Chapter Text
When Camilo woke up that morning, he knew that something was really, terribly wrong.
Through a throbbing headache and an aching body, the sounds of the rest of his family getting up for breakfast seemed far, far away. He knew he should go downstairs, that they would notice if he’s missing at the table, but the fatigue in his limbs kept him locked in place. They weighed him down like cinder blocks and he couldn't even bring himself to turn over from where he lay on his stomach, his face pressed into his pillow with one bleary eye staring unfocused at his door.
Camilo’s room wasn't as endless and spacious as others in his family. It was quite quaint, with his bed and a few modest furnishings and, of course, a large standing mirror along one wall. The room itself, though cosy, was in a never-ending state of change. The walls rippled and shifted between colours and styles, the layout of the space swinging with his thoughts and moods to suit whatever was on his mind. Camilo loved his room, the way nothing was permanent, and it had comforted him endlessly whilst he learnt his way through his gift in the mirror- he wasn’t permanent, either.
Now, though, Camilo watched as the walls shimmered, fuzzed, and then settled in an empty black as Camilo’s mind drifted to blankness. Breaths slipped in and out of his lungs as though something was breathing for him, because he didn't feel like he had the energy to do even that. His eyes slipped shut, and he was asleep.
A sharp knock on the door yanked Camilo back to wakefulness. It felt like hours later, but his head swam too much to be sure if he’d really slept at all. Camilo had turned onto his back, and inwardly cringed at the feeling of sweat damp pyjamas clinging to his skin.
The knocking came again, and Camilo wondered how long he had left it without answering.
“‘Milo?” Pepa called through the door. “Mijo, it’s time to get up now.”
Camilo tried to answer her, to say that he will come down in a minute- he just needed one more minute- but all that came out was a dry sort of croak that barely made it ast his lips. He cleared his throat, scratchy and painful, and tried again.
“Okay Mami, I’m coming.” For a moment, just an instant, he hoped that his mother would have noticed something off about his voice, and come in to see him clearly unwell and take care of him. She would push back his damp curls from his face with her cool, soft hands, and place little kisses to his hairline and tell him that it was okay. That he didn’t have to get up, that he could sleep for the whole day.
She didn’t. With a gentle confirmation, Camilo heard her walk away from his room.
Camilo counted to five in his head, and then did it again, and then forced his heavy arms to push him up. Standing was difficult, lightheadedness swooping in to make him stumble against the wall to steady himself. Beneath his hand, the wall rumbled gently.
“I’m okay, Casita,” Camilo said, wincing at the rasp that irritated his dry throat. “I just need to…” Camilo made a few unsteady steps towards his wardrobe. Casita spat out items of clothing at his chest which he managed to catch, relieved that he hadn't needed to make it the rest of the way. The cool air chilled his damp pyjamas and made him start to shiver, so he fumbled his way into dry clothes as fast as his shaking and heavy body would allow.
Pulling his ruana over his head, Camilo took a moment to breathe in the comforting scent of his Mami’s soap and something that was distinctly him. It settled on his shoulders and, feeling comforted and a little bit more awake, he checked himself in the mirror.
Camilo was used to not looking like himself. Heck, his whole thing was not looking like himself. But with the distinct absence of the warming tingle that using his gift brought to his skin, Camilo was surprised at what he saw in the mirror. His skin was pale and ashy, except for the gentle blush that fanned over his cheeks. His hair hung dank and limp and he hadn’t noticed that he had folded in on himself to slouch over his crossed arms. He imagined himself going downstairs and his family taking one look at him and knowing something was wrong. His mother would fret, and Abuela would sigh as though he had brought yet another burden to her heavy shoulders, and Camilo would feel guilty for bringing them down so early in the morning.
Maybe, if he just got through breakfast he could show his mother how he really felt later and she would send him back up to bed quietly, without the whole family seeing and making a fuss.
Slowly, Camilo straightened up, and in a blink he conjured the way he knew he looked normally. His skin got its colour back, and his hair bounced around him like it always does. His gift hummed softly under his skin. On any other day he wouldn't have even thought about small changes like this, but today it felt like he was low on magic, as though he had spent the whole day shifting, and the small adjustments felt heavier than they were supposed to.
Well, it was just to get through breakfast.
Slowly, Camilo made his way down to the kitchen where the sounds of his family greeted him warmly. He felt unsteady on his feet, but managed to catch himself on the wall as he stumbled until Casita began to help stabilise him. With Casita’s help, Camilo sat down heavily in his seat at the table, and he was wished a good morning by the many happy faces around him.
Camilo smiled, and before he knew it his father was piling his plate high with the food Julieta had made. Camilo normally ate more food than most of his family, his only major contender being Luisa, who had the only other physical gift in the family. Shifting took a lot of energy from his body, and shortly after receiving his gift, Camilo had learnt that he couldn’t have stayed on the portions he was used to, feeling ravenous most of the day. If he had been left to his own devices, Camilo could easily eat double what he already did, but warnings from his mother and Abuela about getting fat and consuming more than their fair share of the village’s resources kept him in check. Hunger was a constant companion for him, but he didn’t mind it much. He knew better than to start taking more than he was worth.
Today, though, seeing the steaming pile of calentado from last night’s supper on his plate made Camilo’s stomach twinge in protest. Camilo couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t hungry, and he frowned. That wasn’t right. His hands twisted into the front of his ruana, and he swallowed thickly.
“Are you alright, ‘Milo?” his mother asked, her bright eyes flicking between him and his untouched plate, small wisps of concerned clouds beginning to form and circle her head like a halo.
Uh oh. No one around the table had heard her, luckily, but Camilo didn’t want to be responsible for another one of his mother’s storms. Her hair looked so lovely today; he could tell she had put a lot of effort into it, and he hated the idea of ruining it because she was worried about him.
“I’m fine,” Camilo said, and quickly took a mouthful of the food. He gave her a thumbs up for good measure, and she smiled, the clouds dissipating as she turned back to Antonio next to her.
Camilo relaxed, slumping slightly over his plate.
In his mouth, the food tasted bland and stodgy, and he found it difficult to swallow it all down. Camilo paused, before putting another spoonful into his mouth to try again. Surely Julieta’s cooking would fix whatever had been wrong with him all morning, but the result was the same. The pressure behind his eye didn’t fade, the tightness in his stomach didn’t loosen, and his body, if anything, grew even heavier.
He remembered Tía Julieta explaining to him once that her cooking could only heal what's broken, but an illness is his body’s natural response to infection. Nothing was broken in a working immune system, so all she could do was try to ease symptoms with herbal teas and honey.
Maybe he could ask her for some of that later.
Camilo tried to swallow down as much of the food as he could stomach, but he barely made a dent in the portion he had been served before he felt sick with it. Worried about bringing his mother’s clouds back, Camilo was quick to help tidy the table once everyone else had finished, whisking his plate away before anyone had a chance to notice he had left most of his food. He quickly disposed of it into Isabela’s fertiliser drum before Mirabel and Luisa entered the kitchen, their arms full of plates and silverware.
“Camilo, could you grab the big pot? I want to soak it before we start washing,” Mirabel asked.
Camilo, jumpy, spun to head back to the table, and ohhhh spinning was a bad idea. A wave of dizziness nearly knocked him off his feet as he reached out to grab the countertop. He had to close his eyes as the world tilted on its axis and frighteningly, he felt himself lose his grip on his magic. Camilo felt his hair wilt around his face as he swallowed and tried to steady his breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
A hand touched him lightly on the arm and Camilo flinched at the chill of it. “Camilo? Are you… are you okay?” Camilo opened his eyes, relieved to find the house facing the right way up, and saw Mirabel lean in close, peering at his face. She had a worried little pinch between her eyebrows.
Camilo jerked backwards, yanking on his gift to bring back the changes he’d put on earlier.
Mirabel’s mouth fell open with a little ‘pop’. “Wait. What was-”
“Nothing!” Camilo blurted, his voice breaking embarrassingly in the middle to make it sound squeaky and panicked. He swallowed, and tried again. “Nothing is wrong, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Your face was a little…” she trailed off, cringing a bit as she searched for evidence of it again.
Camilo felt his face heat under the attention, and pulled on a bit more magic to mask that, too. He noticed how even that was beginning to strain his energy, and filed it away for later.
“Are you calling me ugly?” Camilo tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a pathetic wheeze.
Mirabel made an indignant pout. “Hey! That’s not what I said and you know it.”
“I know you’re jealous of my good looks, but you don’t need to take it out on me, primita.” Camilo smiled, and tried to playfully push at her shoulder, before he noticed how much he was trembling, and let his hand fall quickly back to his side. “I’ll get the pot.” He dodged her attempt to grab him to keep him there, and made his way back to the table.
Fortunately, Mirabel dropped it after that, and Camilo was able to put all his focus into maintaining his gift while he dried the utensils Mirabel passed him, before passing them on to Luisa to put away. After eating the few measly mouthfuls he had managed, his body had grown even more tired and sleep weighed heavily on his eyelids as he fell into the repetitive motions of drying up. He idly wondered if he could convince Antonio to come and take his place while he found a quiet spot to curl up and sleep for a while, but he knew his mother wouldn’t be very happy with it.
“He’s too young to be starting on chores, Mijo,” she would say. “Let him go and play for now.”
Except that Camilo had been doing chores from the moment he was tall enough to reach the sink. When Camilo’s gift came in, his mother was delighted that she could have another helping hand with laundry, repairs, and eventually with baby Antonio too. At Antonio’s age, Camilo was already in the full swing of the family’s duties to the village. He wasn’t bitter about the fact. Well, he was, but he knew it wasn’t Antonio’s fault. Their mother liked to baby Antonio, make everything perfect for him, since he was likely going to be her last child.
Camilo didn’t notice his eyes had drifted closed until he passed the next cup to Luisa, not looking if she had taken it before letting go. The resulting smash onto the tiles jolted him from his musing and sent his heart hammering in his chest.
“What was that?” Abuela called from the next room. “What did you break?”
Camilo looked to his cousins, who stared back at him, panicked. He then looked down to the shattered class that had carpeted the floor around his feet. Uh oh. This was bad. Camilo’s voice dried up in his throat.
“N-Nothing Abuela!” Luisa called finally.
It was too late. Abuela rounded into the kitchen and immediately spotted the incriminating glass at Camilo’s feet. Camilo watched her, judging her expressions, and felt himself start to shake as his muscles tightened and his breathing quickened. This was not good. He felt Mirabel and Luisa take a step away from him on either side.
“Ay, Camilo,” Abuela sighed, coming closer to look at the mess he’d made. “That was part of the set that your mother got for her wedding, she’s going to be so upset.” Disappointment bloomed on her face, and Camilo had to look away. His head sunk down, and he studied where the glass glinted in the sunlight.
A lump grew in his throat. His Mami’s wedding gift…
“Lo siento,” he choked out. “I will clean it.”
“And you will go and tell your mother, hm? She would be devastated to find out on her own.”
“Yes, Abuela.”
“Good boy,” Abuela said, and left the kitchen.
Camilo squatted down and started to pick up the pieces and place them in his palm. Heat grew behind his eyes as he thought about what his mother was going to say. How had this happened- had he really fallen asleep on his feet? He heard Luisa and Mirabel silently join him in picking up the larger pieces of glass. He felt embarrassed that they had to help him like this after he had been so stupid.
“Camilo…” Mirabel started slowly. Camilo kept his eyes resolutely to the floor, bracing himself for whatever she was about to berate him for. “If there’s something wrong, you know you can tell us, right?”
Camilo’s brain stuttered, and his hands paused. Oh. That wasn’t what he had expected her to say.
He continued to pick up glass and considered it. Could he tell them? He wanted to, he wanted to shout that something wasn’t right with him and he felt like he was going to fall over any minute and that he felt too hot right now but he knew he was going to feel freezing cold soon. He wanted for his Mami to come and put him back to bed where he could just sleep. But he’d gotten so caught up in cleaning after breakfast that he had forgotten to tell her.
And look where that had gotten him.
Maybe he should tell someone. It would at least explain why he had dropped a glass from his own absentmindedness.
“I think I’m sick,” he said finally, his voice coming out an ungraceful croak. As though the admission was an absolution of his lies, his magic suddenly stuttered, and went out in his chest. Camilo groaned as he slumped forward, the feeling of his magic snuffing out like a candle leaving a cavernous ache between his ribs. He felt his cheeks grow hot and sweat prickle at the back of his neck and he saw the colour drain from his trembling hands holding gently rattling glass.
It wasn’t unknown for a Madrigal to lose a grip on their gift if their body was under an intense stress, including illness or injury, but it wasn’t exactly common, either. Luisa made a soft gasp as Mirabel let out a long, drawn out, ‘oooh’ sound.
“That doesn’t look good,” she finished.
A cool hand slipped through his curtain of hair and pressed against his forehead, and Camilo couldn’t even muster the energy to be embarrassed when he sighed and leant into it. Please tell me I can go to bed, he thought as his eyes drifted shut again.
“Does he have a fever? I don’t know what a fever feels like,” Mirabel muttered beside him.
“I guess… he’d feel hot?” Luisa suggested, and the cool hand was replaced by a much bigger hand on his forehead. There was a silence, and he felt Luisa shrug next to him. “No idea.”
“Very helpful,” Mirabel deadpanned. “Camilo?”
“Mm?” Camilo had sunk into a doze, leaning against the strong hand of his cousin still cupping his forehead. His hands had lowered, fingers unfurling around the glass, and his breaths were that easy, deep rhythm he had been in earlier in bed. He was so close to sleep, he could almost reach out and touch it, if only-
“Can you stand up?”
It felt like an ice bucket had been poured on his head. Stand up? He hadn't wanted to do anything less than that right now. Still, he pulled himself up, and with the help of the countertop, Casita, and Luisa’s still outstretched hand, he made it to standing. His head rushed from the movement and Camilo groaned again as his headache doubled.
“You okay?” Luisa asked beside him, still holding onto his elbow.
“Peachy,” Camilo mumbled. He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye, trying to ease some of the pressure there.
“Let’s get you to the couch and we can go get Mamá to come help,” Mirabel said, and rushed ahead to check the way was clear.
Camilo went to follow her, but just as he took his first step his knees buckled and the only thing that stopped him from falling face first into the remaining broken glass was Luisa’s strong grip around his arm.
“Ay, easy primito. I gotcha.” With curious deftness, Luisa wound her arms around Camilo and hoisted him up, his legs around her waist and his head to her shoulder.
The motion made Camilo dizzy all over again, and he gripped onto Luisa’s blouse desperately. “Mmf, sorry…” He mumbled into her shoulder.
Luisa just patted his back as she picked her way over the glass and carried him to the living room. Camilo found the rhythm of her steps instantly began to pull him back under, and after pushing his magic until it died and pulling himself away from sleep since the moment we woke up this morning, he just let himself fall.
Camilo vaguely remembered being lowered to the couch, and Mirabel saying something about her mother. Liusa had told him that she would be right back, and Camilo was pretty sure he had replied to that. The next thing he truly knew, however, was his mother calling his name, and being startled awake with the crack of thunder close to his face.
“Ca-milo!” She shouted, and Camilo jumped to a sitting position in fright. “Abuela told me that you broke one of my crystal glasses from the Garcias. I just went and looked and you’ve just left it there on the floor?! Mijo what were you thinking, Antonio could have stepped on it and cut himself. What are you sleeping for?”
Camilo, still groggy from sleep, cowered away from the chilling rain and wind that blasted from his mother’s irritated stormcloud.
“Mami, I-”
“I don’t want to hear it, go and finish cleaning it up now, before your brother gets hurt.”
Where had Mirabel and Luisa gone? He thought they were going to fetch Tía Julieta to help him feel better, but a quick glance around the room told him they had instead left him here alone.
He shivered as his ruana began to soak through with rain. “Okay, mami. I’m going.”
Camilo pulled himself up, adrenaline from being frightened awake chasing off his fatigue, and he moved to the kitchen in hope of getting away from his mother’s storm. Finding the glass exactly as he had left it, Camilo felt a stab of bitterness that Mirabel and Luisa hadn’t cleared it up when it was obvious that Camilo was having trouble even staying conscious. It was his mess, though, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have cleaned it up if one of them had dropped the glass, so he couldn’t blame them.
Was he selfish?
In a gust of wind, his mother pushed a dustpan and brush into his hands. “I'm going to stay here and watch you do it, so that you don’t feel tempted to sneak off again.”
Camilo’s stomach sank. “But Mami, your cloud-”
“My cloud wouldn’t be here if you had just cleaned it up when you had made the mess, Camilo. You think I want to look this way?” Camilo glanced at his mother and saw her beautiful hair had been completely messed up by her storm, her carefully applied makeup beginning to run down her face. He felt his chest ache; he really didn’t mean to upset her. “The faster you do it, the faster we can both go and get dry again, bien?”
Camilo nodded, and got to his knees to brush up the glass. His mother stood over him, the rain pelting onto his back and the wind causing his teeth to chatter as goosebumps rose along his arms and the back of his neck. Each time he thought he had finished, Pepa had pointed out another clump of shards that he had missed.
As she watched him, her storm softened to a miserable torrent. “Ay, it was such a beautiful set, and now there won’t be enough for the whole family,” she sighed, and Camilo’s heart squeezed. He wanted to apologise, but what good would it be when she had caught him sleeping instead of cleaning it up, as though he didn’t care. Instead, he stayed silent, hoping that he could make it up to her somehow another time.
Eventually, Pepa deemed the mess sufficiently dealt with, and dismissed Camilo with a pat on his shoulder. She went to return to her room so she might have another go at her hair and makeup.
For a moment, Camilo thought about calling after her and telling her about him being sick like he had planned to. But then he noticed how she tried to rub some warmth back into her arms as her miserable cloud continued to soak her, and decided that perhaps he had spoiled enough of her day already. He would let her go and get dry, and perhaps he would just put himself to bed.
Freed from the adrenaline of his mother’s anger, Camilo felt himself begin to wilt again. He made his way to his room, each step becoming heavier than the last as the pressure in his head returned with a vengeance, and all of his joints began to ache. He wanted to just lie down in the hallway, but the risk of someone finding him and telling him to stand up again was too miserable of a possibility for him. Somehow, Camilo made it to his room, and Casita managed to shoot his bed underneath him just as he collapsed forward, exhausted. He knew his clothes were still soaked, but at that point he didn't care. Sprawled over his bed, his face buried in his soft sheets, Camilo fell back asleep.
When Camilo next awoke it was to a horrible itching that tore down his throat and chest, and he threw himself up to sit, coughing. His chest spasmed and each breath seemed to irritate the itching worse. The fit lasted for a while, Camilo struggling to catch his breath between deep coughs, before finally, his throat raw, he managed to gasp in a lungful of air and keep it there. Camilo rubbed at his sternum, just breathing. He winced as the coughing irritated his pounding head, and he swallowed thickly.
“Dolores,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Can you get me some water?” He wasn’t sure if Dolores could hear him, as he assumed she wasn’t in her sound-proofed room. He waited for a few minutes, before deciding that she probably hadn’t heard him.
Slowly, Camilo got off his bed and stumbled downstairs. It felt like he was moving through a dream, like nothing was quite real. Even that small trip had winded him and he was left panting as he filled up a glass with water and brought it, shaking, to his lips. It felt like heaven going down, soothing his throat with a welcomed coolness. He finished the whole glass and was pouring himself another when his Tío Bruno walked into the kitchen. Camilo turned to look at him, his vision swimming as he gripped onto the counter, swaying.
Bruno froze when Camilo spotted him, and while it had been months since Bruno had been welcomed back into the family, Camilo noticed that his Tío was taking a while to adjust to actually being seen.
“Ah, hah, hi Camilo,” Bruno said finally, shaking off his surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was down here.”
Camilo turned to finish filling up his glass. “Is your kitchen too,” He mumbled, and downed the other glass quickly. He felt like he was losing feeling in his legs, and he needed to sit down. Perhaps he was just going to fall down.
Bruno laughed awkwardly and agreed. “Actually, Camilo, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Hmm?” Camilo said, somehow losing track of the conversation; weren’t they going to sit down?
“It will just take a second, I promise,” Bruno insisted, before stepping forward and taking Camilo’s hand. “Hey, you’re pretty sweaty too, must run in the family.” Before Camilo could ask what Bruno meant by that, he was being dragged from the kitchen.
Bruno hurried them outside, and suddenly without Casita compensating for Camilo’s unsteadiness, he began to trip and stumble after Bruno who, despite being not much taller than Camilo (perhaps 7 foot was a slight exaggeration), walked much faster than Camilo did. Their surroundings blurred around Camilo, and he felt his stomach begin to twist, hot nausea climbing up his throat.
“Tío, wait-” Camilo gasped, and Bruno stopped with such abruptness that Camilo crashed into the back of him, overcompensating and falling to land directly on his back on the grassy hill. The impact on his back immediately triggered his chest to start constricting. Oh no, not again. Not now… Camilo barely had a chance to suck in a breath before his chest spasmed and he was in the throws of another coughing fit.
Camilo rolled himself to the side, bringing his knees up to his chest as tears sprung to his eyes, his fingers beginning to tingle as he struggled to get air into his lungs before it got forced out again. Distantly, he felt a hand begin to rub up and down his back, trying to calm his heaving chest. A particularly bad few coughs had Camilo gagging into the grass below his cheek. For a horrifying moment, Camilo feared that he was going to be sick right there on the ground, but beyond the few spoonfuls of rice he had eaten this morning, his stomach had nothing to give.
“Just breathe, Camilo,” Bruno tried to sound calming, and failed. “Try and breathe.”
I’m trying, Camilo wanted to wail, but without air, he couldn’t say a thing.
Camilo didn’t know how long he stayed curled up on the grass, fighting for air amongst coughs that pulled at his whole body. Eventually, they faded, and he was left gasping as his body fell limp, exhausted. His head was spinning from the lack of oxygen, and he just had to lie there while the world slowly settled from it’s carnival twirling.
“Are you okay now?” Bruno asked from behind him, and Camilo nodded, his throat completely ruined.
Bruno stepped over him and took Camilo’s hands in his, and gently pulled Camilo up to sit. Camilo’s head felt heavy, and he let it loll against his chest. He couldn’t remember why they were outside.
“I didn’t know you were sick, Kid,” Bruno said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried,” Camilo rasped, his voice all but gone.
Bruno looked blankly at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, I must have missed it, I-”
“It’s fine,” Camilo said, or, he kind-of whispered, kind-of mouthed it. “Can we go back to Casita, please?”
Bruno nodded, and began to pull Camilo to his feet when someone from town called Bruno’s name. “Ah, that… that’s the thing I needed help with.” Bruno seemed to look indecisively between Camilo and where the voice had come from. “I just… Will you be okay for, like, two seconds? I just need to-” Bruno cut himself off, and looked at Camilo. “You’ll be alright here for just a minute?”
Camilo didn’t have the strength to answer, and just let Bruno lower him back down to the grass, before his Tío hurried away. Camilo lay, unable to move as his body grew too heavy to lift.
“Dolores…” Camilo tried again, but his sister did not come.
Camilo wished he had just stayed in bed this morning, breakfast and family be damned. Ever since he got out of bed, his day had gone from bad to worse. He felt utterly terrible, and he realised that even without his gift hiding his pale skin or flushed cheeks, nobody had stopped to ask him if he was okay. Not even his mother.
Camilo tried to summon his gift then, even to add a few more freckles along his nose, to feel its warmth as his skin grew cold, but all that replied to his call was an emptiness that caused Camilo to invonilatrity sob in despair. He tilted his head up and gazed at Casita, upside-down looking just as beautiful. “Someone, help me…” he said, and hot tears spilled out from his eyes, slipping down into his hairline. Camilo couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, but exhausted, Camilo didn’t know what else he could do. Another sob bubbled and burst from his aching chest. It was such a beautiful day, but the light clouds that drifted over him blurred and wobbled in his vision as he hiccuped again. Camilo curled into a tight ball, pressing his knees to his eyes as his tears dampened the material there.
Suddenly, a glow appeared through his closed eyes, and Camilo opened them to find that spots on in the grass where his tears had fallen were shining bright with a golden light. The light spread, running under him and shining all around him bright enough that he had to close his eyes again. All at once, Camilo felt his gift flicker to life again in his chest, and in the same moment, a comforting warmth wrapped itself around Camilo, and pulled him to unconsciousness. He went willingly.
Camilo only remembered a few small moments of the days following.
Camilo was being lifted. It must have been Luisa, because Camilo was too big to be carried by anyone else anymore.
“Oh, my baby! Mi pobrecito, oh,” Camilo heard his mother say as he was cradled in her arms just like she used to do when he was still small enough. His chest bloomed with love, but something felt off.
Confusion clouded Camilo’s mind, but he was too tired to figure it out, and just let go. He fell again.
Something ice-cold was pressed to his bare chest, and Camilo gasped involuntarily.
“That’s good, at least his reflexes are alright,” Someone said, and the cold thing grew warmer as it stayed pressed to his skin. “His lungs, though. His breathing is…”
His father’s arms around him, bobbing gently. His father’s voice as he sang softly, softly:
“Sana que sana,
Colita de rana,
Si no sanas hoy,
Sanarás mañana.”
A kiss to Camilo’s temple, and the song began anew.
“Sana que sana…”
“Mamá, I just don’t understand. Why would the Encanto do this to him?”
A hand petted though his hair softly, slowly, over and over. His mother’s soft and cool hands pushing his curls from his face.
“I don’t know, Mija. The Encanto must know that perhaps Camilo needed to be cared for this way for a little longer. If he had stayed the way he was, his illness would have been quite serious.”
… This way?
Quiet, mouse-like cries from beside him.
“Abre los ojos, hermanito… please, just open your eyes. We miss you. We’re sorry…”
When Camilo woke up, really woke up, he opened his eyes to find his room was empty. His mind, working like syrup through how he had gotten here, didn’t manage to bring anything up aside from broken memories of half-conversations and the feeling of his parents holding him again like he was little.
Similarly, his room seemed to be in a state of sleep itself, its shape and pattern flowing slowly, like a breath, not like the erratic shifting that accompanied his waking thoughts.
What… had happened? The last thing he truly remembered was lying on the grass outside Casita, wishing that someone, anyone would come and help him. Had someone found him there after he had fallen asleep?
Camilo sat up, and noticing that he felt much better, he immediately found out that something else was wrong. He was… very small. Camilo climbed out of his bed in a hurry, having to wiggle himself to plant one foot onto the floor and then the other before he could turn to his mirror. Had he shifted in his sleep again? Who-
His eyes landed on the figure in the mirror, and he gasped. It was him. Not him him, but himself as he was a long time ago. Cautiously, Camilo stepped closer to the mirror, putting a hand to his face, still rounded with baby fat. His hair was cut short, lighter than it grew to be as he got older. He looked just like he did just before he got his gift. So familiar, and yet so strange to be back in this skin again.
Nothing about him was permanent…
“Camilo!”
His bedroom door flew open, and there, flustered and out of breath, was Dolores. Behind her, equally out of breath, were his mother and father. A rainbow bloomed above his mother’s head.
“Wait! Don’t let him go back to sleep yet!” Antonio yelled, and Camilo heard his little footsteps tapping down the hall towards them.
Pepa pushed past Dolores, and scooped up Camilo. Just like how she had when he was this little, just like he remembered from when he was asleep. “Oh, my baby boy!” Pepa wailed. “Camilo, my baby, you’re awake!”
Camilo, staring at himself in the mirror over his mother’s shoulder, was unable to speak. He felt his father’s big arms encircle his mother and himself, and he continued to stare.
“Mami…” Camilo finally managed to choke out. Pepa quietened her sobs instantly to hear him. “What… what’s going on? Why do I look like…” He pointed at himself over her shoulder, but the sight of his small arm and hand caught his attention. “What happened to me?”
Pepa lowered him down to sit him on the edge of his bed, while her and Felix crouched down in front of him. Quickly, Camilo was flanked by Dolores, who had never looked so tall, and Antonio, who might even be taller than Camilo is right now.
“Mijo, we think the Encanto has done this to you. What is the last thing you remember?”
“Lying in the garden,” he said. “Tío Bruno had left me there and I…” He swallowed. “There was a light.”
Pepa’s face melted into a smile, and Camilo figured that was probably the right answer.
“We found you covered in the Encanto’s light, lying just there where Bruno had left you. When the light disappeared, you were just like this.” She paused, and Camilo saw her throat bob. Her eyes became glassy. “Mijo, you were so sick. Abuela thinks the Encanto did this to keep you safe, to get us to finally look at you, because- because-” Her voice wobbled, and she bit her lip, a tear falling down her blushed cheeks.
“Because we weren’t there for you when you needed us,” Felix finished. “Mi vida, I am so sorry.”
“I…” Camilo said, and he had to take a steadying breath before he continued, turning to his sister. “I called for you, Dolores. Where were you?”
Dolores looked at him, and she pursed her lips. Her hand came up to comb through his hair, and Camilo saw her face crumble the tiniest bit. “I was in my room,” she said, her voice breaking around the words. “I… I couldn’t hear you.”
Camilo stared at his hands. No matter how many times he had called, she would not have heard him. He didn’t know if the knowledge made him feel better- that she had not simply ignored him- or worse- that she would have never come.
“Where were Mirabel and Luisa? They… they saw my gift disappear. And then they left me.”
There was a long silence, and Camilo’s heart began to sink.
“We were setting up a surprise early birthday party, Mijo.” Felix said slowly. “For Dolores. We told her to stay in her room so that she didn’t spoil anything. Mirabel and Luisa found your Tía to help you, but she was in the middle of cooking and couldn't leave the plates until much later, when you were already gone. Everyone was… everyone was really busy.”
Camilo stared at his father. “Busy,” he repeated, the word dry and bitter in his mouth. Camilo had always suspected, way down deep, that perhaps he wasn't as important as other members of his family, and having it confirmed to him hurt more than anything he'd ever experienced. A lump grew in his throat, and he tried to swallow it down.
They’d all been… busy. With something for Dolores.
Camillo didn’t want to look at them anymore. He dipped his head, and in the silence the small taps of his tears hitting his hands as they twisted into the hem of one of Antonio’s old shirts were as loud as his own voice.
“Mi vida-”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted his father, trying to swallow back the tears. “I get it. I understand.” Please don’t say any more.
Two small arms wrapped tightly around him. Antonio pulled Camilo in, burying his face in Camilo's mussed curls. “We love you so much,” Antonio whispered. “I’m sorry if sometimes we are bad at showing it.”
“We love you, ‘Milo,” Mami said, and she pushed his hair away from his face while Antonio held him. “We won’t ever leave you like that again. Never ever.”
Camilo had needed to hear that. He had needed that promise for so long, as Antonio and his sister continued to shine, he had needed that promise. Something chipped, and cracked in his chest, and suddenly he was crying. It wasn't the swallowed hiccups from the garden. Camilo drew a breath in, and wailed into his brother. His whole body shaking with it as deep, heavy sobs racked his frame.
Wordlessly, his mother pulled him from Antonio's arms and held him tight. She hushed him, and smoothed his hair, and rubbed his back. His hands twisted into her dress, his tears leaving damp stains on her collar. She didn’t care, she didn't scold him for being a cry baby, or for getting snot on her fresh dress.
In the next moment, Camilo was back as his old self. He felt his hair flop down to his ears, his ruana settling on his shoulders as golden lights glittered to embers around them. Still wrapped in his mother’s arms, he felt right again, his right size again, and his right self again. He didn’t want to let go of her just yet, and she didn't make him. His father’s hand came to rub at Camilo’s back until his shuddering cries had died down to sniffles and hiccups
When he pulled away, Pepa let him. She smiled at him as she pushed the last stray tears from his cheeks with her palms. The rainbow above her head hadn’t wavered or clouded. She was happy, not because of anything he had done, but just because he was there, and that was enough proof for now.
“When did you grow up so fast?” she said, her laughter wet with tears.
“Just now,” Camilo said back, and his father howled.
Pepa smiled endearingly. She pushed back his hair, and kissed him on his hairline. “You’ll always be my baby.”