Chapter Text
Guards scattered as the castle doors burst open, Toads raising their spears in battle stances until they recognized the person disturbing their peace and quickly transitioned from alarm to concern.
"Master Luigi?"
The younger twin ignored the calls sent his way, stumbling into one of Peach's more secluded gardens before falling to his knees, not even caring if the guards had followed closely enough to witness his tears.
For several moments, he could only choke on muffled sobs, hands shaking as they covered his face. Someone must have gone and told someone about the scene he was putting on, because not even a full minute later, gentle hands were resting on his shoulders and he caught the scent of cherry blossoms and vanilla.
"...He's going to be fine."
Her words stimulated another wave of nausea and he bent forward, leaning his forehead into the grass.
"My fault-"
"No," her tone was firm. "In fact, he was very insistent upon that. He would be out here, himself, if they'd let him out of the bed, but as it is, he told me to keep repeating that it wasn't your fault until you believed it."
Luigi shook his head, grinding the dirt into his skin and pulling up grass blades in his clenching fists as he swallowed down bile.
"You weren't there," he breathed. "You didn't see me freeze...Jumped in front of me...Took the hit."
"He's fine."
Peach circled around him, pulling him up to look her in the eye and cupping his tear-stained face.
"It looks far worse than it is, and you don't have to just take my word for it. Every doctor and nurse in there commented about how lucky he was-"
"Lucky?! That wasn't lucky! He scares me to death! He does this every time there's any danger and I can't live like this anymore! I can't live knowing that he'll make sure I come home, even if the price is that he doesn't! He was bleeding!"
The plumber practically keened out the word.
"So much! He couldn't even talk to me! He just kept doing this weird gasping thing the whole time I brought him back here!"
A glance down at his stained sleeves had his head spinning and he next found himself lying on his side, the grass tickling his nose while the princess leaned over him, her eyes deeply concerned.
"Breathe," she urged. "Just breathe, Luigi. You're all right. Your brother is absolutely fine. He's had several mushrooms and is already thinking of ways to escape the hospital wing; he's fine."
"...Should've been me-"
"Don't you dare say that-"
"It's true," he whispered, the memory leaking into his mind like a steady drip of poison. "...Aiming for me."
"If it had been you, Mario wouldn't have even been able to function. He would have flown off the handle. You know very well that he needs you more than he needs to be safe, and I need you to continue to be the reasonable one. For Heaven's sake, Luigi, I count on you. You have to make sure he doesn't get himself killed, and you can't do that if you're the one lying in a sick bed!"
She sat back on her heels, her face somber and pinched.
"I never told you this, but the last time it was you, he left for two days after he brought you home. Vanished...Came home angry and bloody. He wouldn't even tell me what he did to the creature that hurt you, but I knew." Her breath caught. "I knew what came back was a darker person than who left, and that can't happen again; do you understand?"
Luigi blinked up at her, almost unable to reconcile the joyful brother he had woken to with the image Peach was painting. He hadn't detected a spot of forensic evidence lingering on his twin—only relief and fading fear, but now that he recalled those memories, he was also reminded of how the princess had stood in the corner, watching—certainly relieved but...also disturbed.
Had Mario breached his own morals, just for the sake of revenge? If so, then Luigi had caused him even more damage than he had been able to record physically.
He couldn't dwell on that now.
"Peach," he licked his lips, "w-when can I take him home?"
His best friend smiled at him, helping him to his feet and having the grace to pretend that the hand she wrapped around his arm was for the sake of steadying her own steps.
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know. You said that."
"Well, it wasn't."
"...Go to sleep."
"Not until you go to bed, too. Peach told me how upset you got when you ran off. I honestly thought you were gonna end up in the bed next to me."
"Don't joke about that! It's not funny!"
Mario lifted his arms, looking around.
"Do you see anybody laughing? I'm serious! I'm worried about you!"
"Why?"
"Why?"
The younger brother sat down on his bed, turning his face away from his brother's indignation.
With a grunt that told of mild pain and scantly-leaking bandages, Mario rose from his side of their room and took a seat beside his twin, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close.
"Look at me."
Luigi took great pains to blink the moisture out of his eyes before he obeyed, but Mario still reached out a thumb and caught the rogue tear. Tipping forward, he pressed their foreheads together, laying a hand over the younger twin's heart and forcing it to recognize its other half's plea to slow down.
"...I will never, ever blame you for this—not ever. There's nothing you could do that would ever make me resent you. If I get hurt while protecting you, that's my choice; you understand me? Don't you dare disregard how much I love you by trying to make this your fault."
"I froze-"
"You're not a warrior, you're a plumber. I'm the one who called you a hero, but you're the one who thinks you still have to do something extraordinary to prove me right."
Luigi sniffed, gaze falling down to the pink-tinged gauze wrapped around his brother's torso.
"Please, just let me feel guilty," he whispered, brushing gentle fingers over those mocking bandages. "I need to learn from this. I need to remember it and be better next time...You could've died, and it would've been my fault."
"Technically, it would've been my fault. I'm the one who stepped in front of you."
"Next time," the younger twin's throat closed painfully, "...next time...please don't do that again. You've done it so many times! Just let me take my own consequences."
The fingers pressing over his heart clenched slightly.
"I can't do that. I'm not even-...No, Lu. Just no. You can't expect me to not put you first, so don't ask me not to do something that's more reflexive than breathing."
"You hurt me when you did this."
Luigi met his brother's eyes, his own burning with more than tears.
"You realize that? You hurt me so much more than it would've if I'd just taken that thing's claws in the gut! How would you like it if I did to you what you've put me through at least ten times by now?!"
For a moment, devastation flashed in Mario's eyes, but then anger seeped in through the cracks of his composure and he straightened up, speaking the facts coldly.
"You can't ask me not to do it again. If the same situation happens tomorrow, I will do it again, and I don't care how you feel about it. However, if you even think about doing the same thing I did, you're staying home; you're never coming with me again-"
"You're such a hypocrite!"
"I know," the eldest conceded with an unapologetic shrug. "So what? Too bad for you, I guess. What're you gonna do about it?"
"I-...I-..."
Mario leaned in, a playful smile on his lips.
"I'm waiting for the comeback of the century, Fratellino."
The hand planted on his face did little to push him away.
"Just-...Just go to bed!"
"You first."
The green twin shoved himself to his feet, making sure to grab his pillow and give his brother an indisputably-justified smack over the head before throwing it his face and storming out of their bedroom, slamming the door before heading out the back and down the path that led to a shallow stream—his usual escape when this frustrated. Mario, of course, knew of his favorite spot to sit and simmer—the stump hidden behind the hill—but thankfully, he recognized the younger one's need for solitude in that current moment.
Luigi buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with the grief and fear that just wouldn't let him go. If that thing had cut just slightly deeper, he would have been bringing home a corpse, and Mario was sitting in there making jokes.
Next time, he may not be spared, and the knowledge that there would inevitably be a "next time" caused nausea to rise up in his throat and tears to burn the backs of his eyes.
Mario's protective nature just made him so reckless, and he wouldn't even apologize for the daily burden he placed on his little brother, to constantly be reminded that he may someday cause the death of his other, better half just by the one simple truth that he was loved more than he was skilled.
In a bout of anger, he snatched up a rock and threw it into the stream, disturbing the gentle peace and causing the same kind of turbulent ripples in nature that were currently tearing through his mind.
"He needs you more than he needs to be safe," Peach had said. "I need you to be the reasonable one. You have to make sure he doesn't get himself killed."
Fingers dragging down his eyes and pressing against his mouth, he sat for several moments in thought. Perhaps it would be better if he didn't accompany his twin when he left the house. Perhaps he was more of a distraction than a help, given that Mario had made it quite clear since they moved to the Mushroom Kingdom, and honestly even long before then, that he would rather bleed or die than see his brother get hurt.
The ringing in his ears returned and he covered them, breathing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut.
Could he take it, though? Infinite waiting? Hourly wondering? Would it even be worth the sacrifice if Mario came home to a sibling who had succumbed to a stress-induced heart attack in his absence?
No...No, he couldn't let his twin go alone, but he also couldn't let this keep happening. However, hoping for a change in his own character—hoping someone would stir some courage into a recipe that didn't call for it—wasn't a reliable-enough solution. He needed his sibling to focus on keeping himself alive, not his useless brother.
"I need you to be the reasonable one."
A thought occurred...A horrible, horrible thought struck him like a bolt and he choked on air.
"You have to make sure he doesn't get himself killed."
Could he carry through with it?
The very idea made him ill.
"If the same situation happens tomorrow, I will do it again, and I don't care how you feel about it."
...Did he have a choice?
A herd of Goombas scattered as he approached, a few Koopas chittered at each other, likely laughing at his expense, but he wasn't here for that. He kept an eye on the stragglers, knowing he would need to intercept anyone who had the mind to run off and tell Bowser he was there, but no one seemed inclined, which was somewhat insulting, but also understandable. It's not like Mario had ventured into the Darklands, threatening the fragile suggestion of a peace treaty in pursuit of a certain Magikoopa who lacked enough compassion to allow him to cast a heartless spell.
The Koopa's description and general known location were already fading on his sweaty palm, courtesy of "Old Pleurotus," who just happened to live in the house directly behind them and who was also gifted an encyclopedic memory of the dirt on anyone who had ever crossed his path. Though he now devoted his aging years to falling asleep on his porch, trying to catch "that ramperscamp who keeps ringing the doorbell," and fighting with the HOA about the Piranha Plants he grew in his front yard, the centurial Toad still happily traded his stories in exchange for showing even the mildest interest.
Though his instructions had now dissolved to no more than "market—west wilds" and "ink-stained birthmark," Luigi vowed to spend more afternoons with his neighbor, listening to his stories and providing some company in exchange for his help.
Their flea market catered to the nocturnal, which worked out in his favor. Mario was still in bed, soothed to sleep by his twin's careful snoring and giving Luigi the signal that it was safe to move only when his brother's heavy breaths fell in perfect time with his own.
A shady-looking Magikoopa sat in a stall off to the right of the others, beads and shiny stones lined up along his rickety kiosk as he played with his nails, watching Luigi from under his hood as the younger twin carefully approached, stepping close enough to trace his eyes across the plum-colored birthmark that reached across the entirety of one of his arms.
"Don't get your kind here too often," the magician spoke in a raspy voice. "Wares are priced up for mustachioued humans."
"I-I'm not looking to buy."
Luigi cleared his throat of its shakiness, clutching one overall strap in a sweaty grip.
"...I-I want a spell. Are you R-Rencoro? Is that your name?"
The Koopa's eyes gleamed in the torchlight, staring at him in silence for a few moments.
"Speak more."
He took a shuddering breath, surprised he had even gotten this far as his eyes darted around, but no one else was paying him any further attention. He just wasn't a big enough threat for them to bother.
"I want a s-spell cast on my b-brother. I-..."
The words caught in his throat, his heart twisting in rejection, but he couldn't be selfish. He had nothing of value to offer his brother but this, and no matter the cost to himself, he would see it through.
"...I want-...I-I-"
"Spit it out, Boy."
Deep breaths.
Do it for Mario.
"...I-I want you-..."
'Do it for Mario.'
"...I want you to take away my brother's love for me."
More moments passed.
The vendor continued to stare, tilting his head slightly in consideration while Luigi actively tried to stop himself from throwing up, now that the words were out.
"Speak more."
A tremulous breath.
A force of will to stay strong.
'Do it for Mario.'
"...I w-want you to...to leave everything about my brother the same...except for how he feels about me...I don't want anything else about him to change; not his memories—nothing, just...I-I don't want him to love me, anymore."
"Are you under duress?"
He swallowed the knife in his throat.
'Do it for Mario.'
"...No."
"Is this in jest?"
"No. This is real. I have gold."
For proof, he uncovered a heavy sack of coins previously hidden under his own cloak.
"Can you do it?"
"That is not the right question."
He ground his teeth. As if this weren't hard enough already.
"Will you do it?"
After a minute, the old, clawed hand reached out for the bag, but Luigi pulled it away.
"I want an answer first. Can you do what I asked?"
The Magikoopa grinned crookedly, entwining his fingers and laying them atop his warped, wooden counter, eyes dark with malicious glee.
"I can do anything, for the right price."
"How much do you want?"
"Not in gold. I want words."
"...Words?"
Reaching under his desk, Rencoro withdrew a cracked crystal ball, swirling with what looked like trapped quotes written in passing sentences floating within the abyss. Luigi didn't dare step closer to try to read any of them, but a shiver ran down his spine.
"I deal in the heart, not the mind," the vendor supplied, running a claw over the fractured glass. "My price is something that means something to you—a phrase you'll never utter again, trapped forever within my keeping."
Luigi blinked, moving back a step as fear spiked within him.
"Why?"
"What does it matter to you? I can do what you ask, but my price is your words."
Tipping his head down, a small smile touched his lips.
"...I think you know what phrase I want."
The plumber shook his head.
"No, I-"
"The one you say more than any other—the one that formed this idea of yours and the one that brought you to my shop. Give it to me."
He knew. Of course he knew. In hindsight, the price was reasonable and wouldn't even matter anymore to a person who would never again feel inclined to say it back, so why did it hurt so much?
'Do it for Mario.'
Closing his eyes, he spoke his favorite words for the last time, feeling them more acutely than he ever had before.
"...I-...I love you, Mario."
The sentence left his lips and manifested the phrase in written words that hovered between them for a moment before sinking into the Magikoopa's trap, lost forever in a sea of stolen endearments.
Luigi panted, feeling the absence so sharply, but he swallowed down his grief and carried forward.
'Do it for Mario.'
"Our bargain?"
With a snap of his fingers, the creature reached out a purple-stained claw, the human hesitating only for a second before clasping it and promptly dropping to his knees in agony as what felt like a burning brand pressed into his palm.
He ripped his hand away with a cry, staring down at the circular sigils now charred into his skin.
"Is-...Is that it?"
By the time he caught his breath and looked up, the Koopa was gone.
The house was dark when Luigi returned home, having spent the entire journey back poking at the burned skin of his palm and choking around the stolen set of words that refused to leave his lips, no matter how hard he tried or how many tears escaped in his failed attempts.
A heavy weight sat in his heart and he did his best to soothe it with the repetition that he had done what had to be done to keep Mario safe. He knew, after the idea had struck, that he wouldn't be able to wait a day and witness again what he would be losing, or else he never would have had the strength to carry through with it.
Rash? Yes.
Necessary? Absolutely.
The absolute hardest thing he had ever done in his entire life? Yes, again. Without comparison.
Numbly, he went about his normal morning tasks, brewing the coffee and starting on the pancakes while letting his brother sleep the additional half-hour that he always protested, but also deserved and often needed. Breakfast would be ready by the time he came down.
He winced when his palm gripped the pan handle, but pinched his lips and blinked the tears out of his eyes at the reminder of what he had done. There was no going back and he could at least live with the knowledge that, for once in his life, he had finally been brave.
Forty-five minutes passed before he ran out of delays and slowly climbed the stairs towards their bedroom, his feet growing heavier with each step and hands shaking as he pushed open the door.
Mario was lying on his side, facing away from Luigi's bed and snoring out of sync with his twin's troubled breaths.
The younger brother carefully approached, feeling that sinking feeling in his stomach so much more acutely now that he was looking down at the person he loved most—the person who would never again share the sentiment that Luigi could no longer express in words.
As he reached out to brush his twin's hair out of his eyes, a wave of regret nearly brought him to his knees, but just as he was about to sprint out that door and beg the Magikoopa to reverse the whole thing, his brother turned in his sleep, wincing a little as a few drops of fresh blood stained the bandage wrapped around his middle.
Luigi sucked in a breath, hand moving on its own as he laid his burned palm over the new red seepage, strengthening his resolve once more as his twin's blood met the sigils he had scarred into his skin.
"...M-Mario?"
He shook his sibling gently, smiling tremulously at the predictable groan of protest and uncoordinated batting at his hand.
"C'mon, Bro. I let you sleep long enough. I have pancakes ready."
"Mmph...p'ncakes?"
The red twin rose upwards like a mummy sitting up out of its sarcophagus, called back to the living world by the promise of something important enough to rouse it.
Mario rubbed at his eyes groggily.
"Y' made p'ncakes?"
"Of course. I always make pancakes on Fridays."
A furrow appeared between his brows and he blinked a few times, messy hair growing fluffier as he ran a hand through it.
"...'t's Saturday."
Luigi fiddled with his fingers, kicking himself for forgetting that it was Saturday and that Saturday was French toast day.
"No French toast?"
"N-No...Sorry, Mario, I forgot it was Saturday."
"It's okay," the older twin stretched with a yawn, smiling at him, but it lacked something it had before. "'M not gonna kick you outta the house for not reading the calendar."
"Th-That's good."
Luigi watched him move around stiffly, groaning when his side was pulled just the wrong way. He immediately stepped forward to help but was waved off.
"I'm okay," Mario insisted gently, pulling one of his more baggy shirts out of the drawer. "It just hurts, but what else can I expect? That thing cut deep."
"We have more mushrooms-"
"I already had my fill of mushrooms. Doc said they've done all they can, so the rest of this is just gonna have to heal on its own. Never mind that, though," he smiled, pulling the oversized shirt over his head. "You've officially talked me into pancakes, so let’s get at them."
Luigi returned a shaky smile, looking towards the door and convincing himself that he could live this way. Mario wasn't treating him coldly, as he had feared. He obviously kept his memories intact, even if he hadn't yet realized something subtle was missing in their interactions. Maybe-
His wrist was snagged, jerking him out of his thoughts as Mario frowned down at his burned palm.
"What did you do to your hand?"
"Oh! I-I-...I burned it."
Not technically a lie.
The older twin continued to scowl, tracing a finger over the odd shapes and opening his mouth to keep questioning, but he seemed to change his mind right before the words could leave and instead, released his brother.
"Looks like it hurt. You've gotta be more careful, Luigi."
"I-...I know."
A simple nod of approval, and Mario was making his way down the stairs without another word.
No nickname. No fussing. No badgering for details. No insistence of a mushroom or offer of a soothing balm.
'Do it for Mario.'
He kept his tears at bay and followed his twin into the kitchen.
"Mario?"
"Hm?"
The older twin didn't look up from his plate and Luigi fiddled with his fork, having not even taken a single bite of his own breakfast, not that his brother noticed.
Or if he did, he didn't say anything.
"...You feel okay?"
Finally, a glance up—their first eye contact since they sat down.
"Yeah," he shrugged, returning to his coffee. "I mean, my stomach hurts, but like I said, what else can I expect?"
Time to test this. Luigi gathered what little courage he could claim for his own and took a deep breath.
"Last night you said you'd do what you did again...Do you s-see now why I was so mad at you?"
Mario spent several seconds chewing, reexamining their previous conversation through a lens of logic rather than emotion.
"...I mean, I'm not gonna apologize for protecting you, if that's what you're getting at."
Luigi slumped in his seat, about to protest when his brother continued.
"But I get the point you were trying to get me to see yesterday. I wouldn't like it if you did what I did, so I guess it's only fair that you got mad at me. We both just need to be better so that this doesn't happen again. I'll help you train so that you don't freeze next time, okay?"
"What about..." he couldn't help it anymore, "me? Do you feel different about me?"
He had to know that this new feeling was just indifference—not hatred or contempt.
Mario set his fork down, frowning at him.
"Do you feel okay?"
"...No."
"What's wrong?"
"...I lo- lo-..."
He couldn't say it, not then and not now. The replacement that tumbled out was pathetic.
"I like you."
His brother continued to stare at him, looking concerned and baffled and about two seconds away from calling for medical help.
"Uh, thanks? Very moving, Luigi. I like you, too."
"Do you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He was getting frustrated, his temper apparently now as short with Luigi as it once just was with everyone else.
"Do you like me?"
"Is that some sort of trick question? Do you have a bet going with Peach or something?"
"I wanna know. Do you...love me?"
Mario gaped, opening and closing his mouth as he stopped the immediate affirmation he was about to say and looked his brother up and down, like he was taking new information into consideration and coming to conclusions that had eluded him up until that very moment.
"I-...Of course I love you."
He frowned through the words, like they tasted wrong on his tongue, and he shook his head, taking a too-big gulp of hot coffee.
"Don't ask me dumb questions," he snapped out in a raspy voice as soon as his mouth stopped burning. "I love you. I've always loved you and you know that, so why are you baiting me?"
"I'm not baiting you-"
"Yes, you are, and I don't like it. Can we just have a peaceful morning, please? Is that too much to ask?"
"...No."
"Thank you."
He picked up the newspaper, snapping it pointedly and making sure to position it in a way that blocked his brother's face from view.
Luigi stared down at his cold pancakes, having received the answer to his question.
He wasn't hungry anymore.
~TO BE CONTINUED~