Delores can hear every knock on every door as Mirabel makes her way down the hall. She can practically feel it, the way the sound echoes against her skull, and she knows without a doubt that she's going to have a headache before the end of the day.
A knock at the end of the hall sounds exceptionally loud. It's Bruno's door, and for some reason the sound seems louder at his door than the others. She doesn't think Mirabel's doing it, though. At least, not intentionally.
No, she can definitely tell the difference between Mirabel's usual knocking compared with her going for a louder, stronger approach. This-this is magnified, almost as if by magic, which means it might be Casita's doing.
She wonders if maybe it's because of the sand in her Tío's room. The few times she was in there as a kid, the sound seemed to completely fill the room, muffling almost every other noise, and the one time she was in his vision cave the rest of the house was practically inaudible, even for her.
She hears her uncle stirring, even though she knows for a fact he hasn't slept. Not that she's spying on him or anything. It's just that she went nearly a month without her gift and now that it's back it's taking a bit of getting used to.
At least it's not as bad as it was the first time around. She hasn't completely forgotten how to control it, she's just a little rusty.
She finishes getting dressed and heads downstairs, nearly bumping into Camilo in the process as he all but flies down the hall.
Luisa is already mentally going through the list of things she needs to get done today, and trying not to wonder how so much could already need her attention after going only a month without her gift.
Everyone is already at the table by the time she sits down, even Tío Bruno. Abuela speaks for a moment, just as she always has every morning that they've spent in Casita (this Casita? The old Casita-is there a difference?).
Tía Pepa has already started on her coffee, as has Dolores. Both usually manage a cup before breakfast even starts, and still somehow only start waking up about halfway through the meal. Tío Bruno is working his way through a cup of his own. Her uncle doesn't look particularly awake either, to be honest.
He catches her watching him and offers her a slow, slightly tense smile, but all in all he's been doing much better with the family meals than probably anyone expected. He hasn't missed any so far, and he seems to have calmed down considerably since they moved back into the house and started having their meals inside.
And since the miracle returned, Luisa realizes, and wonders if there's a connection.
He looks fine, though. Tired, but that's nothing new. Still very skinny. But he's eating. Not a lot, really, but it's so much better than trying not to watch him push food around on his plate and then leave without taking as much as a single bite.
He meets her eyes again, and raises an eyebrow, and Luisa blushes and shrugs an apology before turning her attention back toward her own meal.
She also goes back to planning her day. There's a lot to catch up on.
Her uncle is still lingering over a cup of coffee as she finishes eating and prepares to head out. Mirabel is sitting next to him with her own cup, chatting about her newest project idea. She watches as Antonio finishes his own breakfast and joins them, climbing into their tío's lap, and the girl wishes she too, could linger over coffee, maybe just listening to them talk, maybe being drawn into the conversation as well, because her uncle had always made a special effort to include her when they were kids.
But she has too much to do today. And if the others can go back to helping, so can she. Why else would they have gotten their gifts back, after all, if not to help others?
Luisa turns and leaves before they can catch her wavering in the doorway. She ignores the dull ache in her chest, pushing it deep down where she can pretend it doesn't exist, and goes back to her to-do list.
Bruno stops talking abruptly, looking up toward the empty doorway leading from the dining area to the rest of the house, frowning. Antonio notices, and immediately stops as well.
"Tío Bruno?" he asks. "Are you okay?"
Bruno blinks, shakes his head, and smiles down at his nephew, pulling him into a hug. Antonio hugs him back willingly, still young enough not to realize that distractions can come in many forms.
Mirabel is still waiting for an answer, though. Bruno shrugs when he meets her eyes, his expression a bit sheepish. "Got distracted," he says.
He looks fine, so Mirabel chooses to believe him and goes back to explaining her newest idea. Both Bruno and her primo listen with rapt attention, though she's pretty sure Antonio has no idea what she's talking about.
Or maybe he does. He's watched her work on sewing projects all his life. Either way, he seems far more interested than she might have expected.
She pauses when Camilo enters the room, still looking very much himself in spite of the fact that he has his gift back, sees the three of them sitting at the table, and balks.
"Hi," he says, hands in his pockets, then says nothing else. Mirabel stares for a minute, waiting, but her other cousin apparently has no intention of saying-or doing-anything else.
"Hi," says Bruno, studying the boy as if he's never seen Camilo before in his life and thinks there might be a test on what he looks like later. It is, unfortunately, almost as awkward as Camilo just standing there was. "There's leftovers over there," he adds, after a brief pause, nodding towards a plate sitting on the counter.
Camilo looks, trying to act casual about the whole affair. "Oh," he says. He crosses the room, grabs an arepa, and eyes their tío critically for a moment before asking. "Hey, does your gift ever make you hungry?"
"It makes su prima hungry. You've seen Luisa's plate," Bruno says, instead of pointing out that he has trouble eating on a good day. Really, these last couple days have been the exception to the rule. Mirabel wonders how long it will last, and nearly misses out on the implication behind her cousin's question. "Does it make you hungry?" he asks, and Mirabel turns to stare at the boy, surprised.
Of course he's always be known for trying to sneak extra food. It's become a bit of a joke over the years, and one of the surest ways to spot him in disguise is when he's piling up a plate full of much more food than the person he's imitating would normally get. It's never occurred to Mirabel before that he might be taking more food because he was genuinely still hungry.
Camilo looks flustered, and shoves the rest of the arepa in his mouth instead of actually answering. He's halfway out the door when he looks back to find that their uncle is watching him storm out with the mildest of expressions on his face, one that none of the children present can quite read.
"What?" Mirabel can tell that the question comes out sharper than intended. She can also tell that Camilo has no intention of backing down-or apologizing, even to Tío Bruno, even if he immediately feels guilty for snapping at the man.
"Did you get enough to eat, or are you still hungry?" Bruno asks, his tone even, before taking a sip of what is by now most likely cold coffee.
Caught off guard, Camilo blinks. "What?"
Bruno shrugs, and stands, crossing the room to place his empty mug in the sink. "There's absolutely no reason for you to go hungry," he says, his voice still strangely mild. "Especially when there's plenty left over from breakfast."
He removes his ruana and drapes it over the back of a chair, then pushes up his sleeves before turning to the sink to run water for the dishes. He is, in spite of the effort he seems to be making to actually eat the past few days, still terribly thin. Camilo can't help but look the man over, his lips pressed tightly together, as he stands with his back to the room.
"Fine," the boy says after a moment, throwing up his hands as if in exasperation. "I'll have another. But only so you'll stop fussing."
Bruno lets out a soft huff of air through his nose, something that might be a laugh, as Camilo grabs another arepa and defiantly takes a huge bite out of it.
Mirabel can't laugh, because she's busy trying to remember exactly how long her cousin has been trying to steal extra food, and whether that means he's still been hungry after every meal since he got his gift.
Apparently the miracle returning hasn't fixed everything, then. Apparently la familia Madrigal has problems Mirabel didn't even know they had.
At least Tío Bruno seems to be doing better.
Antonio sits with his animals and tries to figure out a way they can be useful.
He's not a baby after all. He knows that when someone gets their gift, they become full members of the family. That they have a responsibility to the family, to the miracle, and to the town.
He also knows, or at least has figured out by now, that nobody really thinks a bunch of wild animals running around are useful. He's also figured out they make some people nervous, just like the rats.
It was different when he didn't have his gift anymore. It hurt, and he missed it terribly, but he wasn't expected to help the town, or the miracle, or any of it. None of them were.
Now things have changed. Tía Julieta has her gift back, and she takes food to the village. Mamá makes the sun shine. Isabela makes the garden grow, and Luisa helps fix things. Since he has his gift back too, he needs to find a way to be helpful as well.
He wonders if Mirabel could help him think of ways to help. Or Tío Rata.
The rat-man doesn't seem worried about helping, and he has his gift back, the leopard tells him. Come lie in the sun, it's much more pleasant.
The rat-man doesn't like his gift, the Capybara tells the leopard. He fears it.
"Why is he afraid?" Antonio asks. "Because sometimes it hurts and makes him sick?"
They all fear his gift, the leopard purrs, stretching out in the sun. When someone speaks of it, they are afraid.
"He sees the future," Antonio tells them. "That's all. Why would they be afraid of that?"
It's pretty much the same people in the kitchen when Camilo returns around lunchtime: Mirabel, Antonio, and Bruno.
Their uncle, for whatever reason, is serving, loading food onto plates as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Antonio, standing beside him, is currently instructing their tío on how much food to put on his plate. When Bruno's done, the boy accepts his meal with a thank you and carries it back to his seat.
Mirabel raises an eyebrow when the man turns to her expectantly, but plays along. She too thanks him and takes her plate and heads back to her seat.
Bruno turns to Camilo expectantly, empty plate in one hand, serving utensil in the other, and Camilo sees the trap his tío has so neatly set for him far too late to do anything about it. He feels his cheeks getting hot and wants to look away, but something in those hazel-green eyes holds him in place.
He's only known the man a month, but that has been more than enough time for him to recognize how out of character it is for his uncle to not only continue to meet his gaze, but hold it the way he currently is. Bruno is horrible at maintaining eye contact in general, even worse when he's feeling particularly anxious. This, though-
This is important, at least in his uncle's eyes.
Camilo gives in and goes along with it, and Bruno has to break eye contact unless he wants to risk spilling his nephew's food, so he does. Camilo indicates enough to satisfy his uncle, at least for now, and stalks to his seat at the table, refusing to look at his brother and cousin.
Mirabel, wisely, leaves him alone for the rest of the meal. She keeps Antonio occupied as well, though Camilo doesn't think his hermano noticed anything weird.
Bruno is slowly but carefully working through his own lunch, but he, too, seems inclined to leave Camilo alone now that he's gotten his way.
Mirabel and his brother finish fairly quickly, leaving Camilo along with his uncle, and still the man remains focused on his plate. He doesn't look up when Camilo stands up either, and for that reason, he debates with himself only briefly before reaching for seconds.
"Aye, haven't you had enough, mijo?" Camilo snatches his hand away as if he's been burned at the sound of his mother's voice. Refusing to meet his tío's eyes, he whirls around abruptly, sets his plate in the sink, and retreats from the room.
He's almost out of earshot when he hears his uncle's voice, soft but still somehow as clear as day, asking, "Was that necessary?"
"What do you mean?" His mother's tone is sharp in response to a question could only be taken as a criticism. "Camilo is always trying to sneak off with extra food."
"Sneak off with extra food," Bruno echoes, sounding thoughtful. "He lives here."
"And the boy is a bottomless pit." Dios, but he can hear his mom trying to be reasonable. It's super weird, especially since she really only does it with Camilo's uncle, and it makes him nervous.
"Nobody criticizes how much Luisa eats."
"My son isn't starving, Bruno," she insists, annoyed and more than a little defensive.
Except wasn't unusual, before Casita fell, for Camilo to get hungry between meals. Or to leave them still a little bit hungry. Or to wake up in the middle of the night with his stomach growling.
Starving? Maybe not. Hungry, though, hungry was another matter.
Still. Camilo supposes he doesn't really have room to complain. Not with his uncle sitting in the other room, severely underweight from malnutrition, and not simply from the ten years he spent in the walls either, according to Dolores and Isabela.
"What does that have anything to do with it?" Bruno wants to know, and for a moment, that thoughtful, quiet tone wavers. "And what does anyone in this house know about starving-" Camilo can also hear the man wince in the brief silence before he continues. "That doesn't seem to stop anyone else from eating their fill at mealtimes."
"Bruno-" Mamí's voice sounds strained. The light shining through a nearby window seems to dim. "Fine. I'm not going to fight with you over this. Let him eat what he wants."
He hears a sigh that could have come from either of them, and wonders why he doesn't feel happier about the outcome.
Augustín and Félix are sitting in the backyard admiring the garden, Augustín grinning proudly as they both compliment his daughter's work-and the fact that it seems to carry with it a distinct style that is sets it apart from any past 'picture perfect' use Isabela has made of her gift in the past.
Certainly there are sections of the garden that have clearly been designed with specific people in mind, and the pristine, flawlessly appealing pathways leading through the garden are an obvious concession to those who might appreciate a little less wildness and a little more order, but there are also sections of the garden that are obviously for Isabela and no one else, and Augustín is plainly proud of her for that.
It's a nice, shared moment between the two men. A wordless acknowledgment of the past as well as the present. A silent hope for the future.
Bruno shatters the silence as he storms out of the house, muttering under his breath, hood pulled up over his head and hands shoved in his pockets, stalking right past them and straight into the garden.
He immediately finds the mint, bends down and carefully breaks off a stalk from one of the plants, and rubs it between his fingers, staring at the green sprig and-unless Félix is greatly mistaken, breathing in the scent.
"All right there, hermano?" Augustín calls, and they both realize the other man must not have noticed them as he stormed past when he startles, dropping his mint.
He stoops down to recollect it a moment later, wincing slightly as he straightens up. "Fine," he says dismissively, and in the time it's taken him to recollect his little sprig of mint his expression has already largely smoothed out. "¿Que pasa?"
The two men exchange a glance, and Augustín shrugs. "At the risk of making something out of nothing, you know you can talk to us, right? Just because the miracle is back doesn't mean that's changed."
"Pepa is annoying," Bruno says with a shrug of his own. "The garden is nice, though."
"We were just admiring it." Félix smiles at him. "Here. Sit down and tell Augustín what you like best about it, so you too can enjoy the sight of him grinning like an idiot. I've never seen him so proud."
Bruno rolls his eyes but joins them anyway, throwing himself down on the grass as if it there weren't already an empty chair. "There's at least eleven kinds of mint over there, and more than seven different colored rosebushes," he says idly. "And Camilo should be allowed to eat as much as he wants, the same as everyone else in la familia. I know what it's like to go hungry, and there's no reason for him to, not when there's usually plenty of food leftover after any given meal."
Félix stiffens, his mind kicking into sudden overdrive as it tries to take in the second half of Bruno's reply and parse out not only exactly what he means by it, but also what it implies and why he thought it necessary to say in the first place.
"Noted." It only takes Augustín all of two seconds to recover. "Anything else on your mind?" He asks easily, ignoring the unspoken accusation Bruno hasn't exactly thrown at them.
Bruno shrugs. "Who taught Mirabel how to make coffee, and how is it better than Juli's?" he asks. Augustín chuckles, and Félix allows himself to relax, just a little.
"Is it really that much of a problem?" he asks, his voice smaller than he means it to be. Bruno visibly resists the urge to hunch in on himself, rolling his shoulders and turning his attention back to his mint.
"I haven't seen anything," is the first thing he says, and they both know he's referencing his gift. "But I've struggled with the whole eating properly thing all my life. I know what it's like to be hungry, and not be able to eat, even when there's food right there in front of you. Not that Camilo is starving-" there's an almost biting tone to the word "-but there's no reason for him to have to be hungry. We have plenty. And-" Bruno hesitates only briefly before continuing "there's no reason for him to feel guilty about asking for seconds if he's still hungry."
That doesn't really answer Félix's question, but Bruno is already up and scurrying across the yard after one of his rats before he can say as much.
They both watch him give chase for a while-the rat does not seem at all interested in being recaptured.
"Julieta still struggles with the fact that Isabela was going to marry Mariano even though she didn't want to," Augustín says comfortably. "Still feels like we should have known. We're her parents, after all. How could we not have known?"
The admission doesn't really make Félix feel any better.
Camilo's eating habits, Dolores quickly realizes as her brother clears his plate, looks up first at Mamá, then shifts his gaze to Tío Bruno, are going to be the theme of the day.
Their tío doesn't miss the glance in their mother's direction any more than he misses it when Camilo turns back to him; he wordlessly leans forward to add more food to the boy's plate. He doesn't look at either of her parents as he does it, but there's a set to his jaw and a glint in his eye that defies anyone to comment.
"Gracias, tío," Camilo mumbles, blushing and refusing to meet his eyes.
Bruno nods, offers a curt "de nada," and goes back to eating as if it's perfectly normal for him to serve his sobrinos second helpings without being asked.
Antonio looks up from his own plate. "Can I have more rice, Tío?" he asks, and Bruno obliges, mostly because he can't say no to her hermano. The fact that it helps draw attention away from Camilo is only a bonus.
"Gracias, Tío," Antonio says. Picking up his fork he adds, "Eloise says she's not going to apologize for running away until you apologize for trapping her under your blankets this morning."
Bruno snorts. "I told her to stay off the bed while I was trying to make it," he protests, more amused by the whole affair that annoyed. "She didn't listen. In fact, she all but threw herself into the middle of the bed from the top of the dresser right as I was spreading the blanket across the bed. If she ended up trapped it was her own doing. And anyway," he says, pausing to take a small bite, chew thoroughly, and then swallow before continuing. "She wasn't actually trapped. I immediately pulled the blanket off her and spent the next half hour checking to make sure she was all right-and she was more than happy to let me fuss over her . She didn't bite me until after I put her down-I had to put her down-have you ever tried brushing your teeth with a rat in one hand?"
"Yes," says Antonio, matter-of-fact, surprising a genuine laugh from their uncle. Antonio smiles up at him, though Dolores isn't sure he knows why the man is laughing. "Mama says it isn't sani-sani-it's not clean, though."
"It's not," Tío Bruno agrees, slightly exasperated, "which is why I had to put her down."
It's nice to see Tío joining the family meals. And actually eating. And talking to members of the family instead of hiding himself away. Dolores just worries about how much all of this is costing him.
She knows he's not sleeping-again, not that she's trying to eavesdrop. Beyond that-
He's been very, very careful about what he says and what he does, even when he's alone, and even when he's in his room, and Dolores is sure it's because he knows she can hear him.
It worries her, mostly because of what she can't hear.
For as long as she's had her gift-as long as the miracle has been with them, she's been an unwilling witness to the unpleasant reality that is her tío's gifts. The headaches, the vomiting-hell, the crying and screaming and begging for it to stop-she's always been able to hear it before, no matter how much either of them wished she couldn't.
Now, though?
Nothing.
He hasn't been sick. Hasn't had any involuntary visions (the ones he couldn't control were always the worst).
Hasn't had any visions at all.
She wants to be happy for him, wants everything to be as it seems, wants him to be able to be with his family, to be able to laugh and joke and eat with the rest of them, wants all this to be real.
She wants so badly for it to be real.
But she can't help but worry, because her Tío spent ten years in the wall suppressing his visions to the point that by the time Mirabel found him he hadn't had even an involuntary one in years. Because the man once suggested himself that he always though his true gift was acting, and because even though the salt is right there, he hasn't so much as glanced in the general direction of it or the sugar bowl since he entered the room, hasn't rapped on a single door frame since the miracle returned, and not once has she heard even a whisper of the old rhyme he's always been so fond of repeating.
Sana, Sana, Colita de Rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.
Maybe she's getting all worked up over nothing. She hopes it's nothing, she really does.
She just doesn't think it is.
Bruno stands in one corner of the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter while Luisa helps her mother with the dishes.
"Gracias, mija," Julieta says, smiling up at her middle child. "It's not necessary-apparently your uncle is more than capable of helping with the dishes, when he feels like it, but I appreciate it all the same."
"I can boil water too," he points out. "Does this mean that you'll let me make my own tea, if I feel like it?"
Julieta chuckles, because even from across the room it's obvious that he's taken the comment in the spirit it was intended, and is cheerfully throwing it right back in her face.
"I promise I won't set myself on fire," he adds and, hearing the sudden seriousness behind the words Julieta turns, only to realize that she can't read his expression at all.
"Go ahead," she says, testing the waters. She's pretty sure he knows she's watching out of the corner of her eye as he fiddles with the stove, but her brother doesn't comment, and when he does not, in fact, manage to set himself or anything else on fire before returning to his corner to wait for the water to heat, she turns her attention back to the sink.
The water's ready by the time the sink is empty, and Julieta takes over at the stove while Bruno grabs mugs and spoons-three of each-and asks Luisa how the rat he gave her is doing and whether it's having any problems with her leg.
"Her leg's as good as new, Tío," Luisa tells him, reaching for the tea leaves and looking around for the sugar. "You wouldn't believe how fast she is-or how high she can jump. She made it from my bed almost up to my shoulder, all in one leap the other day."
"So she just likes the attention, then," Bruno says as he, too, looks around for the sugar. "I had a rat once that saw me fussing over his brother-got his front paw broken in a trap-and immediately started limping as if he, too, had broken his paw. I swear to you, cariña, he walked with a limp for the rest of his life. Nothing wrong with him-he just wanted attention. As if I didn't already spoil the lot of them."
The story gets a small smile from the girl, one that immediately disappears when he offers her a mug. She looks surprised, then hopeful, then guilty.
"I should probably-"
"Spend time with your old uncle Bruno who hasn't seen you all day?" he asks, picking up the sugar bowl. "You're right. One spoonful, or two?"
"Um, none." Luisa blushes. "I mean, I don't really put sugar in my tea, Tío."
"Still?" he asks, offering the sugar to Julieta, who is still trying to figure out what could possibly cause her daughter to feel guilty about being invited to join them for a cup of tea. She takes it automatically as he shakes his head. "You kept losing your baby teeth because the adult ones were coming in. The caramel had nothing to do with it."
Luisa relaxes just a little as her tío guides her to a seat at the table. "I know," she says, sitting down and blowing at the still steaming beverage. "I just, don't really like it in my tea. Or my coffee."
"Fair enough," he says, taking a sip of his own too hot drink and immediately wincing. "You know, just because you have your gift back, doesn't mean you have to keep working every bit as hard as you did before you lost it."
Luisa goes very still, refusing to meet the man's gaze as he reluctantly sets his tea down to cool.
"As I recall," he continues gently, "You were already feeling the pressure before Mirabel ever saw the cracks in the wall."
Julieta turns to her daughter. "Mija?"
Luisa cringes. For a moment, all Julieta can think of is Bruno, many years ago, curling in on himself as if trying to disappear every time their mother turned her gaze on him. Her daughter takes a deep breath, though, shooting a glance toward her tío, and turns to face her mother.
"Everyone else is working," she says. "Everyone else is using their gifts. Just like before. You went into town today, and yesterday, just like you always have."
"Because people still need my help," Julieta agrees. "Because I want to help them. But helping them doesn't have to mean I have to wear myself out in the process. If you're feeling overwhelmed, niña-"
"It's just that I got so far behind when we lost our gifts it feels like I'll never get caught back up." Luisa blurts. She then looks away, but not before Julieta can see the shame in her daughter's eyes, or the tears threatening to escape.
Julieta feels like she's been slapped in the face.
"You don't own anyone in that town anything," Bruno says, his voice low. "Listen to me, Luisa. They are adults, and they are responsible for their own damn selves, and you don't owe them a goddamn thing."
"Bruno," Julieta scolds half-heartedly. "He is right, mija. For too long we've lived as if the well-being of every single person in the Encanto is our responsibility. For too long I took responsibility for every scrape, bump, and sniffle in the Encanto, as if my only purpose on this earth were to serve the town. We've lived our lives that way, subject to every whim and wish of the people of the Encanto, and though I'm sure they never meant to take advantage, over the years they've gotten used to us managing their lives for them. And it's too much-too much for any of us, mija. That's how we almost lost the miracle in the first place."
Luisa is crying now, and Julieta doesn't know how to make it better, or if she even can.
"Change is hard," Bruno says, turning his mug slowly in a circle, his gaze focused on the liquid within. "For everyone. Adults and children alike."
"We're all trying to figure this out," Julieta admits. "Pepa and I, your sisters, your cousins, even Bruno here-"
"Not me," he interjects as if this conversation weren't his idea in the first place. "I'm done. I sacrificed decades of my life for this town, and for this family, and it went largely unappreciated. I'm done summoning visions of the future."
Luisa stares at him for a solid minute while Julieta tries to figure out how to salvage this and, most importantly, figure out something that will actually help her daughter.
"What will you do?" her daughter finally asks, eliciting a a wry smile from her uncle.
"Whatever I feel like," he says. "Make up stories for the rats. Cuddle Antonio. Drink way too much coffee. I've already done enough, more than should ever have been demanded of me. Actually-" he corrects himself with a shake of his head. "Not a single vision should ever have been demanded of me, just because I could see the future. It was nice of me to try, but I didn't owe it to them. And it was nice of you to help them all these years, but that doesn't mean you owed it to them then, or that you have to keep doing it now. If you want to linger over breakfast and coffee and listen to Mirabel chatter about whatever new project she's dreaming up, or sit in the sun with Antonio and the leopards, that's your business. You, too have done enough."
Luisa's crying now. Hard. She doesn't look like she believes any of it.
"If you still want to help, that's okay too," he adds, reaching out to pat her on the arm and allowing it when she drags him into a nearly bone-crushing hug instead. "But you don't have to, and even if you do decide to help, you still don't have to run yourself ragged. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, cariña."
"Maybe take a few days," Julieta suggests, because she knows her daughter doesn't do well with making snap decisions, "think about it?"
Luisa nods, letting her tío go, and Bruno slides back into his chair looking considerably rumpled, but overall pleased.
"What about you?" she asks her mother, eyes searching, and Julieta knows that whatever she says next will either save her daughter, or condemn her.
"I...I'm not sure I know either," she admits. "I've gotten used to the people of this town coming to me for every tiny little scratch. I'm not sure they need that, but I'm not sure either where the balance lies." She looks over at her brother. "You've given more than enough," she agrees, swallowing back the tightness in her throat. "Done more than enough. We all have. But I don't think I'm done yet. Maybe...I need time to figure out exactly what that looks like, for me."
"Great," Bruno says dryly, taking a sip of his tea. "We can make it a national holiday."
Julieta rolls her eyes at him before turning back to her daughter. "Why don't we both take a few days off?" she asks. "Think about where we want to go from here."
"Think about what you want for your life," Bruno puts in. "Not that there's any hurry to figure it all out. For either of you."
Luisa pulls him into another hug, and then she pulls Julieta into a hug, and if by the time the girl's gone off to bed they're both sore and their tea is cold and Julieta is exhausted-
Well. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her soul. Because she knows she's been slipping back into old habits-they all have, and as unsustainable as it was, and as terrified as she still as at the thought of what they could have lost, she keeps finding herself slipping, again and again and again and again.
Bruno smiles at her from behind his mug. It is a tired smile, worn and weary and tinged with more than a bit of regret. "Thank you," he says quietly, and for a moment all Julieta can do is stare because if anything, she should be thanking him, for tonight, yes, but also for every other time he's tried to protect one of her children, and especially for the times when he spoke up, knowing full well that that he would himself get caught in the crossfire and choosing to do so anyway.
"Thank you," she says, heart overflowing, and moves to close the distance between them.
He lays a hand on her arm, not with any kind of strength and in no way actually pushing her back, but she stops anyway.
"Your daughter has already bruised my ribs twice today, hermana," he says before surprise can give way to hurt. "And, if I'm being honest, I've had enough coffee today that I'm pretty sure I can hear the kitchen lights."
She purses her lips, allowing herself to pout just a little bit because he apparently was more than capable of ignoring the lights for his daughter's sake-not that she could ever truly resent him for that-and shrugs. "Fine, then," she huffs.
His eyes widen, but it's already too late. She reaches out, ruffles his hair, pats him on the head, and smiles. "My little Brunito. My Brunitito. Mi hermanito Bruniti-ti-ti-ti-ti-tito."
He rolls his eyes at her, but his lips quirk up into a brief if genuine smile.
"Good night," he says, rising to his feet. "I'm going to try and get some sleep."
"Good luck," she says, grabbing their mugs off the table. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."
"Might crawl into bed with you, just to get away from the sand," he threatens good-naturedly, ignoring the fact that the last time he crawled into bed with her was because of his gift, and not entirely under his own power.
"If you want to wake up cuddling with Augustín again, be my guest," she tells him, in turn ignoring the way her heart hammers in her chest at the memory of him standing in her doorway in the middle of the night, eyes glowing, somehow trapped between two worlds-the present and the future-for the rest of the night and most of the next day.
He shrugs. "Better than Félix," he quips, and again Julieta has to ignore her heart as it threatens to claw its way up out of her throat.
"I wouldn't know," she says, getting a laugh from him on his way out of the room.
She washes the mugs, and the spoons, while she waits for her heart to settle back into her chest. Puts the tea things away while waiting for it to slow. Wonders how long she can pretend that her brother's words aren't a knife in her chest, twisting and tearing away at a wound that never fully healed.
Maybe it makes it easier for him, to speak so openly and so lightly of the past, but for her-
It's killing her.
Disclaimer: Disney's Encanto does not belong to me.
Author's Note: For anyone who might be even remotely concerned, don't worry. We're not abandoning Seer Survival Guide. It's actually finished (maybe? sort of?). I figure I'll post a chapter a week, so keep an eye out for future updates.