Bruno Madrigal Oneshots

So Que Tu Haces, No Es Amor

by RebeccaMeyers12 on Ao3

warnings: self-harm, anxiety, ocd thoughts/actions, disordered eating

Summary: When the magic returned, Bruno's visions did as well. His method of stopping them is not exactly the best.

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Bruno whimpered quietly to himself, rubbing his hands furiously, then up and down his arms, digging the nails in. He clenched his eyes shut hard, teeth grit against the impending prophecy. His head ached with an agonizing migraine, tiny sparks flashing in his vision. A green haze flooded his mind.

"Knock, knock, knock on wood." He muttered. There was no wood. Quick- find some. The countertops! He knocked the surface, then his head, wincing at the additional pain, and then knocked at the countertop once more, for good measure. He braced the edge of the table, then, as his vision faded in and out with the prophecy soon to emerge.

"Please," He mumbled. "No no no. Knock on wood, kn-knock on wood..." He hissed through his teeth, then bit his lip.

Antonio with his little hand covered in blood...

"No." Bruno gasped.

Blood dripping to the floor...

"No!" Bruno shouted. "No! Knock on wood, please, please... Please stop!" He shoved his hands under his ruana and raked his jagged fingernails against his bare arms, drawing blood in long, thin lines. He groaned in pain as his vision finally surrendered to the green haze, and his jaw dropped lower lip bleeding.

Antonia rushing through the casita, clutching his little hand, covered in blood... Then, Mirabel with her face full of terror and fear... then, Julieta and Pepa and Felix, terror, and nausea on their faces...

So much green... above all, so much green...

A single fist, driven into his left temple was enough to end the visions. Bruno stood there swaying haphazardly, fist still raised, panting. He had fallen into a cold sweat. Around him, Casita rattled the countertops and floor tiles in concern.

During the years of isolation, Bruno had foregone any fortune telling-rituals entirely, preferring instead to patch the cracks in the walls, eavesdrop here and there in any familial conversations, (hey, he was still part of the family, it was okay.), and talk to the rats. The day Miribel had arrived was the first time he had made a prophecy in ten years.

The visions, though, they never left. They came to him as often as they pleased, and they ranged from random and harmless, (The village widow will pick marigolds in the meadow two weeks from now,) to frightening and specific. (The midwife will fall down the stairs and break her leg, as a result, Mrs. Alverez the teacher will nearly die in childbirth, were it not for Julieta, who will make emergency buñuelos and save her.)

These visions became more and more frequent as Casita began to crack. Visions that had come once every day or so, now came nearly every hour, sometimes more, filling his head with a green venom, splitting his head in two, turning his eyes bright green, and burning them like acid. He had begun to develop a pain in his jaw from the constant clenching of his teeth, and his arms sported constant scratches and scars. He wouldn't have suffered so much, if only he had more access to Julieta's cooking, but the visions had intensified his anxiety such that he dared not to even venture to the kitchen.

It hadn't been until one day, the shaking and cracks shook loose a brick from the wall. He had been teetering on the edge of a vision, eyes blind to all but the prophecy, panting and shaking with the pain of trying to withstand it, when suddenly, the brick hit him square on the head, knocking him to the ground.