Bruno Madrigal Oneshots

Little Talks (3)

by Metaphoricaltigers on Ao3

warnings: crying, confrontation, internalized ableism

Summary: After decades of frustration, Bruno and Alma finally get through to each other.

He wanted so badly for his mother to love him. And there were times when she was very kind to him. But more and more those times seemed to be outnumbered by the times she was disappointed in him. He was trying so hard and it was like she couldn't even see it.

He got up every day, did his chores, helped his mom or his sisters in the town or allowed people up into his room for visions. By the end of the day, sometimes he was so exhausted or miserable from the visions he had or people's reactions to him, he could barely walk in a straight line, barely speak, barely lift food to his mouth and chew and swallow.

"Bruno, listen to me when I'm talking to you," his mother would snap, and he would lift his head and eyes to her like he was moving in slow motion. She was trying to give him some task to do, or tell him his behavior was bothering people in town, or pointing out something he'd failed to do again.

"Don't look at me like that," she would say. He was just looking at her normally.

"This is my face, Ma."

"If you cannot pay attention, I'll help you." The tiles lurching and Bruno gripping tightly to his seat as his chair was unceremoniously relocated to Alma's side. Julieta giving him a sympathetic glance as she passed his plate back to him. The older he got, the more humiliating it was when his mom treated him like a sullen teenager.

She didn't seem to see how hard he was trying. Or, as Julieta tried to explain, she did see how hard he was trying, but she didn't know what to do about it, and she didn't know why he had to try so hard. She was working hard to be an essential member of the community, constantly helping others in need and delegating responsibility. He was barely holding it together with the one thing he had to do, the one thing he was good at.

He adored his sisters' children. But as they got older, he felt like he had to stay away from them when he wasn't doing well. Little Luisa was so perceptive, and she would notice if he was visibly shaken and rest her chubby little hand on his arm and say, "Tío Bruno, are you okay?"

"No," he remembers answering once. "I had to do a vision today where someone died, and it was really sad. And the person who asked me to do the vision got really mad and they were crying and everything... it was bad."

"Why did you have to do a vision?"

"That's my job, sweetie."

His mother confronted him after this interaction.

"You cannot tell the children when you're suffering. You are the adult. You must be strong for them."

He knew that's what she had to do for him and his sisters, after their father died. And he appreciated it, really. Probably. Things probably would have been worse if she had been visibly miserable during their childhood. But he wasn't as strong as her. He couldn't focus on his work, because his work was the thing that was hurting him. He couldn't push the pain down into his body the way other people seemed to do it.

So instead he stayed away from the kids when his mental health was in the gutter. And then he missed them horribly and felt guilty that he wasn't there for them. It was a self perpetuating cycle. He crept around the house at night and reheated the leftovers from dinner and ate alone at the table. The thought that he was letting his family down with his own misery kept him awake at night when the visions didn't.

He was so weak compared to his sisters and his mother. Not even getting into his father, the guy who literally walked out into the river and died trying to protect them. He would look at the portrait of his father where it hung in the hallway. His mom used to tell him how much he resembled her Pedro. She said it affectionately, but all Bruno could see was that he looked like a smaller, uglier, sadder version of his dad. Not that he cared much about his appearance, but it just seemed to outwardly display what he knew to be true about himself. He was such a disappointment.