." Julieta gently brings them back on topic. "Anything else we need to know? Anything else we need to do?"
"Uh," Bruno looks completely unprepared for the task ahead of them. "There's probably going to be a lot of nightmares." His eyes start glowing again even as he says it. "And yes, Pepa, most likely bed-wetting. Sorry."
Pepa cringes. "I'm sorry," she says. "Would it be better for him to sleep with you? Your room would be more familiar, probably."
Bruno shakes his head. "The nursery would be better," he says, and abruptly his sisters remember that he used to sneak into their beds after dark to sleep with them, until their mother caught him at it shortly after they turned six and put a stop to it.
"What about clothes?" Pepa asks. "He's small enough that he could probably borrow some of Antonio's. I can't imagine he would mind sharing them."
Bruno bites his lip, considering both the question and the answer. "That might work, at least for a day or two."
"Food?" Julieta asks. "I seem to remember you being extraordinarily picky for a while, even for you."
Bruno sighs. "Please don't try to make him eat." He sounds tired when he says it, and reluctant, as if saying it might trigger something.
"What about obleas?" Julieta asks abruptly. "Remember when I was learning to make them?"
Pepa groans. "Every day for weeks."
"I had to get the recipe right." Julieta tells her. "But that's not the point. The point is, Bruno kept stealing them. I'm pretty sure he ate nothing but obleas for three days, until Mamá caught him trying to make off with an entire plate."
Bruno looks distinctly uncomfortable. "They don't make-the texture-they're easy to eat." He finally manages.
"Obleas, then." Julieta says. "Anything else he's likely to eat?"
"Buñuelos," Bruno admits, after a moment. He looks slightly embarrassed.
"You always did have a bit of a sweet tooth, didn't you?" Pepa asks. Bruno hunches his shoulders.
"And hot chocolate." Julieta adds, calling their attention back to the matter at hand. "I've never seen you turn down a cup of hot chocolate, especially when cheese is involved."
She's seen him accept a cup knowing full well he'd only be throwing it up again less than fifteen minutes later.
"So sleeping arrangements, clothes, food-what else?" she asks, because the longer they spend talking about Bruno's eating habits, the more likely it is to make him only pick at his food in the morning, and she's pretty sure he hasn't actually eaten anything today.
"Visions." Bruno says, his voice flat.
"Nightmares through the night." Pepa replies. "Likely bed-wetting. What else?"
"He hasn't figured out how to control them yet." Bruno says. "There won't be any intentional visions to balance out the accidental ones."
His sisters fall silent. After a moment, Julieta asks, "What does that mean, exactly?" in a small voice, because she suddenly feels like she should already know, or should have asked before now, maybe even a long time ago. Bruno looks up toward the ceiling as if for guidance and lets out a quiet, if frustrated, breath of air.
"It means he can't control where or when he has a vision." Bruno is trying to keep his voice even, but there's a note of something-irritation, disbelief, betrayal?-lurking in the shadow of the words. "Or what he sees. And there won't be any distance. No sense of separation. It'll be more like he's in the vision, rather than watching it. And usually the fewer intentional ones I have, the more accidental ones show up."
Julieta still isn't sure she understands.
"The accidental ones are usually the ones that make me sick," he adds. "So headaches, nausea, dizziness, uh, cramping, involuntary muscle spasms, fainting, vomiting, migraines, vertigo, sensitivity to light and sound-and touch, fatigue, sleeplessness, mood swings, intrusive thoughts..." he trails off, looking from one hermana to the other.
Both are staring at him in horror.
Bruno chuckles nervously. "Guess we've never really talked about it much, have we?"
"You don't really talk about your gift," Pepa says, and Bruno shrugs.
"Mamí didn't like it when we complained about our gifts," he reminds her gently. "She said we were being ungrateful. Anyway, treat his visions the same way you do mine. Try not to move him if you can help it, make sure he's on his side if he falls in case he throws up, try not to touch him right after. Let him get up when he feels ready."
Julieta gets the sudden sense that the task before them is even more monumental than she originally thought.
They talk late into the night, making plans and trying to figure out how best to take care of the child currently curled up against Bruno's chest.