Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With the fall and rebirth of the miracle came the promise of a brighter future for the Encanto and all within it.

In the months during Casita’s renovation, the Madrigal family was able to connect and bond with their community members in ways they hadn’t in a long time, if ever before. Of course everyone knew each other, as is natural for a small, tight-knit community, and the Madrigals had their glowing reputation of using their gifts in selfless ways, but the period of time where they were more or less ordinary people allowed the family’s relationship with the town to evolve beyond their community service. Just about everyone who lived there helped with construction in some way or another, and from the wreckage of the home blossomed a garden of new friendships and camaraderie between the magical family and their fellow townspeople. 

Inside Casita’s walls (once it had been restored to its enchanted glory), the family itself was stronger than ever before. Each member was encouraged to embrace themselves, their own interests and emotions, without fear of disapproval or rejection. Bruno had been slowly reintegrating himself into his family who awaited him with open arms, and Alma herself, though still tight-laced as she was, had adopted a less perfection-oriented style of running the family.

Life had seemingly never been better for the members of La Familia Madrigal .

Yet Camilo, for as much as he loved his family, still felt a little outnumbered. He loved his papá and tíos, and he prided himself on being a good older brother to Antonio, but at the end of the day he didn’t have any other boys his age in the house to hang out with. It had been that way for years, and while he enjoyed spending time with his cousins and sister plenty, there were often times he felt very much like a black sheep as a teenage boy among a group of young ladies. Some areas of discussion he just couldn’t relate to, nor they to him. As was typical for him, he felt… out of place.

That was until he began clicking with a group of young men during Casita’s rebuilding, a handful of strapping and popular fellows who had done a lot of work on piecing together the new home’s wooden foundation beams. Camilo found himself gravitating to them, enjoying the refreshing new dynamics of the group, and eventually he was welcomed into their circle as a friend without any strings attached. Even after he and his family had been regifted, he still found his group to be a place where he could just be himself for a while, and everyone thought that was okay. If things were looking up before, Camilo was sure he’d reached cloud nine. He was easily the youngest among them; most of the others were in their late teens or early twenties, but Camilo considered it a source of pride to be regarded as an equal by the older, “cooler” guys of the Encanto. 

It made him feel cool, too. He already knew he was amazing, and that many others thought so as well, but having a new friend group who regularly called on him to hang out with them was icing on the cake.

Camilo left the house on a warm Tuesday afternoon for one such get-together, a birthday party for one of his mutual friends. Tomás Herrera was around Luisa’s age and wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he was well-liked nonetheless and Camilo almost couldn’t believe he’d been invited. It wasn’t his first birthday party, of course, but it was the first to be spent with his new group of friends and he was stoked. His mother had sent him off with regards from the family for Tomás, and the promise that Camilo would try to make it home in time to have dinner with his family. 

Can’t promise anything, mami, he’d thought to himself with a cheeky grin, brimming with excitement for what the night was going to hold for him.

It was fun, for the first couple of hours. Then as the sky began to darken, they brought out the bottles. Now, Camilo sat somewhat awkwardly in the middle of a room of very loud, very drunk people, bantering without filter and stumbling each time they took a step. He knew the birthday guy was pretty popular, but in addition to the usual faces, at least a dozen other people had stopped by the house to partake in the festivities. Tomás himself was about three bottles in, allowing two of his friends to drape themselves around his shoulders and sway all three of them in time to the high-energy music blaring on the phonograph. Camilo wondered if this chaos was what his sister felt on a daily basis, endless overstimulation from all sides and feeling like a sitting duck.

He was offered a shot for the dozenth time that night, which he again politely declined. He’d ventured to try the first one when it was offered, immediately choking on the fire that slid down his throat and involuntarily shifting into almost every member of the church choir. It earned some raucous laughter, but Camilo himself deemed the sting still clinging to his chest a punchline not worth revisiting.

It was about the time that a few of the men began openly boasting about their sex lives that Camilo remembered he had an out. He slid out of the chair he’d been perched on and waded through dancing partygoers, the smell of booze clouding the air to a suffocating degree, until he managed to find Tomás being poured another glass.

“Hey, Tomás, I think I oughta get going. Mamá’s going to want me home before dark, before dinner and all. Lame, I know.” He threw in a shrug to heighten his façade of nonchalance. Tomás blinked, a little hazy from the warmth in his veins, and Camilo almost wondered if he was still all there enough to understand him. But Tomás eventually nodded, setting down his cup mid-fill and stood to brush his hands off on his trousers.

“Okay. Let me walk you home.”

Now it was Camilo’s turn to blink, taken aback by the gesture. It was appreciated, but he would have felt too guilty accepting Tomás’s escort out and away from his own birthday party. He scoffed lightheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Pshh, what? You don’t have to, my house isn’t exactly hard to find. I’ll be--”

“I’ll take him.”

Attention was drawn behind Camilo to the source of the voice. There stood Tomás’s brother Mateo, a handsome man a few years older than Isabela and Dolores, seeming remarkably lucid compared to the other guests. If Mariano was the Encanto's number-one heartthrob, then Mateo easily made the top five. Dark hair in loose waves, broad shoulders, defined muscles and facial features… Camilo was honestly kind of intimidated by him. Mariano he already knew was a dork and non-threatening, but Mateo was on another level he wasn’t sure he could compete with beyond shifting into him. As such, Camilo couldn’t help but want to impress him on the occasions that Mateo accompanied the group on their outings. He wasn’t sure if Mateo actually noticed his efforts, but having him step up and offer to escort him home was a pleasant, if not unexpected, surprise.

“Huh? Really?”

“I’ll even pick up some more aguardiente from the brewer on the way back, ‘cause we’re running low.” Mateo patted his brother on the shoulder, offering a cool smile while Tomás' eyes flit to his hand. “Besides, you oughta be living it up right now manito. Don’t ditch your guests.”

“Yeah, let’s have another round!” The friend who had poured Tomás’s drink handed the full glass back to him, and with a little additional coaxing, Tomás reclaimed his spot on the couch with a huff of agreement. His friends cheered, and as Mateo led a somewhat perplexed Camilo towards the front door, Tomás offered him a wave of farewell.

“Get home safe.”

“You really don’t have to escort me, Señor.”

Mateo laughed richly at the remark, causing Camilo to sheepishly sink into the collar of his shirt. The trip from the Herrera residence to Casita usually didn’t take longer than 15 minutes, but it felt to Camilo like the path home was somehow twice as long. He rarely spent time with his individual friends one-on-one, preferring a group setting, and to say being alone with Mateo Herrera was giving him a slight case of stage fright was an understatement. But he was getting Mateo to laugh, and if there was anything Camilo could reliably count on being able to do, it was making people smile.

“Señor? Way to make me feel old, chiquito.” Mateo nudged him with his elbow, and Camilo smirked back.

“I’m just trying to be polite! Here, I’ll make it up to you.” With a characteristically dramatic spin, in the blink of an eye he’d shrunk down into the form of Señor Giraldo, who had to be at least 102 years old. He took deliberate, rickety steps, grinning up at Mateo with a perfect imitation of the old man’s wooden dentures. “See? Now I’m about as old as the trees.” He was rewarded with another bark of laughter that he couldn’t help but mirror, letting go of that form and easily bouncing back into his own.

“You’re a riot, Camilo.” Mateo chuckled as Camilo came back to himself, laying a hand on the boy’s back between his shoulder blades. Before Camilo had the chance to brush off the compliment with humor, Mateo’s hand relocated to his furthest shoulder and pulled him in until their sides were flush against each other. Camilo’s hands instinctively balled and rose to his chest as though he’d dropped something, his surprise evident in the way his brows shot up and his lips thinned. Woah, maybe Mateo wasn’t quite as sober as he’d thought. He chuckled nervously, but again he was unable to get a word in edgewise as Mateo leaned in and uttered in his ear.

“Hey. Before I take you home, I wanna make a detour. There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

“Show me? ” Camilo had given up trying to act casual. Usually Camilo was the one showing off and showing people tricks, and it wasn’t often the tables were turned on him. Not to mention, it was Mateo of all people who apparently not only had something he wanted to share with him, but he’d also been sitting on it for a while. Perhaps Camilo’s efforts to impress him had paid off! He gave a crooked smile, excitement rising within him again. “Wow, uh, sure! I’m down.”

Mateo smiled, his eyelids lowering.

“Cool. Follow me.”

He led Camilo towards the nearest way off the main path, diverting their route to the backroads and further out towards the edges of town.

“Woah.”

The walk to their new destination was much longer, the terrain less even and the pathway lacking the illumination of street lamps as the main road had, but a trek through patches of trees and along a portion of the river finally led them to an abandoned water mill a far ways out from the rest of the town. The whole building was in sorry shape, and the two young men had to navigate through a series of busted hallways to find themselves in some sort of office room. Camilo was busy exploring the ramshackle space, fascinated by the disrepair, while Mateo leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“You ever been here before?”

“Nope. Abuela never wanted us around here, she said it was dangerous. I always wondered what it was like, though.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. Just a little spooky, right?”

“I guess so. Why’d they stop using it?”

“Your cousin redirected the river to be a little closer to everything else, so they built the new one there.”

Camilo hummed. That made a lot of sense… it must have happened before he was old enough to actually go out and play on his own, as this mill had always been run down as long as he could remember. Mateo continued, knocking against a rotten section of wall.

“This one just kinda fell by the wayside, but the wheel’s still been going this whole time. Hear it?” He pointed up and they both tuned in to the ambience, the sound of rushing water easily filling the silence.

“Yeah… it’s kind of noisy, actually.” Camilo noted. He turned around to further observe the scenery, not noticing the small grin inching across Mateo’s features as he hummed in agreement. Camilo furrowed his brows, taking in the splintered debris and broken glass littered throughout the room. Windows were shattered, any furniture left behind overturned and in pieces strewn over the concrete floor. The walls were overtaken by graffiti, painted and carved by young daredevils in years gone by, the blank spaces between claimed by mildew and dirt. The last time he was in the middle of a building this wrecked, it had been in his own home. The memory wasn’t a fond one. The place was utterly dilapidated, forsaken and left to rot, the wheel outside continuing to turn with the earth until it too would eventually dissolve and fade away.

It was unsettling.

The longer they spent in that room, the more a creeping sense of dread began to coil itself inside him and settle in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was just the eeriness of the building itself, or the uncomfortable reminder of what it was like to be standing among wreckage, but a nagging at the back of Camilo’s mind told him he shouldn’t be here. Like something bad was going to happen if he stayed there too long.

Well, his curiosity had been satiated. It was time to leave.

“Anyway, is this what you wanted to show me? It’s pretty neat.” Camilo kicked a loose chunk of rock across the floor, holding his hands behind his back. It wasn’t wrong, for as weirded out by the place as he was. And he appreciated Mateo giving him the chance to check it out, whereas his older family would have scolded him for even suggesting giving it a look. 

“Actually, this is only part of it.” Mateo shifted from where he leaned against the wall, and Camilo pursed his lips and bit back the urge to complain. It looked like he wasn’t going to be getting out of there just yet. His attention was drawn to Mateo taking another step closer to where he stood, his thumbs hooking into his pockets and his stance lax. But when he spoke again, Camilo’s piqued interest was stunned in a way not even his uncle could have predicted.

“You oughta take off your ruana first, though.”

Huh?

“My…?” Camilo frowned, gripping the yellow patterned fabric draped over his torso. Take it off? Here? In this dingy, dirty old shack? That seemed like a bad idea. Camilo didn’t distrust Mateo, but that inkling of dread inside his core seemed to inch a little higher at the idea of parting with his beloved poncho.

Mateo could sense his reluctance and shrugged his shoulders, offering up his hands as a show of deference. “Just a suggestion. It’s not necessary.”

At first Camilo was relieved, until he was gripped by the thought that maybe his hesitation came off as a sign of disrespect. What was he implying, that he didn’t care about what Mateo wanted to show him? That he didn’t trust him? What if he just blew his chance to prove he could roll with the older crowd? And things had been going so well… He wasn’t sure what to expect or why it would require him to take the ruana off, but he wouldn’t know until he let things take their course, right?

It’s not that hard of a request, Camilo, he mentally berated himself. Just take it off.  

“No, it’s, uh… sure. Okay.” His desire for acceptance won out over his intuition, and he slipped the article over his head and off entirely. The chill of the evening soaked quickly into his body without the protective woven layer, but he tried to shake off the shiver that ran down his spine. Laying the ruana carefully on a nearby slab of cement he asked aloud, “What for?”

The shadow on the wall shaped like Camilo doubled in size. As Camilo straightened once more, he became very aware of Mateo standing directly behind him, firm hands planting themselves on his shoulders and hot, liquor-laced breath against his neck.

“It’ll just get in the way.”

Chapter Text

Camilo suddenly felt very small.

The feeling of unease inside him spiked to uncomfortable levels. Alarm bells went off in his mind that told him he’d done it now, that he was right to be hesitant and he should have trusted his instincts. His breath hitched in his throat as Mateo’s thumbs pressed firmly into his shoulder blades, dragging through the muscle that had tensed considerably in the last minute or so.

“What are you doing?” The attempt to sound more curious than accusatory was only mildly successful, as there was a waver in Camilo’s voice that he couldn’t shake out. His hands grasped feebly at the front of his shirt, and he found himself wishing he still had his ruana - it was just one more layer of cloth, but it was his armor, as much a part of him as his hair or freckles or Gift. 

“It’s just a massage, duh,” Mateo said, squeezing his shoulders once more.

“I know that, but…” Camilo grunted with a wince. Weren’t massages supposed to be comfortable? His mom seemed to like them a lot, but this didn’t feel very good to him.

“Listen,” Mateo dipped his head down further just beside Camilo’s face, his voice low and coaxing. The smell of booze on his breath was overpowering, forcing Camilo to turn his head away. “I know how hard you Madrigals work. It’s admirable how much your family does for the people, honestly. That’s why, between you and me, I think you deserve a little rest and relaxation now and again. Don’t you think so too?”

Camilo arched away from the hands now gripping below his arms, his faith in Mateo dwindling with every knead into his ribs. It wasn’t that he disagreed with his point, he loved himself plenty of time to slack off and enjoy the day in his own way, but getting enough rest wasn’t as much of an issue as it had been in years past. The whole family had been granted much more leeway in terms of breaks and days off since the miracle’s restoration, his abuela had made sure of that.

Still, that was a bit of a mouthful, and Camilo's ability to speak was somewhat compromised by the pressure inching further down his sides. 

“I-- I guess,” he stammered, “but that’s…”

“Then relax. Just sit tight, I’ve got just the thing to make you feel good.”

The heavy, murky feeling in Camilo’s core began to seep outward, engulfing everything from muscle to tendons to nerves, paralyzing him under the hold on his waist. The whiplash from how he’d felt earlier that evening, so pleased to hold Mateo’s attention and earn his favor, compared to how he felt now nearly made his head spin. He’d spent so long hoping he and the other older guys around town would like and accept him, and now any admiration he had for this man was crumbling rapidly into something more akin to how a rabbit would feel when cornered by a fox.

He felt like a fly caught in a web, with the spider just over his shoulder.

“Um… I appreciate it, but this,” he swallowed thickly, straining a nervous smile, “this is a little much, don’t you think?” Maybe if he played it off light-heartedly, things could still be salvaged. It’d be weird after this, for sure, but maybe this was all some big misunderstanding that could blow over with time. Mateo was his friend, wasn’t he? Surely he could recognize when a bit was going too far.

But Mateo didn’t answer. Instead he took a firm hold of Camilo’s hips, keeping him locked in position, his thumbs now pressing into the small of his back. He leaned down once more as Camilo squirmed under his hands, murmuring against the shell of his ear.

“I’ve always thought you were a pretty little thing, you know. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long while now.”

A shiver traveled from Camilo’s ear all the way down his spinal cord. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing, only to be grazed by what had to be Mateo’s lips ghosting over his goosebump-riddled skin.

Friendship be damned. Camilo had taken as much of this as he possibly could, and he’d reached his limit.

“I… I don’t think I like this. I should go.”

“Just be patient. It’ll kick in soon.”

With little warning, one hand glided over the front of Camilo’s trousers and took hold between his legs.

“Mateo!” Camilo yelped, more shrill than he would have liked. “H-Hey, stop, you can’t--!” Attempting to jerk his hips away from the unwelcomed touch only heightened the friction there, sending jolts of searing electricity through him in a way that made him gasp. From that point of contact something began to bloom within him, something gnarled and viscid, dripping tendrils slithering and coiling and coating his innards with tar.

Mateo’s palm ground against him and Camilo saw stars, a noise he’d never heard himself make before escaping from the depths of his chest. 

Move. Shift. Run. Do anything, just get away. He was rooted to the spot, bones welded to the floor, unable to budge despite his brain demanding it do so. The best he could do was clutch Mateo’s wrists in a weak attempt to stop his roaming touch, an effort thwarted immediately as the other hand slipped up the untucked side of his shirt.

“Sto-- stop it!” Camilo bit his lip, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. This is wrong, his mind hollered, this is so wrong, but no matter how much he writhed and resisted, the hands remained. They remained, agitating the twisted mass of grime in his core, inciting the awakening of something new altogether - which, to Camilo’s horror, felt some semblance of good.

“Look at that,” Mateo hummed complacently, “hard already. You're a virgin, right? Perfect. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Camilo could hardly pay attention, Mateo’s voice muddled in his ears beneath his own heavy breathing and distressed mewls. He could feel his face growing warm, sweat beginning to bead on his brow and an equally sickly heat building and rising within him. His eyes shot open and he cried out when the hand that had been groping him plunged beneath his waistband, claiming its prize. He couldn’t look - refused to look - even when he felt the cool air on newly exposed skin, and he tried desperately to imagine himself somewhere else, somewhere far away from there and from him.

“See, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“No…!”

“Liar.”

Each stroke was like the stab of a dagger, each glide of fingertips over flesh left a wake of decay and rot that spread through Camilo’s body like an infection. That heat was boiling now, scorching him from the inside out. He visualized himself running back home, into the open arms of his family, each member a flower petal shielding him from the thorny briars entangling him now.

He had to try one more time to get through to him. He couldn’t take it anymore. Camilo looked over his shoulder at Mateo directly with flooded eyes, searching him for any indication that he would listen, that he would realize how much he was hurting him and feel remorse, that he would just stop and they could both leave pretending none of it never happened.

“Mateo, please, let me go,” he begged, struggling to speak between whimpers, “I don’t want this. I want you to stop. Please, please stop.”

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Mateo’s tone was serene, as though intending to be soothing, “Let’s finish you off, then.”

Despair crashed over him. It was as though he hadn’t spoken at all, his pleas for mercy falling on intentionally deaf ears. The first tears finally spilled over, rolling down Camilo’s cheeks in large drops as it hit him that there was no salvation for him now.

The pace quickened. Camilo was unable to control the noises spilling from his mouth, strange and foreign sounds he hardly recognized as belonging to his own voice. A horrible concoction of sensations churned in the recesses of his body, slugs coexisting with butterflies, pleasure thrumming in time with revulsion. Whatever was brewing within him was reaching its peak, and in a last desperate measure he squeezed his eyes shut and abandoned the remnants of his pride.

“He-help…” 

I don’t care who sees me like this. Dolores. Mamá. Papá. Someone. Anyone. It doesn’t matter, someone hear me and help.

Someone help.

Help.

“Help--!”

His mind went blank. All at once what had been churning and roiling within him surged, tearing its way violently out of his body, so quickly his knees buckled beneath him. Without thinking he turned his head into Mateo’s neck, a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail wrenching itself from his throat.

“That’s it, buen chiquito,” Mateo purred, holding the spasming body against himself until climax had taken its course. After what felt like eons he finally released his hold on Camilo completely, dropping him like dead weight onto his knees to admire the essence still clinging to his fingers.

When Camilo could breathe again, his tattered mind scrambled to piece together and process what had happened to him. He was just coming home from a party. Why did this happen to him? What had happened to him? Why him? Why hadn’t he just listened to his gut and gotten out of there when he had the chance? Why did he trust Mateo so blindly? What was he supposed to do now?

A cool breeze that swept through the room hit his skin, and with a start he realized he was still exposed. He quickly shoved himself back into his pants, fumbling frantically with the zipper, as though if he didn’t hide himself fast enough it would start all over again. Even when concealed again his hands remained there, shielding his lap from any further ambush, while behind him Mateo flicked what remained of the residue onto the ground.

“See? I told you, you had to wait for it.” 

Camilo didn’t move, terrified to turn around and remind himself of what that man looked like.

“Why did you do that to me?” Camilo’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, glazed eyes staring at the wall ahead of him, “I told you to stop. Why didn’t you stop?”

“I couldn’t stop before we got to the good part.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, prompting a sharp jolt from him. “Consider it a favor, from me to you. A pretty generous one, at that. You liked it, I liked it, todos ganan.”

“No,” Camilo shook his head, clutching the hem of his shirt, “No, you’re wrong. I didn’t…”

Mateo rolled his eyes with a light scoff, taking a knee next to Camilo and ignoring the way he recoiled from his proximity.

“Camilo, don’t play dumb. Your own body doesn’t lie. Look.” He motioned to a spot on the ground a few feet away. Camilo shook his head again, purposely turning his gaze anywhere but where Mateo pointed out.

For the first time that night Mateo’s face dropped from his usual cool demeanor to a narrow-eyed frown. “I said look, ” he grasped Camilo’s chin and forced his head in the right direction. Camilo whined but relented, blinking fresh tears out of his vision where they collected on Mateo’s fingers. The spot in question was a spatter of discoloration on the concrete, and with a growing queasiness in his stomach he realized what it was and where it had come from. 

“That right there is proof,” Mateo was smiling calmly again, as though the lapse in personality had never happened, “And besides, anyone who saw it would know how much you enjoyed yourself. Look at it this way: One, you got hard. Two, you moaned the whole time. And three, you came. Doesn’t get much clearer than that.” He let go of Camilo’s chin to pat him patronizingly on the cheek, leaving him to stare at the stains and ruminate over his logic. With a dark sense of triumph he could see the gears in the boy’s head turning, more tears slipping down his face and dotting the floor in front of him.

Camilo didn’t understand. Half the words Mateo had said he didn’t understand the meaning of, but more importantly he didn’t understand why, despite that, it still made sense. But it didn’t, at the same time. He knew with all his heart that he didn’t want what Mateo did to him, he hated every moment of it and wanted him to stop (he told him to stop why didn’t he stop) - but Mateo was right, in that there was physical evidence of Camilo’s own body cooperating and responding to what Mateo did to it. His own flesh, rotten and soiled as it was now, had seemingly freely given in to his whims. 

He felt like he was going to be sick. He covered his mouth with one hand, wrapping the other around his midsection and curling in on himself as small as he could go. Mateo seemed pleased by this submission and he stood, stretching casually with a hum as Camilo crumpled at his feet.

“Well, I guess you should probably get home now. You said you know your way to your own house, right?” He smirked, leaving the broken boy in the middle of the room and heading towards the lopsided doorway. Before taking his leave he paused, peering over his shoulder at the trembling figure on the floor.

“By the way, let’s keep this little rendezvous between us. Our secret, okay? And next time, I’ll make you feel even better.”

Next time. The taste of bile crept up the back of his throat.

Only when Mateo left did Camilo allow himself to shatter completely. Both arms wrapped tightly around himself in a defensive embrace and he folded like a house of cards, going from silent to sobbing in a matter of seconds. He ran his vocal chords ragged, allowing himself to be as loud as he could be - maybe then someone would hear him, as late as it was for that now. At least then his voice would be heard.

Eventually, the mill quieted once more. What had started as anguished howls had died down into the occasional hiccup, and glassy eyes gazed unseeing into the pools they’d formed on the ground below. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, his limbs having gone numb a while ago and his back starting to ache from the hunched position he’d curled into. His thoughts were scattered and fragmented, floating aimlessly in his head, but one came to the forefront:

I want to go home.

His arms detangled themselves from around his torso and braced against the ground, and he somehow pulled himself to his feet despite his legs feeling as stable as jelly. He needed to get out of there. He couldn’t be in that mill any longer. The sound of the churning water and the sight of debris and graffiti and his own fluids threatened to throw him right back into hysterics. 

Without wasting any more time, Camilo snatched his ruana and threw it back over himself, reclaiming some sense of protection as he fled from the ruins of his innocence.

Chapter Text

The wind sailed past him as he tore through the foliage of the Encanto, his shaking legs carrying him as fast as they would go. The events of the last 20 minutes were both a hazy blur and painfully clear in his mind, replaying on loop behind his eyes no matter how hard he tried to shake them out. Tears still clung to his lashes and flecked off in his wake, his sight blurred by those still unshed. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t see well; he was sure he’d lost his footing and tumbled into the leaves and dirt at least three times by now. He could fall as many times as it takes. He just needed to get home.

When he finally reached the edge of the forest closest to Casita, he stopped dead in his tracks. The smell of his tía’s cooking wafted through the air, and the end of the house holding the dining hall was abuzz with moving light and idle chatter. 

Dinner. It’s dinner time. Oh, no.  

While Julieta’s cooking was something he usually couldn’t get enough of, there was zero room in his stomach for food amidst the mire of nausea sitting in his abdominal cavity. The idea of waltzing into the house in his state, clothes mussed, leaves in his hair, and face streaked with tears, just to sit at the table with his family like nothing happened? Looking at them all, looking at his parents and his abuela in their faces, and telling them he’d let someone defile him? It nearly made him want to turn around and run right back into the trees and never come out. There was no way. 

No one could ever know about this. His family would never look at him the same way again.

Camilo quickly scrubbed his face with his ruana, hoping if he was fast enough that no one would be able to see how red and puffy his eyes were. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he emerged from the forest and towards his home in a brisk march, mapping out the fastest route to his room in his mind. Casita welcomed him by opening its doors as he approached, but the way a few tiles flapped by his feet as he entered made it clear that it knew something was amiss. Camilo ignored it and kept moving, but his perfect escape plan was met with an obstacle: his mother, standing outside the kitchen entrance with her hands on her hips.

“There you are!” Pepa heralded his arrival, a few faces from the table peering out to watch the exchange. Camilo grimaced at the extra eyes on him. “You’re late. Lucky for you we just began, otherwise there’d be nothing left for you to--”

His stride not faltering, Camilo kept his head as low as possible as he breezed past his mother with a quick and flat, “Not hungry, going to bed, goodnight.” Pepa gawked as Camilo stole up the stairs, the newly formed storm cloud over her head conveying exactly what she was feeling as the door to her oldest son’s room opened and slammed shut.

“Wha-- hey! Camilo!”

“He’s not coming?” Félix piped up from the dining hall, brows quirking for just a moment before he ultimately brushed it off. “Ah, let him be, Pepi. He’s had a long night.” Pepa stewed there a moment more before relenting, joining the rest of her family at the table with an indignant huff.

“It’s alright,” Alma assured her, though truthfully she was still learning how to let go of some more traditional stances she'd held - which included allowing the occasional skipping of the family meal. “If he won’t have dinner tonight, then we should expect him to be well prepared for breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Remind me to make double of everything in the morning,” Julieta remarked, earning scattered laughter from the other Madrigals. Pepa, on the other hand, sighed over the empty spot at the table a few chairs down.

“He promised he’d be home for dinner,” she pouted, “I didn't even get to ask him how the party went!” There was a brief pause. Another cloud formed over her head as she eyed the bedrooms suspiciously. “He’d better not be drunk.”

Julieta clicked her tongue.

“Looks like caldo de costilla is on the menu, too.”

The rest of dinner was a relatively standard, if not somewhat quieter, affair. But while most of the family partook in eating, chatting about their days, and discussing what needed to be done for tomorrow, Dolores was listening. 

Her brother’s voice was one of the easiest for her to pick out of a crowd: the sound, the tone, the intonations, every hallmark was a glowing map marker pointing right to him. Even when shifting, his nearly perfect vocal mimicry was just that - nearly perfect. Not perfect enough to fool her. He couldn’t hide from her, even if he wore a different face every hour of the day. She knew her brother’s voice well, and from hearing him speak just that small amount she knew something was wrong. There was too much rasp, too much monotone, and far too little life. He wasn’t drunk as his mother suspected, but Dolores almost wished he was. At least then she’d know exactly why he didn’t sound like himself.

She listened as well as she could, pausing her own chewing to better clear her senses and zero in beyond the enchanted door of his room.

Inside, Camilo had thrown himself onto the diamond-shaped bed in the middle of the room and bundled himself tightly in the blankets, making an impenetrable cocoon of safety to hide in. He buried his face in the plush sheets and inhaled deeply, washing away the stench of mildew and rotting wood and liquor and taking in what was familiar, what was comfortable. Flowery-scented laundry detergent. His shampoo that no one else was allowed to use. The faded remainder of the buñuelos he’d snuck to bed a few nights ago for a late-night treat. Anything that smelled like home, like his family, like himself. 

It helped marginally. But it wasn’t enough to steady his pounding heartbeat or quell the near hyperventilation constricting his lungs. He just needed to keep clearing his senses, then it would be okay. It would all be gone. He attempted to follow his own advice when comforting his mother, in those times when she felt like she had no control: Deep breath in, deep breath out.  

“Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies…” He muttered to himself over and over, wishing he could calm himself as easily as he seemed to be able to calm her. Not aiding his underlying panic was the feeling of filth that stuck to his innards like mold. His skin itched beneath his clothes, and he wanted nothing more than to tear himself open and step out as someone else, someone who didn’t look like him or sound like him or feel like him. For once he wanted to be anybody but himself.

Maybe if he took a bath, he’d feel better. More relaxed. Maybe a little cleaner, even. Reluctantly he pulled himself out of his blankets and gathered a change of clothes, before cracking open the door and peering out. 

“Casita,” he whispered, waiting until he heard one of the rafters squeak above him. “Can you get me to the bathroom?”

The house picked up on his implicit desire to get there discreetly, prompting its movements to be quieter than Camilo had ever heard them. He was carried down the hallway by tiles and floorboards that shifted beneath his feet like a conveyor belt, the stairs flattening to allow him to slide gently to the landing below where more tiles awaited to complete the journey. Casita deposited him outside the bathroom door in less than a minute - a new record, he noted. He wordlessly thanked Casita with a pat to its wall, and Casita responded by gently waving the bathroom door open and allowing him inside.

For as quiet as the exchange was, it didn’t escape Dolores’s attention. She listened to the whispers and clinking ceramic with a tilted head, hearing him steal into the bathroom. I thought he was going to bed?

For a moment, Camilo felt like he was going about business as usual. It was such a normal, mundane thing: taking a bath at the end of a long day. He’d been overdue for one anyway, always missing his window of opportunity to claim the bathroom for himself in competition with the other eleven members of his family. 

Looks like all I have to do to get dibs is skip dinner more often. 

As if.

He proceeded as he usually did, kicking off his sandals by the door before making his way to the tub and turning on the faucet. But upon noticing his reflection in the mirror he paused, taking a moment to really look himself over for the first time since earlier that afternoon. He looked so tired. His eyes were no longer puffy but his lids hung low, the borders still tinted pink. There were smudges on his cheeks, likely dirt that had stuck to the dampness on his face after--

He shook his head, turning away from the mirror. Don't think about it.

Absentmindedly he gripped his ruana, pulling it clumsily over his head, and when he opened his eyes again he saw the dirty, graffitied walls. He heard the turning water wheel. He felt the hands on his shoulders.

With a gasp he snapped back to the present, his hands clutching his ruana so tightly his knuckles were turning white. It took him a moment to reorient himself, alarm still holding strong until he realized the persistent sound of rushing water was coming from the tap he’d just turned on. He let out an exasperated groan, somewhat reluctantly tossing the ruana to the ground.

“No, no, come on,” he chided under his breath, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair, “it’s just water, don’t be like this.” Stop thinking about it. You’re only going to make yourself upset. How are you supposed to get over it if you keep dwelling on it?

Clear skies. Clear skies.

He flung off the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could before he’d try to stop himself, practically leaping into the safety of the tub. He sighed as he sank beneath the water, the warmth expectedly soothing on his aching muscles, and for a while he stayed right where he was - almost entirely submerged, only his eyes and nose above the surface. It was relaxing, as he’d hoped it would be. 

But it was short-lived, as beyond the external coziness he realized he still felt gross. Weeds had sprouted around his organs, secreting oil and grease that the bathwater couldn’t wash away. 

He forced himself to press on, lathering a rag with soap to at least try and scrub off the fingerprints still etched in his skin. This too became an idea easier said than done, as he came to find out. He had to stare at himself the whole time he washed (over and over and over again), just to make certain the hands gliding over his body were still his own. Even so, any time he’d swipe the rag a little too low or over specific spots, he’d catch himself jumping, twitching, jerking away as though his own touch was a stranger to him. It was humiliating, even if he was the only one to bear witness. It just made him feel weak.

Frustration eventually won out and he abandoned the task, hugging himself beneath the water and pulling his knees up to his chin.

“This is so dumb,” he mumbled, voice cracking, as fresh tears brimmed in his eyes. His annoyance only increased; he was so sick of crying, he'd already cried himself out enough to last him the next decade or so. But after fighting it for just a moment he gave in, laying his head against his kneecaps and allowing himself to break down once more in relative privacy and comfort, engulfed in the warmth of his home.

Dolores squeaked quietly to herself.

Camilo was still in the bathroom after dinner had ended. Most of the family had dispersed to do their own tasks or enjoy their evening free time, and Dolores had decided to take up residence on a hammock in the courtyard area to catch up on a book Mariano had recommended to her. That was the primary goal, of course, but the hammock she’d chosen was in direct view of the bathroom door; even if she didn’t talk to him directly, her sisterly instinct told her to keep an eye on him after what she’d heard during dinner.

Or at least, she’d been planning to keep an eye out, before her line of sight was broken by her mother approaching her from the side with her hands crossed over her chest.

“Alright, mija. What did you hear?”

Dolores blinked at her, humming thoughtfully. “He’s in the bath.” She elected not to mention the quiet weeping she could still hear beneath the moving water, figuring it wasn't her place to point it out - at least, not yet.

“Yes, I know,” Pepa stole a glance over her shoulder at the bathroom door before going on, “What about before he came home? At the party? Anything?”

“Nothing, at least nothing unusual.” Dolores chewed on the inside of her cheek, debating briefly on if admitting the next part was a good idea, “I have to be honest, I tuned it out sometime after the first couple of hours. They got loud.”

Pepa pursed her lips, but she softened after a second of deliberation. She knew she couldn’t have expected Dolores to be keeping an ear out on everything every moment of the day, especially with how overwhelmed she could get if she pushed herself too hard. But she and Dolores herself seemed to share a thought that neither one of them wanted to voice out loud: that something of importance might have happened when Dolores had stopped paying attention.

Dolores adjusted her spot in the hammock, sitting up a little more. “I don’t think he’s drunk, mamá. But I don’t think he’s well, either. Something seems off.”

“I thought so too.” Pepa sighed, whisps of a small cloud brewing above her head. The sudden click of a door opening caught their attention, and they both looked over to see the bathroom was now empty. Before either of them could say anything, Casita was whisking a freshly washed, dried, and redressed Camilo back up to his room as quickly as it had gotten him down there. His bedroom door opened and shut, and he was gone just as soon as he'd arrived.

The two women were left staring in somewhat impressed surprise. Eventually Dolores sighed, pulling herself out of the hammock and setting her book down.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

Dolores tapped gently against her brother’s door, pressing her ear against it to determine if he was still up and moving.

“Camilo? Are you there?” She didn’t have to ask, she already knew from the sounds of shuffling feet and rustling fabric. There was a moment of stillness before she heard the shuffling get closer, and she stepped back to allow the door to crack open. From inside Camilo peered out at her, one eye visible, his hair still damp from his bath. There was a beat where the two simply stared at one another, Dolores’s fingers steepled as she tried to decide how best to approach her concerns.

Camilo wasn’t quite as patient.

“...What?”

“I just, hm, wanted to check on you,” she chirped, “For mami, since you didn’t come to dinner. You never skip a meal, so we wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I already said I’m not feeling good. That’s it.”

“Sure, I get it. But…” Her brows knit together in concern, tilting her head, “You don’t… sound right, manito.” It was subtle to the eyes, but Dolores could hear his face twitch, and she knew she had him. “Did something happen at the party, or--?”

“No,” he answered curtly, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. “Party was fine. I’d like to go to sleep now.” He started to shut the door, but was blocked by Dolores’s foot jutting into the opening.

“I heard you in the bathroom.” She bit her tongue when she saw his face contort, shaking her head. “Not like that, I mean… it sounded like you were crying, and I just want to--”

“I’m fine,” his voice was laced with agitation, his head lowered and face concealed by hair. “Go away.”

“Camilo--”

He nudged her foot out of the way with his own and slammed the door shut, forcing her to cover her ears with a wince. She stood there for a moment, listening to him trudge back to his bed and take a seat, the sound of bedsprings shifting followed by a shuddering exhale. She frowned, knowing he was hiding something, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Resigning herself to defeat for the night, she placed her hand on his door and spoke just barely loud enough for him to hear through the wood.

“Goodnight, Camilo.”

With that, she retreated to her room and shut the door behind her.

Chapter Text

Camilo held his face in his hands, his heart pounding even after Dolores had left his door; he’d almost forgotten what it was like to have someone listening in on everything going on. If she’d heard anything that happened before he came home, she would have been upfront about it - if not have already told everyone in the family about it first. But the way she approached him suggested she had no idea what he’d been through. A part of him felt selfishly bitter that she didn’t, given her penchant for knowing everything at all times, but he knew he couldn’t realistically blame her for being out of the loop. Thinking back - as much as he didn’t want to - he was faced with the dawning realization that Mateo really had planned this out. That mill was out of the way, away from prying eyes and passersby, and it was still teeming with noise after years of decommission.

Even if Dolores had been listening for him, unless she’d been close by, she likely wouldn’t have picked up on anything out of the ordinary under the rushing water and the creak of the turning wheel. Camilo wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

Worse, he decided, lowering his hands and flopping onto the bed with a grunt. He couldn’t blame Dolores. But he could blame him.

And he could blame himself.

The blankets were pulled up and over his head as he laid there, listless, staring out at his door. He could still faintly hear the bustle of people up and about throughout the house, and a part of him wished he could peel himself off the bed and go out to join them; for as much as he rejected company at the moment, he didn’t like the solitude. It wasn’t particularly enjoyable to be alone with his thoughts during the best of times, but now there was nothing distracting him from mentally wandering back through the events of the day and playing commentator to his own life story.

He followed himself as he strolled without a care down the village’s main path, eager to spend the evening with his friends. You should have stayed home. Then none of this would have happened.

He saw himself getting off the chair and talking to Tomás, excusing himself from the party early. If you had stayed put there you would have been safe. There would have been so many people there. Your friends were there. They would have protected you. Right?

He watched him play escort, shuffling him out the door, and trailed behind with grit teeth as he and himself meandered along the path towards his doom. I can’t believe you were so desperate for approval that you would fall for all this. Where’s your dignity? You should have let Tomás take you home. Hell, you should have just gone by yourself.

He was in his own shoes as they breached the ruined doors of the mill, traversing the rundown halls, broken glass cracking beneath each step. Stop, he told himself, turn around, you don’t want to go in there, get out while you can. But he persisted, his feet taking him back into that derelict room, where he paused and surveyed his surroundings. That man was nowhere in sight. Camilo stood alone in the middle of the room for an uncomfortable length of time, silent, waiting for something to happen. 

Then he felt it - a tingle, starting in the pit of his chest. In time it began to swell, roiling inside him, crawling its way up his esophagus and lurching in the back of his throat.

He opened his mouth and leaned over, black worms spilling out in droves and splattering on the ground. Like a mass of tar they coagulated, slithering up his legs and beneath his clothes, engulfing him.

Camilo’s eyes snapped open and he rocketed upright, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Cold sweat plastered his hair and clothes to his skin, making him still feel sticky and damp even though the black mass was gone. Swallowing back the lingering sensation of wriggling inside his throat, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table and realized it had been hours since Dolores had bid him goodnight. He hadn’t even been aware he’d fallen asleep; the transition between recollection and dreamspace was so smooth he had no time to feel drowsy.

Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he took deep breaths in and out until he stopped feeling like he was going to pass out - if he did, he was sure his imagination would pick up right where it left off. Exhaustion still had a hold on him, but he wasn’t sure if he was more tired of body or tired of mind. He sat in bed for a few moments, staring at his lap, debating with himself on if he wanted to try to sleep again or if he’d just stay awake all night and deal with feeling half-dead tomorrow. 

Then, he had a thought.

Carefully he sat up, leaving the bed and summoning one of the many mirrors his room had to offer at his disposal. He wasn’t sure what was compelling him to do this. Perhaps it was sleep-deprived delirium, or perhaps it was something his subconscious wanted from him. Maybe if he had an outlet to speak his mind without actually facing that man, he’d get enough weight off his chest to fall back into a tranquil enough sleep. Maybe if it worked out well enough and he really laid into him, he’d feel better enough to forget about all of this completely. Either way, he stood in front of his mirror and tapped into his Gift, closed his eyes, and steeled himself for what he would see upon reopening them.

He felt himself changing. The texture and length of his new hair wisped over his ears and neck, his legs felt longer, his muscles felt a little more defined. He knew who he was going to be once he finally took a look, and sure enough once he’d convinced himself to open his eyes, he was greeted by a seamless replication of the man who robbed him of his peace of mind.

Well, it was almost seamless, aside from the expression of terror plastered over Mateo’s face upon seeing his reflection. That wasn’t accurate at all.

Was this what Camilo looked like now, when faced with him? What had this man done to him, to where just the sight, even the thought of him racked his whole body with fright? Camilo Madrigal was a proud young man, confident and charismatic, able to bounce back from just about anything with a smile. Where was Camilo Madrigal now, when the boy left behind in his body felt so small and helpless? Before his eyes Mateo’s face shifted from fearful to glowering, in line with the way Camilo’s fear of him was consumed by bitter, vicious resentment. He hated feeling so powerless. He hated the pathetic look of panic he’d worn seeing that face again. He hated how unclean he felt even after scrubbing himself raw. But most of all, most all-consuming, most intensely--

“I hate you,” he hissed at Mateo’s reflection, resentment evolving rapidly to blind rage as his voice heightened to a shout. “I hate you..! I hate you! I hate you!! ”

It happened too quickly for him to stop himself. In an instant he’d slammed his fist into the mirror, spiderweb cracks bisecting Mateo’s face and shards of glass clattering to the floor. The pain didn’t hit him immediately; only when he noticed the blood trailing down the splintered glass did a throbbing sting take hold and spread through his entire hand.

“Agh--! Oh, no!” Camilo was himself again, cradling his wounded hand and flitting his eyes around in growing panic. The mirror wasn’t a problem; his room’s magic was already working to put the broken pieces back into place without so much as a scratch. But his hand was an entirely different issue, one he couldn’t just slap a bandage on and go about his night. Craters glistening crimson lined his knuckles and wept openly, streaking down his arm and flooding the spaces between his fingers - and they hurt. Julieta’s room was just around the corner, but he knew she’d ask him how he'd managed to do this to himself. How was he supposed to tell her ‘I broke a mirror pretending to punch the man who--’?

He’d just have to chance leaving his room and finding leftovers in the kitchen. That wouldn’t be too hard. Or even out of the ordinary, given his track record for all-day snacking. Picturing himself in the kitchen just served to remind his empty stomach that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch, and it complained with an aching twinge. But he didn’t have any more time to waste dithering about it, and with his usual swift stealth he’d made it to the kitchen with hardly a sound.

Now, the real hard part was figuring out where his aunt had stashed the leftovers. She’d grown wise to his scavenging ways years ago, and had a variety of different hiding places to deter him from this very thing - sneaking to the kitchen in the middle of the night to snack. Practical in the best of times, but very inconvenient when he had an emergency to deal with. He muttered to himself as he rifled through bins and cabinets, searching for anything Julieta had made that he could use to--

“Camilo?”

Camilo jumped nearly three feet in the air, spinning around to see Agustín standing in the kitchen doorway in his pajamas, blinking at him curiously. Oh, crap! Camilo floundered, remembering a few seconds too late that his hands were stained with blood and there was no time for him to shift the damage out of sight - Agustín was already approaching, putting on his best ‘time to bond with my teenage nephew’ smile.

“Hey-hey, sobrino, I haven’t seen you all night! You weren’t at dinner, and…” Agustín trailed off, eyes zeroing in on Camilo’s busted hand. Camilo grimaced, expecting him to run for his wife and blow his cover. But instead, Agustín rather calmly surveyed the wounds from his angle and commented, “Oh, geez, that looks bad. Hang on.”

Agustín began rummaging through the cabinets himself, humming absentmindedly all the while, leaving Camilo staring at him dumbfounded.

“You’re not, uh… freaked out?”

“Oh believe me, I’ve seen plenty of blood in my life, chico. Most of it mine,” he chuckled sheepishly. 

Camilo considered it. That checks out, actually.  

Agustín pulled a rag from one of the drawers and ran the tap over it, squeezing out the excess and handing it to Camilo. “Here, for the cleanup.” He resumed pawing through the cabinets as Camilo gingerly wiped his arms and hands down, using the rag to hold pressure on the cuts as he watched his uncle search for whatever it was he sought. After a few minutes he tapped his fingers on the back of his hand, filling the silence with his curiosity.

“So… why are you in here?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you wanna know the grisly details, but…” Agustin lifted his hand to show one of his fingers was missing its nail entirely, the exposed bed still oozing, earning a cringe of sympathetic pain from his nephew. “I accidentally caught it on something in the closet while getting ready for bed, and the whole darn thing just popped right off. Stings like you wouldn’t believe! And I didn’t want to wake up your tía, so… ah, here we are!”

He pulled a lidded basket out of the bottom of a pantry, bringing it over to where Camilo stood at the counter and opening it to reveal a bounty of leftover arepas from that evening. Agustín slid a stack of them across the countertop towards Camilo, whose rumbling stomach was very much obliged, while claiming only one for himself. The two stood side by side while they ate, Camilo more than eagerly scarfing down the arepas in his stack one by one. The pain in his hand vanished within the first few bites, as did the wounds it bore, but once he’d started his hunger demanded he keep going until there were none left. They might have been leftovers, but they tasted so good Camilo almost wanted to cry (again).

Agustín meanwhile only needed one bite for a new fingernail to slide right back into place, and he decided the boy who’d gone without dinner probably could’ve used his share more than him. He tore off the portion he’d bit into and handed the rest of the arepa to Camilo, who gratefully accepted it and shoveled it into his mouth as well. Once Agustín returned the basket to its rightful place, he reclaimed his spot beside Camilo just as he was polishing off his stack.

“So,” he motioned to his nephew’s previously injured hand, “What happened there?”

A bolt of panic zapped Camilo, who realized he still hadn’t thought of a good cover story in all that time. That was the whole reason he’d come scrounging for leftovers in the first place, so he wouldn’t have had to! But Camilo was nothing if not a great actor, and on the fly he cobbled together something he was fairly sure would sound legitimate.

“Oh, uh, just… you know me, I get carried away with my theatrics sometimes. Wasn’t looking where I was going and ran right into a mirror - not my proudest moment, I must admit.” He heightened his act by leaning his elbows back onto the countertop, crossing one ankle over the other and doing his best to look like he wasn’t pulling this story out of his behind.

The explanation seemed good enough for Agustín, who nodded with an amused hum. “Jumped right out at you, huh? I know the feeling, those sorts of things tend to happen when you least expect it.” He gently elbowed Camilo in the shoulder with a smile. “You’re not supposed to inherit my genes, though, that’s kind of backwards.”

For the first time in hours, Camilo finally managed a genuine smile back. “Maybe you’re my real dad, and I’ve been living a lie.”

“Impossible. If that was the case, you’d probably be a little taller.”

“Hey!” Camilo couldn’t help snickering, nudging Agustín back in mock-offense. He then sighed, the realization he needed to cover his tracks snuffing the brief spark of peace in his mind. “Could you… not let anyone know about this?” He gave a half-hearted flap of his newly healed hand. “It’s, uh, kind of embarrassing, you know? And…”

“Say no more,” Agustín ‘zipped’ his lips shut, throwing in a wink for good measure, “Your secret’s safe with me.” The relief Camilo felt was visible on his face, a soft smile and drawn brows lighting his features. Agustín beamed, proud of his good work as an uncle, before clearing his throat and speaking again. “Hey, listen. I know I’m not your dad, but--”

“Allegedly.” Camilo grinned.

“Shush,” Agustín smirked back, but continued, “I’m not your dad so maybe things are different for us, but you’re still part of mi familia, you know? I care a lot about you, Camilo.” Camilo felt his face grow warm, his innate nature as a teenage boy squirming under such direct and heartfelt words of affection, and with averted eyes he grumbled an unintelligible thanks. Agustín recognized he was probably drowning his nephew in sap and finished off the thought with, “Anyway, all I’m saying is, you can talk to me about anything, you know? I’m an open book!”

“Copy that, jefe.” Camilo brushed off, dropping the bloodied rag from earlier in the laundry pile. As much as he was touched by his uncle’s eagerness to lend an ear, it just wasn’t going to happen. The food had healed his hand, the banter had improved his mood, but on the inside he knew he was tarnished. His soul was swamp water, sludge infested with botflies. And if Agustín were to ever find this out, Camilo was sure he wouldn’t be so proud to be his family any more.

‘Your own body doesn’t lie.’

No, he supposed it didn’t.

Eventually the pair made it to Camilo’s door, Agustín bidding him goodnight there before turning to head back to his ‘own’ room. Before he could make it very far, he was halted by a pair of thin arms wrapping themselves around his waist and a face burying itself into his back. He was surprised at first, until he heard a quiet, muffled voice mumbling into the cotton of his nightshirt.

“Thanks, Tío Agustín.”

Agustín smiled to himself, patting the hands clasped around his midsection.

“Anytime, mijo.”

Camilo almost didn’t want to let go.

Chapter Text

The first thing Camilo saw upon waking up was his ceiling. Like the rest of his room’s borders, it was an endlessly shifting and changing pattern, nebulous, shapeless. It was golden glitter whirling and stirring in black saline, glowing and unpredictable. Just like him. At least, that was how he usually felt. That morning, he wasn’t glowing so much as running on fumes. But the important part was that he’d managed to get some sleep in. His late-night congress with Agustín had managed to calm him just enough for slumber to take hold and give him a few hours of decent, if dreamless, sleep. Dreamless was fine, though - it was better than anything his subconscious could have chosen to make him relive.

But that was yesterday. Today was a new day, and today’s Camilo was a new Camilo.

He was already up and getting ready by the time he heard Mirabel’s wake-up-call knock against his door. The clothes he put on were comfortable and light, all tied together with his ruana slipped over his head, and he took a moment to make himself presentable in front of a few of his many mirrors. Alright, Camilo, he told himself as he shook out the bedhead from his curls, there’s nothing to worry about now. Time to go out there and show everybody you’re back to business as usual. 

He papped himself on the cheeks, let out a firm puff of air, and threw on his biggest, most convincing grin. 

Today will be good.

I will be good.

Everything’s good. 

On his way to the first floor he slid down the stair banister, bypassing Mirabel and giving her a playful -whap- on the back of the head as he whizzed ahead of her. He laughed off her indignant yell after him, hitting the ground running to get away from any retaliation she might have had planned. In his escape he passed through the kitchen where Julieta was hard at work, and he stopped long enough to swipe a buñuelo off the tray (he also noted that, curiously, she seemed to be making a hearty batch of caldo de costilla).

“Morning, tía,” He greeted, planting a kiss on her cheek, “Sorry I missed dinner last night. I’m sure it was just as good as it always is.”

Julieta seemed to glow, and she set her pan down long enough to touch her hand to her heart. “That’s very sweet of you, Camilo. Hopefully you’ll get your fill this morning.”

“I’m sure I will!” He said, offering her his most charming smile. He heard Mirabel still searching for him a few rooms away and made off with his spoils, stuffing the pastry in his mouth and shifting into Isabela just as Mirabel rounded the corner past him. When the coast was clear he scampered off, searching for his mom to deliver onto her the same reassurance that he was definitely, totally fine now.

When he did find her, she had been chatting with Dolores about something Camilo didn’t hear or particularly care about. He wrapped his arms around Pepa in a tight hug, making her squeak in surprise, but a rainbow sprouted over her head as soon as she registered what was going on.

“Oh! Good morning, Camilito!” She beamed, pleased to see he seemed in better spirits.

“Morning, mami,” he gave her one last squeeze before letting her go and going on his way, satisfied with his performance. 

He walked right past Dolores without so much as a sideways glance. She followed him with her gaze, pursing her lips, but ultimately chose not to address it - not now, not when otherwise he appeared to be his usual self again. But she wouldn't let it slip her mind entirely.

Breakfast felt usual as well, which was a comfort. Camilo had gotten himself a plate of his typical portion size, much to his mother and aunt’s delight, and Mirabel had managed to give him a return -whap- when walking behind him on her way to her seat. They silently antagonized each other across the table with pulled faces and light kicks on the shins, until Alma called for everyone’s attention and began to relay the family’s assignments for that day.

Camilo was only vaguely paying attention as instructions were doled out to the various family members, most of his focus spent on actually getting some proper food into himself after twelve hours with nothing but a few arepas. For a moment he himself was convinced that all was well, and that it wouldn’t be so hard to move past yesterday’s troubles.

“Camilo, I would like you to lend a hand at the Herreras’ house today.”

Dolores could have sworn she heard his heart stop.

Immediately he was overcome by a choking fit, his form erratically hopping between various townspeople ( not the Herreras anyone but the Herreras ) before he was able to control himself. His family peered at him curiously but he forced himself to clear his throat, a strained smile tugging on his lips.

“Agh, sorry, Abuela. Hahah. Come again?” Maybe he just misheard her.

Alma adjusted her shawl, eyeing him with one brow raised, but continued. “I said I’d like you to help the Herreras today. It seems during last night’s… festivities, a part of their fence was knocked down. Once we finish breakfast, please go there and help with the repair job.” 

No, he definitely didn’t mishear her. He kept his crooked smile plastered to his face, despite inwardly feeling like he could blow away with the slightest breeze.

“ ...Sí, Abuela.”

“Excellent. Señor Herrera’s back isn’t quite what it used to be, and I’m sure he would appreciate having another able body there. Now then, Luisa, do you think you could…”

Camilo suddenly found he no longer had an appetite. While the rest of the family went on listening to Alma’s instructions, Camilo stared down at his plate and tried desperately to remain calm, remain normal, remain good so no one would realize how quickly he'd started falling apart at the seams. Alma’s voice was drowned out in his head by the pounding of his heartbeat, a ringing in his ears making it difficult to focus on anything but the overwhelming anxiety paralyzing his nerves.

I don’t want to go, he wanted to stand on the table and shout. Don’t make me go there. Please. I’ll do anything else. I’ll go anywhere else. Anywhere but there.

But he remained silent, only speaking up once more to murmur along with the rest of La Familia Madrigal during their family proclamation, not even noticing the way Dolores was watching him from the corner of her eye.

Today was not going to be good.

The entire walk down the path towards the Herrera residence, Camilo was fighting back the urge to vomit. Maybe if he did he could claim he was too sick to help and he could go back home and hide. But that wasn’t the Madrigal way, no, he had a duty to fulfill to his community. And yet, his body and mind were resisting him every step of the way - his tread was deliberately shallow as were the breaths barely making it in and out of his chest, and he could already feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. A few of the townsfolk must have noticed how sickly he seemed, as a few familiar faces had stopped him to ask if he was feeling alright. He wanted to tell them no, I’m about to go help my worst nightmare rebuild a fence and hope he doesn’t put his hands on me again, but they couldn’t have tortured than information out of him. Instead he adorned his mask and told them he was fine, everything was good.

He had to be good. Or at least, he had to play the part.

Despite how much he stalled, in time he found himself staring at his dreaded destination. He felt like he was filled with iron weights as he stood outside the house, his very being bogged down by apprehension and that disgusting grimy feeling that seemed to have taken permanent residence within him now. He floundered in front of the open gate to the backyard, trying very hard to talk himself into not going in.

I'm sure Abuela will forgive me if I skip out this once. Right? Maybe? What if I go get distracted with another task and just 'forget' to make it here? They can't fault me for that, can they? 

Hesitantly, he took a single step forward.

I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this...

But what choice did he have?

The backyard had only one person in it - of course it was him, who was finishing up his work on sanding down boards for the new fence. A pile of them were neatly stacked nearby, and once he’d finished that task he turned his attention to a bucket of taupe-colored material that had a paste-like consistency. He heard movement in the yard behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see Tomás pick up the stack of wood and drag it over to where the majority of the damage was dealt.

“The mortar’s just about set,” Mateo remarked, unfazed by his brother’s declining to announce his presence, “once it’s ready I’ll get started on the brickwork.” Tomás gave a brusque hum in reply and began setting the boards in place, moving quickly to set them up to be nailed in place later.

After some time of working with little superfluous communication, an older man stepped out onto the back porch - Señor Herrera, the widowed father of two who spent many years as a mason for the town before retiring. His thinning hair was covered by a sombrero vueltiao that was faded from many years outdoors, with his deeply tanned skin covered in sunspots and age lines to match. He looked kindly. He was kindly. It was a wonder how someone like him could produce a son so thoroughly his opposite.

"Mijo,” he called to Mateo, “I sent Tomás to the hardware store for more nails. If those boards are ready, you can start to set…”

The Señor trailed off as he realized the number of people in the yard. There was a beat of silence, with both he and his eldest turning to look at the third body among them. Tomás had stopped moving, frozen in place, his back towards them and his face obscured.

Then, it clicked. “Oh!” Señor Herrera laughed, “that must be you, Camilo! Thank you for coming, and so quickly too. Your Tomás impression is quite good - you almost had me convinced he never left!” He returned inside with a wave and left the two by themselves, unaware of the situation that was brewing right beneath his nose.

Eventually ‘Tomás’ found the strength in him to get back to his job, though with the added difficulty of working with shaking, clammy hands.

“Well, well,” Mateo said after an uncomfortable amount of silence, and Camilo could hear the grin on his face.

“I’m just here to work,” ‘Tomás’ said quietly, hoping that Señor Herrera hadn’t gone too far away, “I’m here to work and go home. That’s it.”

“Hey, don’t let me stop you,” he shrugged, “That was pretty sneaky of you, though. It’s like you’re trying to hide or something.”

Maybe that was the point. His hope had been that if he worked fast enough he could get in and get out before anyone even realized he’d been there, while still keeping his promise to his abuela to help out. He wanted to be mad at Señor Herrera for blowing his cover, but he didn’t have the heart for it. He didn’t know better - or at least, Camilo hoped he didn’t. Camilo didn’t respond, instead focusing all his attention on getting the job done and praying that Tomás would return with the nails as quickly as humanly possible. Being alone with Mateo again only served to remind him of the locusts that swarmed his innards, buzzing incessantly and making it hard to concentrate on anything else. 

But maybe, by some small stroke of luck, Mateo was also trying to pretend nothing happened. He certainly seemed to be acting like nothing was amiss. Maybe there actually was a chance Camilo could escape this unscathed. And even if he wasn’t as eager to wash out the memory of last night as Camilo was, maybe nothing would happen there regardless. Maybe it was a horrible, terrible, one-off occurrence. At the very least, surely he wouldn’t try something here, out in the open, in front of God and everybody. Surely not while Camilo was disguised as his own brother.

“I thought about you all night, you know.”

So much for that pipe dream. So did I, Camilo thought sarcastically, with the feeling that they’d had two completely different experiences with significantly less broken mirrors on Mateo’s end. But he kept quiet, placing another board in line with his trembling hands, refusing to look at or even acknowledge the other man.

“And you know what? I’ll be the first to admit: I was a little tipsy, so I kind of, I don’t know, threw inhibition to the wind,” Mateo continued despite Camilo’s silence, “But I meant it when I said I’d been looking forward to having that kind of time with you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” ‘Tomás’ uttered, glancing back at the gate and wishing the real Tomás would hurry up and walk through it.

“You know,” Mateo’s voice sounded a little closer, and Camilo’s hands became even more unsteady, “You don’t have to look like Tomasito anymore. I like you just the way you are, Camilo.” At any other time, from any other person, those words would have made Camilo feel giddy. But from him they just sent a tremor through his nervous system, bringing a sensation of queasiness with it.

“Can we finish this stupid fence and be done with it?” Camilo wasn’t sure his legs were going to be able to hold him up much longer with how hard they were quivering beneath him.

“What’s the hurry? You have somewhere to be after this?”

Camilo said nothing. If he spoke what was on his mind, he was sure it would get him in trouble.

“I didn’t think so,” Mateo carried on, “Look, I get it. I know that place wasn’t exactly picturesque, or probably even very comfortable, so I’d like to make it up to you.”  

“No.”

“I didn’t even say what it was.”

“I said no,” Camilo grit his teeth, unable to bite his tongue any longer. The rancor deep within him bubbled to the surface, coming out in a seething growl. “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m not going anywhere or doing anything with you ever again. And this time, you need to listen when I tell you no.”

A hand suddenly swiped across the small of Camilo’s back. With a squawk he lurched forward, involuntarily yanked out of Tomás’s form and back into his own, and he braced himself against the unstable line of fence posts he’d set up. Before any of them could topple over Mateo was right behind him, his arms on either side of him and keeping the boards in place. Camilo was effectively boxed in, and any attempt to wriggle his way out would just knock over the posts and undo all his work - which would mean having to stay there even longer to do it all over again. Camilo choked on his own breath and covered his mouth, the presence leering behind him like it did before making his chest tighten to a painful degree.

“You’re so clumsy, it’s adorable,” Mateo chuckled, “Everything about you is adorable. Well, everything except how stubborn you are.”

Camilo hid his face in his hands, as though doing so would make him disappear entirely. “Please don’t,” he whispered as all bravado fled his soul, “Please don’t do this. Just leave me alone. Please.” Camilo felt like his lungs would collapse, his heart seeming to beat at a mile a minute and that nauseous feeling steadily growing stronger inside him. 

“Relax,” Mateo murmured, close enough to his ear to make him whine in apprehension, “What are you even freaking out about? You think I’m going to hurt you or something?” The smug aura he gave off just made Camilo shiver more intensely. There was no way he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “I wouldn’t do that, Camilo. I’m your friend.”

No! No you aren’t! As he felt the corners of his eyes begin to sting, Camilo wondered what Mateo was getting out terrorizing him like this. A twisted sense of superiority, maybe a power play by an ordinary man over someone imbued with magic? Or did he genuinely believe he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and that Camilo was the one acting out of pocket? Could it have been both? Either way Camilo hated it, he hated being there and he hated the complete lack of any control over his circumstances.

“Now listen, I’m a patient guy, chiquito, and I like myself a bit of a chase. But if you run me in circles for too long, well…” He seemed to loom closer, his voice lowering to a hush. “...I can’t say I’ll be able to control myself.” Camilo felt fingers trailing lazily over his spine and he bit back a dry sob. Mateo only seemed to smile wider. “I know you must be new to all this, but that’s what I’m here for. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

“What are you guys doing?”

Camilo gasped aloud when he recognized Mariano’s voice, his head shooting up to look back from behind Mateo’s torso. In the open gateway stood both his sister’s boyfriend with a few hand tools in a metal bucket held against his chest, and Tomás returning with the boxes of nails he’d been sent to fetch. Both of them were peering at the two inside the yard, having just walked in on the scene.

“Just straightening out these boards Camilo put up,” Mateo’s delivery was smooth and calm, hardly missing a beat, like he’d prepared himself to whip it out the second someone walked in. “They almost fell over - Lord knows I don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon setting these things back up again.” He’d moved his arms and stood back mid-sentence, and as soon as he had a path Camilo practically bolted away from him and towards the comparative safety of the other two men.

“H-Hey, good timing, heheh!” He skidded to a stop in front of them, shaking off his prior panic enough to at least look the part of someone who was okay. In truth, Camilo was very not okay at all. But he’d never been more happy to see Mariano in his life, and that fact rang true in the tense grin he forced himself to wear. “Yeah, I set up all those boards already, so we just have to nail ‘em in, right? Then we’ll be done?”

Tomás peered over his shoulder to observe the progress, nodding in approval.

Almost too eagerly, Camilo took the boxes of nails from him. “Great! Let’s get this over with!”

“So, uh, Guzmán,” Mateo asked Mariano with his hands in his pockets, his eyes half-lidded, “what are you doing here?”

“I ran into Tomás on his way back, and I figured I’d come help out too,” Mariano said, lifting his bucket of tools. He seemed to pause and consider something, before tacking on, “So I guess, if it won't be a problem, I think we can send Camilo home.”

Camilo nearly dropped the boxes, whirling back around with an expression like he'd won the lottery. “Really?!” He asked, his voice much higher than he'd intended it to be.

“Fine by me,” Tomás casually took the nails back, eyes flitting over Camilo for just a moment before regarding Mariano. “You and I can do the nailing if Teo wants to lay the bricks.”

Camilo could have collapsed from relief. If Mateo was bothered by the turn of events he didn’t show it, regarding the whole affair as though he had no stake in it whatsoever. “Sounds like a plan.” He sounded perfectly casual, but Camilo could feel his eyes on the back of his head, burning pinpoints into his scalp.

Before Camilo could make a break for it, Mariano slipped him a small envelope sealed with a wax stamp in the shape of a heart. “Could you give this to Dolores when you see her?” He asked sheepishly, averting his eyes as a slight pink hue came to his cheeks.

Camilo didn’t even care about playing messenger boy for the lovebirds this time around, he was practically vibrating with how ready and willing he was to get out of there. “Anything for you, mi amigo.” He took the letter and stuffed it in his pocket, finding it in him to at least give Tomás and Mariano a wave before high-tailing it as fast as he could off the property. He didn’t stop running, even after leaving the neighborhood completely. He didn’t know where he was going from there - he just needed to find somewhere as far away from that side of town as possible, so he could stop and collect himself without any chance of him poisoning him any further than he'd already been.

Today was not good at all, and quite frankly he felt very foolish for thinking it could be.

As expected, with three well-built young men on the job, the fence was fixed before the afternoon was over. The Herrera brothers had decided to congratulate themselves with a visit to the pub, which Mariano had politely declined to join them on. Instead, once he’d left their home, he walked a short ways before finding a quiet, secluded spot away from most of the city’s bustle. There he took a short breath, pondering the interaction he’d had with Camilo before sending him on his way.

“Dolores?” Mariano asked into thin air, knowing well that his girlfriend would drop whatever she was doing if she heard him call her name, “I think I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Chapter Text

When Camilo finally came to a stop, it was his legs that made the final decision. He’d made it out to a particularly lush portion of the hillsides surrounding the small town, and at that point the lactic acid buildup in his muscles was far too much for him to carry on. He stumbled over a shrub and that was it; he went careening into the grass, grunting and yelping as he tumbled down the slope until he finally slid to a stop beneath a palma de cera. At that point he was utterly exhausted, and he resigned himself to laying there and taking in deep breaths until his limbs stopped burning and he wasn’t quite as dizzy from the oxygen deprivation.

He probably could have laid there for the rest of the day if he wanted to. Even with his eyes closed he could see the light filtered through the palm leaves dancing over his face, the warmth of the sun soaking into his skin and the grass soft and comfortable underneath him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just laid down like this out in the open air, the wind gently rolling over him and small wildflowers woven between his fingers, and allowed himself a moment to simply be. Of course the relaxing nature of it all was somewhat hampered by how bone-deep weary he was both physically and emotionally, but if even for a moment it was a decent enough distraction from how thoroughly disastrous the morning had been for him.

Camilo cracked his eyes open, squinting through the sunbeams and watching the leaves far above him sway lazily in the breeze. He no longer felt like his extremities were going to explode, but even for as cozy as he was in that moment, the phantom touch creeping up and down his back couldn’t get him to relax for long. Thinking about it just made him feel like an idiot; how dumb did he have to be to think going to that house wouldn’t result in something bad happening again? How naïve was he, assuming it would be a one-and-done deal and that he had no further plans for him? He’d practically offered himself on a silver platter, and he was surprised that Mateo went in for the kill?

Groaning, Camilo rubbed at his eyes and made himself sit up. Adding to his shame was the fact that yet again, he simply couldn’t muster up any strength to defend himself when in the clutches of danger. He would have let those stupid boards fall if he’d known he wouldn’t have been the one to clean it up, and that Mariano was going to show up like a knight in shining armor and set him free. And even if Mariano hadn’t arrived, Camilo did exactly what he did in the mill - he’d frozen, unable to budge, just standing there as that man played him like a fiddle. 

A small inkling of filth coiled like a viper in his core, one that whispered to him that he didn’t move because he was inviting it - that because deep down in the murky bog of his soul, he did want it and Mateo had been right all along.

The thought made him want to shrivel into dust and blow away with the wind. That can’t be, he argued, pressing his palms harder into his eyes. I told him to stop. I told him no. He won’t listen. It’s not me. It’s not me…

With a long sigh, Camilo opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. If only those hands were strong enough, capable enough to defend the body they belonged to. He could be quick and agile and stealthy, but what good was being light on his feet against someone whose mere glance could leave him paralyzed? He lamented how his slender frame did nothing to help him protect himself, before bitterly acknowledging that he’d never had to protect himself against another person before. But he knew it didn’t stop at being a physical problem; even trying to confront ‘him’ in the safety of his own room, the safety of his own body was pointless when he was too weak to face him without fear.

He lowered his hands into his lap, his shoulders sagging in defeat. With a heavy heart he accepted the conclusion that all his ruminating had led to: 

Camilo can’t protect himself, because Camilo isn’t strong enough. 

Camilo can’t stand up for himself, because Camilo isn’t strong enough. 

Camilo can’t heal himself, because Camilo isn’t strong enough.

…

But if Camilo wasn’t strong enough, then he just needed to become someone who was.

Carefully he pulled himself to his feet, stretching and preparing himself for his newest attempt at regaining control of his situation. It made perfect sense to him - he’d failed in all his attempts to ward off the threat that plagued him because he’d been doing it in his own form, in Camilo Madrigal's weak little body. Of course his words had zero impact, because he wasn’t intimidating in any capacity. So if he was going to get this right and really believe in his own ability to tell that person off and really make him listen, he needed to borrow a body that could convincingly carry its own weight.

In the blink of an eye, Camilo was gone and someone new stood in his place. He looked down at his bigger, sturdier hands, balling them into fists and flexing his expanded muscles. There was about a foot difference in height, but to Camilo it could have easily been a hundred stories. It might have been little more than an illusion, just one of the many masks he wore, but already he felt a little safer being out of his own skin and in the skin of the strongest person he knew. He inhaled, and began to speak with Luisa’s voice.

“You… stay away from me,” he started in a hushed tone, taking his time to mentally psych himself up and get into character - to really feel the part of someone who wasn’t afraid. He huffed again, pushing out his chest and widening his stance. “Don’t you ever come near me again,” he continued, speaking a little louder, and slowly he began to feel a trickle of real courage enter his veins. “You touch me ever again and it’ll be the last thing you do, you hear me? Huh?” On a whim he punched out into the air, and found he enjoyed how solid it felt to do so. He soon lost himself in his fantasy, punctuating each threat with a blow towards his imaginary adversary. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, I’ll wipe the floor with you, don’t even try me! If I ever see you again, I swear, I’ll--”

“Um…”

Camilo shrieked, so startled by the interruption that his body randomly phased between various mixes of himself and Luisa before he could snap back into his true form. After regaining his balance and composure he was faced with Isabela and Luisa herself standing several feet away, confusion evident on their faces. Camilo had to fight down the urge to cringe, though already he felt the tips of his ears beginning to burn in embarrassment. Ay, Dios, out of everyone who could have caught him!

“H-Hey, there, uh-- hey!” He fumbled to find a natural-looking pose for a moment, before deciding to shove his hands into his pockets and offer them both a plasticine smile. “You two come here often?”

“Not really,” Isabela didn’t even humor his efforts, much to his chagrin, “Luisa and I just spent all morning clearing out some space for new crops.” She motioned, her hands still dusted with soil, towards a number of fresh corn plots some ways off in the distance. “We’re gonna make a few more, probably in this area.”

“I had a lot of rocks to move, let me tell you,” Luisa cracked her knuckles, then paused somewhat awkwardly before gesturing towards her cousin. “So, what, uh… what was all that you were doing?”

“Practicing,” Camilo answered quickly, then shook his head, “I mean, just, uh, trying to perfect my impressions of people, that’s all. So what do you think? Impressed, right?” He attempted to flex, though there wasn’t much of a visible change in his willowy arms. Isabela stifled a snicker, earning a pointed glare in return.

“Well, you looked like me, for sure,” Luisa put her hands on her hips, “But what was that script you were working with? Made me sound kinda violent,” She seemed more abashed than offended, giving a timid chuckle and rubbing the back of her neck, “Is that the vibe I give off to you?”

Camilo wilted, shrinking into his collar. “No, no, I’m just…” There was a beat, then he shrugged. “Expanding the role?”

“Well, don’t go too crazy, okay? Especially if you’re going to be practicing out in public,” She ruffled his hair affectionately, not noticing the way he went rigid under her hand. “You’re going to make people think I’m scary or-- or aggressive or something, you know?”

Even when Luisa’s hand left his head, Camilo still kept his gaze on the ground as a cloud of turmoil roiled in his head. “Is that a bad thing?” His voice was quiet to where it was dubious if he wanted to be heard. He picked at his fingers under his ruana, avoiding eye contact with either of them. “No one messes with you when you’re scary and aggressive. What’s wrong with that?”

Luisa and Isabela exchanged glances. Was getting messed with something he was concerned about? 

Luisa lowered herself a little closer to his level, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I mean, yeah, but that also means that even people you like won’t want to be around you. There’s no fun in that.” Camilo found himself leaning into her touch, still unable to look at her but getting much more comfort out of the simple gesture than Luisa would have realized. Unfortunately, his pride prevented him from asking her for a proper hug. She continued gently, “Being strong isn’t about making people afraid of you, it’s about using your strength for the benefit of others.”

“And yourself,” Isabela added, patting her sister on the arm.

“And yourself. Myself, I guess.” Luisa somewhat sheepishly agreed, as though that was a point she’d forgotten.

“Maybe so.” Camilo mumbled. That was something he’d always admired about Luisa, even if he never voiced it - she had all the opportunity and capability in the world to be the biggest, baddest person in the Encanto and lord her power over others, but she never thought that way. She was too humble and nice to do that. Her main concern had always been to serve and support everyone around her, to where part of him wondered if she’d ever had a selfish thought in her life. 

Not like Camilo, who only wanted her strength to intimidate and threaten. But he needed that strength, because he wasn’t enough without it. He only had interest in intimidating and threatening one man, but still - if Luisa was in his shoes (God forbid), would she feel the same way?

“And besides, primo,” Isabela offered, coming around to him from behind, “You’ve got a cousin who can throw buildings and a cousin who can throw cactuses - what do you need to be scary for when you’ve got us?”

Isabela’s hands landed on his shoulders, her thumbs pressing into the blades, and Camilo lost the ability to breathe.

“Get off me!” He whipped around and slapped her hands away, his regret instantaneous upon seeing both cousins recoil in shock. There was no controlling it; the second he felt the pressure against his back, he’d stepped out of his own mind and given his instincts the reins - at the cost of losing his grip on reality for just a moment too long. He drew away from them in turn, struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Geez, Camilo, what the Hell?” Isabela held her hands to her chest, rubbing at where he’d struck her. “I was just trying to help.”

“S… sorry,” he could feel himself start to sweat, “I, uh, just wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t mean it, I…”

“Camilo, seriously, are you okay?” Luisa’s brows were furrowed as she reached for him again, “You’re acting really weird.”

“I’m fine!” This time he evaded her touch, nervously smoothing down his hair as he backed away, “You just caught me off-guard. Anyway, ah, I think I’ve wasted enough time here. I’ve got stuff to do, you’ve got stuff to do, so I’ll just-- let you get back to it!”

“Hey, wait a sec--!”

Without letting them finish he hurriedly turned around and scuttled off, gripping either side of his head in dismay. Could he have possibly blown that any harder? He didn’t think it was possible. But one thing was clear: it was getting harder and harder to pretend everything was alright, and more and more people were beginning to notice it.

Today was a lost cause. He was just going to go home and lay low, socialize to the best of his ability at dinner, go right to bed, and try again tomorrow. Then, he swore, then he would be alright again.

He had made it back to town and was just about to reach his destination, only a few blocks from La Casa Madrigal and the sweet solitude of his room, when Dolores rounded a corner right in front of him. The abruptness of her arrival popped his self-enclosed bubble of anxiety and made him jump - by now he was kind of over being startled.

“There you are.” She said simply, holding her hands behind her back.

At that point, Camilo had no more masks left to wear.

“Don’t ask me what’s wrong.” He narrowed his eyes, not bothering to disguise the annoyance in his voice. “I’m just going home.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.” The glimmer of relief Camilo felt died right away when she followed with, “I don’t think I have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stepped a little closer. “I spoke with Mariano earlier.”

“Okay…” Camilo eyed her warily. The way she said that made him feel a little uneasy, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Mariano knew something Camilo didn’t know he knew. That train of thought was halted though, intercepted by the reminder of something that had completely slipped his mind. “Sheesh, why didn’t he just give this to you himself, then?” He produced the love letter from his pocket, scrunching his nose at it while shoving it in his sister’s direction. 

Dolores took the note and slipped it into her own skirt pocket for later. “It was easier to get you out of there if you had an errand.”

That put a crack in his shield. His alarm was immediate and palpable, his face reflecting so with huge eyes and high brows. 

“Wait, a… huh? How did you--?”

Dolores tilted her head.

“Who do you think sent him over there?”

Mariano didn’t have to wait long once he’d made his call. Sure enough, in just minutes he saw a flash of red from the corner of his eye, and turned warmly towards his girlfriend as she made her graceful appearance. Before exchanging any words the couple embraced, holding each other tenderly for a moment, before Dolores turned her face into his and sighed against the stubble on his jawline.

“Thank you for doing that, Mariano. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t have something to do, but…”

He shushed her with a kiss to her hand, making her cheeks flush a soft scarlet. “Of course, mi musa. I would do anything for you, and for your family.”

“I know,” she said, both matter-of-factly and fondly, before placing her hands on his shoulders. “But to the matter at hand: you saw something, didn’t you?”

He nodded, his own hands settling on her waist. “I’m not sure what it means, or if it was really anything at all. But it seemed a little… off, to me.”

“I’m willing to entertain anything, just to have some kind of starting point.”

Mariano decided not to mince words. “I don’t think Camilo likes Mateo. I don’t know what could have happened, but he seemed really eager to get away from him when Tomás and I showed up.”

Dolores chirped, considering it. “I was wondering. I thought he might have had something go wrong with Tomás after his party, but I didn’t even think about the brother being an issue.”

“That’s not all,” Mariano thought back to the scene he’d witnessed, his eyes traveling upwards in recollection. “When we got there, it… kind of looked like Mateo had him up against the fence. Like this--” He illustrated his point by putting both of his hands against the wall on either side of Dolores, mirroring what he’d seen. Dolores pushed down how attractive the gesture was out of context, focusing on the discomfort that Mariano’s testimony aroused within her.

“I’m pretty sure Tomás saw it too, but he didn’t say anything,” Mariano went on, forgetting the position he still had himself and Dolores in, “Maybe Mateo was pulling some kind of mean joke on him? Which I guess is why he would want to get away, but… no sé. I just thought it was kind of weird.”

“No, you’re right, it is weird.” She certainly wasn’t complaining about being boxed in by her boyfriend as they were, but imagining her brother in her place and a grown man in Mariano’s wasn’t nearly as pleasant a picture. Joke or not, something was definitely amiss - and it was enough of an issue to make Camilo act as strangely as he had been. 

She continued, nodding in affirmation. “I’ll ask him about it. If Mateo’s been messing with my brother, he’d better hope I get to him before my mamá does.”

“He’s got a letter for you,” Mariano smoldered, finally remembering their pose and milking it for what he could, “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while.”

“I’ll read it tonight,” she promised, playing along and draping her arms around his neck, “But tell me the lines that didn’t make it in before I go.”

Oh, of course. Of course it wasn’t as serendipitous as fate throwing him a bone. By no means was he ungrateful for the chance to escape, but he should have known it was a set up.

Dolores got right to the point.

“Did something happen with you and Mateo Herrera?”

The color drained from Camilo’s face. She noticed right away, as she always did.

“That, right there - that’s how you reacted this morning too, when Abuela asked you to go to their house.” She leaned in, and Camilo’s gaze became glued to the floor. He was a good actor and knew how to improvise, but Dolores knew that catching him in a lie was one of his biggest weaknesses. For as much of a mischief-maker as he could be, at heart he was a good kid who knew when to fold. At least, he usually did - this time around he seemed determined not to show his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing happened.” 

“You’re a bad liar, Camilo.”

He bristled, his heart seeming to jump into his throat.

‘That feels good, doesn't it?’

‘No…!’

‘Liar.’

“Shut up,” he growled under his breath, his fists trembling at his sides, “You don’t know anything.”

“I know that your heart rate and breathing begin to act up any time someone brings up that family. Is Mateo bullying you?” She asked frankly, taking a step forward while Camilo took one back. “Or just mean to you in general? Mariano said he saw you two in a strange position, and--”

“Just forget it.” Dolores could hear his teeth grinding in his head. “He’s not-- I just don’t like him, okay? I can’t just dislike a guy? We have to love everybody around here?”

“It’s for a reason, isn’t it?” She was trying not to raise her voice for her own sake, but his stubbornness was starting to rub her the wrong way. She’d already caught him, and for him to cling to denial this hard meant he was hiding something he probably shouldn’t have been. “Why are you being so cagey?” 

“Because you’re getting on my nerves!” He snapped, starting to march off towards his destination and trying not to acknowledge Dolores trailing after him. “All you’ve done lately is shove yourself in my business, and I’m sick of it!” 

“You know I hear literally everything, right? Like, you’ve been made aware of that at some point?” Sarcasm started seeping into her tone, matching the vitriol he was throwing her way. She followed him closely, trying to get back in front each time he diverted his path to get away from her. “I can’t turn it off, manito. So if I hear something odd, I’m going to investigate. That’s what I do, that’s why I have the power I have.” Eventually she managed to block his path again, physically stopping him by holding his upper arms. “If something’s going on you can tell me, you know that, don’t you? So just--”

“There’s nothing to tell!” Even as irate as he was, he didn’t want to wrench himself out of her grasp and risk hurting her - he still felt bad enough about Isabela. Instead he closed her off as much as he could, looking anywhere but her even as she searched for his eyes. “Now let go, I’m going home!”

Dolores clenched her teeth, giving him a light shake. “I’m trying to help you! Camilo, por Dios, just-- I’m your sister, just let me do my job!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“How am I supposed to protect you if you won’t tell me what the danger is?!”

Something about that got to him. He froze, finally looking her in the eye with a stunned expression. The change took her aback as well, and they stared at each other in tense silence as Camilo’s conscious battled within him.

You could tell her. A small butterfly of hope flitted around his heart, whispering in his ear. This could be your chance. She said she would protect you. Don’t you want to tell her?

She’ll tell everyone, the viper in his stomach hissed back. She’ll tell them all, and the whole town will know how dirty you are.

The viper devoured the butterfly. Just as soon as Dolores thought she’d gotten through to him, Camilo’s face scrunched into a scowl, cheeks flushing and shoulders tightening.

“I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone! Just-- just leave me alone and mind your own business for once in your life! ”

He spun on his heel and bolted away, leaving her in the dust. 

Dolores’s hands hung limply in the air after him, unspoken words hanging on her tongue, before she dropped her arms and turned her attention towards the cluster of neighborhoods on the other side of town. She knew what she had to do. Of course it would only make Camilo angry to find out she'd done it, but it didn’t matter - he was already upset with her, what’s adding onto that going to change? If he wasn’t going to give her anything to work with, she’d just have to go right to the source and wring it out herself.

She had to talk to Mateo.

Notes:

Quick ref I cobbled together of the Herrera brothers: Mateo is on the left and Tomás is on the right, with Camilo for scale (who would rather be anywhere else in the world--)

Chapter Text

Camilo was so tired of running. He’d done nothing but run all day, in every sense of the word, literally and figuratively, and he was completely at his wit’s end. How long could he keep this up, avoiding conversations he didn’t want to have and rejecting every hand extended to him? How many more times would he be subjected to the people he loved, the people who loved him, regarding him as they would a wounded animal? Before he’d even finished lashing out at Dolores he knew he’d made a mistake. Even as he fled from her his conscience was tearing itself apart at the seams, his desperate desire for salvation at war with the corrosive bog rotting his soul that insisted he didn’t deserve it. 

You’re so stupid. That was your shot and you wasted it, you big baby. Why won’t you let them protect you?

Be glad you did. Do you really want to admit how gullible you are for letting him do that to you? You’re not worth protecting.

The arrival back home wasn’t as cathartic as he’d hoped. The initial plan of stealing away inside and vanishing into his room crumbled as he slowed to a stop on the front steps of the house, panting in exertion with his hands on his knees. His head rose to behold the intricate carving of the Madrigal family within the entryway, twelve smiling faces welcoming any and all visitors to the abode and serving as a symbol of the family’s rebirth on a new, more stable foundation. Camilo’s gaze swept over the portrait, and as he homed in on his own likeness he was hit by a very sudden, very cold realization. 

His image was no longer smiling.

It was a subtle change, but noticeable nonetheless. Quivering fingers rose to touch the etching of his mouth, what had been a wide, impish grin having diminished to a thin ghost of a curve. His Gift, the magic that blessed his house and coursed through his veins - of course he couldn’t hide from it. It knew him more than he knew himself, and if he refused to acknowledge the strife plaguing his heart and the grime coating his framework, the magic would simply take matters into its own hands. Had anyone noticed it yet? If they hadn’t, what would happen when they did? Would it just hurt the miracle again? Camilo’s breath hitched and his vision blurred, confronted by the reality he had been so afraid to face: He was damaged, to where it impacted the picture of the whole family.

Numbly he stepped away from the front door, unable to bear looking at the portrait any longer. With trudging steps he meandered down the side of the house, one hand bracing the wall to maintain balance, all in vain as he was consumed by despair. He slumped against the wall and slid to his knees, defeated, barely containing his anguish behind his grit teeth. He’d been so close, reprieve just beyond his grasp, only to have his own cowardice tear it away from him. He’d done it to himself, and there was no going back now. He’d squandered his opportunity, for the sake of preserving what shred of dignity he could still claim he had. And even that slipped like sand from his fingers as he was wracked by the knowledge that it was already too late for him. 

“Damn it…” He choked out with tears already speckling his lap, punctuating his outburst by reeling back and pounding the wall with the flat of his fist. “Damn it!”

A nearby shutter clattered in protest.

“Sorry, sorry, Casita,” he sniffled, gently running his hand over the spot he’d hit as if to soothe the house. He mumbled a few lines of sana sana colita de rana for emphasis, and wished that healing his own pain was as easy as reciting a children’s rhyme.

Forgiveness was expressed by the same shutter waving gently, the creak of its hinges seeming to voice its concern. Camilo pressed his damp face against the brickwork, wrapping his arms around himself and pulling his knees to his chest.

“Casita…” he whispered weakly, “what do I do…?”

There was some rummaging in a window one story above him. He peered up to see a thin fleece blanket being tossed out, watching it as it fluttered down and landed perfectly draped across his back and shoulders. The gesture perplexed him at first - he wasn’t quite as good at picking up on Casita’s ‘language’ as Mirabel or Abuela were - but he had enough context clues to make an inference about Casita’s intentions: It wasn’t very easy for a house to hug a human, so Casita had to make do with its own means.

It wasn’t a solution to his problems, but it was a sliver of comfort he needed to keep from completely caving in on himself. Pulling the blanket further around his body and fully leaning his weight into the house, Camilo closed his dewy eyes and sighed.

“Thanks… Now, can you change the door back to normal?”

The shutter closed.

“I figured as much.”

The sky had started to shift to a lovely vermillion hue, the bustle of the town easing as it did when the dusk came and the residents began to close up their shops and turn in for the evening. By the light of a street lantern Dolores stood outside the Herrera residence, listening in to what she could from outside their door to gauge who was home and where they were inside the house. It wasn’t until she confirmed the sound of Mateo’s voice somewhere in there that she approached the front door, giving the wood a knock just light enough to catch the attention of whoever it was she could hear closest to the entryway. The short, slow steps suggested the gait of Señor Herrera coming to answer her call, an assumption confirmed as the patriarch opened the door with a pleasantly surprised expression.

“Buenas noches, Señor,” she greeted as softly and politely as she usually did, offering her hand to him. 

“Dolores, how nice to see you,” He accepted her hand and gave it a light shake, her skin like silk compared to his coarse and worn digits, “How are the rest of the Madrigals?”

“They’re well, thank you,” she fibbed, the image of Camilo looking utterly lost for that brief moment flashing in her mind. “Is Mateo home? I’d like to speak to him.”

“Sí, he is. Un momento,” he turned to fetch his son, but paused to offer her another kind smile. “By the way, would you thank Camilo for his help for me? And Mariano, next time you see him. Our fence is as good as new thanks to them.”

“Of course.” She bowed her head just a bit as he disappeared back into the house. Before arriving she had wondered if the other Herreras had any inkling of the situation, but her conversation with the Señor made it abundantly clear to her that he hadn’t the faintest idea of any discord going on. He was as amiable as ever, his hands warm and his grip free of tension, his heart rate steady and relaxed. The old man had no part in any of this, she deduced, and her opinion was reinforced by the sound of his blissfully unaware tone behind the door. 

{“Mijo, Dolores Madrigal is at the door for you.”}

There was a brief pause, then she heard the response from further inside the house. 

{“Got it, pá.”} 

He sounded casual enough, at least from his voice alone. If there had been any physical change, be it heart rate or breathing pattern, it was far too faint for her to pick up. Dolores wrung her hands gently as she waited, hearing his heavier footsteps saunter to the entrance, followed shortly by the door reopening and revealing him in full. He didn’t seem surprised to see her.

“Evening,” Mateo said as he leaned against the doorframe, looking down at her with hooded eyes, “what can I do for you?”

She looked up at him as he towered above her, not intimidated by the height difference. She kept her face neutral and her voice steady, masking the urgency she felt deep inside. 

“I’m going to cut right to the chase. Did you do something to my brother?”

Mateo scratched the side of his nose with his thumb, maintaining eye contact with her. “I’m assuming you mean Camilo.”

“I do. He’s been acting strangely, and I know you have something to do with it.” Her eyes scanned him intently, flitting over his features in search of any indication of panic or discomfort. “If you’ve been giving him trouble, you might as well just own up to it.”

Mateo was quiet for just a moment. Then he sighed, as though he was about to reveal something he’d been keeping to himself. “So you noticed it too, then? I thought it was just me.” 

Dolores blinked. “What do you mean?”

He crossed one ankle over the other, putting one hand on his hip as he leaned in closer to her. “Well, the first thing I noticed was that he seemed really withdrawn at Tomasito’s party. Hanging out by himself, not really talking to anybody - like he didn’t want to be there. You can ask anyone that was there, they’d tell you the same thing.”

Don’t tempt me, she thought. She recalled clearly how much Camilo had been looking forward to that party, talking about it days in advance, leaving the house with a spring in his step - only to come home a different person, in a way his Gift had nothing to do with.

“He wanted to leave early so I offered to take him home. ‘Cause he’s my friend, you know? I wanted to look out for him, make sure he got back in one piece,” Mateo continued, idly spinning the ring on his forefinger, “Then partway through, I guess he didn’t need an escort anymore and took off on his own. So I just picked up some booze and came back home, ‘cause hey, if someone doesn’t need you, what can you do?”

Dolores eyed Mateo suspiciously. Some might have questioned the benefits of having super hearing compared to something more practical like healing powers or immeasurable strength, but it was undeniable that Dolores’s power had made her very observant. She was acutely aware of the way the human body reacted to stressors, miniscule details that would go unnoticed by the naked eye: twitches, pulses, the constriction of muscles and organs, sweat rolling down the back of one’s neck. This made her exceedingly dangerous to anyone with something to hide - she didn’t need to have overheard the truth to recognize the sound of a liar. 

Despite this, as she stood on the Herreras' porch and scrutinized the eldest son, she was faced with a dilemma. Try as she might, she just couldn't pick up on anything obvious. Mateo was calm. He was collected and he looked her in the eye when he spoke, confident in his testimony. The ring spinning caught her attention, but it wasn’t coupled with any of the usual nervous tells. She wasn't sure she believed him, but there was very little in the way he talked or the way his body was operating to suggest he was evading the truth.

But she wasn’t going to let that completely sway her. Camilo himself had admitted to not liking Mateo, even if he’d refused to elaborate, and Mateo had more to answer for.

“Take it from me, Lola,” he offered, ignoring the way her nose crinkled at the nickname he had no business using, “Being a guy myself and having a little brother? He’s probably going through his ‘I hate everybody’ phase. The one where they don’t want nothin’ to do with anybody, and if you try to set them straight they just hate your guts even more.” He threw in a shrug. “Maybe he’s taking it out on me because there’s no older brother of his own at home.”

“So then, answer me this,” she pressed on, tilting her head, “Mariano said that when he came here earlier, he saw you pinning Camilo to the fence. Anything to say about that?”

“Oh, Lord, is that what that looked like?” Mateo laughed, “I was catching a few fence posts he put up before they fell over. Camilo was so quick to get in and get out that I guess he wasn’t paying attention. And yeah, I’ll admit - while I was there I took the chance to grill him a little, ask what his deal was and all.” He sighed wistfully, running his hand over his hair. “Maybe I came on a little strong, but that kid is like a brother to me. You know how it is when you’re trying to wrangle information from your younger brother, right? Sometimes you just have to get up close and personal.”

Dolores’s lips twitched. She couldn’t deny that, especially when she recalled herself practically shaking Camilo to get him to talk to her, to no avail. And yet, she wasn’t about to voice any concession to him lest he think he’d convinced her completely.

“Didn’t mean to scare him, though, if that’s what happened. You’ve gotta understand… Camilo’s pretty special to me.” It was only at that statement that Dolores sensed a change within him. His heartbeat picked up, but to Dolores’s confusion, it wasn’t the skyrocketed pace of anxiety - it was the steady rise of what she recognized as excitement.

Before she could open her mouth to respond, Abuela’s voice off in the distance hit her ear.

{“Dolores, dinner is ready.”}

Dolores tilted her head towards the sound with a squeak, taking it as her cue to end the conversation where it was. It was difficult to admit that some of the things Mateo said made sense, and even resonated with her in regards to her relationship with her brother - but there was still doubt in her heart. Mateo was persuasive and a smooth talker, but she was certain it wasn’t as simple of a matter as he was making it out to be. Camilo was dealing with something so big he wasn’t letting anybody in, and she wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions until she’d gotten the whole story.

On the other hand, Mateo had been almost too calm for her liking; he might not have acted guilty, but there was also no indication he was taken aback by her accusations that he was responsible for Camilo's state. 

That said, she would bide her time and hold onto the information she’d gotten out of Mateo for later. She’d interrogated Camilo enough as it was today, and she was sure if she got on his case any more that night he’d probably explode.

“I have to go,” Dolores excused herself without fanfare, picking up the hem of her dress and stepping off the porch. “I’d suggest giving Camilo space until he’s feeling better,” she cocked her head over her shoulder, looking him up and down with a skeptic eye, “Or until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Will do, chiquita.” Mateo waved her off, smiling cooly, “And once he’s in a better mood, he’s more than welcome to stop by.”

Chapter Text

When Camilo opened his eyes again, the sky was a mix of oranges and violets. It took him a moment to remember where he was; as he sat up a crick in his neck made it glaringly obvious he’d spent quite some time awkwardly leaning up against the wall. At least it had been comfortable enough for him to apparently have drifted off for a while, and judging from the sounds of cookware being shuffled around from inside, he assumed he’d woken up just in time for dinner. Casita seemed to have extended a canopy over him, likely to protect him from the sun while he slept, which retracted back into the wall as Camilo pulled himself to his feet. He gave the house a pat before depositing the blanket in the nearest window, letting Casita put it back in place as he steeled himself to face his family at the table. He knew better than to think he could skip out twice in a row. And even though he didn’t feel much like eating, his stomach demanded he get some sustenance to make up for the day’s exertion.

He deliberately avoided looking at the family’s carving as he entered the front door. In a further corner of the house he could see all three of his cousins engaging in a hushed conversation - Isabela caught Camilo’s eye from across the courtyard and held the contact, shutting her mouth mid-sentence. Luisa and Mirabel followed her gaze, and all three of them stared at him for just a beat before their huddle continued, seemingly even smaller and quieter than before. Camilo didn’t need Dolores’s power to know what they were talking about. With a cringe he quickened his pace, ducking into the dining hall to avoid further scrutiny, and he supposed he’d have to find time to properly apologize to Isabela to prevent her from spreading the word to anyone else.

Saying he felt pretty crummy was an understatement, but the sight and smell of the meal on the table genuinely perked him up. Bistec a caballo… one of his favorites. Was this on purpose? Who cared? Not him. It was a nice pick-me-up after such a horrible day, and it made the idea of eating that much less grueling. As was typical he was the first to his seat, and in time the rest of the family began to pile in and take their spots surrounding him. Camilo did his best not to acknowledge anyone, keeping his focus on various points around the table and ignoring the tingling that came from knowing he was being watched. 

Alma was the last to enter the dining hall. She'd gone to fetch Dolores, who came in quickly and quietly, and Alma had come in several paces behind her as though she'd been held up by something on the way in. The creased brow she wore into the room was gone by the time she took her seat at the head of the table, and with her blessing dinner began. Camilo ate, technically, but it was less ‘enjoying a meal’ and more ‘taking occasional bites when he felt up to it.’ It was tasty, as usual. He just wished he was hungry enough to properly indulge. He was lost in his thoughts, to the point he couldn’t keep his face from reflecting how he felt inside: weary, adrift, and afraid.

A few chairs down, Pepa gently nudged her husband and diverted his focus to where their oldest son sat. They observed, as discreetly as they could, how zoned out he seemed and how little light he held in his eyes. The two looked at one another, wordlessly expressing the same concern, until all attention was caught by Alma clearing her throat.

“Family,” she began, sitting straight, “I'd like to take this moment to do a brief…” there was a pause for her to mull over her word choice, “...check-in, with everyone. You have all been working very hard for our community, and I'm very proud of each and every one of you - however, I understand you all have quite a lot of responsibilities, and I’d like to make an effort to minimize whatever pressures you may feel you’re under.”

The general reception to the idea was positive, as the atmosphere of the room lightened. Camilo, meanwhile, had a sinking feeling he was soon going to find himself under a spotlight he really didn’t want to be under.

“Please take this as a time to share whatever might be on your mind, and we can discuss solutions together as a family. As our family, La Familia Madrigal. Pepa, would you like to go first?”

Of course it was going to be his side of the table first. Camilo didn’t pay much attention to the discussion as Alma went down the line, spending most of the build-up to the inevitable psyching himself up and preparing to give the performance of his life: Camilo Madrigal, starring in the role of ‘someone with absolutely nothing to hide and nothing troubling him, despite at least half of his family knowing that wasn't true.’ 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You can do this, he told himself.

“Camilo?” And there it was. Camilo hesitated before flitting his eyes towards Alma, unable to help but notice she seemed to be looking particularly intently at him. “Is everything okay? No issues with your Gift, nothing to report?”

He flashed her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nope, everything's fine with me.”

“Are you sure?”

His smile stuttered. Her gaze didn’t budge, seeming to search him for something beyond what he was telling her. In his peripheral vision he could see everyone staring at him, more than a few of them with visible concern etched in their features, and he wished he could sink into the chair and vanish, never to be seen again. But he held strong, forcing himself to focus entirely on his grandmother as he nodded. 

“Yes, Abuela. I promise.”

Her brow creased once more, but she gave him a slow nod. Just as he thought he was in the clear, she followed with, “How did it go today at the Herreras’?”

Don’t say anything, Dolores, he thought dismally as he could feel his pulse quicken. He didn’t even want to look at her, lest he be subjected to her knowing scrutiny. “It went fine. The fence looks good.” He paused, finding the energy to drape his elbows on the back of his chair and jab a cocky thumb towards himself. “Thanks to me, of course.”

“Señor Herrera was impressed,” Dolores said without looking away from her plate. Camilo couldn’t tell if she was trying to help or trying to rub it in, both options equally nerve-grating.

“Wonderful,” at least some of Alma’s suspicion seemed to be quelled as her face softened, but she wasn’t quite done with Camilo yet. She leaned in a little as she asked, “And… you are well, in general?”

The pause lasted only a few seconds, but it was absolutely suffocating. Camilo could almost physically feel the whole table waiting for his next move, and it only made him want to disappear more. He never thought he’d see the day where having everyone’s eyes on him made him squirm in discomfort. 

But the show must go on.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, I think,” he managed a thin smile, “Today was… a lot."

Alma folded her hands on the table in front of her, but with another nod she finally released him. As she turned her attention beside him to continue down the table, Camilo let out the breath he’d been holding as slow as possible so it didn’t come out as a relieved sigh. He tuned out the discussion once more and resumed his meal, picking at his plate feebly and letting his hair curtain over his face. It was like that for the next few moments, until Camilo noticed slight movement beside him - he peered over to see Antonio scooting the fried egg that had been atop his serving onto Camilo’s, carefully and methodically so as not to break the yolk.

“What’s this for?” Camilo asked, hushed. Not that he was complaining, but the egg was usually Antonio’s favorite part of this dish. “You don’t want it?”

“You can have mine,” Antonio whispered and grinned at him sweetly, in the way he did when he thought he was being helpful.

Oh, his heart. Truly Antonio’s real gift all along was the power to make people keel over from how precious he was. What’d he do to deserve such a good kid brother? It was such a small kindness but it made Camilo misty-eyed all the same. 

“Thanks, Toñito,” his smile became a little more sincere, as he patted his beaming brother atop his head and found it in him to give finishing dinner another chance.

“Camilo!”

Camilo flinched at the sound of his dad calling his name, stopping in his tracks. He was hoping he could slip away after dinner unnoticed and escape to his room, but it seemed such luck wasn’t in the stars for him. He knew he didn’t exactly do a great job of hiding his mood at the table, but he’d hoped his performance had been decent enough to get everyone off his back. Not so, apparently! He braced himself, certain he was in for a scolding for how he’d acted, and turned around with a wary, “Yeah?”

Félix stood across the way from him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and overall appearing to be not quite sure where to go from there. But after a beat he cleared his throat and opened his arms wide, beckoning with his hands.

“Ven aquí.”

Camilo looked at his father like he’d sprouted a second head.

“Papá.”

“Don’t ‘papá’ me, I’m not getting any younger here.”

You got that right, Camilo thought cheekily but held his tongue. He sighed, rolling his eyes and plodding towards Félix’s waiting arms. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this, but his feet carried him with little input from his brain - something in him really wanted to take advantage of the moment and let himself be held. Camilo slumped into his father’s embrace, grunting as he was firmly enveloped in his sturdy arms. He rested his chin against Félix’s shoulder, though he didn’t hold him back, which wasn’t a good enough compromise for Félix.

“Ay, what kind of hug is that? Give me a real one, like you actually like me.” 

Relenting with a huff, Camilo’s arms wrapped around his dad’s torso and gripped onto the back of his guayabera. He found it all a little embarrassing; Camilo was a young man now, and as such cuddles and hugs had decidedly dwindled in popularity as a father-son bonding activity. There simply came a point where Camilo had outgrown the need to be physically affectionate with his dad. Félix appeared to share the sentiment, as Camilo could still feel him fidgeting, but his hold remained strong.

“There we are, that’s more like it,” he said, giving his son a few solid pats on the back.

“How long are you gonna keep me hostage?”

“Until I’m done.”

Well, might as well get comfortable. Though reluctant at first, the longer the hug went on, the more soothing it became. Camilo’s muscles relaxed and he closed his eyes, melting into the embrace, his fatigued and restless spirit finding shelter within his father’s arms. The next sigh he gave was one of release, as though with the air leaving his lungs came a few of the black moths that had made their nests in his insides. He felt lighter, just a bit.

“You used to be so small, mijo,” Félix murmured into Camilo’s hair, “I used to be able to hold you with one arm. When’d you get so big?”

Camilo couldn’t help himself. “When mom’s genes started kicking in.”

“Cállate.” 

Félix took a moment to consider his next words. He was a natural at cheering up his wife when she was having a hard time; he knew just the right things to say and almost every method to make her crack a smile or snort into her hands, and to coax the sun from behind the clouds. He had an umbrella for every hurricane and a warm coat for every blizzard. For his children, on the other hand, he wasn’t as well-versed, though he loved them dearly. Once you’ve mastered the weather patterns, you know how best to brave the storm - but without a gift, how does one bend sound waves or tame a vicious animal? How does one spot the chameleon once he’s hidden himself? All he can do is his best. He may have been an ordinary man, but that was okay if he could do right by his family in spite of it.

He gave his son a light squeeze, giving him another, much more gentle pat.

“Listen, Camilo. It doesn’t matter how big you get, you’re still my boy. And as much as you drive me nuts,” he punctuated the remark by tugging gently on Camilo’s ear, getting a squeak of protest in return, “You’re a good kid, and I’m proud of you. Okay? Nothing’s going to change that. I don’t know if that’s what you want or need to hear right now, but I mean it.” 

Camilo’s throat tightened, as well as his hold. Maybe it was just Félix throwing what dad-like things he could at the wall to see what stuck, but his words struck a chord within Camilo’s chest where music had long since gone silent. How desperately he wanted this to be true, how deeply he desired to still be worthy of love even with his flesh rotting from his bones. Camilo had to blink away the tears gathering in his eyes before Félix noticed. 

“Pá? ” His voice broke on the word.

“Hm?”

Camilo opened his mouth, but no sound came out. There were a multitude of questions he could have asked, dangling tantalizingly on the tip of his tongue, none of them his voice was willing to carry.

Would you still be proud of me if you knew about the fingerprints staining my soul?

“Um… never mind. I-- oof.”

The sudden weight of a third person flopping into the embrace caught Camilo off-guard, another pair of slender arms wrapping around him and his father. Félix gladly accepted the new body into the pile, leaving Camilo thoroughly squished between both his dad and mom.

“Was nobody going to invite me to this snugglefest?” Pepa pouted, nuzzling her cheek against her son’s. Frizzy strands of hair that had come loose from her braid tickled Camilo’s nose, making him clear them away with a sharp puff of air.

“Mamiii, not you too,” he groaned.

“Yes, me too. I miss getting hugs from my baby.”

“I hugged you this morning!”

“And how long must I wait for the next one, hm? Until tomorrow morning? How cruel of you.”

“Very cruel,” Félix chimed in, nodding sagely.

“Aghhh.” 

Camilo could only handle a few more moments of being the main ingredient in this Madrigal sandwich before the comfort turned more into smothering. For as nice as it was to let his guard down and allow himself the luxury of their affection, the prior events of the day weighed heavy on his shoulders and he found himself without the energy necessary to socialize. He loved his parents, he loved being loved by them, but a pang of guilt in his heart told him he’d taken as much of it as he deserved. Eventually he wriggled his way out to freedom from between them, leaving his parents in an embrace with a gap for the Holy Ghost. 

“I’m gonna head to bed,” he said as he gave them both a pat on the arm, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

“So soon?” Pepa frowned, “There’s still plenty of time in the evening. Maybe we could do something as a family, or--?”

“Ahh, I’ll pass, I’m still pretty tired and all,” he feigned a yawn and a stretch, moving for the stairs and trying to pretend he didn’t notice the thin sheet of mist arising around his mother’s head. “Night mami, pá.”

Pepa bit her lip before calling to him. “Camilo?” When he paused just long enough to look at her past the railing, she tried to hide the worry in her voice as she offered, “I love you.”

Camilo gave her a gentle smile, one devoid of any mirth, and without a word he continued up the stairs. The two watched him as he disappeared into his room, their hold on each other rigid until Pepa deflated with a sigh.

“Ay… what am I going to do with that boy?” She leaned into her husband, allowing him to pull her closer and rub comforting circles into her back.

“I wish I knew, Pepi,” he mumbled, “I’m surprised he let me hug him in the first place, but I think he needed it, whatever’s got him so under the weather.”

“Was that a joke?” She squinted at him.

“Only if you thought it was funny.”

Pepa’s fingers twirled absentmindedly in the coils on the back of Félix’s head as she hummed, uneasy. “He’s not usually so… guarded. And to think, this morning he seemed so happy! I’m worried about him, Félix. I feel like something is really wrong, and I think Mamá can feel it too.”

“That’s probably why she gave him the third degree at dinner,” Félix mused, “Maybe she knows something we don’t.”

“Pepa. Félix.” 

As if on cue, the two looked up to see Alma on the other side of the courtyard. She approached them with a drawn expression, her hands clasped together in front of her skirt and wringing each other intermittently. Pepa’s mist churned and darkened into a fog, knowing well that her mother was about to deliver news she likely wouldn’t want to hear.

“What’s wrong, mamá?”

Alma took in a breath, just as equally reluctant to deliver said news as Pepa was to receive it.

“I need you to come take a look at the front door.”

Upon entering his room, Camilo let out a long sigh and ran his hands down his face. Yet again he’d been close to saying something until cold feet got the best of him. The warped image of himself on the front door stood front and center in his mind, mocking him, reminding him of how much he’d lost himself to Mateo. What was he going to do? What did it mean for him, for his magic, for the miracle? Sooner or later they would find out, and Camilo could only say he was fine so many times before no one believed him. But would they believe him even if he told the truth? If he did outright say what had happened to him, not that he had the courage to, would it just be written off as another one of his exaggerations? 

This was a conundrum for tomorrow’s Camilo to solve. Today’s Camilo had given up hours ago. He didn’t bother getting properly ready to sleep; he managed to slip off his shoes and take off his ruana, but aside from that he simply crawled onto the bed in his clothes, rolling to the furthest edge with his back facing the entrance. Actually falling asleep was easier said than done, and for a while he simply laid there, listless and limp, staring at the dark walls and carefully monitoring the feeling of magic thrumming through his veins lest it suddenly disappear again. The first time he’d lost his magic, when Casita collapsed, he’d felt an incomparable emptiness - but as he laid there in the throes of misery, he wondered if being empty was better or worse than being full of sludge.

He didn’t even hear the sound of his door quietly opening and shutting, only realizing he had a visitor when he felt the bed behind him compress with the weight of another person. He didn’t look to see who it was, but judging from the soft cotton of a skirt now draped over his leg and the pompoms brushing against his exposed ankles, he had a pretty good idea of who it could be.

“Heyyy, primo,” Mirabel began, the unsure waver in her voice betraying her casual greeting. She got nothing in response. She almost wondered if he was asleep, until the slight shift of his legs caught her attention. Ah, he’s just ignoring me. She pursed her lips, trying again to get his attention.

“Milo?” 

That nickname - it had been a while since she’d busted out the big guns. Finally he hummed, a low sound from the bottom of his throat. He was almost embarrassed to let Mirabel see him so low-energy, wanting to put on his happy mask and act like there was nothing to worry about, but he’d spent any available effort on playing calm at the Herrera’s house and playing cool at dinner. Now, he just didn’t have it in him to play pretend.

Mirabel lay on her back, drumming her fingers on her stomach and staring upwards as she worked out how to approach him. She and Camilo used to be so in sync as children that they were often confused for twins, though his gift and her lack of one had caused a slight rift to form naturally the older they got. They might not have been on the exact same page as they once were, but Mirabel still wanted to reach out to him. It was her duty as a member of the Madrigal family - she was their support, there to pull them out of the trenches they’d find themselves trapped in, and it was a duty she swore to uphold.

“Do you remember when we were kids, right after you got your gift?” Mirabel asked, eyes following the patterns on his ceiling as they shifted and swirled like sand. There was no response at first, but on Camilo’s side, his fingers flexed open and shut as he contemplated her question. Usually Mirabel was nosy (fair enough, so was he), but unlike his sister, she wasn’t outright asking him what was wrong. She wasn’t getting in his face or interrogating him for answers he wasn’t able to give. So what was she getting at with something so innocuous?

“What about it?” He mumbled skeptically.

Mirabel lit up. A mild sense of relief washed over her just hearing his voice, and she cleared her throat before carrying on. “You remember how the first… I don’t know, month or so after, you’d make me come in here and sleep with you? ‘Cause you were scared of being alone?”

“I’m not scared,” he lied, his tone almost defensive.

“I didn’t say you were,” Mirabel turned onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “I just thought that, well, maybe you could use a little company. Like back then.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “We don’t even have to talk or anything. I just… look, I’m worried about you.”

‘You and everyone else,' he thought in annoyance, his eyes narrowing. It wasn’t the fact his family were concerned for him that bothered him, but he was running out of ways to convince them he didn’t need them to be. He was floating in limbo between feeling very noticed and loving how much his family was paying attention to him, and wanting everyone in the world to act like he didn’t exist so he didn’t have to endure their looks of worry and pity. So he wouldn’t cause a stir and rock the boat, now that life had seemed more perfect and stress-free for the Madrigal family than ever before.

So that he would never so much as blink in his direction ever again.

Mirabel continued, adding a lighthearted lilt to her words, “And, and I mean, when was the last time we really got to hang out, huh? Everyone’s always hustling and bustling about, hahah…” Nothing, still. Her gaze held on the back of his unmoving head, a sigh breezing past her lips. “I guess I’m just saying that I don’t like being lonely either, so…”

The silence was kind of awkward now. Had she overdone it? Mirabel chewed on her bottom lip, debating on if she should just give up and leave him alone, but her inner dialogue was halted the moment she heard a soft murmur from his side of the bed.

“Do what you want.”

Good enough for her! With his permission, as loose as it was, she spent the next several moments beside him, simply existing in the same space as him without the need for words. Camilo himself didn’t really understand what she was getting out of the moment, but he’d be lying if he said just having another body in the room and not being completely alone didn’t provide some semblance of comfort. It was refreshing not to have to act natural or evade questions, and for that he could deal with having her around. 

But simply letting him be wasn’t enough for Mirabel. After some brief deliberation, she reached over him and took hold of his hand, guiding it towards herself. Camilo inhaled sharply through his nose, craning his neck to look back at her.

“Hey,” he protested, the movement of his arm pulling his upper body with it until he was rolled onto his back as well, “What gives?” 

Instead of answering, Mirabel laced her fingers between Camilo’s and laid their clasped hands over her chest. Camilo frowned, squinting at her. Was everybody in a sappy mood tonight? Though he made no effort to hold her hand back, he also made equally little effort to pull himself out of her grasp. Satisfied, Mirabel closed her eyes and let the rise and fall of her breathing move their hands like rippling water, the muted thumping of her heartbeat a wordless promise of I’m here.

In surrender, Camilo flopped his head back onto his pillow with an indignant grunt. Fine, whatever. He stared up at the ceiling as Mirabel had done moments before, hoping he could get lost in the golden waves and lose track of time to where he could just drift off without noticing. Still, he couldn’t ignore the warmth emanating from their joined hands, spreading its way through his arm towards his chest. He knew it wouldn’t be enough to vanquish the bitter cold still living inside him, but it was putting up a good fight. 

With her eyes still closed and her thumb now rubbing light circles over one of Camilo’s knuckles, Mirabel began to hum. It was mostly for herself rather than putting on a performance, but she idly wondered if Camilo would find some kind of comfort in the melody. She wondered if he was even paying attention now, or if he recognized the tune. But Camilo recognized it, very much so. His eyes widened and his lips parted, turning his head to peer at her curiously. It had been a long time since he’d heard that tune, a song Pepa or Julieta would sing to them when they shared the nursery, learned from their own mother at the same age. All of them had been taught that it was a very special song, used for the nights they felt too afraid or worried to sleep. It would help them find their way, they’d been told.

After a point, Mirabel’s voice joined the lullaby in an airy whisper.

“Ay, oruguitas, no se aguanten más…"

She carried on, lost in a vision of swirling butterflies and glittering streams. The song reminded her of one of the happiest moments in her life, just after one of the scariest and most heartbreaking, when she knew that everything would be okay. The part of her still aware of her surroundings hoped that Camilo would have his own moment like that, and that his own peace was just on the horizon.

“Vienen milagros, vienen crisálidas, hay que partir y construir su…”

Mirabel trailed off, opening her eyes. She’d been pulled from her own world by a sudden pressure on her hand, and looking down she realized Camilo had finally returned her grasp with a tight hold - almost a little too tight, to where his fingers were trembling. She opened her mouth to comment when she was again interrupted, this time by a strained, weak sob. She turned her attention up to find Camilo had draped his other arm over his eyes, obscuring them from her view, but the way his mouth was twisted in an anguished grimace gave him away in an instant.

“Milo,” she started softly, turning onto her side, and Camilo abruptly rolled towards her to meet her halfway.

“I’m scared,” he croaked, burying his head into her neck as his free arm clung to the back of her blouse, “I’m scared, Mira… I’m scared…”

Mirabel felt tears spring to her own eyes as her cousin wept against her chest. Her sisters had warned her that something was wrong with him, but to witness the extent of it for herself was agonizing. It pained her to see him so small, so wounded, when the Camilo she knew was always so bold and carefree. But now, he was scared? Scared of what? Scared of who? Helplessness gripped her; what could she do? This was more than what anyone, even his own parents, had been able to get out of him since he began to act unlike himself. But asking him what he was scared of would likely lead to him refusing to answer, if not outright snapping himself out of his moment of vulnerability and pushing her away. Mirabel wanted to pry, wanted to get a clear answer and solve the puzzle so she and the family could do something, but the future could wait. Her primo needed her now, in the present. She swallowed, taking the opportunity to do what she could to ease his troubled mind.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” she soothed, using her free hand to rub his shaking shoulder, “It’s… it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it okay. Lo prometo.” The hand still clasped with his tightened its grip, as though to set her vow in stone. All Camilo could do was nod with a whimper, whether or not he believed her remaining unclear.

As Camilo’s cries eventually tapered down into even (if somewhat shaky) breaths and he succumbed to his exhaustion, Mirabel herself let drowsiness overtake her right where she was. Her hold on him remained strong even in the depths of slumber, her subconscious unwilling to let him go lest she lose her grip on him completely. 

Sometime later, a light series of knocks rapped on Camilo’s door. It cracked open, allowing a beam of light from Casita’s main body to flood inside the room and cast the visitor’s shadow over the floor.

“Camilito?” Pepa’s voice was soft, almost cautious, and as she took a step into the room she was followed by a cloudy fog that framed her head like a halo. She attempted to wave it away and chanced another step further in. “Mi sol, are you…?”

She stopped upon getting a better look inside, the haze of worry evaporating as she approached the bed. She’d expected Camilo to be there, naturally, but she wasn’t expecting a second body beside him. What awaited her were the figures of Camilo and Mirabel, huddled together and fast asleep, their arms around each other and Camilo’s head still nestled beneath his cousin’s chin. 

Pepa’s hand rose to her chest, her heart swelling at the sight. It took her back to a time years ago, nearly a decade if she had to guess - she would come to wake her kids in the morning and find the two youngests in Camilo’s new room, sharing his bed and snuggled up together just like they were now. Back then she’d scoffed over their sleepovers, only thinking about how Camilo needed to learn to spend his nights on his own and not be so dependent on company. Seeing him now, holding onto Mirabel like a lifeline… Was she wrong to have thought that way?

Carefully so as not to disturb either of them, Pepa delicately removed Mirabel’s glasses and set them on a nearby nightstand before pulling the blankets over them. “Ay, mis vidas,” she sighed fondly as she leaned over the two, pressing a gentle kiss first to her son’s cheek and then to her niece’s forehead. She let herself linger for just a moment, stroking Camilo’s soft curls and watching the way his nose twitched as he slept. Her sweet Camilo… She’d come in hoping to speak to him, hoping she could get him to open up to her at least somewhat - after all, she was his mami, he usually couldn’t keep much from her for long. Her mind and the air above it clouded with worry over the discovery she’d been made aware of, but while she knew she wasn’t going to get any talking done that night, seeing him so snug and relaxed helped to assuage at least some of the nerves that had been building up inside her.

She could have easily spent the rest of the night there, but as much as she would have loved to, she knew she couldn’t. With some reluctance she pulled away, heading back to the door and casting one last glance at the two over her shoulder. Though she was smiling, her eyes held a twinge of melancholy.

“Duerman bien, mis ángeles.”

With a gentle click of the door, she left and the room was still once more.

Chapter Text

“They’re asleep.” 

Pepa came into the kitchen, finding a seat beside Félix while Julieta finished packing away her workspace for the night. Alma had already retired for the evening, leaving the other three in the know about the door’s change to evaluate the situation amongst themselves. The plan had been for Pepa to see if Camilo was up for talking and to come back to her husband with any news, but the lack of even an opportunity meant they had to wait even longer for answers. Félix clicked his tongue, but welcomed his wife with a kiss to her hand.

“They?” Julieta asked, quirking a brow.

“Mirabel’s with him,” Pepa replied, a small rainbow spreading above her head to match the grin spreading across her face. “They’re so cute, Juli. You ought to go up and take a look.”

Julieta smiled, sealing a bag of leftover empanadas to put in storage. “Like they used to do, hm? Well, maybe that’s what Camilo needs right now. Just someone to snuggle with.” 

Pepa sighed, resting her chin in her hand as Félix patted her back and leaned in. “He takes after you, amor. I know how much you like having someone to snuggle with.” Pepa snorted in response, bumping her shoulder against her husband’s as he nuzzled her with a teasing grin. Julieta rolled her eyes while the couple continued to flirt back and forth at her table, but Pepa was quick to get back to the topic at hand. 

“I just don’t understand it,” she flicked a stray petal that had found its way to the table from one of Isabela’s nearby decorations, “I’ve never seen a door change like this. They didn’t all smile, sure, but they were made that way - my baby’s picture changed.” She crossed her arms on the table and lowered her head onto them, that blasted fog again clouding her periphery.

“I know," Félix commiserated, "but I feel like the more we ask him, the more we'll get through to him, and the sooner he’ll give us something to work with.” He was even more in the dark about the ramifications of the door’s state, but he knew to be as concerned about it as the rest of the magic holders. He rubbed Pepa’s shoulders, attempting to work out the tension from her muscles. “Maybe Mirabel got something out of him that we couldn’t.” 

“We’ll have to see,” Julieta finally took a seat at the table as well, prodding the same petal before flicking it back in Pepa’s direction, “I’m sure she’s just as interested in getting to the bottom of all this as we are.” 

There was a moment where the three simply mulled over their own thoughts in silence, wherein Pepa ran through the events of the last two days and pinpointed where she first noticed Camilo’s change in behavior.

“I still think that party had something to do with it,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes, “It all started when he came back from it, and… I know it isn’t her fault, at all, but Dolores hadn’t been listening. I just have this bad feeling that something or someone there--”

“Pepa.”

All eyes turned towards the source of the new voice. Bruno stood in the doorway, bracing himself against the frame with one hand and breathing heavily. He looked bewildered, his face ashen and hair clinging to the sweat on his brow. His siblings knew that look well - he’d received an involuntary vision, and whatever he had seen wasn’t good. Immediately Pepa stood up from the table, her brows knit in concern and the fog churning into a dark cloud.

“Bruno? What’s--”

“Your children are in danger.”

A boom of thunder shook the kitchen, rain rolling over her in a drizzle just enough to dampen her clothes before a cold gust of wind blew it all away. The rest of the room’s occupants hardly had time to process the rapid succession of weather before Pepa was in front of her brother, squeezing his hands so tightly he had to wince.

“Show me.”

The climb to Bruno’s vision cave had seemed to take forever, even with his new room drastically altering the layout of his tower and improving accessibility. Even if it had only been mere moments, it still felt like too long of a wait. Pepa sat on her knees in the middle of the floor, tapping her fingers against her lap impatiently while Bruno attempted to lay out a circle of sand around them. She’d ordered Félix to wait outside, much to his reluctance, so she could only imagine he was just as antsy on the other side of Bruno’s door.

“Pepa, I get that you’re on edge, but your wind keeps blowing away my sand,” Bruno chided as gently as he could, earning him an irritated glance from over Pepa’s shoulder. It’s not that he didn’t understand why she was worked up, in fact he himself was still shaken from what little he’d been able to make out from the flashes he’d received. But they both knew how important it was to do the ritual properly in order to produce the clearest results. Pepa relented, taking a deep breath and reciting her calming mantra so as not to delay the process further. She needed to see for herself what fate was going to befall her family, and find out how to prevent it from happening.

After what felt like ages of preparation, Bruno situated himself in front of his sister and lit the fires between them. She gripped onto his hands the second he held them out to her, and as Bruno’s eyes began to glow and the magic coursed through his veins, the circle surrounding them became a fierce whirlwind that encased them in a dome of sand. Pepa gazed hard at the swirling particles around them, eyes flicking back and forth as bright green light emerged and began to play out events yet to come. 

It quickly became apparent why Bruno had seemed so frazzled; Pepa’s stomach dropped, helplessly watching what had to be her worst nightmares as a mother realized right before her eyes.

Antonio, cowering with wide, frightened eyes, his hands and feet bound together and silenced by a cloth. 

Dolores, sprinting full speed through a forest thicket, desperation in her face, a knife in her hand.

Other family members - her husband, her sister, her nieces, herself - looking panicked and calling for a name she couldn’t quite make out.

Camilo, slung over the shoulder of an unknown person like a sack of flour, thrashing and crying out.

“Who-- who is that?!” Pepa demanded, pointing at the figure.

“I-I don’t know, I don’t recognize him,” Bruno swallowed dryly and squinted through the blinding green, trying to focus on the individual and find some distinguishing feature. But the sharper the image became, both witnesses could see the figure was wearing a hooded cloak and anything remarkable was utterly obscured. Bruno bit his tongue to keep from cursing; what good was the ability to see something terrible on the horizon if he couldn’t find out who was responsible?

“We have to get closer!” Pepa cried. Bruno was pulled to his feet easily by his sister, both of them walking hand-in-hand towards the vision as though they could reach out and stop the abduction then and there. The moment Pepa did just that, extending her hand and plunging it into the whirlwind surrounding them, the vision screeched to a halt. 

“What-- hey!” She shielded herself from the falling sand, seething audibly as she shook particles out of her hair. “Bruno, why did you stop?! We still needed to find out who--”

“I didn’t stop, it ended.” Bruno was staring down at the emerald plate in his hands, wide eyes focused on the image engraved within it. “But that means…” He didn’t get to finish as his sister stomped over, pulling the vision from his grasp to look over it herself, and as she did another thunderous rumble caused loose deposits of sand to rain down throughout the room.

It showed Camilo with both hands outstretched from over the man’s shoulder, desperately reaching for the viewer, while another hand reached back towards him from the bottom of the tablet. Whoever was reaching for Camilo, whoever’s perspective the scene was from, was too far away to reach him - too far to save him. Tilting the slab either direction revealed the other two images, of Antonio in distress and Dolores’ frantic pursuit. Pepa sank to her knees, ignoring the rain pelting the back of her neck as she numbly shifted the vision between each promise of her children in peril.

“We can stop this, right?” She murmured breathlessly as though she was in a daze, her head feeling awfully light. “Bruno, hermano, tell me we can stop this. Tell me I can protect them.”

Bruno’s hands on her shoulders somewhat pulled her from her trance, and she was finally able to tear her gaze away from the horrors on the tablet in front of her. Bruno allowed her to press her face against his neck even though he slowly became drenched as well. But worse than the rain seeping into his clothes was the guilt seeping into his heart, as he knew he didn’t have an answer she would like. He wet his lips, bracing himself for however her cloud would translate her reaction to his next words.

“I… don’t know, Pepa.” Another roll of thunder. The shudder that racked his sister’s body carried over to him, his hand trembling as he gently took the vision away and set it aside. “I don’t really understand everything myself, especially since it’s all out of order… but I have a feeling that everything we saw, everything that’s going to happen, and maybe even what’s going on now, is because of that man. The one… taking Camilo.”

“Whoever he is,” her voice was low, shaking but dripping with poison, “I’ll kill him myself before he gets the chance.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Mirabel woke up early as she usually did. The sight of Camilo’s ever-changing ceiling didn’t surprise her, though it did take her a second to remember she had in fact slept in his room - it wasn’t the first time she’d woken up in this bed, though the last time she had it must have been at least ten years ago. She looked to her side and saw the bed’s owner still fast asleep, one arm resting atop his steadily rising and falling chest, his lips parted just enough to let the gentle flow of air pass through with hardly a sound. At some point they must have both rolled onto their backs, but as Mirabel discovered when she tried to move, their hands were still interlaced between them and had been all night. She didn’t mind the numbness in her digits as she carefully unraveled their hold, though she felt a slight pang of guilt as his fingers twitched in her absence. 

She wondered if she should wake him up while she was there, as she’d have to do so eventually. Ultimately she decided against it; he just looked so peaceful, especially compared to how grief-stricken he’d been the night before, that she didn’t have the heart to pull him out of tranquility just yet. Retrieving her glasses from the nightstand (who put those there?), Mirabel peeled herself off the bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes in preparation for a new day.

Gonna make my family proud, she told herself as she did every morning, and as she spared her sleeping cousin one more fond glance on her way out, she added, Gonna make things okay. 

She’d only barely gotten herself ready, having trekked back to her own room across the second story and changed into less-rumpled clothing, before there was a knock on her door.

“Mirabel?” 

She recognized Pepa’s voice immediately through the wood, as well as the light rasp of worry that came with it. Mirabel had a feeling she knew what kind of conversation she was in for. She walked into her shoes as she headed for the door, opening it to see Pepa standing rigidly with her hands stroking her braid.

“Yes, tía?” Mirabel greeted gently, her face softening. Already she was mentally preparing what she could say to provide the most solace and least amount of stress for her poor aunt as possible.

Pepa attempted a smile. “Did you… sleep well?”

That solved the mystery of how her glasses got off her head. Mirabel nodded, but wasn’t about to make Pepa tiptoe around the subject. “You wanna know about Camilo, right?”

Bingo. Pepa’s shoulders went slack, and she leaned in with her voice hushed as though they were exchanging secrets. “Last night, did he say anything to you? Anything at all?”

Mirabel sucked in a breath, her heart aching as she recalled the sorrow in her cousin’s voice and the way he’d broken down in her arms. She tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure if she should be maintaining eye contact with her aunt or looking anywhere else in the room.

“Well, um, not exactly,” she winced as she heard a stifled roll of thunder, “I mean, he didn’t say what was wrong or if anything had happened, but…” Deciding now was the time to give Pepa her eyes, she mirrored the lean-in while fiddling with the embroidery on her skirt. “He said he was scared. I don’t know of what or who or anything like that, though. That was all he would tell me.”

A light drizzle had already started sprinkling raindrops onto Pepa’s hair and clothes, and her cloud only darkened hearing what Mirabel had learned. Her eyes grew glassy, heartbroken by the prospect of her oldest son being so afraid of something that he felt the need to withdraw from the rest of the family - and from her. She wondered if it had to do with the door, if he’d noticed the change and it spooked him. But then, what caused the change in the first place?

Not to mention, the vision Bruno had given her hung more heavy and severe over her psyche than any one of her storm clouds could hope to. Her boy was afraid and in danger, all of her children were - she just wished she knew who they were in danger of and what she could do to defend them.

“Tía Pepa?” Mirabel started, only for her lenses to take on speckles of wet as a thin sheet of mist spritzed her in the face. Pepa leaned in and wrapped her arms around her niece, letting out a doleful yet appreciative sigh over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Mira,” she mumbled, “and sorry about the rain.”

She didn’t get an answer, but she got a place to start.

Camilo wasn’t sure where he was, but it was warm and pleasant and he felt more at ease there than he’d felt in days. He sat in the middle of a seemingly infinite expanse that glittered and sparkled with particles of light, unsure of where it started or ended but not at all feeling lost. Thousands of golden butterflies surrounded him, flowing through the air in graceful streams, spread out on the ground around his legs, enveloping his whole body and settling in his hair. He watched them, mesmerized, as they moved like dancers over his bare limbs and chest, their silky wings fluttering against his skin and dusting him with an iridescent shimmer. 

He stayed that way for what felt like hours, entirely at peace amidst the golden glow and not caring if he ever made it back home from there.

Then suddenly, all too soon, his hand felt cold. 

Turning it around he discovered that among the butterflies nestled in his palm was a lone black moth, weaving between his fingers and leaving a trail of murky ink on his skin. To his horror, the butterflies that touched the moth or its wake were dyed black as well, disintegrating into soot seconds after - it spread like a virus to every other butterfly, all of them dissolving in a wave over his body until every one of them was gone and their ashes had blown away. The space he was in had gone cold and dark, now a vacuum of nothingness without a hint of the comforting safety it had provided mere moments before.

A stabbing pain hit his midsection from the inside. He put his hands over his abdomen and felt his own skin slam against his fingers, something beyond the layers of fat and muscle demanding release. There wasn’t even time for him to cry out. After just a few impacts his stomach burst open, flinging tar-like viscera outwards, as a cloud of moths took flight from his body cavity and left behind grimy, congealed nests of oil where his innards would be. A viscous black substance oozed from his mouth, his vision going hazy as it seeped from his eyes and dripped onto what was left of his torso. Camilo doubled over, his hands barely managing to keep the muck inside of him from spilling out onto the ground. 

The moths swarmed in front of him before densely coming together, forming the silhouette of a man. Camilo lifted his head to look at the amorphous figure standing before him, straining to see it past the fluid streaking from his burning eyes. 

“Make it stop,” he gurgled.

“Your own body doesn’t lie,” a disembodied voice reverberated around him.

Camilo’s eyes shot open. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes, unable and unwilling to move until the adrenaline from his nightmare wore off and he could breathe without feeling like he was drowning. He lay tangled in his sheets with his arms draped over his midsection, his face damp from a mix of the sweat rolling down his face and leftover tears tracking his cheeks. Looking to his side he realized, with some measure of disappointment, that the other side of the bed was empty and he was in his room by himself again. His fingers flexed instinctively over his body, noting the solid presence of skin and the lack of any hollow space. 

Well duh, that wasn’t real. You’re fine.

…

No you’re not.

He wasn’t fine, and he was tired of pretending he was.

Gingerly he sat up, taking a moment to quietly mull over his dream and what it meant. Those butterflies had been a haven for him, a sanctuary of warmth and comfort when the rest of his mind felt so bleak and hopeless. Mirabel’s song probably wormed its way into his subconscious, but thinking about the way they swirled around and engulfed him and made him feel safe again gave him a spark of hope that maybe there was still something in him that could be redeemed. And yet, what had happened when the butterflies were gone… He laid a hand over his abdomen, half-expecting to feel something move and feeling relieved when he didn’t. That sensation of something awful being ejected out of him was one he’d never wanted to revisit, and even less so was the implication that he’d allowed or even welcomed such ruination onto himself. He shut his eyes when he thought about the stains on the mill floor, feeling ill just knowing they would likely be there forever as evidence of his body’s treason.

I didn’t like it, he reaffirmed to himself, resolute regardless of what that man posited as corroboration for the contrary. There’s no way. Not when I feel this gross.

Maybe his body didn’t lie - but surely that didn’t mean it was telling the truth. There had to be another explanation, something he was missing.

He wasn’t sure how good of an idea it was, but he knew of one person who could give him the answers he sought. He just needed to find the right way to ask.

Breakfast was a little strange. Any time he would pass a family member they would react in ways they usually wouldn’t, affectionate for some and delicately for others, and Camilo wasn’t quite sure if he should have been flattered by the special treatment or weirded out. Some things, like Luisa and Antonio giving him quick hugs or Julieta willfully sliding him a pre-meal arepa, he couldn’t complain about. Then there were the moments like Agustín giving him an awkwardly cheerful greeting, patting him on the shoulder with the same force as someone trying not to break tissue paper. Bruno had caught his eyes over the drink table and jumped at the sight of him, before he forced himself into a crooked smile and stumbled over bidding him good morning. Dolores had merely looked him over with a crease in her brow, humming to herself before turning away without a word. Camilo couldn’t help but wonder what was going through their minds, and what they were seeing when they laid eyes on him.

As the family took their seats at the table, a hand on his arm alerted him to Mirabel taking the spot beside him. The two locked eyes, neither one of them saying anything because they didn’t have to; it had been years since the ‘Madrigal Twins’ had been on the same page enough to communicate just through looks, but in that moment it was as though no time had passed at all.

I’m here for you, her pushed-up lower lids and thin smile said, It’ll be okay.

I know, his knit brows and pursed lips replied, Thank you.

Much to his surprise, during the distribution of daily chores his Abuela had given him the day off - specifically she told him to 'take it easy, and spend some time doing something that made him happy.’ He wasn’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth; being free of responsibility gave him plenty of time to find the information he was looking for. He knew it wouldn’t be as simple as blurting out all of his curiosities to another person - if he was going to do that he might as well have just blabbed about exactly what had happened. But he needed to hear someone confirm his hopes and tell him to his face that he wasn’t a liar, and that he’d been right all along.

He was almost ready. He just needed a little more time, a little more confidence to come clean, a little more clarity about what had been done to him.

As he was disposing of his dishes, chomping at the bit to finish cleaning them and take care of his self-imposed task, a light breeze and the appearance of bright yellow in the corner of his eye told him he first had to get back into character and perform like his life depended on it.

“Hi, mamá,” he greeted first, smiling at her as he finished drying off his plate. He knew she was troubled and he wasn’t naÏve enough to not know why. Sure enough, as he set the plate down he was pulled into his mother’s embrace, wiry arms ensnaring him and pulling him into herself. He didn’t bother resisting like he had with his father, instead wrapping his arms back around her and holding her just as tightly.

“Mi sol,” she cooed, swaying the both of them gently, “mi solecito, mi cielito.” Now that she had him safe in her arms, she didn’t want to let go.

“That’s me,” he accepted dutifully, raising his head and brushing away the cloudy wisps wreathing her hair. “What’s wrong?”

Pepa bit her lip, before taking a soft hold on his upper arms. “Camilo, be honest with me, okay?” He wouldn’t, but he nodded anyway. She continued, “Are you sure you haven’t been having any problems with your Gift?”

Everyone seemed really fixated on how his Gift was doing… his guess was that they’d seen the door, and his stomach churned at the thought of it. But for what it was worth, it really didn’t seem to be interfering with the potency of his magic, and he thought he’d ease her worries by showing her exactly that. 

“Well, tell you the truth, I’ve had one problem where sometimes I turn into this weird old guy…” He pulled out of her hold and with a dramatic spin he shifted into Félix, closing his eyes and tossing his arm over his head in mock-anguish. He cried in his father’s voice, “The horror! It’s tearing me apart!” He was waiting for a laugh, and when he didn’t get one he cracked open an eye to peek at her. Pepa’s expression was so forlorn it caught him off-guard, to the point it startled him. Rather quickly he turned back into himself, nervously taking her hands in his and giving them a light squeeze.

“Oh, mami, don’t-- I’m… it’s okay, I’m fine. My Gift’s okay, I promise.”

She didn’t seem completely at ease, much to his dismay. With a sigh she pulled her hands out of his, reaching again for him.

“You know I would do anything for you, don’t you?” She cupped his face, her thumbs tracing delicately over his soft freckles as she searched his eyes. “I’m here for you, mi vida. Your mami would never let anything bad happen to you.”

Camilo’s lips twitched and a lump formed in his throat. He didn’t have the courage to tell her it was too late for that. Instead he patted her hands, mustering up as sincere of a smile as he could to help disperse the mist that fogged her mind.

“I know.”

“And--” she added almost urgently, “and I would protect you with my life, in a heartbeat, from anything and anyone.”

It took a lot of effort to will away the foreboding sting in the corners of his eyes.

“I know,” he repeated, swallowing down the waver in his voice as he gently removed her hands from his face. “I know, but I’m okay. Really, I am.” He didn’t like leaving his mom distraught over anything, usually making sure he could get her to laugh at least once before letting his dad take over, but he was working with a small window of time before people went off into town to perform their duties.

“I’ve gotta go, mami. Don’t worry about me.” He gave her hands one more squeeze before letting them go, moving to take his leave. Before he could get too far she held onto his arm, her thin fingers pressing into his skin, and before he could open his mouth she implored.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t okay?”

Oh, he hated to see her so downcast. His attempt to smile this time only partially worked, as there was nothing but guilt behind it. 

“Mhm,” He hummed, afraid if he opened his mouth he would speak the truth. He finally left his mom’s hands, contrition gripping his heart as he felt the breeze grow colder behind him. 

“Hey, tía? I have kind of a weird question for you.”

Julieta had been hard at work making her daily bounty of food for the townspeople when Camilo had entered the kitchen, and he’d taken a seat on a barrel some ways back to keep out of her way. His fingers tapped against the wood beneath him, his chest fluttering with nerves as he worked up the courage to follow through with the conversation.

“Well, maybe I have a weird answer,” Julieta replied, kneading her dampened hands into a fairly good-sized pile of arepa dough. She didn’t mind conversation while she worked on most occasions anyway, but in light of recent events she was more than happy to let Camilo spend time with her however long he wanted.

Camilo’s legs swung a few inches off the ground, the drumming of his fingers increasing with the anxiety in his veins. “Um, so… you know a lot about, like, bodies and stuff, right?” He was quick to clarify when she gave him a puzzled look over her shoulder. “I mean human bodies, how they work and all?”

“I suppose I know enough. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve had to do a bit of my own research here and there in case my magic isn’t enough.” She paused in her kneading, considering what kind of information a teenage boy would want to know about how human anatomy operated, and she gave him another skeptical glance. “Is this a conversation for me, or for your parents?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, already dreading that he might have made a mistake. “You, definitely.” His parents were way too nosy, and they’d hit him back with more questions than answers if he’d gone to them first.

Julieta hummed, tearing bits of dough from the lump to roll them into balls. “Well then, what do you want to know?”

Camilo fidgeted, recalling the script he’d spent all morning rehearsing in his mind and willing himself to recite it as naturally as he could.

“Is it… do you think it’s possible for there to be, um… some sort of disconnect between your brain and your body?” Not very natural, but it was out there in the universe and he couldn’t stop now. “Like, your brain says one thing, but your body acts completely differently?”

There was a pause as Julieta laid down the batch of flattened dough onto the skillet, the sound of sizzling filling the air. “That’s a bit of a broad concept. In what way are you thinking?”

His eyes widened. “U-Um…” Oh, geez. He didn’t prepare any examples. He scrambled to think of something comparable, even within the same ballpark as the way he was thinking. He’d just about started to get the nervous sweats before something came to him that she would resonate with, a candle lighting above his head. “Oh! Like, say, the way I think morcilla smells good when you’re cooking it, but I hate the taste. Just, you know, how often does stuff like that happen where one part of you, uh…” 

He bit his lip, crossing one leg over the other. “One part says yes, while the other says no…?”

Julieta pondered the scenario as she flipped the arepas with her fingers. It seemed more of a philosophical question than a medical one to her, but nonetheless she was willing to humor him.

“Well, think of it this way. You know what happens to your Tío Agustín when he’s stung by bees?”

Camilo pulled a face. “Oogh, boy, do I.” The image of his uncle with his extremities swollen like balloons was a sight equally painful and hilarious.

“Do you think he likes getting stung by bees?”

“Uhh, no? That’d be kind of weird if he did.”

“And yet, he still has a physical reaction to the venom. That’s just the way his skin is designed to work, bless his heart. Do you think that means he secretly does like it, since his body, in your words, said yes?”

The analogy swung into his head like a lead pipe. Realization cracked his skull, soaking into his eyes and banishing the haze from the night before. Julieta couldn’t see the way her point utterly stupefied him, his brows up to his hairline and his mouth hanging ajar as illumination hit him in waves.

Of course. 

Of course!

“...No.” It was more of a statement than a response to a question. That made so much sense! If it was true for Agustín, then why couldn’t it be true for him?

“Then, I believe that’s entirely possible,” Julieta continued, pulling that batch out of the pan and replacing them with the next. “Humans are strange creatures, mi amor, and sometimes we don’t have any control over how we react to the things that happen to us. It doesn’t have any effect on what we actually do or don’t think about the circumstances, mind you.” Once she’d gotten all the arepas in place she brushed her hands on her apron, turning around to face him. “Does that answer your question?”

He was reeling. This was exactly what he was hoping to hear, exactly the reason he sought her in the first place. He knew she’d have the right answer, he knew he could count on her to guide him towards the light again - and most of all he knew he had been right all along. 

“Yeah-- yeah, it does.” More than she could have known. He hopped off the edge of the barrel, and in his giddy high he threw his arms around her in a snug embrace. “Thank you, tía!” She hardly had any time to process what was going on as he planted a quick kiss on her cheek, giving her one last squeeze and sprinting out of the kitchen. 

“Of course, Camilo, any time,” she called after him, somewhat flummoxed, but he was already out the door. She peered in his direction for a beat or two with a tilted head, slipping the interaction into her back pocket before turning her focus back to the arepas. She didn’t quite understand just yet, but she was hardly going to complain over him seeming to be in higher spirits.

Once Camilo was outside of Casita, he ducked around a wall of shrubbery to fully enjoy his victory in private. His heart was doing somersaults in his chest, beating so hard he could hear it in his flushed ears. He had to make one more stop before he was completely convinced; he had more questions that he knew he wasn’t comfortable asking Julieta about, but he had a feeling he knew where he could do some research of his own. In the meantime he held his face, a real, genuine grin splitting across his features wider than he’d managed in days - he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to smile like this.

“I knew it…” he breathed aloud, just shy of giggling, and he could almost physically feel the grime inside of him begin to recede. “I knew it!”

Once Camilo had collected himself, he decided his next step was to visit the library. Like most people in town he hadn’t read every book the building had to offer, but he’d always been told that the library was the best place to find information on any topic he could think of. It wasn’t a big building by any means, but the inside was a neatly organized and rather impressive collection of literature gathered and donated throughout the years: Books that the original settlers had brought with them, ones written by the residents over the past fifty years, those that travelers in need of the Encanto’s shelter had brought with them on their journies - even a few works penned by his Abuelo Pedro, collected and distributed posthumously in his honor. But what Camilo was interested in was the self-help section, a modest assortment of nonfiction guides and encyclopedias meant to help those who couldn’t find the answers from just asking around.

He approached the librarian at the front desk, an older resident with chained glasses perched on a high-bridged nose and feathery silver hair.

“Camilo Madrigal,” the librarian smiled at him, setting down the book in their hands, “What brings you here today?”

“Hola, Maestro,” he held his hands behind his back, attempting to appear inconspicuous. “I’m looking for anything on…” his eyes flit to the side, then back ahead, “...relationships. We have stuff like that, right?”

The librarian’s smile seemed to grow a little wider, their hands steepling as they hummed affirmatively. “Yes, of course. Follow me.” Camilo was led through the winding rows of oaken bookcases, each stuffed with novels and pamphlets and files, and he couldn’t help but think it seemed kind of like a maze. The librarian knew exactly which way to go so the walk was rather short, but on the way there they decided to strike up a conversation.

“So, Don Camilo,” Their curiosity was palpable in their voice, as was natural for someone whose livelihood relied on knowledge, “have you got your eye on someone?”

I wouldn’t phrase it like that, parce, he mused. He knew the older folks meant well when they got nosy about which youngsters were dating or crushing on whoever, but Camilo wasn’t really interested in any of that right now even beyond his circumstances. On top of that, even the mere suggestion that he was doing any of this because he ‘had his eye’ on that man made him want to eat glass. 

But he decided to humor the notion, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching up his shoulders. “S’a secret,” he played coy, hoping that the suspense of the unknown would let him get away with being evasive. It seemed to work, as the librarian nodded in mistaken understanding.

“Ahh, ya veo. Well, hopefully you’ll be able to find what information you’re looking for here.”

Camilo’s hands were already beginning to tremble with anticipation. “I hope so, too.”

Eventually the librarian dropped him off at a small corner of the building, leaving him in front of a shelf with a number of books whose spines had a variety of titles involving love and marriage and courtship. On the lowest tier were a few books somewhat shunted off to the side, and Camilo could see they all had ‘sex’ somewhere in the names. He supposed that was the shame corner for naughty books that he'd get scolded for looking at. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little intrigued; sex itself was a largely foreign topic to him, beyond what vague and sanitized concepts his father had fumbled over trying to explain to him when he’d hit puberty. He knew it was necessary to make children, and that married couples did it for that reason (Félix had elected not to point out it was done for other reasons as well), but aside from that he was more or less in the dark.

But one thing he did know for certain was that the parts of him necessary for this process were the same ones smudged with that man’s fingerprints.

So when one of the books titled ‘Navigating Romance and Sex: A Guide For Young Lovers’ caught his eye, he looked over his shoulder to make sure no eyes were on him as he pulled it from the shelf and wiped the dust off the cover. Oh, his mom would cause a hurricane if she saw him rifling through this kind of thing. Even the illustration on the front was somewhat scandalous to him, though it was a relatively tame stylization of two intertwined human figures. Scanning the table of contents revealed that most of the chapters were focused on how to be a good partner both in and out of the bedroom, and he was just about to close it up and try another title when one of the last chapters jumped out at him:

[Chapter 14: Abusive Relationships - Recognizing the Signs

14.a Red Flags

14.b Physical Abuse

14.c Sexual Abuse

14.d Verbal Abuse

14.e Emotional Abuse]

With shaking hands, he flipped to the section of the book regarding sexual abuse. His brows knit together as he skimmed the pages, picking up bits and pieces of information that he was disturbed to discover were even within the realm of reality. He might have only known the bare minimum of what this topic entailed, but he had no idea it could have been used to hurt people too - then again, if this book gave him the answers he was looking for, he figured he shouldn’t have been so surprised. He tried not to dwell on what he was learning for too long, as doing so just made him uncomfortable.

He finally found a small section of definitions, and paused there to look over what information it had to offer. Some of the words there he’d never even heard before.

[Rape: The act of non-consensual sexual intercourse or sexual penetration--]

Camilo scrunched his nose. Penetration? No, that wasn’t what happened. He kept reading.

[Molestation: A general term for non-consensual sexual acts, including inappropriate touching of another person’s body.]

He did a double-take. 

Is this it?  

He read the full definition of the word and the examples it provided over and over again, overlaying the information atop his recollection of that night, a hot mixture of discomfort and enlightenment bubbling within him as the dots connected and the pieces aligned to reveal a grim, if not cathartic, full picture.

This was it.

He finally had his answer. A real word, a real concept, a proclamation of what had been done to him.

The page in his hand became dotted with stray tears. He wiped the rest out of his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling, unable to pinpoint why he was crying but feeling a lot in that moment: clarity, relief, disgust, lightheadedness, but to an almost overwhelming degree he felt vindicated.

He wasn’t dirty. He wasn’t soiled or rotten or anything he’d thought he’d been. And, bless Tía Julieta, he never liked or wanted it like he knew he hadn’t. He’d been hurt, abused, taken advantage of - but none of it was his fault.  It was Mateo’s flesh that was putrid and decayed, not his own. It was his fault. He was the dirty one.

And Camilo was finally willing to let everyone know it.

Chapter Text

Camilo walked out onto the front steps of the library, taking a deep breath as light hit his eyes in every conceivable way. Invigoration coursed through his bloodstream and swelled in his chest, a determination he once thought lost flooding his being and scraping away the tar that had stuck so stubbornly to his core. I can do this, he told himself, I can do this now, I swear it.

But where to start? Camilo’s confidence might have been renewed to some extent, but he couldn’t fathom running out into the town square and shouting his discovery out to the heavens. Absolutely not. He himself might have known the truth, but Mateo was a popular guy - if he came right out and pointed a finger at him, would everyone take his side, or would they doubt him? And if they doubted him, if they thought he was spinning a tale or causing a scene on purpose, how would that reflect onto his family? Onto him, even? He had to start small, within the family for sure, and from there he would see how things would unfold. He couldn’t help but still be nervous, even thinking back to the things he’d been told over the past few days. Agustín telling him he could talk to him about anything, Luisa and Isabela offering their support, Félix claiming he would be proud of him no matter what, Pepa asserting she would protect him, and Mirabel - well, she hadn’t said it out loud, but he knew she had his back as well. He clung to their promises, holding tight to the belief that they were telling the truth. He had to believe in them, they were his familia, and in turn they surely had to believe in him as well.

But he knew he had to start where it began.

“Dolores? Can you hear me?” He asked out loud. A part of him was glad he wasn’t speaking to her face-to-face; he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to look her in the eye if she had been. He thought about the look she gave him that morning, so full of pity and concern, and then he thought about how she’d done so despite how terse and nasty he’d been to her the day before. She’d always been there for him, even when he pushed her away.

He lowered his gaze, wringing his hands beneath his ruana. “Listen, I’m-- I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just-- it was kind of a bad, uh-- What I’m trying to say is…" 

He paused to untwist his tongue, clearing his mind with a pointed sigh. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

"I’m on my way home. Can we meet in your room? I… I think I'm ready to talk."

His heart felt lighter just saying it out loud. He was ready, ready to cough out the bog inside of him and let it be seen by another’s eyes. He was ready to make Mateo pay for the misery he’d put him through. He was ready to finally feel clean again.

He knew there was no way for him to know if she’d heard him until he got home, and in the meantime he just had to trust that she picked up on his voice and was taking action on her own end. But he would be there soon, and when he was, it would all be over.

He stepped off the library stairs, and as soon as his foot hit the cobblestone he heard a laugh that grabbed him by the throat.

Just up ahead, right where Camilo needed to pass through, that man was loitering with a few other young men outside of one of the community buildings. He was leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, occasionally piping up in conversation with the others, looking so positively normal it was skin-crawling. Camilo wasn’t sure when he’d stopped breathing, but he had to gasp involuntarily to get air in him again. Of all places, why is he here? Why now? What do I do?  

Though on the cusp of hyperventilation, Camilo swallowed down his panic and steeled himself with a long, even sigh. 

Clear skies.

I can do this, he repeated.

The next step Camilo took was in a much smaller pair of shoes.

Truth be told, Mateo was only half paying attention to the conversation happening beside him. Most of his focus was on the sea of people strewn throughout the plaza. As was usual for an enclosed community, everyone knew everyone and could easily place names to faces - and Mateo was no exception. He liked to people-watch; it was a good way to determine the usual schedules and pastimes of the other residents, a good way to determine who was usually where at what time of the day and how they liked to be interacted with. It felt a bit like monitoring an ant farm, with the perk of being able to point out which insect was which.

Sweeping his gaze back out to the toing and froing of the main square, he idly noted which faces were doing what at that point in time: Julieta Madrigal in the center of the plaza, dutifully treating a long line of injured townsfolk. José and Señora Pezmuerto, walking hand in hand while she chattered excitedly about something to him. Cecelia passing by, seeming to be in a hurry. Señor Rendon attempting to drag his wholly uninterested donkeys through the street. Osvaldo doling out sweets and pinwheels to a group of children, including Alejandra, Juancho and Cecelia.

…Wait a minute.

Mateo looked back to where the first Cecelia had gotten off to, spotting her briskly walk through a group of passersby. When the group was out of the way, Cecelia was nowhere to be seen - in her place was Padre Flores, moving with an equal amount of purpose.

Perfect timing, Mateo thought to himself with a smile, and pulled himself off the wall.

Even walking past Mateo in someone else’s body was anxiety-inducing, and Camilo couldn’t be sure if he’d managed to get away without rousing suspicion. He resisted the urge to check over his shoulder lest he blow his cover (more than he might have already), and prayed that by switching up his disguises he’d be untraceable. He shifted from Cecelia to Padre Flores as he passed behind a sizable group of people, picking up his pace as he could see Casita up on the distant hill beyond the smaller homes and shops.

Almost there.

Then, a prickling arose on the back of his neck and his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t dare look behind him, but he could feel it: the unmistakable energy of another presence, a looming shadow trailing behind him like snail slime. He knew right away he was being followed, and he didn’t need to guess by who. 

Oh, no, no, please, not this. Just go away!

On a dime he made a left between two buildings, shifting into Señora Guzmán as soon as he rounded the corner. He stayed that way until he came to a small alley between two buildings, a crevice he quickly darted into to slip out of the main streets. The next turn he became the librarian, then the next he turned into the glassmaker’s daughter, then the next he became Alejandra’s father. Every impulsive turn took him further from the path home, winding through the backroads and, and yet he could not shake that sensation of being hunted. He seemed to be changing into someone new every 10 seconds, with every new corner turned or wall ducked behind, trying desperately to throw his pursuer off his tracks. But he could feel the toll it was taking on his energy; he wasn’t meant to change so quickly so many times at once, and his bones began to ache in protest. Soon he would surely start to feel dizzy, then he’d slow down if not outright collapse, and then… he didn’t want to think about what would happen then. 

“Dolores, wait,” he panted, trying to find the balance between loud enough for her to hear and quiet enough for him not to, “Don’t go yet, I need you, I need help.” He could only pray she hadn’t immediately made it into her room upon hearing him request her to do so. Once behind her door, Dolores was closed off from the cacophony of the rest of the world - and, by extension, any calls from her brother in peril. Please don’t let me be too late, please hear me this time, please don’t let him catch me.

It was only now he realized how turned around he was, nowhere near the straightforward path he’d been on to get to home. He was on the outskirts of the main portion of town further into the foothills where buildings became sparse - but the closest one he could see was Señor Rendon’s stables, and immediately Camilo thought of Luisa. She spent a lot of time rounding up the donkeys, didn’t she? If he was lucky she would be there, taking care of them or putting them back in their stalls, and she would protect him for sure. This one possibility consumed his judgment and he sprinted for the stables, practically bursting through the threshold and skidding through the hay floor. 

It was completely empty. His stomach dropped; he had been far too focused on his own affairs to notice Señor Rendon in the middle of town with him just across the square. As such the barn had no donkeys, and more importantly no Luisa - which meant no safety in a small building with only one exit.

Now what?!

In a last ditch effort, Camilo dashed into one of the furthest stalls at the end of the row and shut himself inside. He held his breath, crossing his fingers and hunkering down as small as he could, praying this was just a precautionary measure and that he'd successfully evaded his pursuer. But just as his shoulders began to ease up, the sound of hay crunching beneath footsteps filled the void of silence.

“When I said I liked a chase, I didn’t mean quite this literally.”

Camilo bit back an apprehensive whine. Both hands were pressed firmly over his mouth to prevent any noises from seeping through, though he wished he could just throw caution to the wind and scream again for Dolores’s help. But if she had heard him, wouldn’t she have already come looking for him?

He jolted at the sound of a loud -bang- at the other end of the barn.

“I know you’re in here, Camilo. Make this easy on me, would you? I just wanna talk.”

There was another terrible crash, and with horror Camilo realized it was the sound of Mateo methodically bursting open every door to every stall in search of him. There was no way out of this; he was going to be found one way or another. He jumped again at the next bang, this one closer, and he fought the urge to cry.

No. You’ve cried enough over him. Now show him that he has no power over you anymore.

He took a deep breath.

Just as Mateo was about to knock open another stall door, his attention was caught by a creaking from several doors down. Camilo’s stall swung open and he stepped outside, standing as firm as he possibly could to face down his opponent. His tightly balled hands were shaking but his face held determination, his ruana swaying slightly in the breeze.

“Stay away from me. I don’t want you near me ever again,” Camilo ordered in a steady voice.

Mateo whistled, cocking an amused brow and stepping forward. “Well now, this is a little surprising.”

“I said stay away.” Camilo forced himself not to falter, even as Mateo inched closer to him. To his credit Mateo did stop, humoring the boy’s attempts to stand his ground despite the terror he could see in his eyes.

“You’re gonna play tough after running and hiding? ”Mateo smirked, “That’s funny.”

Camilo swallowed, hardening his resolve. “I’m not running anymore. I don’t know how stupid you think I am, but you can’t fool me now. What you did to me was disgusting and you’re disgusting for doing it.” 

“And what,” Mateo’s smirk grew wider, “was it that I did to you, exactly?”

A cold chill swept through the room. Camilo ground his teeth, flustering beneath Mateo’s smug gaze as the word sat on the back of his tongue. He knew it now, he knew exactly what Mateo had done to him, but a sudden dryness in his mouth kept him from spitting it out. The word clung to his molars like honey, a shameful heat lighting his cheeks and ears ablaze. 

“You…” He struggled, his eye contact faltering, “You…”

What’s wrong with me? What happened to not letting him have power anymore? Just say it!

“I guess it’s not that big of a deal,” Mateo hummed derisively.

That did it. Camilo clenched his teeth and stared straight into Mateo’s narrowed eyes.  

“You molested me.”

Mateo had the gall to laugh. The heat in Camilo’s face grew even warmer, and as Mateo rubbed his temples with one hand he snickered, “Ay, Dios, I did not ‘molest’ you, Camilo.”

“Yes you did! ” Camilo’s voice shot high, almost frantic. “You put your hand in my pants, you creep! You can’t do that!”

Mateo sighed flippantly and put his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’ve been over this, it’s not molesting you if you enjoyed it.” The way Camilo bristled at the remark only boosted Mateo’s self-satisfaction. But why not take it a little further and really make the kid squirm? He leaned in, his eyes seeming to gleam maliciously. “That was the first time anyone’s made you come, wasn’t it? If you ask me, you’re being a little ungrateful.”

Camilo’s face was positively burning now, the vulgar taunt digging its way under his skin and making him itch. “I’m not stupid, Mateo! That isn’t how that works!” He gripped feverishly at his ruana, wringing whatever comfort he could get out of reminding himself he was still wearing it. “I looked you in the face and told you to stop, and you ignored me! I told you I didn’t want it!”

“Then why didn’t you fight it?”

Camilo froze, stunned, as though he had been slapped.

 “...Huh?”

Mateo shrugged, rubbing his chin with his thumb. “If you hated it so much, why didn’t you fight me off? You just sat there and took it.” The tone sounded like an innocent, oblivious inquiry, but the shine in Mateo’s eyes betrayed the complete awareness of what he was doing.

For just a moment, Camilo’s resolve wavered. Why didn’t I…? He couldn’t deny that his physical resistance had been lacking, in direct opposition to his mind’s orders. That dirty feeling inside him began to inch back up his inner walls, retreading ground it had receded from - until his aunt’s voice resonated in his head, repeating what she’d told him that morning, and he could almost feel her hands enveloping his heart and urging him to stay strong. 

‘Sometimes we don’t have any control over how we react to the things that happen to us.'

That’s right. That was out of my control. All of it was.

Just as Mateo thought he’d regained the upper hand, Camilo snapped, “I… I shouldn’t have had to! I told you to stop, you should have just stopped! Don’t pin this on me!”

“Sounds to me like you just don’t have any good excuses,” Mateo smiled again and began to descend upon Camilo, taking great pleasure in the sight of his brave face cracking into alarm. “In fact, I don’t think you could fight me off even if you tried.”

As Mateo stepped forward Camilo stepped back, corralling him towards the end of the stable. But as Camilo’s back hit the wall he was hit with a spike of adrenaline, a white-hot fury pulsating from his soul that demanded he give Mateo what he asked for. In the blink of an eye Camilo’s frame expanded into Luisa, taking on a defensive stance as ‘her’ face pulled into a defiant scowl.

“I can, I can and I will. Don’t come any closer.” ‘She’ warned.

Mateo stopped, and while he attempted to maintain an unbothered disposition, Camilo could tell he wasn’t expecting this kind of kickback. It invigorated him further, seeing Mateo’s smirk twitch into one of indignance and his eyes flitting over Camilo’s much taller and bulkier form. 

“Oh, Camilo, that’s so cute,” Mateo sneered, “We both know you’ll never be as strong as Luisa.”

It was Camilo’s turn to step forward threateningly.

“I’m as strong as I need to be.”

With that, he reeled his fist back and lunged at Mateo with a yell. His target was tangible now, not a reflection or thin air - he was there in front of him, and Camilo intended to give unto him what he so deserved. Mateo, though taken aback, managed to sidestep his swing, only for Camilo to spin on his heel and throw another punch with his other hand that nearly clipped him. If Camilo had any advantage it was that he had no technique; he’d never fought anyone before and had no idea how to, and as such he swung at Mateo with reckless abandon as though he was swatting at a bug. Piloting Luisa’s body certainly lent itself to that notion, with how solid she was and how much smaller Mateo was in comparison now. And like a bug Mateo flit around him, managing to dodge the fists flying at him but visibly unsure of where the next one was coming from. 

Mateo ended up behind him. Camilo whirled around with his arm out, and at last the flat of his fist whacked Mateo across the face. It surprised both of them, with Camilo freezing in shock. 

Oh my God, I hit him. I hit him!  

The impact managed to double Mateo over and send him off balance, but that split second of hesitation from Camilo was all the time Mateo needed. As he stood leaned over, rubbing where he’d been hit, his other hand swiped up ‘Luisa’s’ skirt and along the inside of ‘her’ leg. 

The subsequent scream dissonantly mutated from Luisa’s voice to Camilo’s as he threw himself away from the touch, snapping back into his own body. He stumbled back into the wall of the stable with a -thud- , and before he could reorient himself, both of his wrists were snatched and pinned firmly to the wall on either side of his head.

“I’ll hand it to you, your swing’s not bad,” Mateo breathed heavily through his teeth, his cheek reddened from the blow, “but you have no guard.”

Bone-deep panic set in immediately. “Let go of me!” Camilo twisted and writhed, attempting to jerk himself out of Mateo’s tight grip. He felt he could hardly breathe, and yet he cried out desperately, “Let go! Somebody, help me!”

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you strong enough?” Mateo grinned darkly, watching him struggle with amusement.

I am! You just played dirty! Camilo was shaking so hard he thought he was going to throw up, though maybe if he did it’d make Mateo let go long enough for him to make a break for it. Then again, maybe he wouldn't.

“Well anyway, now that I’ve got you in one place, we can finally have ourselves a proper conversation. And if Señorita Orejitas happens to be listening,” he started, facetiously tilting his ear outwards, “then she’d be smart to stay out of it, unless she wants some of what you’re having.” He held a beat, tauntingly, waiting for an indication that anyone was on their way to rescue the helpless Madrigal - but the only sounds in the air were Camilo’s frantic grunts and the distant call of birds. When satisfied, Mateo tacked on, “That was a nice little stunt you pulled last night, by the way. I thought I told you to keep our rendezvous between us.”

Genuine confusion crossed over Camilo’s features. “What are you talking about? I haven’t told anyone!” Not yet. But he’d best believe once he got out of there people would know.

Mateo clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Not buying it, hombrecito. Lola showed up at my door last night to give me aaall sorts of grief.” Camilo’s pulse jittered. Dolores, why?! What did you say?! Half of him was angry that she’d gone snooping behind his back like that after he’d told her to mind her own business - and the other half was terrified of what could have happened to her had she caught Mateo alone. Mateo continued, his voice slathered in spite. “Seems like her little lapdog Guzmán rubbed his two brain cells together and ran his mouth to her too. Don’t you hate it when people get involved where they don’t belong?”

Camilo tried again to tug himself out of Mateo’s hands, wincing as his wrists chafed from the friction. “I didn’t tell her to do that! She’s-- she’s nosy, she finds out everything eventually! You have no idea how hard I’ve been trying to keep people from finding out!” He really didn’t; Camilo was sure his antics of late had probably made half his family think he was losing his mind, with the other half thinking he was some kind of pitiful, debilitated damsel. But no matter how hard he tried to keep his problems to himself, his family were there trying to help him even if they didn’t understand. That wasn’t a bad thing, it was a wonderful thing that Camilo had taken for granted and he seriously wished he could take advantage of now.

“I’m gonna need you to try a little harder,” Mateo jeered, waiting patiently for Camilo to tire himself out and stop putting up such a fight. Eventually Mateo’s patience paid off as the exertion of everything Camilo had been through got the best of him, and he collapsed limply against the wall. Everything hurt, from his heaving chest to his aching muscles, and he quietly prayed Dolores would get bored and leave her room or that Señor Rendon would hurry up and come back with the donkeys.

“You all done?” Mateo asked, getting a half-hearted glare in return. He leaned down into Camilo’s space, ignoring how Camilo craned his head away. “Listen, I’ve been working on something special for a long while now. I’ve almost got everything in place, then I’ll be ready for you. So, I guess you can play hard-to-get for just a bit longer.” 

Camilo didn’t care to find out what Mateo had in store for him, now or ever. “Why are you doing this to me?” He uttered, almost a whisper. “I know you have options. Why can’t you go after someone who wants you?”

Mateo pulled back and smiled, almost warmly. “Oh, Camilo. That’s what I’m doing.” When Camilo shot him a befuddled look, he went on. “Don’t think I never noticed how much you wanted to get my attention. You’ve had mine for a long time, and to tell you the truth? I was glad when you started hanging out with my brother and his friends, ‘cause it gave me an excuse to get near you. You’d always been so busy before, and, well… maybe it’s a good thing your house fell down, because that opened the door for me. When you started putting on those cute little shows for me, that was my sign. I’m just following through on what you advertised.”

“Adverti…?” Camilo trailed off, letting everything Mateo said sink into the crevices of his brain, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. All those times he’d made some silly joke, showed off his Gift with his usual theatrics, just to get a laugh out of him… This whole time he was taking it as some kind of seduction? Camilo’s face twisted in outrage, flushing scarlet. “You… you’re doing this to me because you thought I was flirting with you?! ” His voice was breaking, genuine betrayal and hurt flooding his chest and leaking from his tongue, “It was never like that! I just wanted you to like me! I-I just wanted to be your friend, and you--! You took advantage of me!”

“I took what was mine,” Mateo’s voice was calm, but his eyes were cold. “You have no idea how long I’ve been biding my time, waiting for everything to come together so I can finally get what I want. This has been years in the making, and I’ll be damned if all my hard work goes to waste just because you don’t want to cooperate. You already gave me the go-ahead, you don’t get to back out now.”

Camilo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Years?’ What did he mean, ‘years?!’ Camilo was still just a boy in the grand scheme of things, how much younger could he have been when this depravity started?

“How long?” He asked, unsure if he actually wanted the answer, “How long have you…?”

“Well, if you’re really curious,” Mateo hummed, “I know the first time I got a good look at you was your Gift ceremony. You’ve always been a cute kid, but I guess it had to have been the last few years, when you got bigger and more active in the community, that’s when you really started catching my eye. See, I realized that you’re the only person who could understand me. We’re a lot alike, chiquito.”

Camilo balked at the notion. “I’m nothing like you,” he spat, “you’re a sick freak.”

“Maybe so,” he shrugged, “but that’s what I mean. It’s so tiring pretending to be someone you aren’t. Don’t you think so?”

Camilo blinked, the words spearing him through the chest.

“Huh?”

Mateo tilted his head, his voice sickly smooth as though he was offering an empathetic anecdote. “Every day is just a new performance piece. You wake up and put on a mask, going out pretending to be a totally different person than who you are, because the person you really are is someone nobody wants to be around. But it’s all an act.”

Oh, Camilo hated this. A nauseous dread welled within him at the idea that he and Mateo had anything in common, much less Camilo’s biggest and best-kept insecurity.

“You know what people would think about you if they knew how you really felt, which is super inconvenient,” Mateo continued, “It’s so much easier to play pretend and be a good member of society. So you have to pretend to care about these people, and care about what they think of you, because you’d never get anything done otherwise. Most of the people in this town could drop dead and nothing would change for me, but you… You get it. You know what it’s like, to only be acceptable as whoever you’re pretending to be. You’re the star of the show for me, querido. You were meant to be mine.”

And that’s where he lost him. Camilo shivered, not just at the pet name but at the prospect that someone with such contempt for everyone could have been living right there in his home for all these years. For as unsure of his own worth as he could be, he knew he was loved by his community and he loved them back. How could anyone look at their neighbors, at the people of their beautiful Encanto, and regard them as less than dirt? And that was just the tip of the iceberg… Was Camilo really the only one to know who Mateo really was? Was he that good of an actor?

“There is something seriously wrong with your head,” Camilo swallowed thickly.

“I made peace with that a long time ago,” Mateo leaned back in, “But it doesn’t matter. I’m about to have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He leaned in even closer to murmur into Camilo’s ear, sending tremors through the boy's nerves with every hair bent by his breath. “I’ve been holding back, you know. I’ve been making do with just the memory of that night, but I can only revisit it so many times before I need new material. A man has needs, you know? Hell, if we’d ended up somewhere a little more private, I’d probably be putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use. But I can wait a little longer. Because you’re special, and I wanna make it special for you.”

Camilo’s skin was crawling, termites burrowing into his flesh from Mateo’s mouth and spreading throughout his body. Nausea roiled in his stomach, stirred by every ugly implication in what he’d just been told.

In an impulsive show of defiance, Camilo turned his head back and spat in Mateo’s face. It was little more than a fine mist from how dry his mouth was, but it got Mateo to flinch regardless.

“You’re insane,” Camilo glowered, “whatever you have planned, count me out of it. I’m not-- I’m not doing anything you want ever again, and you can’t make me. You can’t do this to me!” Mateo still seemed to be processing Camilo’s prior insubordination, and Camilo took that time to let all his hatred for the man ignite like gunpowder in his mouth. His fatigue was shoved aside to make way for further resistance, his long-overdue outrage bubbling over until he was hollering. 

“You’ve made all these plans and decisions about me like I have no say in it, but I’m telling you no! I’m sick of you! I’m sick of you ruining my life! I’m not your toy or whatever you think I am, I’m a-- I’m a Madrigal, damn you! My family’s not going to let you get away with this, I’m going to tell them everything, and they’re going to believe me even if you’re not man enough to own up to what you did! You’d better let me go right now or so help me I’ll--!”

Camilo was cut off by his own gasping as an intense pressure engulfed his wrists. The grip holding him had tightened acutely, both sets of hands trembling from the effort with veins visibly sprouting along Mateo’s knuckles. 

“I don’t really think you’re in a position to be making demands, chiquito.” Mateo’s voice was low and calm, but his narrowed eyes and thin frown reflected the tranquil rage he held inside. Camilo had long since abandoned any efforts to stay on the man’s good side, but in that moment he was terrified.

“You’re hurting me,” Camilo whined, trying in vain to achieve even a smidge of mobility within his vice-like clutches.

“That’s too bad. What are you going to do about it? Spit on me again? You act big and bad, but you can’t do a goddamn thing.” 

Mateo’s grip became crushing. Camilo’s bones creaked under his skin from the force, his fingers involuntarily curling and the tips beginning to turn purple. His face contorted in pain and he wilted in Mateo’s grasp, his joints begging for mercy.

“Nghkk…! That hurts, stop!”

“You think your family will believe you? They didn’t even believe your cousin when she said your house was busted, then boom - down it came. What makes you think they’ll listen to you?”

“No more, I can’t--!” 

“Face it, Camilo: you’re a performer. That’s all anyone expects from you. You tell stories and twist the truth, because you love the attention. No one will believe you.”

“Mateo, please! ”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Y-Yes!” The purple tint was spreading throughout his hands, swelling and numbing his digits. Tears sat perched behind his eyelashes, threatening to fall. Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry. But it hurts so much. “Yes, now please, stop!”

At last the torture paused, as Mateo loosened his hold just enough for Camilo’s hands to resume circulation. Camilo only managed a single sharp inhale before he was yanked roughly off the wall and against Mateo’s chest, his arms pulled taut on either side of Mateo’s body. Mateo leaned over him, forcing Camilo to lean back in order to see his frighteningly manic face.

“You don’t have a say,” He hissed, his wild eyes flashing, “I’ve already tasted you, and I’m dying for more. You wanna hear me say it so bad? Fine. I claimed you. And I’ll do it again, and again, I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I’ve made my mark on every inch of you, inside and out. I’ll have you where I want you soon enough, and when that time comes you’ll know exactly how much of a man I am.”

He dropped Camilo carelessly onto the floor, watching coldly as the boy attempted to shakily sit himself upright through hiccups and gasps. His wrists were an ugly tapestry of dark, blotchy stripes, a memory of each finger buried ruthlessly into his sensitive skin, and Camilo could hardly put any weight on them without whimpering in pain.

“It’s a shame you make me do this to you, Camilo,” Mateo said coolly, “This would all be so much less hassle if you just played nice.”

Mateo reached down and hoisted Camilo roughly back up to his feet by his battered wrists, dragging a strained squeal of agony out of him. Camilo’s wobbling legs only partly cooperated beneath him, holding him up but ready to give back out at any second. His hands hung limply over Mateo’s, not an ounce of energy left in them to even stay upright, and his head hung low atop shaking shoulders, the feeble sounds of panting and sniffling coming from behind his curtain of hair. Mateo regarded him for a moment, before a smile came back to his face.

“But, I suppose I don’t have to go for you. Like you said, I have options.”

Camilo looked up almost too quickly, any hope in his heart dashed by the wicked gleam in Mateo’s eyes.

“I mean, you do have some pretty señoritas in your family.”

Camilo’s despair shattered to give way to horror. 

“You wouldn’t,” he rebuffed hoarsely, his glassy eyes wide.

Mateo’s evil grin widened.

“If I got one of them pregnant, I’d have to marry her - then I’d be a Madrigal, too.”

Everything about that sentence was the worst thing Camilo had ever heard. “No,” he whispered, disgust thrumming deep within him. 

“Then I’d have all the access to you I’d ever want.”

Camilo’s revulsion spiked. “No! I-- I won’t let you!” Not just for his own sake - he’d sooner die than let this monster touch any of his family. Imagining Mateo even looking at Dolores or Mirabel or anyone sent bolts of wrath tearing through his exhaustion and riling him up once more.

“And there’s your brother.”

The blood in Camilo’s veins turned to ice. He stared up at Mateo with a dangerous glare, his voice dropping to a growl.

“Don’t you dare.”

“He’s just a little guy, isn’t he?”

“You leave him out of this!” In his burst of newfound energy Camilo grit his teeth and attempted again to tear himself out of Mateo's hands.

“I have to be honest with you,” Mateo’s smile seemed to split his face, “I don’t think I’d fit.”

“Stop it! ”

“I’d probably rip the poor kid in two. Split him right down the middle.”

“Shut up! Shut up!! ” Camilo thrashed wildly despite the throbbing pain in his wrists, desperate to break free and attack Mateo like a feral animal, “You lay one hand on him and I’ll kill you! You hear me?! Stay away from my family!! ”

“Then you’d better behave,” The smile vanished as Mateo’s face took on an expression of grave seriousness, “and be grateful that it’s you I want and not them. You want to protect them, don’t you? You’ll be a good brother and keep them safe?”

All at once Camilo’s struggle stopped. His frantic eyes stared unseeing as the ultimatum slithered around his mind, his energetic high crashing down and unleashing tidal waves of pain onto him again. He’d been so close. He finally had the confidence, the knowledge, the drive, the energy, everything he needed to burst from his chrysalis of spiderwebs and fly back to his family. He had been so ready to come clean and expose Mateo for what he was. And now, if he dared, he would be putting his family on the line. Mateo claimed that Camilo was his favorite person, and even he wasn’t safe from his cruelty. What terrible things was he capable of against someone he actively hated?

He couldn’t. He’d never forgive himself if he got them hurt, or worse.

Camilo dropped his head in defeat, his tears finally breaking through and platting onto the ground.

“... Sí.” He sniffled.

Mateo smiled in subdued triumph. “Let me hear you say it. Say you’re grateful.”

“I…” Camilo choked on the words, struggling to push them past his lips, “I’m grateful.”

“Finish the sentence.”

He grimaced. “That you… want me.”

“Buen chiquito,” Mateo hummed, satisfied. “Now, I’ve got places to be. So before I go…” He lowered himself to Camilo’s level, his eyelids low. “How about you give me a kiss for the road?”

There was a long pause. 

Then Camilo slowly raised his head, his tear-stricken expression utterly incredulous.

“...You can’t be serious.”

“Try me.” The grip on Camilo’s abused wrists steadily began to increase, wrenching a cry out of him.

“O-Okay, okay, fine!” He relented, letting out the breath he’d been holding once the pressure dimmed again. The relief was only a flicker soon extinguished by dread, as Mateo waited inches from his face in smug anticipation for his promised prize. Camilo shuddered, bracing himself for what was to come. His first kiss, another first stolen from him by this same culprit… A twinge of ache hit his heart for his younger self, who had hoped his first kiss would be so much better than this. He’d hoped all of this would be better than what he’d gotten. But the clock was ticking, and Camilo just wanted this nightmare to be over.

He screwed his eyes shut, hesitantly pushing his lips out and inching his head closer to the target. The second he made contact, Mateo sealed the gap himself so aggressively it forced Camilo’s head back. Camilo gave a muffled squeak, shivers running up and down his spine, his fingers twitching, and it took all the power in his body not to bite down on the tongue invading his mouth. He desperately wanted to, though. He would have loved nothing more than to bite his tongue clean off and let him bleed out and die right there. But he steeled himself to endure it, unmoving, waiting what felt like an eternity for Mateo to finally get his fill and release him with a wet -pop- .

“Needs work,” he commented frankly, as Camilo gasped for air with a thread of saliva clinging to his lower lip, “But we’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

Finally, finally, Camilo was released and he dropped to his knees. At the same time Mateo moved towards the exit, Camilo heaved and spat out all the contents of his mouth into the hay beside him. His whole body shook and it was difficult to cradle his tender wrists without tremors, and even more difficult was trying to wipe his mouth clear of the lingering taste with any portion of his aching arms. 

“Remember what I said about behaving,” Mateo reminded him at the door, regarding him over his shoulder, “If you’re a good boy for me, it’ll make things so much easier for both of us.”

Camilo couldn’t even raise his head to look at him. “I hate you,” he seethed through his teeth, just loud enough to be heard on his shaking breath. 

Mateo simply smiled.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re mine either way.”

Chapter Text

Dolores was antsy. She tried to be patient, honestly, but as she attempted to focus on her book, her leg bounced idly and she kept getting distracted by her own nails tapping against the front and back covers. She might have been holding her tongue for Camilo's sake, but she had plenty she wanted to go over and verify with him in light of her conversation with Mateo. He spun a good tale and he knew how to keep his composure, but she just didn’t trust his silver tongue. When she’d heard Camilo call to her and ask to talk, she’d practically thrown the broom she’d been using to tidy up the courtyard and raced up the stairs to her room.

That was twenty minutes ago. She was sure he should have arrived home by now, and every second that went by without a knock on her door made her nerves dance beneath her skin. Of course it was possible he got snagged on the way by a neighbor in need of a hand, it happened all the time, but Dolores was far too wound up in anticipation for what Camilo had to say. She’d been on her toes since the night he went to the party, just waiting for him to crack and come clean, and now that opportunity was just beyond her grasp.

She set her book down and opened her balcony doors, stepping out into the fresh air and scanning the sounds of the Encanto for any indication of where her brother had gotten off to. Shutting her eyes, she steadily turned her head from side to side, wading through the miscellaneous walla of the village and its people. Endless chatter from endless voices, animal noises, footsteps, windchimes, turning cartwheels - nothing new, but not what she was looking for. She was looking for the sound of a ruana swishing before the magical twinkling of a body changing shape and size. A warm laugh that bubbled from within the chest, infectious and cheerful, that incited others to laugh with it. Sandals plodding against cobblestone, their stride intermittently interrupted by bounces and spins. Anything that would point her in the right direction of her little brother.

She didn’t hear him. But she did pick up on one Mateo Herrera’s voice on the outskirts of the plaza, hushed and venomous.

{“Needs work. But we’ll have plenty of time to practice.”}

Her nose crinkled. She didn’t have a very high opinion of that man at the moment in general, but just hearing his voice made her skin crawl. Why did he sound so… cold? She was about to direct her focus elsewhere until just below Mateo’s voice, she caught something unusual - the faint sound of retching and spitting. Her brows furrowed as she tried to ascertain what the situation was, having never heard anything quite like it before.

{“Remember what I said about behaving.”}

A sinkhole opened up in her stomach. Even though she had no context of who he was talking to or what the conversation was about, a terrible sense of dread washed over her and she honed her complete focus on him.

{“If you’re a good boy for me, it’ll make things so much easier for both of us.”}

Ew, what? She fought back the shudders running down her spine at his words and how he spoke them, straining her ear to its limit. Doing so sharpened another set of sounds beneath Mateo’s footsteps, sounds that caught her breath in her throat: 

Shaking gasps. The coarse scrubbing of fabric against lips and tongue. Weak whimpers of pain as skin touched skin. 

Oh, no.

There was a second voice - tiny, feeble, full of contempt. She knew exactly who it belonged to the second the first syllable hit her ear, and it sent a crippling shockwave through her entire system.

{“I hate you.”}

Oh, no!

Dolores tore out of her room, soaring down the stairs and out of the house as fast as her legs could carry her. She only knew the sounds came from the east relative to Casita, beyond the activity of the main path, but other than that she was flying blind. Both her hands cupped her ears, straining to hear where he might be or where he could have gone - she didn’t hear Mateo either, God help him if she ran into him now, but that was something she could handle later. First and foremost she had to find her brother, wherever that bastard had left him. But where was that? All she could recall was the sound of crunching beneath Mateo’s footsteps. Were they outside? In the forest, in a barn, walking over sticks or straw or dried grass? She relied on what information she did have and kept heading east, weaving between palm trees and hopping over rocks and bushes down the hillside.

“Camilo!” She called, her echo bouncing off the mountains. Her own voice made her ears ring and she couldn’t have cared less. “Camilo, where are you?!” She could hear her heartbeat pounding rhythmically in her head, her own labored breathing muddying up her senses even more. She clapped her hands over her ears and shouted for him again, frustrated with her own body’s interference. When she moved her hands, she listened carefully to her surroundings, searching for him whether it was his voice or his clothes or his heartbeat. She had a grim thought that maybe Mateo had taken Camilo with him when he left, but brushed it away with the reassurance that she’d definitely be hearing him if that were the case. Right?

Just as she was about to call again, she heard the familiar fluttering of fabric heading towards Casita. Turning around she saw the telltale golden ruana about a dozen yards away, cloaked around its owner as he trudged slowly and unsteadily up the hillside.

“Camilo!” She yelled again, a little quieter this time for her own sake, and broke into a sprint to meet him. He didn’t seem to notice her, even when she got closer - he just kept moving forward, glazed-looking eyes staring unseeing into the space in front of him, his face blank and unreadable. His arms were hidden beneath his ruana, wrapped protectively around himself and out of view from the rest of the world. He looked like a zombie. That sinking feeling in Dolores’s core only increased as she caught up to him, reaching out to gingerly hold his shoulders. On instinct he slowed to a stop, but his gaze remained unfocused.

“Camilo?” She asked quietly, her brows knit in worry. After a second his eyes flit to hers, seeming to come back to reality, and for a beat he swayed to and fro as though he would collapse against her. Between his spaced-out state and the sounds she’d heard him make from her balcony, she wondered if he was physically ill - but then what part did Mateo play in it? She held him steady, one hand raising to tenderly touch his cheek.

“Camilo,” she tried again, “what-- what happened? What did he do to you?”

His face didn’t change much, but she heard his pulse skyrocket. His lips parted, then closed, then opened again, only for him to turn away from her and resume walking to the house on his own.

“Nothing,” he murmured, and Dolores heard her heart break.

“No, come on, Camilo, don’t do this - you said you were going to talk to me!” Disappointment didn’t begin to cover what she was feeling. They’d been so close to a breakthrough and now they were back to square one, with Camilo in almost worse of a state than before. She followed him to the front steps, trying not to look at his image on the door lest she see his likeness warp further. He glided right past it, not sparing it a glance as he entered the house.

“I changed my mind,” He said just as flatly, making for the stairs. 

Dolores sputtered in disbelief before trailing after him. “Are you for real? So I guess the apology was a lie too then, huh?” He didn’t respond. She huffed, “If you’re mad at me for being in my room and missing what just happened then I’m sorry, I might not have caught it all but what I did hear was way too weird to--”

“What did you hear? ”

The speed in which he turned to her and asked took her aback. He gazed intently at her, searching her, and she could have sworn she saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“Um… something about practice, and-- and he told you to behave, then you said you hated him,” she recalled, shaking off the goosebumps that came with the memory of how nasty Mateo’s voice had been. “Now tell me, what does that mean? What’s he making you do?”

Camilo’s shoulders had been rigid, but the tension slowly deflated as she ran through all she’d caught. That was it? That was it… So she really had gone right to her room when he’d asked her to - then at least she was spared from hearing the terrible things that man had threatened to do to her and the others. Bitterly he supposed it was his own fault no one came to his rescue, in that case. But he was reminded of something Mateo had told him early on, and instead of properly answering, he shot back with another question. “Why did you talk to him after I told you to stay out of it?”

Dolores blinked, then frowned. “I was following my instincts. I knew he was behind it, so I wanted to… Is that what that was about? Was he giving you trouble over that?”

“Don’t talk to him again,” Camilo said sharply, turning away and continuing up the stairs. Please, it’s for your own good.

Dolores hesitated just a beat, indignant. “Ugh, you--!” The gall of this kid, to be evasive in one breath and boss her around in the other! She grit her teeth and tailed a few steps behind him, pulling her trump card - if she couldn’t get anything done, she’d have to threaten the use of someone who could. “Camilo, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, then I’ll tell Mamá to--”

“Don’t,” he whipped around and shot his hand, clean and unmarred, out from beneath the ruana and snatched the ruffle of Dolores’s neckline, cutting her off with a squeak. The look in his eyes was deathly serious as he loomed over her from his higher steps, boring holes through her skull. “Don’t say anything. If you say anything to anyone I’ll never forgive you. I’ll hate you for the rest of my life. If you don't keep quiet then I'll make you.”

He just wanted her to back down. His words were empty, bluffs meant to convey how intensely he felt about the matter without giving anything away. But in that moment they spent staring at each other, the fabric of her dress clutched in his trembling hand that strained to keep hold of an unnatural form, she didn’t look defiant or angry or anything he’d expected.

She looked rattled. Hesitantly her hands hovered over his, and she spoke in a mousey whisper.

“Camilo, you’re scaring me…”

Camilo’s face dropped, seeming to register what he was doing. His eyes flit down to where he held her dress - he wasn’t a forceful person, he’d never put his hands on anyone like this, let alone his own sister. So why was he doing this now? 

‘We’re a lot alike, chiquito.'

With a gasp he yanked his hand back into himself as though he’d been burnt, and Dolores could have sworn she heard the shimmer of his magic as soon as it disappeared beneath his ruana. He looked like he was going to be sick as he attempted to back himself up to the next step, nearly losing his balance.

“I-- I’m sorry,” he uttered through a breaking voice, “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t say anything. Please, just forget it.”

From there he turned around and quickly finished the rest of the ascent, disappearing around the corner of the second story landing. Dolores watched helplessly after him, resting her hands over where Camilo had grabbed her. She wasn’t hurt, not physically, but this was so much more severe than she could have expected. Camilo had been a different person in that moment, in a way that didn’t use his Gift. She’d been taken by surprise, certainly, but she knew that wasn’t her brother - and he recognized that too, having seemed just as shaken by himself as she was. 

She collected herself with a deep breath and considered what her next step should be, putting the pieces together in her mind.

‘Can’t say anything’ - as opposed to ‘won’t say anything?'  Was it not his choice? 'Remember what I said about behaving.’ That was a threat if ever there was one. What was going on?

Just then, she heard the sound of a chipper voice approaching the house, tailed by energetic, childlike chirpings all talking over each other. Dolores came down the stairs, gripping the railing with white-knuckled tension, and knew it was time for her to call for reinforcements. She’d done what she could by herself - Camilo needed help, fast, and she knew it couldn’t be done on her own.

Mirabel had had a pretty productive day, relatively speaking. She’d done various odd jobs for the folks around town and received much praise and gratitude for it, which always did well to boost her ego. She’d spent the last half hour or so entertaining the usual gaggle of children, who now followed her like ducklings as she made her way back home for a break. Of course, until she actually got inside the house she would still have to endure the onslaught of curious questions about her and her family from the ever-inquisitive kids of the Encanto.

“So like, do you think Luisa could pick up one of the mountains and throw it super far?” A young curly-haired boy named Jairo asked as he accentuated the hypothetical scenario with wide, sweeping arm gestures.

“She probably could!” Mirabel hummed in amusement.

“Um, does Isabela still like flowers?” Asked Nancy, a girl with twin braids emerging from a cream-colored sunhat.

“Of course she does!” Mirabel nodded, with Nancy smiling in return,” She’s been experimenting with what else she can do, but she’s still our favorite flower girl.”

“I miss Camilo, he hasn’t come to see us in a while!” Juancho whined before taking a swig from his mug. The sentiment was parroted by a few of the other children who lamented not having him as a playmate as of late, and Mirabel’s smile twitched.

“Ah, well, he should be coming back soon!” She said, reassuring herself just as much as the kids, “He’s just… taking a bit of a vacation right now, you know?”

“Mirabel.”

All the chatter stopped as they all saw Dolores standing in Casita’s doorway, her hand bracing the frame and a solemn look on her face. Mirabel blinked, taking a step forward.

“Dolores? What’s up?”

“I need you.”

Mirabel’s brows rose in surprise, but she quickly accepted the call. She turned to the children, unaware of anything amiss, and gently shooed them with, “I’ve gotta go take care of something. I’ll tell Camilo you all said hi, okay?” That seemed to placate them, and they waved to Mirabel as they cheerfully took off back into town. As soon as the coast was clear she approached Dolores, who wasted no time in taking her hand and leading her up the stairs.

“Is it Camilo?” Mirabel asked, getting a short nod in return.

“Something new happened,” Dolores said quietly, “and he’s not okay.”

Mirabel was stunned by the information, having to spend the next few seconds wrapping her head around it before she could speak. “Wha-- what, huh? What? What do you mean, something new? What happened?”

They came to a stop in front of Camilo’s door, and Dolores held Mirabel’s shoulders to firmly look her in the eye.

“I heard him being threatened. I think maybe somebody’s blackmailing him, but he won’t tell me anything. He’s too scared to.”

Mirabel swallowed, recalling the previous night. “I know.”

Dolores looked her over before continuing. “I can’t do this myself. I think if you go in with me, he’ll be more willing to talk.”

“We’re coming too.” 

The two looked up to see Isabela and Luisa standing at the top of the other staircase, Isabela’s arms crossed in front of her and Luisa’s hands wringing together. Isabela, who had spoken, continued with, “I’m invoking my Oldest Grandchild Rights to be involved. If someone’s hurting my cousin, then I wanna know about it.”

“What are you guys even doing here?” Mirabel asked, adjusting her glasses. “I mean, how’d you know where to come?”

Luisa rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, Señor Rendon accidentally lost hold on the donkeys again, so I helped him round them up,” the other women collectively rolled their eyes as Luisa continued, “I was on my way with them to the stable when I thought I saw Camilo walking away from it, in this direction. He looked… weird, like he was in some kind of trance. So once I finished I thought I’d come check on him.”

“I ran into Luisa on the way in, because I was coming to do the same thing,” Isabela added, “I saw him doing something odd too, when I was replenishing the blossoms around town. He was kind of looping around the streets like he didn’t know where he was going, and then I lost sight of him. I only know it was him because he changed into, like, three different people while doing it.”

Mirabel looked from her sisters back to her cousin, nodding affirmatively. “I think we’re all on the same page, then. Let’s go get Camilo back, shall we?”

Dolores was almost overwhelmed with how eager they all were to help - but she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, given that’s just how it was in La Familia Madrigal. They stuck together, and Camilo was no exception. She nodded back, standing upright and placing her hand on Camilo’s doorknob - but she stopped when she heard the shuffle of little footsteps coming up the stairs behind Luisa and Isabela, and peered in that direction just as Luisa felt a small tug on her skirt.

“I wanna help, too,” Antonio said, piquing all of their attention, “Some tangara friends of mine told me that Camilo was in trouble. They heard him yelling from inside where the donkeys live.” 

The girls exchanged looks of wordless agreement, and Luisa picked Antonio up and settled him on her hip. From there Dolores took a breath, turned the knob, and pushed her brother’s door open.

Disconcertingly, the room inside seemed dull and bare. What was usually a resplendent shimmering glow that swirled like stardust around all four corners had dimmed and slowed to a crawl. There didn’t seem to be any furniture visible, not even the diamond-shaped bed that was typically a mainstay in the center. It was lonely and eerie, a room reflective of someone with hardly any life left in them. Camilo hadn’t even made it very far inside; he sat on his calves a few feet into the room, his back facing the door and his ruana draped over him like an impenetrable shell. He didn’t turn around when the light from outside cascaded over him, stretching endlessly into the abyss of what was now his space.

“Please go away,” he said quietly, not turning around to see who had entered, “I just need a minute. I’ll be fine then. Just go.”

“You can’t keep doing this, Camilo,” Dolores returned, “You aren’t fine and you’re not going to be fine if you keep running from it.”

“I’m not running,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

“Camilo,” Mirabel’s voice made him jolt, only now did he realize it wasn’t just his sister in the room with him. “We know you’re scared, but it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” He directed towards Mirabel, peering over his shoulder to look at her, and only growing increasingly upset as he saw every one of his siblings and cousins standing behind him. “Oh, no, what-- what are all of you doing in here?” Pulling himself off the floor he backed away from the group, his hands grabbing at his shirt out of their sight. “You-- you all need to go!”

Isabela raised her hands, attempting to ease his heightened panic. “It’s okay, primo, we’re here to help you.”

“Camilo, if someone’s hurting you, you can tell us,” Luisa tried, visibly uneased by the situation.

“No I can’t!” He shook his head, “If I don’t--” He stopped himself, biting down on his own tongue to keep himself from revealing more than he wanted to.

“If you don’t what? Behave? Like he told you to?” Dolores snapped, knowing she had him in the way he lurched at the word. “You don’t have to do anything he tells you to do, if you tell us what’s going on we can put a stop to it.” 

“You don’t understand, none of you do!” He took another step back, as everyone else took a step in. “I’m, I’m being… I’m doing this for all of you, so just leave me alone!”

“But we don’t want this, Milo,” Antonio clung to Luisa’s shirt, the woe in his face only breaking Camilo’s heart further, “we don’t want you to be scared, or sad.” 

Camilo’s features scrunched in anguish, and he shook his head again. “Please, just… just let me handle this, I just need time, just give me time. Now go away, all of you!” 

He turned on his heel, moving to get away from them. Dolores was right behind and her hand darted out, seizing his wrist from beneath his ruana before he got too far. 

“Camilo, would you stop--!”

The cry of pain that shot out of Camilo’s mouth shocked everyone in the room, including Camilo himself. He’d screwed his eyes shut when it happened, cracking them open again to stare at his equally stunned sister. Time stopped for just a moment, until slowly Dolores unfurled her fingers from around Camilo’s wrist, and her stomach dropped upon seeing the dark splotches staining his skin. The marks almost perfectly aligned with her own grasp, if not for the fact they stretched longer and wider, the sign of a hand much bigger than her own. Where did these come from? They hadn’t been there when he’d grabbed her earlier - but the out-of-place sound of his magic she’d heard came back to her, and it clicked. 

The bruise beneath her index finger had an odd horizontal stripe that seemed darker than the rest: the indentation of a ring, like a brand stamped into a leather hide.

“He did this to you,” she breathed, a statement rather than a question. “Didn’t he?”

Silence.

Camilo floundered, stricken in place for just a beat, before he suddenly snatched his wrist away and retreated further into the room without a word.

“Camilo!” Dolores called, starting after him, but her path was blocked by a thick wall of velvet thudding weightily into the floor and making the ground shake. A room-wide theater curtain had descended from a nebulous space in the ceiling, effectively barring his siblings and cousins from traversing any further into his territory. With a grunt of frustration, Dolores grabbed handfuls of the curtain and pried them apart in search of the opening.

“Camilo, please,” she called, wincing as the reverberations in the room bounced off her sensitive ears, “Why are you shutting us out?! I can’t watch you do this to yourself, I can’t watch you fall apart like this!” 

Mirabel stood to Dolores’s side, rigid and shaking, desperately trying to hold in how badly she wanted to break down and cry. She’d been through some truly harrowing and emotionally compromising events in recent times, but whatever was happening in that room was almost more terrifying than losing the magic and nearly being crushed by a collapsing house. This wasn’t a collapse of plaster and wood, or of miracles and magic, this was a collapse of a boy’s spirit and his relationship with his family. And much to her distress, all her efforts to help him as she’d promised to had been useless.

Isabela approached Dolores and gently laid her hand on her shoulder, her expression somber. “I think… we just need to give him his space.”

Dolores looked at her cousin aghast. “What?! But you saw, you saw those bruises too, didn’t you? We’re so close, he just needs to--!”

“Lola,” Luisa said quietly, adjusting her hold on a very concerned Antonio, “Isa’s right. We all want to help, but if we force him, we might just end up hurting him too.”

Dolores looked back at the curtain, gritting her teeth and biting back tears. Hurting Camilo was the last thing Dolores wanted to do, but how could she just leave him be when he was deteriorating from the inside out? How could she just keep quiet about what she knew when Camilo was in danger, actively undergoing physical harm and mental distress on a daily basis? How could she possibly look her parents in the eye and tell them she didn’t know anything while their son, her brother, sunk deeper into the pit of tar he’d been trapped in? How long must she stand idly by, until she could no longer grab his hand?

Isabela delicately led Dolores from the curtain by her shoulders, and with much reluctance all five of them began to head back for the door. Dolores wrapped her arms around herself, lowering her head in defeat.

Lo siento, Mamá. I failed.

Then, she heard it. So quiet, so faint, a featherlight puff of air. But she heard it clear as day.

{“Yes.” }

Dolores squeaked, stopping dead in her tracks and whipping her head back towards the curtain. Her cousins paused as well, peering at her curiously.

“What?” Dolores whispered, her big eyes even bigger, “What did you say?”

There was a pause. No one in the room seemed to be breathing.

Then she heard it again.

{“Yes. It was him.” }

Dolores sailed back to the curtain, her hands buried in the velvet faster than anyone could react to. Her eyes watered, relief crashing over her in waves that he was talking, he was finally allowing her in, even to a miniscule degree. With a sniffle she cried out to him, clutching the heavy fabric close to her chest.

“He won’t get away with it, I promise! We’ll help you! We’ll help you because we’re your familia, a-and we love you! So please, Milo, come out…!”

Mirabel was right on her heels, calling alongside her. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, we can-- we can make it okay now! We can fix it together!”

“Dolores,” Isabela reached towards her cousin again, all three girls jumping back in surprise when the curtain finally rose once more and disappeared into the winding ceiling. The glow of his walls seemed to flicker erratically, shifting between remaining dim and fighting to burn bright as it used to. His furniture had inexplicably returned and Camilo stood beside the bed, his back still turned to them all, his entire frame trembling. Mirabel preemptively grabbed Dolores’s hand to keep her from barreling at him, despite how much she wanted to do the same thing. As if on instinct Dolores clutched her hand back, squeezing it for comfort.

Silence gripped the room, tension hanging heavy in the air.

“We’re here, Milo,” Antonio’s small voice was the first to speak up, and Dolores heard Camilo’s breathing jitter at the sound of it.

Mirabel took a deep breath, preparing herself to make an offer she wasn’t quite sure if she could follow through on.

“Tell us what you want us to do,” she said, and all eyes but Camilo’s turned to her. She held fast, strengthening her hold on Dolores’ hand. “It’s your call, Camilo. We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. If you want us to go away, we’ll do it. If you want us to help you, you just have to say the word.”

Camilo’s fingers clutched tighter around his arms.

“It’s up to you,” Isabela agreed, her hands balled at her sides, “You feel like you don’t have a say in what’s going on, right? We’re giving you your say now.”

His shoulders stiffened, then began to quake.

“I know you’re worried about us, but we’re all worried about you, and you matter just as much as we do.” Luisa’s voice was gentler than ever, “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re stronger together, remember?”

Dolores heard droplets hitting the floor. She shut her eyes, exhaling out her reservations.

“You have a voice, manito. Let us hear it.”

A beat, and the world was still.

Camilo lifted his head.

Then he turned around to face them all, tears freely rolling down his face from pleading eyes.

“Help me…” He sobbed, “Help me…! ”

Chapter Text

In an instant, Camilo was surrounded. Dolores threw herself into him so hard it nearly knocked him over, not helped by Mirabel crashing into them with the same amount of fervor. They were kept up by Isabela grabbing onto the growing pile from behind, and as Antonio squeezed in to cling to his brother’s waist, the whole group was encircled by Luisa’s arms and hoisted into the air. Camilo was positively overtaken, enveloped from every angle by arms and faces and bodies - flower petals, shielding him from thorny briars.

That warmth he’d felt during his dream gradually immersed him, seeping into his body from theirs, flooding his depths with brilliant light, until he could no longer contain it. He laid his head where Dolores and Mirabel’s shoulders overlapped and let out every ounce of pain and sorrow he’d held bottled inside him, everything he’d kept subdued or stifled to prevent others from bearing witness. It spilled out of him in droves, in anguished wails he had no chance of controlling and in the torrential downpour of tears he had no chance of stopping. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room; every grandchild had succumbed to weeping, unable to bear the overwhelming emotions roiling and whirling around in the atmosphere, every one of their tears that hit his skin or hair seeming to further draw out the dark matter from within him and expel it from his soul. 

It wasn’t gone completely, and it would take a very long time before it would be, but his body felt lighter, cleaner, the buzzing of cicadas and writhing of worms in his core having calmed to near nonexistence and given way to butterflies.

No one knew how much time had passed, and it didn’t seem to matter. Luisa eventually set the group back on their feet, but even then it took a while for them to stop holding each other and for the sniffles and hiccups to fully subside. Dolores was the first to pull out, unweaving her arm from between Camilo’s back and Isabela’s chest to rub at her aching eyes with a long, exhausted sigh. From there the rest of the group unfurled and did the same, releasing tight grips on each other’s clothing and scrubbing their sodden faces.

“Now,” Dolores started once she’d collected herself, her voice muddled from a stuffed nose, “You’re gonna tell us what’s going on, right?”

Camilo shut his eyes, still red and puffy, and took a deep breath. Here goes.

“Mateo Herrera did this to me,” he said as he held up his battered wrists, more for the others’ sake than Dolores’s. Even saying that much was difficult, for as much liberation as he felt there was still a vine of fear securely entangling his heart over what would happen now that he was defying Mateo’s orders. “All of this is his fault.”

The reaction from the others was a mix of surprise and incredulity. Mateo Herrera was a charismatic and attractive young man, a hard worker and well-liked within the community - and he was the one causing Camilo such misery? They’d known of him practically all their lives, and in the span of seconds every memory he was a part of quickly curdled and molded in their minds. Isabela couldn’t believe someone she’d basically grown up beside could be capable of such cruelty, Luisa was ashamed to have ever considered him handsome, and Mirabel’s recollection of how his face had lit up the night Camilo got his gift was completely tainted.

Meanwhile Dolores thinned her lips, her hands gripping at her skirt. I knew it, she thought, her rage towards the man only increasing with the confirmation he’d given her a bold-faced lie when she visited his door that night.

“He told me you started acting strange before the party was even over,” Dolores muttered, “and that you looked like you didn’t want to be there.”

Camilo furrowed his brow, still distressed that Dolores had spoken to him at all. “That’s ‘cause they were all drunk! It was awkward!” He cried almost defensively, fiddling with the hem of his ruana. “It’s not that I didn’t want to be there, I just-- I didn’t really wanna hear about what Rafael and Claudia are doing in the bedroom or whatever, you know? That’s all.”

“Then if it didn’t start at the party, where did it start?” Mirabel asked.

His eyes lowered and his grip on his ruana tightened. He couldn’t just come out and say it, not yet. He was doing his best to let them in and tell them what was troubling him, but just thinking of the root of his problems and the event that started it all turned his mouth into a desert no words could survive in. But he could take vague baby steps, he supposed, those didn’t hurt quite as much.

“It started with Mateo,” he mumbled.

Dolores leaned in, her eyes hard. “He said you took off on your own before he got you home that night. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Camilo paled, unable to move his gaze from the floor. All he could manage was a small nod, which turned up the heat on Dolores’s boiling blood.

“Is he bullying you?” Luisa asked, lowering herself closer to her primo, “if he is, I can beat him up for you.”

“No. I mean, not really, it’s… it’s more complicated than that.” Camilo wasn’t actually sure if what was going on qualified as bullying. He’d never been bullied before, but then again, he’d never been subjected to whatever it was that Mateo was doing to him.

Luisa paused. “Do you still want me to beat him up?”

“I mean…”

“Luisa, I think you’d kill him,” Mirabel commented, before cracking her own knuckles. “That’s why I’ll do it.”

“Guys,” Isabela interjected, getting her sisters’ attention, “you’re overwhelming him. Just let him say what he needs to say.”

Not that Camilo wouldn’t be opposed to Luisa snapping that man in half like a twig, but he still took grievance with the idea of any one of his cousins getting near him after what he’d threatened to do. This was his moment, though. This is what he’d been working up towards and what he intended to do that morning, and he steeled himself with a low exhale before starting.

“Mateo is… obsessed with me, and he apparently has been for a long time,” He bit his lip, embarrassed now that he was actually confronting Mateo’s twisted feelings for him, “He, uh… he wants me, in that way.” A wave of grimaces washed over the other faces in the room. “He thinks I’m like his soulmate or something. And I’m pretty sure he’s got something really nasty planned, he said he’s been working for years on whatever it is, and I’m just…” He shut his eyes again, a rosy flush of wounded pride washing over his freckles, “...I’m scared. I’m scared of him and what he can do. What he’s going to do.”

“He’s not going to do anything,” Isabela asserted, placing her hand on her hip, “we won’t let him, I promise you.”

He opened his mouth to retort before Dolores gently guided his face towards herself, looking deeply at him. “Camilo, tell me what I heard before you got home.”

There was some struggle in maintaining eye contact with her but he made an effort, as his fingers ghosted over the imprints on one of his wrists.

“He stopped me on my way home,” he mumbled, “I tried to outrun him, but he caught me in Señor Rendon’s stables. He…” He trailed off, his throat closing before he could get into too much detail. Still he tried to swallow it back open, his voice wavering as he continued, “He did this to me, ‘cause he thought I’d snitched on him to you. Then he… he said he would hurt all of you if I told anyone.” An understatement, but to tell them what he’s really said was unfathomable. Even remembering it made Camilo feel ill.

The women in the room gave traded doleful glances, as it dawned on them why he’d been so adamant about keeping quiet and handling it alone. Dolores in particular berated herself for not checking in on him sooner, maybe then she would have heard more or even made it there to catch Mateo in the act.

“Milo, take a look at me,” Luisa now turned him towards herself by the shoulders, “You think he could hurt me? I’m the strongest woman in the Encanto - the strongest person in the Encanto. Anything he’d do to me would be, like, about as effective as throwing a wad of paper. Right?”

“I don’t care,” he sniffed and wiped beneath his eyes, “I’d never forgive myself if he did anything to any of you, or even tried to.”

“But that isn’t your burden to bear, you’re not responsible for what he does!” Mirabel cried, her heart aching for him and how desperately he’d tried to protect them from something they’d known nothing about. It made her think of their Tío Bruno and how much he’d suffered by martyring himself, and she couldn’t bear to think of Camilo suffering in the same way.

“It’s me he wants!” Camilo shot back, “And if I do what he says then he’ll leave you alone, I don’t have a choice!”

“Yes you do,” Dolores squeezed his upper arms, “You’re making your choice right now by telling us. We can get the adults involved and put a stop to all of this, before he has the chance to do anything bad to you.”

She heard his breath stop in his throat. An increasing sense of foreboding came over her as Camilo lost all ability to look his sister in the eyes, color draining further from his face. That dour atmosphere leaked into the rest of the room the longer his silence lasted, to where his cousins felt it as well and they all looked at him warily.

“Camilo…?” Dolores asked, her voice grave with apprehension, “What did he do to you?”

He couldn’t speak. His teeth were welded shut. But from the look on Dolores’s face, Camilo knew she was already connecting the dots.

“Milo?” Mirabel tried, not yet aware.

“I…” He hesitated, casting a sidelong glance to his little brother, “Antonio’s here, I can’t…” 

Dolores felt like her veins were full of nettles. She had all the pieces laid out in front of her, but she just couldn’t string the whole picture together. She refused to, because then she could keep believing it wasn’t a possibility. Not that, she pleaded to the universe and whoever would listen, anything but that. Not to my baby brother, not to mi manito. 

Antonio reached over and took one of Camilo’s hands into his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, Milo,” he said, looking up at his brother with big worried eyes that betrayed a soft smile, “You can tell me.”

Camilo’s eyes grew glassy. No, I can’t. His own innocence had already been stripped from him, but Antonio’s could still be preserved. He pressed a quick, appreciative kiss to Antonio’s forehead, and before he could think about stopping himself, he took back his hand and shielded both of the young boy’s little ears from the words about to crawl past his lips.

“This all started when Mateo molested me.”

Dolores made a high-pitched noise Camilo had never heard before, a mix between her usual squeak and a shrill sob, as she covered her face with her hands. That sound, coupled with the way poisonous mushrooms sprouted from Isabela’s head, and how Luisa’s lip wibbled and eyes flooded nearly made him fall apart all over again. Mirabel and Antonio exchanged equally uninformed looks, Antonio not even knowing exactly what had been said, but they recognized that whatever had happened to Camilo was something terrible. Camilo lowered his face into his own hands, unable to face the devastation gripping the room, his voice quaking as he stumbled over elaboration.

“That’s-- that’s why I’ve been so weird lately. And I’m sorry I took it out on everybody, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I didn’t mean to hit Isa or say all those stupid, awful things to you, Dolores, I just-- I-I didn’t know what to do, I just wanted to make it go away but it wouldn’t, and--”

He was cut off by Dolores gathering him in another tight hug, her slender frame trembling against his. 

“I’m so sorry…!” She gasped, clinging to him like her life depended on it.

Camilo dithered for a moment, unsure, before wrapping his arms around her in return. “But… why? It’s not your fault.” It was no one’s fault but Mateo’s. And… maybe a little his own, for not trusting his own instincts, but he wasn’t about to voice that thought lest it only upset her further.

“I wasn’t listening!” She pulled back, her eyes huge and glistening with unshed tears, “If I had been listening I could have heard you! I could have saved you!”

He shook his head. “N-No, I don’t think so,” he swallowed thickly, his own eyes beginning to well again too, “It was at that old water mill, I don’t think you were supposed to hear it.”

“I could have tried! I could have heard him take you there, I-- Oh, Dios, Camilo, it’s all my fault!” She collapsed against his shoulder, shuddering with airy, treble cries. 

“Please don’t,” he choked out, squeezing her as tightly as he could without hurting her. “Please…” A small, guilty part of him agreed with the notion that if she’d been listening then it likely wouldn’t have happened in the first place, and all this horror could have been avoided. But that would have been like blaming Bruno because he didn’t see it in a vision, or blaming the town for not demolishing the mill once they were done with it. For as stupid as Camilo felt for trusting Mateo that night, he knew Mirabel was right when she said he wasn’t responsible for Mateo’s actions - and neither was anyone else, Dolores included.

As the two siblings held each other and wept anew, the rest of the grandchildren were attempting to process and understand the situation from the sidelines. Mirabel had slowly inched her way beside an ashen-faced Isabela, who was plucking the last mushroom from her head with shaking hands.

“What does that mean? That thing he said happened,” Mirabel asked quietly. Isabela grimaced, hesitating in consideration, before ultimately leaning in to whisper into her sister’s ear. Mirabel’s face went from confusion to shock, then to fury. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around it; how could anyone do something like that? To anyone, let alone her cousin? Oh, the next time she saw Mateo, it was on sight.

“If it were up to me I wouldn’t have told you,” Isabela said lowly, “But Camilo didn’t get a choice in learning before he was ready.” She took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes. “I want to believe there’s no danger like that for you, but if-- if there is, I want you to be able to recognize it. So this doesn’t happen again.” It was entirely possible that Mateo was a complete outlier and that a predator like him was something the Madrigals would never have to deal with again, but knowing even one person in town was able to commit such atrocities made it difficult for Isabela to trust that there wasn’t anyone else like him lurking around the streets of their home.

Mirabel didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Instead she reached over and took hold of Isabela’s hand, feeling just a little closer to her sister in that moment and wishing it didn’t come at the price of their cousin’s well-being.

At the same time, Antonio approached Luisa again and raised his arms to her, an unspoken request to be picked up which she didn’t hesitate to oblige. She’d been in the middle of trying to quell her own tears, and as she settled her small cousin back on her hip she resumed fanning the dampness out of her eyes. 

“What happened to Camilo?” Antonio asked her, laying his head on her shoulder and looking back at the other four very distraught people in the room. He was a little hurt that he hadn’t been allowed to hear what everyone else did, but in noting how sad everyone was now, he wondered if maybe not knowing was a good thing. 

Luisa sniffled, urging herself to calm down, finding it difficult to do so now that she was faced with the task of explaining something so sensitive to a five-year-old.

“Well,” She hesitated, choosing her phrasing very carefully, “Somebody… hurt Camilo. They hurt him in a way my mamá’s food won’t be able to heal.”

Antonio’s brows furrowed, befuddled by the concept. “But then… how do we fix it?”

“It’s not really something we can fix, Toñito,” She gently brushed a few stray coils of hair from his face. “But we can help, and I think the best way we can do that is to make Camilo feel safe, a-and protected. So he won’t be afraid of being hurt like that again.”

Antonio seemed to consider it a moment.

“I’ve got a jaguar,” he said matter-of-factly, “Parce will protect him.” 

Luisa gave him a warm, but teary smile. “That’s good. I’m sure that’ll make him feel a lot safer.”

Dolores and Camilo eventually quieted back down, but Dolores wasn’t yet ready to let her brother go. One hand tenderly caressed the back of his head, soft wisps of his hair threading between her fingers as she gazed out at nothing in particular over his shoulder. Camilo was spent, to say the least, feeling as though he could sleep for the next two weeks straight after all this. 

“I hate feeling so weak,” he whispered wearily, prompting Dolores to raise her head and look at him, “I’m tired of crying. I feel like I’ve done nothing but cry this whole time. It’s pathetic.”

“You aren’t weak, Milo,” Dolores pulled back and held his hands in both of hers, running her thumbs over his knuckles, “You’re hurting. That man did something terrible to you and you’re still in pain. That’s not pathetic.”

Camilo’s gaze fell. He didn’t particularly agree with her, but the words were a comfort regardless. At the very least, he felt seen - he felt heard.

And thinking of what that man had done reminded Dolores of something else she’d heard that she still had no explanation for.

“By the way, did you throw up?” When Camilo blinked at her, she clarified, “In the stables.”

It took Camilo a moment to recall, though he wished he hadn’t. “Uh, not fully. Maybe a bit.” There was a beat as Camilo closed his eyes, feeling nauseous all over again. “He shoved his tongue in my mouth.”

A collective wave of disgust rolled over the room. Even Antonio pulled a face at that.

“Oh, gross,” Mirabel shuddered.

“Worse than morcilla,” He agreed dryly.

Isabela approached him again, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Camilo,” she started, her tone firm, “you have to tell the adults. None of this is okay.”

He shrunk into himself, grimacing at the notion of repeating anything said there to his parents, or God forbid his abuela. He didn’t even want to imagine the look in his mother’s eyes or the impending deluge that would follow. “Isn’t this enough?” He asked meekly, “It was hard enough telling you guys, can’t we just leave it at that? Why get them all riled and upset over it?”

She pursed her lips. “Think about it. If we go deal with him, say we tell him to leave you alone or beat him up or whatever, that’s not going to be nearly the amount of justice you deserve. He’ll still be around - you really want him to just carry on with life like nothing happened? A slap on the wrist, and he's good to go? And even if he does listen to us, who’s to say he won’t move on from you to somebody else?”

Camilo's shoulders sagged, because he knew she was right. In the first 24 hours, he would have loved nothing more than to have both of them leave it in the past and never speak of it again, so long as Mateo forgot he existed. Now, knowing what he knew, what had been done to him, what Mateo was capable of and willing to do - Camilo may have been his target, but that man had very little love for anyone else. Who else may have been suffering at his hands, even now? A sickly dread swirled within him at the suggestion he’d find a new victim; Camilo didn’t think that would be the case, yet he spared Antonio a fretful glance as Mateo’s vile threats against him slithered into his mind. 

“Yeah, but…” He mumbled, any actual rebuttal dying on his lips.

“He’s dangerous, Camilo. He shouldn’t even be here anymore, if you ask me,” Mirabel said bitterly, crossing her arms, “You know Abuela has the power to punish him better than any of us can. Whether that’s making him leave the Encanto for good or throwing him in some underground dungeon or something, you know she could make it happen.”

“I’ll dig the dungeon myself,” Luisa snorted.

“Our parents ought to know, Camilo,” Dolores said, tapping her steepled fingers together, “They’re worried sick about you. I hear them talking about it every time they’re together.”

When Camilo still seemed on the edge of indecision, Mirabel bargained, “Tell you what. You take it to Abuela and let her bring the hammer down on him - if somehow he’s still in town after it, all of us will rotate off every week to beat the snot out of him for the rest of our lives.”

“That’s not even counting what Mamá will do to him,” Dolores mused.

Camilo could practically hear the lightning already. But while anxiety still marched diligently through his nervous system, they all made valid points and Camilo couldn’t logistically disagree with any of them. He sighed deeply, acceptance settling in his bones.

“Okay,” he relented, much to the relief and delight of the others, “I’ll… I’ll tell them when they get home. Just… let me do it by myself, okay? I feel like having an army of dorks behind me would be kind of awkward.”

“You’d know, King Dork,” Dolores finally managed a small smile as she pinched Camilo’s cheek, making him swat her hand away with a grunt.

Isabela sighed, then gave pause. “But man, what I wouldn’t give to shove a cactus right up that guy’s cul --”

“Isa!” Luisa squawked, affronted, and covered Antonio’s ears. Mirabel slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a bark of laughter, all for naught as it raspberried out from between her fingers. From there it was game over, as a giggling fit quickly ensnared all six grandchildren, including Camilo. He wiped the remnants of tears from his lashes with his palm, and the walls of his room seemed to shimmer with new life.

“Listen,” he started and rubbed his neck, a sudden shyness coming over him and making it difficult to hold eye contact with anyone, “This was… really tough, you know. I didn’t even see myself doing this at all, with any of you. But, uh… you know, it was-- it wasn’t so bad with all you guys here, so, uh, I guess what I'm trying to say is, uh… you know…”

They knew what he was going for, and they’d let him flounder over it long enough. Camilo again found himself in the middle of a Madrigal cuddle puddle, squished between sibling and cousin alike in a firm, affectionate, and protective embrace.

“I told you, we’re your familia, and we love you,” Dolores murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his, “so you’ve just got to deal with that, okay?”

Camilo couldn’t argue. But more importantly, he didn’t want to.

There was a brief pause of silence.

“Luisa,” Mirabel broke it, her voice flat, “I take it back. You can kill him.”

As the day turned to dusk and the townsfolk began to retire for the evening, the adults of the Madrigal family returned home in a collective state of unease. No one had seen any of their children in hours, among themselves or the other residents. Pepa in particular had been shadowed by a cloud all day, that only seemed to darken the longer she’d gone without catching a glimpse of her kids out and about. The vision from the night prior consumed her thoughts, coming in handy when she needed a tornado to clear a patch of trees for a new construction site earlier, but serving no purpose now other than to raise her blood pressure. As the elder Madrigals milled around the courtyard, wrapping up conversations and finishing small tasks before their evening began, Pepa had taken a seat on a bench to collect herself with her husband dutifully by her side.

“I bet you anything they’re all up in their rooms right now,” Félix eased, holding her hand and running his other one over her arm comfortingly. “We can go check right now, if you want.”

“I’m sure they are too,” she huffed, but leaned into his shoulder. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. I could know exactly where they are and I’d still be terrified that they’re out of my sight. I can’t let it come true, Félix, I just can’t.”

“I know, mi vida,” he kissed her hand and murmured into her skin, “We’re gonna work to make sure it doesn’t.”

“Mamá.”

Pepa followed her son’s voice to the landing of the stairs, her relief at hearing him fizzling just as soon as it came. Camilo stood tense and unsure, his arms holding themselves beneath his ruana out of their sight, seeming to fidget in place and unsure of where to look. His expression was troubled, and Pepa’s soon matched as she and Félix stood from their seats.

“Yes, Camilito? What is it?”

“I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

His parents looked at each other, sharing a spark of hope between them that ignited their hearts. Pepa got to him first, lowering herself closer to his level and affectionately stroking hair from his face with the hand not holding her husband’s.

“Of course, baby, tell mami whatever’s on your mind.”

“Um,” he started, shrinking when he realized that every adult in the family had noticed his presence and now had eyes on him. “On Tuesday, before I got home from the, uh, the party…” 

Pepa’s breath hitched in her throat, tension roiling around her in a hazy fog. “Yes?”

The silent anticipation gripping the area felt like a vice on his vocal cords, which only tightened as his parents leaned in expectantly. “I was…” He faltered, unable to look anyone in the eye, “Somebody…” The tremors set in quickly, nervous shakes he couldn’t fight back. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Isa, you’d better be right.

“Take your time, mijo,” Félix soothed, though his grip tightening on Pepa’s hand gave away how anxious he was.

Camilo clenched his teeth in his head, grinding away the reluctance that made it difficult to open his mouth. Hunching down into himself and gluing his gaze to the floor, he parted his lips, with what came out as a small murmur seeming deafening to his ears.

“I… I was molested.”

A loud crack of lightning struck Casita’s front lawn, illuminating the room in a flash of white.

“ What?! ”  

With a start Camilo looked to the nearest window, watching in real time as a thick sheet of rain cascaded around the house’s perimeter. He’d heard the appalled response in multiple voices, unable to decipher which ones specifically. In just as quick of a flash Pepa was grabbing his shoulders, her eyes wild and frantic and searching him for any indication there was some kind of mistake.

“Who?! Who did this to you?! I swear, mijo, I’ll track down each and every sorry malparido at that party and wring the life out of them ‘til there’s nothing left!” She hollered, her voice almost as fierce as the raging torrent outside.

“I-It wasn’t at the party, mami,” he stammered, taken aback by his mother’s language and wanting to preserve at least a little of his legitimate friends’ honors. “It was after I left. At the old water mill.”

Another crack of lightning, as Pepa grew more upset. “Ay, Dios, the mill! What were you even doing there?! You know you’re not supposed to go there, what were you thinking?!”

“Amor,” A deeply shaken Félix held her shoulders, trying to reel her in as Camilo’s cheeks and ears flushed in humiliation and he struggled to find a response.

“Pepa.” Alma’s voice was a blade that cut through the uproar, with everyone’s eyes turning to her. She approached the three from behind with a rigid posture, raising her hand in signal for her daughter and yerno to move aside.

“But Mamá --!”

A sharp look was all it took. With resistance, Pepa was pried away from her son and stepped back to allow room for her mother to take her place. Camilo seemed to shrink even further, cowing under the weight of his grandmother’s presence, but forcing himself to make eye contact with her. 

“That is a very serious accusation, Camilo.” Her words were stern, but Camilo didn’t think she looked angry. She looked bewildered, disconcerted, incredulous not at him but for him. She looked at him with hard eyes, her voice as steady as possible. “Are you absolutely certain that is what happened to you?”

Immediately he was struck by Mateo’s taunts, the ones claiming no one would believe him, and they gutted him where he stood. His face twisted in sorrow, and the winds outside began to howl.

“I’m not lying!” He cried, his filter lost now that he’d started and unable to keep himself from babbling, “I wouldn’t make this up! He took me to that place because he knew, he knew no one would hear, and he--”

“Camilo.”

“--He put his hands on me, h-he touched me, under my clothes - I told him to stop but he wouldn’t, I swear! I swear it’s the truth! And--”

“Camilo.”

“And I know he’s not going to stop there, he’s going to do more, something worse, I-- I need help, Abuela, please, believe me--!”

“Camilo!”

Camilo snapped out of his rambling, finally able to have a moment to survey the rest of the room after such a revelation. His mother was adrift at sea, lost in the waves of devastation, clinging to her husband like a buoy to stay afloat as he held her back just as tightly. Julieta’s hands covered her mouth in shock and Bruno mirrored her some ways behind her, and Agustín looked paler than he'd ever been. Alma was doing her best to keep her composure for the rest of them, but Camilo could see her lips twitching in suppressed emotion.

“Camilo, cariño, is that why you didn’t tell us sooner? Did you think we wouldn’t believe you?”

Shame washed over him. He lowered his head, a single stray tear slipping down his cheek. That reason was only one of the many he’d had not to come clean, all of them circling his mind in a carousel of doubt and disgrace.

I felt like it was my fault. I didn’t want you to think I was dirty. I was afraid he would hurt me or someone I loved. If someone thought I was lying it would make us look bad. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I didn’t want to hurt the magic again. I didn’t want to hurt the family. I just wanted to pretend it never happened.

Instead of choosing a single reason, he simply nodded. Alma’s face softened, her brow still creased but overridden with mournful concern.

“Listen very carefully, mi nieto. We live to serve and provide for our community, but our family comes first.” She held back the lament of only truly realizing this recently, keeping her focus on him. “You are as much a part of this family as anyone else. If you do not feel safe, you can always, always count on your family to help you.” She cupped her grandson’s face, brushing away his tears with her thumb, dolor weighing heavy on her heart. “And… I’m sorry you were made to feel like you could not.”

Camilo exhaled and closed his eyes, bathed in relief. 

I knew it. I knew they would believe me.

In his moment of vulnerability he placed his hands over hers, soaking in the warmth of her touch. 

“Abuela, I…”

His eyes opened again when he heard the gasps, realizing too late what he’d done. Sure enough, in lowering his guard he’d forgotten what he’d meant to conceal: his wrists, bearing evidence of the shackles that marred them, were now on display for the rest of the family to behold. His parents looked on the cusp of collapse, with Alma staring at the marks in disbelief and his aunt and uncles’ horrified expressions visible behind her.

Resigning himself, Camilo took back his hands and fully presented his bruises for them all.

“This is from today,” he admitted, already hearing the crackling of electricity in the air, “when I told him I was going to tell you what he did to me.”

Alma’s hands relocated to his shoulders, squeezing them with purpose.

“Give me a name.”

He raised his eyes again and gazed deeply into his abuela’s, his soul glimmering with regained confidence.

“Mateo Herrera.”

The front door swung open, crashing noisily into the wall behind it, and Pepa was gone.

Chapter Text

Before the doors of La Casa Madrigal had even opened, the residents knew something major was brewing within the home. As clouds swirled above the roof and darkened the surrounding sky, lightning flashing from the inside and rain beginning to pelt the property, anyone who saw it would know right away that Pepa Madrigal was on the brink of a complete meltdown. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when - and when the other shoe dropped, it dropped magnificently. A streak of yellows and oranges burst from the home, a comet blazing with incandescent fury as it hurtled down the main path. The storm raged as strongly as Pepa did, and it followed her diligently as she flew through the streets of the town. Any resident unlucky enough to be outside were left scrambling to get out of her way, lest they get run over or struck by a loose bolt as she came through. Some people who didn’t think they needed to be involved simply stayed inside to wait out the storm, but a few others who were curious about what had gotten her so riled up had decided to follow at a safe distance.

Pepa didn’t notice. She had one destination in mind, one goal, one target she was locked onto, and when the missile landed it was going to explode.

On the other side of town, Mateo had been wrapping up a conversation with some neighbors when they all noticed the angry storm cloud forming up on the Madrigal’s hill. It began to move, quickly, from the hill and loomed closer and closer overhead, until finally its source reared her vengeful head. Pepa came barreling around the corner, gunning right for Mateo with the intensity of a thousand suns, and he knew right away.

Ah, here we go.

With the roar of a warrior Pepa dove for Mateo, throwing all her weight and tackling him to the ground. Onlookers watched in stunned shock as she struck him wildly, screaming obscenities, the sleet pounding down onto both of them as hard as Pepa pounded her fists against every inch of him she could manage. It wasn’t so acceptable for a man to strike a woman, even a hysterical one who struck first, so Mateo was left with only the option to shield himself from her blows with his arms and endure it.

He didn’t seem shocked, or confused, or even angry. He seemed inconvenienced.

“Vieja loca,” he sneered beneath her assault. Vicious gales whirled around them, tearing grass and dirt from the ground and bending trees, forcing the onlookers to step back as the two were engulfed in the eye of the storm.

“You bastard!” She shrieked, managing to get a good hit in on the jaw, “You monster! How dare you! How dare you lay a hand on him!”

While Mateo wasn’t really allowed to hit Pepa back, he could at least get her off him. He seized her by her forearms and shoved her, just enough for him to sit back up and spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. Pepa sat up just as quickly with a snarl, yanking off one of her shoes and beating at him wildly with it.

“Don’t you touch me!” She yelled, whacking him in the temple with her heel. Hypocritical, yes, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but mashing Mateo’s face to pulp and breaking every one of his filthy fingers if she could.

Some relief came in the form of Agustín snatching Pepa off of him, trying his best to wrangle her despite her infuriated flailing, but almost immediately her husband came for his turn. Félix appeared just as Pepa had gone and he pulled Mateo up by the shirt collar, shaking him roughly with fire in his eyes.

“Hijueputa! ” He spat, reeling back and slamming his fist across Mateo’s face. Oh, that smarted for sure, especially since he managed to hit the same spot his son did hours earlier. But this one Mateo could at least somewhat justifiably put in his place. Mateo swung back, cracking Félix in much the same way, and from there the blows began to fly between them. At that point a very bewildered Señor Herrera came from inside the house, followed by an equally alarmed Tomás, who both tried to pry the two apart. 

“Mateo, please, enough!” The Señor cried, attempting to pull his son away by the shoulders without getting socked himself.

“Félix!” Agustín called at the same time, as Pepa tore off her other shoe and threw them both at Mateo as hard as she could, “Félix, stop!”

“Wouldn’t you?!” Félix shot an enraged glare over his shoulder, blood trickling from his nose, “If it was one of yours, wouldn’t you?!”

“That is enough! ”

The chaos finally died down as Alma caught up with the scene, visibly huffing from the hurry. Pepa’s storm receded just enough to let her mother approach unscathed, but it still came down heavily onto both her and Agustín. “Enough, all of you!” She ordered again, glaring down each and every party. Mateo’s face was already sporting bruises and blood splatter with Félix in much of the same state, both of them collecting their breaths. A now-soaked Agustín still held onto Pepa who was visibly shaking with rage, her makeup running beneath her eyes, while Mateo’s father and brother held him back by the arms.

“Señora, what is the meaning of this?!” Señor Herrera implored, still quite shaken himself. Alma narrowed her eyes, not at him specifically but in the family’s direction. 

“Your son,” she pointed sharply at his oldest, regarding him with a glare that could wilt flowers, “has much explaining to do.”

“He touched my baby!” Pepa blurted out, incensed all over again.

“Pepa!” Alma shot her daughter a look, before elaborating, “Mateo has been accused of…” she took a deep breath, “...having inappropriate contact with my grandson, and I have strong reason to believe it’s the truth.”

The townsfolk surrounding the commotion murmured amongst themselves in disbelief. It was one thing for Pepa, high-strung as she was, to jump to conclusions and literally rain Hell on whoever she felt deserved it, but it was another for Doña Alma to point the finger at anyone - especially with an allegation so dire.

Señor Herrera blanched, sharing a mortified look with Tomás. 

“There-- there must be some kind of mistake, my son wouldn’t…” Señor Herrera started, but stopped when Alma came closer. She stared down at Mateo as his head hung low, not out of shame or embarrassment - out of refusing to acknowledge anyone with his gaze, from the moment Alma arrived on the scene.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” She adjured, narrowing her eyes at him.

All was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of rain pattering into the muddied ground from Pepa’s cloud. After a moment of consideration, Mateo smirked.

“Is that what he said happened?” He lifted his head, heeding Alma with little reverence, “Shame.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Félix demanded, getting a halting hand raise from his mother-in-law.

Mateo wiped a bit of blood from his nose with the back of his hand, maintaining his smug look. “I'll give it to you. Maybe Camilo and I had an… interaction, if you will. But what if I told you it was his idea?”

There was a pause for the notion to sink in.

“Are you-- are you calling my son a liar?!” Pepa fumed.

“I’m calling him misguided. I hate to put him on blast like this, but obviously I’ve been backed into a corner,” He shrugged, then sighed as though he was about to lay the whole matter to rest. “Look, you’d all know: he’s a growing boy. Curious, unsure of what he wants. So he asks someone older and more experienced to, you know - help him out.” He eyed the Madrigals in front of him, inwardly delighting at the way their faces cycled through various incredulous emotions, “Then I guess he regrets it, and doesn’t want to get in trouble. So he puts on his best act and tells mami and papi that the big bad man touched him funny. They go take care of it, he slips under the radar scot-free, and no one ever has to find out. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?”

As he finished spinning his tale he smiled a little wider, self-satisfaction evident in his features. “It’s okay though, I’m willing to forgive him.”

The crowd began to murmur again, as the Madrigals gave each other a series of looks. Disbelief, outrage, uncertainty - not a single one of them thought Camilo was lying, not after the claims he’d made and how wounded he’d been while making them, but the story Mateo gave was plausible at the very least.

“Mijo, that’s still… you still shouldn’t have done that,” Señor Herrera said meekly, very much wanting to believe this was all some misunderstanding.

“That’s still wrong!” Agustín threw in his two cents, “Even if that was true, you have no right doing that to a boy his age!”

“'If’ that was true,” Mateo hummed in mock amusement, “you all sure do have a lot of faith in a kid whose whole schtick is playing pretend.”

“My boy isn’t lying!” Félix snarled, held back by Agustín gripping onto his guayabera, “You-- you left bruises on him!”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Mateo dismissed, “he could have gotten those from anyone. I’m a convenient scapegoat, aren’t I? It’s his word against mine, and there’s no way any of you can prove he’s not just telling another one of his stories.”

“I can.”

The new voice caught everyone's attention, and a few members of the crowd parted to allow Dolores room to approach the scene. Her family members were all surprised by her arrival, with Pepa even uttering her name in shock. They hadn't even known she was aware - they didn't know any of the kids were aware.

On the other hand, as soon as he heard her voice, Mateo’s smug smile faded into a scowl. Oh, great.

“‘Remember what I said about behaving,' ” she recited, her face stone-cold, “‘If you’re a good boy for me, it’ll make things so much easier for both of us.’ That’s what you said, isn’t it? That’s what you said to my brother. I heard it.” She approached him as she spoke, staring him down without so much as blinking. “It was in the stables. I heard the hay under your feet. Isabela saw him running from you in town, and Luisa saw him leaving the stables after you left him there. After you put your hands on him again.” 

The murmurs began once more. Hearing what ugly words had been said to Camilo served to reignite his family members’ fury, wrath surging through them all and Pepa’s cloud giving off a thunderous rumble. Mateo’s family only grew more and more dismayed, knowing as well as anyone else that Dolores’s words were almost universally recognized as the truth.

She stopped in front of Mateo, their eyes locked on one another in mutual contempt. “Sure. Those bruises could belong to anyone. But that ring of yours leaves quite the unique mark, Mateo. I’m sure if we compared the size and placement it would match perfectly, don’t you? Or should we even bother?”

Mateo wasn’t stupid by any means. The fraction of a second before he was attacked, when he realized who was flinging herself at him in such a rage, he knew it was over for him. He saw it coming from just the way the clouds churned and darkened moments prior, and how they came right for him. He did his best to talk his way out of it, and spin the narrative to his advantage - or at least take some of the heat off of himself. But the damned rat had squealed, and now the whole pack was after him - including the one little mouse who could dig his grave and bury him in it.

“You lied to me,” Dolores stated, venom in her voice, “I knew you were behind this and you lied to my face. How dare you.”

The air was gripped by silent tension, the only ambience being the rolling of thunder.

Then, Mateo smirked at her.

“Well you didn’t do much to stop me, now, did you?”

In a swift motion she slapped him across the face. Onlookers gasped - Dolores Madrigal was the last person anyone would have expected to lash out physically against anyone. Alma pulled her granddaughter away from him as gently as she could, but even when retreating Dolores glowered at him with utmost hatred in her eyes. Her strike stung something fierce, but Mateo could hardly pay it any mind. He began to snicker, incredulous at the turn of events. 

Oh, what the Hell?

“Man, all you Madrigals are the same! No one can keep their mouth shut for shit!” He laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

His father balked, gripping tighter onto Mateo’s arm and searching him for an answer he didn’t have. “Then… then it’s true…? Mateo, you--?!”

Mateo shrugged. “Sorry you had to find out like this, pá. Not that you were supposed to find out, but, lo que sea.”

Señor Herrera sputtered in disbelief, appalled and completely at a loss. Tomás, meanwhile, looked as though he’d seen a ghost - or perhaps, fit pieces of a puzzle together that he’d been holding onto in his mind and saw the full, ghastly picture. The whole time he had nothing to say, he could only listen to the accusations flying back and forth, hoping they weren’t true though the deepest parts of his heart knew otherwise. And now that it was out in the open, the unanswered questions he’d had since Camilo had come to fix the fence were addressed in the most abhorrent of ways.

“How could you act so-- so calm, like you did nothing wrong! As though this is all some game to you!” Pepa began struggling anew, her soul thrumming with white-hot rage, wanting to jump back in and throttle the man even further.

“I’ve heard enough,” Alma declared, commanding silence once more. She stepped forward, and Mateo didn’t bother hiding his total lack of respect for her as he leered up at her.

“This place is a safe haven, meant to protect its inhabitants. Your presence here is a threat to that safety and to its people. You have until the morning to pack your essentials, after which you will leave here and never return.”

His father, greatly conflicted, beseeched, “But--”

“And,” she interjected sharply, casting her gaze out to the crowd before landing on the remaining Herreras, “If anyone should object to this decision, you are more than welcome to join him. Our home, our Encanto, has no place for anyone who would prey on a child - nor for those who would defend them.”

Señor Herrera withered, unable to object. The witnesses not only didn’t object, but in light of Mateo’s remorseless confession, a few of them audibly agreed. Mateo simply sighed, pausing a moment before shooting her a complacent smile.

“Well, okay. You caught me, fair and square. You want me gone? Sure. Sure, I’ll go. Just give me a little time to get what belongs to me, and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

Alma didn’t reward him with any approval. She simply turned around, motioning to her family that it was time to return home. Though still fuming, they all accepted Alma’s verdict and began to leave in quiet victory - until Mateo spoke up once more.

“Hey. Pepa. One more thing you should know.”

She froze, her head turning slowly to burn a hole through him over her shoulder.

A wicked grin stretched across his face.

“Your baby moans like a whore.”

- CRACK -

A blinding flash of light, a powerful boom, and the tree beside the Herreras’ house was reduced to smoldering ashes.

“You son of a BITCH!!” 

The aftermath was chaos. Agustín now struggled to hold back both Pepa and Félix, both of them attempting to thrash out of his grasp as he cried, “He’s not worth it! Let’s just go!” Mateo’s father and brother dragged him with white-faced shame back into the house as he cackled in spite, while the surrounding townsfolk voiced their own outrage over his remark. Dolores covered her ears, the sudden influx of noise pounding into her head and making her dizzy as she attempted to keep moving back towards the house.

Alma didn’t dignify the cacophony with any response. She simply closed her eyes and exhaled, keeping her head held high as her nails dug deeply into the palms of her hands. 

“Come,” She ordered lowly, beginning the trek back to Casita behind Dolores with her furious daughter and sons-in-law in tow.

Inside the Madrigal home, as soon as Pepa had vanished it seemed as though everything happened in a blur. Félix was right on her heels, barreling after her with the same goal in mind, so quickly Camilo’s ruana fluttered in the air that whipped past him. Agustín was the first to realize what was about to happen, and on impulse he bolted out of his wife’s hold on his arm and in pursuit of his in-laws with a curse under his breath. Julieta and Bruno were left stricken in their wake, and Alma let go of Camilo to grab her shawl with her own hushed swear.

“Julieta,” Alma gave her oldest daughter a look, a wordless task to take care of, as she quickly picked up the hem of her dress and followed after the whirlwind. And just like that, two-thirds of the adults in the room were gone in the span of mere seconds. 

Camilo could only watch them disappear out the door in a dumbfounded stupor. It almost took him longer to process what had happened than it took to happen at all - but this was it, wasn’t it? It was what had been promised to him, what he had hoped and prayed for in telling the elders about what had happened to him. They were going to get the bad guy, they would punish him for what he’d done and Camilo wouldn’t have to worry about it ever again. It felt like a dream, some unreal illusion he couldn’t have even fathomed was possible that night he came home caked in dirt and tears.

He was gently led back into the present by his aunt taking one of his hands, lacing her fingers with his and beholding his arm. She knew exactly what her next order of business was, and what her mother intended for her to do - she would have done it regardless, as even looking at the bruises on her nephew’s arms filled her with grief.

“Oh, mi amor,” she breathed, heartbroken, as she carefully traced her fingers over the stains on his skin, “Pobrecito mío. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Camilo almost felt like a child who’d gotten a bee sting or a splinter, but he didn’t care. After the day he’d had, he more than welcomed a little coddling. Besides that, it did still hurt; the throbbing pain had dulled over the hours, but his joints still ached more than what was comfortable. He nodded and attempted to hum affirmatively, but what came out was more of a broken whimper that only crushed Julieta further.

“Oh, I know, corazón, I know,” She gently kissed his wrist, before standing upright with his hand still in hers, “Vamo, let’s get this taken care of, okay?”

As Julieta led Camilo into the kitchen, Bruno hesitated where he was. He didn’t know where he needed to be to be useful, if there was any way for him to be at all in that moment; he never saw anything like this in his visions and he was completely flummoxed as to how to proceed. Should he try to comfort his nephew, or would that be weird? Did he have any right to, for not seeing this sooner and trying to prevent it?

…That reminded him. He’d been under the impression that the man responsible for Camilo’s change in behavior would have something to do with the vision that he’d had prior - would it be possible that taking care of Mateo Herrera now would impact the future in any way?

Quietly, he stole up the stairs and made for his tower.

Inside the kitchen, Camilo sat on that same barrel he did just that morning, as Julieta again fried up a few fresh arepas for him. The setting gave Camilo a sense of comfort beyond the familiarity, remembering this was the same place he got his first real indication that he wasn’t as irreparable as he had felt. Those words Julieta gave him earlier, gifts that helped scrape the grime away from his innards and keep him strong when Mateo tried to whittle down his defenses earlier in the barn - they were invaluable to him. His legs swung slightly above the ground as they had before, and he gingerly cradled his sore arms as he considered thanking Julieta for her advice.

It seemed Julieta was thinking much of the same thing, as before he could say anything, she spoke up over her pan, “Camilo, that question you asked me this morning. About how bodies worked.”

He looked up at her, lips parted in surprise. “Yes?”

She put her hands on the counter, bracing herself. “You asked me that because of what happened, didn’t you?” She didn’t turn around, but he could hear the sorrow in her voice.

“Yes,” he confessed, a little quieter.

Julieta didn’t say anything for a moment. She waited for the arepas in the pan to be finished on the side they were on, and after she gave them a flip she approached Camilo where he sat. She hugged him tenderly, just holding him close to her for a minute, before sighing over his shoulder.

“I should have realized it right then,” she murmured wistfully, “I’m sorry, Camilo. If I had any idea, I would have…”

“No, tía,” he held her back, resting his chin on her shoulder and giving her as much of a squeeze as he comfortably could. Perfect timing. “You helped me out way, way more than you know. I wouldn’t have even said anything if you didn’t tell me what you did, so… Thank you. I needed to hear it, I really did.”

Julieta pursed her lips, her eyes dampening, though she was able to keep herself composed. It was her turn now to give him a soft kiss on the cheek as she let him go, returning to the pan and plating the fully cooked arepas for him. As soon as he got his hands on them he shoved one into his mouth, not even caring how it burned his tongue. Almost immediately the ache his wrists had held onto for hours dissipated, the sudden relief of his skin clearing and bones straightening making him heave an involuntary sigh. He felt right again, as much as he could.

As Julieta began cleaning up, out of the corner of her eye she spotted movement in the kitchen doorway. When she peered in that direction there wasn’t anything there - but for as good of a hiding job as they were doing, a few of Antonio’s dark curls were peeking out from the side of the doorframe. She wiped her hands off and leaned against the counter, clicking her tongue.

“I think you have guests.”

Camilo looked to the door as well, and after a moment of hesitation the other grandchildren knew they’d been busted. One by one four faces peered into the kitchen, having honored Camilo’s request and waited for the coast to be clear before they ventured out from his room after him. 

Nobody had noticed how Dolores slunk off on her own and out the open front door.

“So…” Mirabel started, sheepishly smiling at him, “how’d it go?” Julieta looked from her to him - he nodded back to his aunt, a wordless affirmation that the other kids were in the know.

“Well, um… everybody took off to go get him, so I guess it went well,” he mumbled, putting the last bit of arepa into his mouth and letting Julieta take the plate. His cousins and brother brightened at the news.

“See?” Isabela said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “Don’t ever say Isabela doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, still reeling that he’d managed to pull this off in the first place. It was only now though that he got a good count of how many people were in the doorway, his brow furrowing as he realized who was missing. “Hey, uh, where’s Dolores?”

A sudden boom of thunder made everyone jump, alerting them all that the other half of the family had returned. The grandkids in the doorway stepped aside to allow Pepa and Félix to enter, and upon seeing the sorry state they were in they all were taken aback. Pepa was soaking wet and looked a mess, dark mascara streaks beneath her eyes and smudged lipstick around her mouth, with both of her shoes gone and her feet tracking mud along the floor. Félix’s face was battered, his eye swollen shut and his nose discolored, and the front of his guayabera was speckled with bloodstains. Camilo hopped off the barrel, a small noise of concern coming out of him upon really taking in how awful they looked.

“Mamá? Pá?” He fretted, with Julieta (somewhat exasperatedly) putting the pan right back on the stove behind him. Immediately his mind flashed to everything bad that could have happened during their altercation with Mateo; obviously his dad didn’t get out of it unscathed, and though it wasn’t typical for a boy to be protective of his father, the welts on his dad’s face only filled Camilo with further ire for that man and he prayed he didn’t dare touch his mother in the same way. It didn't matter if his parents were the ones supposed to protect him, Mateo getting his hands on any Madrigal was cause for alarm in Camilo's book.

Pepa trudged towards her son and lowered herself to him, throwing her arms around him protectively. As Félix passed them by he gently ruffled Camilo’s hair, offering a crooked smile, and commenting, "You should see the other guy," before continuing to Julieta’s side to wait for her aid. Camilo almost wanted to, if he could stomach the idea of looking at that man at all.

“Má?” He tried again as he turned his attention back to his mom, hugging Pepa in return with no regard for how the cold wetness now seeping into his own clothes made him shiver.

“That man will no longer be a threat to you, Camilo,” Alma approached from behind Pepa, her aged hands folded stiffly in front of her, “He will be gone by the morning.”

Camilo stared at his grandmother, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Really?” He asked, more of a whisper than anything. It didn’t seem real. Just that afternoon Mateo had him in his clutches, threatening him and his family, and asserting there was nothing Camilo could do but let himself be victimized. Even before that, Camilo had faced a future full of uncertainty and paranoia, dreading that he would forever be trying to avoid that man and his wicked desires. He thought he’d never be able to ask for help, because he wouldn’t have deserved it. He would have been too soiled. But here he was, being assured by his abuela that the man who defiled him would never be able to hurt him again. 

Alma gave him a small nod, managing a thin smile, before adjusting her shawl and moving to join Julieta at the stove.

“You’re safe, mi sol,” Pepa murmured, stroking the back of his head.

For the first time, Camilo believed it. 

His eyes watered, but he didn’t allow any tears to fall. “Mami,” he whimpered, burying his head into her shoulder and squeezing her tighter with the new vitality in his wrists. “Mami, mami…”

It was then Dolores entered as well, tailed by the other grandkids, and she rested her hand on her brother’s back. She didn’t say anything, she simply looked down at him with a mix of melancholy and affection, her heart aching and swelling all at once. She’d fill everyone in on how the confrontation went later, and quite frankly she couldn’t wait to tell her siblings how their father gave that man the absolute smackdown and how their mother called him every nasty name in the book. For now she just needed to remind herself that Camilo’s nightmare was over, and that everything was going to be okay.

For now. 

Agustín hadn't even entered the kitchen with the others upon arriving home; he sat on one of the benches in the courtyard, emptying the rainwater out of his shoes. He sat there for a while after, taking some time to process all that had happened. He was still drenched, though much of the water had dripped off and pooled underneath his seat. And though he knew he shouldn’t sit in wet clothes for too long lest he catch a cold, he just needed a moment to let his bones rest after wrangling two fully grown, fully enraged people.

Speaking of, he hadn’t been sitting there long before a much easier-on-the-eyes Félix came in and sat beside him, all the wounds on his face freshly healed by Agustín’s marvel of a wife. Agustín didn’t object, allowing the both of them to rest in silence for a time before Félix spoke up.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Félix mumbled, unable to meet his cuñado’s eyes, “I’d never want anything like that for your girls.”

“No, of course not,” Agustín said quietly. Even in the moment he didn’t blame Félix for saying what he did; he was just as angry on Camilo’s behalf. He couldn’t imagine what it was like as his father, and he prayed he never would. After a beat he continued, “But you’re right. I would have. And I wanted to. Heck, if I was twenty years younger, I might have jumped in there with you.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his thin, nimble fingers and eyeing the wrinkles, “Now, he would have kicked my ass, for sure.”

“Oh, without question. He would have folded you like a quesadilla,” Félix tried a smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes, “You’ve always been more of a words-fighter than a fists-fighter, anyway.”

“Yeah, at least you stood a chance,” Agustín’s attempt at a smile back was about as successful.

They both sighed and spent another quiet moment together, until Félix lowered his eyes into his hand and rubbed at his temples. Wordlessly Agustín draped his arm around his shoulder, knowing very well that Félix - as good as he was at cheering others up - didn’t always know how to ask for a little cheering for himself. 

In Bruno’s tower, Bruno stood in the middle of his vision cave as the dome of swirling sand cascaded to the ground around him. He stared down at the emerald tablet in his hands with hard eyes and a furrowed brow, tilting it back and forth as though one of those times it would show something new.

Nothing had changed. It was all the same images, with all of Pepa’s children in some form of peril. Antonio bound and gagged, Dolores with a knife, Camilo being abducted.

His grip on the vision tightened, until he carelessly threw it against the furthest wall and let it shatter on impact. He didn’t need a second one. He didn’t need double the reminder that his sobrinos were still in danger, even with the assumption that his mother had banished that man from the Encanto. The fact that the future he saw remained the same could only mean two things, neither one of them easing Bruno's nerves in any capacity: either the man who hurt Camilo and the one in the vision were two completely different predators, or that one man’s removal from the community did not guarantee that anyone was safe from him just yet.

Chapter Text

The air in the Herrera home was heavy and solemn. After that debacle on their front lawn, Señor Herrera had spent a good ten minutes abashedly assuring his neighbors and the other witnesses seeking justice that action would be taken, that Mateo would be gone before dawn’s arrival and that he positively did not know of or condone any of his actions against the Madrigal family. He’d managed to quell and disperse the crowd, but by no means had the Herreras been granted any peace from their devastation. Mateo Herrera, the pride and joy of his father and a once revered member of the community, was an unapologetic monster - a fact his quick wit and silver tongue could no longer hide. And in the wake of such an Earth-shattering revelation, it was his hapless family members who were left to pick up the pieces and rebuild their world without him.

Now, as Mateo patched himself up with what little of Julieta Madrigal’s cooking the Herreras had in their icebox (the last of it he would ever eat) and packed his belongings onto his cart in the backyard, Señor Herrera sat in the living room with his head in his hands. The Señor was an emotional basket case; his youngest son sat diligently at his side, and all Tomás could do for him was rest a hand on his knee and occasionally talk him down from the ledge.

“I just don’t understand it,” Señor Herrera lamented for at least the fourth time that night. 

“I know,” Tomás said quietly, his focus glued to his lap.

“My own son!” The Señor lifted his head, his eyes glassy and lost, “My boy, putting his hands on someone! On a child! And those horrible things he said! I didn’t teach him-- where did he learn to--?  Oh, why would he do this? How could he?”

“I know.”

“I was so sure it was just a-- a horrible misunderstanding, that he’d never do something so-- O-Or he’d never mean to-- I never would have dreamed he would hurt anyone, I thought I knew him better than that, but I didn’t know him at all! When did I lose him? When did he slip away from me?”

Tomás narrowed his eyes and thinned his lips, only responding with a light squeeze to his father’s knee. Señor Herrera shook his head, lowering it into his hands again miserably.

“Only an hour ago everything was normal, and now I have to tell him goodbye? I’ll never… I-I’ll never see… Ay, Dios, how could this happen…?” Neither of them said anything for a minute while the Señor rode through another wave of grief, listening to the sounds of faint shuffling in the house behind them and the distant rumble of another anguished parent’s lingering storm cloud. Tomás was pulled out of his own thoughts by a feeble grip on his vest, and turned to meet his father’s swimming, imploring gaze. “Tomás, please, tell me - where did I go wrong? I-I know it was difficult after Má, after she-- but I tried for you boys, I really did. But if it wasn’t enough--”

“Pá,” Tomás pulled his father’s hands off, holding them in his own and looking at him with hardened eyes, “You did fine. You had nothing to do with any of this. It’s all on him.” His lip curled ever so slightly at the last word, his own whirlwind of emotions seeping through from beneath his reserved exterior. Tomás was feeling a lot of things in light of Mateo’s exposure, in ways he didn’t know how to sum up. He was appalled, he was beside himself, he was full of remorse, he was embarrassed on both himself and his father’s behalf - but the one thing he wished he could be was surprised.

“I just don't understand,” Señor Herrera said yet again, “When would he have even…?”

“I’m certain it happened on my-- my birthday,” Tomás said sullenly, crinkling his nose. Thanks for tainting my day on your way out, bro. “Camilo was fine before he left with Mateo. Then the next day, he wasn't the same.”

“But why?” His father asked, more to the universe than to Tomás specifically, “What in the world was he thinking?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was spontaneous, maybe he planned it. It’s all bad.” Tomás gave pause, collecting himself before pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut. “I should have taken him home that night. If I had, then…”

“Mijo, this isn’t your fault,” the Señor said, gentle and crestfallen, “How could you have known?”

“I know, I know it's not. But I could have--” He sighed, exasperated. “I was that close to preventing it. I could have spared that poor kid from going through that. Maybe it would have only held off the inevitable, but any amount of time could have made a difference.” It felt a little strange to Tomás to be talking so much in one go, like his jaw was out of practice. But in that moment he had a lot to say, with ample opportunity to say it. His hands wrung tightly in front of him as he bitterly muttered, “I could have helped him. But I just waved him off and let Mateo take him away.”

There was a beat of silence for the two to ruminate, before Señor Herrera laid a shaking hand on Tomás’s knee.

“Tomás…” he looked at his son grimly, “Did he ever…?”

“No.” Tomás didn’t make his father finish the question, and the way the Señor’s shoulders fell in relief confirmed he’d guessed the end of it correctly. And to what little credit Mateo had, it was the truth - but Tomás hardly felt fortunate for it, overshadowed by the weight of what Mateo wasn’t above. His eyes narrowed and he rubbed gingerly at one of his wrists, before adding in a hushed murmur, “But he could be violent.”

It wasn't quiet enough. “What?” the Señor leaned in, face falling further, “What do you mean?”

Tomás hitched, unsure if he should have put that out into the world. His father was upset enough as it was.

“It’s not important,” he said, then paused. “Or… maybe it is. In the grand scheme of things. But it’s not important right now.” He elected to redirect the subject back to one from earlier, before any further elaboration could be requested. “When Camilo came to help with the fence, I-- I don’t know what happened before Mariano and I got there, but he’d been alone with Mateo in the back. I only saw him for a moment, but he was acting... strange. Unlike himself - you know, high-energy and playful and such. He just seemed really nervous and jumpy, and eager to get done and go home. That's when I started thinking that maybe Mateo had done something to him.”

As though Señor Herrera’s heart wasn’t already bursting at the seams with guilt, Tomás’s testimony opened it back up and crammed a little more in. He’d been right there, he’d pointed Camilo out himself, and to think something happened on his own property the second he turned his back sent a tidal wave of woeful disbelief crashing over him.

Tomás continued, trying not to focus on his father’s despaired expression in the corner of his eye. “I wondered if he was treating Camilo like… I mean, if he was secretly terrorizing him or something. I just never would have imagined it was that. And when I asked Mateo about it later, he…” His grip on his wrist flexed, not too tightly, “…didn't answer.”

His own brows knit together, his eyes narrowing in something akin to despondence.

“I just… I thought he was getting better. I thought he’d changed.”

“Tomás…”

There was a heavy -thump-, simultaneously dull and deafening. The world seemed to slow down as Señor Herrera suddenly went slack, slumping off his chair and onto the floor. 

“Pá?!” Tomás leapt out of his seat and knelt down to him, alarm spiking as a small trickle of blood began to seep from his father’s head and into the wooden floorboards. A dark shadow crept over the two like a hunter cornering its prey, and as Tomás looked up he was met with the figure of his brother, looming over them with a vacant expression. No anger, no remorse - not even any sick sense of delight. It was as though he felt nothing, like dealing with any typical, mundane task, as he again raised the wooden mallet he held in his hand for a second strike.

Tomás managed to scramble back just in time for the swing to miss him, only for Mateo to step forward and bring his foot down onto him, pinning him to the floor. The younger man gave a strangled grunt as he gripped at his brother’s ankle, staring up at him in wide-eyed panic.

“What are you--!?”

“Just keep quiet, Tomasito. It’s all you’re good for.”

Tomás huffed breathlessly, searching for anything in grabbing distance he could use to defend himself as Mateo’s sole pressed uncomfortably into the center of his chest, “Don't-- don't do this," He gasped, "you don’t have to do this!”

“I do. Wish I didn't, but neither of you would understand,” Mateo said as he kneeled down, exerting even more force onto Tomás’s solar plexus and forcing a wheeze out of him, “I’ve got to go collect the last of my things, and I can’t have anyone else getting in my way. So do me a favor and sit still, okay? You won’t even feel it.” 

Mateo raised the mallet once more. Though he knew it was hopeless, Tomás gazed up at his brother with pleading eyes and squeaked out a desperate, “Teo--!”

The mallet cracked against Tomás’s head, and his vision rippled. Stars flashed over his eyes and the room spun around him, red dots beginning to spread from the outside in as he heard Mateo’s calm, resolute voice fading out with the rest of his senses.

“That boy is all I have left. If I have to go, then he’s coming with me.”

Chapter Text

News had traveled fast. Those who had witnessed the explosive confrontation between the Madrigals and Herreras left with the knowledge of what had happened to the oldest grandson and who had been responsible, and within the first 24 hours almost the entire village knew. It was a scandal, to say the least, and dominated much of the town’s hushed whispers and behind-closed-doors gossip. They’d clam up and switch the topic when any of the Madrigals came around, but for as nosy - and sometimes tactless - as they could be, the majority of the residents of the Encanto were compassionate people; more often than not the family would return from outings with multiple regards and well-wishes for Camilo, whose nightstand held a growing collection of gifts and letters (that he'd yet to read) from his friends and neighbors alike. No one had to question why his appearances in town had been scarce, nor did they have to question why Mateo didn’t seem to be around anymore.

Neighbors had claimed to see Mateo’s cart leaving the property in the middle of the night, its hooded rider illuminated against the backdrop of a crescent moon, heading out of town towards the fissure in the mountains beyond. The following day, no one had seen any sign of the two remaining Herreras. A few friends of the patriarch paid the home a visit, inviting themselves in, only to discover the residence still and empty. From there it was assumed that Mateo’s family left with him, abandoning the Encanto to remain a unit. Some were disappointed, others understood - regardless, the house went untouched in the days after, considered condemned by residents unwilling to step foot inside the home that raised a monster. 

The first day after Camilo’s confession, Luisa had taken it upon herself to demolish the old water mill. The rotten building had long since overstayed its welcome, and the only purpose it served now was as a monument to her cousin’s trauma - it had to go, even if no one had asked her to do so.

Unbeknownst to her, Camilo had followed after her and settled atop a rock several yards away to witness its fall. He sat with his arms folded over his knees, watching as she used her bare hands to punch through molded drywall and snap wooden supports like toothpicks. Cathartic didn’t even begin to describe the experience; he’d likely never forget that place, what it looked like, what it smelled and sounded like, what had happened there, but having it torn asunder right before his eyes was like the closing of a chapter for him. It was over, the villain was defeated and his lair was destroyed, and Camilo was more than ready to move on to the epilogue.

Luisa had been about halfway through her demolition job when she realized Camilo was there. She’d lit up upon seeing him, as though she’d hoped he would come - he’d watched in puzzlement as she waded through the wreckage and rummaged through it, searching for something, until she gave a pleased ‘Aha!’ and pulled a sledgehammer from a pile of debris.

Camilo felt like Noche Buena had come early.

While Luisa continued work around the outside, Camilo had braved to take on the office room where it happened by himself, gripping the heavy tool tightly in his hands. Being back in that room had been surreal; though fundamentally he knew he was safe, and that he wouldn’t look up to see that man’s looming shadow in the doorway, he couldn’t completely fight back that same feeling of dread he’d experienced the night Mateo took him there. It still lived with him residually, small patches still clinging to his innards that thrummed every now and again when he got to feeling too comfortable. But when he’d heard the turning of the water wheel abruptly stop as Luisa dragged the whole mechanism out of the river, followed by the cracking and splintering of wood as she crushed it between her hands, he was reinvigorated with the drive to help her finish the job and erase that place for good.

He’d stood over those stains on the floor, allowing himself plenty of time to dwell over what they meant to him - not a sign of his body’s betrayal, as he’d been led to believe, but a sign of Mateo’s own depravity, and it was time for it to disappear with him. He’d taken in a deep breath, before summoning all his strength and slamming the hammer down on the spot as hard as he could. The concrete cracked and shattered, chunks of stone flying in the air around him, and when he’d pulled the hammer back there was nothing but a jagged, empty crater left behind. From there, he went wild. The doorframe Mateo had been leaning against. The slab of rock he’d laid his ruana over. The wall covered in scribbles and grime that he’d stared at with glazed, hollow eyes. All of it obliterated by his own hands, every inch of the room he’d lost himself in becoming lost itself to his vengeful, righteous fury.

Camilo had never had so much fun destroying something. He and Luisa had wreaked havoc on the crumbling building until there was nothing left but rubble, leaving both middle children catching their breaths among the ruins. Though relief flowed through his veins just as the river flowed beside them, the task left him exhausted both physically and mentally, leading him to flop down onto his knees and give a long, winded sigh. As a last hurrah, just to show off for him a little, Luisa had picked up the biggest chunk of debris she could and sent it sailing right over the nearest mountain wall - gone for good, as the rest of it would be in time. She’d carried her weary primo back to Casita on her arm, and in that moment as they left the wreckage behind them, Camilo felt a flutter of release in his soul.

Three days had passed since Mateo Herrera’s banishment from the Encanto, and Camilo was finally beginning to feel normal again. 

Rather, internally he was feeling normal. Better, at least. His sleep had improved, and was not as frequently interrupted by night terrors. His appetite had returned (and not a moment too soon), and his smiles and jokes didn’t take quite as much effort to produce. He felt a lot lighter on the inside, and the paranoid urge to check over his shoulder for a pair of bright green eyes had dwindled considerably. It wasn’t a complete turnaround; seemingly small things like being touched a certain way or hearing certain phrases would bend him out of shape, and every so often an upsetting memory would worm its way into his mind out of the blue. But overall he seemed more relaxed, more willing to socialize, and in much higher spirits than he had been in the days prior.

Operations around the home, however, had gotten a little strange. Camilo was granted an extended reprieve from his typical duties, which he could hardly complain about - with the caveat that he barely had any opportunity to leave the house by himself. Both he and his siblings were highly encouraged to spend more time at home, with any venture outside Casita’s walls usually chaperoned by an adult or older cousin. Camilo found it to be a little patronizing, especially since he seemingly no longer had anything to fear; he assumed it was some kind of protective measure for all the Madrigal children, but the elders seemed particularly concerned with keeping an eye on Pepa’s kids compared to Julieta’s. Asking any of them about it only granted vague or cagey answers:

‘It will only be for a while,’ Alma had told Camilo with a tight-lipped smile, ‘you ought to take some time to rest after such an ordeal.’

‘You know your mamá,’ Felix had chuckled a little too artificially while ruffling his hair, ‘she wants you kids all bundled up safe and sound for now.’

‘I’m not letting you out of my sight,’ Pepa had asserted, stubbornly clinging onto him in a tight hug, ‘I don’t care if he’s gone. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’

Antonio hardly minded, as he had plenty of socialization with his animals. Dolores had the luxury of venturing out with Mariano, as the family trusted him to take care of her. This left Camilo with the arduous task of finding his own ways to entertain himself when the rest of the family was out and about.

He’d discovered some therapeutic value in Antonio’s animals, particularly the chigüiro. Chispi was a stone-faced rodent who generally didn’t give much of a damn about anything, least of all allowing a teenage boy to drape himself over her and spend minutes on end simply stroking her fur. It was calming for both of them; when Camilo needed a moment to decompress or soothe himself after enduring a distressing flashback, he knew he could come to Antonio’s room and borrow Chispi for any determinate amount of time. It gave him a good excuse to hang out with his little brother, as a bonus.

On the third day, Camilo was in need of Chispi’s services. It was a gray afternoon and most of the family was off in town, while those still at home (his siblings and Bruno) were holed up in their rooms, as per usual. Camilo had attempted to take advantage of a nearly empty house to bathe at his leisure - only to discover it was still about as easy to wash himself as it had been on that night. It took almost an hour to struggle through the process from start to finish, and by the end of it he wasn’t actually sure how much cleaner he felt. He left the bathroom frustrated and drained, and trudged right past his own door to enter his brother’s room. Inside Antonio sat at one of the lower levels of his treehouse with his pant legs rolled up mid-calf, his feet in the small stream at the base of a gently flowing waterfall, amid the company of a small gaggle of coatimundis.

“Hi, Milo!” Antonio brightened upon his brother’s arrival, greeting him with a cheerful wave. “Are you looking for Chispi?”

“Please and thank you,” Camilo managed a crooked smile back, wondering what gave it away: the bags under his eyes or the fact he was slouching even more severely than usual. Maybe both. Antonio pointed a level above, where the capybara was already lounging on a lush bed of foliage. Camilo wasted no time in plodding up the spiraling rocks that jut out from the great tree’s trunk, practically flopping onto Chispi who responded simply with a low series of chirps.

“Yeah, me too, lady,” Camilo mumbled, his hand already idly caressing her coarse pelt. He hadn’t been doing it for long before he found himself getting drowsy; whether it was all the fatigue’s doing or some intrinsic association of bedtime typically following bathtime, he couldn’t adequately determine. But he had nothing better to do, and if his body was telling him he was comfortable enough to get sleepy, then who was he to fight it?

Camilo was only half-awake when Casita opened Antonio’s door to allow Pico to fly in, who perched on Antonio’s waiting arm. Antonio didn’t even have the chance to greet him before the toucan squawked at him, ruffling his wings and tilting his head to and fro.

“Huh? Parce needs help?” Antonio asked, frowning in concern. But how could that be? Parce had been out hunting in the surrounding forests of the village; he’d never needed help doing so, so what could he possibly need Antonio for? That question was answered quickly as Pico chittered something else, and Antonio’s brows shot up in shock.

“Oh. Oh, no.” He started to pull himself from the stream, wiping his feet off in the grass, but he hesitated before he could slip his shoes on. “But…” He bit his lip, conflicted, and looked out towards his door. I’m not supposed to leave the house without a grown-up… But the grown-ups were busy. He couldn’t ask Camilo or Dolores, they weren’t supposed to leave either. Tío Bruno was a grown-up, but he was scared of Parce. What should he do? The matter seemed time-sensitive, and he didn’t feel good standing around indecisively when his jaguar friend needed his aid.

Surely it would be okay for him to step out for just a moment, wouldn’t it?

“I’ll be right back,” Antonio called, stepping into his alpargatas and slipping out the door.

“You got it, jefe,” Camilo drawled and raised his thumb into the air, and just minutes after resting his hand back onto Chispi’s back, he was completely engulfed by the room’s still and soothing tranquility.

His decidedly peaceful nap was interrupted up by the pittering of raindrops on his face. He was still laying over Chispi, who was a little less than enthusiastic about her hide getting sprinkled on but made no effort to move. Upon opening his eyes he saw his mother leaning over him, a drizzling cloud above her head, her face tightened in an expression of restrained worry.

“Where is your brother?”

Camilo blinked. Based on his last lucid memory in the room, he peered over the ledge they lay on under the assumption that Antonio would still be seated at the stream’s edge, only to find his brother nowhere in sight. It was then the hazy memory of Antonio’s last words to him swam back to the surface of his recollection.

“He-- he said he was going to be right back,” Camilo sat up, rubbing at his eye, “you can’t find him?” How long had it been since he fell asleep? It only felt like minutes had passed, but if his mom was home, that must have meant the afternoon had already came and gone to give way to the early evening.

Pepa’s worry was no longer restrained. The rain seemed to come down a little harder and a roll of thunder shook the leaves and grass around them. “Oh, no,” she breathed, her eyes widening, and she stood back up and descended down the rock steps in a hurry.

“Má?” Camilo called after her, unease beginning to seep from his bones outwards. What did she mean, ‘oh no?’ What was there to 'oh no' about?

“I’ll find him,” Pepa said brusquely as she made for the door, shooting Camilo a look over her shoulder, “Stay here. Don’t move.”

There wasn’t much Camilo could do in the way of rebuttal. He watched his mother steal from the room with her cloud in tow, his sense of apprehension crawling and spreading throughout his system as ink spreads through water, dying his nerves with dread. He didn’t hear any of the conversation Antonio had held with Pico, leaving him just as in the dark as anyone else.

He’s fine, he told himself, in spite of how his stomach began to turn itself upside down within him, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re safe. Nothing bad could happen now.

Right?

The grayed sky grew even grayer as Pepa left the house, anxiety sinking its claws into her heart and manifesting as an increasingly angry storm cloud high above her head. Where could that boy have gotten off to? He knew he wasn’t supposed to go off on his own! It wasn’t like Antonio to disobey, what on Earth was he thinking? Pepa ran through every benign possibility in her head, hoping and praying that she was just making a mountain out of a molehill and that her baby was fine, that he was safe, that there was a completely innocuous and logical reason why he would be gone without anyone knowing where he was. Even illogical reasons were entertained, so long as Pepa didn’t even have to entertain the thought that the fate they’d tried so hard to avoid was beginning to manifest before her eyes.

Dolores stood a ways on the edge of the Madrigal property, both of her hands cupping her strained, focused ears. Just from seeing the big-eyed look of dismay on her face, Pepa's heart sank as she knew her daughter had no good news.

“I can’t hear him,” she squeaked, hardly above a whisper, “I can’t hear him. I don’t know where he is.”

Pepa’s thunder churned noisily, making Dolores cover her ears. She began to pace back and forth, stroking her braid so quickly and roughly she was almost tugging on it, muttering reassurances to herself that weren’t reassuring her in the slightest.

“No, no, this can’t be happening,” she rattled, trying to swallow back the hyperventilation seizing hold on her lungs, “He’s just-- he’s just playing a game, he’s hiding on purpose, he has to be. Because if he isn’t, then, well, it doesn’t matter because he is, there’s nothing else he could be doing, I can’t imagine otherwise, I won’t, my baby’s fine, he’s fine!”

“Mamá, what’s going on?” Dolores asked, a nervous waver evident in her voice. She carefully held her mom’s shoulders, attempting to ground her and pull her back from the edge of hysteria. “Do you-- do you know something? Is Antonio in danger?” Though Dolores didn't have the information she needed, she wasn't naïve; she knew she and her siblings were virtually under house arrest for a reason, even if the adults made sure to keep that reason under lock and key. But what did it have to do with Antonio?

“No!” Pepa snapped, more insisting to herself than Dolores, “No, no no no, he’s not. He’ll come home soon, he has to!” After word of the vision had been shared between the adults, they came to the mutual agreement that none of the children would be made aware - Camilo’s peace of mind needed to be secured, and they didn’t want to scare any of the other grandchildren with the looming threat of danger. They determined that if Pepa’s kids were kept securely within Casita’s walls, no harm could come to them and that future would never come to pass. But fate had a way of arriving regardless of if it was welcome or not, as Pepa was reluctantly, devastatingly beginning to understand, regardless of her desperate attempts to convince herself otherwise.

The squawk of a toucan pulled both of their attentions toward Pico, who landed a few feet away from Pepa. He hopped forward and nipped at the edge of her dress, tugging it lightly with his beak. Not understanding just yet, Pepa’s stress won out over her reasoning and she pushed the bird away as lightly as she could with her foot.

“Shoo, shoo!” She huffed, gritting her teeth, “I don’t have time to play, I need to find my--!”

She stopped, blinking like a deer caught in a torchlight. She and Dolores exchanged looks, the same idea dawning on both of them simultaneously. Pepa moved away from her daughter to lean down closer, willing herself to keep her voice as steady as possible as she addressed the bird.

“Do you know where Antonio is?”

Pico tilted his head, before taking flight and disappearing into the nearby forest thicket. Both women took off after him with little additional coaxing. It was difficult to keep up with him as they wove in and out through a dense collection of trees, but neither one of them was willing to lose track of him. Pepa clung with all her might to the notion that Pico was taking them right to her youngest boy, that they would find him perfectly fine playing among the forest wildlife and she could scoop him right back up in her arms. Oh, she’d give him the scolding of a lifetime for scaring her so badly, but above all she wanted him to be safe. She needed him to be.

Pico eventually perched on a tree branch, just on the perimeter of a clearing amid the trees. Pepa and Dolores came skidding to a halt as they passed the threshold, the sight that awaited them stealing the air from both sets of lungs.

Parce lay in the middle of the clearing, limp and unmoving. The rosettes of his magnificent coat were torn by a nauseating amount of crimson gashes, the work of a blade wielded by an experienced hand, as a pool of the same color seeped from beneath his body and crept down the dirt path he lay on. As Pepa staggered closer and fell to her knees beside him she could see he was still alive, but he was hanging on by a thread; weak pants puffed from his parted, bloodstained mouth, his feline eyes glazed and only barely perceiving the arrival of his human’s family.

Antonio’s vest lay folded neatly atop the jaguar’s side, gently rising and falling with his shallow breaths. Spots of blood had seeped through the material, staining the leather panels.

Pepa collected her baby’s vest with violently shaking hands, staring at it in paralyzed disbelief.

No. No, this can't be happening. Her spinning mind could only piece together the same thought, over and over again, as her quaking fingers traced over the embroidered animals on the vest's front. Please, tell me this isn't real. It can't be. It can't be!!

Pepa took in a sharp, uneven gasp, screwing her eyes shut and clutching the article tightly against her chest. Dolores was too numb with shock to even cover her ears as her mother let out an anguished wail, in time with a thunderous roar consuming the blackened sky above them as pouring rain blanketed the entire clearing.

Beyond the mountainous walls of the Encanto, a horse-drawn cart finally came to a stop beside a particularly craggy section of rock. The hooded rider hopped off his steed and looked up at the rugged wall, one hand on his hip and the other resting atop his brow as he assessed the portion of the stony bluff.

Not too steep, easily climbable, a good distance out - it’ll do.

“Man, do I have my work cut out for me,” The man remarked, turning to his cart and pulling up the canvas cover, “Thankfully you, my little friend, are going to make things a lot easier for me.”

He peered down into the back of the cart, observing his cargo with cool complacency. Trembling among the chests and bags of supplies he had in his possession was a vestless Antonio, wrists and ankles tightly bound together, who gazed up at his captor over a gag with wide, frightened eyes.

Chapter Text

Though kidnapping a five-year-old was almost offensively easy (after the much harder task of eliminating his jaguar), getting his hands on the youngest Madrigal was only the first step to Mateo’s plan. For a scheme that took him three days to put together on the fly, so far it was coming along swimmingly - and knowing what he knew about the Madrigal family and how they operated, he was certain the rest of it would go just as smoothly and he’d get a hold of what he wanted in due time. For now, he had work to do. 

Mateo leaned in closer to the quivering child in his cart, looking him over briefly before tracing a surprisingly gentle finger along the curve of Antonio’s face.

“You look like your papá,” Mateo commented, smiling through narrowed eyes, “that’s a bummer.” Oh, how tempting it was to punish this kid for sharing genes with that bastard. He would have loved to pretend Antonio was Félix and pick up where he left off on (what used to be) his front lawn, to smash his fist into his rosy little cheeks, just to make himself feel better. But Mateo wasn’t that bored. And besides, he only had so much time before the boy’s family realized he was missing. Not enough to satiate his hunger for vengeance in every petty way that came to his head.

Though Antonio flinched away from his hands, Mateo loosened the gag from around his mouth - only to raise the cloth and retie it around his eyes, blinding him. He couldn’t have the little bugger figuring out where he was and leading potential rescuers to him too quickly. This needed to be drawn out, a real intensive search, if this was going to work out the way Mateo wanted it to.

Antonio was terrified as it was, and having his sight stolen amplified his fear to levels his little heart had never experienced before. He felt like he was trapped in a bad dream, and no matter how many times he pinched the webbing between his fingers, he couldn’t wake himself up. He couldn’t see what Mateo was doing but he could hear him, rummaging through the items in the cart around him and gathering materials he didn’t know what he planned to do with.

“Let me go,” Antonio quavered now that his mouth was free, “I want to go home.”

“You’ll go home soon, if you’re lucky,” Mateo said, pulling lengths of rope from a reel and cutting them down to size with a machete, still crusted with dried blood from its last usage. “Otherwise you’ll just rot out here, if no one bothers to come look for you.”

“My… my mami will come,” Antonio sniffled, attempting to put on a brave face, “she’ll come save me.”

“Your mami’s a worthless bitch,” Mateo growled, ignoring Antonio’s affronted gasp, “and if I see her again I’ll snap her neck.”

Though initially shrinking back at the threat, Antonio hardened his resolve, inhaling sharply through his nose. “You can’t hurt her. She’s stronger than you, and she’ll--”

He was cut off by Mateo grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking it and hoisting the boy a few inches out of the cart. Antonio shrieked as waves of pain emanated from his scalp, the heat radiating from the site countered by an icy jolt of metal pressing against his throat.

“You’re lucky I need you alive right now, you little shit, otherwise I’d happily chop you to bits like I did to your kitty friend,” Mateo seethed, keeping it together just enough to not impulsively sink the sharp edge of the blade into the boy’s delicate skin, “You saw what I did to him, right? You don’t want that to be you. Keep talking, though, see what happens. You wanna see what’ll happen?”

“N-No!” Antonio cried, twin spots of wet beginning to seep through the blindfold.

Mateo dropped him unceremoniously and turned back to his work, muttering, “Smart boy. Now keep your mouth shut until I say otherwise.”

His bravery thoroughly beaten down, Antonio curled in on himself and tried his best to cry as quietly as possible. Why was this happening? Why did this man want to hurt him, and why did he take him away? He didn’t think he did anything wrong to him; he hardly even recognized who the man was. Was this the same person who hurt his brother? Why was he being so cruel to them? What did they do? He wished he could call for Parce. By the time he’d arrived on scene the deed had already been done, and the sight of the cat shredded and bloodied was burned ruthlessly into his mind, branded into his cerebrum as a scar that would take years to heal. It was easy for the man to snatch him then, too consumed by shock and horror to even realize another person was in the forest with him. He was certain Parce was dead, and his tears shifted from fright and pain to mourning as he finally had a moment to grieve his fallen friend.

His bereavement was cut short when he felt himself being manhandled, gasping as Mateo pulled him into a sit and began to wind even more rope around his body. His attempts to shuffle away were fruitless, his own strength no match for the strength of a grown man, and in just a few minutes his bonds were reinforced and his mobility was even more drastically hindered.

“There we are,” Mateo hummed, patting Antonio on the shoulder, “Can you move much?”

Antonio wriggled, but much to his dismay, he couldn’t move at all. He shook his head.

“Good,” Mateo smiled, lifting the boy with ease and draping him over his shoulder, “Now hang tight, we’re going up.”

Admittedly, Mateo wasn’t much of a rock climber; as they scaled the mountain wall, he found himself losing his hold and slipping now and again, with each brief slide downwards making Antonio squeak in fear. Mateo probably would have found it obnoxious if he wasn’t also particularly disinterested in doing all this work just to fall off and bash his head on a boulder below. But if he was having trouble working his way up the cliffside, he knew for sure anyone coming to look for the little guy would have just as tough of a time. About a third of the ways up the mountain he came to a plateaued ridge, jutting out like a shelf from the rest of the stone. Man, it’s like it was waiting for me, he grinned to himself as he carefully hoisted Antonio off his shoulder and perched him right on the edge of the rock.

“Listen up, Toñito,” Mateo started as he found a solid enough hold on the mountainside to pause, “we’re going to play a little game. How it works is that you sit right here, on the edge of this cliff, and wait. You try to get up and move around, you’re gonna fall off and die. Got it?”

Antonio was petrified, unable to even make a sound.

Mateo poised his fingertips on the boy’s back. “Don’t believe me? Count how many seconds it takes for you to hit the ground after I push you off.”

That got his attention. Antonio made a high-pitched noise of fear and tried to use his bound feet to scoot back further onto the ledge. “No!” He whimpered, pushing himself against Mateo’s hand as best he could.

“Then answer me when I talk to you. Now, you can call for your mami and papi and whoever you want, all you like. But if you try to get any of your little animal friends to help you in any way, I’ll kill them like I killed your jaguar. No getting them to get you down and no sending them for help, because that’s cheating. Got that?” Antonio forced himself to nod, sniffling at the salt rubbed into his wound. “Attaboy. Now, game’s over when someone comes and finds you - that means you win, and you get to go home. I’m gonna be right down there until then, so don’t think I can’t see or hear you if you try to cheat. Cheaters don’t get to win, Toñito. Okay?”

“I don’t want to play this game,” Antonio whispered shakily.

“Too bad. Game starts now.” Mateo gave him a sendoff pat on the head before he began his descent back down to the ground. Contrary to what he told Antonio, he had no intention of sticking around; he had the rest of his plan to get to, after all, and he’d already wasted enough time on setting this first part in motion. As soon as his feet hit solid ground once more, he returned to his horse and set back off for the open fissure that led to his former home. Step one was taken care of - step two was to collect his prized possession, and he couldn’t have looked more forward to anything than that.

As he heard the shuffling of clothing scraping against rock get quieter and felt the chill of the open breeze flowing around him, it began to sink in for Antonio that he really had been abandoned up on that ledge and was now all alone. He hadn’t the faintest idea where he was, neither in distance from his home (was he even still in the Encanto?) nor in how high off the ground he was. He heard the distant call of birds, going about their own business and unaware of the peril he was in - he wished he could call to them, and have them bring his parents right to him. That was cheating, though. Antonio didn’t want to get them, or himself, hurt for cheating. But the man said it was okay to call for help, didn’t he? If he called for help, someone would find him - he would ‘win,’ and then he could go home, right? 

Antonio wanted to go home - he wanted that very, very much. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t see, which only left him with the option of what he could do.

With a small, fearful sob, Antonio began to call out, “Mami! Papi! Help…!”

Camilo had done his best to listen to his mother’s orders, but he wasn’t the resident troublemaker for nothing. She clearly didn’t want him involved in whatever was going on with Antonio, but that was his little brother - how could he just sit back and pretend he wasn’t worried? His mother could be overly fretful, no doubt, but that had been no ordinary fussing - he saw fear in Pepa’s eyes when Antonio wasn’t accounted for, he’d heard her ‘oh, no’, and all the dread she’d emanated in that brief moment had been sapped right into his own body. He’d attempted to go back to stroking Chispi’s fur to ease the apprehension bubbling within him, but it wasn’t helping, and he could only try it for so long before his anxiousness overcame his efforts to remain calm.

As if on cue, the moment he stood up to leave Antonio’s room, he could hear some kind of commotion happening in the house beyond his brother’s door. The sounds of slamming, raised voices and shouts, rain pelting the roof, howling winds, and other things he couldn’t even identify rose from the relative silence, and he had no idea what to expect upon opening Antonio’s door and looking out over the railing.

But whatever he did expect, it wasn’t anything close to what actually awaited him.

It seemed like every other family member - almost every member - was down in the courtyard, either coming into the scene or already there, discordantly talking over one another. Pepa was hysterical, pacing in circles amidst a tempest as she clutched a piece of amber-colored material to her heaving chest. Félix tried in vain to calm her through his own fettered panic, while Dolores covered her ears and rocked back and forth on one of the courtyard’s benches. And much to Camilo’s shock, Luisa was carefully setting down a heavily wounded Parce as a flustered Julieta attempted to stuff pieces of empanada into his bloodied mouth.

“Why weren’t you watching him?!” Pepa accused Bruno, grabbing the front of his ruana and shaking him, “How could you let my baby go out on his own?!”

“You think I would have let him if I’d known?!” Bruno, bewildered and flushed in the face, held her by the wrists but could do little to keep himself from being jostled. “That kid doesn’t break rules, he was the last I would have expected to just walk out!”

“Pepa, don’t blame him,” Julieta kept her focus on Parce as she spoke, subdued relief coming to her features as his injuries began to seal shut, “Antonio must have been lured out one way or another.”

“But you knew!” She shook her brother again, the force of her gales whipping their clothes and hair around them, “You knew they were in danger, and you just let him --!”

“Tía, please, this isn’t his fault!” Mirabel attempted to stick up for her uncle, whose shame-filled gaze was glued to the floor. Félix came to her aid, gently prying Pepa off of Bruno while Mirabel almost protectively took hold of his hand. She knew Pepa was upset, understandably so, as she was just as overwrought over Antonio’s disappearance (Her primito was gone! Her hombrecito! ). But blaming Bruno for things out of his control, historically, only made things worse for everybody.

Bruno said nothing in his defense, as beyond Pepa’s distress there lay a glimmer of truth - he should have kept a closer eye on the kids instead of just assuming they’d be fine. If he’d even poked his head out, maybe he could have caught Antonio on his way out and prevented any of this from happening. The guilt dissolving away at his innards told him he didn’t deserve to have Mirabel advocate for him, but he squeezed her hand back anyway. 

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘he knew?’” Isabela asked, as Pepa succumbed to her grief inside her husband’s arms, “Did he see this happening?”

“We tried to stop it,” Félix said numbly, staring at nothing as he stroked Pepa’s back with unsteady hands. How could this be happening? First his oldest boy falls prey to some sick lowlife, and now that horrific vision was coming true and his youngest boy had been spirited away by the same madman. He didn’t even want to imagine what horrors his little boy was experiencing or how frightened he must have been, as doing so only broke him down further. “We thought we could keep him safe. We thought--”

“What’s going on?” The chaos quelled as Camilo came down the stairs, alarm etched into his features, “Where’s Antonio?”

The adults froze up, a crack of lightning filling the sky outside, but Dolores couldn’t hold it in. “Someone took him!” She blurted, clutching her face in distress, “He left the house to go into the woods, we found Parce there left for dead and Toñito’s vest on top of him, I can’t hear him at all so we have no idea where he is!”

The world seemed to stop turning for Camilo. 

It wasn’t just ‘someone,’ was it? There was only one person Camilo knew who would be cruel enough to hurt Parce so terribly and kidnap his little brother. But that should have been impossible. That man was gone, people saw him leave, he was banished to never return. Even so, Camilo had seen for himself how deranged the man was. He saw the glint of lunacy in his eyes that day in the barn, he’d heard it in his voice and learned it from the words he spoke, when he asserted he wouldn’t let his ‘hard work’ go to waste for anything. Camilo grasped at any alternative he could, anything to convince himself that this wasn’t the work of that man and that his little brother couldn’t possibly be in that monster’s clutches, but in the deepest parts of his pounding heart he knew there was only one answer.

The sense of security he’d been slowly building the last few days fell out from beneath his feet, dropping him into an endless pit of despair and caving in all around him. The color drained from his face, and he gripped onto the stair railing to keep himself from collapsing.

“Mateo,” The name choked him, digging its claws into his throat on its way out, “It’s him. It has to be.”

Outside he could hear furious bolts of electricity resonating in the air and striking the ground around the house. Casita itself seemed to be shaking, as plants and hanging decor swayed to and fro with the rhythm of the foundation’s rumbling. 

“We’re going to find him,” Alma said, resolute and firm despite the tremble in her hands. Never in her life would she have expected anything like this to happen, not after the miracle’s inception, not after her beloved Pedro had sacrificed himself to protect his family from harm. Pedro, she prayed silently, keep him safe now. Keep all of us safe. She pushed down her own anxieties and hardened determination took hold of her, a suit of armor that slipped easily back on from decades of familiarity. “Pepa, your family and Mirabel will search the forests,” she ordered, “Julieta, you, your husband, and Isabela will search the town. I need you nearby in case of an emergency. Luisa,” she addressed her granddaughter specifically, “Take Parce to Antonio’s room so he can recover. When you come back, I need you to accompany me to the Herrera house.”

With their duties set, everyone began to gather themselves physically and emotionally to carry out the search. Camilo staggered off the steps as Luisa passed by with Parce - healed but in need of a good nap - and made movement to follow his natal family out the front door. Mateo’s hideous threats he’d made against Antonio slammed into every inch of his mind, dominating his thoughts. He wouldn’t. He can’t! I won’t let him!

“Not you,” Alma stopped him with a raised hand, “Camilo, you will stay here. Bruno will watch after you.”

“What?” Camilo argued, his shoulders dropping.

“What?” Bruno parroted, also caught unaware.

“But-- but Dolores is going!” He pointed to his older sister as she slipped out the front door behind her parents, her hands poised on either side of her ears and ready to listen. If she was going, why couldn’t he? Wasn’t she also supposed to keep inside the house? As Luisa returned from the stairs she shot Camilo an apologetic look, as both she and Alma turned to leave as well.

“We need Dolores’s ears,” Alma asserted, “And you need to stay where it’s safe.”

“No, that’s--” Camilo grit his teeth, following after his grandmother with balled fists, “that’s not fair! That creep has my baby brother, I have to help him before Mateo does something bad to him! I have to--!”

“Camilo, enough!” Alma snapped and turned back to him, stopping him in his tracks, “This is not up for debate! I will not put you back in that man’s line of sight, do you understand me? I’m not going to allow him the chance to target you any further! I will not have him take both of you!”

Camilo was stricken by his abuela’s words. Had Alma and the others been trying to protect him from Mateo all this time? Even when they all thought Mateo was gone, they were still taking measures to shield him from any potential strike back? Mateo had outsmarted them in the end, but they’d still been thinking of him and his safety after it was, assumedly, over and done with?

“Abuela…” He gripped the front of his ruana, his voice breaking over her name.

Her face softened for only a moment, before she steeled herself once more and regarded her son. “Take care of him, Bruno,” she said, turning back to where Luisa waited tensely at the door. As soon as they passed the threshold the door closed on its own, the sound reverberating noisily throughout the almost empty house.

Two Madrigals remained within Casita’s walls. Neither of them moved for an extended amount of time, until Bruno swallowed and approached his stunned nephew.

“Camilo,” he tried, reaching for him with uncertainty.

“I have to go,” Camilo breathed, tearing himself out of his stupor to step towards the door, “My brother needs me.”

Bruno caught him before he could go too far, holding onto his arm with both of his bony hands. “I-I know, kid, but you’ve gotta let them take care of it. They’ll find him, it’ll be okay--”

“I can’t just sit here!” Camilo whirled around, his panic skyrocketing, and he attempted to pull himself out of his uncle’s grasp, “That man’s a freak, he’ll do something horrible to Antonio if I don’t stop him. He wants me! He’s doing this because I didn’t do what he wanted, it’s my fault Antonio’s in danger! He’ll let him go for me!”

“That’s all the more reason for you not to go!” Bruno flinched with each outburst Camilo made, but tried to keep him steady by the shoulders, “Don’t you think that’s what he’s hoping for? If he’s after you, don’t you think he’d know the best way to draw you out would be to threaten your family?”

Camilo's struggle dwindled as Bruno’s point sunk in. It made sense. This wouldn’t have been happening if Camilo had just behaved, as Mateo would put it, but… that wasn’t much of an option either, was it? And now that he’d defied him, exposed him to the town and got him outcast, of course Mateo would use his family against him in any way possible. Camilo already proved to him how viciously protective of them he was in the stables. He was really going to walk right into his trap, wasn’t he? Just like he walked right into…

“Please,” Bruno tightened his hold on Camilo, his big eyes imploring him, “I couldn’t protect Antonio. Let me protect you.”

Camilo threw himself so abruptly into Bruno the man had to grunt, and clutched onto the back of his oversized ruana so tightly the wool spilled from between his fingers. He just needed someone, something to hold onto, something to ground him so he wouldn’t be completely adrift at sea.

“I hate this…!” Camilo cried into Bruno’s shoulder, rubbing his face against the material, “I hate him! Why is he back?! I thought he was gone! I thought it was over! I thought we were safe…! I thought… I thought I was…” He lost the will to say anymore, his words tapering off into shuddering gasps and subdued sniffles.

With some hesitation Bruno held Camilo back, and as his willowy arms wrapped around the boy’s trembling frame, he realized it was the first time he’d properly hugged his nephew in over ten years. They’d had moments of physical affection since Bruno’s return, of course: back pats, touches on the arm or hand, even the occasional group hug when the family dogpiled Bruno with long overdue love. But a one-on-one hug just wasn’t something either of them were interested in; neither the opportunity nor desire to do so ever arose. Bruno was reserved even in the best of times and Camilo rarely even hugged his own father anymore.

But Bruno used to hug Camilo all the time before he left. He had plenty of fond memories of babysitting Camilo and Mirabel, where they would leap on him and climb all over his wiry framework, clinging to him and arguing over which one of them was Bruno’s favorite. And each time Bruno would scoop up both children in a snug embrace and tell them that he didn’t have a favorite sobrino - his heart belonged to his rats - but they were both a close second. Snapshots from the past that he held dear, locked safely away inside his heart that helped keep him sane in the years behind the walls, that he still cherished even now.

Camilo was always so happy in Bruno’s memories. His smile had been infectious from the day he was born, and his greatest joy was to share his happiness with others. But the boy Bruno held in his arms now was lost, bereft, a survivor of trauma no child - no person - should ever have to experience, and Bruno’s heart ached for him. And damn it all, before now he hadn’t even made the time to properly comfort Camilo after he’d revealed what he’d been through. In three days Bruno still hadn’t worked up the nerve to offer his nephew support directly, too hung up on perceived awkwardness or potential rejection. Was this what it took to get over himself? If his youngest nephew hadn’t been stolen from them, would Bruno have ever stepped up to give Camilo the support he needed, or would he have just stayed on the sidelines forever?

What an awful time to get emotional, when he needed to be his strongest.

“I’m sorry, Camilo,” Bruno murmured, swallowing back the sting collecting in the corners of his eyes and hugging him tighter, “I’m so sorry.” Sorry for what? Oh, plenty. For the circumstances they currently found themselves in. For being such a dithering coward when Camilo needed him most. For missing out on so many years of hugging him when he was still that cheerful, bouncing little boy he used to be. For letting Antonio slip through his fingers. For feeling so sorry for himself.

For failing his family again.

Chapter Text

From the foliage beside Casita, a man shrouded in darkness watched diligently as Madrigal after Madrigal filed out of the house and began to call for their youngest member. So the search was on - he’d made it in perfect time, then. He counted each one that came out, noting who was who by the color they wore, waiting expectantly to see a golden ruana come trailing out after the other warm colors. But it never came. He saw every other color, ten different shades, while the one he most desired remained unaccounted for.

So, he was alone in the house?

A pleased grin spread beneath his hood. Oh, this was even better than what he’d hoped for! They really wrapped him up with a bow and left him on his doorstep, didn’t they? He also noted that he hadn’t seen any green leaving the premises, but Mateo wasn’t concerned about that at all. That could be dealt with far easier than, say, an indigo skirt or a mustard guayabera.

He could hardly contain how eager he was, and waiting for the coast to be clear was agonizing. But he had to be patient. The family was on high alert now, and if he hopped out too quickly, one of those little nuisances would see him and blow his whole operation up in smoke. He found his moment eventually, when the Madrigals were far enough away and no more eyes were on the house, and from the cover of darkness he darted out towards the house’s back entrance. Upon arriving, Mateo was almost giddy as he took hold of the doorknob and gave it a turn.

The door refused to budge. Mateo clicked his tongue in disappointment, sighing.

“Not going to let me in, huh? That’s fine. You don’t have to,” he said, congratulating his foresight in picking a sturdier pair of shoes to wear and attaching his mallet to his hip.

Inside, Camilo and Bruno’s embrace was interrupted by a loud -bang- against the back door. They both jolted, their heads whipping towards the noise, and Bruno’s face shattered in dawning realization. His vision was already coming true - if it’s already been set in motion, then the other fates he saw would surely follow, including the one he’d seen for Camilo. 

Another -bang- resulted in the wood creaking and splintering from the outside. Bruno shook himself out of his fearful stupor long enough to turn back to Camilo, his eyes wide and desperate.

“You need to run.”

“Whuh-- Why? What’s happening?” Camilo’s eyes were glued to the buckling door, overwhelmed by dread. Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is. Please, not here, not now!

Bruno’s grip on Camilo’s arms tightened and urgency overtook him. “Run, hide, do something, you just can’t be here, you’re--”

Another -bang- and a sizable crack emerged in the middle of the misshapen wood. There was no more time to waste.

“Go.”

“But tío --”

“Go!” He shoved Camilo back just as the door flew violently open, bits and pieces of the turquoise wood scattering into the walkway. Bruno turned around to face the intruder as he pulled himself menacingly through the broken doorway, and to his nauseous horror the man was wearing a hooded cloak he wished he didn’t recognize.

Oh, God, it’s happening.  

The tiles inside the house seemed to tremble, as though Casita itself was reacting poorly to the man’s presence within its walls. Bruno glanced over his shoulder and some small relief came in seeing Camilo was gone, but that didn’t mean he was safe. His body shook in terror as the hooded man advanced on him, but he couldn’t cower. He couldn’t flee. He needed to protect his sobrino, he needed to try, even if it killed him - he owed Camilo, Antonio, and Pepa that much. Taking a deep, uneven breath he threw his arms out, creating a barrier between the man and the rest of the house.

“Get back,” he ordered, voice wavering, “Stay away from him, or I’ll--”

He never stood a chance. The man reeled back his fist, slamming it into Bruno’s face and rocketing him across the courtyard where he landed in an unmoving heap in the middle of the floor. The moment Bruno’s blood splattered on the ceramic tiles, the atmosphere inside the house shifted so drastically it even gave Mateo pause. Creaks and clatters filled the air, shutters began to slam open and shut, the whole weight of the building seeming to sway to and fro.

Casita was angry.

“No!” 

Mateo’s attention snapped to the second floor, where Camilo stared in horror over the railing at his uncle’s battered body. He realized his mistake too late as he and Mateo looked upon each other for the first time since their encounter in the stables - the hood did nothing to conceal a pair of bright green eyes, flashing like a wildcat’s upon locking onto its prey. Camilo was completely engulfed in fright, his senses muted by white noise in his ears and his heart racing wildly in his chest. Mateo grinned at him, and wordlessly he conveyed exactly what he wanted Camilo to know: You’re mine now.  

With a terrified cry Camilo spun around, fleeing from the railing and into his room.

As soon as Mateo took another step to pursue, Casita struck. The floor beneath him began to shift and slide, deliberately attempting to throw him off balance and hindering his movement to the best of its ability. Decorations were flung across the house, vases and pots and cookware flying at him and striking him where they could. Casita couldn’t tear itself up too terribly, but rafters and railings sprung out in his path to bar him from moving further. Cursing through his teeth, Mateo quickened his pace and attempted to outrun the house’s assault. His athletic build and height was an advantage, able to dodge the projectiles he could see coming and maneuver over the moving floor and makeshift barriers, but he wasn’t making it completely unscathed - a fact reinforced as a glass jug hit him square in the back and shattered against him. It was a struggle he, quite frankly, hadn’t prepared for. But he’d be damned if he let a stupid house keep him from his goal, when he was so close he could taste him. 

He’d managed to make it to the stairs, though as soon as he stepped foot on the first one the entire set of steps flattened into a ramp. Oh, how annoying. Gripping firmly to the railing, Mateo dragged himself up the steep slope and braced himself to endure the occasional efforts of the house to send the steps undulating below his feet. He clawed his way to the landing of the second story, nearly slipping on the last step but planting himself on solid enough ground - only for Casita to pick right back up where it had left off on the first floor and begin tossing things at him once more. Mateo could see Camilo’s door from where he was; he made a break for it, shielding himself with his arms as picture frames shot off the walls towards him, hurdling over a bench Casita slid in his path and stumbling for the shimmering golden door in the middle of the western wing. He grabbed hold of the knob labeled ‘C’ and tore the door open, leaping inside the magical room and slamming it shut behind him.

It was still. Silent. Dark. Nothing was visible but a large red curtain, descending from many feet in the air and blocking the rest of the room from view. Mateo’s footsteps were heavy as he stepped further into the void, his breaths haggard from the effort of just getting to this point, undaunted by a simple curtain after that ordeal he’d just been through. His patience gradually decreased as he pawed through the velvet for the opening, unable to find it after several minutes of searching - perhaps it wasn’t meant to be opened? Smart, he supposed, but inconvenient for him. 

Next option was to lift. Armfuls of curtain were pulled up and away from the floor, enough for Mateo to start attempting to hunch down and squeeze himself along the bottom, but the material was heavier than it looked. It weighed down on his back and shoulders, nearly threatening to crush him, but he persisted - adrenaline was a Hell of a drug - until he could see the empty void peeking from beneath the layers he pulled out of his path. Finally he wormed his way to the other side, and his reward for breaching the first level of defense was a seemingly endless maze of mirrors that stretched as far as he could see. Mateo laughed incredulously, shaking his head.

“Camilo, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

The suspense in the air was ruthless for both of them. Mateo stalked through the disorienting maze, surrounded by replicas of himself from every angle, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of a mop of caramel curls or a flash of gold from around a corner. But he only saw himself, his own diabolical reflection, trudging through the narrow hallways in search of his prize. He wasn’t really sure how far from the opening he was or how long he’d been searching, but he knew the boy was in there, somewhere, and once he found him this all would be worth it.

“You’ve been bad, Camilo,” Mateo called in a poisonous sing-song. He’d tried a few times to talk to Camilo, each time getting silence in return, but every so often he would pick up on the sound of quivering breaths from somewhere further in. Camilo was quiet, but not quiet enough. “You have such a hard time following directions. But you know? I think we can work on that together, and make you a little more willing to play nice.” He heard the hitching of air, faint as it was, and he knew he had Camilo’s attention. Let’s see if we can draw this little mole out of his hiding spot, shall we?

“Toñito’s got a sweet little face, doesn’t he?” There was a strangled gasp in the distance. “He’s got a smart mouth, though. Like you, and your sister.”

“What did you do with my brother?!” 

Couldn’t help himself, could he? Mateo smiled to himself, moving in the direction he heard the voice come from.

“He’ll be fine, so long as he doesn’t make any stupid moves,” Mateo bumped into his own shoulder, scowling and turning a different way, “Why don’t you come out and I’ll show you?” The quiet returned, prompting Mateo to continue, “You’re just dragging this out, you know. I’d be a lot nicer about all this if you didn’t make it so difficult.”

“Why are you doing this?!” Camilo’s voice cried out, and Mateo made a sharp right towards it, “You-- you lost, so just go away already! Leave us alone!”

“That’s the thing, chiquito,” He purred, shambling down a straight pathway with his hands braced on the walls on either side of him, “Everything’s gone. My home, my reputation, my relationship with my family - all of it up in smoke, because you couldn’t just keep your fucking mouth shut. You couldn’t just be a good boy and cooperate. So now, I got nothing left to lose! Which means if it’s all over for me, I might as well just do what I want now, right?” 

The sound of Camilo’s uneven breaths became intermingled with anxious whines, growing clearer with every step forward Mateo took. “And I mean, it’s pretty personal either way, you know. You Madrigals have given me a lot of trouble these past few days. It’s a bonus if I get to have a little fun, you know? Whatever way that may be - like, say, swiping the family baby or grinding that old man downstairs into powder. I’m considering it reparations for everything you’ve done to me, Camilo.”

A hiccup, sounding so close it could have been right next to him. Mateo’s fingers twitched in anticipation, ready to reach out and snatch him at any moment.

“I told you, you’re mine. And if I’m going down, that means you’re coming with me.”

He turned a corner and locked eyes with Camilo, huddled in on himself protectively and trembling. Camilo gasped, his face flooded with fear as Mateo’s grin widened.

“Gotcha.”

He lunged for the boy, only to slam face-first into yet another mirror. Camilo’s reflection scrambled to his feet and took off down another hallway, disappearing from view again.

Camilo tore through the corridors, hearing an enraged roar not too far behind him that made him pick up the pace. He only sort of knew where he was going, but his room helped out by shifting the walls around him to better direct him towards the exit. And thankfully so, as Camilo was nearly blinded by terror; his only thought was to run, get away from him and escape, let his room trap him until he could track down a family member for help. But to his added horror he heard the sound of glass shattering, shards flying in the air over the walls and tinkling down to the ground.

So close.

He slammed into wall after wall, not paying anymore attention to where the hallways began and ended. The shattering continued, the sound approaching more rapidly than Camilo could keep up with, and he began to pray.

Just a little further.

He saw it - the walls parted to reveal the rest of the room, the curtain rising once more and giving him a clear path to the door. He stumbled over his own feet as he bolted for it, reaching a hand out for the knob.

Almost--

Camilo was yanked back mid-stride by a powerful grip on his arm, making him yelp as his captor raised him in the air like slaughtered game. He was just inches from Mateo’s face, his features twisted in manic exultation, small cuts here and there from the glass that had been flying around him. He held his mallet in his fist, more small slashes marring his whitened knuckles and exposed arm, but if he felt any of them he didn’t make it apparent.

“Finally,” he panted through his teeth, and Camilo’s soul fled his body. 

Camilo cried out as he was easily slung over Mateo’s shoulder, a tight grip on his legs keeping him from moving too freely. Still he fought it, pounding his fists against Mateo’s back and failing his limbs, desperate to free himself.

“No! No!! Let me go! Help! Dolores, help!”

“She’s busy,” Mateo said calmly, opening the bedroom door and walking out. He kept the mallet in his hand, in case the rest of the house decided to give him more trouble - but much to his pleasure, the journey out of the house was shaping up to be much easier than the journey into it. Nothing seemed to be flying at him anymore and the floors had stopped swaying beneath his feet; the most resistance it gave was having tiles leap erratically around his steps.

“Casita!” Camilo tried, frantically flitting his eyes around for something he could grab hold of or defend himself with. “Casita, help me!” Casita creaked and its shingles flapped wildly; with dread Camilo realized that it didn’t want to continue its attack on Mateo while he was on his shoulder, lest it risk hurting him too. Oh, Casita, who cares! Camilo would have gladly taken a flowerpot to the face if it meant escaping Mateo’s clutches. Mateo slid down the staircase, still in its ramped state, and landed easily on the bottom floor.

In a last ditch effort Camilo began to shift, hoping one of the forms he’d take would be enough to overwhelm Mateo and force him to loosen his hold. He turned into Luisa, into Osvaldo, into Félix, into the biggest and broadest people he knew. But Mateo’s grip remained strong, adapting to whatever pair of legs he had a grip on - no matter which mask he wore, he was still Camilo Madrigal, hardly over 120 pounds soaking wet.

Mateo strode across the courtyard and eventually Camilo gave up on shifting, putting what energy he had into his efforts to keep wriggling out of Mateo’s hands. He yelled and hollered and made a fuss the whole way, but Mateo was unyielding, unfazed and unwilling to let anything Camilo did stop him from whisking him away. Not after all this nonsense he had to put up with, and not now that he finally had him where he wanted him. He was nearing the exit, so close to making it out of there with his catch, until he felt a tug at the back of his leg. Mateo peered over his shoulder at the interruption, and even Camilo halted his struggling as he lost hold on the air in his throat.

Bruno held onto Mateo’s pant leg from the floor with a shaking yet firm grasp, his breaths strained and wide eyes peeking from between wavy locks of unkempt hair. Blood coated his lower face, the bridge of his nose swollen and discolored. The sight made Camilo’s stomach churn, the first syllable of his uncle’s name hanging on the edge of his trembling lips.

“No…” Bruno gasped, iron coating his teeth and tongue, “Don’t-- don’t take him…”

Mateo sighed. He turned around to face the man clinging desperately to his leg, regarding him for only a moment before winding his other leg back and ramming his foot into his midsection. Bruno went sailing again, another arc of crimson flinging through the air, speckling Mateo in the face without him so much as flinching. He finally skid to a stop several feet away, clutching his stomach and wheezing as more blood was hacked onto the ground.

“Bruno!” Camilo yelled, alarmed when Mateo began to descend upon Bruno again. What is he doing? Why isn’t he just leaving, what’s he going to do?! “Bruno, run!” In a strange turn of perspective he called to his uncle, having to helplessly watch the scene from beneath Mateo’s arm from the angle he was at.

Mateo loomed over the older man as he weakly tried to pull himself onto his elbows, and for a moment they stared at each other - two sets of green eyes locked together, one cold and contemptuous and the other weary and glassy. 

Mateo’s eyes narrowed. You’re in my way.

Without warning he brought his foot up over Bruno’s frail body, stomping down on whatever happened to be below him - namely, Bruno’s ribcage. There was a sickening -crunch- and Bruno’s vision went white, unable to even scream as he choked on his own breath.

“No, stop!” Camilo shrieked, slamming his fists against Mateo wherever he could and trying in vain to strike his head. He managed to grab a small handful of Mateo’s hair through the hood and he yanked, drawing a sharp hiss out of him - and in retaliation Mateo drove his heel into Bruno’s broken frame once more. The second time was worse; Bruno howled in agony as his bones snapped and cracked inside his chest, every subsequent heave and sob propelling excruciating waves of fire throughout his whole system.

Any will Camilo had to resist evaporated. “Stop! Stop, please!" He begged with tears in his eyes, reaching pitifully for his uncle as though doing so could shield him from further torture.

“That one was your fault,” Mateo snarled at him, deciding he’d had enough of toying with the old man and turning back around to finally take Camilo and go. Casita shuddered and groaned, voicing its own anguish over its family’s pain and misery.

“Tío!” Camilo shouted, outstretching both arms towards Bruno as Mateo resumed his stroll towards the exit. “Tío Bruno!” 

Bruno felt like every inch of him was ablaze, but the sound of his nephew crying out so desperately for him sparked one last burst of energy. Adrenaline numbed the pain just long enough for him to raise his head and feebly reach his hand out towards Camilo and Mateo’s retreating figures, and as his vision wavered hazily, he was struck with a bitter sense of déjà vu.

So that’s why my vision stopped here.

That was the last thought that crossed his mind as his body went limp and his hand dropped to the ground, the last fading sound in his ringing ears being Camilo screaming his name.

Chapter Text

Antonio was so tired. It took all the will in his little body not to slump forward and slip right off the edge of the rock. He had to stay strong, he had to stay straight and awake. 

But he was so tired. 

How long had he been there? Hours? He was certain he’d called for every member of his family, at least a dozen times each. His parents, his siblings, Mirabel, even his abuela - but nobody came. All he could hear was the rustling of treetops down below and bird calls, somewhere far off in the distance.

Even the bad man wasn’t answering him. A few times he’d feebly tried to call to him, begged him to get him down and let him go, to no avail.

His throat hurt. He’d run his voice ragged. He didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore.

He knew the only way he’d get to go home was to be found. But would anyone ever find him in the first place?

Of course they would. He was sure they would. They had to.

He just wished they would find him soon.

Luisa followed her grandmother duteously as they trekked towards the Herrera home, finding it eerie how still and empty the streets were. The townsfolk had been instructed to take shelter indoors, in order to wait out the typhoon that Pepa had unleashed over the Encanto in her grief - with the added benefit of having everyone easily accounted for in their search for the youngest Madrigal. They highly doubted (and greatly prayed) that none of their other neighbors would be harboring either Antonio or the man who took him, but if there was any lead available, they were going to follow it through. With their suspect as dangerous as he was, none of them were willing to take any chances or leave any stone unturned.

“What are we looking for when we get there?” Luisa asked. Beneath the rolling thunder overhead she could vaguely make out the sounds of her parents and sister on other streets, knocking on doors and asking the occupants if they’d seen Antonio and/or anything out of the ordinary. Her eye hadn’t stopped twitching the entire walk, her anxious heart hoping for the best but fearing the worst for her primicito.

“Anything,” Alma said, raising the hem of her dress with a tight grip as her boots clicked briskly down the cobblestone, “Anything to tell us where that man is, or what his plans may be.”

“I just don’t get it. Why would he take Antonio?” Luisa’s shoulders drooped and she held her arms, swallowing down her urge to burst into tears even saying his name. She had to remain strong, she couldn’t fall apart now, though just imagining how scared Antonio must have been made the task all the more difficult. It was only a few days ago she had him settled on her hip, his tiny hands on her shoulders and his soft coils of hair brushing against her face, and she wished more than anything she could have him pop out of thin air already clinging to her side.

Alma didn’t really want to think about it. Thinking about it brought the risk of crumbling, when she needed to be her most collected.

“To hurt our family,” she said solemnly, “more than he already has.” It made her ill to think back on the day after Camilo’s first encounter with that man, how she’d sent him right back into his abuser’s hands completely none the wiser. How he’d obeyed without complaint, though she was sure it destroyed him to do so. She wanted to be better to her family, better for her family, yet she again had to have the magic itself tell her that something was wrong when it skewed her grandson’s image on the front door. She wished she’d realized sooner - she just never could have fathomed any soul within the Encanto’s walls could be so wicked.

“I should have pounded that guy into the dirt when I had a chance,” Luisa muttered, redirecting her sorrow into wrath though the feeling was foreign to her. That man had preyed upon two of her cousins now - she knew she had the power to do away with him for good, and though she’d never even dreamed of doing it before, this was the first time she didn’t feel too bad considering using her strength against someone. “Abuela, if I catch him wherever he is, I don’t think I’m gonna hold back.”

Alma was quiet a moment. Luisa wondered if she’d crossed the line, until her grandmother simply replied, “So long as you give me the first strike.”

The search for Antonio in the wooded outskirts of the village wasn’t yielding many results, much to the continued emotional dismay of his family. In their time searching they’d turned up nothing, and none of the other animals he regularly spent time with knew anything about his whereabouts - not that they would be understood without Antonio’s help regardless. There had been attempts at both a group search party and an individual approach to cover more ground, and after over an hour of scouring as much of the Encanto’s greenery as possible, they’d reconvened for another shot at working together and now trudged through the more dense thickets that bordered the mountain fissure.

Pepa hung behind, so as to minimize the presence of her whirlwinds in Dolores’s senses. She was almost too distraught to properly call her son’s name; her bereavement inflicted a hurricane over the Encanto at large, churning the skies and releasing intermittent showers of rain pelting down onto the village, and yet she wasn’t spared from her own personal tornado that tailed her like a shadow.

Félix and Mirabel traded off their roles, with one of them wandering here and there and calling Antonio’s name, while the other stayed at Pepa’s side to offer the consolation she desperately needed. Félix was doing his best to ease his wife’s suffering and rein in the storm, keeping himself together for her sake - she was a mess as it was, it wouldn’t do either of them any favors for him to fall to pieces right alongside her, no matter how tempting it was to do so. But when Mirabel granted him a moment now and again to step away on his own, he’d take the opportunity to get out anything he simply couldn’t hold in any longer.

Dolores was at the front, straining her ears to their limit for any indication her littlest brother was nearby. Antonio didn’t have quite as many tells as someone like Camilo or Mirabel or Pepa; usually she knew where he was by the sounds of various animal chatter and paws padding along the ground. She could hardly pick out his stride, with how often he traveled on the back of his jaguar. But she knew the sound of his gentle giggling, when something tickled him literally or figuratively. She knew the sound of his hands clasping together, wringing twice before going still, when he was shy. She recognized him by sound when he was happy and safe - she didn’t know what to look for when he was in distress, because Antonio was never supposed to be in distress. Searching for the typical things like a rapid heart rate or nervous sweats only led her back to her family, and to herself.

She did her best to block out the sound of her own shoes sinking into the earthen path and to her mother’s frantic mumbling to herself, pushing her focus out as far as possible. But in the back of her ears, just a whisper breezing against her sensitive eardrums, she heard a strange sound. She took a brief pause, if only to assess what it was she heard: creaking wood, clinking tiles, the squeak of hinges and clatter of shutters. With Pepa’s storm raging, these were sounds she was hearing all over town from nearly every home. But what she heard was different, it didn’t happen in rhythm with the blowing winds or any other natural phenomenon.

Was that Casita?

“Dolores, anything yet?”

Her father’s voice pulled her back into focus, and reluctantly she tuned the sounds back out to concentrate on the more pressing matter.

“Nothing,” she murmured, regretful. The winds seemed to howl louder.

Mirabel pursed her lips, looking out towards the crack in the mountain as she listened to her uncle try to soothe her aunt’s newest wave of grief. “We need to check outside the Encanto,” She posited, “If Dolores isn’t having any luck here, maybe that means he was taken beyond the mountains.” Mirabel hadn’t been very far past the Encanto’s borders, but she was undaunted by the unknown when her cousin’s safety was on the line. She was willing to spend days out there if she had to, covering however many miles of ground was necessary to bring Antonio home.

“No, don’t say that,” Pepa moaned from behind her, accompanied by a rumble of thunder, “If he’s past the mountains, then he could be anywhere! He could already be miles from here!”

“We won’t know unless we try, amor,” Félix kissed her tightly clasped hands, murmuring into her skin, “and we have to try everything.”

Dolores was already moving towards the opening, directing her hearing out in that direction. Debating about it wouldn’t find Antonio any faster, and if she ended up going out on her own, then so be it. But if the sound of footsteps following after her indicated anything, it was that going alone wasn’t going to be necessary - as was the Madrigal way, facing hardships together.

Hang on, manito, she thought to herself, we’re coming for you.

The doorknob to the Herrera residence was already gathering dust. Alma and Luisa let themselves in, knowing as well as anyone else that the occupants were all unaccounted for, and as they opened the front door they were greeted by a still, drafty husk of what used to be a family home. 

As Alma began in the front part of the house, Luisa took it upon herself to start checking the back rooms for either the people who lived there or any sign of where they might have gone. She found just as others did that the house was deserted, but after checking all three bedrooms (to her embarrassment; it felt like a breach of privacy moreso than entering their house without invitation), she noticed a strange pattern - while none of the rooms were necessarily unkempt, they also weren’t particularly tidied or prepared in a way to suggest their occupants had intended to leave indefinitely. That sense only heightened as she noticed various sentimentals still on display around the home, plenty of family photos and other keepsakes untouched out in the open. Wouldn’t they take at least some of these with them if they were getting out of there for good?

“Seems like the place is clear,” Luisa still glanced over her shoulder as she returned to the living room’s entryway, “It’s weird though, it doesn’t look like anyone packed anything, like they just dropped everything and--”

When she finally turned her attention into the room she stopped mid-sentence, distracted by the sight of Alma standing perfectly still beside a pair of chairs. She stared down at a particular spot on the floor, her brows raised and eyes widened in alarm.

“Abuela? What’s wrong?” As Luisa approached she could see what had caught her grandmother’s attention: it looked like a series of dark stains on the hardwood floor. They were a ruddy, brownish color, ranging in size from small pools to splattered droplets, all of which had long since dried. The two women looked at each other, sharing a look of grim understanding.

“Do you think…?” Luisa started in a hushed murmur, unable to bring herself to finish the thought.

Alma’s stomach turned at the thought. She knew Mateo Herrera was a beast with no sense of morality, but enough to…? And his own family, no less?

A dull banging sound from somewhere in the house made both of them jump.

After a second to collect her bearings, Alma cleared her throat, calling out as authoritatively as possible.

“Is someone there? Show yourself.”

No response. Instinctively Luisa offered her grandmother her arm, and just as instinctively Alma took it. Carefully and quietly they traversed back into the deeper part of the home, trepidation in every step, approaching the hallway that led to the occupants’ personal quarters. Neither were sure of what to expect.

There was another -bang-, louder this time, that came from near the second bedroom down - Mateo’s bedroom. 

Inching down the hallway on their toes, Luisa paused outside Mateo’s door and prepared her hand to knock - before she decided that courtesy didn’t apply in the circumstances and pushed the door open without warning. The room was empty, as it was when she’d checked it before. Out of all of them this was the only room that gave any sign that it was no longer in use; the open wardrobe only had a few miscellaneous articles of clothing remaining and the bed had been stripped down to the mattress, with very little in terms of additional personalization. But maybe they were missing something that a first glance just wouldn’t show them. That banging sound wasn’t coming from nowhere, and they’d both heard it clear as day. 

Luisa led the way into the room, her nose crinkling just thinking of who the room used to belong to, and initially they didn’t see anything amiss - that is, until they got far enough into the room to see past Mateo’s bed. She hadn’t noticed it on her first sweep of the room, but on the other side of the bed closest to the wall was something Luisa had never seen before: an end table had been pulled askew from where it presumably was supposed to go, and the rug beneath it had been flipped up to uncover a handle and a set of hinges attached to a disjointed section of the hardwood floor.

“A trapdoor?” Alma wondered, while Luisa peered at her in curiosity. Alma herself was there during the construction of this home and others in the neighborhood, during the village’s early days; she knew for a fact that any kind of underground compartment wasn’t built with the rest of the house. She leaned over it and reached for the handle, only to recoil when a third -bang- sounded from right beneath their feet. They looked at one another again. Something - or someone - was down there, and they were going to have to investigate. After a moment of hesitation, Alma pushed her inhibitions aside and threw open the trapdoor in one quick movement.

Pulling open the hatch revealed a manually excavated stairwell. The construction was crude but competent, with concrete sealing the dirt walls and forming each deep, narrow step. The stairs plummeted into a dark, inky abyss about a dozen feet down, culminating in a short landing that led to a handcrafted wooden door.

After gawking at their discovery for a beat, Luisa held up her hand, wordlessly warning her grandmother to stay back as she approached the first step.

“Luisa,” Luisa peered back at Alma, who wrung her hands before finishing her thought, “Be careful.”

Luisa nodded, determined, and began her descent into the darkness. It was a little snug for her liking, but she cautiously made her way down each step, the clacking of her soles against the cement seeming to echo all around her despite being in such a small passageway. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous; she had no idea what awaited her at the bottom, and though she surely could take on any physical threat should there happen to be one, she couldn’t help the dread that slithered through her veins as she reached the landing and stood before the door.

Another -bang- out of the blue startled her, igniting her anxiousness and making her jump back with a yelp.

“Hey! Who’s in there?!” She called, both annoyed by the scare and thoroughly creeped out. There was no reply - but she could hear a faint shuffling, followed by a light thump against the same spot in the wood. Luisa steeled herself, burying her nerves and taking in a stiff breath through her nose.

“You better get out of the way, ‘cause I’m coming in!”

The door had been locked, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Luisa took hold of the knob and with hardly a flick of her wrist, the entire door was ripped from its hinges and she tossed it carelessly onto the steps behind her. She had to turn and hunch herself down to squeeze through the doorway, allowing herself into the hidden room to witness what secrets it held.

Tomás Herrera stood on unsteady legs a ways back from the entrance (as she’d instructed), his hands tied behind his back and his own neckerchief fastened around his mouth. He didn’t look good; his stance swayed and his face seemed a little thinner, with dark circles framing his wide yet weary eyes. A faded streak of dried blood was crusted on his temple, tapering off down his forehead. For a moment they both were still with shock, with Tomás looking at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. Then all at once, his entire body went slack as relief washed over him; he could only manage a single step forward before he lost his balance, landing on his knees in front of her. 

“Miércoles,” she swore and stooped down to him, making quick work of pulling the gag off and snapping the ropes from his wrists. “Abuela!” She called over her shoulder, but her attention was pulled back as Tomás gripped onto the front of her blouse.

“Luisa,” he rasped, bleary eyes beholding her like she was sent from Heaven itself, “Thank you, oh, God, thank you.”

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay,” she placed her hands on his shoulders, drawing them back just as quickly when he flinched at her touch. That banging sound they heard… She figured it must have been Tomás throwing himself shoulder-first against the door for hours - or days - on end in hopes that someone would eventually hear it. On top of that she could see his wrists had been chafed raw from the ropes, angry red welts left behind from flax cutting into his skin over the course of his imprisonment. The sight made her grimace, and she wished she’d had some of her mother’s cooking on hand to relieve the pain he must have been in.

“How long have you been down here?” She asked, opting to rest her hovering hands over his lower arms instead.

Tomás shook his head, delirium clouding his recollection, “I-I dunno, it was… that day, the day he-- he was supposed to leave.”

“He?” It took a second to click, but when it did Luisa’s brows shot up. “You mean, Mateo? That was, like, three days ago! You’ve been here the whole time?”

“I think so,” he swallowed, the dryness in his throat making him wince, “He knocked us out, me and--”

Something zapped him through the confusion. He cut himself off abruptly and his eyes widened, his grip on her growing more feverish.

“My pá,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse but desperate, “You’ve gotta help him, he’s-- he’s--!”

Luisa’s eyes followed the direction his shaking hand pointed. Señor Herrera was lying on a cot in the corner of the room in a similar bound state, with a matching smear of blood staining the thinned patch atop his head - but she realized right away that he didn’t seem to be conscious.

Oh, geez, this isn’t good.

“Okay, hang on, we’re getting you guys out of here.” With little effort she scooped Tomás up, cradling him in one arm as she got to her feet. He gasped softly in surprise and instinctively clung to her neck, and anyone who saw it would have sworn he was staring up at her with stars in his eyes. Luisa heard the sound of wood scraping against the concrete stairs as she made for the bed, using her free hand to similarly release Tomás’s father from his bindings and carefully take him into her other arm.

“¿Qué demonios…?” Alma managed to maneuver the door out of the way enough for her to step into the room herself, beholding the nightmarish holding cell in confounded stupefaction. Alma’s surprise was evident on her face in seeing the other two Herreras in her granddaughter’s arms. The fact they were there at all was a shock in itself - but any suspicion against them she might have had vanished upon seeing the state they were in, with Tomás nearly in tears as he held onto Luisa like a lifeline and poor Señor Herrera not even aware of his rescue. On the wall above the bed, just over Luisa’s shoulder, she could see a message haphazardly scrawled on the wall in black ink.

sorry

had no choice

someone will find you soon

“Abuela, we’ve gotta get them to my mamá. They’re in bad shape,” Luisa regarded the men in her grasp, her heart aching as Tomás let go of her to reach for his father’s limp hand.

Alma nodded without commentary, stepping out of the way to allow her nieta a head start. As Luisa walked right over the door on her way out, crushing it beneath her feet, Alma could hear the fading sound of Tomás’s cracking voice imploring, “Papá, wake up…” She intended to follow, having found what she was searching for (to an extent she hadn’t anticipated), but not before she got a good look at what Mateo Herrera had been hiding beneath his floorboards for God knows how long.

The underground room was very small, hardly 10 feet by 10 feet, with just the cot in the corner and a small handbuilt end table for furnishing. The walls were lined with candle sconces, only about half of them lit and the other half having already burnt out, with otherwise no available light source. But most distressingly were the shackles fixed to each corner of the cot, none in use but hanging open and in wait for whichever pairs of wrists and ankles they’d been installed for. Alma felt her skin crawl the longer she stayed there, with only her imagination to tell her the grisly purpose Mateo would have to build himself a place like this.

But as she turned to leave, she saw on the opposite wall a sight that completely flummoxed her: a pile of sheepskins lay in the corner beside a tin of adhesive, with a sizable number of woolen hides already affixed to the wall and covering it from floor to ceiling.

Soundproofing. He’d been partway through soundproofing this little dungeon of his.

Forget the first strike. If Mateo Herrera ever crossed her path again, she’d claim his head herself.

Chapter Text

Antonio shook himself awake, having balanced on the cusp of sleep and lucidity more times than he could recall at that point. His limbs had started going numb a while ago. The position he was in was never comfortable by any means, but even fidgeting in place wasn’t helping to relieve the tension in his muscles anymore. He was beginning to lose hope - not so much the hope that his family was looking for him, but the hope that he would be found and rescued before he could accidentally send himself careening towards certain death.

But he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die all alone, out here in the middle of nowhere, scared and tired and sore. He couldn't just give up. What would Parce think?

His will to live crawled out on top over his dwindling faith in himself. He lifted his head, and with what little energy he’d managed to accumulate and retain over however long he’d been silent, he managed to project an airy, weak utterance.

“Mami…”

Dolores gasped, stopping dead in her tracks.

Upon making their way past the Encanto’s opening, the group had spent nearly half an hour fanning out and searching the immediate mile radius beyond the entrance to the village. They'd been heading east after exhausting west and north, and with no change in luck they were just about to consider extending their boundary outwards a mile in case they were just barely out of reach. That was until the breeze carried to Dolores a familiar whisper, a strained voice that grabbed hold of her and paralyzed every nerve in her body.

“Dolores?” Mirabel asked, noticing the change first. She knew what it meant when Dolores froze like that; a flutter of hope lit up in her heart, and it spread from her to her aunt and uncle behind her. Pepa and Félix gripped onto one another in anticipation, Pepa’s winds subsiding just enough to give Dolores a little extra clarity to her senses.

But she didn’t need it. The second she’d recovered from her shock she took off down the path, covering her ears and calling out for the voice’s owner.

“Antonio!”

Pepa didn’t even have enough time to take a breath before her feet moved on their own, catching up quickly to her daughter and leaving her tornado in the dust. Félix and Mirabel came right behind them, all four running towards a destination they didn’t quite know the location of but knew existed nearby.

On Antonio’s ledge, he continued to run through the names - Papi, Mirabel, Lola, Milo, Tía , et alia - as he had been, when there was a faint echo that resounded off the surrounding mountain walls. He couldn’t decipher what it said at first, almost assuming it was his own voice bouncing off the environment and coming back to him, until he heard it again, closer and clearer. 

It was his own name, and if he was right, it was his sister’s voice.

He turned his head, pausing to determine if what he’d heard was real. Newfound energy began to swim through his veins, perking him up and amplifying his voice despite the scratchiness of his throat.

“Lola?”

Dolores nearly tripped over her own feet trying to run faster. Breathlessly she called over her shoulder, “I hear him! He’s this way!”

An eager high coursed through all of them, adrenaline electrifying their systems, invigorating them as they tore down the mountain path. They all began to shout, hoping Antonio could hear them wherever he was.

“We’re coming, Antonio!”

“Antonio, cielito, mami’s coming! Mami and papi are here!”

“Hang on, Toñito, we’re almost there!”

Antonio began to hear it. He heard his name, over and over again, in different voices, getting louder every second. He couldn’t see them but he knew which way they were coming from, and he had to resist the urge to wiggle in excitement. They were coming. They were coming! He broke into a wide, relieved grin, and tearfully cried out, “Over here! Over here, Lola!”

Dolores skidded to a stop where she heard his voice originating, but didn’t locate him right away. She flit her head back and forth, turning in a circle, her brain not quite computing the discrepancy between her ears leading her to this spot and her eyes finding him nowhere in sight.

“Antonio?”

“Up here!”

Dolores turned her gaze up, choking on her breath upon seeing just where her brother was. Her hands raised as though she could just reach up and pluck him off the rock - an idea she desperately wished she could pull off. A high-pitched cry behind her let her know their mother had just caught up, and now witnessed Antonio’s state for herself.

“Ohh, Dios mio, Antonio! What did he do to you, pobrecito?!” Pepa clutched her face, her relief speared by horror. Her youngest, strung up like a roast, perched so precariously on a tiny ledge dozens of feet in the air - the tornado reappeared, nearly blowing Mirabel and Félix into the trees off the path. “Don't move, we're going to get you down!”

“Mami, you came! You came!” Antonio was too giddy to be afraid anymore. He’d done it - he’d been found, he’d beaten the game, and now he was allowed to be rescued, just like the man said. He turned away from where the other Madrigals gathered below, yelling off in another direction nearby. “I win! They found me! I can go home now!”

His family on the ground looked at each other in confusion.

“Toñito, baby, who are you talking to?” Pepa called up to him.

“The bad man!” He called back, and everyone’s blood ran cold. The shift into defensive mode was immediate, with everyone checking over their shoulders on the chance they’d catch a stranger leering out from behind a tree, until Dolores held up her hand and shook her head. She didn’t hear anything - no heartbeat, no rustling of leaves nearby, nothing to indicate another human being was hidden among them.

“It’s clear,” she said, easing the tension at least somewhat. So that man wasn't around - but they weren't out of the woods just yet.

Pepa cupped her hands around her mouth and assured him, “There’s no one here, amor! It’s just us!” 

“You’re safe now! We’re coming to get you, okay?” Félix added, gearing himself up to make the climb.

Antonio would have blinked, if his eyes were available. “Huh? But…” Well, no wonder the man never answered him. It didn’t really make sense to Antonio - he said he would be down there! - but he decided it was much better for the man to not be there than to have him around. He just wished he’d realized it sooner, so that he could have chanced to call for help from the birds he’d heard the whole time and saved himself from all this discomfort and fear. “Okay!” He nodded, more than ready to get down, go home, and hide in his room for a while.

Félix made an effort to start ascending the wall, but only made it a short ways up before his thick hands lost purchase on their hold of the shallow grips along the crag. His grasp slipped, cracking a few of his fingernails on the way, and with a short yelp he tumbled right back down to the ground, landing on his back with a -thud-. Pepa ran to him, fussing and checking him over, and shaking pebbles out of his hair. He was overall fine but got the wind knocked out of him, taking a second to wheeze where he lay. But before he could try again, Dolores was already scaling her way up the rock in his place. Her hands were much smaller and daintier; she’d never climbed a rock before, but she had the advantage of a sturdier hold on the stone compared to her father (and even Mateo). She was perfect for the job, and her heart was full of the determination she needed to rescue her baby brother.

“Dolores!” Félix called and sat up, his anxiety as a father spiking, “Let us do it, it's too dangerous!”

“You almost just cracked your head open, papi,”  Dolores snarked at him as she continued to climb, “I've got more working parts than just my ears, you know! I'll be back down in a minute.” 

But as this was going on, as Pepa and Félix both called after Dolores in alarm, Mirabel was staring up at Antonio, her mind working at a million miles a minute. She went over the entire ordeal in her head, adding on Antonio's placement and what he’d said about ‘the bad man’ - she was attempting to string pieces of a picture together, but the dots just weren’t connecting properly no matter how many angles she looked at it.

“Wait,” she said, catching her aunt and uncle’s attention, “Wait, this-- this doesn’t make any sense.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke, waving and pantomiming to illustrate her thought process as she worked through it in real time. “This weirdo takes Antonio out of the Encanto just to… leave him by himself? Way up on a mountain, in some random spot outside? He’s not-- he’s not here waiting for us, he didn’t leave a note or ask for anything in return. What’s the point of all this? Why’d he go through all this trouble, if he didn’t want something from us?”

At this point Dolores had paused her ascent, peering over her shoulder to listen as well.

Mirabel began to pace. “Antonio’s blindfolded, but he can still talk. He can’t see where he is, but we were able to find him by following his voice. So obviously calling for help wasn’t an issue.” She pointed towards Antonio, shouting up to him, “Antonio, what did you ‘win?’ What did that guy tell you to do?”

Antonio shivered as he recalled how the man had laid out the rules for him, the phantom sensation of fingers on his back threatening to push him off making him fidget. “Um… I couldn’t move or I’d fall off. I could call for help, but only from you guys - not from the animals. He said he would be down there watching if I tried to cheat. I won when you found me.”

“But he wasn’t down here. He’s not here at all,” Pepa noted. She took Dolores’s word that no one was around, but Pepa felt a wave of goosebumps on her back in the way she did when she felt like she was being watched.

“So then, where is he?” Mirabel continued, running her fingers through her hair. “Okay, from the top: He takes Antonio, drops him off in the middle of nowhere. Calling for help is a-okay, he says he’ll be watching but doesn’t actually stick around, so all of us have to come out and--”

She cut herself off with a gasp. It was just then that a full picture snapped together in her mind, sudden and ghastly in a way that made her stomach curdle.

This was Mateo Herrera they were talking about. He already had an established goal, an established target - it was never Antonio he wanted.

But using Antonio was a perfect way to get a hold of what - or who - he did want. And doing so would make sure all his obstacles would be too busy to interfere.

“Oh my God, he’s bait. He’s bait! We’re all out looking for him, now there’s no one at home, except--!”

She whipped her head back in the direction of the Encanto’s entrance, an icy chill sprawling over her as the realization fully dawned.

“Camilo!”

She broke into a sprint, heading back towards home as fast as her legs could carry her. Immediately panic set into Camilo’s family - they still had to rescue Antonio, and Dolores was too high on the wall to safely jump off and follow Mirabel in a timely manner. Pepa dithered helplessly, looking between her youngest up on his ledge and the direction Mirabel ran off to, whimpering as she frantically struggled to decide which of her beloved children’s safety was a higher priority to handle.

“Go, we’ve got him!” Félix promised her, turning back to Dolores to motion for her to keep climbing towards her brother. His heart was racing in his chest, and he wished he could be in two places at once, but he and Pepa were a team - he trusted her to take care of things where he couldn’t, and he knew she felt the same way. He was going to get their boy and bring both him and their girl home safe, where he was sure his wife and older boy would be waiting for them.

Pepa didn’t argue; she turned tail and raced after her niece, her longer legs giving her a speed advantage and helping her to catch up relatively quickly. She snatched Mirabel’s hand in passing, and ended up towing her along the entire run back to the Encanto. 

The streets were still empty as the two hurried towards Casita, both of them exhausted and feeling like their muscles were on fire but neither of them willing to slow down. Not until they were sure Camilo was safe. Mirabel hoped and prayed her theory was wrong, that she was looking too deeply into it and that Camilo was perfectly fine up in his room. She could hear her pulse in her ears as they clambered up the hill towards Casita, and she mentally crossed her fingers that all was well before they leapt up the entryway steps and threw open the front door.

Any hope either of them had was shattered as they stood in the open doorway of their home, taking in the sight that awaited them. The interior was in a state of disarray they hadn’t seen since the candle fell; tiles were loose and torn up, scattered across the courtyard. Banisters and rafters were sticking out haphazardly, and one of the stairwells was stuck in a ramp-like state. The back door had been demolished, hanging off the door frame as a mess of wood chunks and splinters. Decor was smashed and strewn about everywhere, glass and terracotta and metal laid out like land mines over nearly every inch of the floor.

And in the middle of the courtyard was a heap consisting of shaggy salt-and-pepper hair, an oversized ruana, and far, far too much blood.  

It wasn’t clear which one of them started screaming first. In seconds they both were at Bruno’s side, calling his name and trying to rouse him. He looked horrible but there was no way he was anything but unconscious. It just wasn’t possible. Pepa cradled his head in her lap, trying to brush hair from his face and only panicking further as her hand came back drenched in crimson. Mirabel squeezed his hands, touched his face, held his shoulders, anything to get him to respond to her. They both wept openly over him, their tears dotting his cheeks and speckling his already stained ruana, ice crystals from the cloud above Pepa’s head dusting them all in a thin sheet of white.

Mirabel placed her head on Bruno’s chest in search of a pulse. He suddenly took a sharp inhale, coughing and splattering the back of Mirabel’s head with blood.

If Mirabel noticed, she didn’t care. She sat up quickly as Bruno stirred, a collection of blood that had been sitting in his mouth escaping down the side of his jaw. As he woke up so did his injuries, robbing him of the iota of peace unconsciousness granted him from his debilitating condition, and his face contorted in revived pain.

“Bruno!” The other two cried simultaneously, and as Bruno opened his mouth to try a response, all he was able to produce was a shuddering hack that tore at his chest from the inside and wrenched an agonized cry out of him.

Mirabel scrambled to her feet, making for the front door. “Mamá!” She sobbed, staggering out of the house to fetch her mother’s aid. “Mamá!!”

As Bruno cracked his eyes open, he only barely perceived the yellow and orange blur up above him. Pepa stroked her brother’s hair, biting back her instinct to yell at him for scaring her but more than anything she was just relieved he was alive.

“Pepa,” he wheezed, grasping aimlessly at her dress as he attempted to focus through glazed sight. She took hold of his hand, squeezing it, red seeping from between their joined fingers.

“Bruno,” she choked out, her vision hazy from the tears and whirling snowfall in her eyes, “Brunito, where is--”

“He-- He took him,” his own eyes watered, gritting his teeth as he struggled to collect enough air to speak, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t--” He coughed again, giving a low, prolonged groan as throbbing, scorching waves of fire radiated from his broken ribs and set his body ablaze. 

Pepa’s world was crashing down around her. She’d spent the last few hours in a desperate search for her youngest child, finding him in peril and not even being able to save him herself. Her little brother lay critically injured in her lap, her dress dyed with his blood and her ears full of his strained gasps for air. And now she’s come to find that her poor Camilo, her solecito , was stolen right from under her by the man they thought they had saved him from. She’d tried so hard. She’d thought she was doing everything right to keep her family safe, and to protect them from the danger that vision had promised her. She’d thought they’d defeated it, that by casting that man out of their home they had halted that fate in its tracks. But it was all for nothing, and she wasn’t able to protect any of them. 

She felt numb, she felt white-hot and frozen at the same time. The beginnings of a blizzard began to spiral around her and Bruno the longer she remained imprisoned in her thoughts, but a strangled gasp from the entryway pulled her attention back to the present and quelled the storm.

Mirabel had caught her family just as they were coming back home, and as she returned to her place beside her uncle she wiped fruitlessly at her freely flowing eyes. She was followed in by the rest of the family, including Alma, who’d made the sound - she stood shell-shocked as she took in the scene, frozen as her oldest daughter stumbled in to join her sister and daughter over her brother’s battered body. Julieta only allowed herself a brief moment to agonize over Bruno’s state, cupping his face and kissing his forehead before she barrelled for the kitchen with her husband on her heels. Isabela joined Pepa and Mirabel at Bruno’s side and Luisa entered with the Herreras in tow, paling at the scene before tearing her gaze away and attempting to find a comfortable place to put the men in her arms down amid the destruction. 

Alma took shaking steps towards her son, lowering herself onto her knees beside her daughter. Pepa, almost in a daze, relinquished her place to her mother and allowed Alma to take Bruno’s head into her own lap. Alma’s quaking hands held his face, her thumbs running over his sunken cheeks, and as she beheld the extent of his injuries, she was taken back to a place she’d never wanted to be again. She’d already seen this same face stained with blood, fifty years ago; in that moment, as she looked down on her boy and watched him try to meet her eyes, she could almost feel the cool rush of river water enveloping and flowing around her legs.

“Bruno,” his name clung to the inside of her throat, as though if it left her she would lose him too.

“Mamá,” he said, his voice a broken whisper, “I-I couldn’t pr-- protect him,” tears slipped down the sides of his face, disappearing into his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m--”

The gentle platting of drops against his forehead silenced him, and as he peered up he was met with his mother’s flooded eyes. She knew as soon as she arrived, as soon as Mirabel had run to them in such devastation, she knew Camilo had been taken. Both of her grandsons were gone, abducted from the safety of her home by a violent lunatic, and her son lay on death’s door - had her fortitude been any weaker, she was sure she would have been driven mad. She wasn’t quite sure she hadn’t been.

“Mi niñito,” her voice cracked halfway through, overtaken by her anguish as teardrops continued to speckle her son’s face. She registered the feeling of Mirabel and Isabela’s hands on her arms, but the only thing front and center in her mind was the same thought, over and over: I’m failing them again. Her family was slipping through her fingers in a manner completely out of her control. If Pedro could see her now, what would he say?

He raised a trembling hand, wincing as the movement jostled his bones, and tried to use the back of his fingers to wipe his mother’s tears away. His efforts left a bloodied smudge beneath her eye, but she didn’t care. She took his hand and held it against her face, the blood clinging to his skin intermingling with her tears as they rolled over his fingers.

Mirabel took her other hand off Bruno to push up her glasses, covering her eyes as her shoulders were wracked with sobs. She’d been right, and she’d never resented that fact more than now. She’d realized Mateo’s plan too late, and he’d gotten his hands on her primo. She needed to go out and look for him, just as hard as she did for Antonio, but Bruno’s state had her a complete emotional wreck. She was torn in a million places at once, and she had no idea where to start patching herself back up.

She felt a touch on her arm and peeked from beneath her hand, finding Isabela’s similarly tear-streaked face looking back at her from across their uncle's body. But while Isabela was emotional, her expression was set into one of staunch determination.

“He’s not going to get away,” she asserted, “we’re bringing Camilo home, and that monster is going to get what’s coming to him. Just you wait.”

When Pepa moved aside for Alma she’d wandered out of the house, away from the scene, bits of glass crunching beneath her shoes until she found herself standing on the front lawn in a hazy, bereft stupor.

They’d found Antonio, he was safe - her husband and daughter would return with him soon. The smell of Julieta’s cooking wafting from Casita’s windows told her Bruno would be okay, he would survive and recover, no matter how much the sight of him so battered and bruised destroyed her.

But her Camilo. Her first boy, her baby, her sol. He had been taken, spirited away, kidnapped by a man who'd already done such horrible things to him. She didn't know how long ago or how far they'd managed to get away in that time, but the longer she waited, the further away they got.

Pepa took in a deep breath and held it, and the storm above her seemed to pause - she then let out a tremendous screech into the universe for God and whoever else had forsaken her to hear, and in a fraction of a second the storm surged with fervor. Her braid and dress whipped wildly around her in the punishing gales, searing bolts of electricity striking the ground at random and leaving smoldering craters in the earth. 

She stopped screaming when she ran out of air, but the storm raged on. She took a beat to catch her breath, collected her bearings, and she began to run. She didn’t have any leads, no idea where she was going or what she was looking for specifically, but she had her goal and she was going to accomplish it, come Hell or high water.

She was going to find her son.

Chapter Text

As the last bandage was secured in place around his arm, Mateo gave a sigh of accomplishment. He’d had one Hell of a day, but just as he expected, it all was worth it in the end. He almost didn’t care about everything before now - the public humiliation, the last minute scrambling for a new plan, getting ambushed by a damn house - he’d do it all over again for such a valuable trophy. He’d do it as many times as it would take to ensure he got his hands on what was rightfully his.

Not that he’d need to now. He’d come out victorious, he’d fought tooth and nail to do so, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that from him - including that simpering pack of magical pissants who insisted on getting in the way.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said out loud, pulling himself up from his seat on a good-sized rock beside his cart, “this isn’t what I had in mind for us. Shame all those years of work I did went to waste, but, es lo que es.” He pulled up the cover on the cart, delighting in the sight of his prized possession inside. “Maybe I should have just done this in the first place.”

Camilo lay in the cart bed cocooned in rope, his arms bound tightly behind his back with additional restraints winding and coiling around the entire length of his body. A strip from Mateo’s own cloak gagged him, muffling every whine and whimper of protest he made. He stared up at his abductor through windows in his hair as it sprawled over his face, his panicked gaze flitting back and forth over him while he wriggled desperately against his bonds.

Mateo was practically salivating, looking down at Camilo the same way a rabid dog ogled a hunk of meat.

“That oughta keep you nice and still until we get where we need to go,” Mateo said complacently. He rested his elbow against the edge of the cart and leaned in, prompting Camilo to try and shuffle back to no avail. He continued, “Now, from what I’ve learned these past couple of days, it shouldn’t take more than a week to cross into Venezuela from here. Not sure where we’ll go from there, but that’s part of the adventure, right? Maybe we’ll settle in the first town we find, maybe we’ll end up skipping it completely and wind up in Guyana. The sky’s the limit at this point.” 

Camilo’s brows twitched in daunted confusion. Venezuela? Guyana? How far were those places from the Encanto? Being outside the village’s walls was stressful enough in the best of circumstances. But as Mateo loomed over him and ran through his plans, it really began to sink in for Camilo that he was being taken far, far away from his home to places he’d never heard of, and if Mateo had anything to say about it, he would never see his family again. With the way things were going, Camilo was set to spend the rest of his days as Mateo’s captive, stripped of personhood and welded to his hip like an accessory, completely at his mercy - or lack thereof.

Despair gripped onto his insides and poisoned him, a voice in the back of his head whispering that he was done for. 

“We’ll obviously have to make a few rest stops here and there, so once we find somewhere to stop for the night that’s nice and comfortable, I think it’s about time I reward myself for all the trouble you’ve put me through.” Mateo slid his hand up the underside of Camilo’s thigh, delivering a swift smack to his rear and reveling in the muted squeal he got in return. “It’s not like I want to wait, but for as south as things have gone, I’d still like to make our real first time at least somewhat special. The outdoors doesn’t really do it for me, you know?”

Much to Camilo’s heightened alarm, Mateo pulled himself into the back of the cart and sat cross-legged right beside him. It was useless to try and wriggle away, but Camilo tried it anyway - predictably he didn’t get far, and with ease he was hoisted up and draped across Mateo’s lap in a bridal-style hold. One arm held Camilo against Mateo’s chest, forcing his head to rest against his collarbone, and the other hand began to stroke his hair in something akin to affection. 

“I know this is a little mushy, but just let me have it for a moment. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this.” He tucked a few locks behind Camilo’s ear, his fingers tracing along the outside ridge down to his jawline. 

Camilo shut his eyes, shivering as though Mateo’s arms were the dead of winter. He knew what Mateo’s touch felt like when he was violent. The feeling of his nerves pinching and bones grinding in his wrists under Mateo’s powerful grip was one of the worst pains he’d felt in his life. And yet, as Mateo’s fingertips ghosted delicately along his face, he almost couldn’t decide if it was better or worse for his touch to be gentle. These featherlight strokes over his freckles and along his mandible were insidious subterfuge, a Trojan Horse that concealed the brutality and filth of a man without a gentle bone in his body - the illusion of tenderness. They left ice crystals on Camilo’s skin, needlepoints that pierced through the dermis and froze him down to the marrow.

“You’re finally mine,” It almost sounded like Mateo was cooing, “I knew you would be someday, but it’s still surreal. It sort of feels like the last piece of a puzzle fitting into place, or a crack finally being patched, like everything’s right now.”

Camilo could have laughed at how thoroughly mismatched their feelings were, if it was even remotely funny. As Mateo’s entire being flooded Camilo’s senses, his voice and scent and touch submerging Camilo and holding him down until he drowned, feeling any less right seemed impossible. Nothing about this was right. It wouldn’t be right until he was out of that man’s arms and back in his mother’s, in his family's. He fidgeted in Mateo’s hold, a pointless endeavor, but even a moot attempt to fight reduced his feelings of powerlessness to a miniscule degree.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel anything, you know? I never knew what yearning felt like until you came along, and then… Well, the heart wants what the heart wants,” Mateo continued, fiddling with strands of hair between his fingers, “I know love isn’t real, but I guess that’s the closest thing I can call this. You’re everything I wish I could be. Everyone loves you, and you don’t even have to try.” 

It was jarring for Camilo to hear him be borderline sentimental, and having feelings beyond reprehensible desires. It was quite the convincing impression of a normal person, so much so that Camilo nearly believed it. For a brief moment, he wondered if playing along would keep this side of Mateo out longer and make things easier on himself in the long run, but no amount of cloying niceties in his words could cancel out the acidic burning his touch left in its wake. And besides, Camilo didn’t want a ‘long run.’ He wanted to escape, to be rescued and taken home.

Mateo smized down at the boy in his lap, tapping his nose with his forefinger.

“You’re really something special, Camilo. That’s why I had to have you. No one else deserves you.”

Mateo’s hand left Camilo’s face to splay over his chest, idly beginning to roam around his torso at a slow, casual pace, and Camilo suddenly couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t clear if Mateo was touching him just to touch him or if he was deliberately psyching Camilo out, but either way Camilo’s body recoiled at and rejected Mateo’s fingertips like a toxin invading his bloodstream. His chest constricted around his lungs as that wicked hand mapped out his landscape, retreading ground it had already razed, as his stomach tingled and flipped in his body cavity. A quick series of muffled whimpers were absorbed into the cloth as Mateo inched dangerously far down his abdomen - only to bypass his lap and rest atop one of his knees. Camilo didn’t even have time to be relieved as Mateo’s hold on him strengthened into a possessive, uncomfortable clutch, as though to protect him from being taken out of his arms.

“I need you, like I need air or water or anything else to survive. You’re a part of me,” Mateo began to murmur, as though he was in some kind of trance, “I need to experience you from every angle, that’s the only way I’ll feel complete. I want to breathe you in and hold you in my lungs for the rest of time. And once you feel me inside you, you’ll understand.”

What the Hell are you talking about?! The extent of Mateo’s lunacy genuinely frightened Camilo, even beyond his foreboding implications; under no uncertain terms, he was trapped in the arms of a bonafide madman. His heartbeat pounded in his flushed ears, and a thousand silenced cries for help lay waiting on his tongue. But who could help him now?

“Look at me.”

He didn’t want to. But he was afraid of what would happen or how he would touch him if he didn’t. He cracked his eyes open, peering up at him with misty apprehension. Mateo’s expression was serene and tranquil, a comparatively pleasant shift from how utterly unhinged he’d looked when he’d gotten a hold of Camilo in the house, but his eyes seemed dull and foggy - the lights were on, but no one was home.

Mateo’s thumb traced over the outline of Camilo’s lips through the gag, enjoying the rapid-fire puffs of warmth against his fingers as Camilo took shallow breaths in and out through his nose. He hooked beneath the cloth, but stopped himself just as his hand twitched to pull it up.

Not yet. She’d probably hear him if he made a racket.

Almost begrudgingly he let go of the gag, instead using his thumb and forefinger to tilt Camilo’s chin up. He could see his breath hitch in his slender throat from the outside, and he held back the urge to wrap his hand around his neck - just to see what it felt like in his hold.

“There’s so much I’d like to do, right here and right now, but I can hold off until the moment’s just right. We’ve got the rest of our lives together, chiquito.”

Mateo dipped down, crushing their lips together through the gag. Camilo squirmed in resistance, the barrier of woven fabric between them doing the bare minimum to protect him from the worms of disgust slithering up and down his spinal column. Thankfully this ‘kiss’ didn’t last nearly as long as the first, and with a parting peck on his forehead, Mateo gently set Camilo back down and pulled himself to his feet. Camilo lay shuddering as Mateo hopped out of the cart, desperately feeling the need to bathe and wash off the sticky, itchy putrefaction that coated him down to the soul.

“Now’s the time to say goodbye to your family, if you want,” Mateo smiled, facetious, as he covered the cart once more and shrouded Camilo in darkness, “I already did.” 

Never, he defied. 

Far off in the distance, Camilo could hear the rolling of the clouds above the Encanto and a boom of thunder he’d come to find so familiar. He thought of Antonio; he still never got a clear answer from Mateo about his little brother’s whereabouts, and Camilo could only hope for the best and that he was found safe and sound wherever he’d been left behind. Another hope he had, smaller and more selfish, was that the sounds of the storm meant his mother was out looking for him too. He didn’t know if anyone knew he’d been taken yet (except Bruno, poor Tío Bruno, Camilo’s heart hurt thinking about him, was he okay?), but if they did, he wished there was some way to let them know where he was when he had no voice for them to hear and no plants or weather to mark his position. He didn’t even have his hands or proper movement, what could he possibly do to help himself?

In an effort to reorient his position, his foot bumped a wooden barrel that ended up dislodging one of his sandals. He attempted to maneuver it back on with the other foot, only succeeding in knocking it completely off and into the bed of the cart. Great.

…Wait.

Wait, actually, that was great. Maybe he wasn’t completely without means to leave a marker.

The cart started moving. Camilo took his spontaneous inspiration and put all his eggs into that basket, rolling himself to the furthest edge and bumping himself into the wall. With some effort he lifted his bound legs into the air, tossing them over the side of the cart and as far into the cover as he could. He only had this one shot; he scraped his heel against the canvas and nudged it with his bare foot, gradually inching the strap up and out from between his toes. After an agonizing two minutes of finagling the sandal finally slipped off completely, dropping out of the cart from beneath the tarp and clattering onto the dirt path.

Yes! It was all he could do given his circumstances, but he hoped it would be enough. He pulled his legs back in before Mateo could notice and resigned himself to waiting out the journey, listening to the sounds of the weather to glean as much comfort out of it as he could. Pinpricks stung the corners of his eyes as he yearned for who the storm belonged to.

Find me, mamá, he prayed, find me and take me home.

As soon as Julieta had come hurrying out of the kitchen with a plate of food and began doling out her remedies to all who needed it, the family could collectively release some of their tension. It took a lot of effort for Bruno to gather the will to chew and swallow, but the second his sister’s cooking bypassed his throat, his splintered bones reset themselves, fragments dislodging from his organs and the blood floating freely inside him seeping back into the veins where they belonged. He’d taken in a huge, overdue gulp of air into his freshly patched lungs as his nose snapped back into place, and Mirabel was able to throw herself into him without risk of shunting him further into the grave. He needed a few more arepas before he would be back to full health, but the confirmation that Bruno would be fine gave Casita the greenlight to start gradually repairing itself.

But the situation was still dire. The entire warm-colored family was gone, and while Mirabel was able to relay the situation with Antonio, Camilo’s abduction left them back at square one with a family member in peril. Bruno insisted that once he was in better shape he would search the future for any clues of Camilo’s whereabouts, much to the fretting of his family, but there were few alternatives anyone had to offer as a solution. Even Tomás, now healed and anxiously waiting for his father to return to consciousness, had no idea where Mateo would be heading now that he had no home to return to (and no hidden room to store his captive in, the monster, the absolute bastard). 

But while the remaining family restlessly discussed their options as they awaited Félix, Dolores, and Antonio’s return, Isabela had quietly slipped out undetected to take matters into her own hands. Now, she was lifting herself to the very top of one of the mountains surrounding the village in a safety harness made of vines. The climb was easy, as her Gift made transportation effortless regardless of height or distance - and, though she wouldn’t tell anyone, this wasn’t the first time she’d challenged herself to scale up a mountain with only her plants as her aid. Upon reaching the summit she made sure her footing was secure before dispersing her vines, looking out to the horizon and beyond to take in the view from the top. The foliage surrounding the Encanto was too dense for her to pick out anything useful, but in a different context, she might have found the sight breathtaking.

Everywhere she turned she saw a picturesque paragon of natural beauty. The Llanos enveloping the Encanto reached as far as her eye could see, the topography varying between abundant, sprawling plains layered by cliffs and crags; high, snow-capped mountains; and winding rivers that shimmered in the setting sun. Palma de cera were sprinkled here and there, easily dwarfing the other trees that peppered the rolling grasslands. She saw distant villages, countless miles away from her own, only recognizable as clusters of roofs and whisps of smoke from active chimneys. It was lovely - something Isabela would consider showing a date, once she got around to a romantic life. But she couldn’t admire the scenery for long, knowing that somewhere down there, concealed amongst the trees and plains, her cousin awaited rescue.

No one knew where Camilo had been taken or how much distance his abductor had gotten, but Isabela didn't intend to let them get any farther than that.

A vivid, lush energy flooded her veins, sprouting from her fingertips and filling the air with the scent of greenery. She closed her eyes and focused, centering herself with a long exhale, and then her power began to bloom.

She kept her eyes shut, directing all operations of her body towards her task, as she heard the faint sound of dirt and rock splitting and cellulose stretching far off below her. For all the experimenting she’d done with her powers since regaining her Gift, she’d never tried anything quite to this extent. It was a magnitude of effort she’d never had to give before, but she pushed on - Camilo was counting on her and everyone else in the family to help him, and she refused to break her promise to keep that man from bringing him harm. Even when her fingers began to tremble and beads of perspiration gathered at her hairline she persisted, giving it her all, putting her control over the earth itself to good use.

Finally, she came to the point where her Gift itself restricted itself to protect her. Immediately upon releasing her magic she began to pant, winded, bracing her hands on her knees to collect her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. She’d probably be feeling this exhaustion for a while, but upon looking up to behold the fruits of her labor, she could hardly regret exerting herself beyond her limits.

A visible green border had sprouted from the earth and surrounded the Encanto a few miles out in each direction. Thick layers of plant life, vines, briars, ivies, nettles and bamboo shoots, all coiled and woven together to form an impenetrable wall so that no outsider could get in - and more importantly, no insider could get out. It was by no means a permanent stronghold, none of her plants were; the wall would wither and die without upkeep, but if Isabela had gotten out there fast enough, it would serve its purpose within its natural lifespan.

They might not have known where Camilo was, but this barrier would hopefully buy them the time they needed to find out.

Dolores’s climb up the mountain wasn’t quite as smooth. She was able to keep a firm enough hold on the rock to not risk losing her grip, but Antonio’s perch was a very high, very long, very taxing ascent. She had to go slowly and carefully, a torturous prospect when she wanted nothing more than to tear herself up the stone at breakneck speeds and get Antonio down, and still she found her arms beginning to ache. 

Below her, Félix watched anxiously as his oldest crawled her way towards his youngest, sweating in concern over their safety, while his thoughts swam in regards to the well-being of his midmost. He could still hear his wife’s storm brewing in the air and he felt much of the same way inside, torn asunder at the seams and sick with worry, but he just had to have faith that Camilo was still safe at home. Maybe Mirabel had jumped to conclusions and they’d find him all bundled up in bed, or putting together one of those goofy rat shows with Bruno, anything that meant he was fine and that freak hadn’t gotten his hands on him. But oh, if Félix caught him trying anything, someone would absolutely be getting hands on them, and he couldn’t promise to keep said hands from becoming lethal.

After a grueling climb that felt like it took ages, Dolores was almost there - just a few feet from being able to reach out and touch her brother.

“Hey, Toñito,” she soothed as she approached, endeared by his face brightening at the closeness of her voice, “Don’t move, okay? I’m right here.”

“Lola!” He beamed but obeyed, doing well to keep still as Dolores at last came to a stop right beside him. She reached out and carefully pulled the blindfold up and off her brother’s head, tossing it into the wind with little care where it landed. Antonio’s pupils shrunk from the influx of light and swam in his big brown irises, but the sight of his big sister, really there, really saving him and getting him down, made his eyes even glossier as they watered in joy. “Lola, I wanna go home,” he sniffled, his smile remaining.

“I know, manito, I do too,” she wiped beneath his eyes with a trembling hand, resisting the urge to rush the climb down to get back and check on her other little brother. “Come on,” with utmost caution she gathered Antonio and pulled him into herself, clutching him close to her body with one arm, and bracing herself to fully take on his weight as she pulled him completely off the ledge. 

Doing so put her in a bit of a bind; she now had to climb down a steep mountain face from countless feet in the air, backwards, carrying not just herself but a child, all with one less hand than she had going up.

Abuelo, help me out here, she prayed, before making her first move down.

Upon seeing Antonio safely in Dolores’s grasp, Félix was able to release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. But they hadn’t cleared the hurdle completely. Now came the hard part, getting both of them down safely and soundly. Dolores was making effective, if slow, progress down and Félix occasionally offered words of encouragement when he had the air in his chest to do so. He spared a moment to hope Pepa and Mirabel made it back home in time, and that they found everything perfectly in order at home - the sound of thunder in the back of his ears was residual, hopefully. He’d like to think it was.

The kids were getting close to the bottom, about a dozen feet from solid ground, when Dolores’s foot met a rock that had already been cracked on the way up. Her weight, plus the weight of a five year old, proved too much for it and it gave way beneath her. Dolores’s hand slipped in turn, and both she and Antonio gave short yelps as they began to fall. Félix, vigilant as ever, dove forward with his arms out. Both of his children dropped right into his waiting grasp, at the cost of knocking him back onto the ground in almost the same spot he’d fallen earlier and just as effectively dazing him. But all three of them were on the ground, in one piece, relatively unharmed - and as they all registered this fact, Félix was quick to tighten his hold around his children and squeeze them so their breathlessness matched his.

“Ay, mijos!” He laughed, fighting back the urge to weep in elation and only somewhat succeeding. The other two weren’t faring much better, as Dolores clung to both her father and brother and let out a relieved, tearful sigh. Antonio giggled and nuzzled his head beneath his father’s chin, too happy to lament the fact he couldn’t yet throw his arms around his neck. Félix aimed to remedy that; he pressed quick smooches to the crowns of both his kids’ heads before sitting up, allowing Dolores the chance to get to her feet as he surveyed Antonio’s bonds.

“Alright, papito, let’s get this crap off you,” he set his son in his lap, observing the mess of rope around the boy’s frame and debating where to start. There were numerous knots all around him, segments tied together and threaded between each other haphazardly, resulting in quite the tangled mess. Either the guy who tied them had no idea what he was doing, or he was completely, perfectly aware. Félix attempted to untie the knots he could see, and while he managed to undo a few of them, others were stubbornly fastened and wouldn’t let up for his fingers alone. Even the sections he managed to free seemed not to want to budge, far too entwined with layers further down.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, impatient, and pulled a red-handled switchblade from his back pocket to start sawing at the ropes.

How long had Pepa been running? She couldn’t even tell if she was tired or not, as a steady supply of adrenaline coursing through her kept her moving and alert. She was used to being caught in her own downpour, but as she fumbled her way through the forests on the outskirts of the Encanto’s opening, she was positively drenched by the whirling clouds that tailed over her head. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing but finding her boy and raining so much lightning down on the man who took him that his filthy flesh fried off his miserable bones. Upon passing though the mountain’s opening she picked a random direction, a different one from where the rest of her family was (he’d have to be stupid to head that same way), and took off, hoping to find something, anything to point her in the right direction of where Camilo had been taken.

For the first twenty minutes or so, her search wasn’t turning up much - unsurprisingly, as she didn’t know what she was looking for. But in a stroke of luck the family so desperately needed, as she cleared a cluster of trees and came to a natural dirt path along a mountainside, she stumbled upon her first real clue.

A series of tracks, indented into the dirt path, heading west. Hoofprints, for certain, distinct horseshoe shapes bordered by straight, parallel lines. A horse-drawn cart had come this way. Maybe it was a traveler, maybe it was a merchant, but maybe - just maybe - it was a sign of her son. She was willing to take anything, and set off in pursuit of the cart and whoever was driving it.

She tailed it for as long as she could, much longer than she would have imagined she could manage, until her age caught up with her and even the energy in her veins couldn’t keep her from stopping for a rest. Weariness claimed her muscles and she heaved for air, but obstinately she kept pushing herself to move forward on wobbling legs. I can’t stop now, my baby needs me.  

After a few minutes of trudging through her fatigue, she raised her head to ascertain how far out the tracks went beyond her sight - and that was when she noticed something odd.

There was a dark, oblong shape in the path up ahead. Breathing heavily, she made her way towards the shape to get a better look at it. She couldn’t identify it from a distance, but as she knelt to pick it up and turn it around in her grasp, the truth of what it was struck her directly in the heart and she covered her mouth with her hand.

It was a black sandal, its strap embroidered with white thread in a geometric pattern of triangles and circles - with the telltale shape of a chameleon right in the center of it all.

His sandal. Her baby’s sandal. He was here.

She clutched the shoe to her chest and welcomed his energy, to feel as though he was already there with her. She only let a couple tears escape her eyes, before she took in a sharp inhale and leapt to her feet to follow the trail once more.

I’m coming, Camilo, she thought, the wind and her own heartbeat in her ears, I’m coming.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mateo stared at the path ahead, somewhere between being outraged and being impressed. From several yards away he could see clearly that he wasn’t going to be making any more progress just yet as a tall barricade of plant matter blocked the way, not just on the road itself but crawling up the side of the mountain and stretching out into the forest on either side. There was no way to go around, no way to climb over, and no way to barrel through.

Isabela's work, he presumed. That must have meant they'd found the little brat and now they were scrambling to take back what was his.

It was too late to try and take an alternate route. He'd just be retreading far too much covered ground and he’d run the risk of being found by any Madrigal who came wandering out of the mountains in search of him. This was fine, though. It was just a bunch of plants, and plants, like people, could easily be cut down.

With a sigh he approached the wall until he was just in front of it and slid off his horse, walking around to the back of the cart to collect what he’d need to deal with it. His irritation was only slightly alleviated as he pulled the cover up and saw Camilo, still laying there, still staring up at him with his big, shiny eyes. With some reluctance he ignored Camilo in favor of fetching his machete, the sight of which visibly caused Camilo to jolt in panic. Aw, did he think this was for him? Cute. But he had work to take care of, and couldn’t admire his catch all night - yet. Grabbing a handful of Camilo’s hair he pulled his head up, wrenching a muffled grunt of pain out of him.

“Don’t fucking move, or I’ll make you regret it,” he said, rather calmly for how vicious his word choice was. Camilo nodded to the best of his ability and Mateo dropped him, covering the cart back up and taking his machete to the barrier.

Camilo’s hearing wasn’t as good as Dolores’s - no one’s was - but after Mateo sealed him back inside the cart he could hear the sound of slashing and hacking. It almost sounded to him like when the farmers harvested their crops, as they swung their sickles into each stalk and collected their bounty. But that meant Mateo was occupied, didn’t it? If he was busy cutting something up, he didn’t have his eye on making sure his captive stayed put.

How stupid was he to think Camilo wasn’t going to move?

He could still hear Mateo struggling with whatever it was he was cutting up, muttering curses as he seemed to be having difficulty making headway, but Camilo had no idea how much time he could afford to waste. His window of opportunity was closing rapidly. He had to act now. 

Camilo held his breath, crossing his fingers behind his back, and shifted into an infant. All the ropes that had been so tightly wound around him now fell slack around his tiny body, blanketing him in layers of flax and hemp. His diminished strength and mobility made it difficult to push the rope fragments off, but after shaking off the now useless gag, he used his freedom to roll onto his stomach and crawl out of as many sections of rope as he could. He gradually aged himself up the more wiggle room he got, tossing cords away from himself and pulling them from over his head, and the second he was completely released he shot back to full size to make his escape. Grabbing hold of the tarp and pulling it back just enough to squeeze out, he hopped over the side and took off in a wild sprint away from the cart as soon as his bare feet hit the dirt.

He didn’t look behind him. He just focused on running, flying down the road as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t know if Mateo had noticed him leaving or not, and he didn’t care to check. On a whim he leapt onto another path that diverted in another direction, hoping it would aid in throwing any attempt to pursue him off his trail, and he ended up running between a sparse collection of trees atop the edge of a cliff that overlooked a vast expanse of land far below. He didn’t know where he was going or where this cliffside path led, but he could worry about finding the proper way home later. First and foremost was getting as far away from that man as humanly possible, as fast as humanly possible.

But as he whipped through the trees, ignoring the sting of rocks and twigs on his bare soles as he ran, he heard a second set of steps somewhere behind him - gaining on him.

Panic gripping his heart, he cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed.

“Dolores!!"

Dolores heard her own heart skip a beat.

She whipped her head in the direction she heard her name from - a desperate cry for help, breathless and frightened, and undeniably Camilo. That didn’t come from home. That was out here, beyond the Encanto’s walls. Tendrils of dread snaked around her stomach and tugged downward; Camilo wasn’t supposed to be outside. Did he leave against Abuela’s orders to come help them? Or, more dauntingly, did something make him leave the house?

Was that why Casita seemed to be making a fuss earlier?

She stood stock still for a moment, listening intently as her father worked to free Antonio from his bonds beside her. Once he’d managed to cut a good ways into the ropes, he set the knife down in front of him to start pulling the remnants away by hand and give Antonio some sweet relief in his aching limbs. She only faintly registered the sound of the metal clacking against dry dirt as she honed in on Camilo’s voice, searching for him to make sure she wasn’t just hearing things.

She heard it again, somewhere off in the far distance.

{ “Dolo--!!” }

A sudden yelp, followed by a skidding thud against the ground. The faint sounds of shuffling fabric and heavy breathing, fingers dragging through dirt, a wordless exchange of whimpers and growls. The crack of an open palm against skin, and her brother crying out in pain.

Dolores’s rationality abandoned her. She snatched Félix’s knife off the ground and bolted, disappearing into the thicket beyond. She could vaguely hear her father calling after her, but all the listening power she had was zeroed in on one thing: her brother, in danger and afraid, seeking her for rescue. She wasn’t going to fail him, not this time. This time she heard him, and this time she would save him. Though her lungs were beginning to burn and the foliage tore at her skirt and legs, her soul was ablaze with determination. It didn’t matter how much her own voice hurt her ears - she called out as loud as she could, praying the wind would carry her to him.

“I’m coming! Camilo, I’m coming!!”

Notes:

After writing this chapter, it is with great sadness in my heart that I must acknowledge that Mateo qualifies as a yandere. 😔 I guess that's what makes it so easy to write him as nasty and terrible as he is--

Bonus: It's been a while since I've drawn any accompanying art, mostly because I'm too busy writing to draw-- but here's a scene from Chapter 19! Consistent art style? Don't know her 🤪

Apologies for the late upload - I wanted this one out as soon as it was done, so as not to keep y'all waiting on the edge of your seats for too much longer.--

We're almost there.

Chapter Text

“You just can’t make it any easier for me, can you, Camilo?” Mateo seethed, as Camilo cradled his stinging cheek. He straddled the boy’s legs and held tightly to the front of his clothes, his rage emanating from him in heavy, overpowering waves. “You think you’re really clever, don’t you? Is this fun for you? Huh? Are you having a good time, wasting mine?”

Camilo was out of his mind with terror. He’d been so close, his fingertips had just barely grazed freedom and he’d tasted it on the tip of his tongue, only for it to be cruelly snatched from his reach. He stared up at what he was certain was Death in the face, his cheek aching in a way unfamiliar to him (not even his parents had ever hit him like this). But beyond the blinding fright, a blistering hatred scorched through every part of him from top to bottom as he gazed upon the man who had taken so much from him, the man who had stolen his brother and beaten his uncle within an inch of his life. He loathed Mateo, just as much as he feared him. He loathed Mateo with every fiber of his being, more than he’d ever loathed anyone or anything. 

He didn’t care how many times Mateo dragged him back into his clutches, how brutally he abused him, or how much of his virtue he would savagely rip away from him. Camilo would never break or relent, he would do his damnedest to prove he wasn’t worth the trouble, he would fight him with all the magic and willpower in his body until the day it killed him. No matter what happened to his body, Mateo would never own his soul.

“How many more times do I have to chase you down like this?” Mateo lifted Camilo by the shirt just enough to slam him back down into the ground, “When’s it going to get through that thick skull of yours that there’s nowhere for you to go? You’re mine. You’re mine, God damn it! So why can’t you just behave?!” He punctuated his demand with another strike, backhanding Camilo across the other way and earning another yelp from him.

“Never!” Camilo countered through grit teeth, a sting throbbing in both his cheeks and the corners of his eyes, “I don’t belong to you! I won’t let you take me! Let me go!” His hands again found the dirt and he attempted to push and drag himself free from beneath Mateo’s weight. “Help!” Camilo called out, not even knowing if his voice could be heard, desperation taking control, “Somebody help me!”

“Shut up,” Mateo harshly clapped his hand over Camilo’s mouth, muting his cries. “No one can hear you. It’s just you and me out here, baby, nobody’s ever going to take you from me again.”

Camilo’s struggle persisted, tugging at Mateo’s wrist and prying at his fingers. Mateo’s hold was strong, but with Camilo’s writhing and pulling he managed to open his mouth wide enough to free his teeth and sink them into Mateo’s skin. Caught off-guard, Mateo cursed and attempted to wrest his hand from Camilo’s mouth, only prompting Camilo to clench his jaw tighter and whip his head like an animal - if he tore his hand open, so be it! If Camilo had it his way, both of his nasty, wandering mitts would be sawed off, never to touch him or anyone else again.

Just as a metallic twinge hit his taste buds, a sharp yank against his scalp forced him to let go with a gasp. The hand Mateo used to pull Camilo’s hair immediately gripped onto his neck, pinning him more securely to the ground.

“Maldito mocoso…” Mateo muttered in irritation as he squinted at the oozing teeth-shaped knicks in his hand, ignoring Camilo’s struggle beneath him, “You really need to be taught a lesson, don’t you? I guess I don’t have a choice. Obviously I have to take control here and break this little defiant streak of yours - maybe then you’ll learn to stop being so difficult.”

He leaned down, lowering himself so close to Camilo’s face that their foreheads were almost touching. Camilo whined and tried to turn away, his legs kicking feebly and hands shoving against Mateo’s shoulders as he was forced to share his air.

“It’s your fault things are turning out this way. You hear me? I wanted to make it special. I was trying to be nice, Camilo,” Mateo growled, his voice slathered in poison, “Well, now you’ve ruined it for both of us. I’m gonna take what’s mine, right here and now, and I can promise you I’m not going to be fucking nice about it.”

The color was sapped from Camilo’s face, his features dropping as he realized what exactly Mateo meant. He could only shake his head in horror, a series of small ‘no’s squeaking past his lips.

“Oh, yes,” Mateo leered, “No more games. I’m gonna make you into a good boy, whether you like it or not.”

Dolores had fled the scene so quickly, Félix hardly had any time to process what had happened. One moment his daughter was there at his side, her hand atop Antonio’s head as Félix worked to free him, the next she was absconding with his knife at full speed into the trees.

“Dolores!” He called after her, reaching one hand towards her retreating figure before it disappeared beyond the thicket. He swore under his breath; it seemed like every time he recovered one of his children, another would up and vanish into thin air. She must have heard something important to dash off like that, but what? And why did she need his switchblade? It took him until halfway through clambering to his feet to register why Dolores having a knife in her hand seemed so familiar a scene to him: he’d already witnessed it, bathed in an emerald filter, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

Ay, Dios, the vision!

Quickly he collected his now liberated son into his arms and took off in the direction Dolores had gone. Antonio held on tightly as Félix barreled down the wooded path, having already lost sight of his daughter but holding hope he was headed the right way to catch up to her. 

“Where’s she going?” Antonio asked, his voice jittering from how jostled he was by Félix’s urgent stride.

“I don’t know,” Félix huffed through grit teeth, straining to see any flash of red or white in the distance that he could follow. He could hardly make out what was in front of him, with branches and leaves smacking against his face and obscuring his vision. “But we’ve got to catch her, she could be--”

The soft earth gave way between Félix’s next step, sending him slipping down the embankment on the edge of the path. Félix and Antonio both yelled as they tumbled down the slope, Félix’s fatherly instinct kicking in and having him shield Antonio’s body with his own as they slid and rolled into the ravine. Finally, landing atop a grassy patch of soil, their descent came to an end with a firm -whump- into the dirt. Félix took a second to catch his breath, assessing mentally if he’d busted anything on the way down, and when nothing felt out of place in the preliminary check he unfurled himself from around his young son. 

“You okay, Antonio?” Félix breathed, wiping dust off the boy’s shoulders.

Antonio, expectedly, was completely fine, cushioned the entire way and without so much as a scratch. He peeked out from behind his hands and nodded, reaching up to pull twigs from his father’s hair.

“Good, good,” Félix winced and grunted as he pulled himself to his feet, his older bones already feeling the effects of all the falling he’d done that day. Oh, I cannot wait to get a hold of Juli’s cooking when all this crap is over. After stretching and getting a loud, satisfying -crack- from his spine, he picked his son up once more and looked around to get a good idea of what mess they’d found themselves in now. He and Antonio were at the bottom of the embankment, a dark and somewhat chilly area about a dozen feet below the path they’d been on, full of fallen leaves and moist soil that now clung to their skin and clothes. It was nothing they couldn't climb their way out of themselves, but it was a huge setback; now Dolores was way beyond their reach, as was whatever it was she was running to.

“Mierda,” he muttered, wincing when Antonio shot him a scolding look.

What a waste of time this was. But he was okay, his youngest was okay, and he could only pray that his wife and other two children were going to be okay too. He had faith things would turn out alright - he had to, for his own peace of mind. But as he maneuvered Antonio to hang onto his back and began the climb out of the ravine, he recalled the rest of Bruno’s vision.

Antonio’s had come true, but they solved it. Dolores’s had come true, he’d just witnessed it for himself.

What did this mean for Camilo’s? Was there still time to stop it, or was it already too late?

Clear skies, Félix recited in his mind, mentally asserting to himself and to whatever powers of fate there were that no matter what happened, at the end of the day all his children would be home, safe and sound in his and Pepa’s arms, never to be in harm’s way again.

Mateo snatched Camilo’s ruana, his armor, and yanked it off his shoulders, tossing it carelessly to the other side of the path. His hands roughly grabbed hold of Camilo’s shirt on either side of the opening, giving a swift, forceful tug that filled the air with a strident ripping sound. Buttons popped off one after another like fireworks as the garment was torn open, leaving Camilo’s bare upper body exposed to the winds and to Mateo’s lecherous gaze.

“No, no!” Camilo attempted to shield himself, only to have Mateo grab his forearms and pry them apart to get a good look at what he’d uncovered. Oh, he was beautiful. And this was just the top half! How he couldn’t wait to count and memorize each spot and speckle dusted over his honeyed skin; this boy was a canvas for Mateo to mark and manipulate and decorate however he so desired, a marble tablet to carve his name into over and over again. Even thinking about it got him all kinds of excited, and the grin stretching across his face did well to convey that sentiment.

“You’re so thin, chiquito,” Mateo crooned, eyeing the shallow divots of Camilo’s ribs, observing as his chest rose and fell erratically with his panicked breaths, “No wonder you’re so easy to hold onto.”

Camilo looked away, his face burning under Mateo’s stare. It was just his torso, but having that man ogle any part of his uncovered body made him feel ill and filthy, like an insect beneath a magnifying glass, scrutinized in the most violating of ways. He wished now more than ever that the other Madrigals were out looking for him, that someone, a parent or cousin or anything, would wander onto the scene and rescue him, and spare him from what fate was creeping ever so closer to him.

The feeling of a mouth on his chest forced an alarmed squeal out of him, reigniting his drive to flail and writhe out from underneath the man atop him.

“Ugh, quit moving so much. I liked it a lot more when you just sat still and let it happen,” Mateo muttered into his wriggling sternum. “Remember how good it felt? You fit in my hand so perfectly.”

“Shut up! I don’t want to remember!” Camilo tried to arch away from him, hating the familiarity of Mateo’s hands on his arms and struggling to jerk them free. So much progress had been made to put that night behind him, all for nothing now as Mateo drilled it back into his brain front and center. Inexplicably he could almost smell the rotten, moldy wood and hear the churn of the water wheel, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“And Dios, you tasted as sweet as I knew you would.” 

“Stop it! Stop talking about it, stop!” Beads of wet began to gather in Camilo’s eyes, disgust sinking its claws into his stomach and the taste of bile haunting the back of his throat. As if the memory itself wasn’t nauseating enough, Mateo always knew just what abhorrent words to say to send revulsion flaring up and through him to coat his insides.

Mateo could feel the effect his words had as they pierced the boy’s defenses and left their mark. Smiling to himself, he purred against his collarbone, “I wonder if you’ll finish as quickly this time.” His own twisted cravings soaked into his taunts, seeping from between his teeth, “I’m gonna wring ‘em out of you one after another, until your legs give out and you can’t run from me anymore.”

Camilo’s frame went rigid, and something in him snapped. 

“No!! D-Don’t you touch me, you freak!” He hollered as hysteria engulfed him, thrashing wildly and spitting out curses and damnations his lips had never known before, “Mal-- ¡Malparido! ¡Hijueputa! ¡Te odio, te odio tantísimo! ¡Muérete y vete al diablo, maldita seas! ”

Mateo whistled, reveling in just how hot and bothered he’d gotten such a good-natured kid; there came a strange sense of pride from so thoroughly shattering the boy’s composure. “Those are big words for you, Camilo,” He condescended, grinning sinisterly beneath Camilo’s jawline, “you’re so cute when you’re angry. But so noisy, too.”

A sudden burst of pain dug ruthlessly into the curve between Camilo’s neck and shoulder. He let out a shriek as an acute burn plunged deeper into his flesh and flared through the muscle, his cry only rising in pitch as Mateo’s tongue slithered over the skin between his fangs and lapped at the blood he’d drawn to the surface. The agonizing pressure only seemed to increase every second, sinking into him like a dull blade as his assailant sought to extract the very life from his veins.

“Sto-o-op!” Camilo wailed, tossing his head from side to side. It hurt, it hurt, to an excruciating degree, where he would have believed it if he’d been told that chunk of him had been bitten right out. He’d tried so hard to keep himself from crying, failing miserably as layers of skin were broken and torn by blunt brute force. 

Just as Camilo felt he could take no more, Mateo unlatched his jaws and sat back up to survey his work. Camilo took in irregular gasps with wide, unseeing eyes, his hands and shoulders twitching as his body attempted to process the damage it had taken.

“Oh, suddenly biting’s not okay?” Mateo licked the remnants of crimson from his lips, admiring the perfect casting of his teeth amid a red ring of inflamed skin that still glistened with blood and saliva. “Hypocrite. Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

Tears streaked down the sides of Camilo’s face, rolling over his ears and nose, while heat pulsed from the wound in his neck and crawled through every nerve and tendon. His tolerance for pain had never been very high; if something like this felt akin to torture, just how unbearable would it be to endure what else Mateo had planned for him? Could he endure it? He screwed his eyes shut, unable to hold back a sob as he felt Mateo’s tongue drag along his cheek and collect the lacrima that had accumulated on his freckles.

The only thing that shone through the agony dominating his senses was the distant rumble of thunder in the air. Forcing his flooded eyes open, he blearily gazed through the slits in his lids up at the darkened sky and yearned more than anything that he’d eventually see a yellow silhouette emerge from the nearby trees.

Mamá, where are you? His hazy mind implored, as if his thoughts alone could reach her, I need you…!

Pepa saw the wall before anything else, from a good distance away. She found herself marveled by it. Did Isabela do this? That girl was an absolute wonder, both in ability and foresight; Pepa never would have considered building a border. It gave her heart a spark of hope that she clung to feverishly, praying that it worked and that soon she would run right into Camilo’s heels. But as she ran along the trail towards the greenery, watching it get taller and closer, she began to get a sinking feeling - there wasn’t anything obvious in her path just yet, nothing that suggested she was making any headway in catching up to Camilo or his abductor. Frantically she shoved away thoughts that the wall had been raised too late, and that her son was already long on the other side of it - her mantra came out in quick succession under her breath, but the skies only seemed to darken further the longer she was left with her worries.

She came to the top of a raised path right by the edge of the barrier, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the cart. It seemed to be completely abandoned, no rider in sight, with the back cover pulled partially off and a machete discarded nearby. The horse stood idly, its tail swishing lazily to and fro as it munched on a section of the plant wall that seemed to have been hacked into.

Was this it? It just… stopped here?

Hurriedly she approached the cart, tossing aside the rest of the cover to search for anything of use, any sign that this was what she was looking for. She didn’t have to look long. It jumped out at her right away, stealing the breath from her throat: beside a barrel was the twin of the sandal already in her possession, the chameleon on the band staring up at her in a way she could have sworn was accusatory - ‘why did you take so long?’  

Her trembling hand hovered over the shoe, almost as though she wasn’t sure if she could take it. Gingerly she pilfered it from the cart bed, her thumb tracing over the threaded patterns as soft, bereft whimpers left her lips. This was where he had been, he was right in this spot who knows how long ago - but again, he was already gone by the time she showed up. She raised her head to look at the wall again, as though if she just gave it a few minutes, if she was patient enough, all the vines and leaves would part and Camilo would come trotting through and into her waiting arms.

But of course it couldn’t be so nice. She had both of her son’s shoes, but he himself was still nowhere to be found - and now, with the trail coming to an end, she had no more leads left to follow.

She’d lost him. She lost her baby.

Devastation took hold of her, claiming her in its icy grip. Snow began to fall all around as she slid down against the wall of the cart, eventually finding herself in a sit beside the back wheel with Camilo’s shoes still clutched in her shaking hands. Her expression was vacant, staring at nothing as snowflakes peppered her hair in specks of white, and only when she felt the chill of her wind against her face did she register the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Camilo…” His name was hardly a full sound as it escaped her throat, broken syllables strung together by choked gasps. Where could he be? How could she have let him be taken? She’d promised him she wouldn’t let anything happen to him, and that she would protect him - but she’d let him slip through her fingers, taken away by some horrid beast with only the most ill intent, beyond her reach. She held his sandals against her heart as the cold around her moved inwards, seeming to freeze her where she was. She was on the brink of shutting down, the world around her fading out of her senses to give way to despair that muted sound and color and everything else she no longer cared about.

But a flicker of gold in the corner of her eye caught her attention. It took her a moment to actually rouse herself to look at it, but when she finally pulled her focus back to reality, she saw the source sitting atop a patch of wildflowers some ways away.

It was a butterfly. It only stayed for a moment, giving her time to see it, before it fluttered its wings and took flight again. It made its way down the road she’d come from, before diverting itself and disappearing beyond a left-hand path she hadn’t noticed until then.

Something told her to follow it. Maybe it was just her hysterical motherly instinct, but her instinct was all she had left. 

Unsteadily pulling herself onto her feet, Pepa regained some sense of rationality that told her to make use of the horse. Though it was an obvious thing to do, especially if she was in a hurry, the task seemed daunting to her; she’d never really been good with animals anyway (bless Toñito’s gift, making life easier in that regard), but her unpredictable weather patterns tended to land her in more trouble with them than what it was worth. Horses especially seemed to have quite the issue with her spontaneous storms, and as such she didn’t have much experience riding them - but she was willing to try, if it meant it would help in her search for her son.

“Come here, boy…” She coaxed, somewhat awkwardly, as she carefully unlatched the horse’s saddle from the cart. The horse didn’t seem to mind, as it was still enjoying its lunch as Pepa took hold of its reins. So far, so good.

Her lack of experience made itself obvious as she attempted to mount the horse. She fumbled trying to throw her leg over it, fiddling with the placement of her skirt and trying to hop from her toes onto the steed's back. It was an embarrassing sight, even if she and the horse were the only ones there to witness it. Eventually she managed to pull herself onto the saddle and get situated - only for the saddle to slide down the side of the horse, unknowingly undone by Pepa herself when detaching the cart, dumping her right back onto the ground with a startled squawk. Just as history dictated was likely to occur, a stray bolt of lightning born of her surprise cracked and fizzled against a portion of the plant wall. Spooked by the noise and light, the horse reared back with a high-pitched squeal and took off right past her, nearly knocking her back over as she was getting back to her feet.

“No, no! Damn it!” She stomped in frustration, thunder roaring above her head and the snowfall scattered around her twisting into a brief blizzard. But through the whirling hail she noticed that the horse seemed to have taken the alternate path as well, galloping through the trees as opposed to the straightforward and clear path it had obviously come from. Perhaps its fright had clouded its judgment - or perhaps there was something down there that the universe really wanted Pepa to see.

Fine. She was convinced. Shoving Camilo’s shoes into her bag, she picked up the hem of her dress and gave chase, pushing her way through the thick foliage into the dark forest, thunder rumbling in determination above the densely packed treetops. 

She didn’t even care about making the skies clear now - let the weather make as much noise as it wanted. If her boy was down there, if he was anywhere near there at all, her storm would let him know that his mami was coming to save him.

Mateo had wasted enough time. It would have been nice to indulge in a bit more foreplay, learning where and how best to tease his little prize and garner the most rewarding responses, but Camilo had forfeited the luxury of a good time with all the nonsense he’d put him through. The uniform puncture marks in his hand still smarted something fierce, and he only assumed it fair that the matching set in Camilo’s neck served as a warning that whatever tantrum he threw and however he lashed out, Mateo would easily give back to him tenfold.

Besides, there’d be plenty of time to explore later. At that moment he was ravenous, with only one taste in mind to satiate his hunger.

With little warning Mateo transferred both of Camilo’s arms under one hand, pinning his wrists above his head while the other snaked its way down the length of his exposed torso in search of its target. Camilo jolted and whined at the contact, only exacerbated as the friction agitated his bite wound and sent hot tendrils crawling their way through his arm up to his fingertips. As he felt the button on his trousers being fiddled with, he snapped his eyes open with a choked gasp - just in time to catch a gilded speck flitting in the air across his field of vision.

A butterfly?

Perhaps as a measure of protection, Camilo saw himself back in his room, the night Mirabel had come to stay with him. He heard her voice in his ear, telling him everything would be alright, humming him to sleep with that comforting lullaby. He felt her grasp laced with his, and the gentle beat of her heart thumping delicately against the back of his hand. He remembered the dream he’d had that night, thousands of golden butterflies just like the one above him now, enveloping him in their warm, comforting embrace of safety.

It was a sign, wasn’t it?

A renewed sense of strength coursed through his veins, igniting him from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of his family and going home to them consuming his mind and overriding the pain and despair he’d nearly fallen prey to.

Abuelo, help me!

In a miraculous stroke of luck, one mighty tug tore his arm out from beneath Mateo’s grip - and in the fraction of a second he registered he’d regained mobility, he didn’t think twice about ramming his fist into Mateo’s face. The punch stunned him, whipping his head to the side; his grip on the other arm loosened and in turn Camilo wrenched that one free as well, swiping a clawed hand directly across Mateo’s eye. Though his nails weren’t as long as Dolores’s or Isabela’s, he’d managed to rake a set of thin stripes from his brow to the bridge of his nose. Mateo was forced to pull back with a hiss and paw at the stinging marks, giving Camilo enough time to frantically drag himself out from beneath Mateo’s weight.

“Ay, you little--!”

He was cut off as Camilo drew a newly released leg back and kicked him in the stomach, doubling him over with a harsh wheeze. Clouds of dust were tossed in the air as Camilo propelled himself away, quickly twisting onto his front to better scramble to his feet. Camilo felt like his heart was going to explode from within his chest, but he could hardly pay it any mind. His only goal was to get free, get up, and get away from this villain and escape into the wilderness. Maybe he was miles from the Encanto, maybe he was just a stone’s throw, it didn’t matter - even if he never found his way home, even if he never saw his family again, even if he wandered the Llanos for days on end until he collapsed and perished, scared and alone, it was a preferable alternative to existing as whatever Mateo wanted to break and reshape him into.

He’d almost gotten off the ground when his head was yanked back by the hair, pulling a yelp out of him and halting his getaway. Behind him Mateo was growling, still crumpled in on himself from the blow but too high on his own supply of fury, obsession and spite to let him get away so easily. On a desperate whim Camilo shifted, becoming Padre Flores - the fistful of his curls dissipated into a splayed hand on the back of the Father’s bare head, allowing Camilo the freedom to make another attempt to run, until a grip on his ankle hauled him back to his elbows. His body shrunk as he took his brother’s form; Antonio's small foot slipped from Mateo’s grasp and he rolled sideways, changing again into Lili, a slender young woman with legs long enough to increase his stride. As he leapt to his feet he could feel the other man behind him following suit, and though he’d managed a good few bounds in distance, a grip on Lili’s skirt cut ‘her’ pace short and gave Mateo the proximity to snatch him by the arm and toss him back into the dirt, where he landed with a winded grunt.

To Camilo’s spine-chilling distress, he again found himself trapped against the ground with Mateo looming over him, his face twisted in blazing wrath.

“You must have a death wish, hombrecito,” Mateo snarled through his teeth, breathing heavily as what little light in the air bounced off the gouges over his eye. Camilo’s anger had stopped being cute, and now was an irritating nuisance he aimed to curb whichever way was most effective.

“Go to Hell!” Camilo spat back in Lili’s voice, before taking the face of one of his male friends and aiming to strike at him once more.

There was no longer any rhyme or reason to his shifting, only pure survival instinct. Though internally his framework groaned and ached with every new body it reworked itself into, Camilo pushed himself to become anyone and everyone, running through every face and name stored in the recesses of his memory in the hopes any of them would give him the advantage he needed to get free for good. Mateo was breaking a sweat, struggling to keep a solid hold on Camilo’s flailing limbs as they seemed to change shape and size every second, and even trying to strike him fell short as there was no solid target to lock onto. While the altercation was buying Camilo time, he knew in his adrenaline-addled heart that he couldn’t keep this up forever; soon he’d wear himself out and snap back into his own body, where he’d likely be too tired to fight back at all if he didn’t outright slip into unconsciousness - if that happened, Camilo knew he’d never see the light of day again. He could only steel himself to hold out as long as he possibly could, to exert himself past his Gift’s limits and pray for a miracle to save him.

Until all at once, all of Mateo’s movements ceased. 

Camilo cracked his eyes open to see Mateo staring down at him with a blank, wide-eyed expression, and his position frozen where it was. He didn’t even realize who he’d turned into, until he stole a quick glance at the rest of his body: He was an older woman, middle-aged at most, with dark brown hair spilling over shawled shoulders in loose waves. On his right hand was a silver band around the index finger, the same one around the left index finger of the man above him. 

Camilo hadn’t taken this woman’s face in a long time - he didn’t even know he remembered it. He swallowed as he gazed back up at Mateo, imploring him with his new set of green eyes.

“Mateo,” Señora Herrera’s voice begged, shaking over every word, “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

So much silence in the air after such an intense, violent struggle felt uncanny. Neither of them spoke or moved, and while Camilo should have taken the lull to resume his escape attempt, something in the atmosphere kept him grounded. That was a face Camilo had never seen Mateo make - maybe this was what it took to finally get through to him?

Without a word, Mateo pulled himself off Camilo and got to his feet.

Camilo could only be relieved for a split second - then all hope in his heart was dashed as Mateo abruptly grabbed the duplication of his mother by the ankles and began to drag ‘her’ across the ground. With an alarmed scream in a borrowed voice, Camilo clawed at the dirt in search of any kind of resistance he could grab hold of and keep himself from being pulled any further. Mateo ignored him, hauling him to the cliffside several feet away from the path. Bracing himself against a rock to keep his balance, he swung the body in his grasp over the ledge by the feet, dangling him upside down above the chasm at an arm's length from solid ground. 

Camilo stared down into the sea of tree tops hundreds of feet below, cries of terror spilling out of his mouth. He couldn’t even struggle; if he made Mateo lose his grip, he was dead. That was all there was to it. All he could do was try to keep himself perfectly still, occupying his hands with keeping his form’s skirt from dropping over his upper body, while he tried and failed to keep his panic contained.

“Change back,” Mateo spoke, his voice eerily calm, “change back right now.” Camilo obeyed instantly, shrinking back into his own body. “Don’t ever pull some shit like that again,” Mateo continued, and as Camilo tore his frightful gaze away from the drop he was met with Mateo intensely boring a hole through him, “if you do I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and I’ll make it hurt. It’ll take days for you to finally die and the whole time you’ll beg me to just end it. You understand, Camilo?”

Camilo blinked fresh tears from his eyes, watching them fall endlessly below him. “Yes!” It was an airy, breathless response, with no oxygen left in his hyperventilating lungs for extraneous words. In any other circumstance he might not have believed Mateo would kill him after everything he’d said and done to acquire him, but the look in Mateo’s eyes just then told Camilo that there was no room for doubt. He’d already put him through some of the worst pains he’d felt when he wanted him alive - trying to imagine what he’d do to him in an effort to take his life was a scenario he was far too afraid to ruminate over.

Mateo turned from the edge and carried Camilo back to the dirt path, unceremoniously laying him down without letting go of his ankles.

“Glad we understand each other,” Mateo said, as Camilo tried to kick his legs in his grasp, “Now stop fighting, it’ll be over sooner.”

Mateo lowered himself to his knees, quickly pulling Camilo into himself until the boy’s pelvis sat right atop his lap while his upper body lay flat on the ground. He had one leg on either side of him, fitting himself snugly between them, and held Camilo’s knees against his sides with his elbows as his hands got to work.

“No!!” Camilo snapped himself out of his frightened stupor, struggling anew despite the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He clawed and batted at Mateo’s hands in a desperate bid to halt his progress, shoving his wandering, grabbing digits away from himself and whatever they sought to seize. “No, no! Help! Someone help me, please!”

“Fucking stop,” Mateo snapped, reeling back and slapping Camilo a third time across his already-bludgeoned face. Stars shot across his vision and dazed him, leaving him dizzy and moaning in pain as Mateo snatched hold of his fly uninterrupted.

He really was helpless, wasn’t he? There wasn’t anything else he could do now. Trying to use his magic was pointless; he’d already expended all the energy he had for it, and tapping into his Gift only sent a churning ache in his stomach that made him feel even more weary than he already was. He was sobbing again, unsure of when it had started, as desolation crashed over him in a powerful tidal wave that swept him out to sea.

His waistband shifted, and he felt the wind on his bare thighs.

He knew it was hopeless, but it was what his heart was crying out for him to do. Covering his eyes and throwing his head back, Camilo wailed with all his might into the cold open air.

“¡¡ MAMI-I-I !! ¡¡ MAMI, AYÚDAME !!”

There was a dull -thunk- of metal meeting bone, and a sudden searing pain shot through Mateo’s back. 

He dropped Camilo onto the ground with a shout, whipping around to find Dolores behind him, hands speckled with blood and eyes full of fire. Her father’s knife jutted out from his shoulder blade, buried nearly to the hilt, crimson blooming around the shirt material surrounding it. Before he had the chance to react, she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and tugged his head downwards, driving her knee up at the same time and cracking him in the face with it. Her scarlet skirt took on darker red spatter as the blow rocketed a burst of blood through the air, knocking Mateo off balance and sending him tumbling back to the ground.

Dolores huffed and heaved as she collected her breath, winded from the trek to the scene, as she kept a laser-focus on watching Mateo’s movements. She didn’t know if she’d knocked him out, but he didn’t seem to be stirring - he’d landed on his side to where she could still see the knife protruding from his back, and a trickle of blood had begun to creep through the dirt from his busted nose and mouth. When she determined she’d spent enough of her attention on him, she turned it to something far more deserving just a few feet away.

The sight that awaited her was devastating. Her baby brother sat quivering in the dirt, his face sodden and bruised, a nasty, angry bite wound in his neck - and she knew just from looking at it what animal had left it there. His clothes were in complete disarray, his shirt torn open and pants gathered at his knees, with his shoes nowhere in sight. He stared up at her with huge, unbelieving eyes that still brimmed with tears, and her heart broke for him through the righteous fury she had entered the scene with.

“Milo!” She cried breathlessly, dropping down to him and scooting closer on her knees. She’d only barely gotten there in time, but she was there now. She was going to take him home. She was going to save him.

“Lola…!” His voice broke as he reached for her, that nickname rolling off his tongue for the first time since he was a child. It felt like a dream. So many times he’d been at that man’s mercy and begged for help, only for his voice to go unheard. Now, when he needed it most, his calls were answered - his big sister was there, she was really there and she had helped him, and he almost couldn’t believe it until he reached out and feebly clutched at her sleeves for himself.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you!” She smiled tearfully, pressing her forehead against his and cupping his tender face. “I’ve got you, manito, I--”

She was cut off by a strangled squeak as a hand yanked her away from him by the back of her neck. Camilo cried out with his hands outstretched towards her, as the grip that held her threw her as far across the clearing as it possibly could. Mateo was standing again, with an unsteady, lurching posture that evoked imagery of a real, true, inhuman monster. The knife had been discarded, blood oozing from the gash in Mateo’s shoulder and coating his face, as he stalked towards where Dolores had landed dangerously close to the edge of the mountain path. He leaned over her, berserk with rage, the hand on his good side around her throat and lifting her into the air in seconds.

“No, Dolores!” Camilo yelled, fumbling as he tried to find his footing, “Let her go!”

Dolores fought to breathe, squeaking gasps escaping her constricted airways with very little coming back in. Her feet kicked to and fro and she dragged her nails over his hands, but his grip only tightened even as her face began to turn blue.

“Stupid bitch,” he seethed, his voice guttural and ejecting specks of blood with every word, as he shook her roughly by the neck, “Stupid bitch!! Always fucking things up for me! You just can’t help yourself, can you? Nosy little cunt.” He trudged closer to the edge of the cliff, holding Dolores’s writhing body out over the drop with furious mania scribbled all over his face. “You want to die, huh? Is that it? You want me to kill you? I’ll fucking give you what you want then!”

“You can have me!”

Both Mateo and Dolores looked back to the path where Camilo was up and redressed, his reclaimed ruana whipping around his quaking frame in the wind. One arm was out with its hand raised in deference, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy intake of breath. His eyes were desperate but firm, staring directly at Mateo and seeking whatever rationality he had left in his murky, rotten depths.

“If you drop her… i-if you kill my sister, I’ll just keep running. I’ll never stop trying to get away from you. I’ll run for the rest of my life, until you kill me too,” He declared, chancing a shaky step forward, “If you let her live, we can leave here together. I won’t run anymore, I’ll go wherever you want to take me. I’ll…” He hesitated, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the words about to leave him, “I’ll let you have me. You can do whatever you want to me and I won’t fight it.”

Mateo stared blankly at him for an uncomfortable amount of time - contemplating if the deal was worth it.

“Ca-- Cami--” Dolores wheezed, hardly able to push his name out through the fingers around her throat. She couldn’t let him do this. He needed to be running, not negotiating! Not giving himself up for her! She didn’t want to die, not at all, but if Mateo dropping her to her untimely demise bought Camilo enough time to escape then she would take the fall. But she couldn’t tell him to go, to run away and find help, to let him take her instead of him - she had no voice to do so.

“Well?” Camilo took another step, maintaining his brave face even with the tears perched on his waterline, “You want me to be good, right? I’ll be good, for her sake. I promise. So, do you want me or not?”

When the point came that Dolores began to see black spots in the corners of her vision, Mateo finally moved his arm and dropped her directly at the edge of the cliff. The relief hit Camilo’s body all at once, his entire figure slumping and all the air in his lungs expelling in a huge sigh. For a moment he almost wasn’t sure if it would work, and that he’d be forced to watch his sister fall to her death. But he’d only ensured Dolores’s survival - he still had to worry about his own. Mateo lumbered towards him as Dolores coughed and gasped on the ground, weakly trying to pull herself up as her brother stood still and allowed that man to approach him.

The two stood face-to-face in silent regard for a moment, both of them swaying slightly from their separate, intertwined ordeals.

“You,” Mateo finally began as he trailed his hand up Camilo’s neck and sunk his fingers into his hair, slowly gripping onto a fistful of it, “have a lot to make up to me, chiquito.”

“I-I know,” Camilo winced and swallowed thickly, before laying a quaking hand onto Mateo’s chest. He forced a coy smile, peering up at the older man with the most coquettish, alluring eyes he could, raising himself onto the tips of his toes for good measure. “Let me start now… querido.”

Mateo couldn’t resist. Using the hold on his hair he tilted Camilo’s head to the side, before swooping down and greedily claiming his mouth. Though a shudder rattled Camilo’s spine and spread through his entire system, he did not falter. Dutifully he parted his lips when Mateo demanded entry, making the connection last as long as possible, as his other arm emerged from beneath his ruana and poised itself on Mateo’s shoulder.

-click-

-squelch-

The taste of iron flooded Camilo’s mouth. His trembling grasp held tightly to the handle of his father’s knife, the blade now plunged into the side of Mateo’s neck.

Camilo pulled out of the kiss to revel in Mateo’s blanched expression. He flashed a triumphant grin, Mateo’s blood dripping from his teeth. 

“I told you I would kill you if you touched my family.”

Camilo withdrew the knife and stepped back, a spurt of blood following the metal on its way out. He never broke his contempt-filled gaze even as he spat out the ichor still pooled beneath his tongue, watching as Mateo wavered and raised a hand to cover the gushing wound in his throat.

Mateo laughed, the sound coming out as a mix between a wheeze and a gurgle. 

“You…” he sputtered over the blood seeping past his lips, a crooked grin stretching across his rapidly paling features, “You really are like me.”

Camilo reeled back with both hands on the knife, holding it over his head.

“I’m not like anybody. I’m like me.”

Before he could bring the knife down, a sudden eruption of sound behind him stole his attention, prompting him to look over his shoulder. A horse - Mateo’s horse, free of its cart - came tearing out of the foliage by the path, streaking across the clearing and disappearing again into the woods on the other side.

“Camilo!” Dolores warned, and he turned back just in time to dodge Mateo making a weak grab for him amid the distraction. He second-guessed using the knife, instead lowering himself and slamming his shoulder against Mateo like a battering ram, forcing him to stumble backwards towards Dolores.

Dolores saw her chance, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

As Mateo’s foot landed just in front of her, she stuck her leg out behind his heel and let him walk into it. Just as she’d hoped, he tripped over her, toppled back, and went plummeting right over the cliff’s edge.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Both siblings watched as he fell for what seemed like eons, specks of blood hanging briefly in the air in his wake, until he vanished beyond the treetops below. Camilo could only hear the wind and the rustling of leaves, but Dolores heard it all, clear as day: the air splitting to make way for Mateo’s inertia, disturbed birds flapping their wings as branches and vines snapped and broke under the weight of a body, then - a very loud, very sudden mix between a thump and a crack.

The world stilled.

Chapter Text

The knife clattered to the ground, dotting the surrounding earth with blood. Camilo sank to his knees beside his sister, neither of them able to move or speak, all the energy they had devoted to taking in heavy breaths and simply existing in relative peace after both of them had nearly met their own demise. The wind was howling, and if they didn’t know better, it would have called to mind the visual of an evil, demented soul released from its corporeal prison and being dragged back into the fires of Hell where it had come from.

Finally, Camilo’s hoarse voice broke the silence.

“Is he…?”

“Yeah,” Dolores was quick to reply, her own voice just as airy.

Good.

It fell quiet again for a short while, until Dolores gathered the energy to crawl towards her brother and take him in her arms. Her cheek nuzzled against his as she squeezed him as tightly as her thin limbs would allow, her lungs letting go of a wavering sigh she’d been holding onto for an amount of time she couldn’t define. 

“Milo,” she breathed, stroking the back of his head, allowing herself that moment to feel him safely in her embrace. The sounds Dolores had been forced to hear on her way there rang relentlessly in her head, echoing and bouncing off every corner of her skull; skin breaking and being bludgeoned, the tearing of clothing, her little brother’s blood-curdling screams of pain and cries for help, every vile word and threat that man had uttered to him beneath it all; everything still crawled beneath her skin like weevils boring through decayed wood. It made her want to kill him all over again just thinking about how savagely he had terrorized her hermano - and what would have happened if she hadn’t arrived in time.

Camilo was still floating somewhere between the fabric of space and time, disoriented and not quite sure what to make of where he was and what had happened. But if he knew anything it was that he unequivocally, painfully needed to hold his sister back - his sister, his big sister who answered his calls and came to his aid, who was really actually there when he was so sure help was too far away to rescue him. Doing so would help cement that it really was okay now, the danger had gone and he was in good hands again after being trapped in that man’s nefarious clutches.

“You came,” he whispered, sliding his shaking arms around her ribs and clinging to the back of her dress like she’d disappear if he let go, “You came for me. You saved me.”

Dolores felt her eyes water. “Mhm,” she squeaked, nodding against his face, “And you saved me, too.” She could still feel Mateo’s fingers digging into her neck, a soreness gripping her throat in his place and making each word she said scratchy and hoarse.

But that was right, wasn’t it? Dolores was still there because of Camilo’s ploy, his desperate gambit for her life that put him right back in the jaws of the beast, when he could have easily left her for dead to save his own skin. But he’d done it, he’d pushed his own crippling fear and pain aside to protect her and outsmarted Mateo, and both he and Dolores had made it out of their ordeal alive.

But Mateo wasn’t so lucky. No, along with the realization that Mateo would never hurt the Madrigal family again came the recognition that this was only the case because he was dead and gone - and Camilo had his blood on his hands, in every sense.

“Dolores,” Camilo said somewhat vacantly, his mind replaying the sight of blood pouring down the side of Mateo’s neck and dying his shirt crimson over and over again, “He’s dead. I killed him. Didn’t I? Am I a killer?”

Dolores was quiet a moment, her brow furrowing as she pulled back to look at her brother head-on. His gaze was not quite centered on her or anything else, his eyes glazed as though his consciousness was drifting away somewhere she couldn’t follow. But could she blame him? The poor boy had plunged a blade into a man’s throat, something - one of the many things - that he should never have had to experience. Still, having him think of himself as ‘a killer’ was something she couldn’t let slide, and she needed to pull him back before his mind took him too far away.

“Camilo. Look at me.”

Carefully she took his sore face into her hands, waiting until his eyes blinked back into focus and honed in on her before she continued.

“You were protecting yourself. Yourself, and me. This isn’t the same as killing somebody for the fun of it. You saw yourself the lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted. He wasn’t going to stop any other way, manito.” She brushed a bit of hair out of his face, tilting his chin back up when his gaze lowered, “Besides, I’m the one that tripped him. If you’re a killer, so am I. And in getting rid of that monster for good, making sure he can’t hurt anyone else like he hurt you, well… we did the world a favor, I think.” 

Dolores never would have imagined herself being involved in the death of another person. Yet as she reflected on everything Mateo had put Camilo through, and put her whole family through - she couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad. Mateo wasn’t a man, in her eyes. He was a demon, a real-life boogeyman, no different from the villains who had killed her abuelo fifty years before. He’d just done a better job of hiding it, spending 25 or so years perfectly blending in with the crowd and pretending to be anything other than a barbarian.

Camilo blinked. It wasn’t as though he disagreed - he just didn’t think about it like that. He’d been so hyper-focused on confronting the fact that someone was dead as a result of his actions, that he’d nearly overlooked what caused him to turn to those actions in the first place. Mateo was not a sane, rational person. He was violent and sadistic and cruel, and his only goal was to turn Camilo into his perfect plaything through any immoral means necessary - whether it be killing animals, kidnapping children, or assaulting people who had done nothing wrong.

Though it hurt him to do so, he thought back to the entire altercation they’d had on the cliffside, between his escape from the cart and Dolores’s arrival on the scene. One hand slowly receded from Dolores to finger the teeth marks in his neck, the skin around each indentation still swollen and warm to the touch from inflammation. Receiving those wounds had been ghastly enough as it was, and still Mateo had been fully intending to do something even more terrible to him - and he’d been just a hair’s breadth from succeeding. The breeze flowing through the draft in his ruana reminded him of his opened shirt, every one of its buttons liberated from their threads and scattered around somewhere on the path behind him.  His pants were where they needed to be now, but remembering the sensation of cool air on his legs caused him to shiver like he could feel it still beneath his clothes.

If Dolores hadn’t shown up on time - or at all - Camilo would likely still be beneath Mateo at that very moment, experiencing something so horrific it scared him to even entertain the idea of it.

And there was truth to her claim that he wouldn’t have been stopped any other way; casting him out only made him hatch a scheme so insane and diabolical, Camilo would never have imagined anyone would go to those lengths for anything - let alone the specific goal of capturing him. How many other plans did he have on reserve, ready for him to pull from his sleeve should the one before it fail? How many more people would end up as collateral damage? Even in his last moments, bleeding out and surely on the brink of death, he’d made one last grab for Camilo as though he wanted to take him with him on the way out. His own mortality, just another obstacle for him to overcome in his life’s quest to completely dominate and possess Camilo Madrigal.

Mateo Herrera had to die. It was the only way to protect Camilo, and anyone else, from his tyranny.

Still. Camilo wasn’t sure what he was, or even should have been, feeling about it. Was he… proud? Happy? Was it right for him to be? He’d told Mateo to die more than once, and even promised to kill him himself. Well, he’d done it. What did he get out of it?

It was only when he felt Dolores’s thumbs running over and over beneath his eyes that Camilo realized he had tears rolling freely down his battered cheeks. 

“He’s really gone?” It was part question, part statement, and completely imploring for confirmation that it was the truth. He knew, logically, Mateo was now at the bottom of the cliff where he would stay until his remains returned to the earth. But he needed to hear it, he needed Dolores to tell him under no uncertain terms that he would never see, or hear, or experience Mateo Herrera in the putrid flesh again.

Dolores couldn’t help but smile in melancholic sympathy. She leaned in and kissed her brother’s forehead, resting her lips against his brow and closing her eyes.

“He’s gone. You’re free, Camilo.”

Deep inside he felt the same way he did opening a window after a terrible thunderstorm, pushing open shutters to allow fresh air and warm sunlight to flood his senses and the gentle breeze of the outside world to roll over his skin. The words were simultaneously heavy enough to ground him, and light enough to make him feel like he could walk through the clouds. He was free now. Well and truly free, with no room for doubt and no chance for that man to make any more comebacks.

This was what he got out of it.

He was free.

I’m free.

His face scrunched from the influx of emotions that shattered his numb, stupefied haze. A sob tore through him as he threw his arms around his sister, not paying any attention to the sting the sudden movement caused in his neck. He couldn’t even feel it - all he felt in that moment was release.

“He’s gone…!” He cried, burying his face into Dolores’s shoulder, “He’s gone! I did it, I’m-- I-I’m free! I’m free!”

“I know, manito, I know,” Dolores murmured softly, unable to hold back her own tears from slipping down her cheeks. Soothingly she rubbed his quaking shoulders as her other hand was still interwoven with strands of his hair. “You were so brave, Milo. You were amazing! You fought so hard, I know you did, I heard it - but it’s over now, it’s over. You won.”

Every affirmation Dolores laid onto Camilo seeped into his chest, enveloping his heart and coursing through his bloodstream. He could have sworn he was glowing. Airy laughs tumbled from his lips intermittently in tandem with hiccups and sniffles, his soul opening to make room for the purest elation he’d felt in a long time, the kind he thought had fallen beyond his reach. He welcomed it eagerly, with the hope that he’d never again forget what happiness felt like.

Dolores suddenly lifted her head, looking westward towards the forest surrounding the clearing. Camilo followed suit, but didn’t have enough time to ask what she heard before the sound of thunder rumbling filled the air. The sky was a churning mass of gray clouds as it was, but the thunder’s roar seemed much closer than it had been when Camilo heard it last.

His breath caught in his throat, and he gripped onto Dolores’s arms with hope in his voice.

“Is that…?” Oh, please let it be. He wanted to see her so badly, he wanted his mom so much it hurt.

Dolores heard the soft patter of shoes against dirt, snapping twigs and kicking pebbles in their stride, rhythmic and steadily increasing in volume. She heard the swish of fabric - a skirt - whipping around a pair of moving legs, and the flapping of thickly braided hair swinging to and fro like a pendulum with every leap and bound down the wooded path. The all-too-familiar sound of changing weather approached, and Dolores already knew who it was before she even approached the thicket’s edge. She grinned, and it was all Camilo needed to receive the answer he’d been looking for.

Pepa pushed her way through from between the trees and barreled through the clearing, nearly missing the two before she caught them in the corner of her vision. She skidded to a halt as the air left her lungs, gaping at the sight that awaited her: her children seated at the cliff’s edge, holding onto each other, staring at her arrival in wide-eyed excitement like they had been expecting her. 

Camilo, her Camilo, was right there before her very eyes.

The storm vanished in an instant. The sky remained gray as it had been, but everything from rain to clouds to the howling winds dispersed like they’d never existed. Pepa almost couldn’t bring herself to move for a minute, as though they were a mirage that would dissipate the moment she took a step in their direction.

Camilo lifted his hands, beaming through tears as he reached out for his mother.

“Mami!”

A rainbow more brilliant than the sun itself exploded over Pepa’s head, iridescent particles of stardust cascading through the air around her. She stumbled towards them with her arms outstretched for her babies, for her son, her beautiful little boy her heart had mourned so fervently for. Words failed her; though she opened her mouth to speak, the only sounds she could make were breathless gasps that were half-laugh, half-sob, exhausted and relieved all at once. She slumped into her children and scooped Camilo into her arms, very nearly draping herself over him to shield him from the outside world.

“Camilo!” She cried, his name so sweet on her tongue, “Camilito!” Such a short while ago she’d been on the cusp of total collapse, agonizing over his abduction and despairing over the thought that she’d been too late to save him. But she’d found him - he was safe in her arms again, safe with his sister, and that maniac who’d taken him was nowhere in sight. She exuded pure sunshine, and taking his face in her hands, she began to release a barrage of eager, loving kisses upon him - his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, every inch of his countenance was doused in her affection, and he hardly had the desire to resist it.

“Mamá!” He laughed, the sound like music to Pepa’s ears. His mother was there, she really had been out looking for him like he’d hoped she’d been, so much closer than he’d thought. His hands covered hers as he closed his eyes and let her take all the time she wanted, and when she led him back into her embrace he was more than happy to curl against her in comfortable bliss. Dolores wasn’t escaping unscathed - as soon as Pepa pulled Camilo against her chest, she reached out to reel her daughter in and pepper her face with smooches too. Once Pepa had gotten her fill she gathered Dolores into her arms as well, rocking them gently as wave upon wave of relief washed over her and the adrenaline in her system crashed into sea foam.

“I was so afraid,” she breathed, stroking the backs of their heads just as a reminder they were still with her, “Camilo, mi vida, I was so afraid I’d lost you! I’m never letting you out of my sight again, never, ever!” The rainbow above them shone brilliantly, emanating a warmth that enveloped all of them as a testament to Pepa’s pure, unfiltered joy.

“I’m here, mamá,” Camilo sighed, a weight lifted from his chest as the words left him. He was there, still with his family, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Dolores had been quietly basking in the euphoria of the moment, her head resting against her mother’s shoulder and her hand laced with Camilo’s, but her attention was drawn to an odd noise in the background that seemed out of place from the rest of the typical jungle ambience. It was the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats against the dirt, in full gallop and headed their way.

“The horse is coming back,” Dolores noted, prompting both Pepa and Camilo to peer in the direction it had gone.

“Stupid thing,” Pepa grumbled, “I would have been here sooner if it hadn’t run off like it did.”

“Did the storm scare it?” Camilo asked, reminded of how it had torn through the clearing like a bat out of Hell.

“...That’s besides the point,” Pepa pouted, still sore about it.

There was a beat, then he sat up. “Wait, then-- then you found the cart?” She was on his heels the whole time, then? She must have been looking for him longer than he’d realized… The notion made his heart swell, dashing the small, insecure part of his mind that assumed he wouldn’t have been a priority. He couldn’t help it; old habits die hard.

Pepa nodded, before blinking in recollection. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out an all-too-familiar pair of sandals that Camilo’s feet had sorely missed during his panicked flight through the forest. Camilo’s eyes grew glossy just seeing them again - it meant his ploy, as desperate and off-the-cuff as it was, had worked, and his mother had been able to follow his trail.

“They helped me find you, mi sol,” her own eyes glistened as Camilo reclaimed his footwear, sliding them back into place on his feet with a sniffle, “as though you were guiding me right to you.”

Just then, the foliage to the east burst open as the horse made its reentrance, heralded by the thumping of its hooves - but to the family's astonishment, it wasn’t alone. On its back were two riders, faces the three couldn’t have been happier to see: Félix gripped onto the reins as the horse came to a stop and reared back, while Antonio sat in front of him with a firm, yet tender hold around the steed’s neck. Pepa lit up at the sight of her youngest, as the last time she saw him he was still in the midst of his peril.

“There you are!” Félix called, bringing the horse a bit closer towards them, “Dolores, you nearly gave me a heart attack, running off like that!”

“Sorry, papá, I had something important to take care of,” She punctuated the statement by wrapping her arm around Camilo’s shoulders and giving him a one-sided squeeze, the offhand validation again striking a sentimental chord within him. Dolores then asked, “How did you know where to find us?”

“Beto told us where you were!” Antonio pat the horse affectionately on the mane, who nickered and shook his head in response.

Dolores and Pepa both were delightedly surprised, but to Camilo, it felt as though he’d finally washed to shore after being adrift on a stormy sea. He’d never gotten clarity or closure regarding his little brother’s fate. That man had deliberately refused to give him a straight answer, allowing and encouraging him to assume the worst. That period of time Camilo was left with his own thoughts, strung up and held captive in the back of the cart, his hope had dwindled and his imagination had plagued him with every grim scenario possible. For all he knew, his beloved hermanito had been dead and buried in a shallow grave for hours.

But Antonio was there before him now, alive and well with their father in tow, his big eyes locking onto Camilo and giving him a wide smile.

Camilo’s heart sparked. He threw his arms out, his voice shrill with glee. “Antonio!”

Antonio hopped off of Beto’s back much more quickly than Félix could, bounding towards his brother and practically leaping into his open, waiting arms. Camilo couldn’t hold him tightly enough; fresh tears sprung to his eyes as he buried his face in Antonio’s hair, overcome with relief that his baby brother was safe and that none of the horrible images his anxious brain had bombarded him with had come true.

“Toñito, did he hurt you? Are you okay?” Camilo pulled back and held Antonio by the upper arms, giving Pepa enough space to dip down and kiss her littlest one’s face for the first time since his rescue. Antonio responded only to the second question, giving Camilo a nod as he clutched to the front of his ruana.

“Uh-huh! Lola saved me!” He beamed, getting a gentle ruffle of his hair from his sister in return.

Camilo found himself chuckling as he leaned his head against Dolores’s shoulder, stray tears escaping his eyes. “Me, too.” 

He pulled Antonio back into himself and felt both Pepa and Dolores’s embrace enveloping him again. The assemblage was finally completed when Félix joined, dropping down beside Dolores and gathering his family in his arms for a much-needed, long-awaited group hug. The family stayed huddled like that for quite some time, reveling in the solace that came with knowing their ordeal was over. All members of the warm-colored Madrigals were finally reunited: together in one place as one unit, each one surviving and overcoming the trials and tribulations they had to face to get there, and at long last the world felt whole and correct once more.

Dolores heard the knife shift just a millimeter, and she opened her eyes. Félix had noticed his switchblade beside them and now stared down at the bloodstained blade, his fingers hovering over the hilt. He met Dolores’s eyes, and they shared a wordless discussion: His gaze flit from the blade to the cliff, then to her. Is he down there? 

She nodded. 

After a beat, he nodded back, and with little fanfare, he used the back of his hand to sweep the knife over the edge to join the cadaver it had acquainted itself with shortly before.

And that was it, because he would have done the same thing in a heartbeat.

Eventually the family began to pull themselves to their feet to begin their long trek back to the Encanto, and back to the haven of their home. Or, rather, the three oldest members made it that far - Pepa took Antonio into her hold from Camilo’s lap, while much to Camilo’s surprise, Félix scooped his arms beneath him and lifted him almost effortlessly to hold him against his chest.

“Pá, come on, I can walk,” Camilo complained, his gangly legs draped over Félix’s arm and bobbing with every move and turn.

“What, you think I can’t carry you?” Félix boasted, in lieu of admitting he just wanted to keep his son in his arms for a while longer, “It feels like I’m holding a sack of beans. So quit your fussing, frijolito.”

Camilo huffed. “Dolores, save me again.”

“You’re on your own this time,” She chirped, brushing the dust from her skirt, “You’re lucky he got to you first, otherwise I’d be carrying you.”

Yeah, right. Crossing his arms, Camilo surrendered and leaned more comfortably against his father’s chest. He felt a little silly, being carted around like a child, but in light of what he’d been through, what he’d seen and had to do and nearly fell prey to, he could stand to put up with a little mollycoddling more than he’d care to admit. It reminded him of years long ago when he’d fall asleep in Casita’s common area during a family gathering, and have to be carried to bed by whichever parent happened to find him. For that reason - and the reason that he was weary and aching down to his bones, coming down from the high of the horror he’d experienced from Antonio’s abduction to Mateo’s fall - his muscles began to relax and the tension began to seep from his body, allowing for exhaustion to osmose into him in its place. Maybe being carried for a while wasn't such a bad idea, or at least, that's what his drooping eyelids and slacking limbs whispered in the back of his mind.

It was now, as Félix really got a good look at Camilo, that he got the chance to survey the damage he’d taken. “Ay, mijo, look at you,” he said gently with drawn brows, readjusting his hold to use one hand to cup his son’s face. He could feel the heat of his bruises against his palm, and much to his quiet dismay, he took notice of what he was sure were teeth marks poking from beneath Camilo’s collar. Did that son of a bitch bite my son? Too bad his miserable corpse was at the bottom of the cliff and not nearby, so Félix could kick it on his way out.

Camilo turned into his hand and closed his eyes, his dad’s touch helping to wash away the grime that still clung to his skin in the wake of Mateo’s lingering ghost.

“Papá,” he whispered, his drowsy mind recalling the last time he was comfortably in his father’s arms, “are you still proud of me?”

Felix’s breathing stuttered. Ever since this nightmare began, his concern had been pulled in a thousand different directions, each one regarding a treasured member of his family and their well-being, with hardly a moment to focus on one solitary aspect. And now that the world had gone quiet once more, there was plenty of open, silent air for Félix to focus on a single thing - his oldest son, still just a boy, with a heart and mind packed to the brim with pain he couldn’t have fathomed. His boy who lay battered and bruised in his arms, far from home and so much closer to never being seen again than Félix had realized before now. By all accounts, things could have gone horribly wrong for the family and this reunion could never have been possible. Félix didn’t know exactly what he and Pepa had missed before stumbling onto the scene, but he did know his children were alive and that man was not as fortunate - and he was certain Camilo and Dolores had to make a very difficult choice to preserve their own safety, and guarantee that they were able to come home at all. And quite frankly, Félix wholly supported the choice they'd ended up making.

But it wasn't about himself. It was about Camilo, who was still clinging to the frayed strings of what remained of his innocence. Félix failed to keep his eyes from watering as he stroked Camilo’s hair, too focused on his son to see his wife and daughter starting to tear up again as well.

“Always, mi sol,” he murmured. And with that reassurance, Camilo was able to manage a soft smile as he was enveloped in fatigue’s embrace.

Chapter Text

From the moment she’d returned from erecting her barrier, Isabela had dutifully stood watch atop Casita’s roof for any alteration in the weather. It was all she had to go off to determine if and when the Madrigal family’s fortunes would change; the house below her was still mired in an anxious tizzy, hoping upon hope and praying to the miracle and God alike that her wall was enough to halt Mateo’s progress, and that their chameleon would be found and brought home. Misty sheets of rain rolled over Isabela with every churn of the wind, an umbrella made of colocasia leaves shielding her from taking on too much water as she kept her eyes trained on the sky above the mountaintops. Pepa was out there, her whole family was, and if anything changed for better or worse, Pepa would be the first to let people know.

Her gaze didn’t falter even when she heard the shuffling of tiles behind her, an indication that Casita was helping someone else onto the roof to join her.

“How is it down there?” She asked, intending to determine who had arrived by the sound of their voice.

“It’s about the same,” Mirabel’s voice answered, as she approached and took a seat beside where her sister was steadfastly perched, “Tío Bruno’s resting, ‘cause Mamá and Abuela made him.”

Isabela nodded, a short sigh of relief breezing through her nose. The sight and smell of all that blood was something she wasn't about to forget any time soon. “Is he feeling any better?”

“He’s gonna be okay, at least. Mamá said he might not have made it another half hour or so if we didn’t find him,” Mirabel hummed, wiping away leftover tears from her eyelashes. The estimation still rattled her even now that Bruno was recovering; they’d spent so long out in the middle of nowhere looking for Antonio, and it was only a stroke of luck that they finally found him and Mirabel was able to deduce Mateo’s intentions. If they were still looking, or if she hadn’t thought to hurry back to the house, she was certain they would have returned home to find her beloved tío dead. She shook that morbid thought out of her head and muttered, “I almost want that guy brought back here in one piece, so I can strangle him myself.”

“Believe me, if I see his sorry mug again, I’m gonna get a piece of him too,” Isabela narrowed her eyes, “I think everyone wants his head on a platter at this point.” There was a beat, as she considered that the only people who might not have wanted Mateo drawn and quartered a dozen times over were currently still within Casita’s walls. “How’s his family?”

“Señor Herrera finally woke up,” Mirabel had her gaze held in her lap, as her hands picked at loose threads of embroidery, “We got some food in him and he’s doing better. Physically, at least. He doesn’t remember much about the last few days, but he knows what Mateo did.” She released a pink bit of floss from between her fingers to let it float away in the wind. “He’s, uh, pretty torn up about it.”

“Well, of course. I think anyone would be.” For as much as Isabela would have liked to shred Mateo limb from limb with a slew of thorny vines, she’d already been made aware of what Luisa and Alma had discovered. The remaining Herreras were no threat to anyone, just as victimized by Mateo as anyone else he’d so callously crushed under his heel. But they were still his family, and she didn’t doubt his father of all people would have been taking the whole situation the hardest. After all, it wasn’t every day someone woke up to discover their son was a monster.

“Abuela and Luisa have been talking to him and Tomás, trying to get a clear picture of what happened and figure out what to do now.” Mirabel paused briefly, then followed Isabela’s gaze out over the town towards the horizon. “I wanna go out there, Isa. I wanna go help look for Camilo. I feel like I’m not doing anything helpful just waiting around here.”

“I know,” Isabela replied with an empathetic tone, her hold on her umbrella tightening, “I was going to head back out myself, as soon as the storm let up. I’m sure Luisa would come with us if we asked her to.”

“You think Abuela would let us?” Mirabel peered at her. Mirabel considered it a 50/50 shot; diverting as much manpower towards Camilo’s rescue as possible could aid in finding him sooner, but Alma was also in high-alert, high-protective mode for those who were still there. Mirabel assumed that trying to send anyone else into the line of fire would result in at least a little kickback in that regard.

Isabela cast her sister a glance from the corner of her eye. “Whether she ‘lets us’ or not, I’m still going to go. Camilo needs as much help as we can give him, and Tía Pepa could use more eyes out there. You in?”

Before Mirabel could give a wholehearted ‘yes’, all at once, the storm halted. The curtain of rainfall ceased in one motion and the blackened clouds seemed to stir, shifting back into a much lighter gray shade. The two girls looked out to the sky in surprise, and a small inkling of hope began to trickle into Isabela’s heart.

“Well, that was fast,” Mirabel blinked, “I’ll go get Luisa.--”

“Wait,” Isabela stopped her with a hand on the shoulder, still zeroed in on the sky and sweeping her gaze here and there for any more changes, “We might not need to. Just hang on a second.”

Sure enough, mere seconds later, the westward sky erupted with color and light. All hues of the rainbow fountained above the mountain tops, the air surrounding it shimmering with glitter and glow that parted the drab clouds and made way for the evening sun to wash over the entire valley. Residents began to hesitantly leave the shelter of their homes, visibly and audibly marveling over the spectacle as the Encanto itself appeared to teem with warmth and relief.

“Does that mean--?” Mirabel’s eyes were sparkling as she took in the sight, and instinctively she grasped onto her sister’s arm in anticipation. 

Isabela gave her a victorious beam, nearly as bright as the emerging sun. “It means they’re coming home.”

Camilo had slept for most of the return to the Encanto. It was a short, dreamless snooze that helped him regain some energy and lucidity; not enough to fully rest his weary bones but enough to make him feel some semblance of human again. He came to just as the family was crossing the river at the village’s entrance, and the first thing he registered was that he was still nestled snugly in his father’s arms. Half his vision was obscured by the yellow shirt fabric his face was pressed against, his nose flooded with the nostalgic and familiar scent of Félix’s favorite cologne, muddled in with some dirt and musk. He could hear the clopping of hooves, and shifting his free eye’s gaze up he was able to focus on the sight of his mother and siblings seated atop Beto’s back beside them as they walked.

Dolores heard him shifting, and turned her focus towards him with a slight smile. “We’re almost there, Camilo,” she said, alerting the others to his returned consciousness, “just a few more minutes and we’ll be home.”

“This is real, right?” He mumbled, lifting his head just a bit to get a better look at his surroundings, able to take in the sight overlooking the Encanto as they passed through the mountain fissure, “It’s still over?” Things were still a little fuzzy for him, and for all he knew, he was having some kind of wonderful dream that he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to wake from.

“It’s real, amor,” he heard his mother say and felt his father’s hold on him strengthen, and the next sigh he gave seemed to take with it some of the murkiness still latched onto the inside of his chest.

It really is over this time. I’m going home.

Upon breaching the village’s border, they were almost immediately greeted by the residents with glad, open arms. Friends and neighbors alike welcomed them warmly and eagerly, reaching to touch their hands in passing and chattering avidly amongst themselves - a couple of them even thanking and praising Pepa for such a beautiful spectacle in the sky. As they came through Camilo could see most of his friends on the sidelines, waving excitedly to him and calling his name, and though somewhat stupefied he brought himself to wave back with a crooked smile. It kind of felt like he was in the middle of a parade, which admittedly felt kind of nice to an ego that hadn’t been stroked in a while. Halfway down the main road towards Casita, the church bells began to chime in long, triumphant peals to herald their arrival, telling everyone in town that the Madrigal family was nearly complete once more.

Dolores spotted Mariano in the crowd, his face alight with joy, and her own face brightened to match. Sliding off the horse and making a beeline for him the second her feet hit the ground, she threw herself into his waiting embrace with such fervor that the couple spun in place for a good two or three turns. Upon coming to a stop they held each other, tightly and tenderly, until pulling back to meet their gazes with enamored fondness.

“Corazón,” Mariano started, brushing loose coils of her hair out of her glistening eyes and tucking them behind her ear, “we’ve all been so concerned. Are you alright? Is Camilo, is everyone?”

“I’m fine, querido, we’re all okay,” she beamed, falling for him all over again, “There’s so much that happened, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Tell me all about it soon,” he said warmly, before motioning towards the rest of her family’s entourage, “after you’ve gotten settled back in. I just couldn’t rest easy until I knew you were safe.”

In an impulsive gesture born of every overwhelming emotion Dolores felt in that moment, she took hold of her boyfriend’s face and planted a very quick, very chaste kiss to his lips - the first they’d ever shared. As Dolores turned from him to rejoin her family’s return home, Mariano was left frozen for a beat, stunned, before a blissful smile spread across his features and a dreamy sigh floated past the cherry-colored lipstick stains on his mouth.

Dolores caught up just in time for the family to reach the edge of the Madrigal property, and as soon as Félix’s feet hit the grass surrounding the home, Casita’s doors flew open and its whole framework began to rattle in celebration. The sound of clattering, clinking and thumping filled the air as tiles bounced and shutters swung to and fro, the house seeming to perk back to its lively self upon the return of the other half of its treasured family. As the girls and Antonio dismounted from the horse, Félix gently set Camilo onto his feet, who then looked up to regard the magical home that had tried so hard to help him when he needed it.

“Hiya, Casita,” he gave a small wave, and in return the louver of the window just above the doorway gave a squeaky wave back.

Mirabel was the first to come bursting from inside the house, with Isabela right on her heels.

“Camilo!” Mirabel just about toppled her cousin off his unsteady feet as she barreled into him, snatching him into a tight hug before anyone or anything else could snatch him first, “Camilo, you’re here! You’re back!”

“Hey, hey, relax,” he laughed, but held her back just as snugly, “You couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to. I’m gum on the bottom of your shoe, primita.” Cheekily he gave her a firm whack in the middle of her back, getting one in return that knocked a cough out of him.

“Shut up, dummy,” she sniffed, tightening her hold and rubbing her face against his shoulder, “We were worried sick, you know! What was I gonna do if I never saw you again? Joke all you want, I’m still so… so happy you’re home.”

Oh, no, sincerity! Camilo didn’t have any more jokes to make; he couldn’t help but rub at his eyes, mirroring her sniffle with one of his own. Ditto, Mira, he thought, just as if not more than happy to be back home himself. Mirabel parted to allow room for Dolores, who approached with Antonio on her hip; the two teens gladly absorbed Camilo’s siblings into their embrace, Mirabel especially delighted to see Antonio back on solid ground. She took her younger cousin into her own arms and gave him a loving kiss on the forehead, before the four of them found themselves in a cozy, giggling group snuggle.

As this happened, before Isabela could toss herself onto the growing cousin pile, Pepa reeled her in by the hand and pulled her into her arms. “Your wall worked,” she sighed over her niece’s shoulder, getting misty-eyed all over again, “That was so smart of you! It worked so beautifully, it stopped them from getting away, Isa. Thank you, thank you. You helped him, you helped save my baby.”

Isabela’s own eyes brimmed as she squeezed her aunt back, and a smattering of pink geraniums sprouted throughout the length of her hair. “I was just doing what I had to, for my family. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” And she meant it; the exhaustion and achy muscles that came after such an effort was something she’d happily put herself through as long as she needed to, if it meant she was doing her part to protect her loved ones.

As Félix, Pepa and Isabela joined the others in glomming Camilo with love, one by one the rest of the family came out to add on to the mass of Madrigals. Julieta and Agustín came out together, draping themselves over the pile and finding enough room for Julieta to smooch Camilo a few times on the temple and for Agustín to nuzzle his cheek against the top of his nephew’s head. Alma came next, arriving behind Mirabel and taking hold of Camilo’s hands from there. Though she wasn’t always one for a large-scale group hug, she simply couldn’t stay out of this one; with a teary smile and a light squeeze of his fingers, she maintained her hold as she assimilated into the stack between Mirabel and Isabela. Camilo was drowning in an endless ocean of protective affection, and at this point, he couldn’t get enough of it.

Only two remained outside the union: Luisa, who was practically vibrating with desire to join and take the whole family into her grasp, and a hooded Bruno, who she held delicately in her arms. Bruno’s body still needed time to recover after its ordeal, and while he’d attempted to use that as an excuse for why he couldn’t join the others (rather than use his real reason, in that he was too ashamed and guilty to face Pepa and her family), Luisa wasn’t having any of it. Now he sat fidgeting in his niece’s hold, his hood drawn over his eyes to muster as much of Hernando’s fearlessness as possible before he was noticed - and, as he was anticipating, reamed to Hell and back for failing his duty so spectacularly. He was just as relieved as any of them to see his sobrinos had made it back home in one piece, of course he was, but his conscience still itched with culpability that nagged him for not doing more to prevent it from happening in the first place.

But noticed he was - specifically Camilo saw him from within the sea of heads and faces, and his breath hitched. Tío Bruno… This was the first time Camilo was seeing him since his kidnapping, the last image of the man in his mind being the grisly sight of him left for dead in a pool of his own blood. But just as Camilo had hoped, in much of the same vein as he did for Antonio. Bruno was alive and well, rescued just in time before he was lost for good. Camilo managed to wade through the group surrounding him to approach his uncle, prompting Luisa to carefully set the older man down despite his apprehensive stammering. Still he made himself remove the hood, though he struggled to offer his nephew his eyes.

“Camilo,” he hesitated, wringing his hands in front of him, “I-I’m sorry, I should have tried so much harder to--”

“Tío Bruno,” Camilo cut him off, already wrapping his arms around him. Bruno was stricken into silence, wholly caught off guard by the reaction; he couldn’t even bring himself to hug Camilo back just yet, befuddled by such a positive gesture. Camilo proceeded to rest his chin atop Bruno’s shoulder, releasing a shaky sigh that threatened to draw pinpricks to the corners of his eyes again. “I’m glad to see you,” he breathed, genuinely relieved that the last time he saw his uncle wasn’t the final time he would ever see him alive.

Before Bruno could even respond another body crushed him in its grip, practically lifting him and Camilo off the ground. The telltale pittering of sparse raindrops speckled their hair and faces, as Pepa’s elation became intermingled with remorse.

“I’m sorry, Bruno,” she uttered, tightening her hold on her brother and son, “It wasn’t your fault - none of it was, and I shouldn’t have blamed you. I was just-- you know, I was upset, but still… You tried your best, I know you did.” Her cheek was flush against his, more or less burying her face into his silver-streaked waves of hair. She was in a similar boat to Camilo, having last seen Bruno on death’s door. She knew he’d be okay, but in the back of her mind below the crippling urgency of rescuing her son, the whole time she’d lamented her misplaced anger and not addressing it when Bruno’s situation was most dire. “If it wasn’t for your vision, we wouldn’t have seen any of this coming at all. I just… thank you, manito.”

“So don’t go running off again, got it? Or I’ll come drag you back myself,” Camilo warned facetiously.

Overwhelmed, Bruno let his aching heart make the next move as opposed to his anxious brain. He found the strength to hold the two back with trembling hands as his breathing jittered, obscuring his face in Pepa’s shoulder so no one could see it scrunch in sentimentality. The whole group reconvened from there, everyone again tossing themselves wherever they fit and Luisa finally getting to throw her arms around as many people as she could, until all twelve Madrigals were firmly and securely locked in each others’ embrace.

Finally, at long last, the family was safe and whole once more.

The pile detangled itself eventually, almost reluctantly so, to allow the family to fill each other in on what each half missed out on, as well as individually heap their love onto Camilo and Antonio both. Julieta had produced a few leftovers from her apron and dished them out to her sister’s family, much to Félix’s eager gratitude; Camilo had received a handful of buñuelos, and upon the first bite he immediately began to feel like a brand new person. His face was no longer sore and he didn’t feel quite as tired, and most soul-cleansing of all was the complete erasure of the bite marks in his neck. Upon feeling the sting there vanish, he couldn’t help but touch his newly cleared skin and give a deep, prolonged sigh of release. Take that, you bastard, he thought, now you’re really gone for good.

Dolores stood a bit to the side as the family chatted and fussed over the two grandsons, finishing her share of buñuelo and feeling the residual pressure around her neck clearing. Humble as ever, she declined any fussing for herself beyond wound treatment and allowed her brothers the full spotlight, as she believed they deserved. But as she observed the goings-on, she heard footsteps in Casita’s doorway that conflicted with the amount of family members currently in front of her. She peered over her shoulder to find the remaining Herreras standing on the porch, overlooking the scene with a mix of relief and melancholy. Tomás held his father’s hands in one of his own, his other arm around his shoulders, and he in particular was focused on the sight of Camilo relatively happy and well. Señor Herrera seemed even older than he had been, his eyes more weary and sad than they’d been when Dolores met him on his porch some nights ago. She didn’t yet have the full story of where those two had been during the previous days, but just seeing them there reminded her that while her own family was complete once more, the Herreras weren’t coming away from this event quite so fortunate. 

Picking up the hem of her dress, she turned and walked over to meet them. They seemed a bit taken aback at being noticed, both of them immediately shrinking under her eyes as though they were doing something wrong just being there. But Dolores didn’t approach them with anger or accusations, if anything she had sympathy in her heart as she set herself before them on the landing of the porch.

“Good evening, señores,” She greeted politely, placing the ball in their court and allowing them to make the first move in terms of conversation topics; she was sure they had plenty to say, either to her or to the victim of their late relative’s twisted desires.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing Tomás asked her, having noticed the frankly distressing amount of blood staining the clothes of almost all the warm-colored Madrigals, Dolores included. Tomás pursed his lips, somewhat lamenting having to talk about this with his father present. “Did.. did he hurt you?”

Dolores’s eyes flit to the Señor, whose face suggested he wanted to ask the same thing but didn’t have the heart for it. “I’ll be fine,” she said, and for the most part she believed it. She’d been inches from death, saved only by a desperate ploy from her little brother, but she considered herself one of the luckier players in the deadly game Mateo had devised.

“What about Camilo?”

She grimaced, which wasn’t a positive sign for the Herreras.

“He’s… been through a lot,” she evaded, knowing if she got into it it would only rub salt in Mateo’s father’s wounds, “He’s okay, for now. But I don’t expect him to get over any of this in a day. Or even in the near future.” Saying it out loud made it sink in for her as well. There was no skirting around it: Camilo had been traumatized to a degree no one could have prepared for, and she knew he was going to struggle even more than he’d been in the days following Mateo’s (intended) banishment. Her brother was still Camilo Madrigal, the dramatic and charming shapeshifter with an easygoing and fun-loving personality - but he wasn’t the same Camilo he was at the start of the week, on that Tuesday afternoon when he left home to attend the party that would change his life.

Tomás seemed to understand this as well, possibly even more than his father did. “Of course,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t expect him to.”

“Dolores?”

Both Dolores and Tomás looked over to Señor Herrera, who seemed itching to bring forth a question that he was reluctant to actually ask. Dolores already had an idea of what it might have been, and for as little remorse she felt for it, there was also some level of reluctance in giving him the answer he sought.

“Yes?”

“Tell me, please,” he began, knowing very well that the family’s triumphant return must have meant their villain was defeated in some way - and like his son, he also took note of the red speckles and splotches marring her family’s outfits. Though saying his name hurt him from the chest upwards through the throat, he continued, “Mateo. Is he…?” 

She didn’t meet his eyes, and both men knew right away what that meant.

“I’m sorry,” she lied.

Señor Herrera closed his eyes as a wave of anguish washed over him, and Tomás’s gaze lowered. But Dolores noted that while the emotional toll quickened the older man’s already frail heart rate, Tomás had quietly released a stream of air through his nose - a sigh, one that suggested to her that their levels of devastation seemed imbalanced. 

“How?” The Señor whispered.

“He fell,” Dolores uttered, as gently as she could, “from a cliffside.” She elected not to mention the stabbing that had taken place beforehand, figuring that would only leave them with a worse mental image than what they already had to live with now. Señor Herrera nodded slowly, none of the three really sure if there was any actual comfort taken in knowing the cause.

“One more,” he implored, stepping forward to take Dolores’s hand in his own.

“Pá…” Tomás tried, placing his hand on his father’s shoulder and shooting Dolores an apologetic look that read, You don’t have to answer any more.

“I need to know,” He squeezed his eyes shut again, before opening them to search Dolores through a glossy sheen, “Was Camilo… Did-- did my son, did Mateo…”

“No,” She joined her other hand in holding his, giving him a squeeze that was as reassuring as could be given the circumstances, “I stopped him.”

The answer was a double-edged sword that pierced the Señor through his already broken heart. Camilo had been spared a fate so ghastly he couldn’t even speak it into existence - but his son, his former pride and joy, had attempted it regardless, only stopping due to intervention from another. Oh, what agony it was to acknowledge and understand how thoroughly corrupt one’s own flesh and blood was, unable to even ask him why he’d done what he’d done. He nodded again, smaller and more feeble this time with sorrow engraved in his features, before releasing Dolores’s hand and turning back into Tomás. Dutifully, Tomás welcomed his grieving father into his arms as he sought comfort in the wake of such soul-crushing revelations.

“Thank you,” Tomás murmured with darkened eyes, patting his father on the back, “I’ll… I’ll take it from here.”

Dolores excused herself with a somber nod, stepping away to allow the older man a moment to mourn in the private company of his surviving son. She returned to where the rest of the family was gathered, coming back into the conversation as Antonio was recounting how he and Félix had run into Beto just as they’d pulled themselves out of the ravine.

“So-- so I asked him what he was running from,” He was in the middle of his recollection, gesturing as he spun his tale to his family, “and he said he got scared by a thunderstorm that looked like a human. And I knew that had to be mami!”

Félix snickered, drawing his wife into his side by the hip. “That’s a pretty fair assumption, that’s how I’d describe her too!” The remark earned him a rolled eye and a light jab in the chest from Pepa’s elbow, but she was in too good of a mood to put up any more of a fuss than that.

Antonio giggled, adding on, “That’s what a lot of my friends think, too! I know Pico does, and so does Par--”

Immediately Antonio choked on the name, the joy in his face vanishing. That’s right… He’d shoved it so far into the back of his head, he almost forgot what happened to Parce. He had no time to think about it after a while, too focused on his own survival and on following Dolores immediately after.

The faces around him blinked in concern, with Pepa lowering herself to his level and gently asking, “Papito, what’s wrong?”

Crestfallen, Antonio rubbed at his upper arm as his gaze fell. “Parce… he’s…”

It clicked for everyone simultaneously. No one had thought to fill him in; half of them didn’t realize he’d witnessed the jaguar’s state for himself, while the other half just never had the chance to give him any peace of mind over the matter. Pepa reached out and took her son by the shoulders, giving them a light, comforting squeeze.

“Oh, no no, baby, Parce’s okay, he’s--”

As if on cue, a loud (if tired) snuffling sound filled the air, turning everyone’s attention to Casita’s doorway. Parce had nonchalantly pushed his way right between the Herreras - who had immediately stepped back to make way for the actual, real jaguar mere inches from their legs - and he’d paused on the porch just a moment to make his presence known. He gave a rapidly brightening Antonio another low meow, before stepping down the stairs towards his human friend.

“Parce!” Antonio squealed in delight, running from his mom towards his feline companion and throwing his arms around his neck. Though still understandably fatigued, Parce graced Antonio with a nuzzle to the side of his face before laying down and giving the boy more ample opportunity to cling onto him. Antonio had been so certain he’d never see Parce again, not helped by that man’s constant reminders of his apparent death, but like many other instances, Mateo had been wrong and those he’d harmed had persevered. The others watched Antonio giddily snuggling against the jaguar with endearment, and it seemed all loose ends were finally tied up.

Almost.

While the majority of the family had given their attention to the heartwarming reunion between a boy and his wildcat, Camilo’s gaze never left the porch. Dolores heard his heart rate speed up, and upon surveying the scene herself it dawned on her that Camilo hadn’t noticed the Herreras’ presence before now. He didn’t speak or voice any objection to them being there, and she wasn’t quite able to read the expression on his face - but it was clear he hadn’t expected to see them, of all people, here of all places.

Camilo probably couldn’t have told her what he was feeling if she’d asked. The last he’d heard of the remaining Herreras, they’d disappeared without a trace - he didn’t know what to make of it at the time, and now he was equally unable to put his finger on how he felt about seeing them reemerge. He didn’t think he had any reason to fear them compared to that man - Was Tomás still his friend? Did Señor Herrera still think fondly of him? Did he want either of those? - and if they were here at Casita then surely their presence had been approved by the rest of the family.

But looking at their faces, he could see features that were far too familiar for comfort at that moment.

The Herreras noticed his apprehensive stare. Tomás avoided his eyes (how do you reassure a traumatized boy that you don’t intend to hurt him like your brother did?), but the Señor seemed to steel himself under the boy’s uncertain gaze. He still had plenty to process, hardly stepping one foot into the endless mire of his own anguish and trauma, but Señor Herrera was a man with integrity. Mateo was no longer here to atone for his sins - as his father, the Señor knew he had a duty and obligation to step forward and bear that burden in his place.

With careful steps, Señor Herrera left the porch to approach the boy his son had tormented so ruthlessly. Camilo stiffened but didn’t move; his family was still surrounding him, watching the scene as it unfolded, and he knew if he needed them they would be there for him. Tomás was right behind his father, both of them stopping at an arm’s length from Camilo, and the atmosphere seemed to still from the growing, unsure tension. If the Señor still had his hat, he would have taken it off. Instead he lowered his head in a partial bow, as a sign of deference. All was silent, as Señor Herrera began to speak.

“I… I cannot imagine what horrors you must have experienced, Camilo,” he started in a murmur, his reddened eyes downcast, “I know it must be difficult to look at us, Tomás and I, without seeing h… him. I wish more than anything that none of this happened, and that you had never been put in harm’s way,” He clutched at the hem of his own ruana, shutting his eyes and shaking his head in subdued devastation, “I-I know my son is to blame for all of this, for all the pain you’ve endured, and I have no other way to offer reparations to you and your family for what he’s done.”

He looked back up to Camilo, meeting his eyes.

“If you ask us to, Tomás and I will leave the Encanto. It’s all we can do to return to you some semblance of peace of mind.”

Tomás, who hadn’t anticipated where his father was going with this, cast him a sidelong glance of surprise. But he pushed down his own feelings on the matter, lowering his own head in silent agreement.

The other Madrigals all turned their gaze to Camilo, who just as well couldn’t have anticipated such an offer. If he was irresolute before, at this point he was completely dumbfounded. That was quite a lot of power to give to just one boy, and he knew it - did he have it in him to uproot this already emotionally displaced family and cast them out, when their only crime was sharing blood with the true villain?

He looked to his abuela, seeking her for guidance on what to do. Alma simply nodded at him, her hands clasped rigidly in front of her.

“This is your decision, Camilo,” she said, gentle yet firm, “Choose what will make things easiest for you going forward. Whatever choice you make, we will support it.”

So it really was up to him. He looked back to the Herreras, who waited in anxious patience for him to seal their fate. Camilo took a good few moments of silent contemplation, weighing the pros and cons and measuring them against his own conscience and desires, before finally releasing a tentative sigh.

“You don’t… you don’t have to leave,” he mumbled with averted eyes, and the two men’s shoulders both loosened, “You didn't do anything wrong. It’s not like you asked for any of this.”

It would have been so easy to take out his hatred of that man out on his family, to blame them for all the terrible things he’d endured at Mateo’s hands and to throw them out of his home to erase the entire family’s existence. Mateo deserved it, he deserved to have his name and memory dragged through the mud and lit ablaze, to burn to cinders and blow away with the wind, never to be mentioned or recalled again. But from what he gathered, with what little information he had, Mateo’s family were innocent bystanders, caught up in the whirlwind of Mateo’s ploy and pawns he’d manipulated. There was an argument to be made that having his family bear the weight of his crimes was just retribution against Mateo’s putrid soul, but Camilo had the feeling that he wouldn’t exactly be rolling in his grave to know these two were taking the fall for him. Would it really help Camilo sleep better at night to punish them in his stead? 

No, not really.

Still, Señor Herrera was absolutely correct in assuming that even looking at them proved difficult.

“I just… need a little time. You know?” He said softly, rubbing his arm, “I need some time to be okay again. That’s all.”

Though he felt relatively sure of his logic and he could hear the other Madrigals humming in positive acknowledgement, he still felt the need to glance at Alma for her approval, as though to double check if he made the right choice or not. Alma gave it to him in another nod, proud of his restraint - she wasn’t sure if she would have been quite so merciful in his position, but she understood his reasoning. 

Relieved, Señor Herrera nodded before he and Tomás stood straight once more. “Understood,” he said, resisting the urge to take Camilo’s hand in gratitude. Instead, he verbalized with misty eyes, “And… thank you.”

Things wrapped up pretty smoothly from there. The Herreras got set up on their horse (Luisa had assisted in lifting both of them onto Beto’s back, much to Tomás’s flustered surprise) and sent back to their home with a fresh supply of Julieta’s cooking to aid in their recovery, as well as the promise that the unwanted room beneath their floors would be demolished and filled in within the week. The whole story would unfold for the rest of the town in due time, but for now, the Madrigals had full intention of spending the rest of the night in their own company, basking in the lifting of the weight on their collective shoulders. Bruno’s vision had come to pass in full and the evil creature who incited it was no more, never to bring harm to any of them again, and all of them could sleep well knowing their family was finally safe.

Camilo sat on the porch as the Herreras left down the main path, the amber hue of the setting sun washing over him and dying his world with a golden glow. The finality of it all was still settling into his bones, and a part of him still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of lucid dream where everything was right again after it all had been so terribly wrong. But hearing his family talk and laugh amongst themselves, seeing the residual hues of his mother’s rainbow twinking in the distant sky and feeling the warmth of the evening soak into his skin, he was able to take a deep breath and fill his lungs in a way he hadn’t been able to since this all began. His chest was light and open, teeming with fluttering butterflies that kept the darkness in his deepest recesses at bay. 

He knew well that things were going to be very different for him from now on. He could feel already that he would carry these events with him in the back of his mind for a long time, in a satchel of tar filled with memories and feelings that he couldn't take off. He would never be the same person he was before - but that version of himself wasn’t too far beyond his reach. In time he would remember how to be that Camilo, carefree and spontaneous, with the added armor of a renewed, definitive sense of who he was.

He was Camilo Madrigal, and nothing, no one, would take that away from him.

A future as bright as that sun was on the horizon, and Camilo was looking forward to it.

Chapter Text

Life had seemingly never been more different for the members of La Familia Madrigal.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad different, at least not all the time. It could certainly be a challenging different, and this couldn’t be more true for Camilo Madrigal, the young man who’d emerged triumphant after the trial of a lifetime.

It goes without saying that the Madrigal family took some time to themselves after the events of that day, picking up the pieces they’d been left with and rebuilding their foundation together. But as they regained their sense of safety and stability, they all gradually began to return to their usual routines within the community. Camilo understandably took more time than the rest, but eventually he himself reclaimed his status as the town’s babysitter and performer of odd jobs. It wasn’t due to Alma’s insistence (in fact, Alma thought he might have been jumping back into it a little too quickly), but due to his own desire to return to normalcy - and maybe a small case of cabin fever, to boot. With the threat well and truly gone, Camilo didn’t intend to hide within Casita’s walls forever, and slowly but surely he was able to relearn how to be himself.

There were plenty of good days, when hardly anything went awry and things felt about the same as they’d been before. But on the bad days, the days when Camilo was feeling his lowest, when the murky filth hiding inside him escaped into his bloodstream and plagued his mind, those were the days he needed the most help - but of course, his family were right there to provide it to him. They were patient and kind to him during his more difficult times; even if some of them didn’t quite understand, either in terms of the responses he had or the most appropriate way to help him through them, every one of the Madrigals made the effort to learn what Camilo needed to combat whichever ways his trauma came back to haunt him. 

In the most extreme cases, wherein something would shatter his defenses and he’d become trapped in a memory or the illusion of danger, he’d fly into a panic and be unable to find his way back to reality without rescue; on one occasion, a well-meaning but unaware older fellow had accidentally referred to him as ‘chiquito’ after receiving a favor, and Dolores could hear her brother melting down behind the library from halfway across town. Alternatively Camilo would shut down, losing the ability to say a word or focus on anything in front of him, all his processes powering off to make the perceived threat hurt as little as possible. Either way, through trial and error his family all had discovered their own methods of detangling him from his bed of thorns and dressing his wounds with petals, until he could follow their voices and return home.

But those cases were the exception, not the norm. Most often, his struggles manifested in feelings of deep discomfort that could be assuaged with company or a prolonged session with Chispi. Chispi had her work cut out for her, with her shifts as Camilo’s emotional support doubling if not tripling - not that she minded. It was debatable after a while who she spent more time with, Camilo or Antonio, especially when she took it upon herself to start following Camilo on his excursions around town. This development helped to cut down on some of the milder moments of distress; if he and Chispi were in public and a memory wormed its way into his mind, or if something reminded him of that man or any moment he’d been forced to share with him, she was right there for him to hold onto and reground himself before he could spiral.

“I hope this lady knows how much I appreciate her,” he’d said to Antonio at one point while curled up beside her, propping his upper body against her back with his fingers carding through her fur.

“She does,” his brother had replied, peeking at the two of them over the edge of the hammock he’d been relaxing in, “She calls you her Tall Son.”

That had gotten him to laugh, on a day when he’d been feeling pretty rough. “At least someone thinks I’m tall!”

His nightmares had returned, more intense and fervent than before. Reliving those horrible moments over and over again, taking alternate paths to where even more grim and ghastly things happened to him and his family. Experiencing symbolic scenes of his body being destroyed; rotting, falling apart, bursting, hosting insects and vermin, melting off his bones, all manner of inhumane fates. So often that man’s face appeared to him, whispering his ugly words and roaming his wretched hands where they didn’t belong. And so often Camilo felt himself stabbing him, and stabbing him and stabbing him, then turning the knife towards one of his hapless loved ones without a second thought. Though the frequency dwindled from near nightly to once or twice a week, when his dreams became too much to bear Casita would open all the bedroom doors to release the sound of Camilo crying out in his sleep into the whole house. Whoever heard it first was usually the one to come to his aid, gently waking him up and comforting him until he could drift back into slumber, and just about everyone had gotten a turn at least once or twice. 

But Camilo wasn't the only one tormented by night terrors. The entire family had experienced them, especially in the first month following the ordeal, to where every night at least one or two people were catapulting awake in the early hours. Camilo himself had moments of providing late-night comfort, be it for Antonio who’d awaken in tears after revisiting his cliffside peril or for Mirabel who couldn’t go back to sleep without making sure Bruno was still in one piece. Though the effect was likely no more than an afterthought to Mateo in his grand scheme, his actions sent a shockwave rippling through every single Madrigal and left them with scars that Julieta’s Gift couldn't heal.

 And yet, as proven once more, in the wake of such devastation the family persevered, stronger and more unified in a way Mateo’s treachery would never erode. They had beaten him in life, and would beat him after his death until the world stopped turning.

If Camilo personally got anything positive out of his experience, it was a reborn sense of self that he hadn't had much of a strong grip on beforehand. There was still plenty to figure out, he was still searching for his overall place in the world and how he could truly earn his keep as a helpful member of the Amazing Madrigals - but he knew now who he was on the inside. He was Camilo Madrigal: shapeshifter, thespian, comedian, kind-hearted troublemaker, mischievous charmer, adoring of his neighbors and adored in return, and undoubtedly his own person - not dictated or controlled or owned by anyone but himself.

It was early November now, and Camilo stood on Casita’s porch with a small candle in his hands. The cool evening breeze rolled gently over the Encanto as the village began to set with the sun, loose leaves in scarlet and vermilion shades rustling on the trees and drifting delicately along the air. The candle’s flame flickered in the light wind as it whistled past, blowing Camilo’s hair and clothes into a gentle sway around him. It was a nice enough evening in itself - but the date it fell on held significance that hardly anyone was willing to acknowledge.

Today was Mateo Herrera’s birthday, and Camilo was going to pay his family home a visit.

He didn’t know exactly how old Mateo would have been that day (had he lived to see it), nor did he particularly care, and just about everyone else felt the same. Mateo’s name had been more or less stricken from the public record; no one spoke of him or mentioned him out loud, and any reminiscing happened behind closed doors. Not just as a courtesy to the Madrigal family, who wanted as little reminder of that man as humanly possible. But also because that name, that collection of syllables, was the new taboo subject - and with good reason. That man’s memory had been tainted for all who lived with him, who were raised alongside him or worked with him over the years. To reject Mateo’s memory was to distance oneself from ever having fraternized with someone like him in the first place.

But he still had flesh and blood left behind, who like Camilo could not so easily forget the man had ever existed. 

Pepa had tried to talk him out of it. Even the idea of it kicked her motherly protectiveness into high gear; it was hard enough for her to learn to let him leave the house on his own again, having him waltz away from the safety of her arms and into the den that man had been born and raised in was asking too much of her. From the moment he voiced his intentions she stood in opposition, arguing that there was no reason for him to devote any kind of respect to his memory when his efforts would be much better spent on his own recovery. She just couldn’t wrap her head around why he was going in the first place, and quite frankly he wasn’t able to articulate his reasoning himself. It wasn’t for Mateo’s sake, God no - but a small itch had taken residence in the back of Camilo’s brain in the week leading up to the date that urged him to go. 

He wasn’t doing it for Mateo. He was doing it for the remaining Herreras whose table now only had half its seats filled. He was doing it for his own sense of closure, a moment to dump as many of the leeches Mateo had left on his innards into the grave with him as possible and bury them all. At least, that’s how he rationalized it. 

It took a promise from Dolores to keep a vigilant ear out on the balcony until he got home, plus a promise from Mirabel and Luisa to go checking in at the house if he wasn’t home past dark, before Pepa begrudgingly agreed to allow him out of her sight. And truthfully, those reassurances did well to ease Camilo’s own nervousness about following through with it all. At this point no one really believed the Herreras had any ill will towards the Madrigal family despite all that had happened, but no one was willing to lower their guard too far for anyone even months after. Camilo didn’t anticipate anything bad happening from doing this - but then again, he hadn’t anticipated anything bad happening when he’d followed Mateo to that old mill. Whether or not the likelihood of any random villager pouncing on him was slim to none, he kept his trust tightly bound under lock and key those days.

Camilo had stood on the porch, allegedly ready to go, for a good five minutes with little movement other than the occasional unsure sway, full of intent to get moving with no real ability to execute it. After floundering for a while, a slight nudge against the back of his leg alerted him to Chispi pressing her face into his calf. He looked down at her and in return she peered back up at him expectantly, deadpan as ever, ready to follow him whenever he made the first move. Camilo couldn’t help but give her a partial smile, reaching down and petting her between the ears.

“You’re off-duty tonight, amigüita,” he told her, “I’m gonna take care of this myself,” He paused, grimacing lightly, “At… some point.” That was all Chispi needed to hear. She chittered shortly at him before turning around and walking right back into the house, where Camilo watched her retreat over his shoulder before Casita gently closed the door behind him. He’d only managed half a sigh before another voice from above him drew him from his introspective funk.

“Are you heading out now?”

Camilo turned his attention upwards to see Dolores on the nearest balcony, her arms draped over the railing and folded over one another. 

“I guess so,” he fidgeted in place, still working up the courage to actually step off the front porch. Getting to see her out and at the ready did help to assuage his hesitation, at least to some extent. “You’re going to listen the whole time, right?”

“I’m not moving from this spot, manito,” she hummed, producing the newest book recommendation from Mariano that she’d been working through.

“And,” Camilo shifted his weight from one leg to the other, eyeing the book suspiciously, “You’re not going to get distracted?”

She bit her tongue to keep herself from giving him a snarky retort, as she might have if he’d asked that months ago. Instead she approached with compassion, leaning over the railing to give him a gentle, reassuring look. “You’re more important to me than a book, Camilo. I promise. And remember, our primas will go check in on you if you’re not home at a decent hour.”

It was worth it to her to see the small smile of relief cross over his features. Seeming convinced, he turned from the balcony to gaze out towards the cluster of neighborhoods across town, curls of smoke rising from chimneys and light from open windows looking like fireflies in the distance. 

“Okay, then,” he sighed, mustering his resolve, “I’ll-- I’ll be home soon.”

With strengthened confidence he gave his sister a farewell wave, shook off his inhibitions, and took in a breath before braving the first step towards his destination.

The walk there gave him some time to reflect on how the dynamic between the Madrigals and Herreras had changed and developed over the last months. After helping to fill in Mateo's crawlspace with concrete, there was a period that easily could have been a month and a half where the Herreras steered clear of the Madrigals entirely to give them as much space as possible. The streak was only broken when a tumble down the front steps required Julieta’s aid to fix the Señor’s displaced hip, but the gap in time had been just enough for Camilo to stop seeing Mateo’s face so clearly in theirs. From there the families’ relationship steadily began to rebuild itself, when it became clear to both parties that there were no grudges held on either side.

Things weren’t the same as they were before, but neither was anything else. Señor Herrera now was always trying to find ways to give back to the Madrigals, as acts of atonement for a sin he would shoulder the burden of for the rest of his life. But Camilo had found it in him to offer his help back to them when they needed it, as a small part of him mirrored the sentiment; the Herrera son had done horrible, irredeemable things that could never be forgiven, but in return the Madrigal son had played a part in robbing that family of something that could never be replaced. 

That was definitely something Camilo was still grappling with. He understood the circumstances behind Mateo's death and that being involved didn't slot him in the same level of immorality, but even after that time he still couldn't determine if it was right for him to be happy about what he'd done. He was happy Mateo was gone, of course, he was just less enthused about living with the knowledge of what it feels like to slide a blade into a man's esophagus.

Camilo and Tomás had started spending time together again with the rest of their mutual friends, once Camilo felt good enough to join back in on the typical hangouts and get back up to his usual mischief. Being in a group setting had helped to ease tension, to where it seemed as though the two young men were clicking back into place sooner than anyone or anything else - especially since Camilo had an inkling that Tomás wasn't as broken up about Mateo's demise as his father was. It was just a hunch, as Camilo wouldn't dare ask to confirm, but with just how little he seemed to mourn, Camilo's intuition whispered that Tomás wasn't laying flowers on his brother's grave any time soon. His curiosity was burning a hole in the back of his mind, but if they both were willing to keep that man's name buried in the dirt, Camilo wasn't about to go breaking out the shovels.

Though perhaps tonight was as good a night as ever to ask whatever questions he still had about the man of the hour.

The trek to the Herrera house was a brief one, though Camilo's nerves were offset some by just how pleasant the weather was. Clear skies, he noted, sparing a glance upwards towards the golden, cloudless dusk. He'd gotten some odd looks from residents who realized where he was going and what he was doing, but he hardly felt the need to explain himself to anyone. He’d already, finally, made peace with his mission and intended to follow it through, for his own sake. When he arrived on the doorstep of his destination, the place where it all began on that fateful Tuesday evening, he took a moment or two to breathe out the last of his worries before gently rapping against the front door. There was a brief period where nothing happened. Camilo almost thought about knocking again, but before his knuckles hit wood once more, the doorknob began to turn. The door started with just a sliver of open space, a wary eye peering out at the porch to determine who was there and what they sought. Camilo briefly wondered if the occupants had received any unkind words from those who did know what day it was, and the feeling he got from the notion wasn't a great one. But when the door finally opened in its entirety, Camilo was met by a black-clad Señor Herrera who looked utterly flummoxed by who he was beholding on his front porch.

No words were exchanged, but everything that needed to be said was conveyed regardless. Camilo's fingers tapped against the base of the candle as he offered the Señor a tentative half-smile, almost sheepish beneath the old man's stupefied gaze. But it clicked for the Señor pretty fast, and all at once he was nearly overwhelmed by such a touching and selfless gesture. His hand rose to lay over his chest and his tired eyes flooded, but no tears fell; with little additional fanfare, the Señor moved aside and welcomed Camilo into his home, closing the door behind them with a quiet -click-.

Camilo was left to make himself comfortable in the living room as Señor Herrera slipped into the kitchen to prepare tea, and he took the time to survey the surroundings while in wait. While the home was still decorated with many framed photos atop shelves and hung on the wall, Camilo noticed that a great many of them were no longer viewable. Frames were set down on their faces or turned around, obscuring the likenesses held within them, to where there were almost more hidden pictures than those still on display. But as Camilo scanned the room, he realized the ones that were available for viewing were primarily of the remaining Herreras - which must have meant that all the rest contained pictures of that man. Still up in memoriam but concealed to ease the grief, he surmised. Camilo could hardly complain; the less he saw of that countenance, the easier he would sleep at night.

The lone exception was atop the fireplace, amid the small altar of candles and flowers that had been set up in preparation of that day. Camilo approached it and laid his own candle among the rest, and while there he couldn’t help but lean in to peer more closely at the picture. It was a grainy, sepia-toned photograph, worn and stained around the edges, protected within an ornately decorated frame. The young woman captured within it sat upright in a bed, her smile weary but proud as she showed off the swaddled newborn in her arms. Camilo recognized her - and he recognized the faint tint of green to the infant’s big, curious eyes. Looking at the baby for too long incited a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, so instead he focused on the other figure. He didn’t really remember much about the woman, especially not like this; she was already getting on in years by the time Camilo knew who she was, and she’d passed when he was only around seven years old. But he still recalled vague memories of her visiting with his Tía Julieta or watering the roses Isabela would bloom in front of their house. He was pretty sure she was nice, but it was difficult for him to remember actually interacting with her himself.

The sound of a sharp intake of air behind him made him jump. He looked over his shoulder to see Tomás standing in the doorway with a candle of his own gripped tightly in his hands, staring at Camilo with an expression of stricken stupor. Camilo’s brows furrowed; he might not have announced his intentions to visit, but he thought things were gradually getting patched up between them. So what was Tomás so tense about? Was it the setting, or the lack of the rest of el parche there to act as a buffer? Was that why Tomás was looking at him like he was seeing a ghost?

“Uh, Tomás? Are you…?” As soon as the words left his mouth he realized the voice he spoke with didn’t belong to him. He caught his own reflection in a small mirror on the wall beside Tomás and almost choked on his own saliva; often when his mind wandered to faces he knew, he would lose focus and his Gift would activate on its own - and in that moment, staring at the photograph and absorbing what he could from it, his magic had taken it a step further and absorbed the very form of the woman depicted within. He was a perfect replica of the young Señora Herrera, from her loosely braided hair to her thin linen gown to the silver band around her right index finger.

With a gasp, Camilo yanked himself back into his own body and stumbled away from the altar.

“Oh, Dios, I’m-- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, mortified, and a sickly, anxious dread filled his depths as the memory of the last time he’d shifted into that woman slithered into his recollection, “I-I didn’t even realize, I-- Please--”

“It’s okay,” Tomás’s shoulders steadily deflated as the shock wore off, freezing Camilo where he stood, “I’m just glad it was me and not Pá who saw that.” His father was emotionally compromised on that day as it was, and Tomás was pretty sure that seeing an apparition of his late beloved on top of it all would render him catatonic.

Camilo could still hear his heart pounding in his ears, his own frame still rigid. “You’re… not angry?” He asked meekly, the instinct to call for Dolores gradually leaking out of his nerves. There was no cliff for him to be dangled over this time, but if one Herrera reacted so strongly to him stealing the late matriarch’s face, could he be blamed for expecting much of the same from the others?

Tomás’s brow twitched, before an empathetic understanding took over. “No,” he said quietly, pausing before his eye contact faltered. Camilo could see him fighting back the glistening sheen that perched on his waterline, just before he angled his head in a way that made his hair conceal his face. “I just… haven’t heard my name in that voice in a long time.”

Camilo watched Tomás make his way to the couch in mutual silence, his hand gripping the front of his shirt under his ruana. He hadn’t really considered anything like this before - it just never occurred to him, even though he had the fundamental knowledge - but Camilo recognized just then that he didn’t know what it was like not to have a mother. All his life, Pepa had been there to dote on and spoil him with her love and affection. She smothered him at times but he loved it, basking in the attention and relishing in being his mother’s solecito preciosísimo. When he went home that night, he was going to be welcomed back into a slender pair of arms clad in frilly yellow sleeves, where he’d get a few smooches over his freckles and he’d hear all about how much his mami missed him. 

Tomás didn’t have that. Mateo didn’t have that. They’d lost access to it eight years ago, and Camilo couldn’t fathom being without his mother for more than a few days let alone almost a decade.

“It’s a good picture, though,” Tomás murmured as he took a seat, setting his own candle down on the narrow coffee table placed before the sofa, “that’s the only one with him in it that Pá can bear to look at.”

That checks out, he thought, piecing that information together with all the overturned photos. “It’s really weird,” Camilo said, then paused, “Not the picture itself, but, you know, seeing him so young. Realizing he was a baby at one point. I mean, duh, everyone was, but… ugh, I don’t know.” Thoroughly discombobulated by his earlier faux pas, he gave up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I making sense?”

To Camilo’s surprise, Tomás nodded right away. “It’s weird thinking of him as being a kid, right?” He asked, his eyes fixed on the photo as he spoke, “‘cause kids are supposed to be innocent.”

“Yeah,” Camilo blinked, “You don’t really look at a picture of a baby and think he’ll grow up to, uh…” Do any of that. Be any of that. He wasn’t able to find the words, instead making a vague gesture with his hand.

Tomás got what he was going for and hummed, before he motioned with his head for Camilo to come over and patted the spot on the couch beside him. Somewhat stiffly Camilo complied, sitting to Tomás’s right and sinking into the soft plush cushion.

“What, uh…” Camilo hesitated, his eyes shifting back to the photograph, “What was your má like?”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for Camilo to regret asking under the assumption he’d made a mistake doing so. But Tomás was merely gathering the proper words, having kept most of his feelings on the matter and on his mother under wraps for longer than even he could accurately pin down.

“She was a saint,” he began, leaning back into the couch a bit as he reminisced, “Never had a bad word to say about anybody, always knew exactly what to do to make you feel better. Pá used to say he fell for her ‘cause she was the only girl who would dance with him at any rumba.” A tiny smile curved his mouth as he said it. “She used to work in the schoolhouse, but when the consumption got worse she had to retire. After that she’d spend her free time reading to kids in the library. Maybe you’re too young to remember that, though.”

A memory sparked from within a neglected corner of Camilo’s mind, one he didn’t know he still had. “Oh, yeah,” he blinked, “no, I remember. I think Mirabel and I were there for some of those before we-- I got my Gift.” A tiny stab of guilt panged within him; he wondered if Mirabel kept going without him after she was denied her Gift, while he was off providing for the community with his. The feeling doubled when he couldn’t recall any point in which he’d gone back afterwards.

“You probably caught her in the last years she did it, then. But even when she felt her worst, she was always making sure people were in a good mood. She wouldn’t let anyone feel bad or be upset over her sickness.” Tomás glanced at Camilo from the corner of his eye, noting fondly, “If she was still here, I bet you two would have gotten along.”

Camilo’s brows rose slightly. “You think so?”

“I know so,” He nodded, “She would have liked your sense of humor.”

A smile of his own crept over Camilo’s features.

“But,” Tomás continued, his expression plateauing, “She could be a little too good at what she did, sometimes. I think that’s why Mateo was so attached to her.” It was strange to have his name spoken aloud, and hearing it made Camilo’s shoulders involuntarily tense. “She told him what he wanted to hear, even if she didn’t realize what that meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to hear them talk. He’d tell her things that, looking back on now kinda make my skin crawl. Stuff like how he felt like he had to play pretend to make people like him, or that he felt he should have had certain things he wanted because he ‘deserved’ them. She must have taken it as regular kid-like insecurities, because she’d always encourage him. Tell him he could achieve whatever he set his heart on, you know.” His eyes narrowed, pointing daggers towards the baby in the photo, “If only she’d known that what he’d meant was, ‘I have to pretend to be a good person so no one will find out I don’t have a soul.’”

Camilo was so enraptured by Tomás’s recollection, that the abruptness of that last statement’s spitefulness caught him off-guard. But it certainly fortified his hypothesis that Tomás didn’t care much for his brother, if not outright confirming it. His curiosity wasn’t quite satiated, though - he wanted to know more, he wanted to know what the extent of Tomás’s resentment was and how deep it went. Maybe it wasn’t any of his business, but there was a world of difference between being hated by the people you tormented and terrorized and being hated by your own flesh and blood.

“Tomás?” Camilo approached carefully, “What, uh, what was it like being his brother?”

There was another moment of silence, before Tomás turned to face Camilo completely.

“Can I show you something?”

It was an innocuous enough question, but the last time a Herrera wanted to show Camilo something, it ended with an assault, two kidnappings, and a dead man. Camilo bristled slightly, but he reminded himself that he was jumping to the worst case scenario and that he needed to focus on what was more within the realm of reality to occur. Besides, Dolores would be listening and she’d come help him if he needed it. She’d promised, after all. Before the pause grew too long and awkward, Camilo threw out a light shrug.

“Um… I guess. What is it?” He eyed Tomás with thinly veiled apprehension, making sure he had a clear path to the exit and hating that he felt the need to do so.

After inwardly talking himself into going through with it, Tomás lifted the curtain of fringe that hung over his eye, exposing a noticeable scar peeking out from his hairline and inching partway down his forehead. Camilo’s brows raised in surprise; scars weren’t very common, not with his aunt’s Gift readily available to seal any wound shut and magically erase the evidence it ever existed. Nowadays the only time people scarred was when the wound had to heal on its own, without Julieta’s interference.

“I was about four when I got this,” Tomás started, “He was… ten, I think.” He let his hair fall back into place, using the hand to gesture to the coffee table. “He slammed my head right into that corner there. Told Má and Pá that I was running and tripped into it.”

Camilo went slack-jawed. He tried to visualize such a cruel thing, putting himself and Antonio in the places of the Herrera brothers, grabbing hold of the back of his manito’s head and-- he couldn’t do it. It was too awful a thing to imagine. Mateo was a sadist, yes, but was his own flesh and blood really not safe from his malice? 

“Why?” It was the question that was first and foremost in Camilo’s mind, and the only thing he could manage to push through his speechlessness.

“I don’t remember,” Tomás replied, “I guess I made him mad somehow. But your tía had just had her littlest one, so she was out of commission for a while. Had to get it treated the old fashioned way by the doctor.” 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Camilo pressed on, “But-- but he lied to your folks. He hurt you and got away with it. You didn’t tell them what happened?”

Tomás looked at him with a melancholic twinge at the corner of his mouth. “He had a way of making you think no one would believe you.”

Camilo felt like he’d been punched. God, was that the truth. He didn’t know why he assumed he was the first and only to have ever been brutalized by Mateo. But it only made sense for him to have gotten as good at his wicked ways if he’d had plenty of practice, didn’t it? And who better to practice on than one’s own younger brother? Assuming Mateo didn’t put Tomás through anything worse. The thought made Camilo ill.

“I know…” He mumbled, unable to meet Tomás’s eyes. Come to think of it, Camilo himself had been hurt by Mateo and very nearly let him get away with it. Who was he to chide another victim for keeping quiet? He knew better now, of course, but he also knew as well as anyone what it was like to be full of grime and bog water, carrying it within himself wherever he went and unable to tell a soul about it.

Now that he’d started asking questions, he couldn’t rein himself in just yet; there was some catharsis to be had in really understanding what made Mateo tick, why he did what he did and what circumstances led him to becoming what he was. 

“Do you think it was ‘cause of your má? I mean, him turning out so terrible and violent and all. Was it, I don’t know, lashing out ‘cause he missed her or something?” It wasn’t a good excuse, but Camilo knew if he lost his own mother he wouldn’t begin to know what to do with himself. He’d be adrift at sea, inconsolable. If Mateo was as close to his mom as Tomás said, maybe then Camilo could somewhat understand how one man could possibly fester into such a vile creature.

“That’s what Pá likes to think. But he was like that as long as I’d known him, even before she passed,” Tomás hummed. Well, so much for that idea. And yet, Camilo was just as satiated in knowing that Mateo seemed to have been born a freak and that there wasn’t any kind of missed connection that could have prevented all of this from happening - it really was no one’s fault but Mateo’s, who had no sense of self-control or empathy. If only Camilo hadn’t been the unlucky sucker to catch his eye.

Tomás went on, “Anytime I did something he didn’t like, or if I got on his nerves, he’d let me know it. When we were kids he’d do whatever he wanted, like hitting or throwing things at me. But when we got older, he got more, uh… subtle. Creative.” On instinct, Tomás’s hand gingerly rested atop one of his wrists, scowling lightly. “He was a fan of wrist-grabbing. He’d squeeze so hard he’d just about break it.”

Camilo rubbed at his own, the memory of the bruises left in his skin causing the ghost of an ache to throb deep in his muscles. He’d only felt it once, and that was far more than enough for him - how many times in Tomás’s life did he have to endure that same pain?

“He had his moments, though. It wasn’t always living in fear, and for as awful as he treated me, I don’t think he hated me.” For whatever that was worth, as it didn’t stop him from bashing his head in and leaving him to die in his screwed-up little prison cell. “He seemed like he was getting better these past few years. He was calmer, and less easy to set off. It actually felt like I was building some sort of relationship with him.” Tomás’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching, “I was… happy about it. But now I’m guessing that it was all because he had, uh, something occupying his thoughts.” Neither of them needed him to elaborate. “So I don’t think her death changed him, but it certainly didn’t help him any. He just had one less thing to care about, I think.”

Though he was listening, Camilo still had yet to stop holding onto his wrist. Though he didn’t get the feeling that their experiences matched completely (and thank God for it), in all honesty he was floored by just how much Tomás had been hiding - and how long Mateo’s track record went back.

“I had no idea…” Camilo murmured.

“No one did. I thought I was the only person who would ever know the real him. He got away with way more than he should have,” Tomás said softly, both in regards to himself and Camilo. He’d already spent the last two decades wishing he’d said something to someone sooner, that sentiment increasing tenfold within the last three months. “By the time I got wise enough to know better, Má was already gone. And Pá… had enough to worry about, then. So I just kept quiet.” A low huff breezed through his nose. “But I know I could have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble if I hadn’t.”

The two of them sat for a moment in silence to mull over what had been shared thus far. Camilo picked at his fingers; sure, Tomás had a point and Camilo agreed with it. But he’d been in the position of sitting on top of a huge secret that ate away at him from the inside, rotting his organs from top to bottom with no remedy in immediate sight. He knew well how difficult it was to work up the courage to speak - his siblings and cousins had to practically wrestle it out of him, chiseling away at his heart with icepicks until the frost cracked. But who did Tomás have to offer him that same redemption?

“But it’s hard to say stuff like that,” he started quietly, getting Tomás’s attention, “It feels like there’s always a reason why you can’t. It makes sense to you at the time, even though it’d be way better in the long run for you to just… ask for help. But you can’t, if you don’t think you deserve it.” He slid his sandals off to draw his knees up to his chest, propping his heels against the edge of the couch. “So it’s not really fair to be hard on yourself for not speaking up. You couldn’t have known what’d he’d do to m… to other people.”

Tomás leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees and steepling his fingers. Ay, this poor kid… He was way too young to be talking like this, and Tomás couldn’t have felt more for him. “You’re right,” he muttered, “It is hard. But getting it out there is the first step to making things better. ¿Verdad?”

Camilo nodded - he couldn’t have agreed more. It was immensely difficult for him to have done it, fighting and arguing with both his family and his own conscience before the dam broke, but that feeling of being enveloped in the other grandchildren’s protective embrace was one he’d always come back to when he felt unsafe. The feeling of his abuela’s hands cupping his face so gently and wiping away his tears, his aunt kissing his sore wrists and his mother’s rain-soaked hug, all sensations he held dear that were only possible because he’d found the courage to ask for help. Greater danger had been lurking just around the corner and their peace had been fleeting, but his family had believed him. They’d tried to help him and comfort him, and having it cemented just how much his family loved him was something Mateo couldn’t take away from him.

With a light sigh, Tomás scratched the back of his head and somewhat timidly offered, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I got lucky in comparison, but I think if anyone could possibly understand what you’ve been through, it might be me. So… if you ever want to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

Camilo was greatly tempted to take him up on that offer. His family was doing wonders to ease the struggles he dealt with daily, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to dialogue with someone who’d experienced much of the same horror at the same man’s hands as he had. On that note… 

“I wouldn’t say you got lucky,” Camilo cocked a brow, “you lived with him. You had to deal with it all the time. That’s almost worse.”

Tomás shot him a look like he’d started talking in tongues. “Oh, kid, no it’s not,” He asserted, “What he did to you and your family was unforgivable. And I don’t think I’ll ever have the right amount of words or the right way to ever say how sorry I am for that.”

…Okay, yeah, I had it pretty bad, he relented. But neither of them should have been comparing their situations; it wasn’t a competition. They both had a hard time in different, yet similar ways. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, turning his gaze back to the altar and watching the way the candlelights flickered off the faces of Señora Herrera and her seemingly innocent child.

“Do you… miss him?”

“I don’t think so,” Tomás followed his focus, both of them zeroed in on the baby as his green eyes were fixed permanently back at them, “It’s hard to tell. He was there for so long, it’s like I’m still getting used to the fact that he’s not here anymore. I don’t know if I miss him but hate him, or can’t hate him but don’t miss him. It’s tough. But I don’t love him, and I can’t really remember a time I ever did.”

There was a beat, then Camilo dryly quipped, “I can hate him for you. I got plenty of it in me.”

Tomás laughed, somberly. “And he deserves every ounce of it.”

That he does! Camilo’s feet met the floor again and he reclined against the back cushion of the couch, before turning his head towards his friend. “This sounds kind of weird, and don’t take it the wrong way, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much.”

Tomás snorted, a more genuine laugh this time, then he looked to Camilo with more life in his eyes than he’d held in a long time. “I guess I don’t have anything holding me back anymore.” The two shared a smile, basking in the glow of mutual understanding and a strengthened bond, before Tomás suddenly seemed to be overcome with a bashfulness that made him lose eye contact and fidget where he sat. 

“By the way, could you… thank Luisa for me when you see her next? I haven’t had the chance to do it myself - you know how busy she is - and you live with her and all, so I figured…”

Camilo blinked, before he connected the dots and rolled his eyes. “Tell her yourself, parce,” he lightly jabbed a finger into his shoulder, “she’d find that way more romantic.”

Tomás turned his head away, but not so fast that Camilo didn’t catch the rosy tint rising to his cheeks.

“You’re overthinking it,” he mumbled.

A cheeky grin spread across Camilo’s face. “You could do it at her birthday party. It’s next week, you know.”

“Ay, never mind!” Tomás waved his hand dismissively, not at all diminishing the flush in his features nor discouraging Camilo from intending to drag him to his cousin’s party when the date arrived.

It was then that Señor Herrera returned from the kitchen with a tray in his hands, three steaming tea cups poised delicately atop it. He took a seat to his son’s left and the three shared light conversation over their drinks for a while, with Camilo paying mind to the shifting color of the sky to keep himself from staying longer than he’d meant to. Once the tea was gone, the Señor led a prayer over the altar in memoriam of both his wife and son. Though Camilo joined, he had no prayer for Mateo - instead he quietly prayed for himself, for his family, for Tomás and his father, for everyone Mateo had hurt in his short, reprehensible life. He asked only that they all be granted the strength to carry on and face the future, so that Mateo’s lingering hold on their psyches and souls may be released and they could find their peace someday.

Camilo was glad he went. He left the Herrera house that night feeling lighter than he’d felt on the way there, making his way down the Encanto’s main road with a spring in his step that he hadn’t had in what felt like forever. It was coming back to him so naturally that he didn’t even realize it until he made his first twirl, one he’d always done when passing by the mural of his family in the middle of the town square. He paused in his stride, registering the motion he’d made, and the excitement that bubbled within him broke free in a fountain of jubilation. With a gleeful series of whoops and trills, he commandeered the vacant plaza to get all his newfound energy out through bounds and leaps and spins, all culminating in an eager, laughter-laden sprint towards Casita to finish his journey.

As she’d promised, he could see the distant figure of Dolores still seated at the balcony and awaiting his return. The closer he got the clearer she became, until he could easily make out the sight of her setting her book down and giving him a warm, welcoming smile from over the rail.

“That went well,” she commented once he’d skidded to a stop just before the front porch, prompting a pleased flourish of Camilo’s ruana in return.

“Way better than I’d thought,” he said, punctuating his gesture by putting his hands on his hips, “I’ll tell you all about it when I get in.”

“I’ll get mamá,” she stood from her chair, dusting off her skirt, “She’ll want to hear, too. She’s been pacing the whole time you’ve been gone.”

Camilo’s expression softened, fondness etched into every crease, “Tell her that her sol is home.”

Dolores beamed, giving her trademark hum as she stole away from the balcony. Camilo continued up Casita’s front steps, and as his hand met the doorknob, the embossed ‘M’ in the metal pressing into the palm of his hand, his eyes fell to his likeness on the door. 

A smile lit up his features, matched by the wide, impish grin his carving gave back to him.

He knew then that he was going to be okay, and he opened the door.