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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.

Chapter Text

"Mama."

Abuela felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. She sat up a little, seeing Julieta sitting on the bed in front of her. There was a too-warm weight on top of her.

It took another several moments before she remebered where she was: in Bruno's new room, holding him as he caught up on much-needed sleep.

"Mama," Julieta said again, breathing out a small sigh of relief, but her eyes were still wide with worry, brow furrowed in a frown. She kept her voice low, still, "Mama, he's shivering."

Alma's heart stuttered. She looked down at her son, who was indeed shivering, eyes screwed shut in pain. Julieta already had her hand pressed against her brother's forehead, eyes crinkling in the corners with a motherly sort of worry.

"He has a fever?" Alma murmured, noticing now the sweat beading on Bruno's face and the red splotches staining his gaunt cheeks.

Her daughter nodded, threading her fingers into Bruno's. He respond beyond another harsh shiver, whimpering softly in the back of his throat.

"Get your sister for me. I'll try to have him drink some water," Alma instructed, her maternal instincts rising like a soothing fire within her.

She'd taken care of ill children before, she would do it again.

"Casita?" She called, holding out an expectant hand.

Instantly, there was a glass and bowl of water beside her. Julieta was gone in a matter of moments, eager to let Abuela take over.

Abuela shifted enough to pluck up the glass of water, then turned to her son, who was still passed out, breaths heavy and wheezing.

"Bruno," Alma called gently, cupping the side of his face.

It seemed she was not the only one vying for his attention, because the next moment he was huffing out a breath, eyes wide in terror. He gripped at Alma's dress desperately as tears slipped down his cheeks, struggling to breathe.

"Mama," he rasped, hands trembling terribly. "The vision- Mirabel-"

She rubbed his back, hushing him gently and letting him grip her hand as he rode out the residual fear of the nightmare.

"Deep breaths, Brunito," she whispered, tenderly stroking his flushed cheek. "We are all safe. I promise."

Julita and Pepa walked came, then, eyes widening when they saw their shaken brother. They joined the two on the bed in an instant, emracing him as well.

He cried silently as he felt their warmth surround him, whimpering and trembling all the way.

He couldn't think. The world was spinning all around around him and he felt so heavy, like gravity was making an extra effort just to keep him tethered to the ground.

His lungs burned as he wheezed, only barely registering the bodies pressed against him, soft and warm and oh-so comforting.

He'd had nightmares like this before, of course. He'd had them when he'd been sick, too, in his little hideaway. But he could never remember feeling this awful. Not physically, at least.

He's dizzy, and nauseous, and tired, and he just wants to sleep. He can't think- the nightmare is absolutely crowding his head, shouting like thunder in the midst of a storm, and he just wants to not feel so scared anymore.

In theory, he can register the things his Mama is saying to him- something about the familia being safe- and he knows now that they are, knows that he had even been there to help them pick up all the pieces at the very end. 

But the nightmare in his mind's eye is just so vivid, and he can't think and-

Oh, God, the familia Mirabel, the miracle-

Everything around him was falling to pieces. There was nothing that could stop it. No Miracle, no vision, no last-minute epiphanies-

He made a keening noise, scrambling to pull his hood over his head, because he needed to escape, please let him escape-

A hand held his tighter, stopping him, another stroking gently at the nape of his neck, and oh-

That felt nice.

He felt the tears slipping down his cheeks, suddenly, felt how knotted his stomach was, how much his lungs were still burning.

He's having a panic attack, he realises dumbly. He's gripping Alma's hand and at her fancy dress cloak, and oh God, he hopes she won't berate him later for getting her dress wet and wrinkly and-

But she seems to be fine with it, because she's gripping his hand back, and there's a hand in his hair and rubbing at his back, and- right- one stroking the back of his neck.

A desperately relieved sob escapes him when it hits him- this time coherently and warmly- that he isn't in the crumbling folds of the casita anymore.

He's in his own room, a new one that's much smaller and so much nearer to rest of his (notably safe) family, and doesn't have stairs anymore-

He let out a long, controlled breath, albeit incredibly shaky. He repeats these things to himself until his heart stops trying to race its way out of his chest, and his lungs stop burning so much.

He's still crying pretty badly, because he's tired and his heart absolutely aches, but he knows that his familia is safe. That knowledge alone lessens a lot of the anixety angrily trying to claw its way up his throat.

So he goes limp against Alma again, only weakly grasping her hand now, his energy drained, even more than before.

"Bruno," Pepa tried after a few moments, casually swatting at a tiny cloud that had begun forming over their heads. "Drink some water for us?" she prompted.

"Mhm," he hummed, letting his sister tip the glass back against his lips so he could drink.

". . . Do you want to talk about it?" Julieta asks when he's done. He shakes his head immediately, breath hitching painfully at just the thought of having to relive the dream.

"Okay, okay, it's alright. We don't need to," she concedes easily, holding her hands up a little in surrender. But she's smiling fondly, moving her hand to brush some stray hair out of his eyes, and Bruno deflates in relief.

He smiled back at her, sniffling a little and looking around at them shyly. "Thank you," he whispered, ears going red at the tips.

"You should go back to sleep, chico," Alma told him after letting her children sit in comforting silence for some time. She frowned when her son shook his head, sniffling again. He was looking down at his lap, picking nervously at the fabric of his pants.

She lifted his chin, and he met her gaze reluctantly, eyes glittering with tears. "You are ill, Brunito," she murmured, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "You need to sleep."

"And we'll be right here the whole time, okay?" Pepa promised.

He swallowed hard, but nodded after several moments, looking away from Alma again.

She held her son closer, fussing with his blanket until she was satisfied that he was warm enough, then watched as her son drifted back to sleep.

When Bruno woke again, it was dark and he was laying on his side, pressed against something warm. He shifted a little, letting out a small whine when his head rebelled against the movement.

Bile tingled at the back of his throat again, an almost metallic taste coating his tongue.

"Hermano?" A soft voice asked, somewhere in the room. "Are you awake?"

He felt someone sit on the end of the bed, and hand touched his blanketed leg.

His eyes finally adjusted to the dark, and he squinted, "Agustin."

"Hey, manito," the man smiled kindly, just as kind as Bruno had remembered. "It is good to see you awake again, my friend."

Bruno smiled back at him and looked around, realising that he was tucked againt Julieta's side, Pepa curled up on his other side.

"Where's-"

"Ah, Abuela told me to tell you she needed to rest for a little in her room. Her back was beginning to bother her," Agustin reassured him.

He cocked his head, brow furrowing in worry now, "Are you feeling any better?"

Bruno thought for a few moments, taking stock of himself, then shook his head, grimacing.

"Well," Agustin rubbed at the back of his neck, a tad awkwardly. He held out a cup to Bruno in offering, "Would you like some water, at least, then?"

Bruno sat up carefully, propping himself up on his elbows, taking the water with a rasped thanks. Both men watched as Julieta shifted a little before settling, her face calm and relaxed.

Agustin's face fell a little at the sight, but there was a glimmer of hope there, too, Bruno noticed. Like he'd watched something gone wrong but it had all worked out in the end.

"This is the most relaxed I've seen her since. . ." he trailed off, glancing sadly at Bruno. He rubbed at the back of his neck again, "Well, you know."

Bruno felt guilt curl in his stomach, the bile in the back of his throat threatening to rise again.

"It was always so difficult to get her to sleep," he told Bruno, slowly rubbing his knee in thought. "It- she was-" he stumbled on his words, letting the silence stretch between them. Bruno's stomach twisted more, guilt jumping up to squeeze his heart now.

"She was always so worried for you," Agustin admitted quietly. Bruno's eyes stung with unshed tears, and he swallowed hard, tightly gripping the cup in his hands.

Agustin looked up at him then, fondness and kindness startlingly raw in his eyes, "Please, do not misunderstand," he put a gentle hand on Bruno's wrist. "I don't blame you. I only wish our family did not have to be broken in this way."

"Yeah," Bruno said quietly, tracing the rim of the cup. "Me, too."

"We all missed you, Bruno. Truly, we did," Agustin said earnestly, and Bruno's eyes stung again. He swiped at his eyes and took another sip of water.

"I'm glad to be back, then, I guess," he smiled, rubbing at his tired eyes.

"Do you need to sleep, again, my friend?"

Bruno was reluctant to nod, but his eyes were heavy, already trying to slip closed, and his head felt light with exhaustion. He was vaguely aware of Agustin taking the cup from him as he settled back into Julieta's side.

He heard some soft, encouraging words above him, and then the darkness took him.

He only remembers waking a couple times after that, and everytime, his head is spinning,his throat burns, and his very bones ache.

He distinctly remembers one time that he's awake, already sitting up. He's still pressed against Julieta's side, but this time he's breathing hard, his skin is crawling horribly, and his stomach is twisting insufferably.

He remembers hugging his stomach tightly, trying in vain to stave off the inevitable. His stomach churned, head still spinning and heart beating loudly in his ears.

He remembers her soft, concerned voice as he grips the sides of a bucket, finally vomiting- and the dry-heaving- for what feels like an eternity.

He remembers gasping for air, hot tears slipping down his cheeks as someone rubs his back, trying to soothe him.

Finally, his body relents, and he falls back against his sister, panting hard and eyes squeezed shut in pain. He falls back into the beckoning darkness.

He wakes a different time, and this one he remembers well because of how hard he's shivering when he wakes.

There are blankets piled on top of him, trying to trap the heat seeping out of his body, but they're practically obsolete. He remembers gritting his teeth, hot tears doing nothing but to sting his cold cheeks.

He remembers a warm hand pressed to his burning forehead, shuddering when the warmth seeps into him- tantalising- and sobbing when it pulls away.

There are sad, concerned words above him as he trembles, and he can't help but wonder what on earth he's done wrong this time.

Why were they upset with him this time? Why?

Someone gently runs their nails along his scalp, and he sighs in relief, feeling that scarce warmth worm its way into him again.

He falls back asleep.

He wakes up alone.

Alone- it's all he can focus on.

His breath hitches dangerously, anxiety twisting painfully in his stomach, and he scrambles to sit up, gripping the sheets of his empty bed.

No no no no no-

No he can't be alone again, he can't-

He has to find somebody- he doesn't care who. Just somebody to convince him that he isn't alone again-

He pushes himself to the edge of the bed, moving to stand. His legs give out the second he tries, and he drops to the floor with a hard thump.

He doesn't hear the rushing footfalls over the blood roaring in his ears. He feels his hearbeat in his throat as his chest tightens, and he scrambles to sit up, desperate to breathe.

He pushes himself up against the side of the bed and pulled his legs under his chin, hiding his face in his knees.

He tried to gather his thoughts, to breathe. He gripped at his forearms, hands trembling.

He isn't alone. He couldn't be. He'd just been with Julieta and Pepa, and Agustin-

Had they left him?

The thought pierced into his head, abrupt and painful. He gasped in a breath ad breathed out a desperate whine, unconsciously gripping his arms tighter.

What if they had? Had he done something wrong? Why did they leave? Were they getting him back for when he'd left?

What did he do this time?!

"Bruno."

His breath hitched, mind halting for just a moment.

That- that was Pepa. She was here?

"Hey, look, chiquito, I'm right here," came her soft voice. "Can you look at me?"

He whimpered, shaking his head and pushing his face into his arms.

She was going to leave.

She was going to tell him what he'd done to hurt the family, and then she was going to leave.

He felt a tentative hand on his back, and realised suddenly how lightheaded he was.

Was he hyperventilating? Oh, right?

"C'mon, brother, let me see those beautiful green eyes."

He breathed in sharply, mind whirring and brow furrowing.

She wants to see his eyes? Even if they're glowing?

It certainly felt like they were, with how tense and hyper-aware he was at the moment.

He thought they hated his gift. He hated his gift.

"What if they're glowing?" He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear through the muffling of his arms.

''I'll still be here," she said softly.

He didn't realise he'd been crying until he peered up from his arms shyly, meeting Pepa's worried gazes, and found himself squinting at her through a blurry gaze, tears tracking steadily down his cheeks.

"There he is," Pepa said, smiling softly. "There's my baby brother."

His lips twitched up in the beginnings of a smile, not bothering with the protest in the back of his head that he was technically the same age as her.

She held out a cup of water to him. "Here," she prompted when he didn't respond, nodding toward the cup. "You need it, Brunito. C'mon."

He sniffled, sitting up a little and taking the cup with shaking hands. She cupped her hands around it, helping drink without spilling.

"Okay, now just breathe for me, Bruno," she said, helping him hold the cup in his lap when he'd finished, and exaggerating her own deep breaths.

He shuddered; his lungs were still burning. They wouldn't stop.

"I'm still here, Bruno," she whispered to him, cupping his cheek. Her eyes held nothing but kindness and concern. "I always will be."

He smiled back at her, leaning into the touch and breathing in deeply. Pepa was here, and the others were probably just somewhere else in the house, getting some rest. They hadn't left him, just the room.

"There we go," Pepa said, and a tiny little suncloud popped up over their heads.

Bruno chuckled wetly, reaching up with a shaking hand to poke tentatively at it.

Pepa chuckled, too, and the cloud grew.

"That's because of you, Bruno," she murmured, giggling.

Bruno's eyes stung again, but this time he smiled.

Chapter Text

It was a question, it was a friendly question, it was just a friendly question-

He repeated it to himself in a mantra as he hurried back to the casita, doing his best to avoid his familia when they tried to reign him into a conversation or task in the Encanto.

He had gone out that day, trying to rekindle friendships with the people he used to know so well, meet new children, help out a little, in whatever way he could.

Because he wanted to help out, he wanted to rectify whatever hurt or fear had come from his visions. They weren't really his fault, he knew, but-

It killed him to just sit and let it all play out on its own.

So he'd been helping someone hang up laundry, letting the afternoon breeze sweep calmly over him and clipping freshly washed shirts to the line as another man- his name is Pedro, or maybe Matteo, he thinks- helps him, humming some forgotten tune from their childhood.

The man isn't much younger than him, but he's young enough that he doesn't know Bruno outside of a year or so before he'd gone into hiding.

And Bruno knew it was just a conversation starter- an amiable question, really- when the man had casually asked who he thinks will win the game tomorrow. But Bruno's throat immediately squeezed in panic, even past the small laugh he forced out when the question was followed with a harmless jab at one of the teams.

He'd managed to hang up a couple more shirts before his hands were shaking too hard to hold the clip and he has to excuse himself.

He'd been much too frantic to think of an actual reason to leave in the middle of helping this man with a normal, everyday task. But it'd been he didn't need one, as the man had just smiled kindly at him, gently took the shirt he'd been holding, and sent him off with a cup of water.

Bruno isn't even sure where he wants to be- his mind is whirring too much and everything around him feels so fuzzy.

He just wants to feel safe. There's too much noise, too many people, too many watching eyes- so, he lets instinct guide him.

He finds himself in the casita, staring blankly at the painting that used to be the entrance to his little hideaway.

He set the cup down on the nearest decorative table and pulls the painting away from the wall carefully, not wanting to slip up and hurt himself with how hard his hands are shaking, still.

Expecting the hole to be gone- because they'd rebuilt the house, it shouldn't be there anymore- doesn't make it any easier when he actually sees that the wall is just a normal wall.

His heart is pounding in ears, he realises suddenly, right as he notices that his tongue has gone completely dry, and he can't breathe through the lump in throat.

He wants to go to his room, but it isn't familiar enough to him yet. He wants to find one of his siblings, but he's too overwhelmed to focus enough to find them, and he doesn't think he can very far at the moment, anyway.

He's feeling so oversensitive. His heart racing and his whole body is shaking. He doesn't know what to do.

He's terrified.

He backs up until he hits the wall and sinks down to the hardwood floor. He grips his wrist with one hand, the other moving to grip at his shirt.

He can feel his breathing getting faster, but it's like he's stepping out of his body, watching himself from behind a one-way window.

He can't feel his legs. He can't even remember what made him upset in the first place. He just knows that he's failing again; nothing he does will ever be good enough. They will always be angry with him.

Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he hears a voice calling out, shouting his name.

He doesn't realise they're even there, really, until there's hands on his knees, and someone is calling his name again, quieter now.

He breathes out a silent sob, pulls his hood further down with shaking hands (when had he pulled it up?).

"Tio Bruno, please."

Bruno pulls himself out enough to feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks and to place a name to the voice. He winces when he does, feels his ears heat up at the tips in embarassment, feels his head dip lower.

It's Mirabel. He's having one his worst breakdowns yet in front of his youngest niece. What kind of Tio was he? Awful, that's what. Awful, he's-

"-having a panic attack," he hears Mirabel say, and it takes him several moments to realise that she isn't talking to him, but someone else who's settled on the floor to his left.

He grips his hood tightly with both hands, pulls at it, lets out another sob, wishing this would just be over with already.

He forces out an exhale, swallows the painful lump in the back of his throat, and feels his fingers start to unfurl just the slightest bit. His fingers are tingling, numb with the loss of circulation.

Someone curls a gentle hand aroud his wrist, but they let him keep it where it is, just offering a simple, gentle touch. They whisper in his ear, reassure him that he isn't alone. He feels something deep in him relax: Dolores. Sweet, kind, vigilant Dolores.

He sighs out, shakily, but he feels grounded again, and the tears aren't as relentless as they had been. Something about them being there, just touching and holding him, reminding him that he's still human, does more than he could ever express in words.

Mirabel's rubbing his arm, and he can feel the warmth there, feels his breathing start to shift, slowing until he can breathe again, taste the fresh air, the waft Isabella's flowers, the smell of sister's cooking, the Pepa's happy rainclouds.

He sighs again, but this time only a little bit shaky, and it's purely out of relief. He's more exhausted than he's been in a while, of course, but it feels like he can actually breathe for the first time in years.

He sniffles and looks up, stubbornly resisting the urge to hide his face in his knees, instead making himself glance up at Mirabel, then Dolores.

He can't look at them for longer than one or two seconds, but it's enough to send them both a grateful, encouraging look before he has to look away, ears going red at the tips again.

His face burns when he tries to wipe his nose on his sleeve and Mirabel takes his hand in hers, slipping him a handkerchief that she'd probably made herself.

He takes it sheepishly, sluggishly moving to clean his face as well as he can. Dolores hands him a glass of water, helping him drink it and waiting until he was finished to speak up.

"Tio Bruno, do you wanna talk about it?"

He wants to say no, to hide again, but-

He's tired of hiding, really, and what harm could it do? Mirabel was honest, and kind, and just as vunerable as this familia needed her to be. He owed her this, at least.

He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. "Um, just. . . someone in the village asked me about the futbol game tomorrow. I-I know he wasn't actually asking, but- a part me was afraid that he was actually asking me? I-I don't know- I just got scared I was gonna have to. . . you know. . . with the visions, and the salt, and. . . Sorry."

"It's okay, Tio. It isn't your fault, okay?" Dolores told him, smiling kindly.

He nodded, sniffled again, let Mirabel take the cup from him as Dolores tugged him towards her, letting him rest his head against her shoulder.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his shoulders droop as he relaxed. And even though the ground was hard, and his eyes burned from burned from crying, and his head ached- he felt. . . safe, again.

His lips turned up into the beginnings of a genuine smile a Mirabel began hummig a soft tune, a gentle breeze kissing his cheeks.

"It's okay, Tio," Dolores whispered. "We're here. We'll always be here."