Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I officially hate dogs.”

“Understandable.”

The day had started off so well, but now Mario was a little grumpy. The commercial he and Luigi had made for their new plumbing company aired on TV this morning, and even after Spike made fun of them, they actually got a call. Mario couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he showed him the nice 5-star review the rich couple would eventually post on their website. For a minute, it actually felt like this crazy idea of theirs to drop everything and start a plumbing company of their own was going to work out. 

And then what happened? Their very first clients’ stupid dog attacked them before they could leave the bathroom, and nearly tore Mario’s arm off.

“Mario, do something!”

Everything happened so fast. At the sound of his brother in distress, Mario just reacted on instinct. He didn’t think, he just acted. So he reached over and threw the first thing he could get his fingers around. Then loud barking and sharp teeth coming right for him–

Pain exploded in his arm as the thing grabbed hold  with brutal force and wouldn’t let go. He and the deranged mutt literally played tug of war with his own limb for a few terrifying moments. Tears stung Mario’s eyes as he felt flesh tearing and blood seeping. He cried and screamed and kicked and pulled, but the thing wouldn’t let him go. 

But suddenly he did. The dog recoiled and squealed in pain. Luigi had whacked it in the head with one of their wrenches. 

Mario sat there dazed for a moment, before Luigi grabbed his good arm and hauled him out of the shower like a rag doll, closing the glass door behind them. 

Then the only thing that could be heard was Mario’s ragged, pained breaths. His face crumpled and tears smeared his face as he struggled not to sob against the suffocating pain above his elbow. Then a sickening wave of dizziness engulfed him and the edges of his vision started to go dark. He groaned in agony, stumbling into Luigi, who clearly hadn’t quite registered the battered state his brother was in. 

He felt Luigi catch him under the arms before everything else went dark. 

“Mario!”

Now they were in urgent care wasting valuable time when they could be answering more calls, and not only was Mario hurting and miserable, but he felt like the biggest idiot in the world. Maybe his family and Spike had all been right; maybe this really was a bad idea. 

The homeowners had been absolutely mortified, and almost got into a lover’s quarrel right in front of them. Apparently the husband had kept trying to tell his wife that her dog was indeed aggressive towards certain people, but she had always denied it. Apparently it had been an ongoing thing. Nonetheless, they were nice enough to let the brothers use their first aid kit, provide them with a sheet verifying the dog’s up-to-date vaccination status, and a fat cheque to cover any medical expenses. The whole thing still sucked, but the couple helped them as best they could.

Mario hadn’t come here of his own free will. Luigi had practically dragged him by his hair after they finished washing the wound at the couple’s house. But he had to admit, the bite was pretty bad. A lot of skin had been torn when he’d tried to wrench his arm out of the dog’s mouth, and some of the gashes were fairly deep. It still hadn’t stopped bleeding by the time they walked in, and the triage nurse had to wrap it with a pressure bandage temporarily until a room opened up and they could clean and dress it properly. It still hurt like hell, but at least he didn’t have to try to staunch the blood flow anymore.

“And I still hate you for bringing me here.”

“For the tenth time, you can’t just leave a bad dog bite like that.” Luigi rolled his eyes, not looking up from his game of Candy Crush on his shattered phone. 

“Why not? We cleaned it.”

“We’re not professionals, dimwit, and those bites get infected super easily. Dog’s mouths are full of germs.”

“Great.”

“And after the way you fainted on me, you were coming here no matter what.”

Mario only grumbled in response. He glanced over at his brother, who went back to his game like nothing. He had to resist the urge to ask him how he was okay with all of this, how he wasn’t completely freaking out. 

Probably because none of this had been his idea. In fact, Luigi had briefly tried to talk him out of it, but he pushed until he gave in. He couldn’t help it; he hated working for Spike, and ever since middle school, he’d imagined being business partners with Luigi. Sure, his dad thought he was crazy, but he was sure this would work. He and Luigi were good at their jobs, and they were good with people. They were trustworthy and friendly. This had to work. 

Now they were broke, the van was busted, and one of them was already hurt. Mario sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. This was a complete and total disaster.

“What’s on your mind?”

Mario looked over, and Luigi was throwing him a concerned look, eyebrows raised. Suddenly a terrifying thought came to mind.

What if Luigi had gotten bit? Or something worse? All because Mario was so stupidly desperate for their father’s approval on something?

Mama mia. Mario’s chest panged painfully; he would never forgive himself. 

A certain memory from their childhood came to mind. It was a warm, sunny Saturday, and mom and dad had brought the brothers, seven years old at the time, out to their favourite playground for the day. Whenever it was crowded, Luigi liked to stay on the sideline and play with the blocks or in the sandbox, while Mario would compete with some of the other kids to see who could swing the highest. But if there weren’t a lot of other kids, he could get Luigi on the swings too. That time, the playground wasn’t crowded, and Luigi came on the swings with him. Mario even pushed him so he could go a bit higher. But evidently, he had pushed him too hard, because he freaked out and went flying off. Luigi had skinned both knees pretty good. And though it happened years ago, Mario still remembered how his little heart had seized listening to Luigi scream and cry. Most of all, he remembered how guilty he’d felt having been responsible for his brother’s injuries, when he was supposed to protect him and keep those things from happening. 

Right now, Mario was feeling exactly the same way. Maybe he hadn’t sent his brother flying off the swing and made him skin his knees, but he was responsible for his failure. He’d steered him wrong and dug him into a big hole that they might have to fight tooth and nail to dig themselves out of. He let him down. 

Even after he’d promised Luigi time and time again that this would work. 

His eyes started to prickle and he viciously blinked it back, turning away and praying Luigi wouldn’t notice. 

Evidently, he did anyway. He sat up, alarmed, laying a hand on Mario’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Mario shrugged away from him, standing up and pacing a few steps. He couldn’t let Luigi in on how he was feeling. He was supposed to be strong, rational, smart, and objective; he was the older one. That was his role. That was just how it had to be. There was no other choice. He would shove those feelings down and remain strong. He wouldn’t break. 

“Nothing, I’m fine. I just want to get out of here.”

It didn’t look like Luigi bought his lie, but thankfully he didn’t push it. But he wanted to, Mario could tell. “Okay, well, just hang tight. I’m sure they’ll call you back soon.”

As if on cue, a brown-haired nurse in light blue scrubs poked her head out of the hallway and called his name.

“There, see?” Luigi chuckled. 

“You couldn’t have said that, like, when we walked in?” Mario asked, standing up. When Luigi stood up to follow him, Mario shook his head.

“Uh uh, you’re staying here.” 

“Why?” Luigi practically whined. Mario was initially going to let him come, but he decided he had inconvenienced his brother enough. He had a good excuse for wanting Luigi to stay anyway.

“Need I remind you how you got that big scar on your forehead?” Mario smirked, poking at said scar. When they were teenagers, Mario once sliced his hand open trying to help their mom in the kitchen, and Luigi followed them to this same urgent care office. When they started cleaning and stitching the wound, Luigi fainted and bashed his head on the sharp corner of the counter on his way down. He ended up needing more stitches than Mario did. 

Ironically, that was another time he’d felt responsible for Luigi getting hurt. 

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” 

“Nope.” Mario grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Fine, suit yourself.” Luigi shrugged, plopping back down into his chair. “Text me if you need anything!” He said as Mario walked away.

He knew he wasn’t going to, but still, Mario lied over his shoulder. “I will.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the day went somewhat as Mario expected it to. When he finally showed up, the doctor assessed his wound and determined what Mario probably could’ve figured out himself; there was soft tissue and muscle damage and deep bruising. But since his range of motion and sensation was unaffected, there wasn’t any tendon or nerve damage. For some reason the doc felt the need to tell Mario that the dog barely missed hitting his brachial artery as well as one of his major nerves. He guessed it was his weird way of trying to make him feel better, but it just freaked him out. 

When the doc decided he’d done enough poking and prodding, he said he wanted to clean the wounds out and stitch them closed. Then he wanted Mario to get an x-ray to make sure there wasn’t any bone damage, and then he could be on his way. 

When the time came, they got Mario laying down and had him stretch his arm out on a table with a blue drape on it. He saw the big syringe full of lidocaine next to a bunch of other torture instruments and his breath seized in his chest, but Lucy saw and promised him they would be fast. He turned his head the opposite direction and practiced one of the breathing exercises Luigi had taught him before. 

He definitely regretted not bringing his brother with him, because damn, he could’ve really used a hand to squeeze. But he’d caused him enough trouble already. He was on his own. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. 

They started injecting the lidocaine then, and honestly, it was awful. He felt the pinch of the needle in his already sore and tender skin, and the lidocaine itself burned and stung, taking way too long to finally give way to a cool numbness. They put a little into every puncture and tear, and there were 11 in total. By the time they were done, Mario’s eyes were damp. Lucy, bless her, handed him a tissue without saying anything except that the worst part was over now. 

Thankfully, that was indeed the worst part. They cleaned the wounds out next, which wasn’t that bad. He felt the sting of the antiseptic in a couple of spots, but it still wasn’t as bad as the lidocaine, and it faded away before he even had a chance to react to it. Even the stitches weren’t bad; he expected them to be worse. All he felt was some pressure and tugging, but the sensations were easy enough to ignore. He just kept looking away and studied the big poster on the wall about the human skeletal system. Who knew that a person’s hands have 27 bones each?

Finally, they finished and let him sit up. 31 stitches all together. Mario squinted at them, his stomach lurching just a little, before Lucy put a clean dressing over them and forced him to stop looking. Then a new lady poked her head in the room and informed them that they had an open spot for him to get his x-ray. He hastily followed her, eager to get moving and walk some of his nerves off. 

Mario denied her offer to walk him back after they were finished, which was a stupid thing to do because he got lost almost immediately. He felt like a little kid lost in a grocery store as he looked around and tried to remember where the hell he came from. Eventually, he relented and asked the DI unit clerk for directions. Turns out he was literally right in front of the hallway he’d come from, his dumbass just couldn’t find the sign. He left in an annoyed huff and went back to the room he was in before, sitting in one of the stiff armchairs instead of on the table this time. 

Soon, Dr. Asher returned alone, holding an iPad. He said Mario’s x-ray came back normal with no signs of bone damage, which was good. The talk soon turned into a long lecture; he wanted to see Mario again in 10 days to see how it was healing and to remove the stitches. It would take a long time to heal, and he walked Mario through the best ways to help speed up the process. He would likely need physical therapy to rehab the limb, and would possibly need to see an orthopedic specialist to assess the muscle damage. Then came another lecture about the signs and symptoms of infection and sepsis and when to go to the ED; Mario did his best to pay attention, he really did, but a lot of the big words and medical jargon flew right over his head. But he gave him a small package of papers that summed everything up nicely, so he didn’t feel that bad. 

Really all he had been able to think in response was how much he now hated dogs. 

“So, are we done? Can I leave now?” Mario asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

“One last thing,” Dr. Asher looked at his tablet. “It says in here that you had your last tetanus shot when you were in the 9th grade, is that correct?”

Damn. Mario was afraid of that. 

“Yes.” He answered begrudgingly, crossing his arms. 

“Then I recommend you get a booster today, since it’s been more than 5 years.”

“Come on, it’s been 7. You can’t let me squeak by?” 

Dr. Asher pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders. “You can refuse, if you wish.”

Mario groaned. “No, I’ll get it, whatever. If it means I get to go home after.”

“Yup, that’s everything.” Dr. Asher got up to leave. “Take care, Mario. Feel better, and come back if you have any concerns.” He smiled kindly. Mario half-heartedly smiled back, and the door closed behind him. 

Mario inhaled a big breath and released it, stretching his legs and rolling his stiff neck. He was so ready to go home and jump into his bed and not leave for days. He pulled out his phone, and almost as soon as he did, a text came from Luigi.

So what’s the deal? Did they amputate?

Mario smiled and shook his head fondly, punching out a reply. No, just 31 stitches. 

I bet you’ll have some awesome scars.

I doubt it. You’re such a dork.

The dorkiest. What are you waiting for now?

Just a tetanus shot.

Uh oh, you need me to come hold your hand?

He audibly snorted. Fuck off, I’m not 6.

You sure? I think you're short enough.

Mario chuckled and sent a long string of middle finger emojis, and Luigi replied with a longer string of laughing ones. He turned his phone off, sighing quietly and putting his head back, closing his eyes. 

Mario sat there alone for long enough that he’d curled up and had just about dozed off. Finally, Lucy came back, poked him in his deltoid, gave him a brief rundown of his wound care, and finally let him go. He saw the front desk clerk and hastily scribbled his signature on the discharge form, then ran out of there before anyone else could come up with more reasons to keep him. 

He found Luigi happily snoozing away in the waiting room and couldn’t help but laugh; the guy had a gift. He could sleep anywhere. After sneakily snapping a picture to add to his ever growing collection, he woke him up and they took a cab home. 

During the ride, Luigi started talking about who they should go to about getting the van fixed. Mario had made up a lame excuse that he was tired and sore and wasn’t really up for discussing it, when in reality all he could think about was that they actually couldn’t get the van fixed right now because they didn’t have any money. And that was all because Mario had stupidly convinced Luigi to let him blow it all on their commercial. 

Which, Mario learned later that evening, wasn’t even good, as far as his family was concerned. Tony and Arthur had laughed right in his face, just like Spike had. He had tried to stick around for dinner, but after all the laughing, the mushrooms on his plate, the guys asking to see his stitches even though he kept telling them he wasn’t supposed to take the bandage off yet, and his father’s remark as the cherry on top, he left the table using the same excuse of being tired and sore and just wanting to lay down. He felt bad for being so rude, but he’d had a long and crappy day. Sue him. 

His excuse wasn’t a total lie by any means; he definitely would’ve liked to lay down and sleep, but he was a side sleeper and he doubted he’d be able to find a pain-free sleep position now that both of his arms were sore. He settled for turning the lights off and playing video games, but it still didn’t do much to distract from the words that kept running through his head. The words wrought with disdain and disappointment. 

I think you’re nuts. You don’t leave a steady job for some crazy dream. And the worst part? You’re bringing your brother down with you.

Mario growled and threw his controller down as he died yet again, turning the TV off and giving up. He rubbed at his eyes, placing his elbows on his knees, sighing in exhausted agony. There it was again, the gentle burn in his eyes, the wobble in his breath. 

Once again, Luigi managed to interrupt him when his defenses were down. He poked his head through the door of their shared bedroom, holding a plate of mushroom-less pasta and a bottle of red gatorade. Mario sat up, taking a steadying breath.

“I thought you were laying down.” Luigi smiled knowingly. 

Mario shrugged weakly. “Tried, but everything hurts.”

“Did you take some meds?” 

“Yeah, just now.” He’d taken two Advil and two Tylenol tablets after leaving the dinner table. 

“You should probably eat something, big guy,” Luigi murmured softly, using the same tone he used whenever Mario was the one hurt or knocked out with a cold. He was being so sweet, and Mario’s chest panged. “Or at least drink something.”

Luigi handed him the gatorade, and he took it, lazily taking a swig even though he wasn’t really thirsty. 

“I wish I could have something stronger than this.” Mario admitted quietly, turning away so he wouldn’t see Luigi’s reaction. He knew he really couldn’t, but still, it was the truth. Right now, all he wanted was to sit down with a bottle of his favourite white wine and drink until he couldn’t remember his own name. 

“Well, you aren’t getting anything stronger, not on my watch.” Luigi replied after a few beats, undoubtedly surprised at Mario’s remark. “You aren’t serious, are you?” 

“Relax, of course not.” Mario shook his head. 

Luigi was silent for a few more tense moments, and Mario could feel his concerned eyes boring into him. He didn’t look back; he couldn’t.

“Mario, are you sure you’re okay?” 

There was that tone of voice again, so caring, so soft. How lucky was Mario to have someone who cared about him so much? Someone who kept reaching a hand out even after he kept pushing it away?

And what had Mario done for Luigi in return? Risk his safety by taking him into a stranger’s home and almost getting him attacked by a stupid dog. All to achieve a dream that was Mario’s, not his. It wasn’t fair; Luigi deserved better. 

Unable to help himself, he cleared his throat and hid his guilt with another snotty remark. “So far. My arm hasn’t fallen off yet, but we’ll see what happens.”

“Would you–” Luigi stopped and took a frustrated breath, trying again. “Stop dodging, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Mario sighed. “And I told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Another tense silence followed. Even though he still refused to look at him, he knew exactly what Luigi was thinking, and his heart seized. He hated that he was worried, but he couldn’t let him in. This whole mess was his own fault; when he was feeling better, he would figure out how to clean it up himself. There was no other choice. 

Luigi took a breath to speak, then–

“Luigi! It’s your turn for dishes tonight!” Ma hollered from the kitchen. 

Mario hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t audible. Luigi frowned, not moving for a few moments. 

“Go on, get outta here,” Mario ushered. “Don’t make her mad.”

“Fine.” Luigi grabbed the uneaten plate of pasta with one hand–Mario had already decided he wasn’t eating it–and squeezed Mario’s shoulder with the other before sliding off the bed and heading to the door. Before closing it, he turned and looked at Mario again. 

“Just yell if you need anything, okay?” 

It was such a mindless gesture, something they said to each other in different variations all the time, but hearing it from Luigi even after all the grief he’d caused him today made him want to cry all over again. But he clenched his jaw and nodded stiffly. Luigi hesitated, worry and concern evident in his vibrant blue irises, but he ended up leaving. 

Mario inhaled and released a heavy sigh again, frustratedly rubbing at his eyes and throwing himself back on his pillows, narrowly missing bonking his head on the headboard. He hated all these damn feelings. 

Luigi should’ve been pissed at him. Mario had made him promises and hadn’t kept them. But instead he was worried about him and his well being. He truly didn’t deserve Luigi. 

Now that he knew Luigi would be occupied for enough time, he let himself have his moment. He rolled on his less sore side and curled up, pressing his hands against his face to silence the pathetic sounds he made as he cried. He was a complete and total fool for ever thinking that this would work; he felt like the worst brother in the world. 

He swiped at his face, sniffing wetly and taking a few breaths, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. This mess was his fault; he wasn’t allowed to cry about it. 

But he felt too shitty to try to fix it right now. He switched the TV to some random cop show, exhaustion and depression weighing heavy on his bones. He fixed his pillows and blankets, fidgeting for a while before he finally managed to make himself comfortable on his back. It wasn’t how he liked to sleep, but it would have to do for now. He haphazardly watched, slowly relaxing, and after 10 minutes, he was out like a light.

Chapter Text

Mario was shrunk down to the size of a pinhead, surrounded by the massive forms of Spike, his father, and that stupid dog Francis from that morning. Spike and his dad were yelling everything he had already heard from them earlier that day, and Mario cowered where he stood, feeling scared, overwhelmed, and so incredibly small. 

You’re a joke, Mario, and you always will be.

You don’t leave a steady job for some crazy dream!

Good luck running a business with that idiot.

Every comment sent a new stab of pain through his body, and Mario fell to his knees, gasping for breath. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was racing, and his head was pounding. Something was wrong. 

Suddenly the dog, who had just been standing there looking angry until now, growled at him menacingly, bearing its massive pearly whites. It glared at him for a few moments, before Mario heard a voice that made his blood run cold.

“Mario, do something!”

Luigi.

The dog turned around, going for his brother, snarling and barking like a monster. Mario gasped, scrambling to get up and help him, but he couldn’t get his feet under him. The pain was too much. He fell forward on his face, slamming his chest on the hard ground and knocking the wind out of him. He gasped and wheezed, struggling to get the spots out of his field of vision. Luigi started screaming again, and dear god, he needed to get up and help him, but he couldn’t move–

Mario awoke with a quiet but deep gasp. He panted quietly for a few moments, slowly coming back to himself. He scanned the dark room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. It was 4 in the morning, and Luigi was across the room in his bed, bundled in his covers and fast asleep. When did Luigi come to bed? When had he fallen asleep himself?

He sat up, his mind feeling sluggish and disoriented. Mario quickly learned that the pain and weakness he was feeling in his dreams wasn’t just a figment of his imagination; something really was wrong with him. 

He felt completely rotten inside and out. He was barely able to sit up in his bed; the overalls and shirt that he’d forgotten to change out of were stuck to him with sweat, as well as his hair, but he somehow still felt cold. He felt like he just got beaten up; all of his muscles and joints ached for no reason, and his head pounded with a brutal headache that wrapped all around his skull. The worst of the pain was at his forehead, just above his brow bones. On top of all of that, there was a horrible pit of nausea sitting in his abdomen. 

He got up, forcing his legs to work despite the sickening wave of dizziness that washed over him. He took a few deep breaths, desperately trying to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged at least until he could make it to the bathroom. When the dancing spots in his vision finally disappeared, he stumbled out of the room, careful not to wake Luigi. He felt like he was drunk, and that scared the hell out of him because as much as he’d wanted to, he hadn’t had a drop to drink.

He nearly knocked down a few pictures while leaning on the wall for support on the way there, but he made it to the bathroom. He quickly closed the door and practically collapsed on the floor next to the toilet, barely managing to turn on the light first. 

He coughed and gagged for he didn’t even know how long, but there wasn’t even anything to come up. He hadn’t eaten since Punch Out Pizzeria where he and Luigi saw their commercial today. That probably wasn’t helping his stomach pain much either. 

Eventually, finally, the worst of the nausea passed and he was able to get off the floor. But as he was shakily hoisting himself back up and ignoring how the floor swayed beneath him again, he noticed something else entirely: his wounded arm fucking hurt. It felt hot and angry, which wasn’t good because it definitely hadn’t been like that before he’d fallen asleep. He unbuttoned the one strap on his overalls and slowly pulled his arm out of the sleeve and out from under the shirt so he could take a closer look. 

He didn’t like what he saw. His whole arm above his elbow was more swollen than it was when he’d come home. The white bandage was covered in yellow fluid stains, and when he gingerly peeled it back, he saw a few of the deeper wounds were puffy, red, and oozing pus. It even smelled of infection. Mario started to feel sick again. 

After the second wave of nausea passed, he took his whole shirt off and went to work cleaning the wound again. He didn’t do much, just wiped off the gunk and liquid with a wet cloth, and covered it with a fresh bandage. He gingerly put his shirt back on, hoping the bandage would stay clean for long enough. 

He pressed at his eyes and rubbed at his face, groaning in despair. He honestly didn’t remember any specifics of what the doctor told him earlier about the symptoms of the specific infection they were worried about, but he did remember him saying it presented like a bad flu, and that the odds of him getting it were low, but not zero. He’d also said to go to the ED right away as it could become life threatening if he didn’t receive treatment quickly. 

He decided to check something else before he went. He was about 90% sure he had a fever, but he was curious to see how high it was. He dug around the bathroom junk drawer for their tympanic thermometer that had been around since he and Luigi were little. He stuck the thing in his ear, and after it beeped, he looked at the number. His eyes widened, 

103.4.

He was in trouble.

Mario obviously hadn’t wanted to go to the ED and wasn’t looking forward to it, no matter how crappy he felt or how high his fever was. But he had to admit, that high of a temperature reading had freaked him out. So he swallowed two more Tylenol tablets, half-assedly changed out of his sweaty clothes and into his red hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants, grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys, and stumbled out the front door. He was still feeling weak and lightheaded, but their building had an elevator, which he was very thankful for. Once down and outside, he waved down a cab and begrudgingly told the cabbie he needed to go to the nearest hospital. When he promised the guy he wasn’t going to throw up or pass out, they were off. 

He actually hadn’t ever been to a real ED before. When he and Luigi were kids and needed some kind of medical care, their pediatric nurse practitioner usually had same-day appointments available. Since they’d gotten older, they opted for the same urgent care office he went to this afternoon; it was closer to their house, it wasn’t as scary, and the wait time was usually shorter. When he was done paying the cabbie, he stood outside for a moment and steeled himself for a couple of long hours stuck in the waiting room, feeling sick and miserable. But when his head and arm continued to throb and his whole body continued to ache, he slowly went inside. 

That wasn’t what ended up happening at all. 

When the triage nurse saw him and took his vitals, he learned that his fever was still high at 103.1, and though his blood pressure wasn’t reading as low on the monitor, she explained that his blood pressure was probably low at home and on his way here, which would explain why he felt so wobbly then. But it was likely increasing now because a stranger was getting all up in his bubble and asking him personal questions, which would explain why he was feeling a little more steady on his feet now. She inspected his stitches as well, poking them and squeezing more pus out, which was more uncomfortable than Mario cared to admit. 

When she was done making him hurt and asking him questions, she rewarded him with a hospital bracelet and sent him back to the waiting room. Since he was expecting to be waiting a while, he had started watching a movie on his phone, but they called him back after only 15 minutes. Apparently he was dubbed a high acuity patient because of his high fever and infection, and it was after 4 in the morning, so it wasn’t that busy. When he stood up and stumbled backwards, the nurse panicked and grabbed him a wheelchair. He wanted to argue, he could walk, he just stood up too fast, but he had to admit he was getting tired of the dizzy spells. He huffed and sat in the stupid chair.

He was led into a small treatment room, though calling it a room was being generous. It was more of a cubicle, with nothing but a small stretcher, a vitals machine mounted to the wall, a cardiac monitor, an IV pump, and a metal cabinet on the right side with a bunch of supplies inside. Mario did his best not to feel intimidated, but his heart definitely started beating a little faster. 

He got up onto the bed, and the new nurse, a handsome hispanic man in blue scrubs named Diego, took his vitals and studied his wound again, this time taking off the bandage completely and prodding it some more. He explained he was going to wait for the doctor to take a look before he cleaned it again, and gently wiped it down before covering it with another fresh bandage. He left and came back with a Gravol tablet, a can of ginger ale, and a warm blanket, and said the doctor would see him soon, and to press the call button if he needed anything.

Again, he thought he would be sitting forever, which was upsetting because he still hurt everywhere, but he only got 20 minutes into his movie before Diego and a new lady in navy scrubs walked in. 

She introduced herself as Dr. Lindsay, and they chatted for a bit about his symptoms, the dog bite, and he told them what they did when he went to urgent care the day before. She prodded him some more and rattled off a bunch of stuff to Diego that Mario didn’t particularly care about; his lymph nodes were swollen, whatever the hell those were, his lungs were clear, his heart sounded normal, his abdomen was soft, yada yada yada. Finally she looked at his bite, and concluded that 6 out of the 11 wounds were visibly infected. She explained they would run a bunch of tests to confirm, and some of those would take a couple of days to come back, but his symptoms were consistent with capnocytophaga infection–she laughed when it took him about 6 tries to pronounce it right–and they would give him IV antibiotics in the meantime to see how he responded, as well as meds for his pain and nausea that hadn’t improved after the Gravol. He signed a form on an iPad confirming he was okay with his treatment plan, and that was that. 

They left him alone for a short while, and Mario found himself feeling overwhelmed and suppressing the urge to call Luigi and tell him to get his skinny butt over here because he was freaking out and wanted a hug. But then he thought about everything that happened yesterday, and the disappointment in his father’s voice at dinner, and decided not to. He didn’t want to bug him anymore. Evidently, he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his anxiety, because Diego walked by and noticed him wringing his hands and picking at his cuticles. He stopped and poked his head in. 

“Mario, are you okay?” 

Mario flinched, on edge, and even the vitals machine beeped and started flashing tachycardia. Mario ducked his head down, embarrassed, and Diego silenced the machine and took the pulse oximeter off of his finger without saying anything. 

“Sorry.” Mario mumbled. 

“No, don’t be. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Diego sat down on the rolling stool and folded his arms on the side rail of the bed. His brows furrowed sympathetically. 

“Are you okay?” He asked again. 

“Fine,” Mario said automatically. When he realized it was a lie, he sighed and brought a hand up to rub at his sore neck. “Just…a little anxious, I guess.”

Diego nodded, listening quietly. Mario took another breath. “I’ve never been to the ED before, or sick like this. It’s all…kinda scary.”

“Yeah, of course it is.” Diego said, almost incredulously. “But, you know, no one likes to be by themselves in a scary place like this. Is there anyone we can call to be here with you?”

Mario’s chest panged again. Of course there was. He wanted Luigi here, he wanted to hear his comforting voice and squeeze his hand whenever they insisted on making him hurt again. He made everything better. But he wasn’t allowed to ask Luigi for anything after yesterday. He shook his head. “No, that’s okay. My family doesn’t live far from here. I’ll get around to calling them. Eventually.”

Diego nodded again, pressing his lips together sympathetically. “Well, if you change your mind, just let me know. Now, I have to get some stuff together, then I can start your IV and give you those meds to make you feel better. Just give me a few minutes.” When Mario nodded, he stood up and grabbed the free IV pump, taking it with him as he left. 

Mario took another deep breath, feeling a bit better than he had a few minutes ago. He started playing on his phone again, trying his best to just concentrate on his game and not let himself get worked up again. 

A few minutes later, Diego was back with the pump and a tray of supplies. The pump had two bags hanging, a smaller one up high and a larger one hanging lower. The tubing on the small bag connected to the tubing of the larger bag, and it disappeared into the top of the pump and came out the bottom. The rest of the tubing was rolled up and sitting on top, and Mario supposed that was where it was supposed to connect to him. He couldn’t help how his stomach churned; he’d never had this done before. 

Diego explained some stuff to him that Mario sluggishly tried to follow; his antibiotics were being given by “piggyback” with dextrose as the main solution, which was essentially just sugar water. He examined the veins on Mario’s forearm and hand–during which Mario started to feel self conscious because he’d always hated how hairy his arms were–and decided he would try placing it in his hand first. He tied an elastic band above his elbow, poking at his vein with gloved fingers a few more times before Mario felt the cool dampness of the alcohol swab. He turned to look away because he was helpless not to. 

He heard Diego opening up the packaged needle as the alcohol dried. Mario closed his eyes, steeling himself. He could do this, he could do this, he could do this. His other hand flexed, yearning for something to squeeze. Why hadn’t he grown the balls to call Luigi?

He felt Diego grip him firmly. “Here it comes, Mario. Deep breath.”

Mario inhaled shakily, holding his breath and wincing slightly at the sharp pinch. But Diego, in all his professionalism, worked quickly. Before he knew it, the tourniquet was gone and he was placing a clear protective dressing over the site. 

“That’s it?” Mario turned back, squinting at the new intrusion in his hand. Diego had attached the tubing to the catheter, and was currently attaching him to the main line. 

“Yup,” He flashed a pretty smile. “See? Nothing to it.” 

Mario glared at it again. It both looked and felt weird. It looked weird because it looked like it was just sitting on top of his skin, instead of under it. It felt weird because there wasn’t much flesh there, just his skin and bone, so when he wiggled his fingers enough, he could feel the tube in there too. 

“I don’t like it,” He decided. 

“Why, does it hurt?” The electronic pump beeped as Diego calibrated it properly.

“Not really, just feels weird. Like there’s something in there that shouldn’t be. Yeah, like there’s a stick in my hand.”

Diego snickered, his shoulders bouncing. “Well, that stick is giving you medicine that will probably save your life. So don’t bother it, please?” He gently pried Mario’s fingers away when he started poking at it. 

“Anyway, there you go, Mario. Everything’s running fine.”

Mario looked up, squinting at the setup. The chamber under the small bag was dripping fast, and his eyes trailed down the length of the tubing and to the main line, past the pump, under the pump and finally to the back of his hand. He shook his head. 

“Still don’t like it.” 

Diego laughed again. “Why not?” 

“I don’t know, it’s weird!” Mario exclaimed. “That stuff is literally going into me and I can’t even tell.”

Diego giggled again, then proceeded to explain some more boring stuff; he had to be gentle with that hand or else it would infiltrate his surrounding tissues and it would have to be replaced, if it started beeping not to do anything because someone would come get it eventually, and if he wanted to leave the room he would have to unplug the pump and drag it with him. 

“So I’m like a dog on a leash now. That much irony should be illegal.” Mario deadpanned, eliciting yet another laugh out of Diego.

He left after that, returning a few minutes later with a couple of syringes full of his promised medication. One was something called Zofran for his nausea, and the other was codeine for his pain. He pumped both of those into his line through another port and flushed the line with more saline. Almost as soon as he was done and had left again, a new lady showed up, pulling a cart behind her full of colourful empty vials. She was the lab tech there to take his blood.

She was pretty, and super nice, but Mario couldn’t help getting anxious again; this was yet another thing he’d never had done before. But it went about the same as the IV placement. She used his left arm this time, explaining that the IV fluids in his right one could affect the accuracy of his test results when he asked her why. She tied another tourniquet around his arm and started poking at the crook of his elbow. Again, he turned away at the chill of the alcohol on his sensitive skin, holding his breath. While his free hand reflexively flexed, still finding nothing there, he caught himself also wishing he had something other than a translucent plexiglass room divider to look at. He wanted to look at and talk to Luigi. He missed him, and Mario hated that because it made him feel like a child.

He felt the initial poke in his arm, his facial features tightening for a moment, but he honestly didn’t feel much after that. His whole arm sort of went numb, and the feeling remained even after she pulled the tourniquet off. It wasn’t really a pleasant sensation, and so Mario just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. Still, his mind drifted to Luigi. He thought about how he had wronged him, the promises he broke, and his father’s and Spike’s comments.

You’re bringing your brother down with you. 

You’re a joke, and you always will be.

Mario’s eyes burned and his bottom lip wobbled, not at all because of the needle that was apparently still in his arm and stealing his blood, but because he was here, surrounded by strangers who kept touching him with their cold hands and stabbing him with their needles, while he was sick, afraid and so painfully alone. Just like he deserved. 

Oh, Luigi…I’m so sorry.

He nearly jumped when the lady pressed a cotton ball to his arm. “There, all done.” 

She gently guided his free hand to replace hers and instructed him to keep pressure on the puncture, and he was thankful she didn’t notice him blinking the water from his eyes. He squeezed the cotton into his skin and wiggled his fingers, trying to get rid of the coolness in his arm. He watched as she organized the filled tubes on her cart, his eyes widening when he counted at least ten of them. His stomach flipped and he had to stop counting. She checked to see if he was still bleeding, and he must’ve been, because she taped the cotton down for him. She flashed him a kind smile and left with her cart, pulling the curtain closed behind her. 

Mario inhaled deeply and released it, leaning his head back on the bed and closing his eyes. His meds must’ve kicked in by now, because his muscle and joint pain from earlier was not as bad, and his nausea had gotten better as well. He felt like sleeping, and though he wasn’t sure how much time he had before the next person arrived to bother him, it was 5:30 in the morning and he was going to try to have a snooze, even if it was only a few minutes.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to, but he messed with some buttons and levers on the bed and eventually figured out how to get it to lay flat. He turned the lights off and got settled under the thin blanket, having closed his eyes for exactly 3 minutes before some asshole opened the curtain, turned the lights back on and knocked on the door to his room. 

“Ugh, what now?!” Mario groaned dramatically, throwing the blanket back and sitting up, preparing to give the intruder a piece of his mind. 10 minutes! He just wanted 10 minutes!

But the angry words died in his throat the moment he laid eyes on the person standing in front of him. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Luigi quipped with an absolutely shit-eating grin. 

Chapter Text

Needless to say, Mario’s brain short-circuited completely.

“What are you–how did you–when did–what?” He stopped when he realized he wasn’t finishing absolutely any of his sentences. Luigi just raised his eyebrows, drinking in every ounce of Mario making a fool of himself, keeping that stupid amused smile. Mario genuinely didn’t know if he wanted to strangle him or hug him.

He cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “How the hell did you find me here? I swear, if you tracked my phone again–” 

Luigi rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Relax, you big baby, I didn’t have to.”

“Then how’d you–”

“Remember that nice health insurance plan we signed ourselves up for a couple months ago?”

Mario blinked, his eyes widening. He definitely hadn’t remembered, he’d completely forgotten. Both of their names were on that plan. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“Nope,” Luigi shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal. “I woke up about half an hour ago to pee, and I noticed you were gone. I panicked for a few minutes, before I checked my phone and saw the nice little new claim email sitting in my inbox. It didn’t have any information, but this place was closest, so I figured it was my best bet.” 

Mario stayed silent, still not sure how he felt about Luigi coming here to see him of his own free will. A part of him wanted to be angry, because if he wanted him here he would’ve called, but even as he thought it he knew it wasn’t true. He’d been wanting Luigi to be here with him since the moment he first walked through the door, but he was too afraid of inconveniencing him further. 

Another part of him that he refused to acknowledge wanted to be grateful, because this must’ve meant that it wasn’t an inconvenience, right? He didn’t know what to think. He just stayed quiet, keeping his eyes down. 

His brother sighed softly, gently sliding the glass door closed to lower the steady background noise of the bustling emergency department around them. He walked across the room and settled himself on the rolling stool, directly across from Mario. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on? Why are you here?” He tilted his head down, looking Mario in the eyes despite the fact that he definitely didn’t want him to. He expected Luigi to be angry, because he ran off and didn’t leave a note or anything, probably scaring the hell out of him, but of course his voice was so soft and caring that Mario felt awful all over again. He didn’t deserve that patience. 

“It’s not a big deal, really.” Mario lied, shaking his head. “You didn’t need to come. I should be outta here soon anyways.”

Now it was Luigi’s turn to groan dramatically. “Ugh, would you stop doing that?” 

Suddenly Luigi was pissed, and Mario knew exactly why. He understood; they usually told each other everything. But the circumstances were different this time. He couldn’t let him in. He played dumb and looked at his brother like he’d lost his marbles. 

“No, don’t you look at me like that,” Luigi scowled, pointing at him. “You haven’t been yourself since all of this happened yesterday. Something is wrong, and I’m trying to help but you keep shutting me out and I’m tired of it.” 

“Would you chill out?” Mario frowned, starting to feel annoyed himself. “Look, I’m sorry I left in such a hurry, okay? I-I just…didn’t want to wake anyone.” I didn’t want to burden you anymore than I already have. 

“That’s not the only thing that’s happened, and you know it,” Luigi said firmly. He sighed again, shaking his head. He reached forward and covered Mario’s hands with his own, which were bundled uselessly in his lap. He tried to find his eyes again and Mario hated him for it. “Look, Mario, I’m worried about you. We all are. So, could you just…talk to me? Please?”

He met his eyes exactly once, and that was a huge mistake. He forced his voice to be level despite his resolve almost breaking. “I told you before, you don’t need to worry about me.” 

“Well, I’m going to anyway.” Luigi squeezed his hands, being mindful of the port on the back of his one hand. “And something is clearly bothering you if you won’t even tell me why you’re here.”

Mario released a small breath, not knowing what to say. “I-I just…”

Mario thought about the last couple hours, and all the times he thought about Luigi and how much he wanted him here, but denied himself the privilege because of all he’d done. He promised him a successful business, but it had already failed its very first customers. He foolishly convinced him to blow all of their combined savings on a commercial that, according to their family, was nothing but a complete and total waste. All because he was an overconfident loser so desperate for his daddy’s approval that he was willing to hurt his own brother to get it.

A small sob escaped his lips, and the floodgates opened. He didn’t think he could ever make this right, not completely, but he could at least start with an apology. 

“Lou…I’m sorry.” His voice was strained with the additional cries that threatened to make themselves known. 

Luigi, alarmed, gently squeezed his hands a second time. “Why? What for?” 

“Everything!” Mario hiccuped, finally looking up at Luigi, who looked absolutely heartbroken. “The business, it was all a big stupid mistake and it wasn’t what you wanted but I pushed you anyways and now we have nothing and I let you down and I’m so sorry-y-y-y-y-” 

The last word fell on a sob, and Luigi reacted quickly, surging forward and grabbing Mario in a firm embrace. If asked later about why he broke down as hard as he did, Mario would blame it on the fact that he was hopped up on codeine. But he guessed it didn’t really matter. He just hugged his brother and soaked his green hoodie with his tears, his heart aching with guilt.

After Mario didn’t even know how long, when the worst of his crying had passed and was reduced to quiet gasps, Luigi gently pulled him back. 

“Mario, why on earth would you think that our business is a bad idea?” 

“Oh, come on, Luigi, look at me.” Mario threw his arms out. “Our very first call landed me in the emergency room. You don’t think that’s some kind of sign?”

“I think that we had a rough start,” Luigi frowned. “But that’s no reason to give up.”

“Lou, that dog attacked us.”

“Yeah, I know, I was there.” 

“So what’s gonna happen on the next call? Are we gonna get murdered and ground up and fed to a bunch of pigs? That sounds like a damn good reason to give up to me.”

“Okay, first of all, you watch too much Criminal Minds. Second, where is all of this even coming from? I’m the one who’s supposed to be scared all the time.”

Mario sighed heavily, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars, in an attempt to physically push the rest of his tears away. He knew what he wanted to say, mostly, but he didn’t know how to say it. He wrung his hands in his lap, paying too much attention to his fingernails, feeling exactly like he had after his father’s words last night. So unbelievably small. 

Thankfully, Luigi spoke again before he did. “Mario, I’ve never seen you give up so easily on anything before. Why this time?”

It was true. Mario was competitive and persistent. He liked the attention he got by being the best. He couldn’t even go to fairs anymore because every time he did, he blew all of his money trying to win all the games. Even the rigged ones. When he and Luigi were in high school, their friend Trevor bet Mario 50 bucks that he couldn’t win the 100 metre dash at their school’s track meet that year. It was only 50 bucks, but he trained for that race like it was plenty more than that, and he won. Giving up just wasn’t in his nature. It wasn’t who he was. So why was he trying to give up on his dream so soon? 

“Because the stakes are higher this time,” Mario admitted softly. It was so quiet, he was sure he could hear a pin drop. “It isn’t just about me. It’s also about…the single most important person in my life.” 

He stole a single glance at Luigi, who looked stunned. 

“And I feel like I’ve let him down because our first call went so horribly and I promised him this would work.”

“Mario,” Now Luigi’s voice was wobbly too. He took Mario’s hands again, squeezing harder than he had before, and this time Mario squeezed him back. “You could never let me down, do you understand me? You never have and you never will. It will never happen.”

He stopped and took a few breaths, and he looked like he felt how Mario had felt just a minute ago, like he was struggling to sort his thoughts out. Mario stayed patiently quiet. 

“But…I do think I understand why you feel that way. There’s been nothing but pressure on us from everyone around us since we started this. And since it was primarily your idea, and your dream, I suppose that’s been a lot harder on you than me. I didn’t see that until now, and for that…I’m sorry, Mario.”

Mario wanted to argue, because his brother certainly didn’t have anything to be apologizing for, but before he could, Luigi spoke again. 

“I know you think you broke your promise, Mario. But you didn’t. Like I said earlier, we just had a rough start. But it isn’t too late. You’re gonna take the time to get better, and then you and I are going to work together to make sure this never happens again. We’ll look out for each other, like we always have. We’ll watch each other’s backs, like we always have. We’ll stick together, like we always have.”

Luigi reached up and placed his hand on the back of his neck, closing his eyes and ever so gently touching their foreheads together.

Just like he always did, Luigi seemed to know exactly what to say. “You’re not alone in this, Mario. I’m right here with you, and I’m never going anywhere, no matter what. You and I are gonna be just fine.”

Mario managed a watery smile because he found himself believing him. His heart swelled and fresh tears rolled down his face because he truly was the luckiest guy in the world to have this man in his life and he just wanted to melt and scream and cry all at the same time. 

He pulled away slightly, their faces still only inches apart. “Nothing can hurt us, as long as we’re together.” Mario’s voice was strained, wrecked and gross but he didn’t care in the slightest. 

“There you are.” Luigi smiled fondly and so did Mario. He hugged his brother tighter than he ever had because right now he was more grateful for him than he ever had been before. Minutes ago, Mario had hugged his brother because he was in agony and Luigi had volunteered to offer his comfort. Now, Mario hugged his brother tight because he just appreciated and loved him so much and never wanted to let him go. 

The truth was, they almost never exchanged the words because they didn’t need them. They hid the sentiment behind other phrases and actions. But right now, the way Mario was feeling, he needed the real deal. 

“Thank you, Luigi. I love you.”

His brother didn’t miss a beat. “I love you too, Mario.”

Mario had a long road of recovery ahead of him, and a part of him was still worried about how they were going to move forward in regards to their company. Hell, a part of him was still questioning whether or not it really was the best thing for them. They had a lot to learn and figure out. But he knew now, as long as he had Luigi with him, everything would turn out just fine. 

Because nothing could hurt them as long as they were together.