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.