A/N: I feel bad for writing this.
Anyway, this is a story where Mario dies. There is no actual death in the story, nor is it described exactly how Mario died, but it's mentioned frequently throughout. If you don't like this kind of thing, I'd advise you not to read this.
I was also considering posting this to my Mario collection, but I think I like it enough to give it its own story.
Enjoy!
The graveyard is quiet. As quiet as a tomb, some might say – the thought brings a halfhearted, suffocating chuckle to his lips, coming out almost as a sob. But not quite. He's already cried so much today that his entire throat feels scraped raw, but he knows it won't take much more than a badly-worded sentence on somebody's part to bring everything crashing back again.
He's alone, standing in front of a painfully beautiful headstone covered in flowers and wreaths. It looks as if everyone in the Mushroom Kingdom has already been here, eager to pay their respects to their hero. An even bigger hero, now, after what he'd done; sacrificing his own life to stop Bowser once and for all, bringing the dark king down alongside himself in a climatic final duel that no-one had expected.
Luigi hates it. There had been no reason for Mario to do what he did. And now he'll never know why his brother thought a ridiculous, pointless hero's death was necessary when he's defeated Bowser dozens of times without resorting to such desperate measures.
He turns on his heel and walks out of the graveyard, because he knows that being here won't change anything.
He goes home.
The cosy little house belongs to him now, although he can't think of anything in the world he wants less. It's completely different now that he's the only one here, and doesn't feel like home anymore. He plans to sell it, as soon as he's done clearing out all of his brother's old things.
Somehow, inexplicably, this part is harder than anything else he's faced recently – harder even than being at the funeral. There's something so wrong about seeing his hands picking up Mario's belongings and packing them all away in cardboard boxes. He stumbles upon a few things that he hadn't realised Mario still kept. Like the teddy bear Luigi had bought him for his ninth birthday, and the old bass guitar that he'd unsuccessfully tried to learn a couple of years back.
Luigi surprises himself by not crying once during the entire process. But maybe it's not so surprising after all, because he feels so numb. Too numb for any emotions to really hurt him.
Deep down, he's aware that the numbness is his mind's way of protecting him and sooner or later, it's going to break. He just hopes that he's alone when everything crashes down, because he doesn't want anyone to see him so vulnerable.
He avoids everyone he knows, which isn't too hard – he's spent most of his life in the shadows anyway. In light of recent events, he wonders, idly, if this might be a bad thing. He could die at any moment. Maybe he should spend more time outside of the shadows, living.
But not yet. Not now.
He sells the house within three days and moves into a cramped apartment near the Toad Town centre. He likes it, not because it's spacious or pretty, but because this is the first time he's ever lived somewhere alone. Somehow, his brother's absence has stripped away his fears about being independent. He no longer feels that living on his own is impossible because nothing really means much to him anymore.
He's still numb. He wonders when – or if – the dam will break.
A week after the funeral, he finds himself standing in the corner at a party in Peach's castle. It isn't by his own choice, though he knows Peach was right when she told him he needed to get out of his apartment more.
The party is supposed to be a celebration of Mario's life and all the amazing things he's done. To Luigi, it just feels like the funeral all over again, albeit a little less subdued, and with better decorations.
He's by himself, sipping wine and listening to Peach making a speech about something, when a figure detaches itself from the crowd and begins to approach him. Luigi's stomach lurches when he realises who it is. He hasn't spoken to her since before Mario's death; he had intentionally avoided her even at the funeral. He's scared of what she might say. What she might think. But most of all, he's scared that seeing her again will shatter that involuntary barrier he's built around himself, flooding him with emotions he doesn't want and exposing all his weaknesses to the world.
For one absurd moment he considers ducking beneath the buffet table to hide, but he knows she's already spotted him. She's running now, a flurry of auburn hair and orange dress and gently worried eyes.
'Luigi...' she begins.
'H-hey Daisy, what's up?' he says, trying his absolute hardest to sound casual, relaxed. He isn't very successful, and Daisy looks him over for a long moment before resolve hardens her gaze.
'Can I come over to your place tonight?'
He dearly wants to make up an excuse, but her tone of voice brooks no argument and – if he's honest with himself – he doesn't have the mental willpower to keep on pushing her away for much longer.
'...Yeah,' he replies, hesitantly, nodding. 'Sure. Nine o' clock?'
He isn't looking forward to the conversation he knows is coming.
To his surprise, Daisy doesn't immediately start asking questions when she walks through the door to his apartment at quarter past nine that night. Rather, she greets him warmly, as if it were any other night, before wandering around the place, exploring his rooms and inspecting the way he's arranged everything. A hint of sadness comes into her eyes when she spots the old photographs on top of a shelf, but she doesn't comment on them. Luigi trails along behind her, feeling awkward.
Once she's satisfied her curiosity about his new home, their chitchat turns to the subject of food, which leads to them ordering a pizza and slouching together on the couch while they wait for it to arrive, sipping Coke through red-striped straws. Luigi wonders when she's going to bring up the elephant in the room.
Later, when the food has come and gone, they begin to talk, quietly and tentatively. Daisy asks how he's been doing, to which he replies 'good', and they both smell the lie in the room, but Daisy doesn't mention it and he is grateful.
It's almost ten PM before the subject finally moves to the one Luigi had both been dreading and wanting to get over with.
'Why'd you move out of your old place?' Daisy asks. 'Not that I don't like this place, but...'
Luigi clears his throat. 'Too many memories,' he replies, gulping his Coke and wishing it were hard liquor.
Daisy nods in understanding. 'But they're not all bad memories, are they?'
He makes a confused noise, setting his glass down on the coffee table in front of them. 'No, of course not. Mario and I lived in that house for so long, and...' A lump comes into his throat, and he looks the other way so she won't see his expression or the tears stinging his eyes. He knows she already knows, though, especially when she lays a hand on his knee, fingers curling and tightening in some wordless gesture he doesn't understand.
'That's right,' she says softly. 'You have so many great memories with him, and the house makes you think of them.' A short pause. 'And that's how we need to remember him – by all of those fun, cool, amazing moments. Not by the bad stuff. Yeah, Mario's not here anymore, but all those great things still happened. So let's try to be happy because they happened, instead of sad because they're over now.'
Luigi is careful not to look at her as she speaks, knowing he'll fall apart if he sees her face, but it's inevitable anyway. He'd already been sniffing back tears, but Daisy's calm, reassuring, familiar voice and the warm hand rubbing his knee in comfort finally tips him over the edge.
She knows it's coming, and is already reaching out when he turns, buries his face in her shoulder and starts to convulse with sobs. Her arms wrap around his body, pulling him even closer, and she doesn't say anything. There's none of that silly, soothing nonsense people whisper when another person is crying. She just holds him.
Eventually, he's done crying, but keeps himself nuzzled into her side for a long while afterwards. It feels safe, as if he's being protected from the world and all the terrible things in it.
'...Don't die,' he mumbles, throat rough and painful. 'I don't want you to go, too.'
She holds him tighter and rests her head on top of his, as if this arrangement is as much for her comfort as for Luigi's. 'Promise I'll try my best,' she says quietly.
It doesn't feel like everything is OK, but maybe it feels like the beginning of OK. He has a suspicion that the grief and loneliness will stay with him forever, a part of him just as much as Mario had been. But it'll get better, he knows.
And the best thing is that he's not really alone.