Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There had always been something different about Mirabel.

Born into an extraordinary, talented, popular family, many believed she would’ve been just as smart, just as amazing, just as special as the rest of them. Her mamá, Julieta, was a famous doctor. Her hermana Isabela worked as one of the brightest scientists at the Life Foundation. Her other hermana, Luisa, was a brilliant, hard working constructionist. Even her primo Camilo had the highest GPA in their entire high school. 

Each member of the Amazing Madrigals was extraordinary.

Except Mirabel. 

Mirabel, who received mediocre grades, who wasn’t athletic or popular or anything really. A blip in the Madrigal Family. A stain. A disappointment. A quiet, lonely, ordinary girl who suffered from asthma and couldn’t focus in class, too distracted by everything around her. Mirabel Madrigal, with her clunky glasses and C-average grades who stumbles around as if she had two left feet.

How could someone so ordinary be born into the Perfect, Marvelous, Amazing Madrigals?

Many had asked that question — including Mirabel herself. Perhaps she had been adopted, some speculated. Maybe she’s not actually Señor Agustín and Señora Julieta’s daughter, others whispered.

Even Camilo had joked once: “You’re actually adopted.”

Mirabel had burst into tears immediately, shocking both of them. She shouldn’t have been so affected by those words — meaningless and teasing as they were when her primo had said them. But they had hurt.

Dios mío, did they hurt.

Maybe they wouldn’t have, if things had been different when she was with her familia. Maybe, if she knew they were proud of her no matter what her grade was or if she got another detention because she was tapping her foot a little too loudly on the ground in class, those words wouldn’t have hurt. If her family encouraged her, supported her, loved her, maybe those words wouldn’t have affected her at all.

But that didn’t happen, so those words hurt. They hurt, like prodding an open wound deep in her chest that’ll never stop bleeding. 

Because her family was ashamed of her. Ashamed of her mediocre grades and clunky glasses and constant school detentions. They were ashamed of the stain she brought to the Madrigal name. They acted like she wasn’t there, couldn’t even look her in the eyes. 

Unless she did something that brought her Abuela Alma’s attention, honed in on her like she’s the only thing to ever exist. In her eyes, there would lay that familiar, bitter disappointment-anger-shame.

Mirabel doesn’t remember the last time her abuela looked at her with love.

Sometimes it’s best for some people to simply step aside, Alma would tell her.

Don’t get in the way, Mirabel hears.

Isabela, her hermana major. Isabela, the girl who used to take Mirabel to the park to make flower crowns. Isabela, her sister who she used to go to for protection when a storm rumbles outside her window. Isabela, the one person she had been closest to when they were kids. 

Isabela — amazing, smart, perfect. Señorita Perfecta.

If you weren’t trying so hard, you wouldn’t always fail so miserably, Isabela would sneer.

Just stop trying, Mirabel hears.

The years go by — one, two, three, and onwards — until Mirabel is fifteen. She draws in on herself, becoming quiet and secluded at Casita just like she is at school. Small and overlooked. Ordinary, imperfect Mirabel Madrigal, who clearly has nothing to offer that her family wants.

Until, a school field trip to the Life Foundation where a spider bites down on the back of her hand. 

And, suddenly, small, weird, imperfect Mirabel Madrigal isn’t so ordinary at all.

__

The following hours when Mirabel stumbles into her room at Casita — an apartment building her family owns — is drowned out in a daze. She’s feverish and sickly, the bite on the back of her hand swelling bright red, her veins bulging against her skin. She sweats so much it soaks through her clothes, her curls matted against her forehead and sticking to the sides of her face. 

Her vision swims, dark spots floating her ceiling as she stares up at it, eyes glazed.

She thinks she’s dying, but she still doesn’t call out to anyone. Even if she wanted to, she doesn’t think she could. There’s a lump in her throat, mouth dry and lips cracked as she withers in agony on her bed, clawing at her chest like her heart is about to burst from her ribcage.

She doesn’t remember blacking out, only that suddenly the pain was gone.

__

When she wakes up, Mirabel isn’t the same.

Her vision is sharper. Her senses are dialed up. She can hear everything and see everything. She accidentally rips the curtain rod from above her window and then sticks to the side of the building with her bare feet when she tries to get fresh air.

Everything is wrong. So, so wrong. 

Yet, she doesn’t tell anybody.

__

Mirabel had always secretly been one to idol superheroes — especially the Encanto. From Bloom to Hercules to Mirage to Tempest to Alchemist to even the leader of the Encanto, Matriarch herself. She idolized them, just like the rest of the city did. The team kept them all safe for years despite expecting nothing in return. They fought and bled for the people of the city.

Ever since the death of Miracle, one of the founders of the Encanto and Matriarch’s partner, the heroes had vowed safety over the city.

Never again shall another perish, Matriarch had promised. We will do everything in our power to keep the people of this city safe. 

Mirabel had never thought of the things they endured to keep them safe. The pain of a long worn battle and the blood that’s spilled during a fight. She never thought of the suffering they endured just to push through another day to stop the criminals that wreak havoc on the innocent people of the city.

At least, until she was one of them.

__

The first person Mirabel saves is a teenager around her age, held at gunpoint. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, doesn’t know how to fight or even defend herself, but she has these powers and she can’t just not use them. Not when someone is in danger. 

When Mirabel was seven years old, she would rewatch old interviews when Miracle had been alive. She remembers the sun reflecting off his golden suit, remembers the way colors seemed to ripple across the fabric like warm fire of a candle.

“Why do you do this?” an interviewer had once asked him.

Miracle had smiled at the camera, fond, warm brown eyes flashing from under his mask. “I was blessed with these powers,” he had answers, voice honest and open, smooth like honey. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But…but, one day, I realized I could help people. I could help keep people safe.” His smile had softened. “After all, with great power, must come great responsibility.”

Those words had stuck with Mirabel all her life. 

With great power, must come great responsibility. 

And Mirabel now has power. She has power and now she has a responsibility. To the city. To the people.

So, Mirabel lunges forward, clumsy and awkward and not knowing how to fight, but she has her powers that warn her when to dodge and she saves that teenager, who looks up at her in awe after she webs up the criminal.

For the first time in years, she feels like she’s actually seen. 

__

Night after night, Mirabel sneaks out. It’s easy — too easy. Her family retreats to their apartment rooms or go to work whenever they take the night shifts at their jobs after la cena, leaving her to her own. She used to spend that time staring up at the ceiling, wasting the night away wondering why. 

Why can’t she just ever be enou—

Instead, Mirabel now sneaks out through her window, feet sticking to the walls. She stays in the shadows, the hood of her jacket over her head in an ill-attempt at keeping her face hidden in the darkness. She stops muggers and carjackers and saves unfortunate souls that criminals like to target at night. 

Eventually, people start talking about the stranger who leaves behind webbed up criminals. 

And it hits her — she needs a mask. 

Amongst everything she’s been through — a spider bite nearly killing her, mysterious powers, even climbing up walls with her bare hands — it’s the costume part that stumps her. The Encanto all have suits that they use to hide their identities, each unique to every member of the team. And now that Mirabel needs one, well…

She sketches out drafts, ends up not liking them, and tosses them into the bin beside her desk. She spends hours at school in class and hides away in her room until la cena drawing out costume ideas. While the suit ideas aren’t working, she ends up using a ski-mask and cheap goggles to cover her face while she’s out stopping crime. 

One night, nursing a sore jaw from one of the men she has stopped earlier from robbing an ATM landed a hit on her — she has enhanced healing, thankfully; she doesn’t want to think what would happen if her mamá saw her with a fist shaped bruise on her face the next morning — she sits on a rooftop, sketchbook open and tapping her pencil against the paper, thinking. She reaches up and lightly scratches at the back of her gloved hand — she had enough sense to wear them to keep her fingerprints from smearing on anything — when she pauses. 

The back of her hand with the spider bite scar — the one thing her enhanced healing didn’t heal completely, forever marking where her powers came from. Her powers came from the spider bite. 

Spider.

Mirabel looks down at the blank sheet of paper and begins to smile. “Well,” she murmurs softly, “that’s a thought.”

__

She ends up choosing black and white with dark teal — her favorite color — as an accent color. She stops by Valeria’s Fabric Shop on her way back from school the next day to get the supplies needed for her suit. Mirabel met Valeria when she was ten years old when she went into the shop for the first time with Julieta. Valeria is about the same age as the triplets, her dark hair having streaks of grey in it and her warm eyes held laughing lines in the corners of them. 

“Aye, Mira, mija, what is it I can do for you today?” Valeria asks, dusting her hands off as she walks to the desk from the back room.

Mirabel smiles at her as the bell jingles when the door closes behind her. “I need some more dark teal fabric and a roll of black fabric.” She still had white fabric left over from her last project back in her room. 

“Black, huh?” Valeria muses, watching as Mirabel looks over the teals. “Not your usual order.”

Mirabel shrugs. Valeria wasn’t wrong — Mirabel hardly ever bought darker colored farbic. Most of her clothes were colorful, ranging from light blue to soft pinks. The last time she had bought darker colored fabric was the grey she requested to embroider her Tío Bruno’s ruana with cartoon rats. 

That was three years ago.

“Trying something different,” Mirabel answers and she’s not technically lying. She’s never made a superhero suit before. She finally finds the dark shade of teal she wants and brings it over to the desk, snagging a roll of black fabric on her way. She sets them down as Valeria rings them up. 

“That’ll be ten dollars even,” Valeria says. 

Mirabel blinks up at her, stunned. “Shouldn’t it be forty?” She leans back and glances towards the other fabrics, finding that, yes, all together it should be forty dollars, plus tax. 

Valeria waves her off. “Personal discount.”

Mirabel turns back towards her, brows furrowing. “But—”

“Nah uh,” Valeria interrupts, holding her hand up, shushing Mirabel immediately. “Ten. Dollars. That’s all, mija.” She raises her eyebrows. “Unless you’re trying to tell me to run my store, hm?”

Mirabel snaps her jaw shut. With that look, she knows arguing would only make it worse. “Fine,” she says grudgingly, taking out her wallet and handing over a ten. “At least let me clean the store when you close to help.”

Valeria taps her chin, exasperating a thinking pose. “Hmm, how about you come and have tea with me instead, mija?”

“But, Val—”

“Mirabel.”

Mirabel lets out a sigh. “Alright.”

Valeria laughs as Mirabel grabs the fabrics. “See you Wednesday, Mira!”

Mirabel can’t help but smile at her as she leaves, waving, before she starts down the sidewalk. When she gets back to Casita and rushes down the hallway, her senses buzz and she immediately twists, avoiding someone at the last possible moment, jumbling with the fabric in her arms.

It’s Isabela, who sputters in shock. “What the— Mirabel!”

“Lo siento,” Mirabel calls over her shoulder, bounding to her room and slamming her door shut, leaving her hermana in the middle of the hallway, gaping at where she had been.

Mirabel dumps the fabric onto her bed. She then opens her drawer, taking out her sketchbook and placing it on her desk, flipping over to her suit design drafts. A wide grin begins to make its way onto her face, a giddy feeling rising up in her stomach. 

__

Two weeks later, Mirabel stands on top of the highest point in the city. The suit is snug against her, easy to move in. The bottom half of the suit is black except for the dark teal that runs from her feet up to her shins that make it look like she has boots on. The black stretches up past her waist before it fades to white. In the middle of her chest lays a dark teal spider shape that dips down into the black slightly. Web designs in teal run along her fingers and almost to her elbow. 

Mirabel crouches slightly, looking down at the city below. The windows shine bright against the darkness of light. She can hear cars still driving on the road despite the late time, can even see specks of people walking with her enhanced eyesight.

She takes a deep breath and pulls on her mask, teal lining around the whites of her lenses.

She jumps. 

The wind whips around her and her stomach plummets, swooping low like she’s riding a rollercoaster. Mirabel dives down, glancing at her reflection in the glass of the building she had been on, watching as her masked face looks back. She looks like a hero like this and there’s a strange feeling that rises within her, the same one that had nearly consumed her while she was making the suit. 

Mirabel looks away as she notices she’s getting closer to the ground, hearing the people below gasp and point at the figure falling from the sky. She finally twists and throws an arm out, a web shooting from her wrist through the small holes she had poked in the suit. It attaches to the nearest building and she swings straight through the traffic on the road, listening to them honking the horns of their cars at her. 

She laughs as she realizes what she’s been feeling.

It’s freedom.

__

Around Mirabel, there’s smoke and fire. She coughs, tears in her eyes from how hot it is around her. “Kid, where are you?!” she calls out, voice rough with strain. Sweat soaks her body, her curls plastered to her forehead under her mask. 

“O— over here!” a small voice whimpers and she’s only been able to hear it because of her enhanced senses.

Mirabel looks up just as her senses buzz, cursing as she lunges away, dodging a falling plank that sends sparks and smoking plaster at her. She hisses as the sparks come close to burning her and she makes her way more into the building. She had already saved five other people caught in the unsuspecting fire — most had evacuated already, but there were some unfortunate ones towards the top floors that didn’t make it in time.

She walks through a kitchen hurriedly and down the hallway, picking up a faint heartbeat through the walls. She comes across a closed door, pinpointing the kid behind it. She tries for the handle and rips her hand away just as quick when it burns through the fabric and into her skin. “Fuck,” she whispers and the whole building seems to shudder, waning. “Alright,” she murmurs to herself. “Kid!” she shouts. “Stay away from the door okay?”

“Okay,” she hears the kid answers through his sniffling. 

Mirabel waits only for a second before bringing her foot down with enough strength to bust the door off its hinges, sending it clattering loudly to the floor. She walks inside, squinting through the smoke to find the kid huddled away from the fire as much as he could be, blonde hair sweaty and dipping into his large, terrified eyes. 

“Hey,” she says, approaching him and crouching down, using the soft voice she usually only saves for towards Antonio. “Are you alright?” She almost wants to smack herself — the kid’s stuck in a fire, of course he’s not okay. “Um, what’s your name?”

The kid sniffles, wiping snot off his face. “Henry.”

“Hey, Henry,” Mirabel says. “I’m here to take you back to your parents.”

Henry nods. “Are you a part of the Encanto?”

Mirabel smiles, though he can’t see it. “No, but I am a superhero.” She reaches out and pauses. “Do you trust me?”

Henry looks at her with teary eyes before nodding, shuffling into her arms. She stands up quickly, keeping him in her arms protectively. “Let’s get you out of here,” she whispers, pressing a hand to the back of his head. She starts towards the door before she jumps backwards when her senses warn her as fire seems to engulf the hallway in front of her. Shit. She looks around before her eyes catch the window. She tightens her grip on the boy. “Henry, I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to trust me,” she repeats.

“I trust you,” Henry answers.

Mirabel clenches her jaw and nods. “Okay. Close your eyes, alright?”

She feels him nod against her shoulder, pressing his face into the fabric of her suit. Mirabel frees one of her hands, looping a sturdy arm around the kid and uses the other to reach out and open the window. 

Just like from the tallest point in the city, she jumps. 

Below, people scream. 

Mirabel uses one of her webs to swing as gently as she could before she’s close enough to the ground to let go, landing smoothly on her feet, the kid still in her arms, unharmed. 

“Oh my god, Henry?!” a women’s voice shouts, footsteps rushing towards them. “Henry!”

A blonde women reaches them and Mirabel lets her have the kid, watching as she begins to cry into her son’s hair. A man swoops in just behind her, grabbing both of them into a hug, the parents murmuring and sobbing things to their child, holding him like he’s something precious.

Despite herself, something slightly bitter twinges in Mirabel’s chest.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” the man says and Mirabel blinks, realizing he’s talking to her. “Thank you for saving my son.”

“I’m just glad I was here to help,” Mirabel answers honestly, shuffling awkwardly on her feet. 

“Wh— who are you?” the woman asks.

Mirabel glances at her, the whites of her lenses locking eyes with her. “…I’m Weaver,” she says.

She tilts her head when she hears more shouts, though they’re more cheers than panicked screams. 

“It’s the Encanto!”

“The Encanto’s here!”

“That’s my cue,” Mirabel says because, as much as she idols the elder heroes, she’s not ready to meet them. She’s still new at this and… and she’s nervous. She wouldn’t know what to say or what to do, so, instead, she sends out a web and swings away, Henry’s parents still searing stares at her back before she disappears around the corner.

Despite herself, she swings and lands on a rooftop, crouching down as she watches Bloom, SoundWave, and Tempest arrive at the scene. She watches as they talk with the firemen on the scene, one waving his hands as he talks, eyes wide.

And, then, Bloom looks up and locks eyes with Mirabel. 

Mirabel scrambles back and swings away completely this time.

__

Mirabel washes her hair three times before the smell of smoke disappears. She goes to la cena later, hides her almost healed hand that still has heat blisters on it — thankfully, it wasn’t her dominate hand — and scarfs down her mamá’s food, stomach rumbling after an eventful day.

“…a figure swinging through the sky,” a news woman says on the tv that plays in the background, perched on a counter. “The newest sighting was just today, only hours ago, when it’s been reported that the same figure was seen saving six people, including four-year-old Henry Justice, whose parents claim to have had a conversation with.”

Mirabel looks up, wide eyed, and completely misses the intrigued stares her family is giving the screen, each one seemingly thoughtful. 

Henry’s father comes on screen next. “I’m just thankful she saved my son. Without her…” He trails off and glances over his shoulder where Mirabel can see his wife still clutching Henry, though no longer crying, she’s still teary eyed. He finally looks back at the camera, face set in determination. “Weaver, if you’re seeing this…thank you.”

Mirabel smiles and even her family’s strange silence doesn’t wipe it off.

__

The next time Mirabel sees the Encanto, she is not so lucky as to be able to leave. She had swung towards the sound of gunfire and had found Bloom, Mirage, and Hercules fighting against what seemed like some kind of weapon deal gone wrong. She’s certain they can take care of it and almost swings away before she sees one of them aim a gun at Bloom’s unprotected back. 

Without thinking, Mirabel swoops down, letting go of her web to catapult herself straight into the criminal, sending him flying across the rooftop and slamming back to the ground. Bloom whirls around, sweat on her brow, and her eyes widen ever so slightly when she makes eye contact with Mirabel before her expression smooths back out under her mask, lips pursing.

“It’s you,” Bloom says with meaning.

Mirabel stammers a bit, caught off guard. “Y— yeah, it’s me. Unless, you’re talking about someone else and then it’s definitely not me, uh—”

Her senses blare, spiking violently and Mirabel tilts her body, a bullet flying over her shoulder where her head had been. She straightens back up and makes stunned eye contact with Bloom before something settles deep in her chest. 

“Duck,” Mirabel says and Bloom does just as Mirabel webs a criminal behind her.

Bloom stands back up and they both turn towards the rest of the criminals, Mirage and Hercules coming up to their sides.

“You know how to fight?” Hercules asks, voice heavy. 

“Not really,” Mirabel answers, but she lunges forward into danger anyways, the three of them on her heels.

__

“Wow, you really don’t know how to fight,” Encanto’s youngest member says, astonished.

Mirabel huffs from where she’s sitting on the rooftop, all the criminals either tied up or webbed, rubbing at her face where she had been smacked with the butt of a gun. “‘s not like I’ve been taught or anything,” she mumbles, watching as Hercules and Bloom talk to one another in the distance. 

She hears “—fifth time this week” and “—more frequent”, both of them talking about the gun dealers if she were to guess. She blinks and jolts, senses warning her a little bit late as Mirage plops down beside her, ignoring the boundaries of personal space. For some reason, she’s not that surprised.

“Well, I could teach you,” Mirage insists, leaning into her space, a wide grin flashing where his mask doesn’t cover the bottom of his face. 

“I don’t think your teammates will like that,” Mirabel says, gesturing slightly towards the two elder heroines. After stopping them, Bloom continued to be wary and prickly towards her, just like the thorny vines she’s seen the hero make before. Hercules seemed curious but didn’t offer any conversation. 

Mirage scoffs and flaps a hand in the air. “Puh-lease,” he replies, “she’s always like that.” 

It’s not hard to see he was talking about Bloom. Mirabel snorts a little, shaking her head. “The last thing I need is a whole team of angry superheroes tracking me down because you wanted to teach me — a stranger — how to fight.”

“They won’t do that,” Mirage says and then pauses, reconsidering. “Well…we could just meet up in secret.”

Mirabel sighs. “I don’t think—”

“Listen, Weaver — that’s your name, right? Weaver?” Mirage interrupts and barely waits for a confirmation before continuing on, “Listen, Weaver, your, uh, webs aren’t gonna save you all the time.”

“And danger sense,” Mirabel can’t help but add.

“Whoa, danger sense? That’s so cool— Anyways.” Mirage cuts himself off, clearing his throat awkwardly. “What I’m saying is that you can’t always rely on your powers, you also have to learn how to fight. We had to all learn before being allowed out to fight crime. You could, uh, you could get hurt — like, bad, if you don’t know how to fight.”

“I have enhanced healing so I’ll be okay,” Mirabel tries.

“Holy— enhanced healing, too? Dude, that’s— you just keep getting cooler,” Mirage gushes to himself. He looks back up, clearly just barely keeping himself from rambling. “Come on, let me teach you the basics of self defense at least. Por favor.”

Mirabel takes in his pleading frown and aches. She’s been alone for so long. She had no friends, her family would rather pretend she didn’t exist, and she was alone while Weaver. Maybe, just maybe she didn’t have to be anymore. “Okay.”

“Yes,” Mirage cheers quietly. “You know Radley’s Pizza Place on Fifth Street?” he whispers, glancing over at Bloom and Hercules, who are both walking back over. “Meet me there Thursday night at ten thirty.”

Mirabel barely nods before Mirage jumps back up, clapping his hands. “We ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Bloom says, sparing Mirabel an appraising glance, eyes blank. 

Hercules seems more genuine, watching as Mirabel rubs her throbbing jaw again. “Are you going to be okay? You got hit pretty hard.”

“Yeah,” Mirabel answers hesitantly, standing up slowly. “I’ll be okay.” 

Bloom grunts. “Come on, lets go back home. Our shift ended almost ten minutes ago. The others will be worried.” 

Hercules nods and glances at Mirabel one last time before following Bloom. Mirage waves at her excitedly before bounding after them. Bloom suddenly pauses as the other two take the fire escape down. 

“Make sure to ice your jaw,” is all she says before she disappears, too.

Mirabel blinks at where she had been before letting out a slow sigh. In the distance, the siren of police cars sound, probably to come pick up the criminals around her. 

She’s gone by the time they make it up there.

__

“Hey, Madrigal!”

Mirabel bites back a sigh, not bothering to look over as she sifts through her locker. Ignoring him will probably make it worse, but Mirabel’s tired. She spent the last two nights out stopping crime, not getting back home until in the morning, plopping on her bed, dozing off for a whole thirty minutes before her alarm goes off and she’s back up again for school. 

“Madrigal, hey— are you fucking deaf?”

Her senses flare, creeping up the back of her neck just as a large hand slams into her locker door, smashing it shut violently. A few people glance up at the commotion before looking away swiftly — it wasn’t anything new, after all. Just someone putting the defective Madrigal in her place, Mirabel thinks bitterly.

She’s dealt with this her whole life. It’s normal for her.

Mirabel closes her eyes briefly, a steady headache forming at her temples before dragging her gaze up to find Flash glaring down at her. “What do you want, Flash?”

Flash grunts, the anger draining off his face and, instead, a nasty smile lifts. “What? I can’t just want to have a conversation with my best buddy?”

Mirabel works her jaw, biting back a lot of words that’ll get her in trouble. “…What do you want, Flash?” she ends up repeating instead, voice lower in annoyance.

Flash straightens up slightly, slouching off the locker he had leaned his shoulder against, drawing up to his full height. An intimidation tactic. One that used to work on her months ago. 

But, now, Mirabel’s fought people twice his size and won. She’s stared down a barrel of a gun before. She’s jumped off the tallest building in the city with nothing but herself to save her.

She’s not scared of Flash. Not anymore.

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Flash seethes, leaning in her space, fire in his eyes.

Mirabel doesn’t move, looking at him calmly. “You’re going to be late to class,” is all she says and the bell rings just after that.

Flash glances up at the ceiling momentarily before looking back down at her. He seems to weigh his options — get in trouble with the teacher for being late, or leave Mirabel alone for once.

He finally scoffs. “I’ll find you after class, Madrigal. Don’t think that I won’t.”

He shoves her shoulder as he walks past her, down the hallway where students are scrambling to get to their next class in a hurry after the five minute warning bell. Mirabel watches him go before turning to head to her own class, only to stop.

That familiar sense of danger tingles under her skin and she tilts her head, her hearing picking up sirens in the distance. Mirabel bites her lip and glances down the hallway where her Science classroom is.

Then, she turns and runs right through the front doors.

__

Mirabel, completely masked, knocks on the driver’s side window, clinging to the door with ease. The criminal glances over, then back to the road before doing a double take, eyes widening. Mirabel knocks on the window again and then points down where the controls to move it are.

Strangely enough, the car thief does end up rolling the window down for her. Mirabel leans forward, resting an elbow there. “Hey, how’s it going?” she asks casually as he drives like a maniac, pushing eighty five down the road, weaving through traffic. “We just, uh…” She chuckles to herself, gesturing where she’s stuck to his driver door, “we just hanging around?”

“The fuck are you?” the man barks out, eyes bulging in shock. 

“Wow, you, uh, you don’t watch the news a lot, do you?” Mirabel hums awkwardly. “I’m the new kid on the block, so to speak.” At his blank, uncomprehending stare, she explains, “Weaver? New proclaimed hero? Vigilante? Whatever.” She’s not too sure about the correct terms. The Encanto are called superheroes, but JJ Jameson seems to think she’s some kind of menace to society; devil incarnated, the anti-christ at best. “Point is, I’m here to tell you that your license has been revoked.”

Instead of offering a reply, the criminal fumbles and takes out a pistol aiming it straight at her head. Mirabel swiftly jerks her arm forward, grabbing his wrist and smashing his hand up into the car ceiling, knocking the gun out of his grip. It clatters somewhere in the floorboard, out of reach.

“You ever watch the Incredibles?” Mirabel asks out of the blue, fingers still wrapped around his wrist. “You know that scene with the injector seats?”

The man balks. “Wait—”

Mirabel does not, in fact, wait. Instead, she tightens her grip slightly and heaves him right out of the car, tossing him out the window and webbing him to the traffic light they pass, watching as he dangles there uselessly, screaming obscenities at her.

“And use your seatbelt next time!” Mirabel calls out to him, waving as he grows smaller in the distance.

It’s only then does she realize the car’s still moving.

“Uh oh,” she mumbles, eyes wide just before her senses warn her and she jerks her head up, finding an elderly lady in the middle of the road using the crosswalk. “Mierda!” she curses. She looks back at the inside of the car and— “I don’t even know how to drive!”

Mind whirling, Mirabel does the only thing she can think of. She catapults from the driver’s door to the front of the grill, slamming her feet into the ground and bracing her arms against it. She clenches her jaw to keep from screaming, her muscles feeling like they’re being pulled apart as she strains back against the momentum of the vehicle. Asphalt kicks up, burning her feet and legs, her hands caving the hood of the car in, metal crunching under her fingers. 

“Please stop, please stop, please, por favor,” Mirabel chants to herself, heaving as it feels like the weight might end up crushing her. 

Eventually, it begins to slow and she digs her feet into the road, cracking the pavement, shoving back. The car stops, steam wafting from under its destroyed hood. Mirabel, shaking and trembling, takes a step backwards and almost collapses, heaving for breath, body aching. 

She sways, turning and comes face to face with the elderly woman she saw using the crosswalk. “Are…are you okay?” Mirabel manages to ask, blinking as she tries to focus on everything around her.

“Yes,” the woman answers, a bit shakily. Then, she eyes her in concern behind her glasses. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Mirabel asks, confused, feeling a little foggy. 

“Are you okay, dear?” the woman asks, a furrow in her brows.

Mirabel swallows. Her tongue feels like lead in her mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she finally answers. She glances down and realization washes over her. “Ma’am,” she begins, voice pitching higher, “what— what time is it?”

The woman glances at her watch wrapped around her frail wrist. “It’s fifteen past three.”

Mirabel curses wildly in her head. She wasn’t just late to class, she accidentally ended up skipping it all together. “Thank you, I— I have to go!”

She webs the nearest building and swings off before the woman could say anything, not even noticing the large crowd that had formed, watching the chaos.

__

Mirabel rests her forehead against the glass of the car, watching the outside blur together. “Aren’t you mad?” she asks, glancing at her pá from the corner of her eye.

Agustín sighs, briefly tightening his grip on the steering wheel before it loosens again. “No,” he answers at last. “I just don’t understand.” He slows, the car pulling to a stop in front of a red traffic light. He looks over at her properly, eyes concerned. “Is something going on? This isn’t like you.”

Mirabel stares back at him. She’s suddenly glad that the principal ended up calling his cell phone, instead, god forbid, abuela’s home phone. Agustín was one of the people in her family who at least tried to reach out sometimes. He wasn’t as busy as the others, didn’t brush her off with an apologetic look like Luisa, didn’t have any scathing remarks to toss her way like Señorita Perfecta did. He was kind; tried to relate to her as much as he could.

Even still, he couldn’t. Not really. He wasn’t a disappointment, not like Mirabel is. 

Mirabel shrugs, slowly looking away. Despite him trying to reach out, she couldn’t tell him about Weaver. He’d tell everyone and they’d make her stop. She could hear them now, telling her how foolish she was to believe she’d ever be something; that she could ever be something more than some awkward, ordinary kid born in an extraordinary family.

No, Weaver had to be kept a secret.

Agustín sighs, dragging a weary hand down his face. “I won’t say anything to your abuela, but I will be speaking with your mother.” Mirabel winces a little at that. “I just…you’re a good kid, Mirabel,” he switches tactics, glancing back at her. “I don’t want to see you fall into the wrong crowd.”

“Pá, I’m not ‘falling into the wrong crowd’,” Mirabel says, a little exasperated. “I just…” She hesitates, “I just needed a— a break.”

Agustín stares at her for a long moment before nodding. “Alright, Miraboo,” he says, using a nickname that Mirabel hasn’t heard in a long time. “I believe you.”

Mirabel smiles and tells herself that the sinking feeling in her gut isn’t guilt.

__

It’s ten twenty-three, seven minutes before their scheduled meet up time when Mirabel swings over to Radley’s Pizza Place. She had stopped another car chase — seriously, why were people always trying to steal cars? — and four separate muggers and she rescued a cat out of a tree. Again.

That’s at least the fourth cat she’s rescued after it got in a tree.

She’s not entirely sure why they keep climbing the trees if they can’t get down properly. 

Mirabel lets go of the web, landing in a crouch onto of the rooftop. The quiet is disorienting — Radley’s Pizza Place was a popular spot for teenagers to hang out; she knows it’s one of Camilo’s favorite places and, the one time they brought Antonio, he had had a riot playing the old arcade games in the back. To be near it and not see the bright lights of the sign or hear the sound of children laughing is strange, but Mirabel shakes it off.

She paces the length of the rooftop before getting bored, deciding to shoot a web between two of the large construction fans and walk along it like it’s a tightrope. She even backflips and lands back on it, keeping steady despite the way the web wobbles a bit.

“Whoa.”

Mirabel looks up, watching as Mirage pushes himself up completely on the rooftop, wide eyes locked on her balancing on the thin web. He gapes at her for a long moment and she takes the time to do another backflip. 

Is she showing off? Yeah, maybe a little.

It’s just funny to watch Mirage’s jaw drop in astonishment. 

Once she has her fun, Mirabel hops off, landing in front of the hero. “So,” she begins, a bit awkwardly, “self defense?”

“Right,” Mirage says, shaking himself. “Let’s start with the basics.”

He shows her how to throw a proper punch without breaking her thumb or wrist, though Mirabel’s not too sure she could break it as easily as a regular human could. Either way, she knows her enhanced healing would take care of it for her. Mirage then shows her simple blocks, sparring with her slow enough he can correct her form, shifting her feet slightly or raising her arms. He has her run through it again and again and again until they’re engrained into her mind, burned into her muscle memory. 

They take a break eventually and Mirabel catches the water bottle Mirage tosses her, ripping the cap off. She rolls her mask up only enough to reveal her mouth as she chugs it. 

“So, what is it that you can do?” Mirage asks after a long moment, both of them sitting criss-cross on the rooftop. “Like— what are your powers?”

Mirabel slides her mask back down, placing her half-empty water bottle beside her. “Uh, enhanced everything, I think?” she answers hesitantly. “Um, I mean, I used to have glasses but then I suddenly didn’t. I can hear a lot better and I definitely heal quicker than regular people do.”

“You’re also stronger, faster, can jump higher, enhanced stamina maybe? I mean, you’re not even sweating,” Mirage says, gesturing to her wildly in astonishment.

Mirabel shrugs. He’s right, she’s not sweating. She was beginning to feel dehydrated but she wasn’t really out of breath or feeling tired. “Yeah, probably.”

“You shoot webs,” Mirage points out. Mirabel nods and holds an arm out, lazily shooting a web from her wrist in the opposite direction. Mirage watches, eyes widening slightly even though he’s seen what she could do. He blinks and shakes his head, turning back to her. “You also said something about a danger sense.”

“It’s like a buzzing in the back of my head and along my neck,” Mirabel tries to explain, bringing a hand to the back of her neck as if her senses were going to go off. “They warn me when danger is nearby, or, at least, what I perceive as danger, I think. It doesn’t even necessarily have to be against me. If I think it’s dangerous, it’ll alert me if it’s simply just near me.”

Mirage nods slowly, seemingly absorbing the information. Like a sponge. It makes Mirabel bite back a smile. “Cool,” he finally whispers, still in that same awe of her powers. “I can duplicate things,” he says, grabbing his bottle. It seems to glitch slightly, warping only for a second before another bottle forms before her eyes. He swiftly catches it, juggling both of them in his hands. “I can’t duplicate people, though. There’s too much that makes a human, er, well…human. I can’t duplicate brains, can’t duplicate the thoughts in them because they’re not physical. I can’t duplicate anything that’s living, either.” 

“Because they also have brains,” Mirabel concludes. “They have thoughts, senses, even though they don’t think the same way we do.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Mirage answers, smiling slightly. “I can duplicate pretty much anything else, though, but…not super large objects. I’m literally shifting the atoms around me and changing their structure into something that I want. It drains me.”

“Nothing can be created or destroyed,” Mirabel mumbles, quoting the Law of Conservation and Mass.

Mirage grins. “You catch on quick.” He shrugs. “But, yeah, changing the structure of atoms around me takes up a lot of my energy, so, if I tried to duplicate anything that’s super big, then I’ll probably pass out before I can even finish it. That’s why I have to eat a lot of calories to keep up my energy.”

Mirabel leans forward, eyes wide. “That’s the same for me!” she exclaims. “Ever since I got my powers, my appetite has been insane.”

Mirage perks up, just as excited. “It’s probably because your body’s enhanced now and it’s taking a lot of energy up like whenever I use my powers!”

“I love my powers,” Mirabel begins, “but the enhanced appetite is the worst.”

Mirage groans dramatically, tossing his head back. “I know right! I’m always telling the others how bad it is, but they never believe me.”

They never believe me.

The words are like a punch to the gut, leaving Mirabel breathless. How many times has something happened and nobody believed Mirabel? About Flash, about her grades, about how hard it is to concentrate on anything? 

Something like kinship surges in her chest. “Well,” Mirabel starts, not even realizing what she’s offering before she’s already done it, “I say we go on food runs.”

Mirage snaps back from his dramatics, leaning forward desperately. “Wait, wait, wait,” he interjects, waving his hands, “does that mean you’re not going to avoid me anymore and we’re going to be friends?”

Mirabel huffs and leans back. “I might be able to spare some time to help you with patrol—”

Mirage lets out a joyful shout and leaps right at her, wrapping his arms around her. “That means you’re practically my best friend now!” he crows out.

Mirabel squawks and shoves at him half-heartedly — she could pry him off easily with her strength, but she lets him hold on. It’s been so long since she’s been hugged. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves—”

Mirage scoffs, practically shaking her in excitement. “Admit it, you’re my best friend now and you know it!”

Mirabel grumbles a bit, but doesn’t protest. She’s never had a best friend before.

Honestly, it sounds…nice.

__

It’s Sunday morning, almost three days since she had taken her first self defense lesson with Mirage, when screams suddenly erupt down the street. Mirabel immediately veers off towards it, swinging quickly. Her senses warn her, blaring violently and she jerks to the side just in time to see a large chunk of metal fly through the air, sliding right past her.

“Meirda!” she shouts, yanking on her web to jump higher in the air as another soars at her. Mirabel grits her teeth, swooping low and saving a couple who are almost smashed by chunks of debris. “Get out of here!” 

They both run off, not protesting as Mirabel turns back, squinting down the street. The ground underneath her feet rumbles, like there’s a small earthquake. Ahead of her, she can make out the deep red of SoundWave’s suit, along with the pink and purple of Bloom. A flash of orange and she locks onto Mirage, who’s suddenly lunging forward. It’s only then does she see the massive armored suit they’re fighting against — it’s shaped weirdly like a rhinoceros. 

Mirabel takes off towards them, her senses screaming at her. Danger! Danger! Danger! She webs the nearest building and pulls taunt before letting it shoot her forward. She watches as Mirage takes a swing at the villain. She can see sweat pouring down Bloom’s chin, soaking her hair as she strains, vines wrapped around Rhino. 

Bloom gasps, then heaves, fingers tightening in the air, eyes bulging as the vines are ripped up from the ground, cement flying. “Mirage!” she shouts, strangled.

“No!” SoundWave yells, lunging forward, though she’s too far away.

Mirage’s eyes widen in alarm, then fear as Rhino swings, massive, metal-clad fist easily the size of a human flying at him. 

Just in time, Mirabel collides into Mirage, grabbing him into her arms and leaping up, landing on Rhino’s hand as it smashes into the ground, breaking the concrete. She backflips away, landing on her feet between Bloom and SoundWave. 

Mirage holds onto her tightly, fingers tangling into the fabric of her suit, chest heaving from the near-death experience. “H— holy shit,” he wheezes out, shaking, tilting his head back to look up at Mirabel. “I’ve never been more glad to see you, amiga.”

“Can you stand?” Mirabel asks, waiting for him to nod before she places him down, letting him hold on for a moment when his legs wobble, adrenaline fading. 

“Dios mío, Mirage!” SoundWave says, grabbing onto him. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mirage grumbles. “Relajarse, hermana.”

“I will be telling Mamá what you just tried to pull,” SoundWave threatens, though she hugs him tighter anyways. 

Mirabel turns back towards Rhino, who’s fighting vines that keep wrapping around his ankles and winding around his knees. Bloom clenches her jaw, straining as she tries to keep him still. “What’s the plan?” she asks, stepping closer to her.

“Thinking about it,” Bloom grunts out. Her arms are shaking a little. “I called backup, they should be here soon. Mirage!” she suddenly barks out. “Get out of here.”

Mirage instantly protests, shoving SoundWave off him. “What? Why? I can help!”

“You know the rules,” Bloom states. “Go!” 

“But—”

“Now!” Bloom snaps, losing her patience.

Mirage scowls at her before turning and running off in the opposite direction, disappearing around the corner. Mirabel shakes her head before turning back, straightening up slightly when Bloom addresses her, “You think your webs can help hold him still?”

Mirabel shrugs. “I mean— maybe? If I use a lot of them, they probably could.” She eyes Rhino critically. “‘m just not sure about his whole…armor thing he’s got going on.”

Bloom nods. “Okay, you go high, restrain his arms, I have his legs. SoundWave, if he breaks free…blast him.”

SoundWave nods. “Got it.”

Mirabel follows her instructions, quickly swinging into the air and shooting webs on his arms, wrapping the ends of her webs around her hands. She goes around him in circles, wrapping him up slowly until he can’t move, catching her breath as she hops down beside Bloom, SoundWave hovering anxiously.

“SoundWave! Bloom! What’s going on?” Tempest’s voice calls out, hurried footsteps rushing towards them. 

Mirabel turns with the other two, glancing behind them to find Tempest along with Hercules and Alchemist all running towards them, worried. Forbidden, relief floods through Mirabel’s chest — she’s never dealt with someone the media would call a ‘super villain’ before and it seemed like SoundWave and Bloom are both exhausted. The elder heroines could finish it up, they’d know what to do—

Her senses shriek. 

Like in some kind of movie, everything slows down around her. She watches as Alchemist pauses, hands raising to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified behind her mask. She watches Tempest darken angrily, a shout tearing through Hercules throat—

Mirabel turns slowly and finds Rhino letting out an enraged roar, the armor whirring before he rips the webs from his arms and lunges forward, the vines yanked from the ground harsh enough it makes Bloom gasp, specks of blood spewing out of her mouth as her hand comes to her chest as if she’s been hit. 

Rhino’s on top of them before Mirabel can blink, his foot reeling back towards Bloom. 

Mirabel lunges forward before she can even think, shoulder shoving into Bloom’s, sending her sprawling on the ground aside of her. Then—

Blinding pain. 

It feels like her chest is caved inwards as she’s kicked, flying through the air. She smashes through a wall of a building, then another wall and another and another, crumpling under the force before she slams into a final one, body collapsing like a puppet without strings. She hits the ground, ears ringing and blood in her mouth. 

Mirabel blinks twice, blacking out for a few seconds before she comes to again, a broken groan rattling through her throat. She tilts her head, body heavy and burning. She coughs, rolling over weakly and reaching for her mask, pulling it up slightly enough to spit out globs of bloody saliva. She sucks in a sharp breath, but there’s no fluid in her lungs — she hadn’t punctured one of them, just bit the inside of her cheek. 

She rolls her mask back down and gets to her feet shakily, her chest searing a sharp pain — a few of her ribs have to fractured, at least. Mirabel stumbles, feet dragging as the ringing in her ears slowly disappear and she can hear the screams outside. She jogs forward, then pushes herself into a sprint, clenching her jaw harshly, powering through the pain.

She leaps out of the building, swinging forward where they’re trying to restrain Rhino. He’s putting up a fight now, swinging this way and that, smashing chunks of concrete and throwing them at the heroes, making them retreat backwards every time they try to attack. Thunder cracks above the fight, dark clouds suddenly rolling in as Tempest’s powers come into play. A sharp flash of lightning strikes down, singeing part of the destroyed road and blackening some of the villain’s armor-plated arm. 

He lets out a loud roar, stepping backwards before picking up the nearest car by him. The metal crinkles like plastic in his grip before he reels back. “Watch out!” Alchemist calls out, voice strained before the car is flying through the air. They all jump away, watching as the car smashes to the ground in a heap of busted metal, the windows shattering as it crumples in on itself.

Mirabel swings forward before catapulting herself straight at him. Nobody notices her until it’s too late and her fist smashes into his helmet. Her knuckles cave the armor in, denting it all the way to her elbow. She’s suddenly glad for Mirage’s self defense lessons — she probably would’ve broken her thumb if she hadn’t had the proper form. Mirabel grits her teeth as Rhino is tossed backwards, halfway down the street where he falls, crashing into a small pawn shop. Mirabel lands on her feet, tucking and rolling over her shoulder, gasping for air as her ribs pull painfully in her chest.

She straightens up, then wavers slightly but holds firm. Sweat begins to coat under her mask, sticky and uncomfortable. 

“Holy shit, kid,” Tempest heaves out, coming to her side, staring at her, astonished. “Just how strong are you?”

Mirabel shrugs, then winces, bringing a hand to her ribs, but she doesn’t dare touch them. “Uh, I don’t know. I stopped a car with my bare hands the other day.”

Hercules’ eyes bulge in alarm, turning towards her. “You tossed yourself in front of a car?”

Mirabel opens her mouth to respond but the ground rumbles again she turns, finding Rhino standing back up. He doesn’t seem that injured. Instead, he looks pissed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bloom seethes, blood speckled on her chin, glaring down the street at the criminal. 

Mirabel internally shares the sentiment. 

This is going to suck. 

__

Mirabel leans back on the rooftop, flinching as her ribs protest at the movement before the pain eases away and she relaxes, letting out a soft sigh. They had just stopped Rhino from his rampage and she felt like her bruises have bruises. Her ribs are definitely fucked, especially since she was tossed again through another building. 

The area around where their fight was is destroyed, along with a couple of shops. She had heard Bloom muttering something about the damage, quoting how Matriarch isn’t going to be happy before Alchemist and Tempest had both interjected, saying to leave her to them, something about Bloom, SoundWave, and Hercules still being too young for threats the size of Rhino. 

She hopes Luisa isn’t going to be apart of the construction crew who’s going to have to clean up that part of the city. It’s going to take a while for it to be fixed, after all. 

“Weaver.” 

Mirabel blinks, tilting her head to find Bloom standing to her left, looking a tad awkward in her stance. She doesn’t sit up — she’s too tired for that. Instead, she offers a short wave. “H— hey.”

Bloom hesitates before her lips purse, jaw setting in determination and she strides forward. “You shoved me out of the way. Why?”

Mirabel frowns. “Why what?”

“Why did you take the hit that was meant for me?” Bloom demands.

“Instinct?” Mirabel offers. It was true, though. She had seen someone in danger, someone she could help, and she acted without thinking. She took the hit knowing she could handle it, that she could get back up from it. She doesn’t think Bloom or anyone else without enhanced strength could have — except, maybe Hercules. Even still, she knows she would’ve taken the hit for her, too. 

“Instinct,” Bloom repeats incredulously. She stares at her for a long, long moment before scoffing, shaking her head. “You also said you tossed yourself in front of a moving car. Do you have any self-preservation at all?”

“I can handle it,” Mirabel assures.

Unfortunately, it seems to have the opposite effect.

Bloom crosses her arms, glaring down at her. “You should be more careful,” she advises. “You’re being reckless.”

“Hey!” Mirabel defends. “I—agh!” She sits up too fast, her chest sending blinding pain through her body for a moment before it passes and settles into a dull, thrumming kind of ache. Bloom takes a step forward, hand twitching like she’s about to reach out — whether she would help her or try to strangle her out of sheer frustration, Mirabel doesn’t know. “I saved you, didn’t I?”

Bloom scowls, shoulders tensing. “Doesn’t make you any less reckless.” She turns, walking away, clearly done with the conversation. “You should work on that.” She pauses at the edge of the rooftop, glancing back. “I’d hate to see you get killed.”

And, then, she’s gone. Again.

Mirabel blinks at the spot where she had been with a startling amount of deja vu. 

“What the hell was that about?” she whispers.

Of course, nobody answers.

__

Mirabel climbs through her bedroom window, practically falling onto the floor. She drags herself to the shower where she finds that the entire front side of her ribs are battered blue and purple. She prods at them carefully but flinches when pain erupts in protest. She eventually steps out of the shower, curls soaked and falling in her face. She dresses, her fingers weakly gripping the hem of her hoodie as she pulls it over just in time for her mamá to call out loudly, “Everyone, la cena esta lista!”

Mirabel swings open the door, drying her hair with the towel until it’s damp before making her way down the hallway, just to run into Dolores. Her prima looks exhausted, dark bags under her red-rimmed eyes. Mirabel’s gaze dips down towards Dolores’ hands, which tremble slightly. 

Dolores’ eyes widen, having almost bumped into her. “Lo siento, primita.” Despite the tiredness in her face, her brows furrow when she gets a good look at Mirabel, something concerned flashing in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

Mirabel ignores the question. “Are you?”

Dolores startles, as if the question has never been directed at her before. “I…sí, I’m fine.”

Mirabel looks at her, unconvinced. “…Are you sure? You look— uh, rough. No offense.”

Dolores opens her mouth, then hesitates. Slowly, she nods. “I’m alright.”

“Dolores! Mirabel!”

Dolores jumps slightly at the sound of their abuela’s call, but Mirabel doesn’t budge — she keeps her eyes on her prima, examining her for a reason on why she looks like she’s been run through the wringer. But, strangely enough, Dolores does not crack under the pressure, simply gesturing towards the door to their abuela’s apartment where they all eat together.

Mirabel shrugs and makes her go first so her prima won’t see the way she limps behind her. They go into the dining room, where everybody is already sat and waiting. 

“Lo siento,” Dolores says softly and takes her seat.

Mirabel follows suit, taking special care to sit down carefully between Luisa and Isabela. She’s not surprised by Luisa’s tired face — her hermana works late hours at the construction sites despite Mirabel’s insistence on trying to get her to take a break every once in a while. No, what catches her attention is Isabela’s less than perfect display. Her hair is ruffled and her face is strained, dark bags under her eyes, like Dolores’. 

She must be exhausted because, when she catches Mirabel looking at her, Isabela doesn’t even offer her usual sneer. She does not engage in her usual ‘sisterly advice’ or start a fight under her breath with her like what’s happened many times before.

Something like worry withers inside Mirabel’s chest when Isabela simply glances away from her, focusing back on her plate.

Mirabel tries to push it aside as she eats her mamá’s cooking. Abuela Alma goes around the table and, oddly enough, she skips over Isabela, Camilo, Dolores, Tía Pepa, and Julieta. When she lands on Luisa, her hermana cannot help the tired slump in her shoulders as she replies, “I took the new job on Third Street.”

Mirabel’s mind flashes to a tall, armored figure, to the blinding agony that she had felt in her chest, to the mess that part of the city is now in. She automatically reaches for the bowl in front of her to fill her plate with seconds to distract herself with, but she moves too fast and her ribs twinge painfully. 

She winces and drops the spoon back into the bowl with a loud clatter, interrupting Alma’s response to Luisa. 

Instantly, everybody looks to her. 

Her arm snaps back to hover over her ribs anxiously. “Sorry,” she offers hesitantly, flushing bright red at the attention. “Cramp.”

Slowly, everyone turns back towards their plates. On the television, the news broadcasts a recount of Rhino’s destruction. Mirabel’s jaw clenches at the sight. She should’ve been better, why wasn’t she better, why can she never do anything ri—

Mirabel blinks, finding Isabela still staring at her, eyes narrowed as if she’s caught her in her lie. It wouldn’t be that far off — Isabela was always the one who could tell when she was telling the truth or not back when she didn’t realize just how useless Mirabel was.

And, feeling like a small child once again, Mirabel ducks her head down, hiding away from her gaze. 

Throughout the entire dinner, Isabela does not look away.

__

The next time that Mirabel swings by to Radley’s Pizza Place, it is not Mirage that greets her, but SoundWave. The heroine wrings her hands nervously, pacing the rooftop until Mirabel lands in front of her, wary. SoundWave stops and turns towards her, silent for a moment.

“…I came to thank you for saving mi hermanito’s life last week,” SoundWave finally says.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Mirabel replies instantly. And there wasn’t, not in her eyes. She saw someone in danger and acted before she could even think — she would save anybody, hero or otherwise, without hesitation. There was never another option, not when someone’s life was on the line. 

“Yes, I do,” SoundWave argues, shoulders straightening like that of a soldier’s. “Mamí— uh, Tempest would’ve been here, too, if she knew I was coming here to thank you.” She chuckles softly. “Don’t be surprised if she tackles you in a hug the next time she sees you on patrol, though.”

Mirabel smiles slightly. 

There’s a small beat of awkward silence before SoundWave speaks up again, hesitant, “Are you alright?” At Mirabel’s confused head tilt, she explains, “You got hit pretty hard the other day.”

“Oh,” Mirabel says. “Y—yeah, I’m fine. I’ve got enhanced healing so I’m…I’m fine.”

SoundWave is a quiet for a moment. “Just because you have enhanced healing doesn’t mean you should put yourself in harm’s way.”

Mirabel’s mind flashes back to Bloom’s words: You’re being reckless. I’d hate to see you get killed. “If there’s someone in danger that I can save, if I have to deal with a little pain so that they can live, then I will,” Mirabel states. She meets SoundWave’s intense stare with her own, the whites of her lenses on her mask boring into hers. “I can handle it.” I have to.

Mirabel couldn’t do a lot of things right, but she can do this now. She has these powers for a reason. With great power, must come great responsibility. She’s thought of those words from Miracle for a long time since she started being Weaver. 

She has power now and it was her responsibility to bear it along her shoulders. She has a responsibility to these people and the city, and if that means that she has to endure a little pain to accomplish that, then so be it. 

SoundWave does not seem very happy with this, opening her mouth, but—

“SoundWave, you better not be trying to steal my best friend!”

Both Mirabel and SoundWave both turn to find Mirage hoisting himself up onto the rooftop, dusting off his already clean suit dramatically. He then plants his hands on his hips and glares at the elder hero. 

SoundWave rolls her eyes. “Mirage,” she says, long suffering in a way that only an older sibling can be, “I’m not stealing anyone.”

Mirage seems to puff up like an outraged cat, huffing as he looks between SoundWave and Mirabel. “Really? Because it looks a lot like stealing.” He wanders forward and then loops his arm through Mirabel’s, tugging her closer to him. “Weaver is my best friend, get your own.” And, like the mature hero he is, Mirage sticks his tongue out at her. 

Mirabel can’t help but chuckle as SoundWave sighs heavily, exasperated. “Again, not stealing anybody.” She then narrows her eyes a little. “Besides, don’t think I haven’t known you’ve been sneaking out by yourself when you’re not supposed to.”

“Uh, no, I’m allowed out as long as I don’t engage with anybody by myself,” Mirage corrects. 

SoundWave rolls her eyes as Mirabel looks between them before settling on Mirage. “Wait, you’re not allowed to fight by yourself?”

“No, he’s not,” SoundWave answers for him, shooting Mirage a stern glare.

“Why?” Mirabel can’t help but ask, baffled. 

“Because he’s still in high school,” SoundWave says, a bit hesitantly, but keeping it vague enough not to give anything away. “Whenever one of our teammates are young, especially when they’re still in high school, shouldn’t be fighting by themselves. Honestly, Bloom and I shouldn’t have tried to take on Rhino by ourselves — the older members on our team weren’t…thrilled about it.”

“Hey, I was there, too,” Mirage mumbles to himself, though they both ignore him.

“Oh,” Mirabel breathes out. Realization washes over her: they don’t think she’s still in highschool. How old do they think she is? A college freshman? Around Luisa’s age? Isabela’s? “I guess…that makes sense,” she lies. 

Mirage huffs a little beside her and Mirabel yanks on his arm lightly to shut him up. Gunshots interrupt their conversation, making Mirabel let out a silent sigh of relief — the last thing she needs is a bunch of pro superheroes after her if they found out her age — and the three of them take off in the direction they came from.  

They reach the top of an alleyway and Mirabel doesn’t hesitate to leap off it and downwards, webbing a gun from a man’s hands. “Didn’t your madre tell you not to play with dangerous toys?” she mocks, sliding out the clip and tossing the parts away, watching the man take a step backwards in shock. 

“You’re Weaver,” the man gasps out. 

Mirabel’s eyes widen in surprised delight. “Woah, you actually know my name! You know, this one dude last time didn’t know it and it was really awkward and—”

Her danger senses shriek and Mirabel lunges backwards just as a bullet fires at her from her side. She turns to see that SoundWave is already in action, a burst of her powers rippling the air and sending the other man flying away. Without looking away, Mirabel webs up the original criminal, already feeling sheepish as SoundWave does a slow turn towards her after zip tying the man’s wrists up behind his back. 

“Uh,” Mirabel says very intelligently, “I knew he was there.”

SoundWave simply crosses her arms, head tilting slightly to the side in a ‘really?’ motion. Mirage clambers down from the fire escape, already rambling, “That was so cool! You literally backflipped off the building and you were like— whoosh!” He held his arm out, imitating Mirabel’s wrist flick when she uses her webs. “Gun gone!” Mirage claps his hands together and leans forward, eyes wide in excitement. “You have to do that again.”

SoundWave sighs heavier again this time, face falling into her hands and, yep, Mirabel could recognize that certain exasperation from anywhere — SoundWave was definitely the oldest sibling in her family. 

__

There’s always a breaking point in someone’s life. A point where everything shatters around them and leaves them floating endlessly in a darkness that’s fallen over them. There’s always a point where everything seems like it’s against you, when you find yourself alone because there’s no one willing to stand with you.

But, the thing is, Mirabel has always felt that way. 

Mirabel doesn’t know why she’s so different from her family. She doesn’t know why she’s so boring, so inadequate, so ordinary compared to her amazing family. She doesn’t know why she’s been treated like an outcast, like an outsider looking in surrounded by her own blood and flesh. 

They were familia. They were family. Family have each other’s backs. 

And they do, just…not Mirabel’s. 

Mirabel’s always fought alone. All her life, she’s fought alone. Nobody beside her, nobody to stick up for her. There was no shoulder to cry on during the bad days and nobody to laugh with during the good ones.

She doesn’t know why it’s been that way. Ever since she turned five years old, things have been different. It used to not be that way — she remembers hermanas who cherished her, laughter with her proclaimed mellizo, cuddling with her abuela and listening to her stories. After that, as the years went on, it became apparent that, whatever they had been expecting of her, was not there.

She was ashamed of something she did not know of; yearning for something she had no idea about. 

She just wanted to be a part of them. She wanted her padres back, her hermanas, her mellizo, her prima who was like another hermana major to her, her tía and tíos, her abuela. She wanted it all back, crying for everything to go back to the way it was before.

Whatever she was supposed to be, she was not and that made her familia retreat away from her. 

Still, after all these years, Mirabel does not know what’s missing of her. She does not know what they had wanted from her, though she wished she did so she could give it to them. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted her family back. 

There is always a breaking point for everyone. 

But Mirabel has always been on the verge of breaking, has been chipped away at piece by little piece. Nobody had noticed it because there was no one there to notice. 

Maybe, that is why there was no one there to stop her from leaving in the end. 

__

The thing about Flash is that he usually means everything he says. He had promised to find her after class that one day she had stood up to him for the first time in years. But Mirabel had left school that day and had avoided him ever since.

She should’ve known she couldn’t do that forever.

(There’s always a breaking point.)

“You’re not even a Madrigal,” Flash had spit out. “How could you be?”

And Mirabel had reeled her fist back and let it hit straight in his face, sending him crashing to the ground with a shout of pain. She finds herself in the principal’s office afterwards, the principal’s disappointment falling hard on her shoulders, though she wanted to scream. Why is it that Flash could bully her, taunt her, humiliate her, shove her to the ground and knock the books from her hands and not have anyone blink an eye at his behavior while, the one time that Mirabel stands up for herself, she’s given a suspension.

Agustín is the one who picks her up. Mirabel meets his eyes only once in the car ride. Right when she sees his face, she knows there will be no gentle questioning, no ‘I’ll only tell your mother’. 

There are no second chances.

__

“I do not understand why you act like this, Mirabel,” Abuela Alma rages over la cena as Mirabel keeps her head down, not looking anyone in the eye — it seems that it’s only when she’s done something wrong that everyone suddenly remembers that she exists. “This is no way for a Madrigal to act! You are hurting this family.”

This family.

As if Mirabel isn’t a part of it. As if she’s not a proper Madrigal.

You’re not even a Madrigal. How could you be?

(There’s always a breaking point.)

Tears spring in Mirabel’s eyes, a heavy, deep feeling sinking harshly into her chest. Her throat closes up, jaw clenching to keep the sobs that want to crawl up through her teeth down. Her face burns, hands shaking under the table as she stares down at them, nails biting into her palms. 

“I expect a formal apology written by you tomorrow for your school, for causing them so much grief. And another for that poor boy you hit today.”

Mirabel gives a slow nod. 

(There’s always a breaking point.)

(This is hers.)

__

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Tío Bruno asks hesitantly, hovering awkwardly behind her before Mirabel can step into her room. “I know things got a little…intense in there.”

This family.

You’re not even a Madrigal. How could you be?

Maybe, whatever she’s been missing, that part of her was what was supposed to define her as a Madrigal. Maybe, that’s why she wasn’t a part of the family. Maybe she never really was a Madrigal.

“…Mirabel?”

Mirabel blinks at Tío Bruno’s concerned voice, focusing back on him. “…I’m fine,” she answers, late. “I’m just tired.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I—” Tío Bruno pauses, stammering. “I just…if— if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mirabel answers. “I know.”

She tries for a smile, though she doesn’t think she succeeds.

Tío Bruno opens his mouth as if to say something before closing it, nodding. “Alright, I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, sí?”

“Yeah,” Mirabel whispers and turns away so he won’t see the guilt on her face. “…See you tomorrow, tío. Buenas noches.”

She slinks into her room and closes the door, leaning against it for a moment. Then, she takes a deep breath and looks around her room, a sort of hazy feeling settling over her.

She knows what she needs to do.

__

Antonio’s room is the last place Mirabel stops at before she leaves. Her packed bag is looped over her shoulders as she looks over her primo for probably the last time up close. He’s her best friend, the person who knows her the most out of everyone in their family. He had turned five a few days ago and Mirabel was thankful that she had gotten to celebrate it before she left.

She reaches out and smooths his hair from his face, expression softening when she finds that he’s cuddling the small jaguar plushie she had made. “Goodbye, tigrecito.”

Mirabel hitches her backpack up further and turns towards the window, sliding it open quietly. She climbs through it, clinging to the wall outside and slides it back closed. She jumps down to the fire escape, silent footsteps leading her down. She swings over to the building across Casita, turning to look back. 

Her abuela’s curtains are opened, light illuminating from the inside. She watches Alma’s shadow walk across the room, pausing momentarily before the light extinguishes, casting the room in darkness.

Longing grips her chest, squeezing it tight. Mirabel feels tears burn her eyes, but she holds strong, gripping the straps of her backpack tightly with trembling hands. She allows herself only a moment to stare at the building, at the last possible glance at where her familia is at.

Then, she turns and vanishes into the night.