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Chapter Text

He was born in during a thunderstorm, and his cries were echoed by the sky. They gave him the name ‘Rafael’ - a hope that he would heal and be a good son of God. 

And he was. 

A happy boy, helpful. With a cheeky smile and a quick mind he was his fathers pride and his mothers hope. When God blessed the family with a little girl, he felt unconditional love for the first time. It was tested by his new sister's constant crying but he knew he would forever love her. 

It was the same when a crying baby boy was placed in his arms a few years later. So enamoured with his siblings, he barely noticed his mothers lack of energy or his fathers worried gaze. He just helped: cleaned when he mother needed to rest, cooked when she could not wake. He cared for his siblings when his father returned from work, tired and angry. 

He was the oldest; this was his family. 

His world shattered in rain. Emilio babbled downstairs while Gabby sang an off tune song. 

And Rafael found his mother dead in bed. He stared, waiting for the chest to rise, trying to see colour in the pale skin. But neither happened. 

He dropped the trey, soup falling, the mess seeping and straining the floor. 

The stain lived there long after his mothers body was gone. 

His father may as well have died that night as well. Forever in work, the senior Dias left his children on their own - but Rafael was the oldest. He would handle it. 

Just as he handled his strange tastes. While boys his age were starting to melt and gravitate towards girls, Rafael became weak at the smiles of older boys, of the heat that came from flat chests. His part time work on a building site was a blessing and a curse; money for his family, but so much warm firm flesh to avoid staring at. 

Until Jose saw him. Gravitated back, a shared looked. He was a few years older, a dreamer. He was soft and gentle and spoke of beauty in all love; of Gods joy in all his children. 

Rafael first knew real fear when his brother walked in on him and Jose…he stayed awake that night, waiting for the heavy sound of footsteps and a swinging belt. 

But it never came. 

As the three got older, independence started to nurture distance, and Rafael grew into himself more. Grew strong and bold, confident. He was liked and dependable. Reliable. 

Unfortunately so was the gossip. 

His fathers hate and anger filled the house. Screams and objects flew in the air as father realised his son was now a man and could no longer be corrected with a word or the belt. The sister, grown strong and loud, tried to control and calm, but it was too late. 

Rafael left, and never looked back. He was on his own. 

He found work. Moved. Found more work. Moved. A tired body soothed his hurting mind. 

He traveled wherever he could, trying to find something to keep him in one place. But there was nothing. He became skilled in many trades, happy to learn and start at low pay, for a chance of something new and different. 

But it was all the same. Even the hate. 

In every village, in every town and city, there were people like him. And everyone of them afraid, taking what meagre pleasure and solace they could in back alley’s and abandoned buildings. Every look of shame filled Rafael with an anger he let grow, harden him. 

It wasn’t fair. 

A nasty drunken fight with a guy about something stupid landed him in the hospital in Bogota with a split eyebrow, black eye and broken thumb. The doctor, only a few years older than him, was brisk and curt, stitching and setting him with a twist of his lip. 

Rafael wanted to punch him. 

They went to a bar instead. A secret code was said and Rafael realised he had found another one of him. 

And this one took him to a small bar, far back from the main roads. 

It was bright. Colourful. Music played. Men danced with men and kissed against walls. Women cuddled women, hands softly stroking cheeks. There was openness and hope here and it took some of the pain away. 

Beautiful creatures that shone with light, laughed and welcomed him. 

For a moment, the yearning Rafael felt was gone; replaced with wonder and belonging. 

He blew someone in the bathroom and drank to oblivion, fighting them when they tried to stop him. 

Luckily, they let him stay anyway, the glorious creature that called themselves Valentina granting him grace. 

She reminded him of his mother. She became his mother. He was devoted. 

But still he left. He came back, but he left. 

More towns, more men. A 5 month affair where he tried to be happy as a secret kept in the dark - but it fed his anger too much. 

‘You are asking for too much,’ friends said. 

‘You need to be careful,’ sister begged. 

He felt fear once again during the fire. 

A different town but the same as so many others. Beautiful people inside, hateful people outside. Stones started it, raining through the windows and letting the shouts and threats pour in. Glasses smashed, wood broke and people panicked. Then a lit bottle, its fire a sickly orange in the dark flew in and Rafael was in hell, burning up with the other sinners. 

The fire burned quickly, black smoke oozing and corrupting. Frantic cries and animalistic movements saw the patrons flee into the night, hiding and praying. 

The poor woman they killed was buried without a gravestone and no family. 

Rafael went back to Bogota, a black cloud following him. 

It was enough. It wasn’t enough. 

‘There’s a town,’ an old labourer said in one of the more remote towns. Wages in isolated areas were better, the temptation to spend lower, and risk of trouble gone. Rafael liked it. He liked the peace. 

This town, Encanto, was only mentioned. It took months before the old man looked at him and offered him more work repairing an old church there. 

‘I’m too old. They need someone reliable. Someone discreet. You can do that right?” He was asked and Rafael nearly burst into laughter. 

‘I’ve been discreet my whole life…’

The town seemed like any other…until the flowers. And the rain. And the small girl carrying a donkey. 

Rafael stared wide eyed at the old woman, Alma, as she demanded his word of secrecy. He nodded unable to speak, and decided to get the hell out as soon as the job was done. 

But…

It was magical. The girl, Isabella, she made such beautiful things and her dancing laughter made the town seem brighter. Luisa was so strong, so calm so gentle. 

Dolores scared him, but even she was a delight with her small eeps and giant eyes. 

In this place, with these bright and magical people, Rafael felt boring and invisible. A part of something bigger than himself. The Madrigals were the stars - he could fade into the sky. 

He was tired. Of moving - of searching. What he wanted, what he yearned for, wasn’t out there. 

It wasn’t anywhere. 

Rafael stayed…

Sunshine finally appeared when his sister gave him a nephew; a pink and wrinkle bundle that once in his arms reminded him of when he held his sister all those years ago. 

He lived for that child; money that used to go on drink and moving was now dedicated to the boys future. The next generation. Someone who loved him unconditionally. 

It seemed the closest Rafael would ever get. 

Xxx

Rafael watched Casita collapse with confusion and worry, running to the square with the rest of the town. 

The story that lay on the top of the hill was like something from a book. 

A Miracle , gone. A broken family reunited. A long lost relative. 

And there was work to do. Rafael could work. 

It wasn’t until the day started to draw to an end, and people started planning and looking to be practical that he was asked to do more. 

Alma Madrigal had no problem reminding him she had supported his desire to move to the town 8 years ago - and that his two bedroom home would be perfect as it would not impact on him in anyway. 

Rafael knew he couldn’t fight it. She had decided. And the Madrigals were God in Encanto. 

Her son, the bringer of bad omens who had lived in the walls for 10 years would be staying with him. 

As the group made their way downtown, the Madrigals all moving together as one, Rafael took a deep breath. It was not the brothers fault,  and he could not blame Alma for her strong arming. 

He could cope with a roommate for a while. With the disruption. 

He watched with a soft smile as the family hugged, remembering when all the children were small and wondering where the time went. He gave himself a shake and made his move:

“I’m just over here, on the edge of town. More peace and quiet that way,” he opened as Bruno Madrigal watched his family drift away to their own temporary homes. 

When large green eyes turned to face him, scared and gentle, he smiled softly, taking in the short skinny man with kind eyes. He was pale, tense, curly hair still covered in dust and his old ruana frayed and dirty. 

He looked like he needed a good home. 

“Lead the way.” 

And Bruno stayed. 

Chapter Text

He was a good boy. A good son. With his dark hair and tanned skin, he was handsome and looked just like his father. The elder, was a man who commanded respect. With his perfect police uniform, his hair carefully slicked back and powerful posture, Ari was a pillar of strength for the family.

His death at the hands of a drug cartel devastated Damien and his mother.

But he was the man of the family now, and he had a legacy to live up to.

He was smart, school was dull. He wound up the girls because it was funny and smooth talked his teachers because he could. His mother would fuss him but her hidden smile told him it was alright. He was the popular kid, the boy who would grow to be a heartbreaker. The golden child.

Damien thrived under the adoration and attention.

Church was the only place he felt small, like the child he was. That, his father up in heaven was watching and protecting him. That God had a plan for him. It gave him peace and allowed him to just exist. The quiet sounds of the church, the smell of burning candles; it was heaven on this earth.

But then God tested him.

As his body grew to a mans, growing taller, broader, he waited for girls to morphe into the sirens he was warned about. He stared at breasts and curved bodies and waited for a spark, for something to click inside him that would turn his attention to finding a wife.

But it never came. The girls were just girls. Some were great, some were not. He never dreamed of them, nor did his hands long to feel soft skin.

Instead, his dreams featured deep voices, bodies like his. His heart fluttered at the sweaty smell of men, not the delicate perfume of women. His eyes were drawn to muscle’s, hard and defined, not softness.

He grew angry. His teasing became bullying. His focus shifted to school and church; things he knew he was doing right. He was an alter boy, he prayed numerous times a day, he passed his classes.

He was lonely.

He would beg God to help him, fix it. Help him understand women and give him something that made them interesting to him. God was silent on the issue.

His servants were not.

The priest would blast sinners every Sunday. Warn his sheep of the horrors that awaited them if they stepped away from God’s grace and favour. It chilled Damien to his core to hear hellfire was waiting for him, his mother nodding along sagely by his side.

When he was 18, fresh from school and waiting to join the police force just as his father before him, a trainee priest appeared.

The old Shepard was getting older, God would call him soon and the church needed a new staff to nurture their lost souls. This new man was young, mid twenties. Sandy haired with a clean face, he seemed an angel when he spoke to the congregation for the first time; his lilting voice blending with that of choir.

Damien hated the flutter in his heart. That the devil was even here in Gods house, slyly hiding behind his soul.

But he had his duties. He cleaned the church, tidied the bibles, prayed to his father and God Almighty, thanking them. And then he went to confession.

The small, warm box soothed him. It was sanctuary in sanctuary. There was no judgement in these walls, only atonement. The familiar slide of the wooden from the lattice made him breath deep, and he caught the smell of cologne drifting on hot air.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned…”

Xxx

Damien sinned properly with the priest several months later. Alone in his office, months of tension building, it was the priest who tempted Damien with a soft hand on his chin and a tilt of his head.

And Damien realised men of God were as flawed as the rest of them.

After, soft tones promised Damien redemption, that God would forgive. They were sinners by birth. Helpless in the face of lust.

Damien saw a weak man.

He never went back to that church.

Xxx

The police force drove him, made him. It gave him status and a sense of good. He was a good man. He protected people, helped people.

Even if he wasn’t suppose to sometimes.

The whores that littered the streets at night - he asked them nicely to move on, complimenting them instead of belittling.

The pickpocket kids; he bought them a meal and took them to an orphanage, gifting them a sad childhood but one that didn’t end in a conviction.

And one day he saved a sinner…

Two men, pressed close together. He thought it was a fight at first, but as he ran closer, shouting and flashing his light, he realised where their hands were. The one guy fled, pants still open and leaving his companion to pay the price. The remaining man flinched, tried to hide his head and quickly right his clothes. Gave some crap story.

Damien knew what he saw. The bruised lips spoke to him.

He recognised the fear. The shame.

With a hard voice he told the man that he was looking at 10 years in prison.

And to be more careful.

Looking at him like he had saved his life, the man stuttered thanks and backed away, waiting for a beating to come that never did.

Damien slept easy that night.

Weeks later, the event far from his mind and lost to thoughts of his mothers birthday, he saw the man again. In daylight, he looked like any other well to do local in his suit and tie. Like any normal person.

When their eyes met, they spoke.

An offer of a coffee was made as payment for ‘our hardworking police force’. And a story was told, about a little bar in the industrial district…

Xxx

Damien prayed every day. He took care of his mother. And he went to a bar and brought men home to fuck. Sometimes not even home - the bathroom or in some rundown corner close by. It was cheap and easy. Newbies were best - they were too enamoured with the world opening up to them to want anything more than a thrill from him.

He couldn’t risk more. He couldn’t make up a cousin. He earned too much to need a room mate. He was too public, too popular.

If you asked him, he would say he was fine. That a steady sea of nameless men were all he needed. His focus was on work.

But then he would need to confess a falsehood at church.

He could not admit he wanted more. He wanted to wake up and sleep next to the same person every night. He wanted to cook and care for someone as a husband. That he wished he was brave enough to let himself feel love and not just lust.

He hoped God was kind. That he still loved him. That his lack of help was a message in itself; that he was forgiven.

God gave him friends. Beautiful sinners who showered him with acceptance. He gave him a place to act out his deviance. God gave him just enough to make life bearable .

Damien was a good man. He kept people safe.

It would have to be enough.