Bruno Madrigal Oneshots

Glowing

by Sokkas_First_Fangirl on Ao3

warnings: none

summary: a study in the Madrigal triplets, their relationship, and their cuddle piles throughout the years.

here's a happy one for you guys

"Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully across my memory. Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember; things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember...And a song someone sings...Once upon a December." - Once Upon A December, Anastasia

Age: 6 months

If there was one thing Alma could count on in regards to her baby triplets, it was that they seemed to soothe each other like nothing else could. Right from birth, their bond had been something special, something to marvel at.

And, oh, had she marveled. Her three little babies, her miracles, the greatest gifts Pedro had ever given her. So small, so delicate, so beautiful.

Julieta, her eldest, the calmest of the three. So long as Julieta had her siblings close-by, she was content. When she woke up wailing at night, she would quickly be calmed by the mere sight of her siblings. She was a smiley baby, often smiling at nothing at all, waving her little hands and giggling at anything and everything. Give her a cuddle and something pretty to look at, and she was content.

Pepa, the middle triplet, the heaviest baby; the most robust, the loudest. Pepa was born opinionated. She'd shriek and wail when unhappy, waving her fists and kicking her legs. Her giggles were louder than Julieta's, more high-pitched, almost like gleeful screams instead of giggles. She'd pull on Alma's hair, squeeze Pedro's nose, sometimes slap at her brother and sister for attention.

Bruno, the youngest- "the baby-baby," as Pedro had teased. He was the smallest of the triplets, the most timid. When introduced to something new, he'd bury his face against Alma's shoulder, whining until he was certain it was safe. He didn't like to be put down; like Julieta, he loved a good cuddle, maybe even more so than his big sister. He was happiest curled up against his sisters or in Alma's arms, making his displeasure known whenever she put him down. He used to cling to Pedro like that, but...But...

Don't think about it.

But the thought was never far from her mind, not really. Try as she might, she could never truly banish the image of Pedro, her beloved Pedro, walking to his death. Walking into that river, hands raised in surrender. Pleading for mercy.

His blood staining the machete, spiraling in the water.

It was one of those nights, Alma thought, resigned. She couldn't sleep like this. She felt too wound up, too tense. Prepared to grab her children and flee at a moment's notice. She sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in her black shawl and trying to keep her breathing slow and steady. She couldn't afford to break down. She had a village to lead, a miracle to protect, her babies to keep safe...

Her babies.

They were so quiet. Normally Pepa snored, Bruno snuffled and Julieta tossed and turned. But they were quiet. Why were they so quiet?

Sudden terror seized her and Alma practically leaped off the bed and hurried to the three cribs. In her exhausted, anxious state, she'd placed them all in Julieta's crib earlier.