Here is @ambidextrous-space-samurai's contribution to the Encanto Big Bang!! ⏳💫
🪨 Pockets Full of Stones 🪨
The world’s a beast of a burden
You’ve been holding on a long time”
- What the Water Gave Me, Florence + the Machine
Bruno was floating somewhere warm, safe - a vast darkness dotted with pinpricks of light. He could feel his feet soaring above his head, much farther out than he was used to, and his head felt fuzzy and broad. The echoes of some unknown song hummed in the abyss, punctuated by bright notes in a higher pitch. Those notes became more prominent, more grating, until suddenly something cold and damp jammed itself into his ear, and Bruno awoke with a snort, dodging to the side so hard he nearly slammed his head into the wall. He blinked, swinging his head about muzzily until he saw two beady little eyes shining in the darkness on the other side of his pillow.
"What was that for?!" he croaked, rubbing the shell of his ear against his shoulder. The chilly discomfort left behind by what had now obviously been a rat's nose did not abate.
A shrill squeak was all he got in reply.
Fumbling for his matchbox - which he kept on the bedside table when he could remember to take it out of his pocket - he lit a sharp flare into the night with a practiced flick of his wrist. The flame illuminated a sleek young agouti with a notched ear, sitting attentively next to the dent his head had left in the pillow. Ah. Viola.
"Well, well, well. The prodigal daughter returns," he snarked, raising a brow in her direction. She flicked an ear, unrepentant. He shook out the match, letting his room return to its natural semi-dark, and blinked at her until his eyes adjusted.
Once one of Bruno's clingiest cohorts, Viola had taken mightily to Antonio during the rebuilding of Casita, and nowadays - especially once the gifts had returned and the two were able to chat in earnest - she tended to spend most of her time in the little boy's company. Bruno didn't think he'd seen her at all in over a week, and it had been at least a month since he'd seen her without her new best friend. (He wasn't bitter. He wasn't. He was happy for Toñito. It was just...a change. That's all. He didn't miss her, not one bit. Nope.)
"So what are you doing, waking me up at...uhh," he glanced around but, as his little bedroom nook was windowless, he couldn't really parse out what time it was. He changed tack. "At...night? What do you need?"
Viola seemed to have been waiting for the question, and darted forward, grasping his sleeve lightly between her teeth and giving his arm a gentle tug. She hopped down to the floor and headed for his bedroom door, stopping when she was halfway there and turning to look back at him.
Bruno scrambled to his feet, flipping back the covers and slipping into his chanclas. She didn't look panicked or particularly urgent with her request, but it was still a strange ask. Based on the company she usually kept, this must have something to do with Antonio, and that alone sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. His tío instincts were strong, and not something he was likely to ever ignore. Never again, at least.
“I’m coming, Vi,” he mumbled, shuffling about until he found one of his ruanas, draped over the back of his comfortable old armchair. It was nearly winter, after all, and even in the valley it got cold after dark. She led him out his bedroom door, and in the clear air of the upper level of the house he could see that it was sometime between midnight and dawn. Late.
Viola scrambled up onto Casita’s railing and ran along the handrail, nimble and quick. He followed her around the mezzanine until she stopped in front of Mirabel’s new door - bright, smiling, and surrounded by butterflies, her relief carving made his heart pang with something fond and proud every time he passed it.
The rat lifted up onto her hind legs, raising her nose to the clear, starry sky - Pepa must be having nice dreams tonight - and sniffing a few times before she eyed Bruno meaningfully and raced her way up one of the columns, her long tail disappearing over the edge of the roof. He leaned against the railing, puzzled, and craned his neck up at the spot where she’d vanished. After a moment, he could hear a low murmuring, punctuated by a childish giggle and a quick shush. Antonio. Was on the roof. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Casita!” Bruno hissed, tapping the railing with urgency. “I need to get up there. Can you help?”
The spindles rattled and a few tiles flapped, as if the house was laughing at him. Still, the banister beneath his hands swung out and up in a smooth, practiced motion, forming something of a ladder between the place the tiles stopped and the overhang of the roof began. The ease with which Casita had given him a pathway made him suspicious. How many times had it done this before? For the kids? For Antonio?
“We’re gonna have words about this, Casita,” he scolded as he swung onto the makeshift ladder, starting to climb. “After...I take care of whatever this is."
When he poked his head over the edge of the roof, bracing himself to gently reprimand his youngest sobrino for the first time ever (And what right did he have to do that, anyway? He'd known the kid for a mere handful of months, and he'd never been much of a disciplinarian, even with the older kids), he was surprised to find that instead of seeing a little boy cuddling with a troupe of animals, his eyes were greeted by a towering silhouette framed against the night sky - one that could belong only to Luisa. Her profile was limned in moonlight, strong nose turned up to the stars. Normally held stiff and straight and always in motion, her body had relaxed into a pensive slump as she perched, still and statuesque, on the ridge of the roof.
"Luisa?" Bruno asked, clambering up onto the slope of the tiles.
The dark figure jumped violently, clasping her hands to her chest as she spun around to look down at him.
"Tío!" she gasped, immediately looking ashamed of herself. "I was just..."
"Just doing some stargazing, Tío!” a familiar voice piped up from the darkness beyond. As Bruno made it to the peak of the roof, he saw Mirabel’s curly head peep out from behind her sister’s hulking form, glasses flashing briefly in the darkness. From beyond her, a fluffy little head leaned out even further. There he was.
Antonio waved at him gaily, giving him a toothy grin. Viola sat on his knee, looking smug.
“Hola, Tío! So you were awake!”
“Mirabel was wondering if you were awake and wanted to join us, so I sent Viola to go see!” he chirped, scratching the young rat under her chin. “Luisa thought you’d be asleep, but Mira said it was a good idea for Vi to check anyway. I’m glad you were up! The sky is so pretty tonight.”
Bruno didn’t have the heart to tell him that, uhh, no, he actually hadn’t been awake, and had actually been having a remarkably dreamless rest, for once. Viola was a devious little thing - almost as devious as Mirabel, who had clearly manipulated the situation to her advantage. She was taking in his rumpled, muzzy appearance, and met his eyes to give him an apologetic wince. She looked otherwise unrepentant, however - so proven when her wince gave way to a sly grin.
“Yeah, glad you were awake so late, tío,” she chortled. He sent a grumpy squint her way, but in the end just shook his head and swung his legs around to sit on the roof next to Luisa. She was still eyeing him warily, sitting ramrod straight and pinning fidgety hands between her knees.
“I’m sorry, tío! I know it’s not safe for us all to be up here, and it’s late, and I’ve got chores in the morning, but I caught Antonio and Mirabel sneaking up earlier, and Toñito hasn’t ever gotten to stargaze before. I thought maybe it would be okay as long as I supervised. Because, um. If anyone started to fall, I could catch them, no problem! And I’m an adult! Technically.”
She took a breath following her outburst, and gave him a tense smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but, lungs filled, she rambled on.
“But, um, you’re here now. And you’re actually an adult, so that’s...um, better. So! If you’re, ah, wanting to stay, I can go back to bed now, sorry. Have fun!”
She moved to stand, but Bruno held up a hand to allay her.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, kid. You don’t have to leave.”
Mirabel took the opportunity to grab Luisa’s arm, tucking in next to her and pulling her gently back to her seat.
“Yeah! Me and Toñito want you here, too! We were having fun! Right, hombrecito?”
Antonio nodded enthusiastically.
“I like sitting with you. I don’t get to very much.”
Luisa made a little gutted sound at that, but assented and settled back down. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, resuming her quiet perusal of the night sky, but her shoulders were tense now where they hadn’t been before. Mirabel turned her attention back to Antonio, who was asking a question about one of the constellations, and Bruno took the opportunity to settle in, crossing his legs more comfortably against the tiles. He looked at Luisa, frowning, and placed a hand gently on her back. Her eyes flicked towards him.
“It’s okay to do things for yourself, mija. Just because you want to. You don’t have to earn the right to relax.”
The corners of her lips turned up, and she tucked her chin into her arms.
“That’s what Mirabel said.”
“Well, Mirabel is right.”
He didn’t know what else to say. Luisa was staring up at the moon, conflict swimming in her eyes, and he wasn’t sure how to address whatever was bothering her without spooking her into clamming up again. A scuffling sound coming from the direction of the younger kids awarded him some time to think, as he turned his head to watch Antonio start to crawl along the tiles of the roof towards him.
The little boy paused in front of his tío, gazing up at him with those big doe eyes, and it only took Bruno a moment to parse out his intention. He opened his arms in invitation. Antonio smiled and clambered into his lap, turning around to lean back against his chest with a whump and wiggling a little to get comfortable. Viola emerged from the folds of his nightshirt and curled up in his lap. Once they were both settled, Bruno closed his arms back around the kid’s middle in a loose but secure hold, as he’d discovered was Toñito’s preference. Antonio laced his fingers together and settled his hands atop Bruno’s, humming happily.
“You want a story?” Bruno asked, tilting his head to the side to see around his sobrino’s cloud of curls.
“Yes please!” he replied. They had a system now, and what a revelation. To have something as simple as a bedtime story routine with the kid he’d lost so much time with - one he’d never expected to even get the opportunity to meet. The thought made Bruno’s chest tighten, and he shook it off immediately, giving Antonio a quick squeeze.
“Okay. What are you in the mood for?”
Toñito hemmed and hawed, flapping his knees like a pair of butterfly wings, before he lifted a hand and pointed at a random patch of stars twinkling above the belt of Orion.
“Ahh,” Bruno sighed, slipping into the theatrical tone he saved for stories and telenovela retellings. “The Seven Sisters. Their story is something of a tragedy, as most of the stars’ are. Is that okay, Toñito?”
The boy nodded firmly, and Bruno settled his chin into his hair, readying himself for the tale. He could tell without looking that he’d already roped Mirabel and Luisa in, as they’d gone silent and still next to him.
“The story of The Seven Sisters - the Pleiades - is a simple one, but important all the same. They were born to the titan Atlas and the nymph Pleione, and they were said to be so beautiful and so graceful and kind that everyone desired to marry them. But they were companions of Artemis - remember her, mijo? Protector of the hunt and of wild animals?”
Antonio gasped and nodded.
“Right! Well, they were pledged to follow her forever, and could not take suitors. They turned everyone away. The hunter Orion, however, did not take no for an answer, and continued to pursue them.”
All three listeners gasped, scandalized, and Antonio as always voiced his thoughts.
“Very right, Toñito. He was a bad man.”
“But he’s up there too! He’s right there next to them! Look!”
“And that’s part of why this story is so sad. Listen close, kids.”
Everyone leaned in, enraptured.
“When all of their rebuffs failed, Artemis went to her father Zeus and demanded he protect her beloved friends. But her father was not known to be a good man either. He decided to turn them into doves, and when that didn’t work - when Orion still followed, and Artemis stooped to beg for Zeus’s help - he turned them into stars.”
All four of them turned their faces to the sky, gazing at the little cluster of lights that sparkled so closely together their light became a glow that ensconced them all.
“While now the hunter could not reach them, neither could Artemis, and she was angry. To be placed in the sky was an honor, sure, but also a death sentence. She missed her friends, and Orion’s stubbornness had stolen them from her. So she asked her twin brother Apollo to send the great scorpion, Scorpius, to kill him.”
He could feel Antonio’s little hands tense against his own, and the breath of the girls to his left catch in suspense. Time for the grand finale.
“The scorpion succeeded. After a mighty battle, he stung Orion with his enormous stinger and the hunter died! But Zeus and Orion’s friends were angry to have lost such a great hunter, so Zeus raised Orion to the stars as well, placing him just behind The Seven Sisters so that he could chase them for eternity.”
The girls next to him were quiet, and Antonio plucked at Bruno’s fingers, brow furrowed and thinking hard.
“Yeah, sorry, kid. I warned you it was a tragedy. But look there!” He glanced to his left and saw that both sisters were following his finger too as he pointed just south of Orion. “The Scorpion. Zeus raised him, too, as a memorial and to remind mankind not to be too proud. So, every night forever, Orion may chase the Sisters, but the Scorpion chases Orion too. Now he knows what it feels like to be pursued. Maybe one day he’ll stop running.” Antonio relaxed against him, eyes fixed on the little tableau of pursuit written in the stars.
Mirabel snorted. “Yeah, I doubt it.”
Luisa nudged her lightly, and Mirabel glared until she saw Antonio’s face, screwed up in consternation. “But yeah, yeah, maybe! It doesn’t feel good to be running for your life all the time, maybe he’ll learn his lesson and stop chasing The Sisters so they can rest!”
“We can only hope,” Bruno cut in. “And keep giving them a good example to follow, right chiquito?” He patted Antonio’s belly gently, smiling down at him, and the little boy gave him a wide smile.
“That story was more about the hunter than the sisters, though. What were their names? What did they do?” he queried, head tilting. Bruno’s heart swelled. Oh, this kid. He’d been raised well. And he was so smart.
“Good catch, ‘Tonio! That happens a lot in these stories, doesn’t it? Okay. Let’s start with Merope. She’s often called ‘the Lost Pleiad,’ as she was the only one of the sisters to...”
Bruno had gotten through five of the sisters and had begun Electra’s tale when he felt Antonio slump fully against him, breathing deeply. He lifted a hand to carefully smooth the curls back from the boy’s forehead, and saw that his eyes were closed and already fluttering with dreams.
Mirabel, yawning on the other side of Luisa, looked over when she heard Bruno cut off mid-sentence. Her face melted into a sappy grin.
“Aww. Storytime always does the trick, doesn’t it?”
“That it does. Worked for you kids when you were little, too.”
Mirabel laughed, but Luisa remained still and quiet. When he looked up at her, she was staring at The Seven Sisters, a furrow in her brow. He nudged her, and she jolted, turning her face down to look at him.
“Sorry, tío.” Her face colored. “I was paying attention, I promise.”
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” She plastered on a stiff smile, and turned her face back to the sky.
Mirabel frowned behind her, and locked eyes with Bruno. She raised her brows, and he set his jaw, nodding once. Mirabel then affected a huge stretch, accompanied by the most theatrical yawn Bruno had ever seen - and that was saying something.
“Augh, I’m pooped. I think it’s about time for me to go to bed. Want me to take Antonio with me, tío?”
“Sure, in a minute. I’ve got one more story I’d like to share with you before you go, if that’s alright.”
“I want to tell you girls about The Seven Sisters’ father, Atlas. He was one of the Titans - the gods that ruled in the very beginning of everything, according to myth. There was eventually a great war between the Titans and the upstart Olympians - Zeus and his ilk - and the Olympians won. As punishment, Atlas was condemned to hold up the Earth on his shoulders for eternity. Well, technically the celestial spheres, buuut it’s just easier to say it was the Earth. Whatever.” He flapped a hand in the air lazily.
“The point is, he was this super strong guy - he could hold the entire planet on his shoulders, no problem! But after a while, even he got tired. It’s a big job. There was so much pressure on him, because if he dropped the Earth, uhh, that’d really be bad for all of us mortals, huh? So he couldn’t put it down, but it just kept getting harder and harder to manage, and it kept getting heavier because people and animals kept being born, y’know? He needed a break! The burden could only be taken willingly, though, and no one else wanted that job. So he stayed, holding up the earth, for millenia, no end in sight.”
“And he got free eventually, right?” Mirabel asked, hands fisted in the skirt of her nightdress. Bruno shrugged, playing coy.
“There are lots of different stories, but most say no. Perseus showed up one day asking for shelter, and because of a prophecy - yeah, I know, ugh - about a demigod hero stealing his golden apples, he refused out of fear, and got turned into a mountain range.”
“Argh! That’s dumb!” She kept her voice quiet for Antonio’s sake, but he could just about see her head steaming.
“Sorry, kiddo. Most of these myths don’t have happy endings. Lessons back then usually came down to something something folly of man, something something don’t mess with the gods.” He shrugged. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, on that note, I’m gonna head down to bed before I something something folly of man and mess up my sleep schedule.”
Bruno chortled, and she tossed her curls haughtily. More and more as the formerly contentious sisters spent time together, he was starting to see hints of Isabela in her demeanor - he would never tell her that, though, lest he risk her wrath. Both of their wrath.
She leaned up to wrap a very stiff and stoic Luisa in a hug, then wove her way past her to kneel down next to Bruno and collect her little primo.
“You got him? He’s almost as big as you are, now.”
Luisa shifted, sensing duty calling, but Mirabel held up a hand.
“I’ve got him! Casita will help, anyway. Won’t you?” She patted the tiles fondly, and they rolled in a wave around her, lifting into a concave dome next to her knee. She and Bruno both worked to settle the sleeping boy into the makeshift cradle, and he rolled once, sighing, before falling back into dreamland. Viola groggily curled up beneath his chin.
Mirabel’s eyes flicked to her sister, who sat morosely with her chin atop her arms, staring blankly at the ridges of the mountains that surrounded them. She sighed and leaned in to give her tío a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Good night, mariposa,” he murmured, closing an arm around her.
She whispered in his ear as she pulled away.
He hummed in reply, patting her on the back, and watched as she trekked off over the ridge of the roof, Casita bundling Antonio along by rolling his makeshift bassinet over a series of flipping tiles. At the edge, the cradle expanded to let Mirabel climb in, and Casita turned the ladder into a slide, letting both of the kids skid gently down its slope to the mezzanine proper. A minute later, after all the tiles had bounced back to their places on the rooftop, he heard Antonio’s door open and close.
Luisa seemed to jolt back to herself, and glanced at him guiltily.
“I suppose I should head to bed, too. No one left to babysit,” she said, looking down at the toes of her slippers. She didn’t make a move to get up, though.
“Well, I’m gonna stay up here a while, I think. Despite what your tía might say, I don’t need babysitting, but if you’re willing to keep sitting with me, I’d enjoy the company.”
Luisa’s face instantly lightened, and she sighed out a breath that made her whole body deflate.
He smiled at her, and turned his face to the sky. He was glad that his hunch had been correct. Give her a purpose, a reason to be still, a responsibility slyly attached to relaxation, and she will feel useful enough to indulge in some self-care without realizing that that’s what she’s doing. It had always worked with Julieta, the other tireless workhorse of the family.
They sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying the cool night air and the quiet of the house. The sound of Antonio’s door opening again, and slippered feet padding their way to Mirabel’s room beneath them, pulled him from his trance. He waited until he heard Mira’s door close, too, then turned to Luisa, mouth open to finally ask what was on her mind.
He stopped, shellshocked, when he saw that she was sitting there, tears cutting silently down her face, and he hadn’t noticed. She cried entirely soundlessly - to him, at least; he was sure Dolores would have been able to tell - and his entire line of thought instantly derailed.
“Luisita, hey,” he said, hands hovering over her. “What’s wrong, conejita?”
She jumped and cringed, hurriedly wiping her face with the backs of her hands.
“Nothing! Nothing, I’m sorry! I was just thinking!”
“About something that made you cry? What is it, mija?”
She clamped her jaw shut and turned away, clamming up just as he’d feared she would. He shuffled closer, rising to his knees, and the roof beneath them creaked.
Luisa gasped - half sob, half breath - and color rose to her cheeks instantly.
“Oh no! I - I really shouldn’t be up here. I’m too heavy, the roof won’t hold me, what was I thinking?” Her hands went to brace against the tiles, trying to distribute her weight more evenly as she began to edge her way backwards.
“Nonsense. Casita’s got you. Isn’t that right?” The tiles around Luisa’s feet clacked gently, and one flipped up to pat her hand. “Sit down, Luisa. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong, tío! The stories were just sad tonight, that’s all.”
“Sure. But what about them affected you so much?” He edged up to sit against her side, holding out a hand in offering. After a few too many moments of hesitation, she placed a hand in his, and he clasped it, squeezing.
“I just...Atlas. And his daughters. None of them did anything wrong, and yet they’ll suffer forever for it. It’s sad.”
“Innocent people shouldn’t have to suffer because-because others are too selfish and hateful to let them be.”
“And yet they do. All the time.”
Luisa breathed out an exasperated breath.
“Why should Atlas have to carry the whole world forever?”
“Because he was too kind not to.”
Luisa turned to him, brow furrowed.
“Think about it. What do you think his real curse was? It was kindness. Sure, he was sentenced to all that responsibility, but the real issue was that he refused to let it down. He didn’t want to inconvenience anyone else, couldn’t bear to endanger the people he was charged with protecting, and no one was coming to save him, so he stayed. A lesser man - Orion, for example - would have given up as soon as things got hard.”
“But. But wasn’t he doing good? Helping? How is that a curse?”
“It becomes a curse when the good-doing is helping everyone except the do-gooder. For one, it isn’t sustainable.”
“He lasted this long. He can keep it up. Even if it hurts.”
“You’re not a god, Luisa.”
Her hand clenched around his, involuntarily, and he winced. The color drained from her face, and she released him with speed.
“Sorry! Oh no. Are you okay?”
“Are you sure? I think I felt a bone crack -”
“I’m sure. Don’t change the subject on me, now.”
Luisa fidgeted, pulling her hands to her chest and picking at her fingernails. Bruno sighed.
“You remind me so much of your mamá, you know?”
She looked up at him, perplexed.
“Most people say I take after my Pá.”
He looked her over; took in her long, straight nose, her lighter skin and chestnut hair.
“Sure you do. But there’s a lot of Julieta in you too.”
Luisa smiled shyly, tucking a curl behind her ear. He continued, taking her hand again.
“For one, neither of you have ever been able to justify taking time for yourself, unless it’s done as a service to someone else.”
She twisted her mouth, but stayed silent.
“Like Atlas - you’ve both taken on this huge, inhuman task of thinking yourself responsible for the whole community’s safety and happiness, and it’s just...not sustainable.”
“We’ve lasted this long,” she muttered.
“Yes, but past endurance doesn’t necessitate future suffering. Trust me. I know the future, heh.” Bruno smiled wanly, and squeezed her hand between his.
“But no one came to save Atlas,” Luisa whispered, tears beginning to fill her eyes once more. “He had to keep going.”
Bruno’s heart panged, and the pain of it drove him forward.
“And I’m so sorry no one has bothered to come and save you. I’m so sorry I haven’t. There’s no excuse. Voluntary blindness from a seer, how despicable.” He scoffed at himself, shaking his head, and she turned to him, gaze hardening.
“But you’ve done it, too. You carried the world for us, for Mirabel, all by yourself for ten whole years. That wasn’t fair, either, and none of us came to save you.”
He...didn’t have anything to say to that. He cleared his throat, turning back to the glimmering shape of the Pleiades in the sky.
“You know, the whole mountain thing. That’s not the end of Atlas’s story.”
“No. I wanted to save this last bit for you - if you want to hear it.”
“There are a couple versions. One is a little sad. One isn’t.”
“Can I have the not-sad one? Please?”
Bruno laughed, a weary tension painting his tone.
“The sadness lives in both of them, regardless. Sometimes the difference between a tragedy and a comedy is just where you place the ending.”
Bruno smiled at her, shifting back into story mode.
“Remember that prophecy that Atlas was so scared of? Turns out it wasn’t about Perseus at all - it referred to his great-grandson, Hercules.”
“Oh!” Luisa gasped. “I’ve heard about him!”
“I’m sure you have. He was a very famous hero, renowned for both his strength of body and his strength of character. Anyway, one of his twelve Heroic Labours was to fetch some of the golden apples that Atlas guarded, so eventually he came to the place Atlas stood. Hercules was very strong, so he offered to trade positions with Atlas and hold up the earth for one day in exchange for a basket of the apples. Exhausted and so so desperate for a break at this point, Atlas agreed, and Hercules took the world onto his back.”
“He did! Of course, when that day was up, and Atlas returned with the apples, he didn’t want to take up that burden, and tried to trick Hercules by offering to go deliver the apples himself, save Hercules the trip. Hercules knew deep in his soul that Atlas wouldn’t come back to relieve him, and remember - the burden can only be taken on willingly - so he tricked him in return.”
“That’s not very heroic,” Luisa muttered.
“No, but when you’re in pain and desperate, sometimes even heroes do selfish things. Just as bad people are capable of doing good deeds, so too are good people capable of doing bad deeds. No one is just one or the other. Nuance is a part of life.”
She hummed, and tucked in a little closer to him. Bruno let go of her hand for long enough to clasp her arm, guiding her down, down, down until she could reach to rest her head on his shoulder. This too was an uncomfortable contortion, so she twisted until she was laying flat on the tiles, head pillowed on his thigh, and stared up at the stars. Bruno rested a hand atop her head, and smoothed her curls as he continued the story.
“So Hercules tricked Atlas - he asked him to take the Earth back for just a moment, so he could pull his cloak up to pad his shoulders. Knowing how much his own shoulders ached, Atlas took pity and agreed. Once Atlas had taken on his burden willingly again, Hercules took the apples and fled, leaving the titan again to hold up the world forever.”
“That’s it?! That’s so sad! It’s almost worse that he got a break, but it was just one day. Now he remembers what it was like to be free.”
“Hmm,” Bruno hummed. “Almost like, I dunno, he...lost his strength for a few months and just got to be a regular person again? Then, just as he was getting used to enjoying life like that, his power was returned to him?”
Luisa’s mouth made a little ‘o’ as the revelation hit. Her gasp was more of a wheeze than an exclamation.
“Mhmm. See what I’m getting at here, kid?”
“So. That’s where the story ends. Or, it’s another ending, at least.”
“And that’s the sad one?”
“That’s the sad one. Atlas gets one day of relief, and then returns to his duty. But there’s one more ending. And this one is my favorite.”
Luisa wiggled, much like Antonio, trying to get comfortable as she settled in for her own bedtime story.
“In this version - this continuation, rather - Hercules returns after he has finished his Labours. He had held Atlas’s burden for a day. He knew how hard it was, how painful, and he had empathy for Atlas. He was a good man, after all, renowned for his strength of character. Even if people liked to just focus on his muscles.”
He squeezed one of Luisa’s biceps, and she giggled.
“So he returned. He spent long days building and building until he had constructed two great pillars - the Pillars of Hercules - made so tall and so strong that they held the sky away from the earth, freeing Atlas forever from his terrible duty.” Bruno smiled and rubbed a thumb across Luisa’s forehead. “And that’s the real end to the story. Or, that’s where I choose to end it. I don’t know what happened next.”
“Wow,” Luisa sighed. “So he did get free in the end.”
“Yes,” Bruno said. “Because he accepted help, he shared his burdens, and he had someone who loved him enough to put the work in to save him. You see what I’m getting at, mija?”
Luisa rolled her eyes, smiling that shy little smile of hers.
“You are so loved, you know that? By this whole family. I love you very much, Luisita, and it hurts me to see you hurting. So please, let me be your Hercules on hard days, okay? Or, let one of us be. I promise you that no one will mind stepping up to shoulder your burdens - be that taking on your chores for a while, making you take a nap, just being a listening ear, whatever. Whatever you need, whatever will make your load lighter, we’re here for you. Your happiness is just as important as anyone else’s.”
Luisa’s eyes were damp again, and Bruno couldn’t say that his weren’t.
They sat in silence for a bit, staring up at the contentious sky - held away from them by the pillars agape built.
"One more piece of advice, and then I think it really is going to be bedtime."
Luisa nodded, eyes drooping.
"See how big the moon is in the sky? She overtakes everything else, she's so huge and bright. But did you know that even the tiniest, faintest stars in the sky are thousands of times bigger than she is?"
Luisa shook her head, mouth quirked in contemplation.
"She only seems big because she's so close to us. So too do even our smallest problems seem huge when we're right on top of them. You've just got to remember that just because something seems insurmountable now, it will pass. Nothing is as serious as it may seem in the moment - and the really big stuff? It's so far away that you don't have to worry about it yet, and anyway you'll definitely be able to see it coming. For long enough to have plenty of time to prepare. So. So don't worry so much. Little mistakes, little blips are like the moon when they're happening, but you've just got to remember the big picture. Don't lose the constellations for the stars, eh?"
He booped her on the nose.
"The Seven Sisters seem so much brighter because they're so close together, always. They're family, and as family, they depend on each other. They share the load. Let's be like them going forward, okay, mija?"
Luisa nodded, and yawned hugely.
"Okay, time for bed, for real this time." Bruno patted her on the shoulder. "Up, up, up. Come on, I'll tuck you in."
His sobrina smiled - a real one, wide and bright as the moon herself - and together they made their way down from their perch - two pillars suspended between the earth and the sky, taking the time to rest.
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