Chapter Text
Abuela remembers how her heart had stuttered so when she saw Bruno again, emerging from the brush in all his lovely, eccentric glory. immediately defending their Mirabel and putting himself on the line for her. Again.
She'd not wasted a moment embracing him, something in her cracking and dissolving the moment she felt her son in her arms again.
It felt like she could breathe again.
Oh, how she'd missed him. How hadn't she realised it before?
What she does realise when she pulls back to kiss his cheek, however, is that there are prominent bags under her son's eyes, almost purple with what she assumes is from night after of simply worrying over his family.
She spots with ease the worry in her daughters' faces when they see him, later, when they begin to rebuild the house. As mothers, now, they were bound to notice what Alma herself had noticed before.
Considering the strange, chaotic state of things, though, she decides to let it go, at least until the house had been rebuilt.
After a long, wonder-filled week, the house was finished, and Antonio handed Mirabel the gold doorknob the family had made, just for her.
To remind her just how important she was to the Miracle, to the town, to the familia.
Then Mirabel slotted the new doorknob into place at the front of the house, eyes wide and heart swelling with fondness for her family.
They watched as the house to came alive with magic again, gold swirling and stretching into the raw lines and cracks of their new home, molding it into something more beautiful than it had ever been before.
Abuela took Bruno's hand again, smiling when she glimpsed his startled expression from the corner of her eye, and felt herself smile wider, felt her heart flutter again.
The famliarity of the casita pushing them all in, Mirabel's triumphant, "c'mon in, familia!", had Abuela's eyes stinging with happy tears.
Her heart ached fondly as she watched casita gently tug Bruno away from her and into the open courtyard, happily receiving him back again, like she'd missed him most out of everyone.
She nearly laughed, too, at Bruno's surprised face, especially as his sisters embraced him, gently leading him by the elbows back to Alma by some unspoken agreement.
Her heart squeezed a little at seeing her son's wide, tired eyes, still wary of her responses to him. She slipped a hand back into one of his, using her other hand to fondly stroke at his hair.
He couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her; it seemed as if he'd almost stopped breathing entirely.
"I- um," he stuttered quietly, swallowing hard. "I don't understand. Do I do something?"
Alma didn't think it was possible to miss something as small and simple as a lisp, but there it was again: so adorable, so small, and so distinctly him, that Alma found her heart nearly bursting with joy at merely hearing her son's voice again.
"No, Brunito," she assured him gently. "Only something I have failed to do for you."
He glanced back at his sisters, who still had a gentle grip on him, then craned his neck to look back at the rest of the familia, excitedly exploring their restored house, all wonderment and thrilled shouts.
"What- what's that?" Bruno asked, brow furrowing as he looked back at her.
She took a breath, deciding to simply show him. If she told him directly, he might refuse the offer, and then she wouldn't know how on earth to breach the subject again, even as important as it was.
"Let's go find your room, hm?" she suggested, gently tugging at his hand.
"Oh, no, Mama," Bruno protested, and Alma's heart nearly burst again at the familiar endearment. "No, maybe we shouldn't."
"And why is that?" Julieta spoke up to Bruno's left.
"Um. . ." Bruno's eyes darted around, scanning the groud absently, obviously trying to come up with an excuse on the spot.
"Y'know what? I'm hungry, we should eat!" He exclaimed, trying to yank away from the three women and towards their new kitchen.
He didn't make it very far.
His sisters stood firm, gentle and determined. But Bruno was quickly dissolving, his face falling as he exhaled a shaky breath. He looked down at his shoes, his frame beginning to shudder the smallest bit.
Alma squeezed his hand- both gentle and encouraging- but her voice was firm. "Bruno," came her soft warning, searching for his gaze when a tiny whimper escaped him. "Tell me what is wrong. Please, mijo."
He refused to lift his eyes to look at her, like he was ashamed of the answer. She saw his free hand move up a little, then fall back to his side, indecisive.
"Brunito," she prompted gently, and he lifted his eyes a little, just enough for her to notice tears slipping down his cheeks. His shoulders were hunched up over his ears, now. His hand trembled in Alma's grip.
Finally, he whispered, softer than she could ever remember hearing him, "I'm sorry. I don't think I can make it up those stairs again. Not right now."
He sniffled, still staring resolutely at the ground. "I'm tired, jefa*," he murmured hoarsely, shakily trying to pull his hand away.
She let Julieta take his hand from her, watched as her son's frame shuddered with silent, frightened tears, and his sisters moved to embrace him.
They could see the way he tensed up at the contact, like he wanted nothing more than to run away, and yet still desperately longed to melt into their embrace.
She'd told she wasn't upset with him, not anymore, that she was delighted to have him back. But it would take time for him to comprehend it, much less accept it, she knew.
Nearly thirty-five years of expectations' war-torn impact wouldn't heal in a matter of hours, or even months.
"Bruno, chiquito," Julieta whispered to him, cupping the side of his face. He leaned into it, eyes slipping closed. "If we find your room you can rest."
"No, no I can't-" Bruno pleaded, his breath hitching and chest tightening.
He felt raindrops sprinkling on his head, and it took him a moment to remember Pepa's gift. Instinctively, he reached out for her hand, wanting to comfort her.
Alma smiled sadly, braved a careful step towards her children. She stood beside Julieta so she could look Bruno in the eyes, gentle and sincere.
"If you cannot walk up those stairs, you can sleep in my room. Okay, mijo?"
Bruno eyes went wide again, spluttering wordlessly for a moment, "Uy, que?"
Alma laughed brightly, amused at the confused outburst. She took his hand from Julieta's, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.
"You need to sleep somewhere," she told him, resolute. "And I refuse to make you walk all those stairs again."
"Well, that's good,:" Dolores' voice rang out, quiet yet resounding like it always managed to. She was grinning, eyes bright with delight as she stood at the top of the main stairs. "'Cause his room doesn't have stairs anymore."
"What?" Bruno startled, wide green eyes darting away to look at his niece.
Abuela tugged at his hand, "Well, then. Let us see this new room of yours."
"Um, o-okay. Woah," Bruno murmured, stumbling a little as Alma tenderly pulled him out of his sister's grip and towards the stairs.
She stopped when he stumbled again, though, only halfway up the stairs. She guided him to lean against the railing as he caught his breath, trying in vain to blink away the dark spots crowding his vision.
He was panting now, grip tightening in Abuela's hold and eyes squeezing shut in obvious pain.
She shot a worried glance at her son and waved Camilo over urgently. She gestured for him to take her spot, reassuring Bruno with steadying hands on his thin shoulders.
Camilo was more than happy to help, expertly shifting into a duplicate of Agustin and taking to Bruno's side. His tio groaned softly, coughing a little as he stumbled up the rest of the stairs with Camilo's help.
Dolores took up Bruno's other side as soon as they reached they reached her at the top, rewarded with a raspy "thank you" from their Tio.
The room was unexpectedly bright and beautiful.
Green carpets layered the small floor, and the green chair from his hideout was sitting innocently by a window, courtesy of Mirabel.
The windows themselves were tinted green, with fresh palm trees growing just outside of them (Isabella may have taken the liberty to decorate once she'd found the room).
There was even a tiny wooden house sat next to his chair, ready to house as many mice as came in to visit.
And Bruno was exhausted. Far too exhausted to properly react at all, but his mumbled, "Thank you, casita," before pulling away and collapsing face-down on his new bed spoke for itself.
Abuela settled on the edge of the bed as everyone filed out quietly. She slipped off his sandals as she stroked Bruno's hair, that gentle smile gracing her face again.
She draped the small blanket from the end of the bed over him, watching as he relaxed more, brow smoothing out and hands finally unclenching.
He mumbled incoherently, sighing and leaning into Alma's hand, just a little bit.
"Would like me to stay, Brunito?"
He breathed out shakily, trying to steady himself, but then he was wiping at his damp cheeks, face burning red in embarrassment.
He felt like such a chamaco, but-
"Please?" he pleaded, peering up her shyly. Because everything in him was bursting with the need to have his mama close, just for a little while. Just for this once.
"Of course, mi vida," she said, gathering him up in her arms and holding him close, blanket and all. She cradled his head against her chest, the way she used to when he was just a little nene, thumbing at the tears still slipping down his cheeks.
"You should rest, corazon," she whispered, soft and gentle.
He was quickly losing the small dredges of energy he had left in him, it was easy to tell. His entire frame, tall and lean, was hunched in over itself, too tired to sit up properly.
He rubbed at his eyes again, his head resting heavily on her chest.
Still, he protested, voice quavering terribly, "Mama, the familia-"
"We are safe now, Brunito," she soothed, rubbing a line just behind his ear, where she remebered he'd seemed to like as a small boy. "Mirabel, our miracle, she saved us. We are not okay, but we will be, in time. Do not worry for us right now, mijo."
He was silent for so long that Abuela thought he might've already dozed off.
But then he was nodding widely and nodding, finally allowing himself to slip away, into the peace of sleep.
Alma smiled softly, petting at her son's hair again and watching fondly as he leaned into the touch, a small smile on his own face.
It was good to be home.