Mirabel makes her way downstairs the next morning to find Bruno in the same place on the couch as he was when she left him the night before, tiny version of him still curled up in his lap, sound asleep.
He offers her a genuine if slightly strained smile as she enters the room. She returns it, looking the both of them over.
"Did you get any sleep at all?" she asks, because he knows he doesn't sleep at night more often than he does, even without time-traveling versions of himself keeping him up.
Bruno shrugs, which is pretty much a 'no' from him, and yawns.
"Can I get you anything?" she asks. "Coffee? Tea? A break while I cuddle baby you and try to pretend he isn't the cutest thing I've ever seen?"
Bruno snorts, but a little of the tension drains from his shoulders, so Mirabel considers it a success. Predictably, he doesn't ask for anything. Her uncle doesn't like to ask for things, even when people are offering.
"Coffee, then." She decides. "Unless you'd rather have the tea." When he doesn't answer, she continues toward the kitchen. "I'll be right back."
Her mother greets Mirabel as she enters the kitchen by pressing a cup of tea into her hands and kissing her on the cheek. "Would you mind taking this to your tío? He's got that look, like he's working on a migraine."
"He was up all night." Mirabel points out.
"Probably the visions." Her mamá sighs. "He said they don't hurt, but I can't imagine they made trying to sleep any easier."
Mirabel returns to the living room with the tea. Bruno carefully adjusts the boy in his lap before accepting. She's immediately gratified by the way he closes his eyes and breathes in; just the aroma from his mug has a relaxing effect. She can practically see the tension bleed from his thin frame.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
Mirabel smiles, and sits down carefully next to him. "So what can I do to help?" she wants to know.
Bruno smiles at her. "Just be yourself," he tells her enigmatically.
Mirabel huffs and rolls her eyes at him. "I'm serious, Tío."
"So am I." He takes a sip of his tea, and Mirabel's pretty sure he's just burnt his tongue. "He knows who he is, he knows where he is, and he knows, to some extent, when he is. He's still a kid, of course, so he's going to need looking after, but honestly, the best thing you can do-the best thing any of you kids can do-is just be yourselves, and maybe let him warm up to you at his own pace. Juli and I-and Pepa-we're going to take care of him until we figure this out."
Mirabel nods. "Okay," she agrees. She hesitates for a moment, then presses on, because she's pretty sure it needs to be asked, even if it's uncomfortable. "But if he's you, or you from the past, or whatever, and he has your gift-I know your gift is-difficult on you sometimes. And we know that sometimes you don't like to be touched because of it, or sometimes it makes you sick, and stuff like that. So is there anything like that we need to know for him? Or are the rules pretty much the same for him as they are for you? Or are there different rules, because he's younger and it's different for him-Tío? Are you okay?"
His eyes are watering, and she's pretty sure he's trying not to cry. Mirabel stops talking, waiting for him to regain his composure. After a minute he clears his throat, sniffs, and takes another sip of his tea.
"The rules are pretty much the same, I think," he says, his voice a little rough. "I'll let you know if anything changes."
"I can make sure the others know too," she offers. The smile she receives from her uncle is just a little sad.
"Thank you," he says.
She returns to the kitchen to help with breakfast.
Mamá is quiet as they work, and Mirabel gets the feeling that she's worried. She looks tired, too, and Mirabel wonders how late the grown-ups were up last night after sending them all to bed.
"It's going to be all right." She doesn't know why she says it, or why she thinks her mother needs reassuring, but Mamá looks down at her, momentarily surprised, so she continues. "We're all going to do everything we can to make sure he's taken care of. And Tìo Bruno's not going to let anything happen to him, you know."
Her mamá smiles at her, then, and it's the same small, sad smile Bruno gave her just a little while ago in the living room. Mirabel shivers, just a little bit.
Breakfast is ready and the rest of the family is gathered before Bruno makes an appearance, child in his arms even though he's almost too heavy for him.
He takes his usual seat, settling the child in his lap, and the little boy looks around the table with wide eyes.
"Good morning, Brunito." Mirabel's mother smiles and ruffles the boy's hair, then does the same to the adult version of her brother for good measure. "Bruno."
And just like that, a distinction has been made between the two, because until now Mirabel's mother has called Tío Bruno 'Brunito' more often than she hasn't.
Brunito stares up at her with eyes that seem far too large for his small face. Bruno accepts the plate she's currently holding with a small nod of thanks and sets it on the table.
The child eyes the plate, then looks up at Bruno, who shakes his head. "No tengo hambre, mijo. Es para ti."
The boy nods solemnly and reaches for one of the deep-fried balls of dough on the plate.
"It must be a special occasion, if we're getting buñelos for breakfast," Camilo comments, but he doesn't seem at all upset by the notion.
The boy nibbles delicately at his buñuelo, watching the rest of the table as he eats. His eyes meet Antonio's, and the younger boy smiles at him and waves. Brunito immediately looks away, down at the table, and Antonio looks to his uncle, the smile fading, wanting to know what he's done wrong.
"He's a little shy, mijo," Bruno offers, smiling at Antonio. The boy accepts this and goes back to his own breakfast.
Most of the family is doing their best not to stare at the child sitting in Bruno's lap. Isabella and Dolores are talking about dresses-Dolores has a date tonight. Luisa is asking Antonio if he knows why the donkeys in town refuse to stay in their pasture where they belong, and the boy is giving it serious thought. The adults, too, are managing not to stare, even Abuela, who is currently deep in discussion with Mirabel's mamá.
Camilo is, in fact, the only one staring. Mirabel catches it at him, and raises an eyebrow.
"What?" he says. "It's weird. There's two of them there."
"Camilo..." There's a note of warning in Pepa's voice, but Brunito doesn't seemed to have noticed that he's being watched.
The boy finishes his buñelo and reaches for another. Camilo frowns at him.
"And that's another thing. Since when is Bruno left-handed?"
Bruno jerks, and barely manages to avoid spilling tea on his smaller self. It's a dead giveaway, especially since he's currently holding his mug in his right hand while the child in his lap is holding food in his left.
Brunito looks up nervously, and Bruno mutters something in Spanish that Mirabel can't quite hear.
The rest of the family is staring too, by now, and Mirabel notices that both her mother and her aunt look confused.
Bruno sets his mug down and starts mopping up spilled tea with a napkin. "I used to be," he says, and though his tone is remarkably even given that he just spilled about half of his tea, he's not looking at anyone as he wipes down the table.
Camilo stares at him. "What happened?" he asks. Abuela stirs.
"Camilo-" She starts, and it sounds like she's going to scold him, but Bruno interrupts.
"I started using my right hand instead." He looks at Camilo, then, and Mirabel's prima seems to understand something in his gaze, because he immediately changes the subject.
"Did you have any rats, when you were his age?"
Bruno shakes his head. "Not until I was twelve, actually. I think at this age I was still a little bit wary of the things."
"I can't imagine you being scared of rats, Tío." Dolores says, helping the conversation along.
"Not scared." Bruno chuckles. "Maybe a little nervous."
"He was scared." Pepa stage whispers loudly to her children, before turning and sticking her tongue out at her brother.
Bruno rolls his eyes, absently accepting the piece of buñelo Brunito's currently offering him and popping it in his mouth.
Light banter continues from there, and people begin to relax. Camilo's still eyeing the boy, but he seems to at least be trying not to stare outright, and Mirabel's father is doing a pretty good job of distracting him by asking him if he's fixed his Bruno impression yet-apparently he hasn't, because he can't, and he can't figure out why. So now they're trying to figure out how Camilo turns into someone in the first place, and why he can't get his uncle's image right.
Brunito is slowly but methodically devouring the contents of his plate, something that Mirabel finds reassuring, but what she finds truly interesting is that the boy keeps tearing off pieces of fried dough and offering them to Bruno, who has yet to turn one down in spite of his earlier claim that he wasn't hungry.
Everything is going well, all things considered, until Bruno's eyes start to glow.
Brunito sets the half-eaten portion of his buñelo carefully back onto his plate, deliberately slides the dish as far away from him as he can reach, and slams his forehead into the table as hard as he can.
Dishes clatter. Dolores squeaks and covers her ears. Pepa yelps.
And Bruno's eyes stop glowing. He looks around, momentarily confused, and then his gaze drops to the child in his lap, his head still down on the table.
"Bruno?" Mirabel's mother is asking for an explanation. They're all staring, all hoping for one, especially as the child lifts his head, carefully reaches for his plate, and starts eating again as if nothing just happened.
"Ah." Bruno says, and looks very uncomfortable. "Mijo, no haga eso," he says, looking down at the boy once more. "Entiendo, pero no haga. Por favor."
Brunito scrunches his face up, but nods. He also stops eating, setting his food back down.
"Bruno." Mirabel's mamá is still waiting. Bruno doesn't look up, and Mirabel thinks he won't answer, based on the way his shoulders have hunched inward and the way he's tapping distractedly against his leg under the table.
Abuela clears her throat, and Bruno involuntarily meets her gaze, because even after all this time he can't disobey her, not unless he thinks the well-being of one of his sobrinos is at stake.
He will stand up for the kids every time, but somehow he's not as good at standing up for himself, and it breaks Mirabel's heart.
"The pain makes the visions go away," he says softly, so low they almost don't hear him. Further down the table, a cloud appears over Pepa's head.
Abuela is still waiting.
"I-used to-when I was younger-" Bruno is trying, unsuccessfully, to get something out.
"You used to." Abuela repeats, but there's something in her tone, that says she wants him to confirm it.
Bruno ducks his head. "It was the only way I could control them. Sometimes it was too much, so I..." he trails off, but they all understand anyway.
"But you don't anymore," Abuela presses, and Bruno stares back at her, a look of betrayal on his face. Pepa scowls at both of them.
"Mama, you promised," she says, and Abuela turns to look at her daughter.
"I think we need to know if the boy's liable to hurt himself," she says smoothly, and she's probably right, but Bruno is trying to resist the urge to sink further down into his seat, and the boy in his lap is starting to fidget.
"It could have waited until after breakfast."
Until the kids were gone, Mirabel abruptly realizes. Because the answer is that he still does it, and they don't want us to know that.
Mirabel isn't the only one to make that connection. Camilo's staring again, this time horrified. Dolores looks resigned, and Mirabel figures she already knew, but Luisa also seems to have put the pieces of the puzzle together and looks absolutely devastated by the realization.
Bruno rubs his forehead. Setting his shoulders, he forces himself to meet his mother's eyes. "I did it when I was younger because I didn't know any other way to control my gift, and sometimes the visions were unbearable. I know how to control them now, at least better than I did then, but yes, there are still times when I feel the desire to smack my head against the table just to make it stop. I usually don't, but there are other things I do that help control them."
He glares at her, rapping his knuckles sharply on the table in a familiar pattern as if to prove his point, and Brunito looks up at him.
Bruno huffs, exhaling through his nose, and leans back in his seat. "Perdoname," he mutters at the boy.
Mirabel is pretty sure the kid in his lap is the only reason he hasn't already left the room.
Brunito doesn't eat any more after that, and by extension, neither does Bruno. The rest of the meal is tense, any attempt at conversation awkward and hushed, and it's a relief to everyone when the meal is finally over.
Mirabel finds him in the nursery later, sitting on the bed with his back to the wall, Brunito leaning against him while the older man tells him a story about a tiny kitten that liked to collect flowers, pressing them between the blank pages of a book, saving them so he could look at them on long winter nights when the world was covered in snow and ice.
It's not a particularly interesting story, especially considering that a large part of it seems to revolve around describing each and every flower in detail, but Brunito is taking it all in as if it were an action-packed adventure or dramatic love story.
Mirabel isn't trying to interrupt, but two pairs of eyes still follow her as she crosses the room to take a seat in the rocking chair. Bruno continues his story without pause, however, and eventually Brunito goes back to watching him as he talks.
Bruno trails off several minutes later, and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're glowing bright green.
Brunito stares up at him. Hesitantly he reaches up, pressing two small fingers against the spot between the man's eyebrows.
Bruno winces. "Mirabel, I'm sorry, can you take him?"
"Sure, why-?" She doesn't need to finish, because she's realized by now that even though Bruno's eyes are glowing, Brunito's are not. "Oh. Of course." She reaches out to the child, hoping he lets her.
The boy reluctantly reaches out to her, allowing her to scoop him up into her arms, and Bruno practically flees the room.
Mirabel smiles down at the kid. "Well, looks like it's just you and me. What shall we do with ourselves, amigo?"
She receives no reply, but she wasn't actually expecting one anyway, so that's okay. Mirabel looks around the nursery, eyes lighting on the bookshelf, filled with two generations of children's books.
"You like stories, don't you?" she asks, and receives a small, hesitant nod.
Mirabel picks out her favorite, a well-worn collection of nursery rhymes, and heads for the rocking chair. She settles down with Brunito in her lap, wiggling to get comfortable, grinning when he does the same, and opens the book.
Brunito reaches out, tapping gently against the illustration on the first page.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Mirabel asks. She starts reading, and the boy's finger moves, tracing each word, following along as she reads.
She's halfway through the first story when Brunito starts shaking, and leaning forward to check on him, she realizes the boy is crying.
"Brunito? Brunito, what's wrong?"
Of course she doesn't receive an answer. Mirabel sets aside the book and pulls him into a hug, and the child shoves himself up against her and buries his face in her chest. The sounds of muffled sobbing reach her ears, and Mirabel doesn't know what to do other than to hold him and hope it's the right thing to do.
Brunito's been crying for hours by the time Mirabel's mother finds them, and Mirabel herself is nearly frantic, because she doesn't know what to do, and Bruno isn't here to tell her, and every time she tries to get up the child in her lap starts crying even harder, so she can't go look for help either.
"Mirabel? Brunito? What's wrong? What happened?" Mirabel's mother sounds panicky, which only makes Mirabel worry that much more, but when Mamá tries to take him from her, the kid shoves himself tighter against Mirabel and starts whimpering.
Her mamá draws back, surprised, and Mirabel feels a sudden need to apologize for the sudden hurt in her eyes.
She settles for explaining what happened, why Bruno left, and why she hasn't been able to go to anyone for help. Mamá listens, and when she's done, she looks Brunito over carefully.
"Are you hurt, mijo?" she asks. The boy doesn't answer.
Dolores chooses that moment to peek her head in the door. Her lips purse as she takes in the three of them.
"Tio Bruno's vision is hurting him," she says. "That's probably why he's crying."
Mirabel stares, and her mother stares, and Dolores raises her eyebrows at the two of them.
"What do you mean?" Mamá asks, her voice suddenly flat, and Dolores looks like she's been caught in a trap, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. "Dolores..."
"His visions hurt him sometimes." Her voice is small, very small. "Especially if he's been putting them off. Brunito can probably tell, since Tío Bruno can tell when he's having a vision. I don't know if he can feel it or not..."
Mirabel looks down at Brunito. "Does it hurt?" she asks the child in her arms. She doesn't know what she'll do if the answer's yes. Whether there's anything she can do. "Are you hurt, amigo?"
Bruno shakes his head, and Mirabel relaxes a little bit. "Is it the vision? Is it because Bruno's having a vision?"
A small, tight nod.
Mirabel hugs him tighter. She can't fix this. She can't help Bruno. She can't help the child in her arms. All she can do is hold one of them close and hope it ends soon.
It does end, eventually. Abruptly Brunito stops crying, and his tiny body goes slack against Mirabel.