Chapter Text
Rain lashed violently against the windowpanes, blurring the world outside into a streaky watercolor of greens and grays. Each drop struck the glass with the percussive urgency of a frantic heartbeat, a relentless, drumming rhythm that underscored the wild ferocity of the storm. Deep in the distant mountains, thunder cracked with the explosive force of a titan's fist, rattling the very foundations of the small, isolated cottage and sending tremors through the wooden floor. In the erratic, blinding flashes of lightning that sporadically illuminated the room, long, distorted shadows danced and writhed along the walls like malevolent phantoms.
A small, familiar figure, barely taller than Luigi's knee, crept silently through the hallway. He was shivering uncontrollably, less from the chilling drafts that snaked through the old house, and more from a deep, internal terror that clung to him like a damp shroud.
"Mamma...?" the Koopaling's voice was barely a whisper, fragile and unsure, a thin, reedy thread of sound almost swallowed by the storm's furious howl.
Luigi stirred sluggishly from her restless, shallow sleep, blinking thick, gummy eyelids. Her emerald eyes, usually sparkling with life, slowly adjusted to the gloom of the room, still heavy with the lingering tendrils of a half-remembered nightmare. Then, a sudden, brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the silhouette hunched in the doorway—a small, familiar form that sent a jolt of instant recognition, and a familiar ache of protective love, straight to her heart. All traces of sleep vanished instantly.
"Another nightmare?" she asked gently, her voice a low, soothing murmur, already pushing back the thick, quilted blanket on her bed, the warmth inviting.
The child nodded miserably, his small, trembling hands clutching the rough, unfinished edge of the doorframe like a desperate lifeline in his fear. His wide, tear-filled eyes, reflecting the distant, intermittent flashes of lightning, were pools of profound sorrow and dread.
"Come here," she said, her voice softer still, pulling the blanket back further, creating an inviting, safe haven in the warmth of her bed.
He clambered into bed without hesitation, a small, trembling bundle of nerves. He tucked himself close against her side, burying his face in the soft fabric of her nightshirt, seeking the reassuring scent and warmth of her skin. Her arms, strong and comforting, wrapped protectively around his small, trembling frame, holding him tightly. Slowly, imperceptibly, his ragged breaths began to even out, falling into the soft, steady rhythm of innocent, dreamless sleep. He was safe.
Luigi stayed awake, her mind drifting in the comforting, impenetrable darkness. She listened to the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the roof and windows, and the soft, steady breaths of her sleeping son. She watched him, his little face peaceful and unmarred by fear in the gloom, and allowed herself a rare, fleeting moment of stillness—a fragile, precious respite from the constant worry that shadowed her days. It lasted only until a sudden, sharp, almost violent knock shattered the fragile calm.
Knock. Knock.
She stiffened instantly, every muscle coiling tight, every nerve screaming alarm. Her gaze darted instinctively to the window, then to the sturdy wooden door, her heart hammering against her ribs.
No one visits this late. Not out here, in this secluded, forgotten corner of the world.
She slipped from bed with practiced, silent care, her movements fluid and economical, honed by years of living on the edge. Her heart, already a frantic drumbeat in her chest, began to race in earnest, a cold premonition settling deep in her gut. Her instincts screamed danger, a primal, ancient warning. Her hand moved almost subconsciously, sliding beneath her worn, wooden nightstand. Her fingers closed around the cold, textured grip of the black metal bat, pulling it out with a soft, barely audible scrape against the floor—a brutal, grim precaution she'd hoped she'd never, ever need to employ.
Another knock. This one was louder. Sharper. More insistent. A resounding thud that vibrated through the floorboards.
Her steps were slow and measured as she approached the door, each footfall precise and deliberate. Her grip on the bat was white-knuckled, the heavy metal feeling both impossibly heavy and reassuringly solid in her hand. Her breath caught in her throat, held captive by a terrifying, inexplicable premonition that coiled deep in her stomach. She reached the door, her fingers trembling slightly as they fumbled with the cold metal of the lock. With a soft, groaning click, the mechanism disengaged in the oppressive silence. With a final, hesitant breath, she swung the heavy door inward, pushing it open just a crack—
And the world tilted sideways, spinning violently on its axis.
There, silhouetted against the stormy, rain-swept darkness of the night, colossal and undeniable, stood the last person she ever wanted to see. He was drenched, his familiar orange mane plastered flat to his massive skull by the relentless downpour, rivulets of rainwater streaming down his rough, scaled face. He was breathless, his chest heaving, his powerful shoulders slumping with an exhaustion that seemed to transcend mere physical fatigue.
"G-Green Bean..." Bowser said, his deep voice cracking painfully with raw, unbridled emotion. It was a sound that was at once broken, desperate, and utterly vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fearsome roar she had come to expect.
Time seemed to freeze, stretching into an agonizing, surreal eternity. The roaring of the rain, the distant thunder, the frantic beat of her own heart—all faded into a muffled, distant hum. Her grip on the black metal bat faltered, the cold metal suddenly feeling impossibly heavy, useless. Her fingers, numb and unresponsive, released their hold. The bat slipped from her grasp, clattering loudly as it hit the worn wooden floor with a dull, echoing thud, the sound shockingly loud in the profound silence that had descended between them.
His eyes, vast and unfathomable in the dim light, searched her face with the desperate intensity of a man dying of thirst in a parched desert. Five years. Five agonizingly long years had dragged by since he'd last seen her—five years since he'd inexplicably vanished from her life, taking with him, as she had bitterly believed, all the light and joy she had known. He had imagined this moment countless times, replaying it over and over in the desolate quiet of his mind. What he'd say. What she'd say. How she'd look, etched in pain or anger or, god forbid, indifference. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the overwhelming, disorienting, and profoundly painful reality of her standing there, alive and real, before him.
Her hair, once a cheerful, buoyant cascade of chestnut waves that framed her face with youthful softness, was longer now, falling past her shoulders in a practical, unadorned style, often tied back with a simple band. Her face, once openly expressive and quick to smile or frown, seemed thinner, sharpened by an unseen edge. It was etched with a quiet intensity, and far more guarded than it had ever been, as if years of vigilance had carved new lines around her mouth and eyes. There was an undeniable strength in the subtle clenching of her jawline, a subtle but palpable hardening around her vibrant emerald eyes that spoke volumes of battles fought in solitude and immense burdens carried alone, forged in the crucible of five solitary years. She looked beautiful still, but her beauty was now tinged with a profound weariness, a haunting quality that spoke of a deep, inner resilience. A fragile, enduring strength radiated from her very core, a testament to her profound will. She looked, in short, like a woman who had not merely survived, but who had been irrevocably changed by the act of it.
And she was absolutely, incandescently furious.
"What the HELL are you doing here?!" Luigi's voice didn't just speak; it exploded through the stormy night, a raw, guttural cry of pure shock and unadulterated rage that momentarily dwarfed the relentless drumming of the rain and the distant, reverberating rumble of thunder. It was a sound born of years of pent-up anger, betrayal, and heartbreak, finally unleashed.
Bowser flinched violently, his massive frame recoiling as if struck by an invisible, physical blow. His head snapped back slightly, the rain still streaming down his face, his expression a chaotic, agonizing swirl of bewildered hurt, profound surprise, and a renewed, desperate longing that warred with his fear. "L-Luigi," he stammered, his deep voice thick with emotion, sounding utterly unlike the confident, booming king she remembered. It was raspy, vulnerable, almost a plea. "I—I just wanted to say... I'm sorry... And I missed you..." The words hung in the air, heavy and incongruous.
Luigi took a furious, silent step forward, her bare feet making no sound on the cold, worn wooden floor. Her emerald eyes, usually reflecting kindness, now blazed with a righteous, incandescent rage that burned white-hot in her chest, radiating an almost visible heat. Every syrupy, belated word he uttered felt like a fresh insult, a brutal twist of the knife in an old, festering wound. "You don't get to miss me! You don't get to show up like this after all this time and expect me to—what? Hug you?!" Her voice rose with each biting, rhetorical question, laced with the accumulated bitterness of years of pain, abandonment, and solitary struggle.
He looked at her helplessly, his colossal shoulders slumping, his gaze pleading with a desperate, wounded honesty that would have once melted her heart. "I thought... maybe..." His words trailed off, a broken, barely audible whisper, utterly devoid of his usual bluster.
"You thought I'd just forgive you," she spat, her voice laced with chilling ice, each word a shard of frozen contempt. "Because I'm Luigi, right? Gullible. Forgiving. Easy. Not anymore. That Luigi is gone." The words hung in the charged air, sharp and final, like the clang of a death knell in a silent churchyard. It was a declaration, a severing.
He looked like she'd physically slapped him across the face, the invisible blow snapping his head back slightly. His orange scales, normally vibrant and menacing, seemed to lose their luster under the raw, visible impact of her brutal declaration. A profound understanding of the depth of her anger settled over him, cold and heavy. "Well—kind of!" he managed, a desperate, pathetic attempt at a defense, a flicker of his old, charming arrogance attempting to reassert itself, but failing utterly.
"Mamma?"
Both of them froze instantly. The single, small word, spoken in a sleepy, confused tone, cut through the electric, adult tension of the moment like a silver blade through silk. It was a sound that instantly transformed the raw, adult confrontation into something far more dangerous, far more complicated, imbued with an innocent vulnerability neither adult was prepared for.
A sleepy voice, laced with the lingering tendrils of a dream, called again from the hallway, closer this time, accompanied by the shuffling of small feet. Luigi's blood ran cold, turning to icy dread in her veins, chilling her to the very marrow. Her son, his small hand still clutching his tattered comfort blanket, stood rubbing his eyes in the dimly lit hall, his posture slumped with the weight of sleep. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the sudden, loud voices, entirely unaware of the storm of cataclysmic emotions about to erupt inside their seemingly peaceful home.
Bowser's fierce, bewildered gaze, still swimming with complicated emotions, slowly, inexorably, shifted from Luigi's furious face to the small, confused child. Luigi's breath caught in her throat; she saw the precise, horrifying moment it happened. The flicker of recognition in his wide, startled eyes, a sudden flash of profound shock. The dawning, terrifying realization that rippled across his scaled face, wiping away every other emotion until only stunned comprehension remained. His usually ruddy, vibrant scaled skin seemed to drain of all color, leaving him looking pale, almost ash-grey, and utterly, profoundly stunned. His lips parted, a soundless gasp.
She didn't give him time to speak. She couldn't. Not one more word.
SLAM.
The heavy wooden door, aged but sturdy, slammed shut with a deafening, reverberating finality that echoed violently through the small house, shaking the very foundations. It severed the fraught connection between them with brutal, absolute force, a solid barrier erected in an instant between past and present, love and betrayal, peace and chaos.
No no no no no. Luigi's heart thundered wildly in her ears, each frantic beat a desperate, panicked drum, a chilling counterpoint to the storm outside. He saw him. He saw him. The silent scream tore through her mind, colder and more terrifying than any thunderclap, more devastating than any physical blow.
She could already hear him on the other side of the heavy door, the solid wood groaning under the impact of his massive fist beginning to pound. Each thud was heavy, desperate, filled with a raw, agonizing frustration that seemed to vibrate through the very walls. "Luigi! Luigi! Is he—? Please, I just want to talk!" His voice, though still powerful, was strained, laced with a desperate, guttural plea that clawed at the wood.
No. She wasn't doing this tonight. Not here. Not ever. She wouldn't let Bowser's chaos touch her son.
Luigi spun swiftly towards her son, forcing her voice to be steady, calm, a stark contrast to the frantic panic that clawed at her insides, threatening to overwhelm her. "Jr., remember that emergency bag I told you to pack?"
He blinked, still a little disoriented from sleep, but his small eyes were now fully awake, clear with a sudden, urgent alertness, sensing the immediate, unspoken shift in his Mamma's tone. "Y-Yeah..." he whispered, his own voice tight with burgeoning understanding.
"Go get it. Now." Her voice was low, firm, edged with an undeniable authority that left no room for argument or delay.
He didn't question her. The subtle but undeniable urgency in her voice, usually reserved for serious lessons or unspoken warnings, conveyed the immediate, undeniable danger more effectively than any shouted command. His small feet were a blur as he spun and ran back down the hallway towards his room, a tiny, determined shadow against the flashes of lightning.
She moved quickly, her hands already flying to the worn, faded rug that covered the center of the living room floor. Yanking it aside with a grunt of effort, she revealed the dark, dusty outline of a hidden floor hatch, seamlessly blended into the old wood. Her fingers fumbled briefly with the cold, rough metal latch, then pulled it open with a soft, grating click, revealing the gaping, inky darkness of the basement below, and the promise of a hidden, earthen tunnel beyond. This wasn't how she had planned to use it. Not yet. She had always hoped for a quieter, less desperate departure, a controlled retreat into the unknown. But Bowser's sudden, shocking appearance, and his devastating, universe-shattering recognition of Jr., had brutally, undeniably forced her hand.
Jr. returned, a small, determined blur in the dim hallway light, his emergency bag clutched tightly in his small hands. It was a brightly colored backpack, overstuffed and lumpy, clearly packed in haste but with careful obedience. Luigi quickly grabbed it from him, the weight of it surprisingly heavy, confirming that he had indeed taken her warning seriously. She then swiftly knelt down, bringing herself to his eye level, and cupped his small, familiar face in her hands, her thumbs gently brushing away the lingering traces of sleep from his cheeks. Her gaze was intense, unwavering, pouring all her fear and fierce protection into him. "Stay close to me. Don't look back." Her voice was a low, urgent murmur, a command wrapped in a plea.
He nodded, his large, innocent eyes fixed on hers, the simple act conveying a profound trust in her completely, a silent pact of unquestioning obedience.
They slipped down into the gaping, inky darkness of the hidden floor hatch. The air within the clandestine tunnel was instantly different—heavy and damp, carrying the earthy scent of cold soil and ancient stone, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth of their cottage. It was lit only by the soft, ethereal glow of dim crystal torches, embedded at irregular intervals along the rough-hewn stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched and compressed as they moved. As they ran, their footsteps muffled by the damp earth floor, Luigi's thoughts raced even faster than her feet, a tumultuous whirlwind of questions and doubts.
Was she doing the right thing? Abandoning their home, fleeing into the storm, dragging her son into the unknown. The question echoed hollowly in the confined space, amplified by the frantic beat of her heart.
Was it fair to Jr.? To rip him from his bed, to expose him to the true, terrifying reality of their life, the constant threat that had always loomed just beyond his comprehension. He was just a child.
But how could she let Bowser take him? The very thought sent a fresh wave of ice through her veins, crystallizing her resolve. After everything? The betrayal, the disappearance, the bitter years of absence. No. He didn't even deserve to know he had a son, not after the pain he had inflicted. She clenched her jaw, pushing the self-doubt away.
Still, her chest ached with a dull, persistent throb, a deep, weary pain that had become a constant companion. So much had been stolen from her—the simple, quiet peace she had once known, the love she had once cherished, even the restorative balm of truly restful sleep. And now... now it felt like she was losing everything all over again, running from the specter of a past that refused to stay buried.
She stopped midway through the tunnel, abruptly, her breath catching in her throat, a sharp, ragged gasp that seemed painfully loud in the oppressive silence. The exhaustion, the emotional strain, the lingering terror of Bowser's sudden appearance—it all converged, pressing down on her.
Jr. looked up at her, his small brow furrowed with immediate concern, sensing the sudden shift in her. "Mamma?" he asked, his voice soft, inquisitive, unwavering in his trust.
Luigi swallowed hard, the act a struggle against the sudden tightness in her throat. She forced herself to breathe, to push past the wave of despair. "It's nothing. Let's go." Her voice was a strained whisper, but firm enough to convey her will.
They continued their hurried trek through the winding passage, the air growing colder, damper, as they neared the exit. By the time they emerged on the other side, scrambling up a final muddy incline that opened into a thick cluster of trees, the storm hadn't let up. The world outside was a swirling vortex of wind and pelting rain, colder and more exposed than the relative shelter of the tunnel. But the sight ahead, even through the blurring sheets of water, brought a profound, desperate flicker of hope, a beacon in the oppressive darkness.
Through the storm-tossed trees, majestic and steadfast against the tumultuous sky, Princess Peach's castle loomed in the distance. Its familiar spires, normally golden in the sun, were now dark silhouettes, yet they promised safety, sanctuary, and a connection to the life she had once known.
Luigi pulled Jr.'s bright yellow raincoat from the emergency bag, its synthetic fabric cold and stiff in her hands, and carefully helped him slip his small arms into the sleeves. She then unfurled a large, sturdy umbrella, its cheerful, mushroom-themed pattern a jarring contrast to the grim reality of their flight, and handed it to him, ensuring he held it firmly. They began to walk together through the relentless, freezing rain, the icy water soaking instantly into Luigi's thin clothes, chilling her to the very bones, but she ignored the discomfort. Each step was a deliberate act of will, pulling them closer to their distant haven.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, filling her lungs with the cold, rain-scented air, her gaze fixed on the castle, a single purpose firming her resolve.
"It's time to see Uncle Mario."