Bruno Madrigal Oneshots

Little Talks (1)

By Metaphoricaltigers on Ao3

warnings: crying, confrontation

summary: After Bruno returns, there are a lot of conversations he needs to have. But he doesn't like crowds, so he has to have them one at a time.

Mirabel.

She wants to make her family proud. She loves them so much, and so boldly, an homage to each of them embroidered on her clothes. She thinks she's hurting them. She thinks it's her responsibility to save them. She's fifteen years old.

He's embarrassed that she has to see him like this, but he's never really been any other way. He allows her into his room, lets her look at the structures he's built onto the walls and ceiling for the rats to climb on. She's uncomfortable but not horrified. He shows her the TV he made, sings the praises of his kitchen-adjacent room, tries to distract her from the depressing life he's constructed for himself. She sees right through him immediately.

She does have a gift. He catches onto that very quickly. She sees right into you, sees your flaws, holds them in her hands. Gently. In all her awkwardness, her eagerness to please, she grabs onto what you hate about yourself and doesn't let go. Brings it into the light and shows it to you without judgement. She's the best of them.

The family reunion thing is.... a lot for him. He knows everyone there, of course, but his presence is a novelty for everyone else. And he's always hated being the center of attention.

When they start constructing the new house, Bruno quietly finds a way to be helpful before anyone has a chance to talk to him. He has the extremely niche skill of very accurately drawing shapes on the ground with sand, and he also knows the exact size and shape of every room in their house. Six paces, knock knock knock knock knock (this time in his mind because there isn't any wood), another ten paces. If anyone else does it, the shapes of the rooms might be slightly wrong, and it will bother him for literally the rest of his life.

When the real construction is underway, of course, Bruno can make the plaster. It isn't too different from the spackle he used to try to hold the house together. Only with a bucket on his head, though. The bucket is a critical step. With his fluffy hair filling the space between his skull and the inside of the metal bucket, he is perfectly cocooned in his own dark, quiet world. He hums to himself, his own voice echoing in his ears as he sits cross-legged on the ground and mixes the dry ingredients and the water for hours. People come by to ask for plaster and he always has more for them.

Mirabel is the first person to come check on him as the first day of construction wraps up. He sees the familiar pair of magenta shoes, then her bunched up skirt as she kneels in front of him. Bruno sets aside his trowel and lifts the rim of the bucket high enough to peek out.

"Are you doing okay, Tío Bruno?" she asks him quietly. Her face is sweaty and flushed, her clothes dirty from working on the house, but she looks at him attentively with a smile on her lips.

Bruno hasn't spoken for hours, so instead of jumping straight to verbal speech he shoots her a grin and a thumbs-up.

"C'mon, Bruno." Mirabel laughs, knocking gently on his bucket. "You had a big day.... saving me from the horrible wrath of Abuela this morning..." Bruno feels his face flush. "Talking to the family for the first time in a decade.... what's on your mind?"

Bruno sighs, instinctively pinches some salt out of his shirt pocket and tosses it over his shoulder as he gets ready to talk.

"This doesn't feel real," he confesses to her quietly. "Our house.... look at it." He gestures at the wreckage around them, the people milling around their home rebuilding the walls and constructing tiles for the new floors.