Coming Down - MrSpockify - Super Mario & Related Fandoms [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

He was halfway through sliding across a line of blocks to duck under a bullet bill when Mario heard a sound that sent his heart into his throat. A wild, distant scream, familiar and terrifying, stopped him in his tracks. He got to his feet and looked around frantically. The Mushroom Kingdom and its bright surroundings faded suddenly, replaced by jagged rocks and billowing, dark smoke. The ground beneath his feet shook, and the heat was so intense he felt it seep through the soles of his shoes and warm the bottom of his feet.

The scream came again, louder. Luigi.

Mario took off in a random direction, pulled by every instinct in his body telling him he needed to save his brother before it was too late. A tightness built in his chest with the realization that he may be too late. He may have been too slow. He may not have been good enough to save him.

Another shout, and suddenly he was flying above a molten lake. The heat slammed into him like a wall, burning his cheeks as he shot towards it, towards the quickly fading figure in the distance. His heart pounded as he accelerated. Adrenaline rushed through him as his brother got nearer and nearer.

He reached out. The heat was overwhelming now, making it hard to breathe. His throat ached with every dry, smoky inhale.

His fingers brushed against green fabric, and in the euphoria of believing he might actually win, Mario slipped up. The tail on his suit faltered for just a moment, but it was enough to send him careening to the side, away from his brother. His stomach dropped.

They were so close to the lava he felt it blistering his skin, engulfing him in a suffocating heat as they tumbled down. Through his own chaotic spinning, he caught a glimpse of Luigi. His brother was closer to the lava than he was. He was falling faster. He was going to hit it first.

Mario would have to watch his brother die.

A gasp ripped its way through his throat, and Mario’s eyes shot open just to be met with darkness. From his left, he caught a glimpse of distant stars peeking through blinds. His body, soaked to the bone with sweat, was smothered under a pile of blankets. He was home. He was in his bed. It was just a dream. The faint memory of his brother’s screaming lingered along with the feeling of deep dread.

It took Mario about two seconds—two seconds too long—to realize the screaming was real.

He was rushing out into the hallway instantly, blankets left strewn on the floor and feet padding hurriedly across the hardwood. His brother’s room, just two doors down, felt miles away. He had to get to him. Luigi was in trouble, and Mario promised he’d take care of him. He promised everything would be fine if they were together. It had to be.

Mario tore into his brother’s room, nearly ripping the door from its hinges. His entire body tensed, ready for anything. It didn’t matter if there weren’t any power-ups, he would do anything, take on anyone, for his brother.

His brother, who was currently thrashing under his blankets, fast asleep and perfectly safe.

As if on cue, Luigi let out another scream. The sound split Mario’s heart into pieces. Despite knowing there wasn’t any real danger, a spike of adrenaline still ran through his veins, leaving a prickling sensation in his fingertips.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. A glance sideways at the alarm clock on his nightstand showed that it was three in the morning. He flicked on the lamp, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow.

The bed groaned as he sat down. He reached over to grab his brother’s shoulder and gently shake him awake.

“Lou,” he said, his voice soft. “Come on, Lou…”

One last scream tore out of Luigi as he came to. The fear in his eyes shifted quickly, first to confusion at seeing his brother, then understanding, and, finally, a look of intense shame.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mario assured him, holding his brother’s face in his hands. The skin was warm under his palms. “I’ve got you.”

Luigi sat up, slipping out from under his grasp. He looked like he was trying to get his breathing under control.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice cracking.

“What for?”

“I woke you up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Mario lied. From the look he got, he could tell Luigi saw right through it, too. He shrugged. “Okay, so you did. It’s fine.”

Luigi shook his head. “It’s not fine,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t be acting like this.”

Mario furrowed his brow. “Like what? What are you talking about?”

“Like a coward,” he explained. “I need to stop being so scared all the time.” Mario flinched a bit at his own words being said back to him. He hadn’t meant it like that when he said it to Luigi. He opened his mouth to say so, but his brother kept going. “I have nightmares every day.”

“You think I don’t have bad dreams, too?” He kept himself from saying he had just had one, probably prompted by the screaming. He laughed humorlessly. “It’s pretty normal after what we went through.”

“I’m serious, Mario. I can’t sleep anymore. I’m always so afraid that something bad is going to happen.”

“Hey, I told you before,” he said, placing a hand on Luigi’s shoulder, “nothing’s going to hurt us as long as we’re together.” His brother looked at him, and something in his eyes made the words feel hollow. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Really, Lou. I would never let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Luigi sagged a bit. “Sometimes—” he cut himself off.

“Sometimes what?”

He shook his shoulder free from Mario’s grip. “You should go get some rest. We both should. It’s late.”

“You can tell me anything,” Mario tried again, leaning over to look at his brother, but he couldn’t quite catch his eye.

“You won’t like what I have to say.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Luigi looked at him then, searching his face for something. Whatever he found made him soften a bit. “I think about it a lot. About when you saved me from the lava.” A brief memory of it flashed through Mario’s mind. Of his brother falling below him. Of being too slow—

“Sometimes…” Luigi continued, his voice slow, as if he was choosing his words very carefully. He steeled himself and looked away from Mario. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t saved me.”

Mario reacted as if he had been slapped, recoiling. “What?”

The words were poised at the tip of his tongue. He would have never let that happen. He would always be there to save him. How could he even think that it was a possibility that he would let him fall? Let him die? Mario would never have been able to live with himself. The thought of trying to go on after failing so spectacularly at his only job, his only responsibility, to keep his little brother safe and alive—

He realized Luigi was looking at him, fear etched in his features. Why? What happened?

Oh. Mario realized he was breathing too heavily, clutching at his own chest. Panic attack, a little voice offered in the back of his mind.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Luigi lamented. It was his turn to comfort Mario now, placing a shaky hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“No,” Mario gasped through haggard breaths. “No, it’s okay.” He took a moment to slow his breathing, but his heart still pounded in his chest. He looked at Luigi and tried to swallow down the knot in his throat.

How could his greatest fear be his brother’s greatest wish?

“I’m glad you told me,” he said once he had better control of himself. “I wish you didn’t feel like that, though,” he admitted. It scared the hell out of him, but he wouldn’t say that part out loud. He didn’t want Luigi to know how terrified he was all the time; his brother was scared enough as it was.

“I just get tired of being so afraid,” Luigi murmured. “Of feeling like I always need to be saved.” He looked at Mario and sighed. “I wish you didn’t feel like you always have to save me.” They looked at each other for a long time, until Mario finally broke the silence, snorting out a laugh.

“We’re quite the pair, huh?”

Luigi smiled. “We’ve probably got a lot to work through, don’t we?”

He nodded. Yeah, they probably did. But for now, they just had to get through the night.

“Scoot over,” Mario ordered, and when Luigi just gave him a confused look, he shoved his brother further away on the bed and snuck his way under the blankets. “And don’t hog the covers.”

“They’re my covers,” Luigi protested, tugging the sheets closer to his side of the bed. Mario laughed and let him take the sheets.

The two settled down to sleep, but Mario forced himself to stay awake until he heard his brother start to softly snore. He waited a little longer, too, just in case Luigi started having another nightmare. At least this way he’d be right by his side to pull him out of it.

Exhausted, Mario turned to his side to look at his brother. Fear curled in his stomach, and he turned Luigi’s words over and over in his mind. He sighed.

Yeah, they definitely had a lot to work through.

For now, he shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

“When your sink is in trouble, you can call us on the double,” Luigi muttered to himself, rolling onto his back underneath the sink of their latest client. He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers, and a second later felt the weight of a wrench. “We’re faster than the others, you’ll be hooked,” he snagged the wrench onto a pipe and twisted, grunting with the effort, as it tightened into place, “on the brothers.”

He tapped the pipe with the tip of the wrench, giving a satisfied hum at the small clank.

“Okay, try it now,” he called out. He could hear Mario shuffle above him, followed by the squeak of the faucet turning on. The water gurgled through the pipes, just like it should, and Luigi smiled. “Perfect, it just needed—”

The pipe above his head wobbled for a moment before twisting free from its position, giving Luigi no time to get out of the way. The metal smacked him square in the jaw, and he only had time to let out a small yelp before he was being blasted in the face with cold water. He gurgled and thrashed uselessly, but luckily Mario seemed to get the idea. The water shut off.

Luigi blinked, and suddenly he was dragged out from under the sink with his brother hovering above him, a frenzied look on his face.

“Lou!” Mario’s hands grasped his face tightly. Luigi grimaced. “Are you okay?”

Luigi grabbed his brother’s hands and pried them off his face. “I’m fine,” he said, even though moving his mouth sent jolt of pain radiating through his jaw. He touched a finger tenderly to the area, wincing.

“No, you’re not,” Mario argued, staring at his jaw with a serious expression. He held up a hand as if to touch it and Luigi whined and pulled away. “It’s already bruising. We should see a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor for a bruise,” Luigi complained. He sat up and wiggled his jaw back and forth to make sure it wasn’t broken. “I’ll just put some ice on it.”

“Okay, I’ll grab some ice,” Mario offered, heading for the nearby freezer. Luigi pulled himself off the floor and grabbed his brother by the strap of his overalls.

“We’re not going to steal ice from our client,” he whispered, as if the lady who lived there would be hiding around the corner, waiting to catch them rooting through her appliances. “It can wait until we get back home. We need to finish the job first.” Mario looked at him with a tense expression, but finally nodded. What was with him today?

“Fine, but you’re on faucet duty for the rest of the day,” Mario ordered, grabbing the abandoned wrench off the floor and crawling underneath the sink.

Luigi sighed and took his place by the spout, listening to his brother expertly reattach the pipes and fix up the mess he made. He rubbed his jaw and looked down at his soaking wet clothes. He couldn’t do anything right.

The two of them had been spending more time in Brooklyn instead of the Mushroom Kingdom lately. At least here, the worst trouble Luigi could cause was some spilled water on kitchen tiles. There was a significantly smaller chance of kidnapping, ghosts, giant evil turtle kings dangling him over a sea of lava… He shuddered.

The last few times they visited, usually stopping by Princess Peach’s castle, Luigi was a nervous wreck. He’d jump at every little thing, which meant he had a terrible time. Which, in turn, meant Mario had a terrible time. He’d spend the whole visit having to take care of his little brother. Luigi hated it. He knew his brother loved spending time with the Princess. It was cute, seeing his big brother get all flustered around somebody—great fodder for teasing. Which reminded him.

“So, how’s the Princess?” Luigi said, kicking his brother’s boot lightly. He stopped himself short of making kissing noises, but those were usually implied.

Mario paused for a moment before continuing to putter under the sink. “Oh, fine, I guess? I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Luigi pressed. He crouched down to peer at his brother. “Trouble in paradise?”

Mario smirked. “Very funny. No, I just mean we haven’t been out there in a while.”

We haven’t been out there in a while. Luigi felt a pang of guilt. “You should go and see her,” he offered.

“Nah,” Mario emphasized his detachment with a wave of the wrench. “It’s okay, really. I know we do better out here.” He smiled at his brother, clearly meant to make him feel better, but Luigi felt himself shrink.

We do better out here meant Luigi did better out here. And there was no I anymore with Mario, not really. Everything was together, or not at all. He had to keep an eye on his little brother after all. Luigi had to convince Mario just last week that they didn’t need to move back into the same room together.

“We should go,” he felt himself saying before his brain could catch up. When it did, he felt his heart stutter. Mario peered out from under the sink and gave him a questioning look. “I want to go,” he tried again, willing his voice not to shake.

Mario didn’t look so convinced. “We really don’t have to, Lou.”

“Please,” Luigi begged. He needed this. He needed this for Mario and himself.

A few seconds of silence passed where Mario just searched his brother’s face for something. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t say anything else before disappearing back under the sink, but Luigi could hear the hesitation in his voice.

Probably because he thinks he’ll have to take care of me the whole time, Luigi thought, standing back up. But no. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. This time would be different. He would show his brother that he was okay on his own. That he could take care of himself.

Everything would be fine.

Mario was on high alert. He had been since Luigi suggested they visit the Mushroom Kingdom, but now that they were approaching the warp pipe he felt the skin at the back of his neck tingling, like there was something waiting for them on the other side.

He grabbed his brother’s hand when they got closer, but he didn’t look to Luigi for his reaction. If Mario had his way, he’d have his brother on one of those toddler leashes when they used the warp pipe to make sure they didn’t get separated. He could settle for just holding his hand and never letting go.

They went through the warp pipe together, and Mario grabbed on to Luigi’s whole arm halfway through, probably digging his fingers in too deeply. He didn’t care. He’d have to have his own arms ripped from their sockets before he’d let go again.

When they landed, he held on for just a moment longer. Just long enough to make sure they were both safe.

“You okay?” he asked, looking at his little brother’s face for any sign of distress. They could leave right away—the warp pipe was right there. If Luigi wanted to turn around and go back home, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Luigi gave him a smile, but there was tension underneath. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

The walk through the Mushroom Kingdom felt longer than usual. Towering fungi loomed above them as they walked, blotting out the sunlight in some places and casting dark shadows in the corners. Mario glanced at each one to make sure there wasn’t something lurking there, waiting to jump out at them. He wished there were power-up blocks way out here, just in case. Maybe he’d ask the princess to install some in-between the warp pipe and her castle.

Luigi was quiet beside him. Mario could see him wringing his hands from time to time as they walked. He wished he could make his little brother understand how safe he was when they were together. There was absolutely no way he’d let anything happen.

When the castle came up on the horizon, it was like a weight lifted off their chests. They sped up their pace. Mario hadn’t realized how tense he had been until they stepped inside, and he felt his shoulders relax.

They weren’t completely safe here—it could still be invaded at any moment—but Mario did feel more secure in the castle. He could rest assured, knowing that there was an army standing by to protect them if they needed it. He and his brother shared a smile, and he could see the same sense of relief in Luigi’s face.

The two of them rounded a corner, and at the end of the hallway stood Princess Peach. Mario felt his heart flutter.

When she saw them approaching, her face seemed to light up, flashing them both a dazzling smile and waving one gloved hand. Mario commended himself for his extreme restraint when he chose not to sprint down the hall to meet her. That would probably be a little too undignified.

He did quicken his pace, though.

“Mario! Luigi!” Peach greeted. “What a wonderful surprise.” She hugged each of them in turn, and Mario felt something warm bubbling in his chest.

The three of them strolled around the castle for a while, chatting and catching up on the latest news from each of their worlds. Mario and Luigi shared a few stories from their plumbing business, but the real excitement came when Peach regaled them of all they had missed from the Mushroom Kingdom.

Mario thought he would never tire of hearing the princess speak. She was captivating, weaving stories together and leaving out no details. It was like she could spin a whole universe with just her words.

As she went on with tale after tale, Mario slowly felt himself unwinding. The weight of the world felt less heavy, less unbearable, while he was with Peach. It was easy to forget about all the bad things when he was in these walls, with the finest company in the entire Mushroom Kingdom. He felt light on his feet for the first time in a while.

This visit, he realized, was a really good idea. He turned around to tell his brother as much.

The weight of the world came crashing back down.

“Where’s Luigi?” Mario demanded, swiveling back and forth. He hurried over to the doorway and peered out in either direction down the hall. “Lou?” There was no answer.

“Oh,” Peach said, “I guess he must have snuck off while we were distracted.” She giggled, and Mario felt a wave of indignation wash over him. What was funny about this?

“He wouldn’t sneak off,” he argued. Something must have happened. What could have happened?

“Well, let’s retrace our steps,” Peach offered.

Mario took off down the hall, his mind racing. Had they even come this way? He should have been paying more attention to their surroundings instead of focusing so much on the princess. He should have noticed which rooms they had been in. He should have noticed his own brother wasn’t there. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Did we come in here?” Mario pointed to a room full of massive paintings. Without waiting for an answer, he stuck his head inside. “Luigi? Lou?” Nothing. He popped back out and continued down the hall.

He was out of breath. Probably because he was running now. Behind him, he heard the click of Peach’s heels as she rushed after him.

Another room. Nothing. Another room. Still nothing.

“Mario…”

Oh, God, what if he never found him? Luigi could have been kidnapped again, and this time he might be too late to save him. Maybe it wasn’t even Bowser this time; this place was probably filled with evil beings, maybe even more powerful and vile than Bowser. Luigi could be in agony. Why did they come back?

“Mario.”

Luigi’s words echoed in his mind. Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t saved me. A knife pierced through his heart, and his feet stuttered as he ran. What if Luigi didn’t want to be found? What if he left them on purpose? What if he had done something to himself? Hurt himself? Mario hadn’t been able to dwell on it before, but a brief thought crossed his mind suddenly like a gunshot. Suicide.

Mario was choking now. He collapsed sideways against a wall, the rough brick digging into his arm. He heaved, the weight in his chest growing so large he felt it collapsing his lungs, suffocating him where he stood.

“Mario!” Peach appeared in front of him. She grabbed him by the shoulders firmly. “You need to calm down. What’s going on?”

He pushed her hands away and gulped for air. Calm down? Calm down? Luigi could be out there, afraid, alone, hurt, dead—a whine crawled its way up his throat.

“Please,” he gasped, “I have to find him.” He looked at Peach, hoping beyond hope he could convey to her how much he needed this. “Please.” His voice cracked.

Her expression was full of worry, but he doubted it was for Luigi’s sake. Still, Peach nodded and took off down the hall. He followed her as best as he could, stumbling every few steps and still gasping for air. They turned a corner and came across a brigade of toads. Peach quickly set to work filling them in on the situation and sending them around the premises to find the missing brother.

Peach’s hand slotted into his own, and she tugged him along down another hallway. He was thankful for the tether to reality. He sort of felt like he was sinking into quicksand.

It felt like forever, searching from room to room and coming up empty every time. With each passing second Mario convinced himself that it was too late. He had let his guard down like an idiot, and now he was paying the price. He was alone.

Finally, a toad came bustling into the room and made a beeline for the princess.

“Luigi has been spotted in the gardens!” He saluted.

Peach replied with something, but Mario didn’t stick around long enough to hear it. He was sprinting down the hall, using muscle memory to find his way outside. Expansive archways laced with vines swooped into view. Behind them, round bushes dotted with vibrant flowers and tall, swaying trees bearing colorful and exotic fruit. And there. Sitting idly on a stone bench and staring up at the clouds.

Luigi.

If Mario was thinking any clearer, he would have announced himself. Instead, he tore into the gardens and practically tackled his brother, wrenching him from his place on the bench and pulling him into a tight hug. Luigi yelped.

“Mario, what—”

“Lou,” Mario sobbed, squeezing his brother tighter. He didn’t ever want to let go. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He gasped and pulled back to hold Luigi out in front of him. He looked him over. “You’re okay, right? You’re okay?”

Luigi looked a little shaken, but overall, he seemed fine. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” Mario repeated again, committing it to memory. It was fine, everything was fine. He got to his brother in time again.

He heard rustling in the grass behind him and glanced over to see Peach approaching. She looked at Luigi, her expression tense.

“We should go,” Mario announced, hooking his arm through his brother’s and pulling him towards the garden exit.

“Wait,” both Luigi and Peach said at the same time. Beside him, Luigi’s feet planted firmly. What was he doing? They needed to get somewhere safe. Mario felt a familiar tug of fear starting up again.

“What’s going on?” Luigi asked. Mario was about to answer when he looked up and realized his brother was speaking to the princess.

“He realized you were gone, and when he couldn’t find you, he…” Peach glanced at him, and he felt suddenly self-conscious. “He’s been like this since.”

Like this. He was fine. Everything was fine. Especially now that he had his brother back.

“I don’t understand,” Luigi said. He turned his attention to Mario, who suddenly felt very small. “Why are you freaking out?”

“Who’s freaking out? I’m not freaking out.” Mario let out a strained, hysterical laugh. Alright, maybe not the most convincing sound. He grabbed on to Luigi’s arm tighter and gave another tug, trying to get him to come along. His brother wouldn’t budge. His heart hammered harder in his chest.

“Mario, what’s going on?”

“We need to go,” Mario panted. He squeezed Luigi’s arm and yanked him forward so his brother stumbled in the right direction.

“Ow,” Luigi cried out. He fought back again, pulling his arm free. “Mario, stop.”

“Please,” he tried again, reaching for his brother. When Luigi dodged him and stepped away, Mario felt panic seize in his chest. “We have to go.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe here!” His voice seemed to echo around them. He stood breathing heavily while the two just stared at him. Luigi looked shocked, then a look of recognition crossed his face. Mario didn’t like it.

Luigi walked towards him slowly, holding his arms out like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Please…” Mario said softly. A knot was forming in his throat, sour and painful.

Luigi planted his hands on Mario’s shoulders and leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “Mario, listen to me. It’s safe here.” Mario tried to shake his head, but his brother’s hands were suddenly on either side of his face, holding him still. “It is. You’re safe. I’m safe.”

“But what if you weren’t?” Mario sobbed. The tears came before he realized it was happening, and he found that he couldn’t stop. He gripped the straps of Luigi’s overalls and gasped through wet breaths. “What if I lost you?”

“You didn’t.”

“I almost did.”

“You didn’t.”

“You wish I had.” Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t saved me.

Luigi sighed, closing his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He pulled his face back a bit but kept his hands on either side of Mario’s face. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. I’m okay, Mario. Really.” Mario stared at him, studying his face for any sign that he was lying. When he found nothing, he could feel the terror start to seep out from his bones. Not entirely, but enough to make breathing just a little bit easier. “But,” Luigi continued, wiping at Mario’s tears with his thumbs, “I don’t think you’re okay.”

Mario wanted to argue but felt himself at a loss for words. The realization of what had just happened, what he had done, suddenly came crashing down. He glanced over his shoulder to see Peach standing at a distance, staring at them. His cheeks burned.

“Let’s go inside,” Luigi suggested. Mario nodded and let his brother usher him along. They walked in silence, birds chirping softly above them and the breeze jostling the bushes.

The castle was quiet, too. It felt abandoned, the large, empty halls echoing with just the sound of their puttering footsteps and his halting breaths as he calmed himself down. The brothers settled down in a sitting room, and Peach left them alone to bring them all some tea.

“I’m sorry,” Mario finally said.

“Don’t be,” Luigi replied. “I was so focused on making sure I was okay so you wouldn’t have to take care of me so much. I didn’t realize you needed to be taken care of, too.”

“When I couldn’t find you, I just panicked. It was terrifying.” It was embarrassing, he added internally.

“Trust me, I know what it’s like to be scared all the time. I just wish you would’ve told me. I could help.” Luigi said, looking so genuine that Mario felt guilty for not coming forward. Although, he wasn’t even sure he realized his own fears until now. He had been so caught up in keeping his brother safe, he hadn’t noticed.

“I just can’t stand the thought of losing you again,” Mario admitted, sinking further into his chair.

“You didn’t lose me,” Luigi reminded him.

“Do you understand how close I came, though?” Mario asked, staring at his brother. All he could see was Luigi plummeting towards lava, the image burned into his brain. “Lou, if I hadn’t gotten to you in time, I…” He trailed off, but his mind supplied the rest—I would’ve flown straight into it after you.

Well. That’s not something he’d admitted to himself before. Mario sighed. Maybe he could understand where Luigi was coming from.

“Yeah, I might not be okay,” he muttered.

“Talking about it helps.”

“Being with you helps.”

“I think that’s part of the problem if that’s the only thing that helps.” Mario grimaced. His brother was probably right.

They sighed in unison, and a moment later Peach reappeared with a tray of teacups and a kettle. She sat down and passed them around. Mario clutched his own cup closely, watching the steam curl up in front of his nose. He was so tired.

“How are you feeling?” Peach asked. She didn’t look at him like he was a nutcase, which felt like a good sign.

“You know, I’ve had better days,” Mario admitted, smiling wryly. She smiled back, which made him feel a little lighter.

“Sometimes I forget how strange this must all be to you,” she said. “It would be hard on anyone who went through even half of what you two have been through.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got each other to get through it,” Luigi said, bumping his shoulder into Mario’s. They shared a smile, and Mario leaned back into the cushions on his chair. He had a lot to figure out, but yeah, at least he had someone to help him through.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

They were finding Mario’s independence to be a bit of a struggle. That was to be expected, though. His therapist had warned him it was going to be a prolonged process full of ups and downs, successes and setbacks (not failures, she was careful to specify).

They were mostly trying to tackle his separation anxiety—a term Mario absolutely hated. I’m not a dog, he huffed, ranting to his brother after his first therapy session. It had been a miserable experience, apparently, making him feel small and alone. Was it because I wasn’t there with you? Luigi had asked. Mario had been pretty quiet after that.

This was all so weird for Luigi. He’d spent his entire life being the one who needed to be taken care of. He was the one standing behind his brother while Mario took charge, fixed every problem, protected him. Mario was the strong one. Sentimental and compassionate, of course, but always the rock. And now, Luigi had to be the rock.

He wasn’t so sure he was doing it right.

It felt like he always did the wrong thing. And every time he did the wrong thing, it felt like he was setting his brother back in his recovery. No matter what he did, Luigi could always see the fear that still lingered deep in his brother’s eyes. He wanted to be able to reach in and physically remove it for him. Mario could probably do that if their roles were reversed.

The very first homework assignment from Mario’s therapist was supposed to be simple. Mario had insisted it was stupidly easy, almost insultingly so. He was supposed to go for a walk around the block by himself. That was it.

Mario got stuck at the door.

Luigi found his brother holding the doorknob tight in his fist but not turning it. It looked like he was steeling himself, but unable to take the last step forward. Mario looked at him, shame washing over his features.

And that just wouldn’t do, Luigi figured, because his brother didn’t need to feel that way on his very first assignment. He had the perfect solution. Luigi would go on the walk instead. He directed his brother to sit on the couch and wait, and he set off.

He didn’t go far and didn’t stay out for long. He just strolled around the block a few times. It felt nice to be out and get some fresh air, though it was weird to be doing it alone. Not bad, per se, just strange.

After a few minutes, Luigi headed back inside. He found his brother hyperventilating on the living room floor.

They sat on the floor together in each other’s arms, rocking back and forth, for what seemed like forever until Mario was able to settle down.

Apparently, Luigi had forgotten to take his phone. The second after he left the apartment, Mario tried to text him and ask him to ditch the idea and come back, but the green phone buzzed on the kitchen table, abandoned. He spiraled from there. He couldn’t contact his brother. Luigi couldn’t contact him if he was in trouble. Anything could happen in Brooklyn. Luigi could’ve been mugged or have gotten lost or been hit by a car or maybe he’d left his phone on purpose so he couldn’t be found—

Luigi had to cut him off there so Mario could calm down again.

Afterwards, Mario apologized over and over again. Luigi said it was okay every time.

He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing his brother like that. Mario was usually so strong and collected, but whenever he got into a state like that he looked like a wild animal. His movements were erratic and panicky; he would grab at Luigi and hold him as tightly as he could, as if he was trying to fuse the two of them together. His eyes would dart around, like he could see some threat that Luigi couldn’t. He’d curl into himself so tightly Luigi was almost afraid he’d disappear.

Luigi had spent his entire life being terrified of pretty much every little thing, and in the recent past he’d had to face certain death and actual, literal monsters. Somehow, seeing his brother like this was scarier than any of that.

He had expected it to feel familiar. He knew fear—was comfortable with it, almost. He thought seeing Mario like that would be like looking at a reflection of himself. It felt more like he was looking into a funhouse mirror, his own anxieties warped and twisted into some inhuman terror. This was beyond simple fear. This was beyond anything he could reasonably fix.

They kept trying, though.

Sometimes, it seemed like things were getting better. After a few trial runs, Luigi was able to pop out to the grocery store alone, just as long as he’d send a few text updates along the way. Got to the train station. Heading underground, won’t have service for a minute. Off the train, heading down ninth. At the store. Do we need milk? It was kind of tedious, but they made do. It filled them both with pride that they’d been able to find a good solution.

Whenever he came home, they’d dedicate half an hour to sitting on the couch together so Mario could get his bearings. Sometimes this stretched into a full hour, but Luigi never mentioned it.

Some days were better than others. On bad days, Mario would be plastered to his side. If they needed to be in separate rooms at all, like while Luigi was using the bathroom, he’d leave the door open so they could chat the whole time. When Mario started getting worked up, Luigi would hold him close and talk him down, promise that he wouldn’t be going anywhere today. He had to stay on high alert, watching his brother’s every move to make sure Mario wouldn’t spiral into a full panic. Those days were few and far between, but they always left Luigi feeling exhausted. He’d spend the whole next day assuring Mario that it was okay, he didn’t mind, he was happy to help. That was also exhausting, in its own way.

The exhaustion would be fine if he’d be able to sleep it off. Most nights he still woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares. Lately, those nightmares had included being unable to calm his brother down from a panic attack. Every morning, he’d push down those memories and make the two of them coffee, hoping it would be a better day for Mario.

One day, after one of Mario’s therapy sessions, Luigi asked what the therapist thought of their progress, of their various solutions for helping Mario cope. He hadn’t brought it up to her yet, apparently. He would at their next session; he promised.

Mario was really quiet after his next session. He wouldn’t explain why, no matter how much Luigi pressed. He stopped discussing anything that happened in therapy after that. In fact, he seemed to stop discussing anything after that.

Luigi watched his brother withdraw. He stopped talking almost entirely, existing as a quiet entity around the apartment—always there, but not quite there. He’d follow Luigi at a distance without saying anything, sometimes drawing so little attention that Luigi forgot he was there all together. He’d be engrossed in doing something, turn around, and startle a little at his brother sitting idly in the corner, scrolling on his phone, or just peering out a window. Luigi asked about it a lot, and each time, Mario just shrugged.

It came as a surprise when, while Luigi was heading out to the store, Mario quietly asked him not to text updates this time.

“If I call or text, don’t answer,” Mario ordered, his voice small but firm.

He called only once while Luigi was browsing for detergent. He stared at the contact on the screen, finger hovering over the answer button. An image of his brother struggling to breathe, face streaked with tears, flashed in his mind. He wanted to answer the call so badly, to make sure he was okay, to be able to calm him down. But he had made a promise, so Luigi declined the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, feeling just about like the worst brother in the universe.

When he got home, he expected to be ambushed by Mario in the midst of a panic attack. The apartment was dead silent, which somehow felt worse.

“Mario?” Luigi called, his stomach sinking. Fear engulfed him, his heart squeezing in his chest. He suddenly empathized with his brother, wondering if this was just a fraction of how he felt when Luigi was out of sight.

He saw his brother’s bedroom door was shut and hurried over to it, pressing his ear to the wood. He could hear ragged breathing, and although it was heartbreaking, he felt himself sag in relief. He knocked lightly on the door before cracking it open. Inside, he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Hey, Mario, I’m back,” he announced. His brother was at his desk, pointedly not looking back. His shoulders were nearly up to his ears.

“O-okay,” he replied shortly. He had obviously been crying.

“Are you alright?” Luigi took a step into the room and watched as his brother tensed up further.

“Yep,” he clipped.

“Do you… need anything?”

“Nope.” Luigi grimaced at the tone. His brother sounded like he was using every ounce of self-control, his body visibly trembling.

“Are you sure?” He took another step forward, and his brother drew in a long breath.

“Please…” Mario whispered, shaking his head. Luigi backed away.

“Alright, well, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” he offered. Mario didn’t reply, so he quietly shut the door, feeling suddenly miserable.

Maybe he should have answered that call.

Things continued like that for a couple weeks. The apartment was quiet, but calm. Luigi could go out on his own more often, and when he came back Mario was always hiding away in his bedroom, tense but mostly under control.

One day, after a walk at a nearby park, Luigi came home and sat on the couch without checking on his brother first. He sank into the cushions and sighed contentedly. It was a relief to be able to walk through the door and not have to immediately switch into crisis control mode.

A soft sob wafted through the hallway, and Luigi felt guilt wash over him.

He was at the door in an instant. How could he let himself think something like that? How selfish was he? Shame gnawed at him from the inside out. He was a horrible brother.

Without even knocking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Mario was on the floor with his back to his bed and his knees pulled up to his chest. He had one hand covering his mouth to muffle his crying, while his other hand was pinned in between his legs and stomach. He looked up at Luigi miserably.

“Mario…”

That was all it took. Mario’s face twisted up, contorting painfully as another sob broke out from behind his hand. Luigi dropped down to his side and tried to pull him into a hug, but his brother resisted.

“I’m so-sorry,” Mario gasped, moving his hand from his face to tangle up in his hair.

“It’s okay,” he tried, but his brother just shook his head.

“It’s not,” Mario insisted. “It’s been ages, and you’ve been trying so ha-hard, and I just haven’t been getting bet—” he wheezed out a shuddering breath, “—better.”

“You are getting better,” Luigi assured him. He was getting better, right? Luigi could actually go out on his own now, and he never came home to Mario hyperventilating and grasping his brother’s arms so tightly he left finger-shaped bruises. “You just can’t see what I’m seeing.”

Mario continued to shake his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Luigi pried free the hand wound up in Mario’s hair and held it in his own. Up close, he could see blood under the fingernails.

“Mario?” Luigi turned the hand over, looking at the streaks of red painting his palms.

His brother ripped his hand away, closing his fist and tucking it away by his chest. He turned his face away, looking embarrassed. “Can you leave?” His voice was small.

Luigi settled into a more comfortable position instead, leaning his back up against his brother’s bed so they were sitting side by side, shoulders pressed together. He glanced over at Mario, whose other arm was still firmly trapped between his stomach and legs.

“Let me see,” Luigi said, his voice soft. When his brother didn’t move, he just waited patiently, the silence filling the space around them. The only thing that broke the quiet tension was his brother’s occasional sniffle while he calmed his crying.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mario slowly unfolded his body, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting his arm hang loosely in his lap. His sleeve was rolled up, revealing long, angry scratches up and down his forearm. Bloodstains blotted the thighs of his jeans and the front of his shirt. Luigi would need to clean the cuts up later, but for now it looked as if the bleeding had stopped.

“What happened?”

Mario shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I was just trying to calm myself down.”

Luigi didn’t want to, but he pictured his brother, alone in his room, so desperate to stop panicking he resorted to scratching off his own skin as he struggled to contain himself. How bad must he have felt to get to that point? He must have been bursting at the seams.

Luigi almost asked why didn’t you come get me? The thought of having to face that scene, to try and wrench Mario’s fingers away from his arms, the possibility that he might get hurt in the process…

Tears suddenly pricked the back of his eyes, and Luigi fought back against a knot forming in his throat.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he admitted.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Mario replied.

“You’ve helped me my whole life,” Luigi argued. “I should be able to help you now.”

“Not with this.”

They looked at each other, and Luigi could still see that fear rooted deep in his brother’s eyes. He thought it might be there forever, at this rate. Mario sighed and looked away.

“Lou, you are the only person in the world who can even begin to understand what I went through,” he said, his voice tinged with grief. “It’s not fair to you. This shouldn’t be your burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Luigi said automatically.

“I am.” Mario took a deep breath. “And that’s okay. I know you still love me. I know that won’t change.” It sounded like something he had said before, rehearsed and repeated over and over again. “But right now, you feel like I’m an obligation, and that’s not okay.”

Luigi opened his mouth the protest, but the look Mario gave him shut him up.

“I can see how exhausted you are when you have to take care of me. You change everything you do just to make sure I don’t freak out. I’m not okay, but I know you’re not okay, either.” Mario clenched his jaw. “Lou, I’m hurting you.”

Was he? Luigi was aware suddenly of the bone-deep fatigue weighing him down. The pressure seemed to be building up, eating away at his tendons and muscles, and he imagined it would keep going until there was nothing left of him. He wondered how much was even left now.

“You deserve to work on your own healing,” Mario finished.

Luigi didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t try to argue. He was grateful and relieved, to a degree, which just made him feel a pang of guilt. His brother seemed to sense it.

“I want you to work on your own healing,” Mario amended.

Luigi just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more about it. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to shift the focus back on his brother. “What will you do now?”

Mario leaned his head back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m seeing a psychiatrist next week. I think medication might help.” He sighed. “I’m going to try group therapy. My therapist suggested one she thinks I’ll like. I don’t think any of them will understand what I went through, but…” He shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

It was comforting, knowing that his brother already had plans to take care of himself. Mario wouldn’t be left drowning with him. It was like a weight off his shoulders, and he felt his body unwind. He hadn’t even realized how tense he had been.

“What about you?” Mario asked. “What will you do now?”

Luigi hesitated. He’d been so focused on taking care of Mario’s needs, Luigi wasn’t even sure what he needed.

“I don’t know,” he finally said with a shrug.

His brother’s hand slid into his own, giving a comforting squeeze.

“Well,” Mario said, “I hope now you feel like you have the space to figure it out.”

Luigi looked at his brother, feeling more tension melt away from his chest and letting him breathe for what seemed like the first time in a long time. He squeezed Mario’s hand back and smiled, a thought going unsaid between them, but the message translating clearly.

Thank you.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Mario was trying unbelievably hard to get better for his brother. He was doing it for himself and his own healing, all that nonsense; but mostly he needed to do it for Luigi. His dad’s words haunted him. You’re bringing your brother down with you. He wasn’t sure it had ever been truer.

He knew he was being overbearing, but he couldn’t help it. It was like someone else took over when he panicked. All rational thought disappeared, and he was left waiting in a corner while fear piloted his body, making the worst decisions possible. His hands had a mind of their own, and no matter how hard he tried to loosen his grip on something—usually his poor brother—he just couldn’t get his body to listen. He’d tell himself to breathe and his lungs would refuse. He’d try to quiet his mind, but his thoughts would keep spiraling, jumping to the scariest conclusions no matter how much he tried to convince himself they weren’t true.

So now it was time to double down on things. He had to get better.

Mario stood in the parking lot of local community college, staring up at the imposing gray brick of a building. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie—he opted to dress casually, incognito. He was pretty sure some people might still recognize him from the whole saving Brooklyn from a huge monster turtle thing, but at least this would draw less attention than the classic red hat and overalls.

He steeled himself. Okay. He could do this.

The glass door opened silently under his hand, and Mario stepped inside, taking in the grim, dusty tile and matching gray walls. A flimsy sheet of paper was taped to the far wall with the words “Welcome! BK Community Leaders group therapy, 9:30AM” printed in bold letters. A room number and a messy arrow pointing right was drawn on the bottom in faded marker.

He made his way down the hall, his footsteps squeaking obnoxiously on the floor. His mind felt fuzzy, a small jolt buzzing through his head with every step. A side effect of his new medication. Brain zaps, his doctor had called it. It was normal, apparently, and would go away eventually. It was more tolerable than the violent nausea he had gotten the first couple days of taking it. He’d spent the entire first night hugging the toilet, his cheek pressed against the porcelain while he tried, and failed, to vomit in silence so as not to wake his brother.

Luigi was having none of it, of course, and had spent the night right by his side, rubbing circles on his back and humming softly to get him to feel better. That was exactly why Mario hadn’t immediately stopped taking the medication. He sucked it up, kept downing it every night, and fought against the feeling of nausea alone in his bed, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The nausea went away after a few days, thankfully.

His doctor had given him stronger medication for immediate relief, too, whenever he was feeling a full panic attack coming on, but he hadn’t tried using that yet. He didn’t like the idea of having to rely on it. He hated having to resort to medication at all if he was being honest. It was embarrassing that he had gotten to this point.

It was embarrassing that he had to come to this, too. Mario looked up at the room number before him and tried not to grumble out loud. He rolled his eyes and walked in.

It was more crowded than he had expected, which made his heart beat a little faster in his chest. Maybe a dozen or so people were milling about the room, a few chatting with each other while others were already sitting in one of the several fold-out chairs set up in a circle in the middle of the room. For a moment, he just stood by the door, overwhelmed, and seriously considering turning right around and going back home.

“Coffee’s over on the table,” an older man said as he passed by, gesturing to the side of the room.

Mario glanced over. Right. Coffee. He could do that.

The table was short, with a plastic cloth draped over the top, dotted with pictures of colorful balloons. He grabbed a paper cup and poured himself a drink, skipping the cream and sugar and bringing it right to his mouth. The taste was bitter and cheap, burning the tip of his tongue, but he sighed as he felt it warm him from the inside out.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. There weren’t that many people. He surveyed the room, noting that nobody seemed to be paying him any mind. Even the others who seemed to be doing the same as him, looking around, only glanced at him briefly before moving on.

Taking his coffee, Mario made his way to the circle of chairs, choosing one that felt like a polite distance from the others already seated. His feet dangled off the front, not quite touching the floor. He sipped his coffee and stared at his lap.

His mind started to wander, and as hard as he tried not to think about it, his thoughts went immediately to his brother. Luigi said he would be staying home while Mario went to group therapy. He said he would be waiting for him when he got back. It took about thirty minutes to get here, an hour and a half until the session was up, then thirty minutes to get back.

Two hours. His brother had to be home alone for just two hours. He would be fine. The chances of anything happening to him were low. Not zero, but low. It was going to be okay. It was probably going to be fine. If anything happened, Luigi would call Mario immediately. He kept his phone at the highest volume for exactly that reason.

Hopefully, nothing would happen, especially not something that was so bad it kept Luigi from using his phone. Like if the building burned down. Or his brother hurt himself and couldn’t make the call because he had fallen unconscious, bleeding out. Or—

Mario shook himself out of it. He took another long chug of his coffee and let the burning sensation bring him back to reality. He really couldn’t let himself do this here, with a dozen witnesses.

Slowly, the mingling around him died down and one by one the chairs surrounding him filled up, only a few left unoccupied. Directly across the circle from him, a woman who looked to be about in her fifties crossed her legs and held out her hands.

“Welcome, everyone. Thank you for joining us today,” she announced. “My name is Bonnie.”

Mario mostly tuned Bonnie out as she gave a brief introduction of the purpose of the group and set some ground rules for everyone. She didn’t speak for long before giving the floor to others to start talking. The older man who pointed Mario to the coffee earlier started, his voice gruff while he said something about his late wife and drinking himself to sleep every night.

A younger girl beside him spoke up next, her voice so quiet Mario almost couldn’t hear her. He was sure the people across the circle from her couldn’t hear a word she was saying, but they still politely watched her like they were listening closely to everything she said. He could make out bits and pieces of her story, of feeling pressure to be perfect, of hurting herself and feeling guilty afterwards.

Mario sank down further in his seat. Under his sleeve, his arm still felt raw from the scratches that marred his skin. They rubbed against the fabric of his shirts every day, freshly irritated each time and refusing to heal completely. He knew if he just wore shorter sleeves and let them breathe, they’d go away in no time. He just couldn’t bring himself to look at them for that long.

It was better him get hurt than his brother, at least. He knew Luigi tried his hardest to hide it, but Mario would catch glimpses of his brother’s arms while he changed in the mornings. Luigi’s skin would have mottled purple marks up on his shoulders and down to the crook of his elbows from when Mario had bad days. He never said a word to Mario about it, but it had to hurt.

After a few more people shared, a silence settled on the group. When no one else moved to speak up, Bonnie sat up in her chair. Her eyes scanned the circle, and Mario felt his heart leap into his throat when her gaze landed on him.

“This is your first time here, right?” She asked. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Mario froze as he felt all eyes turn to him. A dozen people suddenly felt like hundreds. He gripped the paper cup in his hands tighter and sat up straight.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” he said, his voice uneasy. “I’m…” He really didn’t want to say his name. He had no idea who in this room knew him already from appearance alone, or how many weren’t quite sure if he was that guy from the television who saved the city but needed his name to confirm their suspicions. Maybe no one in this room even watched the news. Maybe no one had even heard of him at all.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve never really done this before,” he admitted, looking to Bonnie for help. She smiled, her calming presence a comfort even from across the circle.

“Only share what you’re comfortable with,” she instructed. Then, as a prompt, “What brings you here today?”

“My brother,” he said automatically. That sobered him up quickly. He was here for Luigi; he needed to make the most of it. He took a deep breath and tried not to think about how many people were staring at him. “I haven’t been very good to him, lately. See, after we…” He trailed off, trying to think of how to explain everything that had happened to them. How could anyone here understand what they had gone through?

Only share what you’re comfortable with. Bonnie’s voice repeated in his mind.

“We went through something really scary,” he said. Vague, but not untrue. “Him more than me. We got separated for a while. He went through so much without me. I don’t even know the half of it, to be honest. And then he, uh,” Mario clenched his jaw. “He almost died.”

He paused to take a few breaths.

“I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he had died. And now I’m just constantly worried something bad will happen if I’m not there to protect him. I know I’m being too much. He can’t even leave the apartment without me having a panic attack. And I know he’s hurting, too. Of course, he is. What he went through was way worse than me. I know he’s scared and depressed, and he should be able to focus on himself without having to deal with me freaking out every time we’re apart. But I just,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I feel like I have to be there to protect him at every second, just in case. I can’t lose him.”

He stared down into his coffee, his ears burning while he let everyone digest his story. He wasn’t even sure if anything he had said made sense.

“You know,” the woman to his left said, turning in her chair to face him. “My son is a drug addict.” Mario looked at her, a little confused. Were they done with his turn now? That was fine, he guessed. A little abrupt, but maybe that’s how these things worked. “His whole life was a mess, honestly. His father was awful to him. He wrecked his car twice and almost died the second time. He was homeless for a while. And that’s just what I know about. You said your brother went through a lot, too?”

Mario nodded. Luigi had told him a few things. Being chased by skeletons. Being captured by masked creatures. Being kept in a cage above lava. He never discussed details, and Mario could tell there were things his brother was leaving out. He was sure there was more, which was terrifying.

“I was really scared, too, just like you,” the woman continued. “I kept thinking that, if just one more thing happens to him, this will be it. This will be the thing that takes him from me for good. I didn’t want to let him out of my sight, because I didn’t think he could handle it on his own. I had to be there to make sure he was okay.”

Nothing can hurt us, as long as we’re together.

“One day, I’m talking to my therapist, telling her about my son, and she stops me and says, ‘You keep saying you’re afraid he can’t take it on his own, but listen to what you told me. He’s been through so much already, and none of it has stopped him yet.’ She used a word. Resilient.” She leaned closer. “If your brother has already been through that much, and he’s still going in spite of it, I think he’s probably pretty resilient, too.”

Mario stared at the woman in awe. It was as if she’d laid out the answer to his problems on a neatly folded sheet, like it was nothing at all. The perfect gift from a complete stranger.

He didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he just nodded, and she smiled in return, seeming to understand. He looked away, blinking away tears and trying to breathe past the burning sensation in his throat.

Bonnie took pity on him and moved on to someone else. He had stopped trying to listen, their words fluttering around him but not taking any concrete form.

He thought about Luigi, about everything he had gone through, completely on his own. Mario hadn’t been there for any of it. The warp zone had torn them apart, and from that second forward Luigi had faced Hell by himself. Mario might’ve saved his brother from the lava, but everything else? All Luigi.

The rest of the hour and a half passed by quickly. Everyone in the circle stood in unison to leave, and Mario ambled over to the trash to toss his empty paper cup away. As he walked to the door, a figure appeared beside him.

“I’m really glad you came in today,” Bonnie said. “I hope you got something out of it.”

Mario hummed, looking around the room and catching a glimpse of the woman from earlier who spoke about her son. “I think I did.”

“I also hope you’ll be coming back,” she continued. “I know a lot of the people here resonated with what you said today.”

He paused at that. “Really?” How could anyone here relate to him? He felt like such an outsider.

“The details are all different, but we’re all just people. We’re processing our own stuff like people do, and that’s a pretty universal experience.” Mario nodded slowly, and as they approached the doorway, he stood to one side so people could pass him.

“I, um,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks, I guess.” Bonnie smiled.

He shuffled out the door, down the dreary hallway, and out into the parking lot. Over his shoulder, he looked at the unassuming building. It felt a lot less imposing now.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to see a message from his brother. Heading home soon? Gonna order pizza for lunch! Extra mushrooms, right?

Mario scoffed and rolled his eyes. He had told Luigi he didn’t need to text all the time to keep him calm, but his brother still did it whenever there was anything stressful going on. Luigi probably just wanted to make sure he was okay after group therapy, so he sent a text to make sure Mario knew his brother was safe and alive.

He was grateful for it, of course, but for once, Mario thought that maybe he would have been okay, even without the text.

He shot back a string of barfing emojis, pocketed the phone, and headed to the subway.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

The warp zone swirled around them, colors churning together and shooting past before they could get a good look. Luigi wished he could appreciate the view more. It would be awe-inspiring and beautiful, he was sure, if he was anyone else. Instead, he couldn’t help but see the dark cloud off in the distance, threatening to suck him in.

Forcing himself to look away, he held tighter to his brother’s hand. It was the only thing that grounded him—as grounded as you could get here, floating and spinning around without gravity to keep you in place. It was impossible to not feel dizzy and a little bit like he might fly off in one direction and never stop.

Dropping into the Mushroom Kingdom was a relief, and Luigi bounced on his toes for a moment, reveling at the ground beneath his feet and the fact that he had made it in one piece. Mario still held on tightly to his hand.

“How are you doing?” Luigi asked, making no move to pull his hand away.

This was their take two of sorts. Mario had been hard at work for several weeks, and Luigi could see him getting better day by day. He saw it in the way Mario woke up in the mornings and took his coffee with a soft smile instead of a spaced-out look and dark eyebags. He saw it in the way Mario went back for seconds during meals instead of barely finishing half his plate. He saw it in the way Mario sometimes asked his brother if he could go out alone and grab something from the grocery store—Luigi pretended not to notice when it was an item they already had.

Most of all, he knew his brother was getting better because Luigi himself didn’t spend each day completely exhausted. He hadn’t even realized how much energy he spent on keeping Mario calm until he didn’t have to anymore.

There were still bad days, but they were nowhere near as bad as they used to be. Mario was getting better at saying what he needed, which took a lot of the guesswork out of it for Luigi. I need a hug. I need to know how you’re feeling. I need some space right now. Those were easy things Luigi could help his brother with. Mario was working through his own embarrassment at using medication when he needed it, too, which helped.

Mario looked at his brother for a moment, and Luigi could see him taking calm, steady breaths. It was something he’d noticed happened a lot, and Luigi had even started doing it himself when he felt his anxiety getting to be too much. It helped, and somehow made him feel a little closer to his brother. He figured maybe that was why it helped.

“I think I’m alright,” Mario finally answered. He let go of his hand and nodded towards the horizon. “Let’s go.”

A bright pink envelope had arrived at their apartment a few days before. The neat script inside of it had told them of an upcoming charity event in the Mushroom Kingdom, along with a warm invitation to both the brothers asking for their attendance from Princess Peach. Luigi had stayed quiet, patiently watching to see his brother’s reaction. Mario had lit up instantly at seeing a correspondence from Peach, but his expression faltered a bit at the content. Luigi watched his jaw clench and his brow furrow in deep thought, until finally he looked at Luigi and insisted that they should go.

Mario wrote back immediately, offering their help in setting up for the event, which Peach gladly accepted. So now the brothers were headed to the castle a few hours before the event was set to start.

Luigi was hopeful this time would be more enjoyable than the last. He remembered their last visit and how it had ended in disaster. The way Mario had squeezed his arms too tightly, his eyes frantic. It had been like he was detached from reality, and only recently was starting to come back.

It was terrifying for Luigi, too, to know that his older brother was capable of being so afraid. For their entire lives, Mario had been there to ease his worries and show him there was nothing to fear. For the first time, it felt like Luigi was learning to face his fears alone. He didn’t necessarily think that was a bad thing, but it was different. It was scarier.

A few nights ago, Luigi had woken up in a panic after a nightmare where he had been thrown back into the Darklands again, surrounded by creatures that wanted him dead, and this time he hadn’t been fast enough to outrun them. He had immediately crawled out of bed and crept down the hall to his brother’s room, as if on instinct. He had cracked open the door and peered in to see Mario fast asleep. His face was buried in his pillow, muffling his soft snores.

It wasn’t often that Mario could get a full night’s rest.

Luigi had been torn, but ultimately, he chose to close the door and return to his room. It was dark and lonely and scary, but he tucked himself back into bed and calmed himself down with more comforting thoughts. He remembered all the things Mario told him about the Mushroom Kingdom, and all the people and places his brother promised to show him one day. Bright and colorful imagery to block out the dark and dreary memories.

Eventually, he had fallen back into a peaceful sleep, and in the morning, he was happy to see that his brother looked well-rested, too.

It was a delicate balance they were walking, finding out how much they could rely on one another without giving or taking too much.

A rustling to his left caught Luigi’s attention, and he turned in time to see a giant insect crawl out towards him. He yelped in alarm and leapt away, tripping on a rock partway through escaping and falling to the ground. He used his legs to push himself further away.

Mario saw him jump and moved to put himself between Luigi and the danger, hands up and ready to fight. “What’s—oh.” Mario’s posture relaxed. He turned and reached out his hand to Luigi. “It’s okay, it won’t hurt you.”

Luigi watched the bug scuttle back and forth slowly as he let his brother help him back up. He clenched his fists and held them tightly to his chest, still unsure about it. He took a step to the side to keep Mario between himself and the creature.

“It’s called a biddybud,” Mario explained. “They’re kind of like ladybugs, just, you know… bigger.” An understatement, Luigi thought. This thing was the size of his head. It was basically just a red, spotted beetle, though. And it didn’t really seem to be doing much.

Luigi stepped back out from behind his brother. “You’ve met them before?” He watched the bug stroll in a slow, lazy circle, its eyes occasionally turning to look up at him.

“Yeah, a few times. They usually travel in groups, so there’s probably more around here somewhere. I don’t know why this one’s alone.” Mario shrugged.

“Did you get lost?” Luigi asked the bug, a sudden pang making him feel for this creature. It looked up at him, padding its feet on the grass. Okay, it was kind of cute.

He turned away from the bug and looked around, eyes scanning through the trees and bushes. After a moment, he spotted some leaves rustling in the distance. A group of colorful beetles emerged from behind, walking calmly along.

Luigi squatted down beside the red biddybud, reminding himself that it was harmless when his heart started beating quickly. “Okay,” he mumbled, “I’m going to pick you up. It’s going to be okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to make the bug or himself feel at ease. Either way, he took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers gingerly around the bug. He was surprised at how light it was. It only wiggled a little bit in his hold as he carefully traipsed through the foliage to get to the other bugs. As soon as he set it down within sight of them, the biddybud bounced back to its friends, falling right in line. Luigi watched them wander away before returning to his brother.

Mario was looking at him with a weird expression, somewhere between pride and amusem*nt. Luigi adjusted his hat, mostly as an excuse to hide his face.

“Let’s keep going,” he said, not waiting for Mario to reply before walking ahead.

The princess’ castle was bustling with life. Toads were everywhere, running back and forth and shouting orders to one another. Luigi dodged one toad in particular that was zooming past everyone else, carrying a tall stack of boxes that completely obscured his view.

The brothers found Peach inside the castle, setting up a podium in front of a huge assortment of chairs. The room was otherwise empty apart from a few toads sweeping the aisles. She waved them over.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Princess,” Mario replied. Luigi wondered if he knew how smitten he looked with that dumb expression on his face. Of course, Peach had the same one, too.

“We were just finishing setting up for the event in here,” she continued. “The toads are working on getting everything ready for the reception in the gardens, if you want to help them.”

“Of course!” Mario answered, eager to please. He marched off, and Luigi started to follow when Peach called out again.

“Oh, Luigi, could you help me set one last thing up first?” The brothers paused, looking at each other briefly. Luigi thought it was weird that he was being asked, and he could see some confusion in Mario’s face, too. He figured neither of them felt right questioning the princess, though, so Mario only hesitated for a moment before giving him a small wave goodbye and walking off.

Luigi met Peach up at the podium. She shuffled through some papers, which he assumed was her speech. He couldn’t imagine having to talk in front of so many people. The thought made his knees weak.

“How have you been?” Peach asked, which took him by surprise. She gave him a soft smile. “You know, after everything?”

“Oh, you know,” he laughed and shrugged. He wasn’t even sure what he could say. She just continued to watch him, patiently waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been okay. Things were… pretty bad, for a little while,” he admitted. He saw Peach’s grip on her papers tighten slightly. “But it’s getting better,” he quickly amended.

“And Mario…?” She looked worried, but hopeful. Luigi gave her a reassuring smile.

“He’s doing a lot better than he was,” he explained. “He’s been doing a lot of work to figure things out. He’ll always have me to help, but I think it’s been good for him to find help in other stuff, too.”

“Good,” the princess sighed. “I was worried about sending you two the invitation. I didn’t want him to feel pressured to come back if he wasn’t ready.”

Luigi felt himself soften. She really cared about him, didn’t she? “I think he needed it,” he said. “He really misses you.”

“I miss him, too,” she said quietly. “And you,” she added, stepping down from the podium. She rested a hand briefly on his shoulder before clasping her hands in front of her dress.

Luigi rocked back and forth on his toes, feeling a little self-conscious. Wanting to take the attention from himself, and because he just really couldn’t resist, he figured he could just try to embarrass his brother.

“He talks about you all the time, you know,” he said. “Like, all the time.”

“Really?” Peach’s cheeks turned slightly pink.

“Yeah, it’s just non-stop,” he shrugged. “I think he would live here if he could.”

Peach looked at him seriously. “There will always be a place in the Mushroom Kingdom for him. For both of you, if you want it.”

“Oh.” Luigi sobered up quickly, feeling a little sheepish for trying to poke fun of his brother’s infatuation. He hadn’t realized Peach was so sincere, and so dedicated to making sure they were welcome. And he’d never really considered the Mushroom Kingdom as a legitimate option. The thought filled him with some sort of feeling, like a buzzing hum in his chest, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Thank you, Princess,” he said.

She excused herself to finish getting ready, and he headed out to the gardens to meet back up with Mario. As he approached, he saw a stack of napkins had fallen off the buffet table and tumbled behind some bushes, so he stooped down to collect them.

“Someone will need to empty the trash throughout the night,” Mario’s voice carried out. Luigi could hear him walking by from the other side of the bush.

“That’s the worst job,” a toad replied, whining loudly.

“Yeah, but someone needs to do it,” Mario replied. Luigi could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Just make Green Mario do it,” another toad muttered from just beyond the bush.

Green Mario? Was that… him? Luigi paused, a napkin falling out of his hand.

“There’s something he won’t mess up,” another Toad added mockingly. Luigi heard a couple others snicker in response.

Embarrassment flooded his body, not necessarily at the nickname or the comment itself, but at his own brother possibly hearing it. He’d always known he was just sort of his brother’s less capable sidekick, but it mostly went unsaid. Part of him had hoped it had gone unnoticed, too. But it seemed like it was well-known.

Did Mario know, too?

Luigi felt himself shrink further behind the bush, wanting to run away.

“What did you just say?” Mario’s voice cut through the air, and the laughter immediately stopped. Luigi felt his heart stop, too. He sounded furious.

None of the toads seemed willing to repeat themselves, so a heavy silence filled the gardens. Luigi felt like he was breathing so loudly they must all know where he was hiding.

“I asked you a question,” Mario demanded. Luigi heard his brother’s footsteps come nearer.

“I just, uh,” a toad muttered, and Luigi almost felt sorry for him. “I was just saying maybe your brother could volunteer for that?”

“My brother has a name, and you’ll use it from now on, is that understood?” Luigi felt himself start to shake, as if he was the one being reprimanded. Mario could be really intimidating when he wanted to, he realized.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Mario,” the toad replied nervously.

“And it sounded like you wanted to say something about my brother’s capability, too,” Mario continued. “Care to repeat that?”

“No, no,” the toad said quickly. “I just meant that— Well, he, you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” Mario snapped. “Please enlighten me.”

“Anybody want to help me out here?” The toad muttered, but no one seemed to answer. They cleared their throat and continued. “He’s just not quite as, um… Competent as you, is all. He’s always so scared. It just seems like everything is a bit much for him.”

Luigi’s heart sank. They were right. He hadn’t realized he let his anxiety show so badly. It was to the point where he had made it obvious that he couldn’t do the things a regular person could do. Shame grew inside of him, so big he thought it might swallow him whole. He wished he could just disappear.

“You think he’s not as good as me?” Mario’s voice sounded strained, like he was in physical pain. “Let me tell you something—Let me tell all of you something,” his voice grew, so he was addressing everyone in the vicinity. “Luigi is twice the man I will ever be. I have looked up to him my whole life, and he has never let me down. He has always been there for me, no matter what.

“You say he’s scared? Yeah? So am I,” Mario’s voice cracked at that, and Luigi choked on his own emotion, trying to keep quiet. He covered his mouth with his hands and curled into himself. “There’s a lot to be afraid of. But the difference in my brother is that he doesn’t let that stop him. He gets up every single day and faces his fears. I have never seen him back down from anything, no matter how scared he is. That makes him the strongest person I have ever met. He is braver than me, and he is braver than any one of you. He is a hero.

“Do you think I saved this world on my own? Huh? He had just as much a part in that as I did, if not more. I couldn’t have done any of it without him. He saved my life. He saved all of your lives. And you’re going to turn around and insult him? Are you serious?

“Don’t you dare say anything like that about him again. If I even hear a whisper of something like that, we are going to have a problem. Do I make myself clear?” A smattering of toads awkwardly agreeing followed, and Luigi flinched as his brother’s outraged voice rang out again, loudly, “I said, do I make myself clear?”

The toads all loudly agreed, and Luigi waited as the silence that followed gave way to everyone continuing to mill about and set up for the event. He heard his brother’s footsteps, louder than the others, fade as he stomped away.

Luigi stared at the abandoned napkins on the ground, a swarm of emotions inside of him making it hard to think straight. He never knew Mario thought those things about him. He was the one who looked up to his older brother. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around. Brave, strong, a hero. Those weren’t words that should ever be in the same sentence as Luigi, unless they were very clearly preceded by the word “not.”

A warmth filled his chest at the realization that his brother saw him in a way the rest of the world didn’t. At least one person—the most important person in the world—thought he was worth something.

He felt tears spring up in his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. He really needed to find a way out of the gardens without being seen. He glanced around, looking for a quick exit.

It didn’t look like he would have the chance.

Luigi froze as he saw a huge mass in the sky beyond the castle, forcing itself through the clouds. Approaching quickly was a giant airship with a menacing, granite sculpture of Bowser’s scowling face mounted to the front.

He could hear the toads behind him quietly setting up for a party, completely oblivious. He knew the princess was inside, unaware of any danger. His own brother was off on his own somewhere, thinking about something else entirely. The Mushroom Kingdom was totally unprepared and defenseless.

They were doomed.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Mario felt like he might explode. Energy boiled up inside of him so violently he could feel his entire body trembling, vibrating with rage. He wanted to break something. He wanted to scream. Well, he wanted to scream some more than he already had. Out of necessity for maintaining his public decorum he had walked away, but he certainly felt like he had more to say to those toads.

The realization that the toads viewed Luigi as so much lesser than himself—had been viewing him like that for a while now—made him furious. Had it been obvious, and Mario had just been too self-centered to notice? He thought back, trying to remember anything that could have tipped him off. When he and Luigi visited, the toads always seemed so friendly. They’d always wave and say hello to him. But did they ever wave at Luigi, too? Mario always assumed the greetings were aimed at them both, but maybe they had only ever been addressing Mario.

He grimaced, suddenly angry at himself. He should have paid more attention to the way people treated his baby brother. Maybe if he hadn’t been so messed up in the head, he would have picked up on it sooner and been able to stop it before it got out of control. The toads were out there calling his brother names, insulting him, ignoring him straight to his face—

Mario halted.

Did Luigi know?

Of course, he knew. Luigi was always the smarter of the two of them, and he always picked up on things quicker. Luigi probably figured it out right away but was too anxious to say something about it. If his own big brother didn’t think anything was wrong, why would he make a fuss anyway? And here was Mario, dragging his brother back to the Mushroom Kingdom, over and over again.

Mario could slap himself, sometimes.

He had wandered far enough away from the rest of the party planning to be on his own, so he let himself crumble a bit. He found a gazebo, tucked away behind some foliage with flowery vines braided up the pillars, and he wandered miserably into it. He plopped himself down on a bench and buried his face in his hands, sure he must look as pathetic as he felt.

How could he continue, day after day, to be the worst possible brother? It felt like everything he did was worse than the last. Luigi deserved so much better. He deserved better than to be forced to live in a world where everyone treated him as second-best. He deserved to be recognized for how amazing he was. He deserved a better brother.

And Mario? Mario deserved worse. He didn’t deserve the treatment he got; the toads should be treating him like garbage. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t anything. He couldn’t even function like a normal person.

He could feel himself slipping into a bad place, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength or the motivation to stop. It was easy, almost comfortable, to find those familiar pathways in his brain. He’d had these thoughts a million times. They came as easy as breathing.

An uncomfortable feeling crawled around inside his body, like he was itching to burst out of himself but unable to do so. On instinct, his hand shot up to his throat, clawing against the skin urgently and slashing down to his chest. A small part of him was grateful he still had his gloves on, sure that his nails would have dug into his flesh if given the chance. Another part of him wanted to rip the gloves off and tear in. Maybe that’s what he deserved.

He was trembling again. The rage had left him completely, but whatever it was that engulfed his body now was strong enough to leave him a mess. He felt it quake through his limbs to his very core, down to soles of his feet. It was like he shook the earth beneath him.

Wait.

The earth beneath him was shaking. Mario glanced up to see the leaves on the vines curled around the gazebo trembling, too.

Distantly, he heard the commotion of the toads yelling at one another, and he wondered how he had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t even registered it.

Mario stood and made his way back to the party vicinity, uneasy on his feet as the ground continued to shake. As he got closer, he saw the toads scrambling over one another in a panic, yelling orders and ducking behind tables. He was about to ask what was happening when a toad pushed past him and shouted out.

“Evacuate the princess!”

Mario’s heart leapt into his throat, and he turned to the castle. He could see now why the ground had been shaking. Bowser’s airship hung threateningly in the sky above the castle, a trail of scorched earth left behind it from dropped bombs. He could see more bombs being loaded into cannons and aimed straight for the castle.

Luigi was still in there.

Toads rushed around him, some still heading for cover while others headed for the princess. Mario’s body was thankfully reacting quicker than his mind, and he found himself sprinting along with the toads towards the castle. He kept an eye on the airship, watching the bombs that sat waiting to be set off, waiting to destroy his entire life. He pushed his legs to move faster. The toads alongside him fell behind as he pressed onward.

A feeling he was well-acquainted with seized his body, and he half expected himself to wake up in a sweat from a nightmare, safe in his own bed with his brother just down the hall. He’d give anything for this to be a nightmare.

His lungs ached and it felt like his chest might burst open, but he squashed the feeling down and ran faster. The panic was at an all-time high, but he tried to use it to his advantage, letting the adrenaline carry him forward. His mind had one thought on repeat—save Luigi, save Luigi, save Luigi.

He saw the cannons lock into place, their noses pointed at the castle. Mario felt a wheeze rattle in chest.

“There!” A toad screamed out behind him. “There she is!”

A flash of pink burst through the front door of the castle, and Mario nearly collapsed in relief. Luigi had been with the princess, and he knew Peach would take care of him. He trusted her to protect Luigi with her life. Everything would be okay.

Mario kept running but allowed himself to slow down a bit. Peach was followed out by a colorful stream of toad guards. Mario watched them come out one by one. Yellow, red, blue, purple—but not a bit of green among them. When the last of the toads exited the castle, and no one seemed to be following, an uneasy feeling stirred in Mario’s gut.

A loud boom rang out as a bomb was fired from the airship. It launched through the air slowly, seeming almost weightless, until it collided with the center turret. The top portion of the castle exploded with the impact, the stained-glass portrait of the princess shattering into tiny, shining fragments. Sections of the roof fell in on itself, and Mario watched in horror as the structure disintegrated before his eyes. The entire front portion of the castle collapsed, burying the interior—and anyone left inside—in burning rubble.

No.

Mario stopped running. Toads rushed past him as they ran to their princess. One toad bumped into him, and his legs gave out beneath him. Mario collapsed onto his knees. He stared up at the castle and watched as bricks continued to teeter off their precipices, tumbling down to add to the wreckage. He felt each one as if they were piling on his own body, crushing him under their weight.

The castle was obstructed as someone blocked his view, and he glanced up to see the princess staring at him, her expression full of concern.

His rage from earlier was suddenly back with a vengeance.

Mario lunged from his place on the ground, swiping out in front of him to grab hold of the princess. She seemed to anticipate his move and dodged out of the way. She held up her hand and gave him a warning look, one he’d never seen aimed at himself before. He wasn’t even sure what he had planned to do if he got her, anyway.

“You left him,” he accused. His voice was guttural and malicious, sounding foreign to his own ears. “He trusted you—I trusted you, and you just left him in there. Why? Why would you—” He gasped, the words lodging in his throat. He clenched his fists, feeling them shake uncontrollably.

“Mario,” Peach said, her voice controlled, “Luigi was not in there with me. He came out to find you.”

“What?” Mario blinked, his mind scrambling to reconcile with the information. The rage in his body subsided just enough for confusion to break through, and he swayed slightly where he stood, the turmoil in his brain sending him into a tailspin.

Luigi hadn’t been inside the castle. Luigi wasn’t crushed to death. Luigi was apparently supposed to be with him. But he wasn’t. Luigi was missing. Luigi could still be dead.

“Where—?” Mario spun around in place, looking in every direction he could to try and find his brother. “He didn’t—he wasn’t here with me,” he stuttered, running a hand over the side of his face. He glanced again at the demolished castle. His eyes met with Peach’s. “You’re sure he wasn’t in there?” Mario whispered, afraid his voice might break if he spoke any louder.

A toad guard spoke up, knocking his scepter on the ground. “I saw him leave with my own eyes,” they said.

Mario barely had time to feel any relief before another loud bang sounded from the airship. They all turned to see a massive chain with a claw-shaped grappling hook at the end swinging down from the ship. It dug into the ground, anchoring the vessel in place. Slowly, with the earsplitting sound of metal grinding against metal, the chain pulled the airship down. It landed with a shudder, crushing another corner of the castle.

A small figure floated from atop the airship, robed in blue and carrying a glowing rod.

“Kamek,” Peach hissed.

Mario watched as the figure—Kamek, apparently—flew gracefully towards the crumbling remains of the palace. He waved his wand in the air, and the pile of rubble shuddered, spilling out in every direction as something was lifted from the center. A colorful bubble emerged from the wreckage, and Kamek used his magic to carry it over to a clearing. With a swish, the bubble popped, and a golden birdcage slammed into the ground with enough force to split open, releasing what was inside.

What started as a small figure, barely noticeable at this distance, quickly grew into its full size. Bowser stood in the clearing, sparing the castle only a single glance before turning to face the growing crown of toads surrounding their princess and the plumber.

A roar erupted from Bowser’s throat, loud enough to shake the ground beneath their feet, just as the bombs had done.

“Take cover,” Peach ordered the toads around her, sweeping her hand over their heads. They scattered in every direction, apart from the few who held weapons. They stood their ground, creating a protective wall in front of their princess. “I gave you an order,” she snapped.

One of the toads looked over their shoulder at her. “And we took an oath to protect you, Princess.”

Pounding footsteps sounded as Bowser sprinted towards them, each stride sending a web of cracks through the ground with the force of the impact. He was on them within seconds, and the toads had only enough time to raise their weapons before an arm slammed into their bodies, swiping them away in one movement. They hurdled to the side, the weapons forced from their hands.

“That’s enough, Bowser,” Peach shouted, standing her ground. “Just leave while you can.”

Bowser leaned down to his face was just inches from hers, and a slow stream of smoke curled out from the sides of his mouth.

“I’m not finished here yet,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “Not after what you did to me. Not after you humiliated me on my wedding day.” Peach scoffed, but the noise broke off as Bowser’s huge, clawed hand wrapped around her torso. He lifted her into the air, and she squeaked in pain as he gripped her tighter. “I will leave when I’m good and ready, not a moment sooner.” With a roar, he tossed her body aside. She slammed against a tree before tumbling to the ground. She was motionless for a moment, and Mario briefly feared the worst. After a few seconds, he saw her twitch, and a swarm of toads emerged from the nearby bushes to help her sit up.

“And you,” Bowser snarled. Mario’s attention snapped back to the koopa. He took an uneasy step backward, but faltered when Bowser took one in turn, closing the gap between them. “You’re not getting away this time. There’s no star to help you now,” he growled, crouching lower so they were face-to-face. His mouth curled into an unsettling smile, flashing rows of sharp, dangerous teeth.

Mario suddenly felt as if he was back in Brooklyn, on that horrible day where he nearly lost his brother, nearly got scorched to death himself, and nearly got all of New York City killed. He remembered being beaten within inches of his life. Bowser had lifted him up like he was nothing, slamming him into concrete and metal. The sound of the pizzeria’s window shattering around him echoed in his ears. The ache of bruised muscles and a dislocated shoulder came back to him, the memory of the pain as real as if it was happening again.

A hand the size of his entire body raised threateningly above him. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to win here? The hand slammed into him, knocking the wind from his lungs and hurtling him backward. He landed with a grunt in the dirt.

Mario sat up, but couldn’t find the strength to lift himself off the ground. He sat helplessly as Bowser charged forward again, stopping just a few feet from him. Bowser sucked in a deep breath, opening his jaws wide and aiming directly into Mario’s face. Mario could feel the heat growing, pulsing out from the koopa’s maw, building the fire breath that would roast him alive.

He was so tired.

The realization hit him like truck, and any ounce of fight that was left inside him dissipated. Mario was so tired. He was tired of feeling physically exhausted just from existing. He was tired of the fear that never seemed to leave, no matter what he tried to do to fix it. He was tired of being a horrible brother and letting Luigi down at every turn. He was tired of fighting.

Mario’s shoulders sagged. He stared into Bowser’s open mouth, watching a spark in the center of his throat slowly build, growing into a fiery, blistering ball of heat. He could move. He had time to get out of the way.

He didn’t move.

A burst of white heat exploded between them, making them both flinch. It had come from behind Mario, and he didn’t have time to turn and look before two more projectiles launched over his shoulder. They were fireballs, and they were aimed right at Bowser. Both hit him square in the face, and the koopa snarled, stumbling back and wiping embers from his eyes.

A figure leaped over Mario’s head, planting its feet on Bowser’s head before kicking off, sending the king careening onto his back. The figure landed on the ground and turned to face Mario.

“Are you okay?”

Mario knew that voice. He blinked, staring up at his brother, who was sporting green overalls and a white hat. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. What could he possibly say to that?

Luigi’s hands landed on his face, turning it from side to side. He patted down Mario’s body quickly, checking for any injuries and watching his brother’s face closely for any pain. Mario let him, staying silent. When Luigi seemed to find nothing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red mushroom.

“Here.” He placed it into Mario’s hand. Luigi smiled at him, a determined look in his eyes. “We beat him before, and we can do it again,” he said. “Together.”

Mario didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to do.

The dawning realization of what he had just tried to do made his heart leap in his chest. He had been fully prepared to let Bowser kill him. He almost died. Mario looked at his brother guiltily.

Luigi didn’t seem to notice the shame radiating off his brother. The younger sibling turned around and called out to the princess, tossing her another power-up. Peach caught the bell effortlessly, her dress giving way to a soft, pink cat suit. There was no hesitation before she leapt in to fight beside Luigi.

Mario stared at the mushroom in his palms. It felt heavy, and he could see his arms trembling under its weight. His fingers tightened around it. He should eat it. He needs to eat it.

Above him, Luigi and Peach teamed up against the koopa, their movements precise and in sync. Luigi aimed his fireballs at Bowser’s feet, causing him to stumble back unsteadily. Peach jumped onto his shoulders to scratch his face, dodging each arm that tried to grab her. They were incredible.

He should join them. Mario lifted the mushroom closer to his face, but the nearer it got, the more his heart raced. If he ate it, he would need to go fight. He would need to face Bowser again. Another flash of the fight in Brooklyn went through his mind, of Bowser’s tail whipping into his back and sending him flying through a glass window. A doctor had told him later he was lucky it hadn’t fractured his spine.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He watched two of the most important people in his life risk everything to be heroes, and he had never felt so useless.

The fight went on without him, the three of them circling around and dealing blow after blow. It seemed to be leaning heavily in favor of Luigi and Peach, and Mario thought briefly that Bowser must have been rusty from sitting in a cage every single day for the past few months. His movements were sluggish and sloppy. He was at his weakest. So why was Mario still so scared of him?

Bowser managed to catch Peach by the tail. He tossed her aside, and as she smacked against the ground with a grunt, her cat suit faded away. Mario’s body jolted, and he sat up on his knees, automatically reaching out in her direction.

The koopa acted first. Bowser stomped towards her, and Mario was frozen again, torn between wanting to help her and being too terrified to put himself in that position. As Bowser drew closer, his own voice in his head screamed louder. Move, move, move! He fell forward, digging his hands into the dirt.

Luigi was quicker. His brother bounded in between the princess and Bowser and sent an onslaught of fireballs. His face was twisted up with a mix of determination and anger, and he was relentless in his attack. He was unstoppable. He was amazing. Mario watched in awe as Bowser was pushed away, further and further, unable to fight back.

With a final roar, Bowser turned and fled to his airship. He boarded, and Kamek quickly followed him inside. The clawed grappling hook released its hold on the ground, leaving behind deep, angry marks in the soil. The ship lifted into the air.

“Ha! And don’t come back!” Luigi shouted smugly. He threw a few extra fireballs for good measure, though they all fizzled away in the dirt before getting anywhere near the rapidly retreating ship.

His brother’s haughty attitude was quickly curbed when, as a final act before speeding away, Bowser’s airship dropped one last bomb. It slammed into an untouched section of the castle, detonating with a loud bang and demolishing another part of the palace. As the sound of tumbling bricks died down, Luigi took a few steps back, holding his hands close to his chest.

Luigi looked over his shoulder at Peach. “I’m sorry,” he said, all the arrogance gone from his face.

“Don’t be,” Peach replied, standing up from the ground and dusting herself off. “We can always rebuild. We’ll be even better prepared next time.”

Next time.

There would be a next time.

There would always be a next time.

Mario’s heart leapt again, his stomach clenching with the realization. This would never end, would it?

His brother turned then to look at him, and as they made eye contact Mario could see Luigi’s eyes widen in surprise. He was at his side on the ground in a second, hands hovering but not quite touching.

“Mario, what happened? Where are you hurt?”

Mario’s face burned with shame. His brother just automatically assumed he must be injured. Why else would he sit out the entire fight? What possible other reason could there be for Mario, hero of Brooklyn and the entire Mushroom Kingdom, to refuse to stand up and face Bowser?

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, moving to stand up. His legs felt like jelly. One knee gave out, and Luigi was quick to catch him before he could fall.

“You’re not,” Luigi argued, staring at him anxiously. Mario felt humiliated. “We’ll get help,” he continued. He turned to Peach. “Where’s the nearest doctor?”

“I said I’m fine,” Mario snapped, ripping himself from Luigi’s grasp. Embarrassingly, he almost knocked himself down again, but out of sheer will he managed to keep himself upright on his trembling legs. His brother’s shocked and hurt expression just made him feel worse. He tried to backtrack, making his voice calmer. “I’m okay, really.”

Luigi didn’t reply, but looked at him apprehensively. Beside them, Peach approached. She gave one final look to the demolished castle and sighed.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s go into Toad Town and figure out what to do next.”

The three headed off in silence, flanked by toads on every side. From the corner of his eye, Mario could see Luigi stealing glances at him occasionally, looking like he wanted to say something.

Mario kept his eyes trained to the ground and kept walking.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Toad Town was quiet and somber at first, a stark contrast to the usual hustle and bustle. Peach had quickly gotten to work finding solutions and had already put together teams to gather supplies and plan out the reconstruction of her castle. She sent toads back to the site in small groups to meet and escort the party guests into town. As they arrived, Peach personally apologized to each one and explained the situation. No one showed anything but empathy.

In fact, almost every guest offered some sort of assistance. Free supplies, extra labor, food for the citizens, and more. “It was a charity event,” Peach had explained to Luigi, “so they were already feeling generous. If it had to happen, this was the best time for it.”

She scrapped the plans for the party and was already planning a new speech to thank everyone for their donations. The toads were busy setting up a makeshift reception area in the town square, though it was short on chairs and tables and decorations and just about everything else. Visitors from all different areas mingled and chatted amicably in the plaza, despite being overcrowded and underserved considering their royal status. All things considered, things were going alright.

Mario found himself on the outskirts, tucked away around the corner of a shop so he could keep an eye on the crowd but stay hidden in the shadows. On a good day, he hated having to socialize at these kinds of events. And it was absolutely not a good day for him.

He felt like he was crawling out of his own skin. The fight with Bowser replayed over and over in his mind, and each time it did he thought of another way he had screwed up. There was another way he had been useless, another way he had let his brother down, another way he could have died…

With a sigh, he hugged his arms to his body tightly, as if he could physically hold himself together for the rest of the event. How long was this going to go on, anyway? The original party was only supposed to go into the early evening, but now this—whatever this was—had only just started, and it was well into the afternoon. He could be stuck here all night.

The thought made him uneasy. A nervous prickle wormed through his body, making his squirm.

He didn’t like being trapped here. It wasn’t safe; he knew now that it wasn’t safe. It hadn’t ever been less safe, in fact. He kept expecting the ground to shake again, for a huge ship to loom over the town and drop bombs here, too, just for good measure. For Bowser to want another go at him, to finish the job this time.

He glanced up at the sky, eyes darting around just to make sure. When his gaze dropped back down, he saw Luigi emerge from the crowd. His brother scanned the area briefly before quickly finding Mario’s hiding spot. He walked towards it.

Part of him—a stupid part—almost ducked further behind the building to hide, as if that might deter his brother. Instead, he squeezed himself a little tighter and stood his ground, trying not to look too strung out. He was pretty sure he was failing.

“Hey,” Luigi greeted, tucking himself away behind the shop with his brother. Mario just grunted in response. He didn’t even look at him, just continued to stare out at the crowd.

He should apologize. He should tell Luigi he was sorry for not stepping in when he needed him. He should say he was sorry for snapping earlier, and for avoiding him now. He should let him know he was sorry for still not getting better, no matter how much he tried.

“I guess it’s kind of pointless to ask if you’re okay,” Luigi continued.

“Yeah, probably,” Mario mumbled. He felt his cheeks burning.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He wasn’t really giving his brother anything to work with. In fact, he was kind of being an ass. Just another thing to apologize for.

“Well, I want to talk about it,” Luigi said. Mario glanced sideways at him. Luigi looked worried, but there was an underlying frustration that made Mario tense up and clench his jaw.

“Go ahead then.”

Luigi sighed, which almost made Mario regret being rude. Almost.

“I think you’re upset because you froze with Bowser,” he ventured. “I think you feel guilty because you didn’t help me and Peach during the fight. I think you’re feeling embarrassed about it, but you don’t need to be.” Luigi paused, probably waiting for Mario to look at him. He didn’t. “How am I doing so far?”

“It looks like you know everything already, so I don’t know why you want to have this chat,” Mario snapped.

“I think you’re being a jerk right now to get me to leave you alone, but it’s not going to work,” Luigi added, mirroring his tone.

His brother knew him too well, but Mario knew Luigi just the same. He knew he could come up with something nasty enough to get his brother to leave him. He let himself fester, vicious words gnawing at the tip of his tongue, ready in case his brother wanted to take things too far.

“I know you think this is something you should be ashamed of, but it’s not,” Luigi offered. Mario rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know anything,” he grumbled.

“Just because you froze—”

“I didn’t just freeze, Luigi,” Mario said, turning on his brother suddenly. Luigi turned his body to face him head-on, looking relieved to have finally gotten his attention. “I froze when you got there. I froze when you needed me. That’s bad enough. But before that? Before you even got there? I didn’t freeze.” He leaned forward and barked out a humorless laugh. “I gave up.”

Luigi didn’t say anything for a moment, as if waiting to make sure his brother was finished. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I gave up,” Mario repeated. “I was just going to let him kill me. I didn’t care.” A memory flashed in his mind of him and his brother, talking out a nightmare. “You know,” he said, slower and calmer now, “I think I finally get what you meant all those months ago, when you said you wished I hadn’t saved you from falling in the lava.”

“Mario…”

“I wish you had just let me die.”

It was like a switch flipped in Luigi. All the frustration melted from his body, giving way to compassion. He looked at Mario with so much care and empathy it bordered on pity. It made Mario furious, but he wasn’t sure why.

“I get it,” Luigi said, giving a soft smile.

“No, you don’t,” Mario retorted. He wanted this conversation to be over. He was tired of Luigi acting like he knew how Mario was feeling. He was tired of Luigi being right about it. That meant his brother knew exactly what kind of pathetic loser he was. He felt seen, and he didn’t want to be.

With a huff, Mario turned and walked off further behind the building, away from his brother. He heard Luigi quickly follow.

“Leave me alone,” he warned. He quickened his pace, passing more shops and getting further from the crowded plaza. Why couldn’t Luigi just stop?

“I’m not going to leave you,” Luigi replied. He sounded winded from trying to keep up. “You wouldn’t leave me. And I’m not going to let you die, just like you wouldn’t let me die.”

He just wanted him to stop.

“Maybe I should have,” Mario said, rounding on his brother and stopping him in his tracks. Luigi almost barreled into him, having to take a step back.

“What?”

He didn’t want to say it. A part of Mario’s brain—the rational, healthy part that loved his brother more than life itself—was screaming at him to keep his mouth shut. But the other part of him that was bursting in his chest, filling him with anger and embarrassment, just wanted his brother to leave him alone.

“Maybe I should have let you die,” he said. The words left his mouth with a sour taste. He wanted to take them back, but then Luigi might not go away.

Luigi flinched, but he didn’t look angry. “I know you don’t mean that. You’re just upset—”

“I do mean it,” he insisted. It was a lie. Luigi knew it was a lie. He was kind of glad Luigi knew it was a lie, but he still couldn’t stop himself. He needed to put the final nail in the coffin. “Maybe if I had let you die, I wouldn’t have to be stuck with such a pathetic, spineless brother.”

That one did it. He could see in his brother’s eyes that he had said just the right thing. Luigi looked as if Mario had punched his square in the jaw—that probably would have hurt less. He was clearly trying not to cry, his brows pinched in concentration as he blinked away tears.

Mario felt sick to his stomach.

“Okay,” Luigi said. His voice was terse, but he spoke carefully, like every word was being painstakingly chosen. “I’m not going to talk to you when you’re acting like this. When you calm down, I’ll be here for you.” He turned around without another word are started walking off, back towards the plaza. Mario clenched his fists in frustration.

“Can we just go home,” Mario insisted. He couldn’t stand another second in this place. They needed to leave now.

Luigi paused, turning back just enough to look over his shoulder. “You can do what you want. I’m going back to the party. I was having a good time.”

“What?” Mario asked. When Luigi started walking away again, he felt a surge of anger. “You can’t—”

Mario cut himself off. Can’t what? What was he going to do, drag his brother back with him? Force him to leave? He just said the most horrible things to Luigi, of course he didn’t want to go with him. Mario didn’t even want Luigi to be around right now, so what was the problem?

He didn’t understand how Luigi could stand this place, anyway. If he wanted to stay, Mario would let him stay. What did he care? He could leave on his own. Luigi could take care of himself.

“Fine,” he spat at his brother’s retreating form. Luigi didn’t even acknowledge him.

He took off in the direction of the warp pipe, fuming. He couldn’t even pick one thing to be angry about. He was furious with Bowser for choosing today of all days to seek vengeance. He was furious with Peach for deciding not to cancel this stupid party after all of that. He was furious with Luigi for pushing him to talk, and then disengaging.

He was livid with himself for a million more reasons. He was a coward, and now everyone knew it. He was losing control of himself, making everything worse. He’d told Luigi that he’d be better off if he was dead.

His chest seized. He really said that to his own brother. What was wrong with him?

He came up on the warp pipe, but the sight of it made him pause. He had to go through that. Alone. He’d never done that before, not since the very first time. And even then, he’d caught up with Luigi quickly. Never mind what happened next.

But the memory came anyway, of Luigi getting sucked down another path, disappearing into a mass of churning black clouds. What if that happened to Mario? He wouldn’t have anyone to hold on to, to ground him while he went through, so it was very possible for him to fly off in any direction. He could end up right on Bowser’s doorstep and no one would know. No one would even care.

Mario bounced on the balls of his feet nervously. Anxiety churned inside of his stomach. He wanted to cry. To scream. He didn’t want to be here anymore. Even the process of leaving this place was dangerous. But this was literally the only way out. It was this or he was stuck here forever.

The thought sent a bolt of fear through his body. He had to leave. And he was never coming back.

With a deep breath, he stepped through.

Luigi went back to the party, and he tried to let himself relax and enjoy it. He hadn’t been lying to Mario earlier, he really was having a good time here. People were friendly, and they all wanted to hear him talk about his encounters with Bowser, especially the latest one.

Normally, he didn’t like to talk about it. It could dredge up bad memories, and at the end of reliving everything he was left feeling a little dumb and helpless for ending up in the Darklands, for getting caught by Bowser, and for making his brother go through Hell to get him back. The guilt at the end usually outweighed anything he got from talking about it.

But here, with everyone hanging on his every word, it felt different. He didn’t particularly tell the stories well, and automatically made himself come across less heroic than everyone seemed to think he was. Peach helped, chiming in occasionally and hyping him up, much to his embarrassment. But no one seemed to mind. They listened intently, nodding to encourage him to keep going, humming in agreement when he explained how scared he was, and congratulating him when he explained how he gathered power-ups to take on Bowser once more. Several toads even came up to thank him.

Even when he spoke about his first encounter with Bowser, about being kidnapped and trapped in a cage, people commended his bravery. It felt good. It felt like he was worth something, even when he was discussing the worst times of his life.

So why didn’t it always feel like that?

Luigi thought back on all the other times he’d talked about it, wondering how it always ended with guilt eating him up. The only consistency between them all, and the one thing that was missing now, was Mario.

He hated having to tell his side of the story after Mario told his; Luigi’s was so much shorter and less eventful. Mario had been out there fighting and racing and facing danger, all the while Luigi sat uselessly in a cage, waiting for rescue. There was no bravery in his version when you compared the two.

Lately, he hadn’t even ventured to talk about anything they went through, not with how his brother had been feeling. Luigi felt like he needed to tiptoe around certain topics, unsure about what would set him off. He was certain Mario wouldn’t be able to handle Luigi talking about Bowser. If he had nightmares, he kept it to himself now. He didn’t want to make Mario feel more afraid or guilty than he already was. But that meant he was left to just sit with it.

It felt good to let it out now, without the possibility of upsetting his brother.

His brother, who he couldn’t quite seem to get off his mind.

Mario could be anywhere, doing anything. He pictured his brother having a panic attack, unable to calm himself down on his own. He pictured the scratches he had found running down his arm, bloody and raw. What would happen now without Luigi there to intervene?

He’d gotten almost accustomed to finding his brother in a state of panic, at least for a while, but this was a new side of him. He’d never been cruel like this. Luigi knew it was just because he was hurting, but that didn’t make it easier. He knew it didn’t make it okay.

A light touch to his shoulder made him jump. He turned to see Peach, watching him carefully.

“Oh,” he said, chuckling. “Hi, Princess. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she said. “You seemed lost in thought, I figured you didn’t see me coming.”

He hadn’t. Luigi had been off to the side of the plaza, keeping to himself instead of mingling with the guests again. The vibe was different now. He didn’t seem to be able to enjoy it anymore.

“Do you know where your brother went? I haven’t seen him,” Peach asked.

“I think he went home.” Emphasis on think, because he didn’t know for sure. Because he just walked away, leaving his brother alone despite the state he was in. “I tried to talk to him earlier, but, uh.” He sighed. “I don’t think he’s ready to talk yet.”

“Did something happen between you two?” The concern in her face was touching, and he wondered if it was for himself or for Mario. “I don’t mean to pry, but you haven’t been talking as much as you were earlier. It seems like your mind is somewhere else.”

Luigi hummed, thinking about how much to share. He didn’t want to make his brother look bad, especially not in front of Peach. But he also didn’t know who else he could talk to. He wasn’t sure anyone else would understand, or would care enough about Mario not to judge him for it.

“He lashed out at me. He said some things that were pretty hurtful,” he admitted, trying not to dwell too much on it. “I don’t think he meant it, but it still hurt.” Having his own brother call him pathetic and spineless was like a nightmare come to life. Even if he didn’t believe it, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to unhear it.

“When Bowser bombed the castle,” Peach said, her voice quiet, “Mario thought you were still in it.”

Luigi’s eyes widened. That must have been terrifying to be Mario, watching the castle get destroyed and thinking your worst fears were coming true.

“I tried to see if he was okay,” she continued. “But when he saw me, he was so angry. He thought I had left you in there to die. He—” She paused, like she was picking her words. “I don’t think he wanted to hurt me; I’m not sure if he would have. But I think he tried to.”

“Princess,” Luigi said, horrified. “I’m so sorry.” He felt responsible, somehow, like it was his own fault for making his brother feel the need to protect him so fiercely.

She shook her head before he had even finished speaking. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Luigi.”

He didn’t argue with that. He knew she was right.

They stood in comfortable silence for a while, each lost in thought, before Luigi spoke up again. “He’s pushing us away, but I don’t know why. I wish he would let us help.”

“Maybe we should just give him space,” Peach offered. She looked suddenly upset. “I shouldn’t have reached out and invited him. He wasn’t ready.”

Now it was Luigi’s turn to shake his head. “He wanted to come. It would have been fine if, you know,” he gestured vaguely towards where he knew the castle remains lay somewhere in the distance. “Besides, I don’t know if space is what he needs.”

He thought again about his brother. He was at his absolute lowest, and Luigi just left him. He waved every red flag to get Luigi to leave him alone, and he just… did. What kind of brother was he?

He sighed. “I think I need to go find him.”

“Do you think he’s ready to talk?”

“No,” he said with certainty. “He’s still going to be upset with me. He’s probably going to be mean. I know I shouldn’t let him speak to me like that, but… I think I’ll feel worse if something happens to him.” If he does something to himself, he added internally. He didn’t tell Peach about the part where Mario admitted to wanting to die. He would never forgive himself if something happened.

He kept reading things online about how to care for loved ones who were having a hard time. It was weird, seeing experiences just like his from other people. People with parents or siblings or spouses who were affected by trauma and trying to get better—sometimes they weren’t even trying to get better, which made Luigi grateful for Mario. His brother was trying so hard.

Everyone had the same sort of advice. Set boundaries, don’t give too much of yourself, you’re not responsible for anything they do.

He could tell himself that every day, but it didn’t make it easier to believe.

Luigi wished Peach a good night and promised to be in touch soon, then he was off, following the same path his brother had taken to the warp pipe. Part of him hoped to find Mario somewhere along the way, sitting patiently and waiting to apologize for what he had done.

No such luck.

Luigi went through the pipe and ended up back in Brooklyn. The sun was starting to set behind the buildings, casting dark shadows across the busy streets. He hugged his arms around his middle against the cold as he made his way home.

The entire walk, he kept coming up with possible scenarios in his mind. He had no idea what he would come home to. Mario could be freaking out, curled up on the floor and choking on his own breath. He could be furious still, and could go off the rails once Luigi got home. If he had tried to hurt Peach, would he try to hurt his own brother?

The worst thing he could imagine, the one that played over and over in his mind, was coming home to Mario having done something to himself. He didn’t want to think about it, but images of his brother covered in his own blood, or lying lifeless on the floor, flashed in his mind.

He walked faster.

The front door couldn’t open fast enough. He swung it open and rushed inside. “Mario?”

It was quiet.

The entire apartment was still, and all the lights were off. Luigi looked around, noticing that his brother’s shoes weren’t by the door, his hat not hung up on the hook, and his keys not on the table. He wasn’t there.

Mario hadn’t made it home.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Mario gasped as he stumbled from the warp pipe, nearly collapsing with relief when he realized he was surrounded by the damp, musty sewers of New York. He found the nearest ladder and climbed it with unsteady hands, nearly slipping more than once in his hurry to get out. When his feet finally hit the pavement, he took a moment to gather himself.

The air was bitter and sharp against his face as he turned into the wind. Cars honked and swerved around each other on the road, and it was mirrored in the way people scurried along the sidewalk, rushing past one another without any care. Mario pressed himself against the bricks of a building to get out of the way. A sour odor from a nearby trash can was carried on the wind, and he felt something squish under his shoe. Brooklyn was cold and loud and kind of disgusting, but it was better than the Mushroom Kingdom. He tried to remind himself of that.

With a shaky breath, he moved into the throng of people, falling into step easily and making his way down the street. He didn’t know where he was headed, but he didn’t really care. He let his legs move, taking him wherever they wanted while he tried to calm down.

His mind was still reeling from his fight with Luigi. Except it hadn’t even been a fight, it had just been Mario being a complete ass to his brother, while Luigi treated him with more kindness than he deserved.

Maybe I should have let you die.

It replayed over and over in his mind. It hadn’t even sounded like his own voice, probably because those words should never have passed his lips. They shouldn’t have even crossed his mind. He knew it wasn’t true, that he hadn’t meant it, but it still felt like poison that he’d been able to come up with it. That the thought existed in his mind at all was proof that there was something wrong with him.

The feeling of bone-deep revulsion towards himself cut through his body so violently he nearly collapsed underneath it. He let out a shuddery breath, suddenly exhausted.

Mario looked up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the glow of the streetlamps. Beyond them, the sky was starting to darken. The busy sidewalk had emptied out, now just carrying himself and a handful of passersby. How long had he been walking?

Pushing through the fatigue that threatened to overtake him, Mario turned a corner and found the entrance to a subway station. Too tired to hop the turnstile, he slipped underneath it and made his way down to the platform. He passed the few other people who were waiting for the train and wandered down towards the end of the platform where he could be alone.

He glanced up at the arrival times. Five minutes.

There was a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of returning to his apartment. He wasn’t sure when Luigi would be getting home tonight. He didn’t want to face him yet. Or ever.

Maybe Luigi would never come home at all. Maybe he would stay in the Mushroom Kingdom forever, knowing it was a safe place to keep away from his brother. Maybe Mario would never see him again.

The thought broke his heart, but he couldn’t help but think it would be for the best. He couldn’t take care of Luigi anymore, couldn’t be there for him. He was failing at everything a big brother was supposed to do. He’d spent his whole life trying his hardest to be the best he could possibly be, to do everything right, just for Luigi. It was like he’d thrown it all away in the last few months. It was like none of it mattered.

The platform swayed slightly beneath his feet, and he heard the shrill screech of the train’s wheels scraping against the tracks. It slowed to a stop in front of him, the doors sliding open and letting a few passengers out.

He didn’t move. If he got on the train, it would take him home. What if Luigi never came home?

Mario pictured it, his apartment quiet and empty and lonely, just himself and his thoughts. His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t live like that.

A voice over the train intercom instructed passengers to steer clear of the closing doors. He watched them slide shut, and the train sped off without him. The people who had exited the train left the station, and no one else took their place. Mario was alone.

He looked up at the arrival times again. Next train in seven minutes.

He had nowhere to go.

He couldn’t go back to the Mushroom Kingdom; it wasn’t safe. He couldn’t protect himself, and he couldn’t protect his brother. Peach probably hated him. Even if he wanted to go back, he doubted she would let him. She probably shouldn’t.

He couldn’t go home. If he went home and Luigi never came back, he wouldn’t be able to stand the thought that he drove his brother away. He deserved to be alone—he did it to himself—but it would still hurt too much. He couldn’t take the isolation.

He glanced up again. Three minutes.

And if his brother did come back, if he did still want to live in Brooklyn, it wouldn’t be fair for Mario to stay. Mario was supposed to be the one safe person his brother could always rely on. He was never supposed to hurt Luigi, and he broke that trust. Luigi shouldn’t have to see his face every day.

Mario wondered if there was anything he could do to make things better between himself and his brother. It felt like he’d ruined everything. The look in Luigi’s eyes had told him all he needed to know. It was worse than the look he’d get in grade school after bullies got to him. He’d run up to Mario crying and looking for comfort, and Mario would give it to him unconditionally. This time, Luigi wasn’t running to him to look for comfort. He probably never would again.

There was no coming back from this.

Where did that leave him? What was he supposed to do?

It felt like his available choices had dwindled into absolutely nothing. His mind swam as he tried to think of something, anything he could do to fix this. There was nothing. He had taken it too far, had done too much damage. There was nothing left for him to do.

Except.

It felt like he had physically pressed pause on his thoughts, contemplating whether or not to allow himself to continue his line of thinking. After a moment, and another reminder to himself that he was out of options, he clenched his jaw and let his thought finish.

There was one thing he could do to get rid of the problem. He could get rid of himself.

His eyes darted up. One minute.

Almost robotically, his legs carried him forward. He looked down, watching his feet creep towards the yellow line at the edge of the platform. It would be easy. One quick jump, and it would be over. It would be a lot faster and less painful than if he’d let Bowser roast him alive. And this time, Luigi wasn’t here to save him.

He heard the screeching tires in the distance, and the platform started swaying again as the train approached. He inched closer to the edge.

There was no one else at the station, so he wouldn’t have any witnesses. It was late enough at night that a delaying the trains wouldn’t inconvenience too many people.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the train exit the tunnel at the other side of the platform, quickly advancing to his end.

Just one step, and it would all be over. He tensed on the balls of his feet, adrenaline coursing through him suddenly and making his heart leap into his throat. His mind swam—he needed to time it just right, felt like he needed count down from three or something, but there wasn’t any time left, the train was coming too fast for him to think straight, and he needed to just jump before it was too late—

Luigi would probably have to identify his body.

The realization made him leap backwards, nearly stumbling to the ground. He let loose a strangled noise that was drowned out by the train rushing past.

An image of Luigi being brought in by the police to the morgue, having to watch as they uncovered a corpse, being forced to take a closer look to confirm that yes, officers, that was definitely his brother. The last time Luigi would ever see him would be dead under a sheet, mangled and broken and torn to shreds from getting hit by a f*cking train.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket, and the sensation was enough for him to come back down to reality, at least long enough to realize he wasn’t breathing. He sucked in air, gasping rapidly and trying to stop his head from spinning out of control.

The train came to a stop, and the doors slid open. A couple sitting inside didn’t even glance up at the hyperventilating man standing on the platform, which Mario was grateful for. That was the good thing about New York—you could have a public mental breakdown and still maintain at least some semblance of privacy.

His phone stopped vibrating, and the doors slipped shut before the train sped off again without him.

He could have died. He could have actually killed himself. The reality of it, of what would have had to follow that choice, slammed into him full force. Not only would Luigi have to identify his body, but then his brother would have to be the one to tell their family. They’d have to put together a funeral with money they didn’t have. Luigi would be stuck with a plumbing business to take care of all by himself, one that he probably hadn’t even wanted to begin with, since it was Mario’s idea in the first place.

He'd be fixing all his own problems and creating a thousand more for everyone else.

His phone started buzzing again in his pocket in short bursts, a few seconds in-between each one.

Guilt at what he had almost done filled his chest, making him curl in on himself a bit. He dragged in deep, shuddering breaths, trying to get his breathing back under control. He felt his entire body shaking as the adrenaline wore off.

The phone in his pocket stopped buzzing. He pulled it free, nearly letting it slip from his trembling fingers. He had a missed call and several texts, all from Luigi.

Where are you? Can you call me?

I’m at home, are you coming home? I can come get you.

Are you ok?

I’m not mad but I’m worried, where are you?

We don’t have to talk about it, I promise. Just please let me know if you’re okay. Please.

Mario’s eyes closed against the shame that washed over him. How could Luigi be so good to him after what he had done? After what he had just almost done?

He glanced up at the arrival times once more. Six minutes until the next train. He held the phone tightly in his shaky hands, thinking only for a moment before typing out a reply. His fingers kept slipping up, and it took him several tries before the words would form coherently, but he got it out and sent it.

Sorry. Coming home now.

Sorry felt inadequate. It was inexcusable as a response considering what he had done, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

The chat bubbles popped up as his brother typed his reply, then quickly disappeared. They did that a few more times until finally a reply came through, saying simply Thank you. What for?

Mario pocketed the phone and waited for the train to come again, keeping a safe distance from the edge of the platform this time. The ride was quiet and uneventful, and he spent most of it taking deep, calming breaths until he felt his heart rate gradually slow. He busied himself counting down the stops, and when his finally came he exited the train and headed home.

Inside the apartment, he could feel the tension crackling in the air. He knew his brother was further inside, could sense him through the hallway waiting. Mario methodically hung up his hat, removed his boots, and dropped his keys in their bowl on the side table, as if he was coming home like any other day. The walk down the hallway and into the living room felt like miles.

He was right. Luigi was sitting in the living room, and the second he saw his brother he stood up. He wrung his hands together nervously, looking Mario up and down. Mario could tell his brother was trying to see if he was hurt, and he shrunk under the scrutiny. It felt like Luigi would be able to tell exactly what he had done, like it was radiating off him, and the thought was embarrassing.

“Hey,” Luigi finally said. His voice was quiet, nearing a whisper, as if he was afraid he might shatter something if he spoke too loudly. Slowly, he drew nearer to Mario, who found himself just standing there at a complete loss.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to apologize. He needed to. The words caught in his throat, and as much as he tried to force them out, nothing happened. He pushed and pushed, his tongue aching to let anything out, but it was like a wall had come down, shutting off his brain from his mouth.

That happened sometimes when they were younger. Mario would just sort of shut down, his ability to speak suddenly gone. It was hard to explain—usually he didn’t have to. Luigi was always there, and he was always supportive. They knew exactly what the other needed, and so Luigi would automatically be able to sense his every need, serve as a translator when necessary, and never pushed Mario to speak before he was able. Fortunately, Mario had grown out of that a long time ago. Or so he thought.

Because he was the best brother in the world, and because he still, for some unknown reason, felt the need to treat Mario with more compassion than he deserved, Luigi seemed to immediately sense what was happening.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” he said. “I’m just really happy you’re okay.”

With that, Mario lost it.

All the guilt and anxiety from what he had tried to do let loose, and he choked out a gross, pitiful sob that tore through the silence of the apartment. Luigi was on him in an instant, pulling him close and engulfing him in a tight hug. Mario buried his face in his brother’s chest, trying equally to muffle his own cries and to soak up as much comfort as humanly possible. He gripped the back of Luigi’s shirt and hugged him impossibly closer.

It seemed to take an eternity for his crying to stop, but finally his sobbing ebbed away until he was just hiccupping miserably into Luigi’s tear-soaked shirt. His brother hadn’t let go for a second.

Mario felt drained. His entire body felt like it weighed ten tons, and he realized he was leaning so heavily into his brother that Luigi was basically the only thing keeping him from falling onto the floor in a pathetic heap. He tried to right himself, but his knees wobbled unsteadily. Luigi held him tighter.

“Come on,” he said softly, “let’s get to bed.”

Luigi slipped his arm around Mario and basically carried him to his room, because of course he would. Luigi sat Mario down on the bed and went to work gathering a set of clothes to sleep in, because of course he would. He even helped Mario get dressed when he started to struggle, because of course he would.

Mario expected Luigi to leave after being tucked under his covers, but instead, his brother crawled under the covers with him, scootching him over with his shoulder to make room. Mario stared at him in confusion. Why was Luigi doing all of this for him?

“It’s because I want to,” Luigi said. It was like he read Mario’s mind, because of course he would.

If Mario had any more tears left, he would have started crying again.

Instead, he let Luigi pull him close and rested his head on his brother’s chest. Even with all the shame still gnawing at him from the inside, and all the fear that came from knowing he’d have to talk about it eventually, he let himself sink into the comfort. In that moment, with Luigi’s heart beating rhythmically under his cheek, he felt safe.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Luigi woke up first, as he always did between the two of them. Not that he had slept much during the night if he was being honest. He’d spent his time dozing off lightly but immediately rousing at every move his brother made. Mario had twitched a lot in his sleep, gripping the front of Luigi’s shirt tightly and burying his face in his chest, letting out little, incoherent mumbles occasionally. If he seemed like he was getting too worked up, Luigi would run a hand through his hair or rub circles against his back, humming softly until he settled back down.

He was glad his brother had been able to get some sleep—he seemed like he needed it—but Luigi was definitely feeling his fair share of exhaustion because of it.

Suppressing a groan, Luigi shimmied his way off the bed, careful not to wake Mario. He gently removed his brother’s head from his chest, laying it down on the pillow instead, and readjusted the blankets so he was tucked in comfortably. When he was sure Mario wasn’t going to wake, he tiptoed out of the room and into the kitchen.

He busied himself with making coffee and breakfast, opting for the slower process of bacon and eggs instead of cereal, because he knew Mario would like it. He wanted to make his brother happy.

Coming home last night and finding the apartment empty had left him in a state of panic. His mind had spiraled right away, and when Mario hadn’t answered his call or any texts, he had been sure he’d lost his brother forever. After what Mario admitted during their last conversation—fight, really—Luigi had feared the worst. He’d been seconds from sprinting out into the streets and spending the entire night searching all of New York for his brother.

Then his brother’s text had come through, and Luigi almost wept with relief. The wait had been harrowing, but when he heard his brother come through the front door it felt like he could finally breathe again. Mario had probably just gone on a walk, which was one of the coping mechanisms his therapist had encouraged. It was a good thing. Everything was okay.

And then he had seen Mario trying to speak. He had worked his jaw, clenching and grinding his teeth, his throat moving with futile effort. It reminded Luigi of when they were kids, and suddenly he was seeing his big brother being scolded by their teachers and parents for being unable to form words, something that wasn’t even his fault. It hadn’t been fair to push him to speak back then, and it wouldn’t be fair now. Besides, his brother had seemed exhausted at the time. He probably just needed to sleep it off, and then they could talk about what happened.

And Luigi could apologize.

He grimaced, flipping an egg over in the pan. He should never have left Mario to go back to the party. His brother had clearly not been okay. He had needed help, had been basically begging for it, and Luigi had just run off, right after promising he wouldn’t leave. Mario would have never done that to him.

He wasn’t sure how to make it up to him, but he could start with an apology and a warm breakfast.

Just as Luigi was plating the food, he saw Mario emerge from his room. His eyes were still half shut, and he let out a long, breathy yawn as he plodded over to the table.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Luigi greeted, setting a plate and mug down for his brother. Mario gave him a small smile before taking a sip from his coffee.

Luigi set up his own breakfast and took a seat at the table. He waited until his brother took his first bite, making sure Mario looked pleased with it, before digging into his own. After a few minutes of quietly enjoying their meal, Luigi cleared his throat, swirling his coffee around in his mug absently.

“So,” he started, “how are you feeling this morning?”

Mario didn’t look up. He poked at his bacon with a fork for a moment, chewing slowly, before giving a noncommittal shrug.

Luigi waited, letting him gather his thoughts. He needed to gather his own, anyway.

When several more moments passed and neither of them said anything, Luigi felt his heart starting to sink. He watched his brother tap his fork nervously on his plate, and finally, after a long and silent pause, Mario looked up at him. His shoulders were slumped forward, and his brows drawn together in an apologetic, miserable look.

Oh. He still wasn’t talking.

Luigi tried not to let his disappointment show on his face, forcing himself to smile instead.

“That’s okay,” he said automatically.

But it was okay, right? It had to be okay. He knew Mario couldn’t help it. He knew his brother probably felt bad about it, because everyone always made him feel bad about it, even though it wasn’t his fault. Luigi couldn’t do that. He had made Mario feel awful enough as it was.

“Would it be alright if I said something, though?” Luigi asked.

Mario looked terrified, like Luigi was about to scream at him and throw him out. Even so, Mario gave a tiny nod, setting his fork down to listen. It broke Luigi’s heart.

Luigi took a deep breath. “I just want to say I’m sorry,” he said, staring down at his own plate. “Yesterday, I shouldn’t have left you to go back to the party; that wasn’t okay. And then when I came home and you weren’t here,” he trailed off, letting out a sigh. “I freaked out a little, and I shouldn’t have. I didn’t need to bombard you with messages like that. I was worried, but I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”

Luigi finally looked up at his brother. His heart skipped a beat.

Mario looked wrecked, his hands clenched into fists on the table and his face screwed up tightly. It looked like he was having trouble breathing.

“sh*t,” Luigi said, standing from his seat hastily. “I’m sorry.” He ran to the other side of the table and grabbed his brother’s shoulder, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. Mario jerked away from the touch, leaping out of his own chair and nearly knocking it to the floor.

They stood in tense silence, the only sound in the room from Mario’s strained breathing. Luigi took a hesitant step towards his brother, but Mario just shuffled back further.

“I’m sorry,” Luigi whispered. He didn’t even know what for at this point. He was just sorry.

Mario whined in response—a distressing, labored noise from deep inside his chest—like he was in pain. Luigi was hurting him.

Another apology died in his throat, and he took a step back, unsure of what to do. He waited.

It felt like forever, with both standing stock-still while the air buzzed with tension around them. Mario eventually moved first. He pushed in his chair, the sound of the legs scraping against the tile cutting through the silence. His eyes darted to Luigi for just a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Luigi to see the apologetic look in his eyes.

Why was Mario sorry?

Luigi watched his brother return to his room, guilt eating him up. He shouldn’t have pressed him like that. If Mario wasn’t ready to talk about it, then he wasn’t ready to talk about it. If he needed the time and space to process their fight, then he could give that to him. He just hoped his brother wouldn’t need too much time and space.

With a sigh, Luigi started cleaning up the mess from breakfast.

When four days passed and Mario still wasn’t talking, Luigi felt himself start to get nervous. As a kid, his brother’s bouts of silence usually only lasted a day or two. Usually.

Once, Mario punched a kid in the face for calling Luigi names—had hit him so hard he shattered his nose. He had been sent to the principal’s office, and after cussing out the principal for not protecting his brother from bullies, Mario was suspended for the rest of the week. Their parents had been furious. They had grounded him, even after Luigi tried to explain what had happened. When Mario stopped talking, they just got angrier. They took away everything, every single privilege Mario had, until all he was allowed to do was go to school and come home to sit in his room.

Mario hadn’t spoken for a whole month. Luigi blamed himself the entire time.

It felt like it was happening again. Luigi was growing to hate the silence in their apartment, to the point where he had started keeping the television on even when no one was watching, just so there was some sort of noise to drown out his thoughts. Without it, he was left to fester in his guilt with each passing second his brother didn’t speak.

If he had just kept his mouth shut, this would’ve been resolved already. All he had to do was let Mario make the first move, be patient until his brother was ready to talk, but he couldn’t even do that. It was like he had a talent for making his brother feel worse. If he never got better, Luigi knew it would be his fault.

Luigi tried not to, but he spent his days watching Mario closely. He tried to be subtle about it, but he was sure Mario could feel his eyes on him, waiting for any indication that he was ready to talk again.

If anything, his brother seemed to be struggling to communicate at all, even in the usual nonverbal ways. He had stopped looking Luigi in the eye. His facial expressions were limited to the most subtle, almost imperceptible movements. Luigi could barely even coax a nod out of him after asking the simplest yes or no questions. Most of the time, Mario just kept to himself in his room.

It was hard to see him like this. He knew it was isolating. Mario had told him once that it was like being cut off from the rest of the world, unable to connect with anyone. Luigi couldn’t imagine how lonely that would feel.

So, on day five, when Luigi was walking down the hall and he heard muffled speaking from Mario’s room, he felt a weight lift from his chest. He pressed his ear up against the door and held his breath. Sure enough, that was his brother’s voice, gentle and quiet, like music to his ears.

“Yeah, Ma, I’ll try to find some time to come visit,” he heard his brother say. There was a pause while their mother spoke on the other end of the line. “Mhm… Yeah, I promise. Listen, I have to go, I have therapy… Love you, too.” He heard Mario sigh through the door.

Before Luigi could remember it wasn’t polite to listen in on someone’s conversation, and before he could remember that he should act like he hadn’t been doing so, the door to his brother’s room opened, and he was standing face-to-face with Mario. His hand hovered uselessly in the air where it had just been pressed against the door.

“Hey,” he greeted with a nervous laugh. He stood up straight and took a step back. “Sorry, I was, uh…” He pursed his lips, failing to come up with a good excuse. “Hey,” he tried again.

Mario stared at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. His mouth opened, and Luigi braced himself, happiness swelling in his chest at the thought of his brother breaking his silence, finally.

When his mouth closed again, Luigi froze.

When Mario gently pushed past him, Luigi faltered a bit. “You, uh… You have therapy today?” Luigi asked. A simple yes or no question. One word. That’s all he needed.

He watched Mario silently grab his keys, put on his hat, and walk out the door without so much as glancing back. The door shut, and Luigi was left in complete silence again.

Mario could speak to their mother. Mario could go to therapy, where he presumably could speak with the therapist. Luigi suddenly remembered two days ago, when Mario had gone to group therapy. He had assumed Mario attended quietly, not offering any of his own words, but now he realized there was a good chance he had spoken to them as well. Which meant Mario was more comfortable speaking to a group of strangers than with his own brother.

Mario wasn’t cut off from the world at all. He was just cut off from Luigi.

The realization cut through him like a knife, and Luigi was suddenly struck with a deep sense of shame and hurt. He was supposed to be the one person in the universe his brother could always count on, the one person he could trust with anything, no matter what happened. And now he was the only person Mario wouldn’t speak to?

What did Luigi do that was bad enough to make Mario hate him so much?

Feeling small and embarrassed and alone, Luigi dragged himself to the living room to turn on the television. He chose a random channel and turned up the volume, letting the noise seep through the apartment.

It was a cheap replacement for hearing his brother’s voice again, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“He hates me,” Mario lamented. “I’m the worst person in the world.”

He was pacing around his therapist’s office, though he was finding the space too small to really get any of his energy out. He took a few steps in one direction, found himself face-to-face with a wall, then turned around, only to find the other wall in just a few steps again. He groaned, leaning his forehead against the wall, barely resisting the urge to bash his own face into it.

“You should have seen the way he looked at me. He was so disappointed in me,” he continued. Luigi had looked crushed when Mario hadn’t said anything back to him. He knew Luigi heard him through the door; he hadn’t been subtle.

“Disappointed in you, or just disappointed?” His therapist chimed in.

“What’s the difference?” He stopped his pacing long enough to put his hands on the back of the armchair that sat across from Dr. Berry. “I just can’t stop myself from screwing it up with him. I don’t know why he sticks around.”

“Can I ask you a question about your brother?” Mario gestured for her to continue before resuming his pacing. “Do you think Luigi is actually capable of hating you?” Mario paused.

“No.” Of course Luigi wasn’t capable of that. He didn’t have any hatred in his body. He couldn’t if he tried; he was too good for that. “Okay, fine, so maybe he doesn’t hate me,” Mario amended, turning to his therapist, “but he should.”

He wished Luigi could hate him. That would be easier than having to deal with the endless patience and kindness that he didn’t deserve. Mario would just have to hate himself enough for the both of them.

“So why should he hate you, then?”

“I told you, I’m the worst person in the world,” he repeated. Wasn’t it her job to listen? “I’ve been nothing but horrible to him. Now I can’t even speak to him.” He hid his face in his hands and groaned. “The last thing I ever said to him was so awful. I wish I could just take it back.”

“It’s hard to move forward when we’re stuck thinking about things we can’t change from the past,” Dr. Berry said. Mario almost rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered. “I’m supposed to focus on what I can control. Things I can do.” He sighed. “But what I can do and what I need to do are different. I need to apologize, but I can’t even talk to him. What’s wrong with me that I can’t even talk to my own brother? Maybe it’s me who hates him.” He threw his hands up and took another lap around the room.

On his second pass around the office, he glanced at his therapist and saw her giving him an amused look. “Oh, is this funny? Is my pain funny to you?” She smiled.

“Of course not,” she assured. “But the idea that you hate your brother is laughable, and you know that, so I’m not going to entertain it. Besides, you’ve been here for thirty minutes, and you have yet to take a seat. Now do you want to keep wearing holes into my carpet, or would you care to join me?” She gestured to the armchair. Mario looked between it and her a few times before sighing and taking a seat. He sat back with a huff and crossed his arms.

“So, you need to apologize to your brother, but you can’t, because you can’t speak to him,” Dr. Berry said. It wasn’t a question, but Mario nodded anyway. “What would you tell him if you could?”

Mario took a deep breath. His mind felt like it was stuffed full of a million things he wanted to say to his brother. Where would he even begin?

“I would tell him I’m sorry,” he started, “about what I said to him back in the Mushroom Kingdom. I think he already knows, but I’d tell him that I didn’t mean it. I think it’s important that he hears me say it.” He put his hands in his lap and started picking at his gloves. “I would tell him I’m sorry for not stepping in when he was fighting Bowser. He shouldn’t have had to do that without me.”

Mario had given Dr. Berry a very brief summary of what had happened while they were visiting Peach. But now they were getting to the part he hadn’t told her about yet. He cleared his throat.

“I would tell him I’m sorry for, uh…” He blew out a slow breath. His voice was quiet. “I’d say I was sorry for trying to die, I guess.”

“For when you were going to let Bowser kill you?” Dr. Berry asked.

Mario found himself looking everywhere but at her. “Well, yeah, and—” He cut himself off. Saying it would make it real, cement the fact that it had happened. But it had. He sighed. “I tried to jump in front of a train.”

Dr. Berry, in all her professionalism, didn’t give any sort of reaction apart from a slight nod. When he didn’t elaborate, she held out a hand. “Well, since you’re here, can I presume you didn’t?”

He laughed at that. “Yeah, no, I chickened out at the last second.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that chickening out, but sure,” she mused. “Does Luigi know about this?”

“No, but I think I should tell him,” Mario said. “I want to tell him, I guess. He doesn’t know what happened that night. He thinks everything was his fault, and he thinks he had no reason to be worried, but… You know.” Mario rubbed his palms against his thighs. “I just want to let him know that I wasn’t doing it because of him. If anything happens to me, I don’t want him to blame himself.”

“If not because of him, why did you want to do it?”

Mario shrugged. “I don’t know. I just felt like I had ruined everything. Like there was no other option for me.”

“And so why didn’t you do it? What made you ‘chicken out?’”

“Lou,” Mario said simply. Luigi was his reason for everything. “I couldn’t put him through that.”

Dr. Berry smiled. “Don’t you think that’s something he’d like to hear?”

Mario looked down at his lap, but he nodded. Maybe that would be a good way to let his brother know how much he meant to him, even if he hadn’t been able to express it lately.

“It sounds like you have a lot you want to tell your brother, but something is stopping you,” she said. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her chin on her fist. “What are you afraid will happen if you tell him all this?”

Mario let himself think about it, picturing every little possibility his mind had come up with in the past few days. The image of Luigi staring at him in disgust, or anger, or fear. The thought of his brother leaving and never coming back. The sound of Luigi screaming at him, calling him selfish and stupid and worthless. All of it would be warranted, and all of it would break Mario’s heart.

But as he went through them, each thought felt more ridiculous than the last. His brother would never do any of that in a million years. There wasn’t an ounce of malice in him, especially towards Mario.

So then what was he afraid of?

“I think,” Mario said slowly, letting the words form as his brain put the pieces together, “when I tell him all this, Luigi is going to be very understanding. He is going to be kind, and caring, and he’ll do anything I need him to do to help me get through this.” He sucked in a breath, a knot suddenly forming in his throat. “I don’t deserve that.” He cleared his throat, trying to keep himself under control. “I don’t deserve the way he treats me.”

“Do you trust your brother?”

Mario wiped the tears away from his eyes before they could fall. “Of course, I do,” he said wetly. He trusted Luigi with his life.

“You trust his judgement?”

“Yes,” Mario said.

“Then why don’t you trust his judgement about you?”

Mario hiccupped once, and the floodgates opened. He buried his face in his hands, embarrassed with himself for crying. It felt good, though, to be crying because of something other than fear or anger or hurt. The realization that his brother loved him, and that he trusted his brother to know who deserved to be loved, made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

Maybe he wasn’t the worst person in the world. Luigi didn’t seem to think so.

Dr. Berry handed him a box of tissues, and Mario used an embarrassing amount of them, balling them all up into his fists until she also slid over a trash can for him. He tossed them all in, taking slow, even breaths as he calmed down.

“I hate it when you do that,” he muttered, sniffling.

“What, my job?”

“Yeah. It’s annoying.” They both laughed, and she told him their time was up.

When he was out the door, he took a minute to compose himself, running his hands over his face. He pulled out his phone to check the time, catching a momentary glimpse of himself in the reflection of the screen. He looked like sh*t. With a small sigh, he pocketed his phone and headed out.

He had a brother to talk to.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Mario was halfway home before doubt started seeping into his brain.

What if Luigi didn’t want to hear what he had to say? Wouldn’t that be fair at this point? Mario had spent the last few days icing his brother out entirely, and before that he’d gone out of his way to hurt his feelings. Somewhere along the line he even made Luigi think it was his fault, and not Mario’s—he still wasn’t sure how he managed that one.

And why would his brother ever want to know about his attempt with the train? What would that accomplish other than making him more worried than he already was? Why would Mario want to put that pressure on him?

The doubt was taking root now, cementing itself into his bones and slowing his footsteps on the pavement.

Just the thought of trying to tell his brother anything sent a spike of fear through him, and he felt his throat preemptively seizing at the idea. Why he thought he could waltz right in and start having an emotional conversation without issue, he had no idea. He couldn’t even say a single word to his brother yet, but sure, admitting to almost committing suicide would be a breeze.

Stupid, Mario thought, wanting to hit himself. Useless idiot.

Another voice from deeper in his mind wanted to argue back against that. He was filled with the sense that someone, though he wasn’t sure who, would be upset by Mario thinking about himself that way. He wondered who in the world would care enough, who would be moved enough to defend him, and the realization made his heart clench. Luigi.

His brother’s voice scolded him lightheartedly for calling himself names. Only Luigi was allowed to do that, and even then, it was only teasing. He would hate to know Mario thought so little of himself.

Mario sighed, knowing he couldn’t back down now. Luigi deserved an apology. Luigi deserved to know that none of this was his fault, none of this would ever be his fault. Besides, Luigi loved him, and he would never stop loving him. Even when Mario didn’t deserve it. Or, rather, when he didn’t feel like he deserved it. That seemed like a correction Luigi would approve of.

Before he could second guess himself again, Mario pulled out his phone to send a text. He typed up Hey, can we talk when I get home? His thumb hesitated only for a moment before he sent it, locking in the promise of a much-needed conversation. He was surprised at the weight that lifted from his shoulders.

No sooner had he pressed send than a red error message appeared above his text, indicating that it hadn’t gone through. He glanced at his reception to make sure he wasn’t in a dead zone, frowning at the full set of bars. Weird. He tried to send it again, and again it immediately failed to go through. Which meant the issue was on Luigi’s end.

Trying hard not to launch himself into a full-blown panic—someone broke into their apartment and destroyed his phone and hurt Luigi or maybe worse—Mario focused on grounding himself with deep breathing. He picked up his pace, but simultaneously tried to keep his heart rate under control. The whole way home, he kept trying and failing to send the text. Each red error message sent a bolt of anxiety straight through his chest.

When he got home, his hands were shaking so badly that he dropped his keys while trying to unlock the door. “sh*t,” he whispered, having to use both hands to steady himself enough to insert the key. Too slow, too slow, too slow—

He thrust the door open and burst inside.

“Lou?” His voice was uncertain, catching slightly in his throat. No one replied. He closed the door behind him and stepped further into the apartment, his keys still gripped tightly in his fist, as if he could use it as a weapon. “Lou, are you here?” Are you alive?

Still, no reply.

His mind wandered again, jumping to the worst conclusions—kidnapping, hostage situation, murder. He squeezed his eyes shut against them. That wasn’t likely, and it wasn’t realistic. He knew that. But then why weren’t his messages going through?

Luigi’s phone could be dead, but it was unlike his brother to let his battery drop below even 80%, so he doubted that was it.

Mario opened his eyes and scanned the room. He zoned in on the hooks by the front door, noting the distinct lack of a green hat. He glanced down and saw that there were no keys on the table, either. Okay, so Luigi went out. He would never leave the apartment with a dead phone, so that explanation was out of the question.

He could be somewhere without reception. Maybe he was stuck on the train in a tunnel—which was also not an ideal situation, but at least not likely to end in death. Mario could just keep trying to send a text every few minutes until the reception returned.

Feeling a little calmer—and slightly embarrassed at his overreaction—Mario dropped his keys on the table and went to the kitchen for some water. A small piece of folded paper with his name on it sat on the counter. He frowned and grabbed it. It was Luigi’s handwriting.

Went to help with repairs in the Mushroom Kingdom. You’re welcome to join, otherwise I’ll be back later tonight. Love you.

The paper crumpled under his fingers.

He had to save his brother.

Mario leapt into action before his mind had a chance to catch up, tossing the paper aside and heading to the front door. It felt like the room was spinning around him, and he kept his hand on the wall to steady himself as he rushed down the hallway. He fumbled his keys again, cursing as they fell. The sound of the metal smacking against the wood floor snapped him into focus.

What was he doing? He couldn’t go to the Mushroom Kingdom. The idea of going back, of traveling through the warp pipe, of possibly facing Bowser again, of the endless ways for that world to bring new terror into his life—

Mario gasped for air, collapsing against the wall to his side to keep from falling. Luigi went somewhere he couldn’t follow. Luigi was out there by himself, and there was nothing Mario could do about it.

He stumbled back through the hallway to the living room. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything around him. He could feel his heart threatening to erupt from his chest.

What was he supposed to do? What could he do? There was no way for him to get to his brother, or to make sure his brother was safe. Luigi could be in trouble, could be asking for Mario’s help, could be way past needing help, could be dead, and Mario would never know. He would just sit here in this apartment, waiting for his brother to come back. And if he never did, he’d spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering and rotting away, alone and terrified.

It felt like his chest was caving in, like his whole body was shrinking in on itself. An uncomfortably tight sensation gripped him, squeezing the air from his lungs and making him feel claustrophobic in his own skin. A nervous whine crept up his throat.

Overcome with panic, Mario brought his hand to his mouth, snagging his glove off with his teeth. His fingers, now free from the fabric, snuck under the sleeve of his other arm and got to work. His nails scraped down the soft expanse from the crook of his elbow to his wrist, as if he thought he could release himself from the suffocating fear if he could just put a stop to the crawling under his skin. A sharp sting ran up his arm, followed quickly by a dull burn. He looked at himself, pushing his sleeve further up his arm. Four lines ran down the length of his arm, raised and pink. A few miniscule beads of blood slowly oozed from where his nails had barely broken the skin. He clenched his teeth, gripped with the need to tear at himself until there was nothing left but raw muscle and bone.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

He needed to calm down. Now.

Mario pushed through the swimming sensation in his mind, feeling a bit like he was wading through sludge—drowning in it, actually. He managed to get to his room, and he stumbled around in the dark until he found his nightstand. Blindly, his hands fumbled around in the drawer until his fingers curled around a plastic cylinder, pulling it free. He hated these pills. He hated that he even needed to keep them on hand.

He took the bottle with him back into the kitchen, gathering a glass of water and nearly spilling it with how badly his hands trembled. The child safety cap on the bottle of pills gave him just as much trouble, and he felt tears start to well up in frustration when he couldn’t open it quickly enough. He had to pause, gulping deep, grounding breaths, before he could try again. When the lid slid off with a quiet click, he cried out in relief.

The pill went down easily, and he greedily gulped the entire glass of water with it. It wouldn’t be immediate relief, though, and he knew he had to sit with his fear until it kicked in.

With wobbly legs, Mario dragged himself to the living room and flopped onto the couch. He pushed himself back against the cushions, putting his palms onto his chest and feeling his erratic heart ticking away within his ribcage. It slammed against his hands violently, and he pressed back against it, like he could stop it from bursting out of him.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, as frenzied and painful as it was. Each breath felt shallower than the last, like he couldn’t get enough air no matter how much he tried, but he kept trying, because that’s all he could do. In and out. In and out. Over and over and over again.

Time passed, though he had no idea how long it had been, and his breathing finally settled. The frantic beating under his palms slowed into a steady pace. His body felt like mush, and his brain felt fuzzy and fragile. Drained, Mario curled up on his side, pushing his face into the couch cushion and letting himself be pulled into sleep by his fatigue.

Luigi’s body ached from head to toe. He didn’t think he’d worked this hard, to this level of physical exhaustion, since he and his brother quit the wrecking crew. Cleaning up the debris from the castle was familiar work, at least, so he had been able to keep up.

The princess had been kind and grateful for his help. She had only asked about Mario once, and when Luigi told her he may or may not show up later, they had both shared a look that said they knew which option it would be. When his brother never came, neither of them mentioned it.

They worked until the sun just began to set, and Luigi was surprised at how much progress they had made. There was a lot of work left to be done, but the largest mountains of rubble had been cleared, and a good amount of art had been salvaged for preservation from beneath the wreckage. Luigi was admiring the rapidly clearing demolition site when Peach came up beside him and asked him to dinner. He joined her, and they made their way into town for a meal.

Conversation had been stunted and awkward at first as they dodged around the elephant in the room. There wasn’t much to talk about if they weren’t consoling one another about Mario, and he could tell that neither of them wanted to do that right now. They shared a long bout of silence, each slowly chewing their food, when Peach suddenly sighed.

“I’m worried that all our reconstruction efforts will be in vain if Bowser decides to attack again.”

Luigi had paused for a moment, considering if he should say anything. He didn’t really have a stake in the game; he was a complete outsider here. The residents didn’t even seem to like him. Peach was probably much more knowledgeable about this sort of thing, or at least there was likely a set of toads with more expertise. He was only a plumber—a few engineering classes he took for fun in college didn’t change that.

Still, he watched Peach pick at her food, her expression disheartened. He set his fork down.

“Actually,” he started, “I had a few ideas, if you would be interested.”

She had been very interested, and they spent the next two hours in deep conversation about possible defense measures he had been dreaming up. Her excitement had been encouraging, and Luigi found himself getting more and more animated about his concepts. They even came up with a few new ideas to work on, and by the end of the meal, Luigi had been given permission to lead the charge on the projects. A warm sense of pride settled in his chest, and he thanked her profusely for the trust she was putting in him. He wouldn’t let her down.

By the time they had finished, it was much later than expected, and Peach offered him a place at a local inn for the night. He declined, knowing he needed to get back home—sooner rather than later, if he knew his brother at all. He thanked her again and headed back to Brooklyn as quickly as his legs would take him.

Sore and worn out, Luigi quietly entered their apartment. He immediately stepped on a pair of keys, and when he looked down, he saw the little plunger keychain that belonged to his brother. Why were Mario’s keys on the floor? Not thinking much of it, he grabbed them and set them on the table beside his own, then hung up his hat, noting that Mario’s wasn’t there.

The lights in the apartment were still on, and a small pang of guilt coursed through him as he realized his brother may have stayed up to wait for him. He shouldn’t have spent so long talking to Peach. He had a hard time regretting it, though. The conversation had felt good.

Luigi saw his brother curled up on the couch, sound asleep with his face crushed into the cushion. He was snoring softly. Making his steps as quiet as he could, Luigi stepped into the kitchen. He saw the note he had left early, but now it was resting on the tile floor looking as if it had been crumpled up. An open bottle of anxiety medication sat on the counter, and that small pang of guilt Luigi felt grew into an overpowering sense of shame.

He made his way over to Mario, taking some solace in the fact that he at least looked peaceful now. He could imagine the scare his brother had when he came home to find Luigi missing. He should have expected that—should have waited to leave until he could tell Mario in person. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t.

Luigi plucked a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over Mario. As he pulled it up to cover him, he saw Mario’s arm, bare from his rolled-up sleeve, wedged between his chest and the couch. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut, but curiosity got the best of him. As gently as he could, Luigi peeled the arm away from his brother’s body. Sure enough, scratches ran up and down the skin. They didn’t look as bad this time. It didn’t seem like there was any blood he needed to clean up or deep wounds he should disinfect. Still, he felt his heart clench as he slipped the arm back into place. He removed Mario’s cap from his head and set it aside.

After tucking the edges of the blanket around Mario and ensuring he looked comfortable, Luigi trudged to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. He set it on the coffee table, along with a granola bar, for when his brother woke up. He doubted Mario had taken the time to eat and drink before spiraling.

He turned off all the lights, taking one last moment to look at his brother’s sleeping form. Luigi had spent all day surrounded by other people, working alongside toads and talking the princess’ ear off. It didn’t matter. Without his brother with him, he’d never felt lonelier.

Exhausted, Luigi went to bed.

The nightmares came immediately.

At first, it was his usual reoccurring dream where he was falling to his inevitable death, lava coming ever closer, the sweltering heat burning and blistering his skin, even from a distance. His stomach lurched inside of him as he plunged downwards, faster and faster, until finally a pair of strong hands secured themselves around his wrist, holding him firmly—tightly—too tight.

Luigi craned his neck to see his brother. They were somewhere safe all of a sudden, both feet on the ground and lava nowhere in sight. Mario was staring at him with a strange look in his eye.

“What’s wrong?” Luigi asked. It earned a frown from his brother, who took a step towards him. “Mario?” Luigi felt himself backing away, fear creeping into his mind. Why was he afraid? This was his brother.

Mario kept approaching, and his features slowly grew angrier, twisting into a vicious and cruel scowl. He bared his teeth, eyes glaring daggers into his brother. He looked at Luigi up and down but refused to say anything. He didn’t need to. Luigi felt the message in his soul, loud and clear.

I should have let you die.

“I’m sorry,” Luigi sobbed, hugging himself tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

Mario kept quiet. He would always be quiet. Luigi knew that, and he knew it was because of him. Mario was never going to speak to him again.

His brother, arms suddenly bare, started ripping at his own flesh. Luigi cried out and leapt towards him to stop it, but Mario kept just out of reach, face contorting with rage and pain as his nails dug into the skin. Blood ran down his arms in rivulets, spilling onto the floor and gathering in puddles. Luigi watched the pools grow as his brother tore into himself, deeper and deeper. He was taking too much—he was going to bleed out.

“You’re going to die,” Luigi screamed, lunging again for his brother, who once again dodged his grasp.

Good.

Luigi collapsed, breathing suddenly exceptionally difficult. “Mario, please,” he whispered. The blood was seeping into his jeans. He was lying in it. It was warm—hot, burning his skin like lava. He hissed in pain, but he couldn’t escape it. He was swimming in it, watching his brother drown in it. He called out to him, and Mario glared at him one last time before going under.

“Luigi!”

Luigi gasped as reality crashed into him, and he sat up in bed. He gripped the covers tightly in his fists, heart hammering in his chest. His eyes darted around. He was in his room. His bedside lamp was on, allowing a soft glow to illuminate the space. There wasn’t any lava. There wasn’t any blood.

There was Mario.

He flinched away, expecting to see the familiar hatred marring the features. Instead, Mario’s eyes were gentle and worried. He held one hand out, though he looked hesitant to reach any further.

“Lou, you’re okay,” he said, his voice soft and kind and the most beautiful sound Luigi had ever heard in his life.

A shaky breath turned into a wet hiccup, and before he knew it, Luigi was a blubbering mess. He struggled to breathe through the heavy sobs wracking his entire body, emotion wiping out any sense of control he had over himself.

“What’s the matter?” Mario asked, looking almost frantic. His tone was strained now, but every word he spoke sounded like music to Luigi’s ears. “Please, what’s wrong?”

“I m-missed your voice so mu-uch.” Luigi gasped through his words.

He was swept into his brother’s arms instantly, and they gripped each other so tightly it hurt. He didn’t care. Luigi let his brother crush him against his chest, keeping him still as he continued to shudder through his sobs.

“I know,” Mario whispered into his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his crown. “I’m so sorry, Weegie.”

Luigi suddenly felt calm after hearing his childhood nickname. He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment he could almost pretend they were kids again, when the world was so much smaller and easier and safer. He sighed.

Extricating himself from his brother’s arms, Luigi wiped at his face. He looked at Mario, his guilt from earlier finally having the chance to come back now that he was properly awake. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You were having a bad night, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—” A shuddery breath morphed into a frustrated groan.

“Hey,” Mario interrupted, putting his hands on either side of Luigi’s face. He waited until Luigi was watching him to continue. “It doesn’t matter if I’m having a bad night. I’m still your big brother, and I am always—” His voice was heavy with an emotion Luigi couldn’t quite place. He watched Mario’s jaw clench. “I am always going to be there for you.”

Luigi let his brother draw him back into his arms, and they rearranged so they were lying comfortably. Memories of Mario glaring and bleeding and drowning swam through his mind as he tried to fall back asleep, but the arms hugging him close, keeping him safe, made it easier to drift off peacefully.

“Goodnight, Mario,” Luigi whispered, just to hear him again.

“Night, Lou.”

He smiled, thinking his brother’s voice must be the most comforting sound in the world.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Mario woke up first, probably for the first time in the twins’ lives. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. He glanced over at the alarm clock on Luigi’s nightstand. Five in the morning. Way too early for any sane person to be awake, and here he was. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep, not with the way his heart was already leaping in his chest. It was a big day.

He glanced down at his brother, who was still sleeping soundly with his face pressed firmly into Mario’s side. He had migrated during the night, shimmying down the bed and turning sideways. His feet dangled off the side, exposed.

Suppressing a laugh, Mario got out of bed and walked around the other side to help his brother. He tucked his feet back under the blankets, then moved a pillow under his head. Luigi stirred slightly, smacking his lips, but settled back down.

Mario snuck out of the room and headed to the kitchen, mind already reeling with ideas. Today had to be perfect. He had to make today perfect. He had put off apologizing for too long, and he was going to make it right.

He was speaking to his brother again, so that problem was taken care of. He’d already worked through his anxiety with his therapist, so he knew the conversation with his brother would be fine—and it would be fine. It would. He just had to keep reminding himself of that every time he felt the nagging sensation of fear prickling at the back of his neck.

Luigi was caring and understanding, and he loved Mario more than anything. It was going to be okay.

But it wouldn’t hurt to put in some extra effort to make it a good day. Mario sleepily collected items from the pantry, gathering ingredients in his arms until he held a precariously tall stack that he hauled over to the counter. Pancakes would be good, but chocolate pancakes with homemade whipped cream would be better. He got to work, mixing up the batter and folding in a generous amount of chocolate chips. As a pan heated on the stove, he put on a pot of coffee.

Yawning, Mario stood in front of the stove, staring blankly ahead. He zoned out for a while, and when he came back, shaking himself to wake up, he looked down. He hovered his hand over the frying pan, feeling for warmth and getting nothing. This was taking a while to heat up. He sighed and waited. And waited some more. When several minutes passed and it was still cold, he frowned. Was the stove broken? He reached up to turn the heat higher and paused.

He hadn’t turned it on.

Mario rolled his eyes at himself and took a deep breath, turning the stove on. It was fine. It was way too early for any of this, but it was fine.

The pan finally got hot, and he poured in the batter. The first one cooked unevenly, but that was expected. The first pancake was always a bust. He tossed it into the trash and moved on. When the second pancake was also a bust, he felt himself getting frustrated. How hard was it to get a pancake right? The third was fine. It looked edible enough, at least, though the color was a little off. He sighed and stacked it on a plate, but after staring at it for too long he decided to toss it. Today needed to be perfect, and that meant not settling for imperfect pancakes.

He was halfway through the fourth pancake when he remembered the whipped cream. Mario rushed to the fridge, searching through it for ingredients. They didn’t have heavy cream, but they had milk and butter. He put the two ingredients in a bowl before pouring on a heap of powdered sugar. He tried to stir it with a fork, but it just clumped together. He started at it, blinking slowly.

He should have melted the butter first.

Mario swiped a hand down his face. It was fine. He could do this. Sighing, he placed the bowl in the microwave to melt the butter down. The door down the hall opened, and he turned to see Luigi strolling into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Mario?”

“Good morn—”

A sharp zap from the microwave startled them both, and they turned to see a bright light flaring from inside. sh*t. The fork.

Mario ripped open the microwave door, pulling the hot fork from the bowl and burning the tips of his fingers. He dropped it with a hiss, and it clanked loudly on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw smoke rising from the pan on the stove. He lunged over and flipped the pancake. It was black, completely charred and inedible.

This was going horribly.

A hand on his shoulder made him turn, and Luigi was giving him a worried look.

“Mario?”

Mario stared for a long moment. “We don’t have heavy cream,” he muttered. As if that explained it. His ears burned as he felt tears start to well up. He could not cry about this. He was being stupid.

Luigi walked over to the microwave and pulled out the bowl, looking inside. “Were you going to make whipped cream?”

Mario nodded sheepishly. It was a stupid idea.

Luigi just set the bowl in the sink and went to the fridge, pulling out a can of whipped cream. He handed it over with a smile, and Mario took it, holding it in both hands. Wouldn’t Luigi have preferred homemade?

His brother brushed past him and grabbed the frying pan, seamlessly tossing the burnt pancake into the trash—Mario hoped he hadn’t caught a glimpse of his other failed attempts piled in the garbage already—and replaced the pan on the stove. He poured a new batch of batter onto it. Mario just watched him work, clutching the can of whipped cream tighter.

Luigi sniffed, getting a strange look. He walked over to the coffee maker and stared at it.

“You burned the coffee,” he stated. Mario shrank.

“Sorry…”

“It’s an automatic machine,” Luigi continued. He glanced over at Mario. “I didn’t even know that could happen.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, when suddenly Luigi burst into laughter. It filled the otherwise quiet apartment, the cheerful sound lifting the embarrassment from Mario and replacing it with something lighter. It was infectious. He felt himself start to laugh in the return, the feeling bubbling up in his chest as he stared at the coffee maker. How had he done that?

“I have many talents,” he bragged.

Luigi wiped tears from his eyes. “Clearly,” he agreed. He poured the coffee down the drain and started up a new batch. Over his shoulder, he nodded to the frying pan. “Can you flip it?” Mario did, and the pancake was perfectly cooked.

They continued like that, slipping seamlessly beside one another in the small kitchen and calling out requests that the other fulfilled instantly. They took turns flipping the pancakes, falling into a routine that made sure each one came out exactly right, and as the stack of them grew on the counter, Mario felt the tension leaving his body. As the last pancake was removed from the frying pan, the two brothers collected everything and moved to the table.

They sat down, and Mario leaned over to spray a comically large mountain of whipped cream on Luigi’s pancakes—mostly just to earn a laugh from his brother, which it did. Luigi shooed him away and protectively pulled his plate in closer. As they dug in, they both let out hums of approval.

“This was a good idea,” Luigi said, shoving a forkful into his mouth. Mario beamed at the praise.

He did good. Today was going to be good.

The elation he felt from avoiding a disastrous morning continued the rest of the way through breakfast. He earned a few more laughs from his brother by stealing bites of his pancakes after finishing his own, and each one felt like a victory. The sun rose as they ate, and he felt his mood brighten along with the room as light shone in from the windows. He was happy. Luigi looked happy. It felt like it used to, before everything.

As the two finished eating and started to clean up their mess, Mario’s elation started giving way to anxiety. The chocolate stirred in his stomach, feeling suddenly heavy. He took a slow, deep breath. He could do this.

“Can we talk?” He finally mustered. He must have sounded scared, because Luigi’s head snapped to the side, looking concerned. He searched Mario’s face, and whatever he found made him smile gently.

“Yeah, of course,” Luigi said. He put the unfinished dishes into the sink and wiped his hands, following Mario into the other room.

Mario sat them down on the couch and turned so they were facing each other, because this was how he had pictured it in his mind. He had run through it a thousand times. He would apologize for everything, explain what had happened with the train before he had stopped talking, and then apologize some more. Luigi would tell him it was okay, that it would always be okay, and then they’d hug it out. Mario was going to try really hard not to cry, but that one was up in the air. It went fifty-fifty whenever he ran the scenario.

“I just, um…” Now that he was finally here, with Luigi sitting patiently across from him with an open and caring smile, he was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. There was so much to say. It jumbled up in his mind, and he felt his heart skip a beat at a momentary thought that maybe he would be unable to speak again, and he would be stuck here silently staring at his brother as Luigi’s expression slowly morphed into disappointment.

No. This had to be perfect.

Mario took another steadying breath. “I want to say I’m sorry,” he started. “I mean, there’s a lot I need to apologize for. There’s been a lot that you didn’t deserve.” He looked at Luigi for reassurance and continued to see the ever-present care in his brother’s face that eased the pressure in his mind, smoothing out all his thoughts. “I’m sorry for what I said before. I don’t wish you were dead.” He shook his head, the words replaying in his mind. Maybe if I had let you die, I wouldn’t have to be stuck with such a pathetic, spineless brother. “I swear I didn’t mean any of it, you have to know that.”

“Mario,” Luigi replied, letting out a small laugh. “Of course, I know you didn’t mean it. I think you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t think of me like that. I mean, that doesn’t make it okay that you said it, but, you know,” he shrugged. “I didn’t take it to heart. I know you were just hurting.”

“Yeah,” Mario agreed. “I was upset with myself for not stepping in to help with Bowser, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for that, too. For freezing during the fight.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for that,” Luigi said softly.

“I do,” Mario argued. “It wasn’t fair to make you do that alone.”

“I’m not upset about it.”

“You should be,” Mario insisted.

“Well, I’m not.” Mario glanced up to see Luigi giving him a strange expression. He looked a little annoyed, which wasn’t right. Anxiety stirred in the back of his mind.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat and pushed on. “I guess I’m just sorry for how I’ve been lately. I know it hasn’t been easy on you. I’m trying to get better.”

“I know you are,” Luigi said. He smiled again, which eased some of his worry. “You’ve been working really hard, and I can see it’s helping. I just worry. You know how I am.” Luigi sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m a bit much about it sometimes.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Mario said, his tone stern enough that Luigi raised an eyebrow at him.

“But when you stopped talking to me…?”

“That wasn’t about you, I promise.”

“It felt like it was about me.” His brother sounded hurt, and Mario wondered what it must have been like to be Luigi. His older brother yelled horrible things at him, disappeared for a few hours, then came back and refused to speak to him for days on end. Yeah, he could see how that could be taken personally.

“I’m so sorry, Lou. It wasn’t because of anything you did.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I did something really stupid that night, and I was just so…” Ashamed? Guilty? Filled with a sense of deep, relentless self-hatred? He sighed. “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.”

A long string of emotions flit across Luigi’s face, none of which stayed long enough for Mario to decipher. He watched his brother shift in his seat, his expression settling on something bordering on fear. “What did you do?”

Mario felt a shift in the air. He leaned back slightly. “First of all, nothing happened, okay? I’m fine.” He spoke slowly, making himself clear right away. “I was just so upset that night by what I had done, that I just… I hated myself, Lou. I didn’t want to face you. It got pretty bad.” He stopped, working his jaw. God, there wasn’t a good way to say this, was there? “I almost jumped on the tracks.”

“Mario!” Luigi leaped from the couch, looking horrified.

“Almost,” Mario emphasized. He reached for his brother to tug him back to the couch, but Luigi pulled himself free, putting his hands on either side of his head.

“Oh my god.”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Mario,” Luigi scolded, giving a warning look. He buried his face in his hands. “I was so worried about you. But then I thought, no, I should trust you, you’ll be okay.” He dropped his hands and stared at Mario, looking more distraught than before. “I shouldn’t have left you to go back to the party. God, Mario, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Mario said, standing up. He grabbed Luigi by the shoulders. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you now, okay? It wasn’t your fault, I swear. I need you to know that. If anything ever happens to me, it’s not your fault.”

Luigi’s expression twisted. “Fault? I wouldn’t care whose fault it was, Mario. I’d care that you were dead.” He sounded angry.

This wasn’t going right. This wasn’t at all the way Mario had pictured it. He felt himself starting to spiral, the situation no longer in his control. He was supposed to be apologizing, and now he was just making Luigi mad. He needed to bring it back. He just needed to find the right thing to say.

“I just… You shouldn’t feel bad about leaving me back there,” Mario explained. He wrung his hands together nervously.

“Well, I do,” Luigi spat.

“And I didn’t jump,” he said. “I didn’t want to put you through that. I thought about you, and I couldn’t do it.”

Luigi turned away, barking out a nervous, humorless laugh. “Mario…” He rubbed a hand down his face. He started walking towards the front door but stopped in his tracks.

Mario panicked, taking a step towards his brother. If Luigi left, he wouldn’t be able to fix this. He could still make it okay. He could still turn the conversation back to where it was supposed to be, just as long as he stayed. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, I guess,” he said, throwing his hands out in exasperation. He turned back around. “You know, I was going to go back to the Mushroom Kingdom again today.”

Mario’s heart leapt suddenly. “You don’t ever have to go back there, you know.”

“I want to.”

“You shouldn’t want—”

“Stop telling me how I should feel, Mario!” Luigi was shouting now, and Mario flinched, stepping back. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I like the Mushroom Kingdom. I like the way I feel there. I’m scared all the time, of everything, but when I’m there I feel like I actually have the power to do something about it. You would have known that if you ever asked me, instead of just deciding how I should feel about it.”

Mario shrank back, crossing his arms protectively over his stomach. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…”

“Not that it matters,” Luigi added. “I can’t go back there now, not if you won’t go. I feel like it’s not safe to leave you alone.”

Guilt weighed him down, and he hugged himself tighter. “You shouldn’t—” He caught himself. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to watch me. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Luigi lunged forward suddenly, grabbing Mario’s arm. Before he could react, Luigi had pushed the sleeve of his shirt up and turned his arm, so the soft underside was facing up, revealing the pink lines he had scratched into himself the day before. Mario felt his face burn as he tugged himself free and pushed the sleeve back down.

“It’s not a big deal,” he mumbled.

“Do you hear yourself, sometimes?” Luigi sounded gutted. “Mario, you were going to kill yourself.”

“I didn’t.” Mario’s own voice was so small he could barely hear it.

“And what if you try again? What if the thought of me doesn’t stop you next time?” Luigi covered his mouth for a moment, breathing slowly. When he removed his hand and spoke again, his voice was heavy with grief. “I know you don’t mean to put this on me, but I am feeling a lot of pressure right now. If you died, I wouldn’t be able to live with that. But that can’t be the only reason you stay alive. I can’t be your only reason. That’s too much for me. I need you to want to be here. I need you to care about yourself, Mario.”

Luigi’s hands were shaking, and Mario wanted nothing more than to hold them steady in his own. He wanted to tell his brother it would be okay, that he would take care of it, that he had nothing to worry about. He also didn’t think lying would make this situation any better.

“I…” Mario thought hard, then finally just shrugged. “I’ll try.”

It seemed like the wrong thing to say. Luigi looked frustrated. He sighed and sat himself heavily down on the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. He flicked through the channels, and Mario just stood there feeling like he was interrupting something.

“You can go,” Mario finally said, his voice nearly drowned out by whatever Luigi had on. Luigi spared him a questioning glance. “The Mushroom Kingdom. If you want to go today, I think you should go.”

Luigi just shook his head and turned back to the TV. Mario felt like he was being stabbed through the heart.

“I won’t do anything,” he tried again. “I promise.”

“I don’t think I believe you right now,” Luigi responded, not unkindly. He looked at Mario sadly, and Mario couldn’t even blame him.

He wasn’t sure he believed himself, either.

Feeling hollow, Mario left his brother and went to his room. He kept the door open. He figured it would ease Luigi’s mind to be able to keep an eye on him.

Mario curled up under his covers and had about three seconds of peace before the crying started. He struggled to stay quiet, covering his mouth to muffle any sounds as the tears flowed. He just wished he could start the whole day over. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. What did he do wrong? Mario shut his eyes tightly and buried his face in his pillow.

Why did he always have to do everything wrong?

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Mario found himself struggling with a new kind of silence in the days following their talk. It wasn’t like it usually was, with words getting stuck in his throat and his tongue refusing to work right. He wanted to speak, was more than willing to say anything at all, but he couldn’t think of something that would make this better. He and Luigi could be in the same room for hours without saying a word, and it was killing him that he couldn’t come up with something to smooth things over.

The two of them danced around one another in the apartment, and Mario couldn’t help but feel like his every move was being watched and analyzed. He tried to school his own expressions and movements, as if he could make himself look less depressed to the outside eye. He started to favor short sleeves, just so Luigi could see that he wasn’t scratching. He kept himself fed, even when eating made him want to puke. He never shut his door anymore. He didn’t want it to seem like he had anything to hide, and if he was being honest, he didn’t want the opportunity to do anything, either. He wasn’t sure he should trust himself anymore.

As the days went by, he couldn’t tell if he was effectively convincing his brother—or himself— that he was okay. Most of the time, Luigi’s expression was unreadable. Mario knew he was doing it on purpose, keeping his feelings in check—probably so that Mario would be able to keep his feelings in check, too. He would laugh at the two of them going to such extremes for one another if it wasn’t so exhausting.

Mario waited until he was in the bathroom with the door closed before he ran his hands down his face and sighed. His morning showers were becoming his favorite time of day. It was the only time he allowed himself the privacy of a closed door—though he was still careful about it. He made sure to never stay in there too long. He knew Luigi would be waiting and worrying if he was taking even just a few minutes longer than usual.

It wasn’t lost on him that this was some sort of cruel parody of how he treated Luigi just a few months ago, unable to let him out of sight. It felt like karma. And it also made him feel like sh*t for putting Luigi through it. It was awful to not feel like he could have a moment to himself, to always feel someone watching him.

But for the time being, Mario was alone, and he could relax—well, relax was generous, but he could at least drop the façade, and he could finally let himself think about everything that was happening.

He couldn’t get Luigi’s words out of his head. He hadn’t realized he was putting so much pressure on his brother by staying alive just for him, but what other reason was there? What else did he have?

I need you to want to be here.

I need you to care about yourself.

Impossible requests, in his opinion.

Mario leaned against the counter and stared at himself in the mirror. He f*cking hated what he saw. All he could see was a man who failed at everything he was supposed to do. He’d done everything wrong by Luigi, treated him like garbage, and made him spend his time taking care of his older brother, as if that should be his full-time obligation.

Mario couldn’t even have the decency to get better. He tried. His grip on the counter tightened and he saw his expression grow bitter with frustration in the mirror. He tried so hard to get better, every single day, but nothing was getting easier. He kept screwing up. Everything kept getting worse.

One step forward and two steps back—that was always something they emphasized in group therapy. It gnawed at Mario now, because then what was the point? If there was never going to be any progress, if this would be an eternal battle, why did he keep going? Luigi needed him to want to be here, but that meant Mario had to want to struggle for the rest of his life. And what if he didn’t want that?

Mario stopped himself, seeing his face in the mirror grow more miserable by the second. This was the exact opposite of what Luigi needed from him. Another failure on his part, Mario thought, which just made him feel worse. This was becoming an endless cycle.

He turned away from the mirror, needing to clear his mind. He glanced at the shower, the perfect place to be alone and trapped with his thoughts, and grimaced. He knew this was the only time of day he would get any privacy, but the idea of being stuck with himself while he was in this kind of spiral felt like a dangerous position to be in. He’d have to skip his shower today.

With a sigh, Mario flushed the toilet and washed his hands, just to give Luigi the illusion that he’d been in the bathroom for a purpose and hadn’t just spent ten minutes staring at himself in the mirror in self-loathing. He glanced at himself one more time and tried to look more like a regular human being before heading out.

In the kitchen, he found a filled coffee cup emblazoned with a large M next to a plate of eggs and toast, which did a surprising amount to lift his mood. Luigi cared for him, as much as he continued to struggle to care for himself.

“Thanks, Weeg—” He cut himself off partway through sitting down at the table as his brother came into the room. Luigi was already fully dressed, shoes and hat both on. Mario sat the rest of the way in his chair slowly. He glanced at the table again and noticed that Luigi’s own mug and plate weren’t there; it was just Mario’s serving. They weren’t going to have breakfast together. Mario stared at Luigi curiously.

His brother looked nervous.

Which made Mario feel nervous.

Something was going on.

“Are you… going somewhere?” Mario asked. He tried not to sound too concerned about it. Luigi was allowed to go out. That didn’t have to mean anything bad.

“Yeah,” Luigi said, his voice unusually high. He wrung his hands in front of him. “I, uh,” he muttered, pausing as he finally looked at his brother. Luigi looked scared. “I have a therapy appointment?” He said it like a question, leaving the information hanging in the air.

“Oh.” Mario tried to keep his expression from showing anything. Therapy. He had driven his brother to need therapy.

God, he hated himself sometimes.

“It just seemed like it was helping you a lot,” Luigi continued, “so I thought I’d try it out. I don’t know if I’ll like it, but I figured I’ll never know until I try, you know?” He was babbling, something Mario knew he did when he was nervous. He needed to help Luigi out.

“Yeah, of course,” Mario replied, forcing a smile onto his face in what he hoped looked like a reassuring expression. He didn’t want Luigi to be afraid of telling him things. “I hope you can get something out of it.”

Luigi smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He still looked worried. He glanced at the microwave clock and seemed to sigh to himself before turning to his brother. “I have to leave in a couple minutes. I’ll be gone for about two hours. Are you… Will you be okay?”

Oh. That’s why he was scared.

Mario felt the smile slip from his face, and as much as he tried to hide it, he could tell from Luigi’s expression that he had let his hurt show through. His brother still didn’t trust him to be alone. He was probably right.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly. It didn’t sound convincing, even to himself.

“I can reschedule,” Luigi said, already pulling his phone out. Mario leapt from his seat and put his hands over the screen, stopping him. He looked his brother in the eye.

“I’ll be fine, Lou,” he said, his voice steadier.

Luigi searched his face, working his lower lip between his teeth. He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Promise me.”

Mario chuckled slightly. “Alright, I pinky promise.”

His shoulders were grabbed suddenly, and he felt Luigi’s fingers digging into his skin as he leaned closer. “Mario, I’m serious. You have to promise me you’ll be okay if I go. I can’t…” Luigi had a pained expression on his face. “Just please promise me.”

Mario felt the way Luigi’s hands were shaking where they held him, and a swell of guilt built up in his chest at the reminder that he’d been the one to lead Luigi to this point. He reached up and pried the fingers from him, holding Luigi’s hands firmly in his own.

“Luigi, I swear to you I will be okay,” he assured. “You can go.”

That seemed to do the trick well enough. Luigi pulled him in for a hug, squeezing him too tightly. Mario held onto him just as tight. It hurt Mario, and he could tell it was hurting Luigi, too. It was a desperate kind of hug that didn’t leave either feeling comforted. When they parted, Luigi turned and hurried out the front door, probably wanting to leave before he could second-guess himself.

The apartment was eerily quiet without Luigi, and Mario sat himself down at the table again to eat his breakfast. He ate slowly, chewing each bite deliberately and following them with measured sips from his coffee. He let the bitter taste sit on his tongue, focusing on the flavor more than usual.

Two hours. He could survive for two hours. He promised.

When Mario finished his breakfast, he cleaned up his mess and spent a grand total of thirty seconds puttering with chores in the kitchen before he started feeling antsy. He glanced at the clock, frowning when he realized it hadn’t even been ten minutes yet.

A prickly feeling traveled down his arms, and Mario immediately went into the other room to take his anxiety medication, mostly to ensure he wouldn’t freak out later. It was better to be safe than sorry. He promised he would be okay, and he would be. He had to be okay for Luigi.

The thought made him sigh. There he was again, putting it all on his brother. Mario should want to be okay for himself. He should want to be okay for the sake of being okay. But if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure if he cared enough. If Luigi wasn’t a factor, Mario would probably be fine with wallowing in self-pity and hatred. It’s what he deserved, really. The thought sent an unpleasant sensation sinking low into his stomach.

The recognition that he was letting his thoughts spiral down again made him groan. He needed to do something to keep himself busy or this would be the longest two hours of his life—or he wouldn’t even make it to two hours.

With that thought, Mario went into his room and got himself dressed as quickly as possible. He sped out the door, barely remembering to grab his keys and lock up, before rushing down the stairs and out into the streets.

The air felt crisp on his cheeks, and he zipped up his jacket to keep out the chill. Walking through Brooklyn was easy for him, familiar and effortless. It was home. He let himself get distracted by the sounds and sights and smells, too busy stepping over trash and avoiding mystery puddles to think much about his own pity.

Without trying to, he ended up at a nearby park, and he let his legs carry him over winding paths through lines of trees and bushes. After a while, he found an abandoned bench and sat down, leaning his head back so he was staring up through the trees and watching clouds slowly drift by.

He was struck with a feeling of content—not happiness, per se, but he felt noticeably less miserable in this moment. His therapist was always talking about finding beauty in the mundane of life, and he supposed this was probably what she meant. Things that made life okay, even on a small scale.

But was it enough?

Mario sighed, pulled back from his brief contentment, and looked out at the greenery in front of him. It should be enough. Living his own life should be enough.

His brother probably thought Mario’s life was worth living. He remembered his therapist’s words, how she encouraged him to trust his brother’s opinion of him, even if he didn’t believe it himself. He wanted to trust Luigi on it, to believe that his brother saw something in him that was worth it. He didn’t have a clue what it was, but he figured he should at least try to see it. He promised Luigi he would try.

Mario stared down at his feet where they dangled over the ground, just barely skimming the dirt. He scuffed the toe of his boot over a rock and thought hard. What did he like about his life?

Luigi. He wracked his brain for more but came up empty, which was exactly what his brother hadn’t wanted.

Sighing, Mario moved on. What did he like about himself? He furrowed his brow and thought.

And thought.

And kept thinking, the wheels in his brain turning and turning as he struggled to come up with any nice thought about himself that would help him care about keeping himself alive. He tried to think about something Luigi would say, something his brother might see in him that he couldn’t see in himself.

He could only think about how he’d been letting Luigi down lately. He struggled with the most mundane things, and it felt like he was refusing to get any better. He was a burden. He left his brother exhausted and anxious about everything. He drove him to needing therapy, for God’s sake.

Mario buried his face in his hands and groaned. This wasn’t working.

The cold wind whipped against him, tousling his hair and carrying a shrill squeal of a child with it.

“It’s you!”

Mario removed his face from his hands to glance up. A child was running towards him, a giant smile plastered on her face. She couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. She came barreling to a stop in front of his bench, out of breath and vibrating with excitement. Mario sat up straighter and looked around for a parent.

“It’s really you, I can’t believe it!” she shrieked. Her eyes were huge behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and she was swinging her arms around, one of which was wrapped in a bright red cast.

“It’s me,” he agreed. “Hello.” He put on a polite smile for the kid. It had been a long time since anyone had approached him in public, and even right after the Brooklyn fight with Bowser, it had been a rare thing. He didn’t much feel like entertaining today, but he could try. He wasn’t going to be rude to a child.

“You’re a hero,” she added, looking at him in awe. He felt himself sink into the bench. He didn’t want to crush this kid’s view on life, but he absolutely was not a hero. The word felt like a slap to the face after everything he had done lately.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“A real-life superhero, with a cape and everything,” she continued.

Mario blinked. “What?”

“You can fly! And go super fast! And you have your own van!”

“Wait—”

“Your theme song is my favorite. I have all the words memorized!” She grinned proudly, then suddenly got serious as she leaned towards him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Mario blinked again, his mind feeling like sludge. He held up a finger. “Hold on,” he said. “You’re talking about my commercial?”

“Yeah!” The girl bounced on her toes. “I made my mom record it so I could watch it over and over. You’re so cool!”

“Is that… all you know me from?” Mario gave a half-smile, dumbfounded.

“I saw your ad in the newspaper, too! I put it on my bulletin board,” she announced happily.

“Is that so?” Mario was grinning now, a light feeling bubbling up in his chest. This was a first.

The girl gasped suddenly. “Can you sign my cast?” She reached into the space between the cast and her arm and pulled out a black marker, holding it out to him. He looked at it like it was the best gift he’d ever received.

“I would be honored,” he said, taking the marker. It was warm and a little damp with sweat, but he didn’t mind. The girl held out her arm, and in big letters he wrote Super Mario. As an added touch, he drew a little plunger underneath.

When she saw it, her eyes grew huge. “Woah! A real autograph,” she whispered. “Wait until I show everyone at school!” Mario felt like he might melt. He handed the marker back, and she slipped it back into place.

“I’d love to hear it,” he said. When she gave him a quizzical look, he smiled. “My theme song. I’d love to hear you sing it.”

That was all the invitation she needed. The girl hopped onto the bench beside him and rapped the entire song from the commercial, complete with motions that imitated his and his brother’s movements. His heart swelled with some sort of overwhelming feeling, and he was caught between wanting to laugh and cry. Right as she finished her rendition, a woman came sprinting up to the bench.

“Rachel, oh my god!” The woman pulled the kid off the bench and pushed her protectively behind her legs. She glared at Mario, then a look of recognition fell over her features. “Oh!”

“Mom, look who it is!” The girl jumped out from behind her mother, pointing to Mario. He waved slightly. The girl—Rachel—cupped her hands around her mouth and lowered her voice, though it was still loud enough for him to hear. “It’s Super Mario.” She pointed to the name on her cast. The mother nodded.

“I can see that, sweetie,” she said in the same fake-whispering tone. “Why don’t you go back and find grandpa to tell him about it?”

“Okay!” Rachel bolted away before stopping suddenly and spinning around. She waved her cast wildly in the air. “Bye!” Mario raised his own hand to wave goodbye, but the girl had taken off in a hurry, sprinting down a path and out of sight.

“I am so sorry about that, I hope she didn’t bother you too much,” the mother said, looking embarrassed.

“Not at all,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “She was very sweet.” He chuckled lightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been recognized for my acting career.”

“Oh, she’s obsessed with that commercial. I don’t know what it is about it. She must watch it a dozen times a day,” the mother said. Mario gave her an apologetic look, which earned a laugh. “No, no, it’s a cute commercial, I don’t mind. It’s nice to see her get so excited over something.”

“Yeah,” Mario mused. He hadn’t seen anyone that excited about his commercial since… himself.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you be,” she said. “Thank you for indulging her. She’ll probably be talking about this for weeks.”

“It was no problem,” he said, shaking his head. “And hey, if you ever need a plumber,” he pointed in the direction that Rachel had run off, “she has my number.” That made the mother laugh again, and she headed down the path with a final wave, leaving him alone.

Mario sank comfortably back into the bench, swinging his legs back and forth where they dangled off the edge. His body felt like it was buzzing, and he couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

He had forgotten about his commercial if he was being honest. It had been so long, and so much had happened since, that it had slipped his mind. He forgot how much time and effort he’d poured into it, spending countless nights writing and rewriting a script, acting it out in the privacy of his bedroom to see how it sounded. He had forgotten about bringing the idea to his brother in order to convince him that it was worth putting all of their savings into it—as if Luigi would have argued for a second. He forgot about the three days they had spent shooting, needing to improvise when things didn’t go as planned, which left Luigi stressed but Mario had taken it in stride, excited to have to think on his feet and be creative. He had forgotten how much fun it was to throw everything he had into something and be proud of how it turned out.

It felt good.

He felt good.

Mario thought back on why he put so much of himself into the project to begin with. He wanted to do something for his community, to make the lives around him easier in whatever way he could. It was a little silly, he knew, to be so excited about plumbing, of all things. But the idea that he could help someone out by actually, physically fixing a problem and leaving their lives better off because of it, made him happy. He liked to help people, even if it was in a boring, ordinary way.

Beauty in the mundane.

He closed his eyes and let out a small laugh, committing the feeling to memory. Mario allowed himself to sit in it for a little longer before letting out a long, relaxed breath.

When he got up to head back home, he felt light on his feet. A warm sensation hummed throughout his body the entire walk, and he nearly forgot about why he had needed to go out in the first place until he opened the door to the apartment building and found his brother heading up the stairs just ahead of him.

“Hey,” he called out, jogging to catch up. Luigi startled a little and gave a quiet greeting in reply when he realized who it was. Mario felt his brother look him up and down worriedly, but when he didn’t seem to find anything, they headed up to the apartment together, shoulders brushing in the narrow stairway. When they got inside, Mario went straight for the couch and sat down heavily, leaning his head back.

“You look… good,” Luigi said, approaching the couch slowly. He looked at Mario like he was searching for something, probably trying to figure out why his brother couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. “Did something happen?”

Mario shrugged. “I just went for a walk.” He looked up at Luigi and was suddenly pulled back down to reality. He felt himself sober up. “How was therapy?”

Luigi nodded and gave a small smile. “It was really nice.” Now that they were closer, Mario could see that Luigi’s eyes were red-rimmed, like he had been crying. The thought made his chest ache, but Luigi didn’t look sad. He looked better than he had in a while, actually.

“That’s good to hear,” Mario said. He still felt bad for driving Luigi to need therapy, but if it was something that would help him deal with Mario, then it was a good thing.

Luigi stood in front of the couch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He wanted to say something else. Mario leaned forward and tilted his head over to catch his brother’s eye, raising an eyebrow in question. Luigi took a deep breath and clenched his fists, like he was steeling himself.

“I’m going to spend the afternoon in the Mushroom Kingdom,” he stated. He stared at Mario, clearly waiting for a reaction.

Mario wasn’t sure how to react. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about it. His heart thrummed a little faster in his chest at the thought, but he wasn’t overcome by a sense of terror. It was uncomfortable, the thought of Luigi being somewhere he couldn’t get to him, just in case. But they’d swapped their roles so often lately, with Mario needing to be taken care of and Luigi saving the day, that it almost seemed as if Luigi didn’t need his protection. Mario might be a little worse off while Luigi was gone, but he felt like he could handle it.

He would be fine.

“Okay,” Mario finally said.

“Okay?” Luigi looked a little surprised. Probably because Mario could feel his own expression remaining cool and collected. He wasn’t even trying to keep his face under control, he just… felt alright about it. Not good. But good enough.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. He stood up. “I hope you have a good time, Lou.”

Luigi’s expression softened. “Thanks, Mario,” he said quietly.

They went in for a hug at the same time, unsure of who initiated first. It was less desperate than their hug from that morning, the two of them holding each other securely without being too tight. Mario sighed, relaxing into the embrace. He felt Luigi’s cheek rest on the top of his head.

When they parted, they shared another smile, and Mario watched Luigi gather his things and head out the door. The apartment was quiet, but he had an idea to fix that. Mario headed to his room and rummaged around under his bed until he found the original copy of all the footage from their commercial. He practically sprinted into the living room to shove the disk into the DVD player.

The first few minutes were clearly of them trying to get accustomed to the camera, with shaky footage and abrupt cuts. The first real scenes they shot were the ones in front of a green screen, so the brothers appeared in front of a thin sheet they had hung up against a wall of their apartment with clothespins. Mario watched his past self position two stools beside one another, then the brothers helped each other tie yellow capes to their necks. He remembered choosing to shoot this first because it was the scene he was most excited for. “Because we’re like the heroes of plumbing, the Super Mario Bros. It’ll look so cool, Weege, trust me. I can edit the stools out in the final cut.” He couldn’t, as it turned out.

Mario smiled to himself, watching the brothers on screen set up fans so the capes would blow in the wind. Luigi crawled onto his stool, wobbling a little before stabilizing. Mario had been too excited—he plopped his stomach onto the stool too hard and went toppling over, knocking a fan down with him. Luigi quickly followed suit, laughing too hard to stay balanced.

There was almost ten minutes of footage just for those few seconds of the commercial, most of which was filled with Luigi squirming uncomfortably on his stool and Mario struggling to get his lines out because his lungs were being compressed from his position. After that, it took them more than a dozen tries to get through the “Mamma mia!” line, with Luigi falling into hysterics every time they were even a fraction of a second out of sync. Mario found himself laughing along with the footage now, though at the time of shooting he was clearly struggling to keep them focused, waving his hands in Luigi’s face and telling him to cut it out.

Luigi had been given more lines originally, but it had become evident early on that he was too camera shy to act. Mario watched his brother stutter out a few lines, looking and sounding stiff as a board.

“Loosen up, Lou, you’re doing great!” his past self encouraged.

His encouragement hadn’t worked, and eventually they both had to admit that Mario would need to take on the leading role, including all the speaking lines. Luigi could say his name, but that was about all they could get out of him.

The footage went on like that, with the brothers blundering through their lines and messing up every other take. Every time Mario screwed up a line, Luigi would burst into laughter, which always made Mario laugh in return. He wondered how they ever got through shooting the commercial at this rate.

A whole scene had been cut where Mario and Luigi acted out a sword fight using a plunger and wrench, ending with Mario using a drain snake as a whip— “Like Indiana Jones, Lou.” Mario had choreographed the entire fight, and he remembered being so proud of the action sequence. Watching it now, with the two of them clumsily going through every move at a snail’s pace, he felt laughter bubble up in his chest.

It didn’t make any sense. Why had he thought that would be good for the commercial? Why had Luigi agreed to it?

There was hours of footage, and he wasn’t even halfway through when the front door opened again. Luigi stepped in, looking around at the apartment.

“Are you just sitting here in the dark?” he asked.

Mario leaned over to turn on the lamp—he hadn’t even realized it had gotten so late— and patted the seat beside him on the couch. “Come here,” he said with a grin. Luigi looked confused, but he smiled and joined him.

“Oh, my God, no,” Luigi groaned when he saw himself on the screen standing in front of their van and wearing a pair of dark shades. In the footage, he stood with his arms awkwardly at his sides while Mario moved him to where he needed to stand. “Turn this off.” Luigi shielded his eyes from the screen, laughing.

“No, it’s so good, you look so cool,” he said, grabbing at Luigi’s hands to pull them away from his face. He couldn’t help the laughter from spilling out.

The footage continued, seeming to get more chaotic the further into the commercial they got, and the brothers settled into the couch while they watched. They leaned against each other, eventually pulling a blanket over the top of them to get comfortable.

Sometime after they introduced the actress into the scenes, Luigi fell asleep. Mario glanced over to see his brother’s cheek pressed into his shoulder, and he smiled. He turned the volume down and kept watching, wanting to see it to the end.

After the final scene that they shot played out, with Mario flicking a toy car across a map to his brother—it took almost twenty takes, because the car kept flipping over or veering too far off course—the screen went black. Mario sat in the quiet, savoring the warm feeling in his chest. He missed this, feeling like things were okay. Feeling like there were good things in life. He missed feeling happy.

Not wanting to wake his brother, Mario settled back into the couch and leaned his head on the top of Luigi’s. With a smile still playing on his lips, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. Luigi was surprised by it but didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. His brother was different, like something had reawakened inside of him. Mario looked happier, with a bounce in his step and a light in his eyes that Luigi hadn’t even realized had been missing for so long. He almost forgot what Mario looked like when he was… Mario. Luigi didn’t know what had changed, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it.

Luigi could tell he was feeling more himself, too. Therapy helped. He left his first session wondering why he hadn’t started going sooner, having been left feeling like he removed a hundred-pound weight from his chest. He had finally unpacked why a few sessions later, when his therapist got him to admit that he didn’t feel like he deserved help. How could he use up time and resources for his own petty problems when Mario was over there struggling so badly, apparently on the brink of killing himself. Luigi’s problems didn’t seem so important next to that.

Help isn’t a limited resource that only a few are allowed to access, his therapist had explained. And how can you help your brother if you yourself are hurting, too?

He was learning how to voice his own needs, too, with the constant reminder to himself that Mario’s reactions weren’t under his control. He’d spent an entire session sobbing into his hands until he couldn’t breathe when the therapist told him that Luigi could do everything right, could do everything in his power to pacify his brother and try to keep his emotions in check, and Mario could still make his own decisions about taking his life. It wasn’t about Luigi at all.

Admittedly, he had panicked at that, because if that was the case then what could he possibly do to make sure Mario didn’t die? His brother could jump in front of a train at any second, and Luigi was helpless to stop him. How could he go through every day with that knowledge?

You can’t control other people, his therapist had said. But you can take control of your own life and your own decisions.

That was frustrating to hear. He had wanted to argue. He wasn’t trying to control Mario, he was just trying to keep him alive. That didn’t seem unreasonable to want. That seemed pretty damn reasonable, actually.

But he was trying to listen and trying to get the message through his own head. It was scary, focusing on himself while having to trust that his brother was doing the same. He did trust Mario, though. Luigi trusted him with his own life.

But did he trust him with his Mario’s life?

He kind of had to, and so far, it seemed to be alright. After the first time he left Mario for the Mushroom Kingdom and came back to find him not only alive, but smiling and laughing, it got easier.

Luigi started to trade off his days in Brooklyn and the Mushroom Kingdom. He’d spend a day with his brother, usually helping with the plumbing business, which Mario had thrown himself back into wholeheartedly. The next day, he would spend an afternoon in the Mushroom Kingdom, throwing himself into his own projects, which is what he was doing now.

Peach had been more than generous and accommodating, giving Luigi his own room in the renovated castle to use as a study. He spent his days drawing up blueprints and tinkering with tools, and every once in a while, he would bring out a prototype to test along with a crew of toads. They didn’t always work perfectly, and more often than not he had to bring it back to the drawing board. Peach even helped him send a few prototypes out to some professor in a neighboring city who she said was an expert and could probably help make a few adjustments.

It was exciting work, and both he and Peach felt like his ideas were promising. They had already implemented a few of them, which filled him with a sense of pride, though he couldn’t help but feel a sort of pressure. Peach was always quick to assure him he was doing good work to keep the kingdom safe.

It was fun, too. He hadn’t used this part of his brain since college, and it was exciting to get back into a creative groove. He’d spend hours getting lost in his drawings, brainstorming new ideas and planning out his projects.

Most of them were for protecting the Mushroom Kingdom, but some of them were for his own personal use. He had one blueprint in particular that he kept coming back to. He called it Plan 8-4, mostly because those were the first tentative measures he had written down before going all in on the design. He hadn’t shown it to anyone, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. Every few days he would come back to it, adding little details here and there. It was just a doodle at first, a daydream he felt like putting down on paper for whatever reason. But it expanded quickly, and he found that it was growing on him. He was bringing it out more and more lately, but the thought of presenting it—especially to the person he made it for—was daunting. He wasn’t sure it would be received with open arms.

A knock at the door startled Luigi, and he quickly pulled a different blueprint over to cover 8-4 just as someone entered the room. He glanced back to see Peach, and they smiled in greeting.

“How’s it going?” she asked, coming up behind him to look over his shoulder. He looked down to see what he had grabbed—a blueprint for a large robot with rocket launchers and lasers, an option for offensive weaponry if they ever decided they needed it. He hoped they wouldn’t need it.

“I’m not so sure about this one,” he admitted.

“Yeah, me neither,” she agreed. Her hands traced over the various weapons. “It doesn’t seem like you.” She was right. He wasn’t even sure what had possessed him to draw this one out. It was aggressive and brutal, not at all the kind of thing he wanted to introduce to the kingdom. He must have been upset when he dreamed this one up.

He sighed and gathered all the scattered papers on the desk into a neat pile and slipped them into a drawer, being sure to keep 8-4 hidden at the bottom. He turned in his chair to face Peach. She hadn’t come in to check on his progress, not really. He knew that.

He smiled softly. “Mario’s been doing better lately.”

That seemed to cheer her up, and Peach clasped her hands gracefully in front of her. It was a subtle action Luigi had noticed her doing a lot, and he determined it was her way of trying to remain dignified when she was feeling overwhelmed with emotion. He could see the feelings in her face, excitement and fear both at war behind her eyes.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back here?” Her voice was cautious, like she didn’t want to know the answer.

It had become obvious to Luigi—and Peach, apparently—that Mario was avoiding the Mushroom Kingdom. For weeks, Luigi invited his brother along with him, letting him know that Peach was asking for him, that Toad missed him, that things were safer now. Mario would always grow quiet. He never tried to give an explanation or provide an excuse. He would just say no, and they would move on. Luigi stopped trying after a while.

“I don’t know,” Luigi replied honestly. He could come here every day and run himself ragged trying to make this place as safe as possible, and Mario still might never show his face again. His therapist would remind him that this was something out of his control, which left him feeling powerless. He wanted so badly to share this with his brother. That was the only thing this place was missing, and it was the only thing that would make it feel right. He was proud of the work he was doing, but there was a loneliness in it that he couldn’t shake.

There wasn’t much more to say on the subject, so Peach brought Luigi up to date on some field tests the toads had been running on one of his surveillance systems. Everything was in perfect working order. The conversation trailed off quickly, and Peach bid him goodbye so he could get back to his work.

Luigi turned back to his desk, opening the drawer. His mind immediately wandered to Mario. What if his brother never came back here? What if they were doomed to keep living their separate lives apart like this? Or worse, what if Luigi were forced to choose between the two worlds?

He sighed. As if that would be a difficult decision. He would abandon all of this in a heartbeat if he had to. Not that Mario would ever ask that of him, which is why it would be such an easy choice for Luigi.

His fingers reached into the drawer, lifting a few pieces of paper to glance one last time at the blueprint hidden at the bottom. A stitch of loneliness ached in his heart again. He closed the drawer and got up, resolving to go home early. He wasn’t sure he could focus enough to get anything done, and he missed his brother, anyway.

Mario wasn’t having a great day. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt, of course, but he could tell from the second he woke up that it was going to be hard. There was a sort of heaviness in his limbs that made it difficult to get out of bed in the morning, and a dull feeling in his chest told him it wouldn’t be worth it.

Today was another one of Luigi’s Mushroom Kingdom days, which meant Mario would have to be alone. Well, he knew he wouldn’t have to. Either he could join his brother, which he’d been invited to do since the beginning, or he could tell Luigi that he was having a bad day, and his brother would drop his plans in an instant. Neither sounded appealing.

Instead, Mario decided to stay in bed, at least until Luigi was gone. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to put up a convincing enough front for his brother, and he knew that Luigi would automatically offer to stay home if he thought Mario needed it. Mario wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no to that, and he didn’t want to be selfish.

It wasn’t unusual for Mario to sleep in late, so he huddled under the covers and listened carefully to his brother milling about the apartment, going through his morning routine. He heard Luigi make breakfast, brush his teeth in the bathroom, and then finally gather his things and leave. Only once the front door closed and locked did Mario manage to drag himself out of bed.

He felt bad for avoiding Luigi, but one look at himself in the mirror told him it was necessary. His eyes were glassy and hollow, with dark circles underneath. His shoulders were slumped forward, like he didn’t have the strength to stand all the way up straight. He just looked… sad.

With a sigh, he forced himself to get ready for the day, knowing it would make him feel better to get out and do something rather than sit and wallow in pity, as tempting as that sounded. Helping the community would be good for him. He went through their messages while he ate. It wasn’t a busy day; most of the requests were for later in the week. He called one customer back and set up an appointment for the late morning, then finished getting ready and set out.

It was always weird, working the plumbing business on days when it was just him. It was Super Mario Bros. Plumbing. Being a duo was kind of their whole shtick. Still, he did his best to keep it going, and it wasn’t like the work was difficult to do on his own. It was just lonelier.

Mario worked in silence on those days, including today. His customer let him in, and he tried his best to make small talk with her, but he didn’t think he was doing a very good job. She left him to himself in her bathroom, and he crawled under the sink to get to work. Instinctively, he held out his hand for a wrench, only realizing afterward what he was doing. Sighing, he crawled back out to grab it himself.

Yeah. Definitely lonelier.

He finished the job in no time, unfortunately, and got in his van to drive back home, nothing planned for the rest of the day. Without anything else, Mario found himself sitting on the couch and staring at some TV show that he wasn’t paying attention to, too busy thinking about his brother.

He wondered what Luigi might be up to. His brother was probably hanging out with the princess, or maybe the toads. He remembered the way they had spoken about Luigi, with complete disrespect, and he suddenly hoped that they had cleaned up their act in Mario’s absence. If he found out that Luigi was still being belittled and that Mario hadn’t been around to take care of it, he might have to hate himself just a little bit more.

Luigi had mentioned something about leading projects to make the Mushroom Kingdom safer. He wasn’t sure what that meant, and he hadn’t asked for more details. He didn’t really want to think about the Mushroom Kingdom at all if he was honest. It made him nervous, and the idea that it could ever feel safe was ridiculous.

But it was important to Luigi. His brother seemed to love the place, for whatever reason. Mario remembered their fight, where his brother admitted that he felt empowered whenever he was there, a stark change from his usual fear. Luigi had been angry with Mario for never asking about why he liked it so much.

Mario still hadn’t asked.

Shame washed over him. He was so focused on his own fear of the Mushroom Kingdom that he kept pushing Luigi’s needs to the side. His brother was going out there almost every other day now, and Mario didn’t even know what he was up to. He was being selfish.

He jumped in his seat a little when the front door suddenly opened. Mario glanced at the clock, wondering briefly how he had managed to let so many hours pass by, but the hour showed that it was still the early afternoon. It was way too soon for Luigi to be home yet. Even so, his brother came in through the hallway and smiled when he saw Mario.

“What are you doing home so early?” Mario asked, a little guilty at how much his mood had suddenly lifted at just the sight of Luigi. His brother should be allowed to spend his whole day in the Mushroom Kingdom if he wanted. Mario shouldn’t feel so excited that he was back early.

“Oh, I just missed my annoying brother,” Luigi said, plopping down beside him on the couch.

A wave of affection rolled over Mario, momentarily pushing away his shame. “I missed you, too.”

The guilt returned quickly when Luigi simply relaxed back into the couch and started watching TV. He could be back in the Mushroom Kingdom, spending time doing what he wanted to do, instead of just sitting here in Brooklyn with Mario. It seemed like Luigi was giving up a lot for him.

You can make an effort, too, Mario thought to himself. He took a deep breath. The least he could do was ask.

“How’s the Mushroom Kingdom?”

Luigi turned his head so quickly that Mario almost laughed at him. He looked shocked, which Mario also figured was fair. He watched his brother blink a few times, several emotions playing on his face—disbelief, worry, excitement—before he settled on looking relieved.

“It’s really good,” he said. When Mario nodded for him to continue, more relief flooded Luigi’s features. “The castle is almost completely done with renovations. All the living spaces and public areas are open again. Some of the upper levels are still under construction, but it’s almost finished.”

“That’s good,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. All he had in his memory was an image of Peach’s castle lying in complete ruin, decimated by Bowser. It was hard to imagine anything could be rebuilt from that. Blinking the memory away, Mario cleared his throat. “What about your projects?”

At that, Luigi perked up, excitement shining in his eyes. “They’re great! A few of them are already up and running, and they passed every test we ran on them. Peach says it’s really going to do a lot to keep things safer around there.” A touch of sadness crawled over Luigi’s features, and his voice grew quiet. “It’s really cool work. I wish you could see it.”

Mario’s heart stuttered in his chest. He didn’t have to be selfish. He missed his brother, and Luigi missed him. He could take that step to make them both happier.

He let himself speak before his brain had a chance to tell him it was a bad idea.

“Then show me.”

There was that shock on his brother’s face again. For a moment, Luigi just stared at him, searching his face for something. Mario schooled his expression and gave a small smile, which Luigi returned with a huge grin.

“Really?” When Mario nodded, Luigi nearly launched himself off the couch. “It’s still early, we can go now.” Mario tried hard to hide the panic from showing in his face, but the look Luigi gave him, filled with disappointment, told him he didn’t do a very good job of it. “Mario… You really don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” he insisted, standing. He looked Luigi in the eye and tried his best to convey how much he wanted to do this for him. It was terrifying, and it was a step he wasn’t sure he was ready to take, but he needed to do it.

“Are you sure?”

He wasn’t.

“Yes.”

Mario followed Luigi out the door, thinking how strange it was for Luigi to be leading them, so different from the way they had lived their whole lives up until then. He should be happy that his brother was coming into his own like this, to be able to lead the way into a life he so clearly wanted. Mario should be happy to see Luigi so happy. The anxiety was a little too strong for him to feel it in the moment, but he wanted to get there someday.

Step one was facing his fears and going back to the Mushroom Kingdom. He could do that for Luigi. He had to.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Mario still wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he was too far in to back out now.

While they went to the Mushroom Kingdom, he just kept reminding himself that it was important to Luigi. He needed to make an effort for his brother—and for himself. If he wanted to be a part of Luigi’s life, then he needed to take the steps to do it. He didn’t want to hold his brother back by forcing Luigi to give anything up for him, and he was tired of missing out because of his own stupid fear.

It wasn’t until they got to the warp pipe that Mario realized he should have taken anxiety medication first. Or literally prepared himself for this in any way at all.

“We can go back, Mario,” Luigi said. His voice was soft and considerate, and Mario almost took him up on his offer. Luigi would be understanding, because he always was, but that was the problem. Luigi was too willing to let Mario take his time, too willing to coddle him while he took forever to get any better. Mario needed to take a big step, or he would never take it at all.

“I can do this,” Mario said, steeling himself. He clenched his hands at his sides nervously. “Could you…” He trailed off, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

As if reading his mind, Luigi held out a hand, and Mario took it in his own gratefully. His brother’s comforting squeeze helped calm him a bit, though his heart was still hammering in his chest with worry. He took a deep breath and nodded to Luigi. He was as ready as he would ever be.

He kept his eyes shut the entire time, clinging to Luigi’s hand and using it to ground himself while the rest of his body tilted and turned without gravity to keep him down. He remembered the feeling of Luigi’s hands slipping through his own, how he’d been helpless to keep ahold of him while they were ripped away and thrown into opposite directions, both reaching out to one another and shouting but not able to do anything about it—

Mario’s feet hit the ground hard, and he gasped, opening his eyes to find himself in one piece on the other end of the warp pipe. Luigi held tight to his hand while he got his bearings. Several moments passed where he just breathed deeply, letting the fear work its way through his body until he could accept that he was okay and that they had made it through just fine.

He made no move to let go of his brother’s hand, and Luigi didn’t seem to notice or mind. Mario took the first step forward, wanting to show him that he could do this. “Let’s g—” Mario looked around, shocked to already see Peach’s castle on a hill not too far away. Mushroom-shaped houses were scattered around them, and there was a road just ahead. This wasn’t where they normally came through the warp pipe. He looked to his brother, knitting his brow together in confusion.

“I had them reroute the pipe,” he said with a shrug. “We’re kind of the only ones who use this one, so it just seemed to make sense for it to come right here, closer to the castle. We can get back and forth a lot quicker, now.”

That made sense, Mario figured. With how often Luigi was coming to the Mushroom Kingdom, it was fair to want his commute to be shorter. It would make things a lot easier for him, and make it a lot more likely that he would come back more often.

Luigi forged ahead, tugging Mario’s hand to bring him along. As they walked, they passed a few toads who waved excitedly.

“Hey, Luigi!”

“Back so soon?”

“Good to see you again.”

Several toads greeted Luigi specifically, and Mario looked at his brother in wonder. He was really making a place for himself here. This was a huge difference from the way it was months ago, with the toads refusing to even call him by his name. He was relieved that he wouldn’t have to go off on another tangent defending Luigi again—although he’d do it in a heartbeat without complaint.

“Luigi! You brought your brother along this time,” a toad exclaimed, giving Luigi a fist bump when they passed each other and waving politely at Mario.

Your brother. Now it was Mario that didn’t get a name. This was so strange. He felt like he had missed so much while he was away.

They made their way through Toad Town and headed up a long pathway to the castle. It looked almost the same as it always had before, though as they got closer Mario could see signs that it was brand new. The gray stone that made up the walls was crisp and bright, untouched by years of wear and tear. The grass and bushes that surrounded the front lawn were young and still sprouting, the dirt freshly turned underneath. He squinted up through the sunlight and spotted a few toads on the roof, adding shingles to one of the turrets. The moat was still empty, areas of it not quite finished being set.

“Look, do you see those towers?” Luigi pointed to four towers surrounding the castle that hadn’t been there before, each situated about fifty yards away. Mario nodded. “They have sensors inside. They’re constantly monitoring the skies around the Mushroom Kingdom for any sudden increase in temperature. Bowser’s ships tend to run hot, so it’ll alert us if he’s on his way. There are sensors in the ground, too, to keep track of vibrations in case he decides not to fly in, or if he drops a bomb anywhere within a ten-mile radius.”

Luigi pulled him forward again, his hand sweeping across the top of the castle. “There’s an alarm system set up throughout the whole castle, and all throughout Toad Town.” Mario glanced up, seeing a long line of speakers hidden underneath the parapets. “Nothing’s going to show up without us knowing in advance.”

A twinge of fear still worked its way into Mario at the thought of anyone showing up at all. Even if they were prepared for it, it was scary that it was a possibility. He imagined the castle, along with its new additions, crumbling once again under a slew of bombs. He imagined being buried under the rubble, or worse, Luigi being buried underneath it without him.

“Come on!” Luigi moved right along, excitement bubbling in his voice. Mario had to jog a little to keep up as he was pulled around the side of the castle. The land behind the castle was empty, the dirt having been flattened out and cleared to make space for a new garden that hadn’t begun construction yet. It looked barren and bleak, but Luigi was eagerly pointing beyond it. “Do you see those machines?”

Mario squinted, seeing two large, metal blocks in the distance. Each was fitted with heavy-duty tires and a long pole reaching several meters in the air. He nodded.

“It’s a portable force field. They create an electric grid between the two poles, so it acts as a barrier between the castle and whatever’s trying to get through. They can roll around on the ground, or hover in the air to keep ships away. We’re working on making a few more in case there’s ever an attack from multiple sides.”

Even from where he stood, Mario could tell it was a brilliant work of engineering. All of this was, especially for such a short time span. His brother was incredible. Mario glanced at him, wondering how it had taken this long for Luigi to pursue this kind of work.

The realization that it was probably because Mario pushed them into starting a business together caught him by surprise. He hadn’t realized that maybe Luigi had other plans originally. Mario hadn’t forced him to go along with the plumbing plan; he had asked his brother if he wanted to do it, and Luigi had said yes. Mario always assumed it would be a yes, but it was a relief to hear it.

He never thought that maybe the yes had meant sacrificing another dream.

Mario realized he hadn’t reacted to what his brother was saying, and Luigi was looking at him with a concerned expression. He forced a smile. “This all looks amazing, Lou.”

Luigi beamed. “There’s a lot more that I have planned, but most of it is still in the workshopping phase. I could show you a few prototypes if you want.”

Mario nodded, because he wasn’t sure how to tell Luigi that he was starting to feel weird about all of this. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling weird about it, or what the weird feeling was. His stomach turned nervously.

He followed his brother into the castle, stepping carefully across the newly constructed drawbridge that no longer creaked under foot. When he passed through the doors, Mario couldn’t help a small sound of surprise from escaping, and his fingers finally slipped free from his brother’s. He gawked at the pristine architecture of the new castle, so much like the old design but revamped to look even more elegant than before. The marble floor practically sparkled, and he leaned over, almost able to make out his own reflection in it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, afraid to touch anything.

“It’s crazy, right?” Luigi whispered, eyes roaming around the room as he strolled inside. He ran his fingers over the fabric of the thick, velvet curtains. “It’s even fancier than before. I feel so out of place.”

Mario clenched his jaw. Luigi didn’t seem out of place at all here.

He followed his brother through winding corridors while Luigi pointed out different rooms and explained what was still under construction and what was open to the public. They took turn after turn, and Mario quickly realized he had no idea where they were. The basic construction of the castle was the same, but the layout was just slightly different. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to remember which way they had come from, trying to orient himself at all, but was struck with the realization that he was lost. If Luigi wasn’t there, he’d probably never find his way back out.

Luigi, on the other hand, seemed to know his way like the back of his hand. He took each turn with confidence, knowing exactly where everything was. He gestured from room to room as they walked, and Mario suddenly felt like he was being led by a realtor on a house tour, like Luigi was trying to sell him on this place.

They walked through a set of heavy double doors into the grand hall. Mario marveled at the vaulted ceilings and towering pillars that gave the impression the room went on infinitely. When his eyes finally leveled down, he froze. In the center of the room was the princess, staring at them both.

“Hey, Peach,” Luigi greeted. He walked towards the princess, and Mario wanted to reach out and stop him. He wanted to run from the room. He wanted the floor to swallow him up and make him disappear.

He should have expected to see the princess—he wasn’t sure why the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. The last time he saw her, he yelled at her. He tried to attack her. He’d been at his lowest, and she had witnessed it. She watched him choke in the fight with Bowser. She watched him spiral. She was there in those moments before he went back to Brooklyn and tried to kill himself.

Shame engulfed him.

Tentatively, Mario followed his brother, keeping himself half hidden behind his body.

“Hi, Luigi,” she greeted. Her eyes met Mario’s, and he saw her fold her hands delicately in front of her dress. “Mario,” she said, her voice soft, “it’s good to see you again.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that because he didn’t really think it was true. The princess knew how to keep the peace—it was her job, essentially. Of course, she would be civil to him, even if she wanted to tell him off in private.

Instead of saying anything, because his mind was too jumbled up and he wasn’t sure his voice would work right now anyway, Mario just waved slightly. He forced a smile that he was sure looked tense, but Peach just returned the smile. Hers was warm and kind, her eyes sparkling with joy that just made him more confused.

Luigi and the princess started chatting, and Mario tuned most of it out, focusing on trying to lower his heart rate. He had almost gotten it down to a normal beat when he heard Peach invite them to stay for dinner, sending a spike of panic through his chest.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Luigi replied, waving off the invitation. Mario glanced up and saw Luigi staring at him with a strange look, like he was trying to convey something wordlessly. “We were probably going to head back home soon, anyway.” He sounded sad, almost a little disappointed. Mario saw concern in his eyes before Luigi turned back to the princess.

Luigi knew Mario wanted to leave. Mario hated that Luigi could tell. He was doing a terrible job of being there for his brother, of being supportive of his work and his dreams. He clenched his fists tightly and side-stepped out from behind Luigi.

“We’d love to stay for dinner,” he said. Both Luigi and Peach looked at him in surprise. Mario turned to his brother and smiled. “And you were going to show me those prototypes, remember?” Luigi’s expression softened, and he nodded in agreement.

The three parted with the promise of speaking more over dinner, and Mario followed Luigi upstairs, determined to be there for his brother. He focused on putting on a more cheerful demeanor, smiling at the right times, asking a few questions about the various contraptions Luigi put into his hands, and doing his best to ignore the gnawing sensation festering in the pit of his stomach.

Truth be told, he wasn’t paying much attention to what Luigi was telling him. He was finding it hard to concentrate, his mind phasing in and out of focus. It was all he could do to keep smiling along with his brother as they walked along the castle. He couldn’t feel his feet against the marble, though he could hear his boots squeaking against it loudly, echoing down the corridors.

It was dinner before he knew it, and Mario blinked down at his silverware in surprise, partially wondering how he had gotten there. Luigi sat to his left, and Peach was on the other side of the table. Several toads in aprons came walking through the room in a neat line, setting down large plates full of steaming, colorful foods that Mario had no clue how to identify.

“I think you’ll like the blue stuff,” Luigi supplied helpfully, leaning over to whisper to Mario. “It tastes kind of like potatoes.” Mario took a bite. He didn’t really think it tasted like potatoes, but he nodded anyway.

He could make it through dinner. It was only dinner.

Luigi and Peach made easy conversation as they ate, talking like they were old friends. The topic came back around to Luigi’s work on the prototypes, and Mario fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was starting to get tired of hearing about it over and over again.

“You’ve made it a lot safer here, Luigi,” Peach said. “You should feel very proud.”

Safe. Why was everyone so obsessed with making it safe? Why did Mario care if it was safe? Why did Luigi?

Under the table, Mario gripped his thigh tightly, fingers digging into the muscle. He stabbed at his food with his fork, shoveling it in faster in the hopes of dinner being over sooner. The texture and taste of the food was strange, but he choked it down as best as he could.

“The toads are taking your perimeter bot out for a test drive tomorrow morning,” Peach continued. “It’ll be really early, but do you think you could make it out?”

“Oh, probably not,” Luigi said. “I think we have clients tomorrow afternoon for the plumbing business. I don’t want to come all the way out here super early and then have to go back so soon. That’s a lot of travel just for a test run.”

Mario almost dropped his fork. He tilted his head down to hide his face, feeling himself go red with shame. Here was his stupid business, holding Luigi back again. Here was Mario, holding him back.

“You could stay the night here, then go back home after the test is complete,” Peach said. “There’s always a place for you here.” She offered the solution like it was the simplest thing in the world, but to Mario it felt like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t sure why.

“No, no,” Luigi held. “Thanks, but that’s okay.” Mario looked at this brother, and all he could see was disappointment written over his features. He wanted to be there for the test run.

“You should stay,” Mario said, his voice quiet. He spoke so only Luigi could hear.

Luigi looked at him, his brow furrowing in concern. “It’s okay Mario, really.”

“I’ll be fine on my own for a night,” Mario insisted. He turned to Peach. “He’ll stay for it.”

“Mario, stop. You don’t have to—”

“Both of you can stay the night!” Peach interjected, her voice cheerful.

Before Luigi could argue further, Mario set his fork down and sucked in a deep breath, his mind made up before he had a chance to recognize how impulsive he was being. “That sounds like a great idea, princess.”

The brothers stared at each other without saying anything. Mario tried to convey that he wasn’t taking no for an answer, that he could do this. It was one night. Luigi just looked worried.

They finished dinner quickly. Mario wasn’t sure if there was tension in the air or if it was just his own nerves, but Luigi was fidgety beside him the whole time. As the toads returned to clear the dishes, Mario gripped both of his thighs under the table tight enough that he was sure he would bruise. He tried not to feel like he was making a huge mistake, but a churning in his gut was making it difficult.

The uncomfortable feeling grew as he and Luigi were shown to a room for the night. Mario sat on the edge of the large bed and took his shoes off, ready to slip under the covers and try his best to make the night pass as quickly and painlessly as possible. Across the room, Luigi started rummaging through drawers.

“Here, you can wear these tonight,” he called out, tossing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants onto the bed before returning to the drawer. Mario picked them up, frowning.

“These are yours,” he said, turning the faded shirt over in his hands. Technically, the shirt used to be Mario’s, but Luigi loved it so much and wore it so often that they both just silently agreed it could belong to the younger of the two. That didn’t explain why it was in the Mushroom Kingdom, though.

“Yeah,” Luigi said simply, returning to the bed and changing out of his overalls into another pair of striped, green pajamas. How many extra pairs of clothes did he have here?

“You just… have clothes here?”

Luigi shrugged. “Just in case I need to change.”

“Into pajamas?” Mario asked, pointedly looking at the outfit. Luigi chuckled.

“If I needed to spend the night, yeah,” he said. “Which we’re doing now, apparently.”

The weird feeling from earlier returned. Mario stared down at the clothes in his hands, gears slowly turning in his mind. If Luigi had already planned to spend the night here at some point, that meant he was prepared to leave Mario alone in Brooklyn. He had been prepared enough to bring himself clothes—multiple pairs, which possibly meant staying here multiple nights.

Pieces from the day were starting to click into place. All the toads being so familiar with Luigi, he and the princess being so friendly and Peach telling him there’s always a place for you here. Luigi effortlessly knowing every inch of the castle, walking around like he was more comfortable here than anywhere else in the world. Every convoluted invention Luigi clearly spent so much time on, with his intense focus on making sure the Mushroom Kingdom was safe.

Of course he wanted it to be safe. Luigi wanted to stay here.

Except there was no place here for Mario.

The bed dipped beside him as Luigi sat down. A hand covered Mario’s where he was clutching the t-shirt in his fists.

“Mario, I know what you’re doing,” Luigi said softly. “I want you to know that I appreciate it. You’re making a really big effort for me, so thank you.” He sighed, and Mario just remained frozen where he sat, staring at the shirt where his fingers were leaving wrinkles in the fabric. “But… I’m afraid you’re doing too much. I don’t want you to push yourself past your limits for me. I know it must be hard for you to be here.”

“I can handle it,” Mario said, his voice robotic.

“I know you can,” Luigi said. “But you don’t have to. I’m not asking you to do this for me, okay? If you want me to stay the night so I can be there for the test run, that’s fine. But if you want to go home, that’s fine, too.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” It slipped out without Mario even realizing it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luigi asked, pulling his hand away. Mario stood from the bed and started undressing.

“Nothing. Forget it.” He pulled the t-shirt over his head.

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Luigi pressed.

“I said forget it!” Mario gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m tired, okay? I just want to go to bed, and you’re over here trying to have a therapy session.” He yanked the sweatpants up, grimacing when the waistband was too tight on his hips, digging into the skin. They were too long, too, so he crouched down to cuff the bottoms.

“I’m taking a shower.” Luigi didn’t say anything else. He got up from the bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door harder than necessary.

Mario stood, adjusting the sweatpants and groaning in frustration when they were still too long, still too tight. He knew there wouldn’t be anything else for him to wear, though. There wasn’t anything for him here.

He crawled under the silk covers and lay on his back, staring up at the arched, extravagant ceiling. Everything here was so much nicer than anything they had back in Brooklyn. No wonder Luigi wanted to leave it behind.

No wonder Luigi wanted to leave him behind.

Mario covered his face with his hands, pressing his palms against his eye sockets until he saw stars. A tight knot was forming in his throat, and he did not want Luigi to come back to him crying. He didn’t want his brother to have to comfort him, especially not after a fight.

He took slow, measured breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He focused on his stomach rising and falling with each breath. He listened to the shower going in the other room. He felt the weight of his hands on his face and eased up on the pressure against his eyes. Gradually, the burn in his throat dissipated. He slid his hands off his face and crossed his arms over his stomach, continuing to keep his breathing relaxed and even.

The shower turned off, and after a few more minutes Luigi came trudging back into the room. He was silent and went about turning off all the lights without saying a word. Mario felt him slip under the covers on the other side of the bed and settle in. The bed was massive anyway, but it felt like Luigi had purposefully put as much space between them as physically possible.

A deep, gut-wrenching sense of loneliness gripped Mario’s entire body, and he realized suddenly that this was the weird feeling he had been having all day.

Mario turned over in the bed to face Luigi, even though he couldn’t see him through the darkness. It didn’t help ease the lonely feeling. “Weegie?” His voice sounded like the smallest thing in the world.

There wasn’t a response at first. A long bout of silence followed the name, but eventually Mario heard shuffling beside him, and he could picture Luigi turning over in bed to face him. He didn’t reply, though. Just waited.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He was almost whispering, but it still felt like his voice was loud enough to shatter the air around them, especially with Luigi’s silence. When he still got no response, he kept going. “You, uh… You were right. Today has been hard for me. I wanted to do this for you—and for me,” he amended quickly. “I wanted to see what you’ve been up to here, and I’m glad that I did. You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

No answer.

“I can see that you’re happy here, doing this work. I want to be happy for you, but—I mean, I am happy for you. I know that sounded bad—I don’t want you to think I’m not happy for you, it’s just…” He sighed, briefly burying his face in the pillow. He was messing this up.

And Luigi still wasn’t saying anything. The only indication that he was listening at all was his breathing. Mario could tell by the sound that he wasn’t asleep.

“I guess I’ve just been feeling… scared?” His breath hitched. He had to clear his throat before continuing. “I see you out here making a life for yourself and being happy, and I’m not doing that. I feel like I’m stuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do what you’re doing, and… And if I can’t, then I’m afraid I’ll just hold you back.” He felt himself get impossibly smaller. “Or you’ll just go on without me.”

Saying it out loud made the tight knot return in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it refused to budge. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with pain. “I feel like I’m losing you, but it might be for the best.”

“No,” Luigi finally spoke up. Mario felt the bed shift around as his brother slipped across it to move closer. A warm hand found its way through the dark onto his chest before tapping blindly around until it rested on Mario’s cheek. The thumb brushed under his eye, like it was checking for wetness.

“No?” Mario asked.

“No,” Luigi repeated, “you’re not losing me. And if you were, it wouldn’t be for the best.”

“But I’m holding you back,” he said again. I’m bringing you down with me, he wanted to add, his dad’s words slicing through him.

“I don’t understand why you would think that,” Luigi said, his voice gentle. “Can you help me understand?”

What was there to understand? Mario looked at himself and saw how much of a burden he was, how much effort every little thing took him to accomplish. If he wasn’t around, Luigi could probably do anything he wanted.

“Don’t you want to live here?” he asked.

“Why does that translate to you holding me back?”

Mario worked his lower lip between his teeth. It was frustrating, trying to get Luigi to understand. Mario wasn’t even sure he fully understood how his mind worked, so how was he supposed to make anyone else get it?

“You want to live here, but I… Lou, I can’t even spend one night here without feeling like this. And if I can’t follow you here, that means we’ll have to be apart. But…” He reached up to place his own hand over his brother’s that still lay supportively on his cheek. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t actually move here without me, even if it would be the best thing for you. I wouldn’t want you to leave, and I know that’s selfish, but I don’t think you would want to go either, because you’d feel bad about leaving me behind. You’d feel obligated to keep me around. You shouldn’t, though. I don’t want to be what’s holding you back.”

“Mario…” Luigi shuffled closer, and Mario felt a soft pressure against his own forehead. He could feel his brother’s breath ghosting over his face, and he was suddenly fighting the urge to cry. “You’re right about me wanting to live here,” Luigi said. “And you’re right that I wouldn’t move here without you.”

Mario felt a small sob threatening to break through, so he grit his teeth and let his brother continue, feeling worse and worse about himself. He was sure Luigi could feel the way he was shaking with the effort of holding it back.

“But you’re not right about the reason,” Luigi continued. “If I chose not to live here, it wouldn’t be because I feel an obligation to you. It would be because you weren’t here, and that would make it an unbearable place to be.”

Mario’s breath hitched again, and he scrunched his face up slightly, squinting through the darkness like he would be able to make out his brother’s face if he just tried hard enough. He didn’t understand. “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to live somewhere you didn’t?” Luigi chuckled. “Because you’re my brother, and I love you. I want you there with me.”

“Even when I’m like this?” Mario said bitterly.

“Like this?” Luigi repeated. “What’s this?”

“You know what I mean,” Mario said. He finally pulled himself away from his brother and turned over onto his back. “I’m not the same anymore. I’m always letting you down.”

“Mario, you’ve never let me down.”

“But—”

“No, please listen to me,” Luigi interrupted. His voice was stern enough that Mario shut his own mouth quickly. He clutched the sheets over his stomach in tight fists. “You’ve got this idea in your head that I want you to be a certain way, but I don’t. I just want you to be here with me—wherever here ends up being. That’s all I need from you, I promise.” Mario could feel his brother sit up in bed. The headboard creaked, like Luigi had leaned against it.

“This place is incredible, Mario,” Luigi continued. “There’s so much here that we could never get in Brooklyn. And maybe you won’t actually find what you need here in the end.” He sounded a little wistful at that, but it lasted for only a split second. “But I want to give you the chance to figure it out on your own. I want you to be happy, and I think you could find that here. I think we could. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to make it a safer place for us.”

For us. Mario swallowed hard. He hadn’t realized he had been a part of Luigi’s work the whole time. He hadn’t realized he was even a consideration. He drew in a shaky breath, the sound cutting through the otherwise silent room. He felt Luigi’s hand snake over the sheets and find his own.

They were quiet for a long time, just sitting in the confessions. Mario thought about what Luigi told him, about how he hadn’t been letting him down this whole time, no matter how much it felt like it. He’d been putting so much pressure on himself to do something right for his brother, though he had no idea what that something was supposed to be.

If all he had to do was be here, maybe he could do that. That didn’t sound so hard.

“Thank you,” Mario whispered, his voice hoarse despite not actually crying. He felt like he had cried. He felt the same sort of pressure lifting off his chest that he got from crying.

Luigi just squeezed his hand in recognition, then crawled back down under the covers. They slipped into a comfortable embrace, Luigi’s head resting on Mario’s shoulder. Mario hugged his brother tighter against him and closed his eyes, feeling more at peace with where he was as they both settled in to sleep.

Almost immediately, they were interrupted by a loud, piercing wail that sliced through the silence and shattered any sense of peace that had been there before.

“Oh, God,” Mario gasped. He sat up in bed, knocking Luigi off him. His hands squeezed against his ears, trying to block out the noise. It was so loud he could feel it in his whole body, like it was carving straight through to his bones. “What is that?” He had to shout to be heard over it.

The bedside lamp was turned on suddenly, and Mario glanced over to see Luigi already out of bed and rushing to the other side of the room. He was frantically getting dressed, and when he picked up Mario’s clothes and tossed them onto the bed, Mario felt himself start to panic. He jumped out of bed and started following suit, his hands shaking.

“What is that?” Mario repeated, a sinking feeling in his gut telling him he already knew what it was.

Luigi looked at him, and Mario could see him contemplating something, worry lining his features. Finally, he seemed to settle, and his expression turned serious. “It’s the alarm system,” he explained. “Something’s coming.”

Mario’s heart dropped.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Mario followed close behind his brother as they sprinted through the castle, afraid of losing sight of him and getting lost. Luigi seemed to know exactly where they needed to go, his steps and turns confident and decisive, and they weaved through the corridors almost faster than Mario could keep up. Luigi seemed unphased by the alarm blaring from the speakers, but the sound was getting to Mario, making his panic grow by the second. It was making it hard to think straight.

Something was coming. Something dangerous, most likely, which meant they might have to fight. He was always fighting here, always on edge. Nothing was safe, and he didn’t know why he ever agreed to come here again when he knew—he knew—that something bad would happen. He just had to keep pushing himself and putting himself in danger. Worse than that, putting Luigi in danger. Now they were under attack and Mario was in no shape to fight like this, with his heart clogging his throat and his nerves on fire, and the alarm blasting in his ears which was making it so hard to stop and think.

Mario careened to the side slightly and collided with a wall. It felt like the only solid thing in the world at the moment, so he pressed his palms against it, resting his head along the cool surface and trying to use it to ground himself. The lightheaded sensation kept growing, and it felt like the room was spinning in circles around him uncontrollably. His fingers tingled where they met the wall. He pushed against it harder, pressing his forehead more firmly against the surface. It wasn’t working. He was still dizzy, and the tingling was spreading across his body now, and he had half a mind to start bashing his head into the wall to make it stop, to make that wailing alarm stop, because it was so loud, and he felt like his ears were bleeding and he needed it to just stop—

A cold silence fell over the castle.

Mario sighed, his entire body sagging with relief. A high-pitched ringing still lingered in his ears, but at least it wasn’t the piercing shriek of the alarm anymore. He turned around, only to realize he was alone. Luigi wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

The ringing in his ears slowly faded, and suddenly the silence felt just as loud as the alarm. Mario glanced from side to side, staring down the endless corridor and trying to remember which way they had been running when he had stopped. He couldn’t remember. And he had been right before—without Luigi to guide him, he had no idea where he was.

An icy sense of dread pierced through his skin, and Mario pressed his back against the wall, feeling himself slide down it until he was on the floor. He tucked his knees into his chest and made himself as small as possible where he sat. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how to get out. He was alone. Something was coming, and he was trapped and alone.

Without the alarm to distract him, his mind had the freedom to think about just how much danger he was in. He had nothing to defend himself, and if he was stuck here with no way to escape, the castle could be bombed and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. He would be forced to sit here while the building crumbled around him, crushing him. Luigi could still be in here, too, desperately searching for him and refusing to leave until he was found, because of course Luigi wouldn’t leave him here, but that meant he would be crushed, too, just because Mario was too dense to remember which direction he had been going down the hallway before, so Luigi would die, all because of him—

“There you are!”

Mario gasped and looked up in time to see Luigi sprinting towards him from down the corridor. He splayed his legs out in front of him and reached for his brother, grasping on to the front of his overalls when he crouched down close enough. The denim under his fingers was so much more grounding and comforting that the cool wall, and he pulled Luigi in closer for more. He wanted to press their foreheads together, needed it, to get rid of the anxiety that soaked his body.

Luigi fought against him, and an involuntary whimper slipped out from Mario’s throat. He tried to tug his brother closer again, but Luigi kept pulling away. His breath stuttered. What was he doing?

“Come on, Mario,” Luigi said, and suddenly he was being tugged into a standing position. The hallway tilted around him, but he felt Luigi hold him steady while he gained his footing. A second after he felt like he was stable, Luigi was dragging him along down the hallway by his hand.

“You should have time to get to the warp pipe,” Luigi explained, just barely saving Mario from tripping over his own feet. “I can take you there to make sure you get through safely, okay?”

You. You’ll have time to get to the warp pipe. He’ll take you there, so you can get through.

Luigi wouldn’t be coming with him. Mario would be leaving alone.

His feet planting firmly on the ground suddenly brought them both to a halt. Mario gripped his brother’s hand tighter, like he was afraid Luigi would suddenly disappear on him again if he wasn’t careful.

“You’re staying,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Mario already knew it was true.

Luigi looked almost apologetic. He squeezed Mario’s hand back. “I am,” he said. “I meant what I said before about making this place safer for us.”

Mario remembered what his brother had told him, about what he hoped Mario could get out of this place that he couldn’t find back in Brooklyn. He had sounded so hopeful about them growing a future here, where Mario could just be, even if he wasn’t quite the same as his old self. It was nice, the idea that Mario could just live somewhere with his brother without the pressure of being something, with endless possibilities that he’d never dreamed of before him.

If that was going to happen at all, they had to protect this place. That’s what Luigi was planning to do; he was ready to keep this place safe all by himself for them both.

Mario didn’t want him to have to do it alone.

“I’ll stay, too,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Luigi said seriously.

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to keep pushing yourself for me,” Luigi pleaded.

“I’m not—” Mario cut himself off, not wanting to lie to his brother. He mulled it over in his mind for a moment, wondering what it was that was making him want to stay. He didn’t think it was just fear of losing his brother again. If it was just that, he’d be begging on his knees for Luigi to come back to Brooklyn with him, fighting tooth and nail to get him through that warp pipe to safety. But he was here. He knew Luigi was going to stay, no matter if he left or not. And he wanted to stay, too. He wanted this place to be safe. If he was ever going to have a future here, he needed it to be safe.

“I’m doing it for me,” he finally said. It wasn’t a lie.

Luigi studied him for a moment before nodding. “Alright, come on,” he said, pulling Mario along again. They trailed through the hallways until coming across Luigi’s study. Mario watched his brother sift through piles of junk on tables before bringing over a large item that looked suspiciously like some sort of gun. He handed it over, and Mario took it hesitantly.

“What is this?” he asked, turning the machine over in his hands. A tube the size of his arm pointed out from the front, and he stared down the barrel, avoiding the button he saw on the side.

“I showed you earlier, remember?” Mario felt his ears heat up. No, he didn’t remember. He hardly remembered anything from that day, he had been so spaced out just trying to make it through. Luigi seemed to realize it, and a sympathetic look crossed his features. He stepped closer and adjusted Mario’s hold on the machine. “It shoots out power-ups,” he explained. “We can’t have question blocks everywhere all the time, so this is a way to generate power-ups at a moment’s notice. It’s filled with mushrooms right now; that’s all I could get to launch out of it right. Just stand at a distance, point, and press this button,” he tapped gently on the red button along the side of the machine.

Stand at a distance. Mario felt some relief at that. He wanted to help keep this place safe, but he wasn’t sure what he was capable of. He didn’t want to choke like last time when he was face-to-face with danger. This felt more manageable.

“Got it,” he said, holding the machine tightly.

They went back out into the hallway and Mario followed his brother closely, trying to listen as he called out over his shoulder.

“We have to meet Peach in the courtyard off the side of the castle. That’s the rendezvous point,” Luigi said, leading the way there. “She’s probably already there waiting for us.”

Sure enough, they stepped outdoors into a large square paved with cobblestone, and Peach was already there, surrounded by a court of toads. None of them were knights with their usual armor and long weapons. Instead, these toads were each carrying small remotes and machines as they chattered with each other and looked like they were making adjustments to whatever they were holding. Mario tightened his hold on his own machine and followed Luigi to the princess.

Peach saw them coming, and Mario caught a glimpse of surprise in her expression when she saw them both approaching, but it disappeared in a split second. She nodded to each of them.

“It was the heat sensors that set off the alarm,” she said. “We’re tracking the incoming signature now. It’s closing in.” That sent a bolt of alarm through Mario. He looked at his brother, who seemed focused and determined. There wasn’t a lot of fear in his eyes, which calmed some of Mario’s worry somehow.

“Do we think it’s Bowser?” Luigi asked.

“Most likely,” Peach said, taking a small machine from one of the toads. “He’s coming in slow, and he hasn’t dropped any bombs yet. I think he believes this will be an ambush. He doesn’t know we’re prepared for him.”

Luigi and Peach continued discussing about preparations, and Mario found himself tuning in and out while he struggled to keep himself calm. The cool breeze against his face was helping, making it easier to breathe slow and steady. He drummed his fingers on the machine in his hands, replaying the instructions in his mind, as if they were so complicated that he needed to memorize them. Stand at a distance. Point. Shoot. His finger ran over the button on the side. He could do this.

A low whirring came from across the courtyard, and Mario saw a few of the toads gather and work on one machine. He wanted to ask his brother what they were doing, but before he had the chance, a loud pop from the other side of the lawn shot through the air.

Mario turned towards the noise in time to see torrents of electricity crackle to life in the night sky, lighting up the entire law and courtyard around them in a harsh, staticky glow. Two large poles hovered in the air far apart from one another, sharp lines of jagged electricity rippling between them. Moments after it activated, Mario watched as a massive, dark entity in the sky plowed directly into it. At the front, threatening to push through the electric barrier, he could see the outline of a carved stone made to look like Bowser’s head.

He recoiled from the sound of the impact, feeling a shockwave in the air that made his hair stand on end. Beside him, he could see Luigi and Peach watching tensely. Bursts of electricity shot out from the impact, sending sparks twinkling off towards the ground where they sputtered into oblivion. He could hear the airship groaning and creaking as it pushed harder into the electric field, trying to break through and sending electricity crackling into the air. They waited in anticipation for the barrier to break, to send the ship flying through straight to the castle. The groaning of the ship increased, splitting through the sky, until finally the sound died down and the sparks stopped falling.

Bowser couldn’t break through.

Luigi let out a surprised yelp, and Peach smiled at him proudly. “I knew it would work,” she said.

The ship reversed its course, pulling away from the barrier to try going around it. The toads were quick to respond, and the two poles hovered closer to the ship, keeping it from moving forward again. The ship tried again, backing away slightly, but the toads just moved the barrier closer again. It repeated a few more times, until the ship was several meters further away and finally standing still, seeming to accept defeat.

Mario barked out a laugh and looked at his brother. “Imagine Bowser’s face right now,” he joked, which earned a grin from Luigi.

They didn’t have to imagine it.

Over the crackling of the electricity, they heard a furious roar. All of them watched as a distant figure threw itself off the airship from behind the barrier, soaring down until it collided with the earth with a loud, thundering boom. From across the expansive lawn, Mario could see Bowser turn to face them, pausing only for a moment before he started coming closer.

“Oh, God,” Luigi cried.

“Keep trying to move the ship further back,” Peach ordered the nearby toads, and they retreated further into the courtyard to continue their work. She turned to Luigi. “We’ve done this before, and we can do it again. We’re even more prepared this time.”

Luigi took a deep breath and nodded.

Mario looked back out to the lawn, still lit by the overhead electricity, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Bowser was clambering towards them on all fours, claws digging into the dirt and propelling him forward faster and faster. He bared his teeth in a ferocious snarl, smoke billowing from the sides of his mouth. Mario was struck suddenly with the reminder that this was an actual, real-life monster, and it was coming closer every second.

“Mario,” Luigi called, bringing his attention back. Luigi and Peach had moved out onto the lawn, and they were both staring at him expectantly. Luigi held out his hands, waiting for something. Waiting for what?

Mario looked down and remembered the machine he held in his hands. The power-ups. Right. He could do this. His one job. Mario took a step back. Stand at a distance. He aimed the machine at his brother, ignoring how shaky the barrel was under his grip. Point. He clicked the button on the side of the machine. Shoot.

A red mushroom launched out of the front of the machine, lobbing through the air towards his brother. Luigi grabbed for it, fumbling the catch, and having to quickly chase the power-up across the grass. When he got it, he chomped into it, instantly growing. Without waiting any longer, he sprinted towards Bowser onto the lawn.

Mario repeated the process with Peach. She caught the mushroom mid-air and ran off even before the power-up took effect, following Luigi into the fray. The two of them jumped into action, circling the koopa and landing a few hits while dodging his swipes.

Mario held the machine tightly in his arms, letting out a shaky breath. They could do this. He took a few tentative steps forward, standing at the edge of the courtyard where stone met grass. It was strange, staying out of the fight but also trying to be useful. At least this time he had a job. Last time he was a nuisance, just in the way and frozen in fear. He still felt almost paralyzed with fear, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest and onto the lawn. He could feel his entire body vibrating, every nerve on edge.

Bowser yelled suddenly and shot a fireball at Peach, hitting her square in the chest. She flew violently backwards, skidding across the lawn for a moment. Mario gasped but was flooded with relief when he saw her stand back up, fine apart from the power-up having worn off. She turned to face Mario, and on instinct he squared up his stance, aimed the machine, and clicked the button. She caught the mushroom, ate it, and jumped right back into the fight.

A small breath worked its way up his throat, and it came out as a stunned laugh. They could do this. He could do this.

He took a step onto the lawn, the grass soft underfoot. He kept a safe distance, but he circled around the fight, the machine held up and ready to aim at a moment’s notice. He kept it trained on Luigi, watching with pride as his brother got in hit after hit on an increasingly frustrated koopa.

Peach took another hit, Bowser’s tail knocking her off her feet. She leapt a few paces back and glanced around until she made eye contact with Mario. He shot another mushroom her way.

Bowser noticed her eating another power-up, and he growled in irritation. Mario could see the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to wrap it around how they were maintaining a constant supply of power-ups. He thrashed his tail in anger, head swiveling around until it landed on Mario, pointing a strange contraption their way. He could see the moment it clicked in Bowser’s mind that this was where they were coming from.

The koopa didn’t have the chance to act on it, however. Peach and Luigi sprang on him, tackling him briefly to the ground. Mario continued to circle around, and when Bowser got back on his feet and looked up, he had lost where Mario was. With attacks coming from every side, he didn’t have the opportunity to find him again.

A smile crept up on Mario’s face, pride filling his chest. He pointed the machine forward, the barrel steady in his hands.

An ill-timed jump had Luigi smacking into Bowser’s shell, and he tumbled to the grass, power-up disappearing. He popped back up quickly, turning until he found his brother in the distance. The brothers made eye contact, each sporting a determined, excited expression. Mario planted his feet, pointed, and shot.

And nothing happened.

He went to press the button again, but it was stuck in a pressed position, refusing to budge. The machine was jammed.

Mario lowered the machine, shaking it to try to get it working again. He glanced up to see Luigi watching him, panic reflected in his eyes. Behind him, he saw Bowser turn to see what was going on.

sh*t. No, no, no. Mario smacked the barrel, the button, anything he could get his hands on, desperation fueling his movements. This couldn’t be happening. He clicked at the button furiously, willing it to come back to life. Come on!

He glanced back up in time to see Bowser creep up on Luigi, lifting a large hand and swiping, pinning him face-down to the ground. A set of massive claws dug deep, pressing into his back and digging into the soil around his body. Luigi let out a strangled, pained noise, muffled by the dirt.

“No!” Mario shouted. He gripped the machine with both hands and lifted it high above his head before swinging it down, smashing it onto the ground. It shattered into several parts, metal scraps flying in every direction. But there, rolling gently across the grass, was one more red mushroom. He leapt for it, choking it down and sprinting for Luigi as he felt it take effect.

His longer legs carried him quickly to the fight. He wasn’t sure if it was because the mushroom had helped him grow or because he was powered by rage at what Bowser had done to his brother, but the koopa suddenly didn’t seem as big and scary anymore. He just seemed like a target.

Mario’s body barreled into Bowser, knocking him backwards off Luigi. He grabbed the edge of his shell and yanked him to the side, further away from where his brother lay on the grass. Bowser turned his attention to Mario, red, pin-prick irises glowing. He grinned maliciously, flashing rows of vicious teeth.

“Actually fighting back this time?” he mocked. Bowser lifted a giant hand into the air, ready to swipe, and Mario saw under the light of the electricity that the tips of his claws were painted red with blood.

Luigi’s blood.

A scream ripped from Mario’s throat, and before Bowser could land a hit, Mario had charged forward, shoving the koopa back as hard as he could. He landed on his back, spiky shell sinking into the dirt and pinning him down. Mario leapt atop him and kneeled on his soft underbelly, leaning into his snarling face. Hot smoke curled up around him, sulfurous and rank.

“Get off of me!” Bowser howled. He opened his maw, and Mario stared down into his mouth, watching as a spark ignited at the back of his throat and heat pooled in the space between them. He drove a fist into the side of Bowser’s skull, knocking his head to the side and putting out the flame.

It felt good.

Mario grabbed one of Bowser’s horns tightly in his hand, holding his head still and relishing the confusion that swirled in Bowser’s eyes. With his other hand, he closed his fingers into a fist and slammed it as hard as he could into the koopa’s face. He drew it back, clenching his muscles tighter, and punched again, harder.

He brought his fist down over and over again, watching as Bowser’s expression turned from shock to fury to actual, tangible fear. He watched as the scales along his snout split, blood trickling down across his face. He watched as a tooth knocked loose from his jaw and tumbled into the grass beneath them. He watched as Bowser scrabbled at the dirt, pushing himself from side to side to try and free himself from his position.

Bowser rocked his shell far enough to one side to place an arm underneath himself. He pushed off the ground, sending Mario flying away into the dirt. He smacked the ground, feeling the power-up go away. He didn’t care. Mario stood back up and lunged for the koopa again, letting out an angry yell.

“Enough,” Peach said, planting herself in-between the two of them. She was speaking to Mario. She had lost her power-up, too, somewhere along the line, but she still stood tall above him, the pinnacle of power and control. He took a step back, and she turned to Bowser, who was swaying unsteadily on his feet. “Leave,” she ordered. “Maybe you’ll think twice before attacking the Mushroom Kingdom again. Next time, we’ll be even more prepared for you.”

Bowser growled, deep and rumbly, glaring at Mario over Peach’s shoulder. He wavered for a moment before huffing, a stream of dark smoke puffing from his nostrils, and promptly turned to run off back to his ship. They watched as a long chain lowered from the airship, and he latched onto it. As it retreated back up, the ship pulled away from the electric barrier, turning around and flying off into the night.

They waited, watching until the ship had disappeared out of sight, holding their breath, and hoping he wouldn’t turn around and come back. When it seemed like they were in the clear, and the electric barrier keeping them safe automatically turned off, bathing the lawn in darkness once again, Mario felt himself sigh in relief.

It was short-lived. A faint whimper from a few meters away caught his attention, and he and Peach turned at the same time.

“Weegee,” he cried, stumbling through the dark to find his brother as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He felt around in the grass until he found his body. He grabbed his hand first, squeezing it as much for his own comfort as for Luigi’s. His heart stuttered as Luigi squeezed it back weakly. “Hey, it’s okay,” he assured him. “Are you okay?”

“Ma-ario…” Luigi gasped, his voice weak and breathless. Mario leaned closer, anxiety settling low in his stomach as he listened to his brother take quick, shallow breaths, like he couldn’t pull in enough air. He placed a hand to Luigi’s back to feel how he was breathing, and the anxiety spiked into full-fledged panic when he felt a warm, wet spot pooling on Luigi’s back. He pressed into it slightly, earning a choked whimper from his brother.

Peach appeared beside them, and Mario stared at her, wide-eyed. His vision was adjusting to the dark, and he could see her worried expression as she glanced down at Luigi. He saw her stand and shout to the toads still huddled in the courtyard.

“Get the doctor,” she ordered. She stooped back down beside the brothers, and Mario felt her place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He’s going to be okay,” she promised.

Mario placed both hands on Luigi’s back, trying and failing to find where the blood was coming from. He wanted to staunch the bleeding. He fumbled around blindly, feeling his gloves get coated in sticky, warm liquid while his brother gasped and wheezed underneath him. He sounded like he was crying. He sounded like he was in pain.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, feeling his own breaths hitch and stutter along with Luigi’s. His lungs burned like he was the one struggling on the ground. He wished he was the one struggling on the ground. “You’re okay, Lou.”

He hoped that wasn’t a lie.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

It was less than a minute before a medical team was meeting them out in the grass, but every second felt like an eternity as Mario pressed desperately against the warm blood oozing across Luigi’s back, trying to block out the horrible noises his brother was making. Every pained gasp and guttural moan sent a jolt of fear through him. Luigi was dying—he was bleeding out and in pain and Mario was going to feel his life end, feel the moment his brother stopped breathing, feel his heart stop beating under his palms, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Then suddenly Luigi was being eased onto a stretcher to lay on his stomach while he was carried away, and Mario wanted nothing more than to be able to hold on to his brother a little longer. He jumped up to quickly follow but slipped on something slick in the grass. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized it as a puddle of blood that had soaked into the dirt.

Peach helped him up, and they both followed closely behind as the toads ushered Luigi into the castle, Mario hurrying his pace so he could stay as close to Luigi’s side as he possibly could. The bright lights were jarring after being in the dark for so long, but as Mario’s eyes adjusted, he looked down to see his brother, and his knees almost gave out on him.

There was so much blood. It saturated Luigi’s clothes. Rivulets poured across the stretcher and dripped freely onto the floor, dotting the tiles as they rushed through the corridor. Mario reached out to Luigi on instinct, his heart stuttering when he caught a glimpse of his own gloves, stained the same color as his shirt.

Luigi’s mouth hung open as he gasped for air, and his face was pinched with agony. A blue tint to his lips made Mario’s heart freeze. Luigi’s fingers scrabbled uselessly against the stretcher, as if he was searching for something. Mario wanted to reach past the toads and hold his hand, assuring him it was going to be okay. He tried, but his hand only got within a few inches of Luigi’s when one of the toads saw it and swatted it away.

His brother seemed to notice, and Mario watched as Luigi’s glassy eyes darted around chaotically for a moment before settling on Mario, locking in with a feverish, terrified expression.

He had to help him.

The realization hit Mario, that he was letting his brother get carted off to God-knows where to a bunch of doctors he didn’t know, doctors who weren’t even human, maybe didn’t even know how to treat one. Luigi was frightened and in pain and dying, and Mario was just letting strangers take him away. How was he supposed to trust them to save Luigi? What if he let them take his brother, and he never saw him alive again?

An icy shock ran through his veins. Mario sprinted ahead of the toads and planted himself in front of the stretcher, stopping them in their tracks.

“I’m taking him home,” he said sternly. He reached down and slipped his hands under his brother’s chest to pull him up, cringing at the soft whimper the movement elicited from Luigi. Immediately, he had toads pushing him back, which just made his panic spike even more. They couldn’t take his brother away. He’d never see him again.

“Mario, move aside,” Peach ordered. Her hand landed on his shoulder, and when he tried to shrug it off her fingers tightened, staying put. “You need to let them through.”

“I need to take him home,” Mario argued. “He needs an experienced doctor.” He needs to be free from danger, he added internally. There was a part of his mind that worried Bowser would return to finish the job, to carve into his brother again and rip him completely in two. And it could happen at any moment, so they needed to go.

“The doctors know what they’re doing,” Peach assured. “And he needs help now.”

Mario knew that; that’s why he needed to get Luigi home as soon as possible, and they weren’t letting him through. “Let me take him!” His voice cracked. He reached for his brother again, and Peach was the one to swat him away this time. She grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face her, her fingers digging into the meat of his arms painfully.

“Mario, he cannot go through the warp pipe like this. It will kill him.” Her words sliced through his panic. He jerked under her hands, a clear image in his mind of he and his brother flying through the warp zone, Luigi’s abused body being tossed and ripped apart further in the fray as he cried out in pain, suffering until the sounds inevitably died out and Mario was left holding his brother’s lifeless body tight to his own so it wouldn’t be torn away from him.

Another thought stabbed into his chest like a dagger—they were trapped here.

“You have to let them through,” Peach said, leveling him with a firm, serious stare. The rest was left unsaid, but still permeated the air around them. If Mario didn’t let them through, Luigi would die.

Through the silence, he could hear his brother’s tortured, breathless wheezing.

He didn’t really have a choice here.

It felt like he was wading through wet cement, but Mario forced himself to move out of the way, and the toads immediately resumed their rush to bring Luigi to the medical wing. Mario let Peach hold him back, and he watched helplessly as the stretcher grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared around a corner.

The fear that it would be the last time he saw his brother alive remained heavy in his mind.

Princess Peach assured Mario about two dozen times in the last hour alone that this team of doctors was the absolute best and brightest in the entire Mushroom Kingdom and were even well-versed in dealing with humans. That made sense, with this being the castle and Peach being a human herself, but he was still nervous. Beyond nervous, really. He was distraught, bordering on inconsolable.

That didn’t mean Peach hadn’t tried to comfort him. She hadn’t left his side in the few hours they had spent waiting outside the operating room for the doctors to treat Luigi. Mario was a little exasperated by her attentiveness, wishing in part to be left to himself so he could panic in peace. On the other hand, he was sure he shouldn’t be left alone. The urge to punish himself for what he had allowed to happen to his brother was strong. Part of him wanted to die.

The anxiety was becoming unbearable, too. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, and no matter how many deep breathing exercises he tried, it wouldn’t go away. The same thoughts kept swimming through his mind, sending him into a panic each time they repeated. Luigi could be dying. Luigi could already be dead. Luigi is dead because of you.

His body shuddered, a spike of adrenaline making his skin itch.

As if on cue, his fingers played at the opening to the arm of his shirt, nails brushing over the skin of his wrist. He didn’t have his gloves on, having had to take them off and just throw them away after seeing how coated they were in blood. His heart leapt at the memory of all that red, and he wanted to dig into himself to pull his mind free from the thought, but the princess sitting in the chair to his left made him rethink it. That would be an embarrassing one to explain to her.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Peach said, not for the first time that evening. She seemed to sense it every time he started to feel the blame weighing heavy on his shoulders as they waited. Each time, he replied with the same thing.

“I know.”

That was a lie.

How was this not his fault? He was the one who looked his brother in the eye and said he wanted to help, told him flat out, with the upmost confidence, that he could use that machine. He should have taken Luigi up on the offer to just send him home. Someone else could have used the machine—someone more qualified than him—and everything would have been fine. Luigi wouldn’t have been left bleeding out in the grass. Luigi wouldn’t be in surgery right now. Luigi wouldn’t potentially be dying at this very moment.

If his brother died, so would he. The thought made a cold sensation trickle down his chest, the dread settling in his gut. He probably shouldn’t let himself think like that.

“You keep saying that you know it’s not your fault,” Peach said softly, “but I’m not sure you do.” Mario glanced over at her, meeting her caring gaze, and feeling something churn in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t deserve her kindness and generosity. She was so endlessly patient and understanding, and he had either been avoiding her like the plague or behaving like a crazy person every time she was around.

He sighed. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,” he muttered. It was embarrassing, really. He liked Peach—really liked her. She was fearless and kind and the most put-together person he’d ever met. She treated everyone around her like they were her equals, even though she was so clearly on another level entirely. She was perfect in every way, and he was… This.

He was stuck in his miserable, unstable state. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get back to his old self, and it was humiliating to know that she would so clearly be able to see how different he was from the first time they met. He had been adventurous and brave back then, and now he couldn’t even fight from a distance right. He could barely hold himself together.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Peach replied. That earned a quirked eyebrow from Mario. He definitely felt like he had a lot to apologize for. He wasn’t exactly living up to the idea of the Mushroom Kingdom’s hero. “I know you’ve been going through a lot lately,” she added.

Mario felt his ears burn slightly. He knew his brother and the princess had gotten closer, and he wondered how much Luigi had told her about him. Did she know about his constant panic attacks? Did she know about the therapy? Did she know about the suicide attempt? He sank down into his seat.

“This place can be a lot,” Peach continued, staring off at the far wall. “I grew up here, so I’m used to it. It’s all I’ve ever known. But from what I’ve heard about your world, this must be overwhelming.” Mario looked over and up, meeting her eye. She looked sad, almost guilty. “I’m sorry my world hasn’t been kind to you.”

Something in his heart clenched. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. Every second he spent here felt like a ticking time bomb.

“There’s more to this place than danger, I promise,” she said. “We live in peace, most of the time. Life here can be calm and beautiful.” She grew quiet, clasping her hands in her lap and staring at them. “I hope one day I can show you what I mean.”

Mario swallowed a lump in his throat. He was reminded of the way Luigi spoke about this place, as if it was full of endless opportunities and happiness. He wanted to see what they saw. He wanted to know what it was like to feel like there was a place for himself somewhere that didn’t make him feel as if he needed to be on high alert. He wanted a life he wasn’t afraid of.

“I’d like that,” he settled on replying. Peach looked at him, and the hope in her eyes made him feel a little hope in return. Maybe he would be able to get that life, someday. Just as long as his brother survived.

A commotion at the end of the hall had them both springing up from their seats, and Mario’s heart skipped in his chest when he saw the doctor come out of the room. He and the princess hurried down the hall to meet her.

“The surgery went well; Luigi is going to be fine,” the doctor said before either of them even had a chance to ask. Mario felt like he could collapse onto the floor in relief.

“He was—is he—what—” Mario stopped himself from trying to speak, the words jumbled in his mind beyond reason.

“He has two fractured ribs and four puncture wounds to the back,” the doctor explained, thankfully understanding what he wanted. “Two went through his left lung, causing it to collapse, which is what the emergency surgery was for.” The image flashed in his mind of Bowser slamming his massive paw into Luigi’s back, piercing through his skin and muscle with those monstrous claws. He let out a slow, controlled breath. Luigi is fine…

“The wounds were deep, but relatively clean, so the muscle tearing isn’t too severe,” she continued. “I know it sounds like a lot, but the surgery went perfectly, and he should heal up within a couple months.” Her expression grew a little uneasy. “However, there may be some weakness and balance issues from the muscle damage, so I recommend that he use some form of support for walking while he regains his regular movement. A cane or a walker should work just fine, but I would keep a wheelchair on hand in case he needs extra support.”

Mario felt his emotions swing wildly up and down while the doctor spoke. His brother was going to be fine, but his lung collapsed, he had broken ribs, and he had four deep wounds to his back. He was going to heal, but it would take months, and he wouldn’t be able to walk on his own. He was stuck between wanting to panic at the doctor’s words and wanting to be soothed by her reassuring tone and the fact that Luigi was alive.

“May we see him now?” Peach asked, and Mario was grateful, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak. When the doctor nodded, Peach stayed behind while he rushed past them both and bolted into the room.

Nothing the doctor said could have prepared him for the feeling he got seeing his brother lying unconscious on a hospital bed. Neither of them had ever had an extended stay in a hospital, had never been injured enough to need intensive surgery. Mario had needed a few stitches here and there, broken a bone or two—he was always the brasher one, getting into more trouble and consequently getting hurt more frequently. But Luigi? He was always careful. He was always safe, in part because Mario made sure of it.

Until now.

Luigi looked small and frail under the thin sheet. His usual clothes were replaced with a generic hospital gown, his hat sitting abandoned on the bedside table. It was covered in dirt, and Mario made a mental note to wash it for him as soon as he could—you have to hand wash it, Luigi’s voice piped up in his mind. He could be so particular. But Mario would, because he owed it to him. He’d do anything for Luigi, especially now.

He approached the bed slowly, afraid he would somehow hurt his brother even more than he already had. He reached out to hold Luigi’s hand where it lay atop the sheet, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to disturb him.

As if he’d sensed it anyway, Luigi blinked awake, eyes wandering aimlessly across the ceiling before landing on Mario. He stared blankly for a long time before recognition fell over his face. He gave a dopey smile.

“Heyyy,” he greeted, his voice slurred and weak. He was high as a kite. Mario would’ve laughed if he wasn’t being eaten alive by guilt.

“Hey,” he replied softly. Mario reached up to run his fingers through Luigi’s hair. It was as greasy and dirty as his hat, which Mario knew would bother him if he was even half aware of what was going on. He’d have to see if he could help wash that, too.

Luigi just hummed and leaned into the touch. His expression soured suddenly, nose scrunching up. “Feel funny…”

Mario waited to make sure he wasn’t going to puke or start screaming in pain. He was sure that once the drugs wore off, Luigi would feel awful. Punctured lung, broken ribs, torn muscles, surgery. He went through Hell. Mario remembered the feeling of hot blood on his hands, squishing through his fingers as he tried and failed to cover the wounds. His brother’s weak, pained whimpers replayed in his mind. He didn’t think he’d ever get the sound out of his head.

Luigi’s expression softened again, and he stared up with another lopsided, goofy grin. “Love you,” he mumbled.

Mario did his best to smile back, but it quickly fell.

“I’m sorry, Lou,” he said. Luigi frowned, which he hated. He was making his brother sad.

“What for?” Luigi asked innocently.

Where to even begin? He sighed. “Everything.”

“Everything?” Luigi stared back up at the ceiling. “Wow, that’s a lot.”

Mario snorted at that. “Yeah, I guess it is.” When his brother’s eyes slid shut as he fell immediately back asleep, Mario shook his head. Luigi wouldn’t remember any of this anyway. That was fine. He had plenty of time to apologize. He’d be apologizing for the rest of his life.

When he was sure Luigi wasn’t going to wake back up, Mario stood and gathered Luigi’s soiled hat in his hands. He brought it over to a small sink in the corner, sticking it under the faucet to wash off the gross, crusty mud. He had to start apologizing somewhere.

The hat trembled in his hands as he let it soak under the water, growing heavy in his fingers. The water flowed through the fabric, tainting itself an ugly brown as it swirled down the drain. He scrubbed, and when the dirt wouldn’t come off, he scrubbed harder. He scrubbed until the muscles in his arms ached and his fingers were stiff, but the hat was still mottled with faint, brown splotches.

He paused, holding the hat tightly in his fingers as his mind worked slowly. The realization that it wasn’t dirt, but blood, filled him with guilt. He had scrubbed the stains into the hat permanently. He had ruined it.

Mario wrung the hat out violently, feeling like an idiot. His throat burned in frustration, and when his breath hitched and thick, hot tears started spilling down his cheeks he threw the hat into the sink and shut off the water. He pressed his palms firmly into his eyes until lights danced across his vision. He f*cking hated himself sometimes.

He was grateful that Peach had given him time alone with Luigi so she wouldn’t see him acting like this. He felt like a child as he cried miserably over something so dumb. Luigi wouldn’t care about the hat—Mario knew that. Hell, they had other hats. He could get him a brand-new hat. A better hat.

But this had been Luigi’s hat, and it had been dirty because of Mario. And now it was ruined, because of Mario. And Luigi was injured and suffering and stuck in a hospital bed, because of Mario.

A long, desolate, and gasping breath worked its way through his lungs, and Mario steadied himself, shaking away the misery. He wiped his face with his sleeves, rubbing it dry until his skin felt raw.

Drawing up a chair, Mario settled himself next to Luigi’s bedside. He took his brother’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently. After a moment, Mario reached up and plucked the hat from his own head, then gingerly placed it over Luigi’s greasy, unwashed hair, adjusting it until it looked right. It was a little big on him, but it would do.

The first apology of many.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Luigi wasn’t sure which he was finding more difficult: His own physical recovery of the aftermath with Bowser or managing his brother’s emotions from it.

He expected it, especially at the beginning. Luigi slowly came out of his drug-induced stupor while in the castle’s medical wing and the first thing his conscious mind registered was the guilt evident in Mario’s eyes. The first thing he heard was a long, heartfelt, and unnecessary apology in a voice that was clearly rough from crying.

He listened to it half-heartedly, his forgiveness slurring from his lips the second Mario stopped speaking, though he could tell his brother didn’t believe it.

A flash of red above him caught his eye, and Luigi crossed his eyes to peer up at his own forehead. He clumsily brought a hand up, pulling something from his head, only to find his brother’s hat.

“Yours is out of commission,” Mario explained, sounding somehow even more upset. He cleared his throat. “Hold on to mine in the meantime, yeah?”

Luigi hummed, rubbing his thumbs over the stitching around the M. He replaced it on his head, smiling at the warm feeling it brought. It was a little big on him, but he liked it. He liked it more than his own, he was pretty sure.

When Luigi was finally awake enough to be more coherent, the doctor had listed his injuries, and Luigi listened intently but was waiting mostly for the treatment and healing instructions. He needed to rest, apparently, at least until he could ease into gentle activity to get his body and muscles moving. That wouldn’t be for a couple weeks, though. Until then, his primary care included taking it easy.

That turned out to be more emotionally taxing than he expected. It meant lying in bed all day while his brother doted on him, seeing to his every need. Mario was good at it, too. He brought food before Luigi even realized he was hungry, gave him his medication right on time with exact precision, and whenever he needed to move, Mario would help ease him into his wheelchair with such a gentle touch that Luigi could almost forget how strong and dangerous his brother could be when pushed to his limits.

It was Peach who had told him about how the fight with Bowser turned out. She explained how Mario had jumped in after Luigi went down. In detail, she described how his brother single-handedly beat the tar out of the koopa, basically going into a frenzy that ended with Bowser tucking tail and running. He had felt pride swell in his chest at the realization that Mario had faced his fears and proven that he could take on Bowser again, but when he turned to tell his brother that, all he could see was more guilt swimming in Mario’s eyes.

“I should have jumped in sooner,” Mario mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

It went on like that day after day, with Mario apologizing to him at every opportunity, no matter how many times Luigi told him it wasn’t his fault. Luigi was the one who built that machine, and he knew it had a tendency to stall. He knew the risk, and he took full responsibility.

In retrospect, Luigi wished he hadn’t agreed to let Mario use it at all. He hadn’t thought about what it might do to his brother, only to himself.

He hated what this was doing to Mario. He hated the way Mario visibly flinched at every little indication of pain Luigi gave. He hated knowing that while he spent all day resting and relaxing, Mario was on edge, always alert and ready to tend to Luigi’s every need. He hated that he could see the way Mario was neglecting his own health in favor of his brother’s, the bags growing dark under his eyes and the tremor in his hands becoming more pronounced every time he held Luigi to move him to and from his wheelchair. He hated that look that wouldn’t leave his eye.

Mario hadn’t returned home at all, which meant he hadn’t been going to therapy. Neither had Luigi, but it really seemed like it was affecting his brother more. Luigi had only mentioned it once, after he woke up from a nap to find Mario on the floor by the bed, clutching his arms to his chest while heaving deep, raspy breaths. Luigi had reached over to brush his fingers through his brother’s hair, only to startle Mario so badly he banged his head on the nightstand in his haste to pull his sleeves down and get up.

It had only been a soft-spoken suggestion, coming from a place of deep care on Luigi’s part. “Maybe you should go visit Dr. Berry,” he said. “It would just be a couple hours.”

It was as if he’d suggested Mario take him out back and shoot him. “I’m not leaving you.” He said it with firm decisiveness. If Luigi couldn’t travel through the warp pipe, Mario wouldn’t be going anywhere. Luigi felt like he was holding his brother hostage, somehow.

He knew his brother, and he knew that guilt and shame were going to be permanent fixtures in his expression, and that he wouldn’t be doing anything to focus on his own health, not until Luigi could get better.

So, he would get better.

After resting for one week, Luigi resolved that he needed to start moving more so his muscles would start building back up and he wouldn’t need so much assistance getting around. He asked Mario to trade his wheelchair for a walker, and although his brother looked hesitant, he did it. He helped Luigi up, and through gritted teeth and with straining, shaking legs, Luigi took those first few steps of many.

It got easier as the days went on, with his legs getting accustomed to doing more than absolutely nothing day in and day out. After another week, he could white-knuckle grip his way through walking all the way to another room by himself—though Mario still insisted on shadowing him, hands out and ready to step in at a moment’s notice. And he would, too. The second Luigi stumbled a bit, or hissed in any sort of pain, Mario would be there, hands firmly holding him up as if he weighed nothing at all. They’d lock eyes, and all Luigi could see was guilt.

That just wouldn’t do.

A few days later, Luigi made another request, asking his brother to trade out his walker for a cane. Again, Mario hesitated, but again, he did it. It was much harder to walk with a cane, and Luigi worked up a sweat focusing on his balance so he wouldn’t fall flat on his face and wreck his entire plan. He relented to having Mario hold his free arm while he walked around to help him get accustomed to it, at least for the first couple of days.

Just like it had with the walker, it got easier to move around with the cane soon enough. His balance got better, and his stamina and ease of movement grew day by day, until he was moving around on his own for the most part.

There was just one problem. It hurt.

Luigi had never been in so much pain before, the ache constant in almost every part of his body. His shoulders and hips throbbed with the effort of keeping him upright. He had a relentless headache from clenching his jaw all day. His back was the worst of it. He could feel where the muscles had been torn open, and with every small movement, every clench to keep himself from falling as he walked, it was as if the wounds were ripping open again. Sometimes he would reach behind himself to gingerly touch the area, just to make sure there wasn’t blood. He knew they were healed and closed, that there wasn’t a chance his skin had pulled open, but sometimes it hurt so badly that he thought for a moment he was back on the battlefield, Bowser’s claws still pierced into his flesh.

Simply breathing hurt, too. Sharp pain shot through his ribs, especially present when he worked himself too hard and would end up panting, leaning heavily on his cane and brushing Mario off with assurances that he was fine. The words left his mouth with ease, though the act of speaking made his lungs ache.

He quickly got better at hiding it, schooling his expression so he wouldn’t show any sign of pain. It worked perfectly. Luigi stopped seeing his brother flinch and react to each flair of pain. Mario gave him more space as they walked, his arms no longer braced and ready to catch him.

It also meant forgoing pain medication more often. Luigi didn’t want to let on that he was hurting, so he never told Mario when he needed them, which led to more pain. It was a horrible cycle. He started longing for those few precious moments of alone time, when Mario needed to use the bathroom or leave to get food, where Luigi could quickly hobble over to the drawer where they kept bottles of pills so he could steal a few to get just a little reprieve. He was starting to prefer it when Mario was gone.

Unfortunately, he was almost always there, even when it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else. In an effort to take his mind off the pain, Luigi tried to spend more days in the room Peach had lent him to use as a workshop, fiddling with his inventions to pass the time. Mario would accompany him, sitting quietly at a nearby desk until Luigi was ready to leave.

Luigi didn’t think much of it when, one day, he pulled out the machine they had used that night during the fight with Bowser. It needed to be fixed, so he wanted to fix it. He was so absorbed in adjusting it, he almost didn’t hear the intake of breath from across the room. When he glanced up, he saw Mario staring at the machine with a glazed look in his eye. Luigi sighed and set the work aside.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded his brother. It was like talking to a wall.

“I don’t know how you can keep saying that,” Mario replied.

“Because it’s true.” He’d keep saying it until he ran out of breath, even as it hurt his lungs to speak.

“It’s not,” Mario argued, and Luigi felt himself deflating. Here they go again. “Fine, the machine breaking wasn’t my fault, I’ll give you that. But I could’ve reacted faster. I should have jumped in before Bowser…” He trailed off.

“And what? Got hit instead? So you’d be in my position now?”

“Yes,” Mario said firmly, as if it was the obvious answer.

“Mario.”

“It should’ve been me. I haven’t been there for you like I should be, and you got hurt because of it.” Mario scoffed. “This goes so far beyond bringing you down—I almost got you killed, Lou.”

“Bringing me down?” Luigi scrunched his face up in thought, remembering more of what Mario had said to him before, about how he was letting Luigi down and holding him back. “Mario, you’re not bringing me down. Where is that even coming from?”

“Forget it,” Mario muttered, standing from his desk. “It’s lunchtime; we should eat.”

“I don’t want to ‘forget it,’” Luigi said, pushing his chair away from his own desk. “I want—ah!” He stood up too quickly, and a sharp pain radiated out from his back, shooting down the backs of his thighs and making his legs buckle. He caught himself on the table, but Mario was at his side in an instant, holding all his weight. Luigi found himself leaning into his arms, grateful for the relief.

“Weegee,” Mario whined, the strain in his voice giving away his shock.

“It’s fine,” Luigi assured him, though his fingers were gripping the front of his brother’s overalls tightly.

“It’s not fine,” Mario said. “You’re in pain.”

“Of course, I’m in pain. I’m always in pain,” Luigi said without thinking, his muddled brain acting before he could realize what he was saying. His chest hurt.

Mario froze. “What?”

“This isn’t…” Luigi gasped slightly, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. “This isn’t working.”

“What’s not working, Lou?”

“Hiding everything from you,” he said. He buried his face in his brother’s neck, just so he wouldn’t have to face him. Mario’s arms held him tighter. A pressure built in his chest. “Everything hurts, Mario, but I have to hide it, because you can’t take care of yourself.”

“You don’t need to hide anything from me,” Mario said, the heartache evident in his voice. “I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t!” Luigi said, perhaps too forcefully, as he felt Mario flinch around him. “You’re hiding stuff from me, too. I know it.”

“I’m not—”

“Show me you’re a-arms, then,” Luigi said, his breath hitching. Mario didn’t reply. “This isn’t… working,” Luigi repeated, inhaling as deeply as he could to force the words out. His chest ached with the effort.

“I didn’t realize you noticed,” Mario said quietly after a long pause. “I didn’t mean to make it harder on you, I just… I’m sorry.” His hands pulled Luigi in closer, and it hurt. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not cry—” A cough forced its way out, and suddenly Luigi couldn’t get enough air to say more. He gasped, pushing away from Mario’s chest, and clutching at his own. His face twisted in pain, and he looked down at his brother, trying to convey it without words. Something’s wrong.

“Luigi?” Mario stared at him in panic. “Hey, come on, breathe. Can you breathe?” His hands grabbed either side of his face, gloves soft against his cheeks. Luigi shook his head, wheezing. “Okay,” Mario said, a determined look crossing his face. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Just as Luigi felt his legs give out, his brother scooped him up into his arms, cradling him closely. His hands dug into Luigi’s back, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

Mario rushed out of the study and hurried down the hall. Everything passed by in a blur, and Luigi could feel himself getting dizzy and lightheaded. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against Mario’s chest, feeling the steady, quick heartbeat through the denim. Luigi tried to focus on that instead of his reeling mind, and the last thing he felt as he faded into unconsciousness was Mario’s heart skipping a beat under his cheek.

Luigi woke up groggy and, of course, in pain. He sighed, the sound muffled by something over his face. With an uncoordinated hand, he felt around his mouth, finding a plastic mask covering the bottom half of his face. Clumsily, he removed it, breathing in the fresh air.

“Hey,” a gentle voice said, and he turned to see Peach coming over to sit in a chair by his bed. Luigi glanced around, realizing he was back in the medical wing. “How are you feeling?”

Luigi just groaned, earning a soft laugh from the princess. “What happened?” he asked. He sounded awful, his voice grating and labored.

“Your lung collapsed again,” she explained. “That can happen if you’re not careful.” She gave him a look, and Luigi grimaced.

“I’ve just been trying to get better as fast as I can,” he said. On the other side of the bed, he caught a glimpse of his wheelchair, having been pulled back out of storage for him. “So much for that,” he mumbled. “I guess I pushed myself too hard.”

“That’s what Mario was saying,” Peach said. “I think you really scared him, you know. He just thought you were having a panic attack.” A pang of guilt went through Luigi. It seemed like all they did was worry one another.

He looked around the room again, feeling his brother’s absence.

“He’s not here,” Peach said before he could ask. “He went home. He said he needed to speak with someone.”

Luigi almost wanted to roll his eyes. It took another emergency trip to the doctor before Mario decided to finally take care of himself. Was Luigi going to have to go to extremes every time Mario needed help?

“What’s wrong?” Peach asked.

“He just worries about me so much, like he thinks I can’t take care of myself.” It was Mario who couldn’t take care of himself. They had already had this conversation before, with Luigi begging him to learn how to care about himself for once. He wondered now if that would ever actually happen. “I just wish Mario would learn to put himself first, sometimes.”

Peach hummed thoughtfully, then Luigi felt her hand settle lightly on his chest. “And why exactly did you hide your pain from him?”

“Well, that’s not…” Luigi trailed off, grumbling to himself. It was different with him. He was fine. Luigi paused, milling his own thoughts around in his head as he eyed his surroundings. “Yeah, alright. Point taken.”

“You two are so alike,” she mused, a smile gracing her lips.

“Yeah,” Luigi muttered. “For better or for worse.”

Peach stayed for a few minutes longer, then let him know she needed to attend to some things. With the promise of coming back to check in, she left. Luigi settled back into the bed, glancing around at the empty room, and sighed.

His body still ached. He wasn’t sure the pain would ever go away.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Dr. Berry had agreed to an emergency session. Mario was grateful for it, but not surprised in the least, considering he had shown up to her office uninvited, looking haggard and inconsolable, and had said nothing apart from a quiet, “I almost killed my brother.” Not having seen or heard from him in weeks, she just pursed her lips and stepped aside, inviting him into the room.

He then proceeded to spend the next half hour sobbing until his throat was raw, stuttering and choking through an explanation of the past few weeks as best as he could. How could he possibly put to words what he had done to his brother? Twice he put his life in danger. Twice, he had his hands pressed into his brother’s back, holding him still and steady with the very real possibility of feeling his heart stop under his touch.

Mario looked down at his hands, tears falling and soaking into his gloves. He blinked, his vision blurring, and suddenly it felt like his hands were drenched in Luigi’s blood again.

Everything else disappeared, leaving Mario to spiral into himself. He bent himself in half, tucking his face in between his knees and clasping his hands over the back of his head. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything but think about how horribly he had failed Luigi, how horribly he was failing at everything in his life. He couldn’t take care of his brother; he couldn’t even take care of himself. He couldn’t do anything right.

He couldn’t breathe right.

He couldn’t breathe at all.

Mario sat back up suddenly, gasping uselessly through his tears. His chest burned, and he pressed his hands against it, willing his lungs to work. His fingers clawed at his throat. He was suffocating, pressure building behind his eyes at the lack of oxygen, but a part of him didn’t even care. Maybe he deserved it, to go out suffering and choking and desperate.

Across from him, the therapist was saying something. He couldn’t hear her over the sound of his heart beating in his head. He clutched his stomach tightly, pressing down hard, like that would somehow ease his pain. It didn’t. It made it worse. His fingers stabbed into his stomach uncomfortably. He wanted to pierce right through himself.

Dr. Berry was suddenly at his feet, crouched in front of him. Her hands grabbed his, pulling them from his stomach. She said something else, her voice muffled. When he didn’t respond, her hands went to his face, holding his head still so he was looking straight into her eyes. She spoke slowly and clearly, cutting through his panic.

“Mario, if you don’t calm down, I am going to have to call someone.”

He remembered back during their early sessions when she had explained her role, how she was there for him, but legally she was a mandated reporter. It wouldn’t be relevant usually, but if he was ever posing a risk to himself or others, she would have to intervene. She would have to bring in a professional to subdue him.

He hadn’t realized what state he had worked himself into. He must have really been losing it.

Mario nodded in understanding, placing his own hands over hers where they rested on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused, trying to breathe properly. It hurt. It felt like someone was wringing out his lungs. His breath came in short, halted bursts. He could feel his entire body shaking under Dr. Berry’s touch, trembling with the effort to stop spiraling out of control.

It took a while, but eventually his panic subsided enough to let him calm down. His breath still hitched occasionally, but he was composed enough that Dr. Berry returned to her own seat, passing over a tissue box. He took it gratefully, wiping his face free of tears and snot and saliva. He looked down at himself. One strap of his overalls had come undone, and the front of his shirt was wet—with what, he wasn’t sure. Embarrassed, he buckled the strap back in place and dabbed ineffectually at the damp spot on his shirt. When he wiped the tissue over a wet spot on his stomach, he winced. His fingers touched the area gingerly. He had definitely left bruises on himself. With a sigh, he trashed the tissues.

“S-sorry,” he hiccupped.

“Don’t be,” she responded. “It sounds like a lot happened while you were away.” He wasn’t sure how she had managed to understand anything he had told her through his weeping.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He let out a slow breath, leaning back in his seat. He felt exhausted, the weeks of sleepless nights and being on constant alert finally catching up. He wanted to curl into a ball, fall asleep, and never wake up.

His breath hitched again. He probably shouldn’t think like that, especially after Dr. Berry suggested calling someone on him.

“I just feel really bad that Luigi has to deal with so much,” he continued. “I tried to be there for him, but I just made it worse.”

“What have you been doing to take care of yourself during this?”

Mario glanced over at the therapist, raising an eyebrow. As if he was the one who had been stabbed in the back by Bowser—and metaphorically by his own brother—and couldn’t walk anymore. As if he was the one whose lungs collapsed, and he couldn’t breathe. As if he needed to be taken care of more in this situation, and not Luigi.

When he didn’t offer anything, Dr. Berry tilted her head. “I’m sure this situation brought up a lot of fear for you. I bet it felt a lot like when you almost lost your brother before. I know that must be a lot to handle. So,” she paused, “what have you been doing to take care of yourself while you feel that?”

Another wave of embarrassment washed over him. He shrugged. He was pretty sure the answer was obvious, but Dr. Berry refused to say more, just sitting in wait. He sighed. “Nothing.”

He hadn’t done anything for himself the past few weeks. He’d put himself through the wringer just to be there for Luigi—and he hadn’t even done that right. He thought about his exhaustion. He thought about the sore scratches up and down his arms. He thought about the ache in his chest from his panic attack.

He thought about how, even if he had been taking better care of himself, he might still end up feeling the same.

“I’m just not sure it’s worth it,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t think I’m getting better.”

Dr. Berry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He saw her bite her lip, then give him a sad smile. “Can I be blunt with you?”

“You always are,” he muttered.

She chuckled, then sobered up quickly. “You need to let go of the idea of getting better.” Mario frowned, and she seemed to be picking her next words very carefully. “We are shaped by our experiences. What happened to you has changed you, and there’s nothing you can do about that. The idea that you are better or worse off than you should be is not a useful way to think, because nothing you do now can undo what has already happened.”

Mario felt his heart break a little. “I’m not going to get better.” It wasn’t a question.

“Better is a subjective goal,” she said. “And I think you’re setting it up as an unrealistic one. I think better, in the way that you mean it, is something you can’t achieve, no matter what you do. You can grieve the person you used to be, but you need to let him go. You need to take care of who you are now.”

He felt stinging in his eyes again, and Mario wondered briefly how he even had any tears left. He sniffled, frustration roiling inside of him. What was the point of anything if he wasn’t going to get better? Why not just f*cking die?

“What am I supposed to do, then?” he snapped. “If I’m not going to get better then why am I here at all?” He left her to interpret here however she wanted. Here in the room with her. Here in the world, alive.

“Okay,” Dr. Berry said, leaning her chin on her fist. “Let’s say you’re better. What would you do?”

“What?” Now he could get better?

“Hypothetically, let’s pretend you are better. You don’t need therapy anymore; you don’t have panic attacks; you don’t worry about your brother. Let’s say you wake up tomorrow and you feel just like you used to feel.” She paused, raising her eyebrows. “Genuinely, what would you do? What is it you’re waiting to do until after you’re better?”

Mario looked down at his lap, thinking hard. His thoughts felt like tar, sluggish and muddled, but he tried to sift through them. What did he want?

“Luigi,” he started, rubbing his palms on his thighs absently, “he wants to move to the Mushroom Kingdom. I guess I, uh… I want to move there with him. I want to be okay enough to move there.” He furrowed his brow, thinking harder. “Peach said she wants to show me her world. She says it’s beautiful. And Luigi thinks I can find something that will make me happy. They just really seem to love it so much.” He glanced up at the therapist. “I want to see what they see.”

Dr. Berry nodded. “That sounds wonderful. Do you understand that the only thing holding you back from doing any of that is this idea that you have to get better first?”

Mario blinked, eyebrows raising. He hadn’t thought of it like that.

“You are stuck in this place right now because you’re not giving yourself permission to move forward. If you want these things, they’re not going to just fall into your lap. You need to make the decisions yourself.” Dr. Berry took another deep breath and leaned towards him. “But you also need to accept that things are not going to be the way they used to be. Things are going to feel different. Mario, you cannot move forward if you let yourself get to the point you were at half an hour ago. You can’t wait until you reach better before you take care of yourself.”

A lump had formed in his throat, and when he opened his mouth to reply, he let out a soft, choked sob. Part of him worried he was about to have a full-blown meltdown for the second time in an hour, but instead, heavy, silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Okay,” he whispered. He grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped his face, breathing slowly and evenly to stop the crying fit before it could begin in earnest.

“Then you’re not going to let weeks go by without coming to therapy anymore. Even if it’s going to group, you need to make sure you have support.” He nodded meekly. “Now, before I let you go today, I want you to tell me some things you’re going to do to take care of yourself,” Dr. Berry ordered softly.

Mario breathed deeply, the sound shaky and brittle. “I’m going to go to our apartment and get some of my things. I’m going to get my, uh,” he glanced away, self-conscious again. “I haven’t been taking my medication. I’m going to make sure I have that.”

“Good,” she responded, sounding genuinely happy. “What else?”

“I think going for more walks might help. I’ve been cooped up inside the castle for a long time. The gardens are always nice, so I can walk around there, I guess.”

“That might help you see some of that beauty that Peach is talking about, too,” she added.

“Yeah,” he said. He shifted in his seat, swallowing hard. “It’ll give me and Luigi some space, too, if I go out more. I think… I think that’ll be good for both of us.” Guilt filled his chest at the words, and he looked over at the therapist worriedly. She didn’t seem to react at all, only nodding along with him.

“I think these all sound like very good ways to take care of yourself, Mario,” she said. “I’m going to want to hear a full report on how it goes when I see you again next week.” Her words were pointed, and she raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

He chuckled wetly. “Okay, yeah,” he said, standing up along with her. “I’ll be here next week.”

She ushered him out, and on unsteady, exhausted legs, Mario somehow managed to get himself back to his and Luigi’s apartment. The inside was cold and dusty, but the familiarity was nice.

He went straight for the cabinet in the bathroom, taking his medication and grabbing the bottle to bring it to his room. He pulled out a duffel and started packing clothes and necessities, tired of having to either wear the same set of clothes every day or squeezing himself into his brother’s spares. In the middle of it, he remembered to slip his phone from his pocket—completely dead after the several weeks—and plugged it into the charger.

It took a few moments to charge enough to power back up. The second it did, his phone blew up with notifications, buzzing incessantly with every text and voicemail he had missed.

“Alright, jeez,” he muttered, silencing it. He swiped the home screen open and looked at his notifications. He balked.

Dozens of missed calls and texts, daily, from every member of his family. He scrolled through them, skimming the text messages but not lingering too long on any of them.

I miss you, baby, please just give me a call and let me know you’re okay, from his mom.

If you’re in some sort of trouble, we can figure it out. Just let us know what we can do. You’ve got your mother worried sick, from his dad.

His hands shook. He didn’t want to listen to the voicemails.

As he stared down at the phone, a new text message came through, popping up at the top of the screen. It was from his mom.

I love you.

Mario squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. He was so tired. It wasn’t fair.

He sighed. He had to tell them what happened. Of course, it was on him. It was his fault, after all.

Pushing his exhaustion aside, he steeled himself with a deep breath and texted his mom back.

Sorry, can I come over?

The response came just a few seconds later.

Always.

He pocketed the phone and headed out, fatigue and anxiety over what he was going to say—how could he possibly explain himself? –weighing him down the entire way.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Mario hadn’t realized just how fragile he felt until the door to his parents’ apartment opened, and his mom pulled him in for a hug before he even had a chance to say hello. He tucked his face in her shoulder, tentative hands hugging her back, and felt as if she was the only thing keeping him from shattering into a million pieces.

He wondered suddenly how he ever thought it was a good idea to come here right after a therapy session that left him feeling like an exposed nerve. He was laid out, raw and vulnerable, and every second he spent here—a grand total of thirty, so far—felt like he was being burned by a live wire. He buried his fingers in the back of his mom’s shirt, breathing deeply and forcing himself not to cry. When she finally pulled away, he had to fight the urge to ask her to hold him longer.

“You look hungry,” his mom said. “Let’s get you some food.” She was right; he hadn’t been focusing much on keeping himself fed lately, so he spent most days pushing away the gnawing hunger in his gut in favor of making sure his brother got fed first. By the time it was his own turn to eat, he usually needed to do something else for Luigi, and eventually his own meal would be forgotten. His hands trembled constantly, but he had learned to ignore it.

He followed his mom into the kitchen, sitting at the table as she puttered around the room. After a long couple of minutes, room taut with silence, a warm plate of pasta was set in front of him. He dug in without even thinking, shoveling food into his mouth, and nearly moaning into his fork. They didn’t have food like this in the Mushroom Kingdom. Nothing could compare to it.

“Goodness, don’t they feed you over there?” his mom teased. Mario glanced up, pausing. He could feel a drop of sauce sitting on his chin. His mom suddenly looked unhappy. “You… You’ve been over there, right? In the other world?” She sounded almost hopeful. He supposed that at least if he was in the Mushroom Kingdom, that was an excuse to not call her back. If he had been here, in Brooklyn, his absence would have been entirely on purpose. He would have been ignoring her by choice.

“Yeah,” he replied, setting his fork down. He took his time wiping his mouth clean, working the napkin between his fingers nervously. “Sorry, there’s no service there. I would’ve called.”

“You could’ve dropped by,” she said sadly. “We thought you weren’t coming back.” She got a look in her eye as she paused, a tinge of fear creeping into her expression. “I thought, maybe…”

Mario’s heart sank. They could’ve been dead, and she would never know.

“I know,” Mario muttered. “I’m sorry.” He could hear the wobble in his own voice, feel the way his shoulders were moving up to his ears. His face felt hot, and a familiar sense of unease crept under his skin.

He couldn’t lose control—not here, of all places. His family knew he was struggling, but they didn’t know the extent. He’d worked hard to keep his issues under wraps around them, to give them just enough information about his health to keep them from asking questions. He pictured their shock and fear if they ever saw him at his worst, curled in a ball and gasping and clawing at himself like an animal. He didn’t want to imagine their reactions if they learned about the things he had done—what he had almost done. He already felt like he was a disappointment. He didn’t want to make it worse. They couldn’t know.

Mario drew in a shaky breath and stared up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that had started burning behind his eyes. When he glanced back down to find his mom watching him with kindness and worry in her eyes, he forced himself to smile, though he could feel how pained it must look. “Sorry,” he laughed wetly, the sound catching in his throat.

“Baby…” His mom’s hands found either side of his face, her palms warm and comforting against his cheeks. “Talk to me, per favore.” He felt like a child again, seeking his mom’s affection when he was upset, and the familiar safety of her touch made his heart ache. It was also making it very hard to keep his emotions in check.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to pour his heart out so she could hold it and keep him safe. He wanted to be wrapped in her arms like he was when he was five years old and had just woken from a nightmare—as if all of this that he had gone through was just a bad dream. He wanted to tell her everything. That his brother was hurt and stuck and he didn’t know how to make it better. That he was scared and struggling every single day to do anything right by anyone. That he almost killed himself, and sometimes he still felt that itch when the fear got to be too much, and the thought still crossed his mind every time he took the train because it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? And that thought left him feeling guiltier than ever, because why should anything be easy for him?

“It’s just…” Mario closed his eyes and leaned into one of the hands resting against his cheek, letting it ground him. “It’s been a lot.”

“I know,” his mom soothed, a thumb brushing softly in the space under his eye.

She didn’t know, not really. But maybe she could. Mario opened his eyes and searched her face, finding nothing but care. She was strong. She could handle anything. Maybe he couldn’t tell her everything that he’d been through, but if he could just unload some of it, it wouldn’t feel so unbearable anymore.

“I—”

Keys jingled distantly in the front door, and Mario’s heart skipped a beat. A moment later, the sound of the door opening and shutting rang through the apartment, followed by heavy footsteps coming nearer.

Mario pulled his face free from his mom’s grasp just in time for his dad to enter the kitchen.

His dad was always bigger than him, but suddenly he looked twenty feet tall as he stood in the doorway and stared him down.

A flash of panic shot through him, and then Mario was fighting to push away the sadness from his expression and swallow the misery stuck in his throat. It was as if he’d flipped a switch inside of his brain. The grief that had been building in his chest, aching to be let out for his mom to take care of, dissipated in an instant, leaving behind a cool emptiness in its place.

“Where have you been?” His dad’s voice was loud, cutting through the gentle atmosphere that had embraced the kitchen. “You leave, and what? No phone calls, no texts. What were you thinking?”

Mario didn’t know what to say to that. He clenched his jaw, tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth tightly. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. His mind reeled, willing the words to come out so he could beg forgiveness.

“Sweetheart, give him a break,” his mom said. Her hand landed on Mario’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “He just got here.”

“After how long of leaving us in the dark?” His dad rounded the table to sit heavily in the chair across from Mario. He leaned forward and gave him a stern look. “You better have a good excuse.”

He didn’t. Not really. What could his excuse possibly be? Sorry, I was too caught up in my own head and I couldn’t leave my brother’s side without spiraling into a panic attack because there’s something wrong with me, and it’s not going to get better, and I’m going to be like this forever—

“He was in that other world,” his mom cut in.

“Doing what?” The bite in his dad’s tone revealed his disbelief. “And where’s your brother? You can’t keep dragging him around with you every time you find some new thing you want to go after. He has a life here, too. You’ve got your head so far up in the clouds sometimes—you don’t think.”

Mario thought it might be less painful to be stabbed directly in the chest. He paused briefly, waiting for his mom to cut in and defend him again, but she didn’t. He glanced over to find her staring at him with wide, curious eyes. She wanted to know about Luigi, too.

How was he supposed to tell them what happened? How was he supposed to look them in the eye and tell them only one of their sons was well enough to walk around, and it was the son that least deserved it? Mario came here and nearly let himself fall into his mom’s welcoming arms to be comforted, only to turn around and tell her what he did to let Luigi down. What kind of person did that make him?

His dad’s words echoed in his ear—you can’t keep dragging him around with you—and his gut instinct told him to argue back, to defend himself for once in his life. He hadn’t dragged Luigi with him, not this time. If anything, Luigi dragged him to the Mushroom Kingdom. It wasn’t his fault. Not everything had to be his fault.

Mario’s breath caught in his throat. Was he really going to try blaming Luigi for what happened? Wasn’t it Mario’s fault?

What if it wasn’t?

“Baby,” his mom said softly, pulling his mind back into the kitchen, “where’s your brother?”

“He’s—” Mario felt a part of him splintering. He couldn’t do this. “He’s fine.” The words left his mouth at the same that his mind left his body. He felt like someone else was speaking for him, pushing past that wall that was threatening to come down between his brain and his mouth. The lies came easier after that. “He was too busy to come by today. The castle needed repairs. We’ve been helping out as much as we can.”

His mom’s shoulders relaxed a little, but he could see her searching his face, uncertainty in her eyes. Mario tensed, but she didn’t seem willing to press him on it.

“That princess better be paying you,” his dad said gruffly.

“Yeah,” Mario said, feeling his voice get weaker. “Room and board, and everything.” He looked his dad straight in the eye as he said it without even blinking. Something was deeply wrong with him.

A knock at the front door drew his dad’s attention away, and the moment his dad stood from the table Mario felt his resolve crumbling. “That’ll be Tony and Arthur,” his dad said. “I’m sure they’ll have plenty to say to you, too.” With that, he stomped out of the kitchen, leaving Mario and his mom alone.

He looked at her, and he could tell in an instant she saw right through him, as if he was a piece of glass. He felt seconds from shattering. He could hear the front door open in the distance and his breath hitched.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he could feel that wall in his brain again, pushing further and further down. Each word felt like a hurdle he couldn’t clear. The words sat in his throat like cement, and he grit his teeth, pleading with her silently.

“Okay,” his mom said. “It’s okay.” She reached over and ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his head. She rested her palm there for a moment, took a deep breath of her own, then smiled. She had pain in her eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here, and you’re going to go back and tell Luigi I love him, and that we all miss him. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

Mario just nodded, because he had hit the wall, and he couldn’t even begin to try finding the words to thank her.

“And I am here,” she continued, her voice growing heavy, “whenever you’re ready to talk.”

They ran out of time. Three sets of boisterous footsteps came hustling into the kitchen, and suddenly there was an eruption of voices prattling in the air and several sets of hands grabbing onto Mario, pushing and pulling him in every direction until he felt his brain twisting around in his head. One set of hands, stronger than the rest, yanked him free and pulled him up from his chair. His mom planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed him through the small crowd.

“Ah, you just missed him! Sorry, boys,” his mom said loudly, earning a trio of confused shouts.

“We haven’t seen you in weeks and you’re just taking off again?” Tony complained, poking him in the face as he was paraded by.

“Probably heard you were coming and just had to get out,” Arthur teased, shoving up against Tony.

“Mia—” his dad tried to butt in, but Mario saw his mom shoot him a stern look.

“Nope, sorry everyone, he’s very busy, has to get back to helping his princess out in the castle,” she explained. “Or did you all forget that we know actual royalty now? Can’t keep her waiting.”

As quickly as was possible, Mario was shuffled along through the kitchen and living room and down the front hall, his mom’s hands a firm, sturdy weight on his shoulders that felt like the only thing keeping him from floating away. The front door was opened, and Mario was hurried out, not unkindly. In the rush to ensure he could escape, his mom still found a moment to lean in and plant a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you,” she whispered, her breath tickling against his scalp. “Please come back.”

With that, the door closed.

He could hear the muffled sound of voices arguing just behind the door, but it may as well have been a million miles away. Without his mom’s hands on his shoulders to tether him to the ground, Mario felt like he was drifting off, his feet hovering a few inches from the ground. He couldn’t feel the floor as he walked down the narrow apartment hallway.

He blinked, and suddenly he was on the train. His hand gripped the metal pole tightly in his fist and the city rushed by through the far window. Someone bumped up against his shoulder, and he barely registered it. An announcement came from the overhead speaker. It sounded like gibberish.

He blinked again, and he was in his own apartment. Mario glanced around, trying to remember the walk there. Something was wrong. He should probably be worried about that. He wasn’t. His heart thumped steadily, slowly in his chest. He felt okay. Or, rather, he didn’t feel bad. He didn’t really feel anything.

The duffel bag he had packed earlier sat waiting on the floor, ready to be taken back to the Mushroom Kingdom. He didn’t feel ready to go back there. Distantly, he recognized that he shouldn’t go, not when he was like this. Whatever this was.

Another realization, that he needed to fix whatever this was, puttered by in his mind slowly. He needed to take care of himself. Dr. Berry and Luigi’s words knocked around somewhere inside his head, vague reminders that he was supposed to do something. What was he supposed to do? What did he need?

Mario tried hard to focus, thoughts dripping in his brain like sludge. He was so tired. What were you supposed to do when you’re tired? Right. Sleep. He turned his head to look down the hall at his bedroom. How had he managed to get all the way to his apartment without a problem, but suddenly the short walk to his bed felt like an insurmountable distance?

He still tried, his feet sliding against the hardwood, each step more difficult than the last. He wasn’t going to make it. The couch was nearby, and he veered towards it instead. When he got close enough, his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the cushions, face buried in a throw pillow. The change in positions was too sudden. His head spun. He was dizzy. Mario squeezed his eyes shut against it, groaning.

He didn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t like it. He was exhausted. He couldn’t even find the energy to open his eyes again.

The conversation with his parents was a distant, faded memory, barely surfacing as he stumbled through his thoughts, desperate to find footing, to come back from wherever he was. The fatigue was pulling him down, and he could feel his mind wanting to cave and let him drift away. A few words from his parents, a few thoughts of his own, whispered as he dozed off. His last thought, one that latched onto his brain as a final, desperate feeling, brought him a sense of relief as he fell asleep.

It wasn’t his fault.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Luigi was trying very hard not to freak out.

After being discharged from the infirmary with strict instructions to take things easier than he had been, Luigi rolled himself and his wheelchair back to his room. It was tricky without his brother to help push him along, but he did it, and he managed to set himself up in bed comfortably with a book without too much difficulty. He read about four pages before knocking out cold.

He woke up a few hours later to a soft knock on his bedroom door. It was Peach, coming by to check in and see to his needs, which he thought was kind of her. The only thing he really needed was to know if Mario had returned yet. He hadn’t, but Luigi didn’t think much of it. His brother probably had a lot to do in Brooklyn, and that would take time.

And then a few more hours passed, evening rolled around, and there was still no sign of Mario.

Luigi was really trying not to freak out.

The worst, he thought, was trying to hide it from Peach. She brought him dinner, and they shared the meal in a tense silence that was repeatedly broken by her asking, time and time again, “Are you alright?” He knew he must have anxiety written all over his face. He could feel it coiled in his body, tight and heavy with nowhere to go.

“I’m fine,” he said for the hundredth time. Distractedly, he pushed his food around on his plate. “Just worried about Mario.” They’d been apart for a whole day now, longer than any of Luigi’s brief visits to the Mushroom Kingdom without his brother. They hadn’t been apart this long since—

The anxiety squeezed impossibly tighter when he remembered how long they had been apart during the mess that started this whole thing. During the mess that Luigi fueled with decision after decision. If Luigi just hadn’t found that warp pipe. If he just hadn’t let go of Mario’s hand. If he just hadn’t caved when Bowser interrogated him.

If he just hadn’t been saved from the lava.

Luigi sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying desperately to remember any sort of coping mechanisms from his therapist. They hadn’t really gone over what to do when he was severely injured and trapped in another world while Mario was out there doing God-knows what.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Peach replied softly. “He’ll be back soon.”

Luigi couldn’t even offer her a forced smile. He wasn’t sure how to convey just how wrong she might be. He wanted to rip the anxious coil from his stomach and slam it onto the table in between their plates. He wanted to tear it apart for her, to rant about his fears of him and his brother being apart for too long, and about the newest fear that settled like a hole in his chest, that maybe Mario wouldn’t come back.

But Peach wouldn’t understand it. She would place a gentle hand over the coiled anxiety and assure him it would be alright, because why wouldn’t Mario come back? She wouldn’t understand it, because she didn’t know. She didn’t know how bad Mario could get. She hadn’t seen him with blood under his fingernails from tearing at his own skin, or walking silently around the apartment like the shell of his former self. She hadn’t been there when he ruefully admitted to trying to take his own life. She didn’t know any of it.

He wanted to tell her. Luigi realized in that moment how badly he wanted it, the words aching to get out. He didn’t want to hold on to this all on his own anymore, and the sudden impact of how unfair it was hit him squarely in the jaw. It wasn’t even his own secret, and he felt like he had to hold onto it anyway, something precious and private that he never asked for. He should be able to let it go. But what right did he have to share it, especially with Peach, of all people? He knew how Mario felt about her. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Mario would not want her to know. He didn’t want anyone to know.

“Luigi, what’s wrong?” Peach asked, worry lining her features.

It would be easy to tell her. Mario almost killed himself once, and I’m afraid he’s going to try again. It was a simple explanation. Simple, but the heaviest sentence he thought he’d ever say, because once it was out, it couldn’t be taken back. Peach would know, and Mario would hate him for it. A spark of anger ignited in the back of his mind at the feeling of being forced to keep quiet, but it extinguished as soon as it came. How could he be angry with Mario about that? Guilt replaced the irritation, washing it out completely.

What good would it do to share, anyway? There wasn’t much either of them could do to make the situation better. Luigi was stuck here, and he wasn’t about to send an uninitiated princess to Brooklyn in the hopes that she could somehow navigate her way to their apartment, where Mario might be. Telling her would only bring her into this anxious spiral with him, which Luigi thought sounded more selfish than anything.

Mario was out there dealing with suicidal thoughts and wanting to rip open his own skin. Mario was suffering so badly he wanted to die. Luigi could handle being a little anxious about it on his own.

The coil in his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Really,” he finally answered, “it’s nothing. I think I’m just tired.”

That was enough for Peach to politely excuse herself for the evening, wishing him a good night’s rest that they both knew he wouldn’t be getting. She left, and with the quiet click of the door shutting, he was alone with his thoughts.

He tried to sleep, for what it was worth. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed and gathered himself under the blankets, but he found that the room was too quiet, too empty. He had grown up falling asleep to the sound of his brother’s snoring from across the room, and even when they switched to sleeping in separate bedrooms, he could always feel that his brother was close by. There was something in the air now, an absence that kept him awake, knowing that he was living in a world without Mario. His only solace was the hope that Mario was alive in a different world, just waiting to come back—but even that wasn’t a guarantee.

A part of him thought that he’d be able to feel it, if his brother ever died. Deep in his soul he would feel that something had been taken from him, and he knew it would hurt. He imagined it would feel like somebody reached inside of his chest and ripped out his heart while it was still beating. He didn’t feel that now, but the churning in his gut hurt so badly that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a sign that Mario was in trouble.

After an hour of tossing and turning, Luigi finally gave up and slipped out of bed, hesitating for only a moment to grab the red cap from his nightstand before shuffling out onto the balcony. It was a short enough distance that he could use his walker, and once he was outside, he clumsily sat down so his legs were dangling off the balcony between the bars, resting his forehead on the metal while he caught his breath. The air was cool, and without a breeze, everything was eerily still, not a single sound piercing the chilly night.

Mario’s hat was heavy in his hands as he rubbed his thumb over the worn stitching. He felt suddenly, entirely alone. The realization that this was the only thing he had of his brother’s, at least until he could get well enough to go home, hit hard. None of Mario’s belongings were here; he hadn’t thought to bring any when he packed extra clothes to keep in the castle. How selfish was he? He talked so much about making the Mushroom Kingdom a safe place for both of them, and he hadn’t even offered Mario the comfort of his own belongings. How could Mario feel like this was his home when there was nothing of his to lay claim to?

Feeling thoughtless and selfish and even more guilty for his moment of anger towards his brother earlier, Luigi sighed and closed his eyes. His fingers squeezed around the hat, as if keeping a tight enough grip on it could keep his brother closer, keep him safe from himself through sheer will alone.

A sudden pressure on his head started him, and Luigi let out a soft gasp, reaching up to find a hat placed haphazardly over his hair. He adjusted it properly and looked up, finding his brother smiling wearily down at him.

“Found your spare under your bed,” Mario explained. “Thanks for keeping mine safe in the meantime.”

“Mario,” Luigi exclaimed, the breath of relief he could take feeling like the greatest thing in the world. He grabbed the bars to pull himself up, wanting to hold on to his brother and never let go again, because he was alive, and the coil in his stomach could finally start to unwind. His legs tangled, caught in the rails as he struggled to free himself.

“Hey, hey,” Mario said, pushing him back down by his shoulders. “Don’t get up, I’ll come to you.” True to his word, Mario sat down beside him, threading his own legs through the balcony rails so they dangled off the side like Luigi’s. The second he was settled, Luigi grabbed him and pulled him close, burying his face in his shoulder. “Woah, okay,” Mario laughed, holding him just as tight. “I missed you, too.”

Luigi hadn’t just missed him, but he wasn’t sure how to say that, or if he even could. He’d thought Mario was dead. He’d dealt with that pain alone.

Mario pulled away too soon, but Luigi let him go. He watched his brother stare down through the balcony bars, swinging his legs absently. “It’s like when we were kids and snuck out onto the fire escape,” Mario mused. They used to do it all the time growing up, slipping out the window in the middle of the night as quietly as they could. They’d sit for hours on the rusted steps in the pale glow of the streetlights, whispering and trying to keep their laughter down so they wouldn’t wake anyone else. Luigi didn’t think this felt like that at all.

“Where were you?” he asked. There was a weight to the question, unsaid parts of it hanging in the air. Why were you gone for so long? Was I right to be afraid? Will I have to be afraid again? When will I ever stop being afraid?

Mario peered over at him, and it seemed to dawn on him how worried Luigi had been. A solemn look fell over his face. “Sorry, Lou,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to be gone for that long. I saw Dr. Berry, and then I…” He sighed. “I went to see Mom and Dad to explain everything. I just… needed some time to recover, I guess.” Mario smiled sympathetically, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I’m okay, though. I promise.”

It didn’t make the fear go away completely, but Luigi felt himself relax a bit at the explanation. That, he could understand. Dealing with their family in a normal context was a lot, so he couldn’t even begin to imagine what they were like now. Luigi smiled slightly, bumping his shoulder against his brother’s and hoping to lighten the mood.

“Sorry you had to deal with them alone,” he chuckled. “How’d they take it? I bet Mom was a nervous wreck.”

Mario didn’t reply right away. He turned to face out through the railing again, reaching up to twist his hands around the bars. He looked nervous, and Luigi suddenly wondered how poorly it could have gone with their family, wondered what they possibly could have said to him about what happened to make Mario look like that.

“I couldn’t tell them.” Mario’s voice was flat.

Luigi found himself mirroring his brother, wrapping his own hands around the bars and squeezing the cold metal. It was grounding while his mind turned in circles to think of what to say. “You couldn’t tell them about Bowser, or…?” He supposed it would be hard for Mario to explain the fight, especially if he still blamed himself for what happened.

“I couldn’t tell them any of it,” he said. When he turned back to Luigi, Mario looked at if he hated himself. “They don’t even know you’re hurt.”

“Oh.” Luigi shrugged. “That’s okay,” he muttered. He just wanted that look off his brother’s face. He was growing to hate that look.

“It’s not okay,” Mario insisted. “I lied to them and said you were fine, that everything here was going great. I wanted to tell them. I almost did. Mom was right there, and she wanted to listen, but then…” He sighed, pain laced through the breath.

Luigi thought he could understand that, at least. He remembered almost telling Peach about his worries, about everything Mario had been through, but stopping himself short to hold onto it a little longer. These things between them felt like they were growing so unbearably heavy. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep it up.

When Mario spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, sounding brittle and small. “Do you blame me?”

Luigi startled, but immediately shook his head. “I told you this wasn’t your fault. I chose to fight Bowser, and I designed that machine—”

“Not just that, Lou,” Mario interrupted. “All of it. Everything that’s happened to us. It was my stupid idea that put us here in the first place, and it seems like everything I do just makes it worse. Our whole lives, I’ve always jumped headfirst into things without thinking. I don’t—” He paused, brow furrowing tightly. He clenched and unclenched his teeth a few times, the muscles in his jaw straining. “It doesn’t always feel like my fault, but I think sometimes it might be anyway. Have I…” They locked eyes, and Luigi could feel the fear in Mario’s words. “Have I been bringing you down with me all this time?”

“Mario, no,” Luigi breathed, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself. When he opened them again, Mario was meeting him with a doubtful look. Luigi felt a crippling pressure on his shoulders to get this right, to make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing to make his brother upset—and the realization that maybe he already had made Luigi’s chest seize. “If I’ve ever said anything to make you think that, I am sorry—”

“No, of course not,” Mario was quick to stop him.

“Then why do you think that? I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“I mean…” Mario looked uncomfortable, and he squirmed for a moment where he sat. “I guess there’s just some things Dad has said that makes me think about it.”

Luigi didn’t mean to, but he laughed, the sound barking out of his mouth before he could think better of it. When Mario stared at him in shock, he tried to roll with it, tilting his head and smiling. “Come on, Mario, when have we ever listened to what Dad says?”

Mario wasn’t laughing. He looked hurt, and Luigi wasn’t entirely sure he understood why. Their dad said lots of things—lots of stupid, pig-headed things—about their life choices and career decisions and just about everything else. It never stopped them before. They always also had their mom’s voice of reason, encouraging them the whole way right along with their dad’s pessimism. Why was he listening to their dad all of a sudden?

It hit Luigi all at once, the sudden realization that, for their entire lives, Luigi was always so much closer with their mom out of the two of them. Everyone always told him how much alike they were, so focused on caretaking and kindness. So was Mario, of course, but his took the form of action, rather than emotion—just like their dad. Luigi hadn’t really thought about it before, but while he was in the kitchen or doting around the house with their mom, that usually left Mario to hang out with their dad. While Luigi was hearing their mom’s soft encouragement, Mario was left hearing… Luigi couldn’t even imagine the things he’d had to listen to over the years.

“Mario,” Luigi said slowly, the smile long since falling from his face. “I am so sorry.”

His brother’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears, and his voice was hoarse and quiet when he rasped out his next words. “What if he’s right?”

Before Luigi could even tell him how wrong he was, Mario’s face crumpled. He tried to hide behind his hands, curling in on himself where he sat as he choked out the first, miserable sob. It sent a fracture through Luigi’s body, tearing him in half, and he pulled his brother as close to his side as possible given the bars that separated their legs. It didn’t feel close enough. Luigi wasn’t sure he could keep Mario from falling apart. He didn’t feel strong enough. Nothing felt like it could be enough to make this better.

He could try, at least. Mario had his face buried in Luigi’s chest, so Luigi rested his own face on his brother’s crown. “He isn’t right,” he said softly, the words getting lost beneath Mario’s crying. He shuddered violently beneath him with every ragged breath he drew in, and Luigi could feel fingers curling into the front of his shirt, holding tight in desperation. He held his brother tighter, wishing it would calm him down. Mario sounded wrecked, every sob more broken and painful than the last, and each one hurting Luigi more and more.

This wasn’t working. Desperate to find something that would work, Luigi fought against his every instinct and pushed Mario away. He had to use force when his brother tried clinging to him, and the hurt and confusion in Mario’s eyes lasted only a moment before Luigi grabbed him by the face and pulled their foreheads together. His brother’s breath was warm on his face as he hiccupped through more tears.

“Listen to me,” he ordered, surprised by the strength in his own voice. He wasn’t sure where it came from—he certainly didn’t feel strong at the moment. Mario seemed to be paying attention, though. His crying softened slightly, and he watched Luigi with wide, tearful eyes. “Dad’s not right,” he continued. “You have never brought me down—not even close. Everything good in my life has been because of you, because you gave me the strength to do it. We do things together because we bring out the best in each other, not because we’re bringing each other down.” Mario’s face was screwed up tightly with emotion again, but Luigi could see the misery fading fast. “And the bad things that have happened?” He smiled. “Team effort. Give me some credit, huh?” That earned a wet laugh from Mario, which Luigi counted as a win.

He tried pulling away, but Mario followed, keeping their foreheads pressed tightly together. Luigi watched his brother close his eyes and take a few long, deep breaths as his tears subsided. When he seemed more composed, Mario pulled back.

“Thanks,” he said softly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Luigi frowned, taking in his brother’s splotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. He wondered how long their dad’s words had left him feeling like this. Had this been building their entire lives? Had it been underlying every one of Mario’s decisions, filling him with the sense that he was making the wrong choice every time?

“Mario…” Luigi bit his lip, picking his words carefully. “Dad can be kind of harsh sometimes, but he’s not cruel.”

“No, I know he doesn’t mean it,” Mario said with a shrug.

“I just mean… He might not say things like that to you if he knew how it was making you feel,” he explained.

“Probably,” Mario said, chuckling. “But it’s fine; you know how Dad is.”

Luigi sighed automatically, turning his face away so Mario wouldn’t see the disappointment in his eyes. He should have known Mario wouldn’t be willing to speak with their dad about it. He wasn’t willing to speak with anyone about anything.

“Lou?” Mario said. “What’s wrong?”

Luigi shook his head. “It’s nothing, sorry.” He pushed away the subtle anger that scratched at the back of his mind. Mario didn’t have to speak about anything he didn’t want to. Maybe it wasn’t fair for Luigi to have to keep his secrets, but it was fine.

“It’s not nothing, come on,” Mario tried again. Luigi felt his hand grab his shoulder, trying to turn him so they would face each other. Luigi tried shrugging him off, but he held firm. “Weegee.” Now that wasn’t fair, using the nickname that pulled at his heart strings every time. Luigi finally turned to look at him. “Talk to me,” Mario said. “Please.”

And wouldn’t that be ironic if Luigi refused? He paused, trying to think of the right thing to say, turning the words over in his mind to figure out how best to phrase it. He didn’t want to hurt Mario. He felt like anything he tried to say might push his brother into another dark place, and that wasn’t something he wanted to be responsible for. Maybe it would be easier for both of them to just keep quiet and keep his secrets.

But then again, if Mario knew how he was making Luigi feel, things might be different.

“It feels like you don’t really have anyone to talk to about this stuff,” he started. “Other than me and your therapist, it seems like you don’t share much with anyone. What about our friends and family? Why don’t you talk to them?”

Mario gestured vaguely. “I don’t know, it’s just… Hard, I guess.” He picked absently at his gloves. “I’ll probably tell them someday.”

Someday. That could mean anything. That could mean years down the line. That could mean years of keeping these secrets. Luigi wasn’t sure he could do that.

“I don’t have anyone I can talk to about this stuff,” he tried instead. He didn’t want his brother to feel guilty, but maybe he needed to know. “Mario, I was really worried about you today, and I couldn’t tell anyone that it was because I thought you might have hurt yourself.” Mario flinched, but he didn’t turn away. “It’s not my story to tell, but it’s hard not being able to talk about it. I think I need to talk about it.”

Mario swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, I get that,” he said quietly.

“I almost told Peach,” Luigi continued, stopping when he saw the fear in his brother’s eyes. “I didn’t. I promise.” He was suddenly glad that he hadn’t, unsure if Mario would have been able to handle it. Frustration settled in his gut. “Would it really be so bad if she knew? If Mom and Dad knew?”

Mario finally turned away, resting his forehead on the bars in front of him. He was quiet for a long time, hardly moving a muscle, and Luigi was almost afraid he wasn’t going to speak at all.

“It’s really embarrassing, Lou,” Mario said.

“They’ll still love you,” Luigi said.

“They’ll look at me different.”

“And they’ll still love you.”

Mario tilted his head to glance over at Luigi, hope lining his features.

“I still love you,” Luigi reminded him. Mario closed his eyes for a moment, and Luigi could hear him let out a soft, shaky breath.

“I love you, too,” Mario whispered. He cleared his throat and leaned back, voice coming out stronger than before. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was hurting you.” Mario looked guilty, but Luigi didn’t think he looked as broken as he feared he would be. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Peach is your friend,” Mario continued. “You should be able to talk to her. Just…” Mario glanced at him nervously. “Let me tell her first, yeah?”

“Of course,” Luigi agreed. He already felt the coil in his stomach unwinding at the thought.

Mario sighed deeply. “And I want to tell Mom and Dad. I really did try…” He trailed off, and Luigi could hear the remorse in his tone.

“We can tell them together,” he offered.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Luigi said, bumping his shoulder against Mario’s. “We gotta tell them about me, anyway, so let’s just wait until we can go together.” Mario seemed comforted by the idea, and Luigi felt a sense of relief wash through him.

He looked down at his lap, and Luigi suddenly realized he still had ahold of Mario’s hat. He grabbed it and plopped it onto his brother’s head, twisting it into place until it looked right. “Much better,” he said, admiring his handy work.

“Thank you,” Mario said. The smile that crossed Mario’s face felt more genuine than he’d seen in a while.

Luigi sighed contentedly. “Should we get to bed?” He had almost forgotten how late it was.

Mario turned away to look through the balcony bars. He hummed thoughtfully. “I might stay here a bit longer,” he said. The smile hadn’t left his face yet, growing soft as his eyes travelled up and across the night sky. “We don’t get stars like this in Brooklyn,” he said wistfully.

Luigi looked up, and he realized his brother was right—he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed before. The sky was filled with thousands of tiny, twinkling lights, dusting the world around them to the farthest horizon. It was beautiful.

“Do you need help getting to bed?” Mario asked.

“No,” Luigi said. He leaned back, bracing his hands behind him so he could stare up at the sky. “I think I’ll stay a while, too.”

Mario didn’t reply, but Luigi could see him settle in from the corner of his eye. The air was still and quiet around them, but there was something different about it. It felt promising and peaceful. It felt right, finally having Mario back at his side. Luigi gazed across the star-lined sky, turning his face to the moon, and he couldn’t help but feel like things were finally changing for the better.

It was beautiful.