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Mario turns the red cap in his hands, studying every stitch carefully as if somehow memorizing every single crease and fingerprint could somehow bring the green duplicate and its owner back to him, right next to him so that he could hug him tightly and never let him go.
“Thinking about your brother?”
Mario looks up, eyes wide and he can feel the blue sparkling with all the emotions behind them. Hurt, anger, worry, regret–all he had wanted to do was save Brooklyn from a flood, and now he’s having to save his brother from a pyromaniacal turtle.
He doesn’t release his grip on the cap. “We’ve never been apart this long.”
And there it was–the truth he didn’t want to admit; what would break him if he had to continue to do this forever, and Mario never planned on that. They were twins, an automatic package deal. There was no Mario without Luigi. For that to happen there would have to be an anomaly in the universe, an imbalance in time. For one twin to exist without the other would simply be physically impossible. Mario had never even stopped to think about what he would do without Luigi, because it wasn’t like he could just . . . stop existing completely, which is what he would want to do if he ever had to live without his little brother. He’s older, so he goes first–that’s just how his logic works.
“We’re going to save him.”
Mario looks at her in wonder, and he can feel his cheeks turn red. He’s not sure why–so at first he just brushed it off as maybe he felt slightly guilty for dragging her to do this when all she wanted to do was save her kingdom, and all he’s doing is adding an extra stop. But he doesn’t know his way around this . . . new world.
“You’re in luck. I’m on my way to stop him.” she had told him when he explained his situation, and after she had told him that his brother was eventually inevitably going to be captured by something–or someone–called Bowser.
“Well, take me with you!”
“This guy is a lunatic, a psycho . He will eat you for breakfast.”
“. . . you are gonna help me find my brother.”
He paused, trying to read the expression on her face. Impressed? Offended? Both?
She just shrugged, expression changing. “Okay.” she said simply. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
“Is that a yes?” he had asked hopefully, watching her walk off.
“No. That’s a ‘let’s see what you’re made of’.”
He felt as confused then as he does now. He’s still not sure he knows what he’s made of. He vaguely wonders what his dad would think if he were here. Would he be proud? Disappointed at him for losing his brother in the first place? What was he made of?
Mario abandons his small rock for a different, taller one. For some reason, he’s really hot and wants to sit as far away from the fire as possible. He wonders if the field of glowing flowers that grants the power to shoot fireballs from bare hands has anything to do with it, but the princess and Toad don’t seem to be bothered by it, so he doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s just because he’s not from here . . . but the princess doesn’t seem like she’s from here, either .
He pulls his cap off his head once again and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, shocked when it comes back wet and gross. He fans himself with his cap as he tries to focus on the beautiful view in front of him, the stars glowing brightly, the sky clear and moon clear as crystals while the flowers shine and dance in the small breeze.
The small breeze that does nothing to ease Mario of the amount of heat he’s feeling right now.
Spike used to work them to death in dangerous conditions and yet he never felt as hot as he does right now. He didn’t even feel this hot when a heatwave crashed over Brooklyn one summer and their heater decided to go out for a week. He felt like his Ma scrambled him up and seasoned him with spices and stuck him in the oven at a thousand degrees. Except hotter.
So. Hot.
“Hey, Toad?” he asks, and Toad turns to him.
“Yeah, Mario?” he asks, then chuckles a bit. “Hey, what d’ya know? Your face matches your cap.”
Peach turns to him, and her eyes immediately widen.
“Mario!” she says, running to him. “Why are you so red?”
“Hot,” he breathes. “you guys aren’t hot?”
“No,” Toad says, sounding confused. “it’s kind of chilly out here, actually.”
Mario nods. “Oh,” he replies. “do you have any water?”
Toad shakes his head. “No. But maybe we could find an ice flower?”
“Yes. Good idea.” Peach says. She grabs Mario by the arm and hauls him off the rock.
“Hey!” he protests, but still he lets her drag him towards the tree and sits him up against it, but far enough away from the fire that it couldn’t do anything to make it worse.
Mario’s eyes flicker down to the red hat still in his hands, now wet and sloppy from the sweat escaping through his gloves. He listens to the constand rustling of weeds and flowers as Peach and Toad search fervently for something called an ice flower as he turns the cap in his hands and traces the M shaped stitch with his index finger.
He’d worn that M stitch atop his head all his life.
Mamma Mia , he thinks, suddenly the gross sewer water doesn’t seem so bad.
Well, when he wished for water, his wish certainly came true. But he wished he had listened when people told him to be careful what he wished for, because falling off of a floating road made of glass rainbow and into a deep ocean below only to be swallowed by an enormous pink eel was not the way he pictured it.
“Yeah, well, at least your brother isn’t gonna die because of you.”
“Yeah? Well at least you’re not gonna die with your dad thinking you’re a joke.”
“My dad thinks I’m a joke, too.”
“Yeah . . . well, your dad’s right! I’ve never met your dad, but he sounds like a genius!”
Both Luigi and his dad would be so disappointed in him right now. And now, because Mario was slowly going to be digested by an eel next to a giant talking monkey.
Idiot in overalls.
He stares off into space for a moment, and then his head feels like he’s got a brain freeze so bad his brain will split in two.
“Finally, mercy,” one voice– his –turns into three.
And then another one, clear as day:
“Mario . . .”
Mario pulls the cap off his head once more and clenches it tightly, wrenching it in between his fingers and palms like his heart was doing between his ribs.
He’s twenty four and all he wants is to have his little brother safe in his arms again.
The eel belches and it sends both him and Donkey Kong forwards and they barrel into a . . . well, a barrel.
Mario looks at Donkey Kong and the latter looks back at him, and the two share a look.
It takes a few tries, but eventually the weaponized barrel takes off and the pink eel belches them up like they were spicy food as it shoots over the surface of the water.
They’re off and flying, and Mario is once again both hopeful and desperate to save his brother, all the water he hadn’t wished for below him.