A/N: Hello I have returned to the realm of the living, apologies. Idk if any of y'all are still around but please, take this. I promise I'm trying to go somewhere with this because I do love SMB3 with my whole heart and soul, and these characters mean a lot to me so hopefully we'll all have a decent time with it. To those of y'all who commented about my formatting, thank you so much, you were absolutely right in every capacity; I made a conscious effort to fix it up this time around!

Orange, like the beyond faded spray paint that had once been etched upon the metal surface of an unassuming receptacle in an alleyway between two battered old shops. Though, he never quite remembered the way it looked from the outside; he hadn't gotten to look at it much before he had been unceremoniously thrown inside along with the rest of the garbage. Had he been older, he may have wondered why his parents would discard him like this, or, rather, why they would allow this stranger to have done it on their behalf.

It was loud and scary outside…no one could even hear him in here…

A seed of doubt planted itself in his mind that day, and though it would not bloom for many years to come, its presence haunted him nonetheless. Why didn't they want me? Had he asked, the sound of his voice reverberating in that half-empty dumpster would have driven him mad, it would have probably been too much for him to take. However, he did not. At only a year and a half, he hadn't much of a mind to ponder the thought, he was far too occupied fretting about the darkness that swallowed him as soon as the hatch had closed, and the world had forgotten him.

Cold…

The passage of time became blurry with tears, loneliness and hunger filling the empty space before they too eventually felt as dull and pale as the graffiti. He hadn't come to until the familiar sensation of wetness upon his cheeks was gone, replaced instead with the warmth from a hand of the stranger who had dried them.

When…? It was hard to see…

He blinked in surprise, and the two children stared at one another uneasily, the older of the two withdrawing momentarily to run a hand through his tangled, dirty blue hair. The moisture returned soon after, prompting him to lean in, in pursuit of the security he had so sorely missed. The stranger thankfully complied, holding him tighter.

The sunlight was nice…

He clung on as well as he was able, and prayed he would never be alone again.

Orange, like the peaceful gradient that stretched out across the sky for miles beyond his perch atop the shoulders of his "father", watching as the sun bobbed and sank beneath the horizon. He had been here for a few months now, but the silent fear he had harbored for two long years manifested so deeply within him that it twisted and tangled about his insides in such a way that the very act of breathing was laborious. As the tendrils of abandonment threatened to rip him away once more, he tightened his grip. In these moments, he wondered how it was possible to be face to face with the vast, seemingly infinite expanse of nature, only to brush against the rusty metal of his mental confines every time he closed his eyes. The wind blew, and the voice it carried echoed more raucously than the door to his brother's room.

"Go and bother someone else!"

Suddenly, everything was too bright, too loud, his heart palpitated much too quickly for his liking, and he figured it was just as well; the last time he remembered this feeling, he had become too much of a burden, it would seem, for them as well…Was that truly what they thought of him?

With this question he had grown weary, it plagued him incessantly. Where he had typically expressed his indignance quite firmly (Who needed them? He could get on well enough without them), often he found it much easier to hold fast to his stubbornness while he was being held himself, eyes squeezed shut and head buried in his big brother's shoulder. That had always been enough for him-to ward off those invasive feelings of worthlessness when he felt inclined to curl into himself and fade away from existence.

But a lot of good that did him now, when the one he had relied on for so long to be there had quite literally closed the door on him, so there he sat in despair, unsure of what else to do with himself but wait for the next stranger to dispose of him. But this one hadn't. And here he was, practically strangling him for reasons not of his own doing until he was finally removed. A pattern he had long since been acquainted with, tears immediately began to form, much as he loathed them.

His "father" didn't seem to mind, resettling him in his arms so that he was still able to watch the sun finally disappear. As the darkness set in, he quivered and shrank. But the man held him tightly and laughed, patting him on the head a few times for good measure.

"It'll come back, little guy. It always does."

True to his word, Ludwig apologized the very next day. But he could not help but wonder if he would be better left in the familiar darkness of the still, black sky.

Orange, like the flame that rose in his throat too quickly for him to stop as he spat harshly at his unsuspecting assailant. Thankfully, Ludwig just managed to tumble out of its way before it dispersed harmlessly against the cold stone wall. All the same, the two could only stare at one another quizzically, and for a moment, he wanted so badly to recapture the fleeting, ragged coattails of the memory that led to their union. But as the tears began to form in Ludwig's eyes, he couldn't even stand to look at him, much less return an antiquated favor.

He had just wanted to be left alone-a sentiment he was sure Ludwig would understand better than anyone. He was six now, and couldn't help but be confused when his brother only got more and more overbearing with each passing day.

He didn't like it. He remembered a time in which nothing would have made him happier, when nothing mattered so long as he knew he was loved at the end of the day, of this he was confident. But his confidence waned with their interest in him, and he found himself put on the shelf for so long that the sudden attention was stifling.

So he reacted rather poorly when Ludwig failed to pick up on the irony of the situation and followed him absolutely everywhere. He couldn't say what brought upon his brother's sudden renewed interest in him, he scowled in annoyance anyway. He wasn't an object to be played with at leisure, he had struggled too much to distance himself from his origin, to make something more of himself than he was destined to be, no thanks to anyone else. But as Ludwig finally pushed him beyond the point of no return, he supposed that fate was cyclical in nature. He was broken at last, and there was only once place he truly belonged; among the cracked, the soiled, the crumpled, the shattered, the rotten, the remains of what had once been. What could have been.

Ludwig's attempts at reconciliation had been the salt-encrusted band-aid over a gaping bullet hole.

"You know, my mother left me behind too," he admitted heavily, shoulders sagging as though he were actually sharing a portion of his burden.

If he felt a twinge of sympathy, it was quickly quashed by his growing anger at his brother's presumption. The way he sighed, like he was doing him a great service while stealing the air right out of his lungs…he hated him. He was pushy, and egotistical, and…and just so utterly clueless-why did he have to make everything about himself? His fury materialized in his chest, burning him, and he pushed Ludwig away. If he refused to empathize, he would make him understand, make him know the depths of his devastation, make him share in his pain, in whatever form it may take.

"That isn't the same! Mine THREW. ME. AWAY!" he screamed as the bile rose in his throat.

But it hadn't been bile. As far as he was concerned, it had been the manifestation of five years of anguish, silently cultivated in the musty dumpster of his mind. Try as he might, he would never escape it. He began there, and he would return there. Anywhere was better than his place in the doorway, wordlessly watching as Ludwig collapsed on the floor, calling to him in desperation between hiccups. All the same, he turned his back and left, and his retribution was complete.

Orange, like the gem that gleamed atop the wand it was fixed to. He had stolen it, just as Bowser asked, and as he made his hasty retreat, he was at last able to look over the object he had been sent to retrieve. It was neat, but as he turned it in his hands, he realized how little it meant to him. Sure, he had waved it around a good number of times, but barely managed to conjure up a puff of smoke before he grew bored with it. He hardly knew what was expected of him, but Dad was counting on him, he couldn't-he wouldn't fail. He smiled to himself as he recalled the encounter, in which he had approached Bowser apprehensively, only to be met with the warmth he had treasured since he was small.

"Of course I'm sure. You're resourceful, clever, strong-willed-EXTREMELY strong-willed…" he muttered to himself. He scooped him up into a hug.

"Trust me, you'll do great out there, okay? I wouldn't put just anyone out in the front. Leave the worrying to me."

He had giggled, and squeezed his father one last time before pulling away. He looked back and called a "sure" over his shoulder before scampering off to prepare. But as he had found it difficult to wipe the grin off of his face, he realized then that he himself hadn't been prepared to have ever been made to feel like more than a burden.

He frowned. He knew in his heart that wasn't what Ludwig meant but it was just one of those things that reminded him for better or for worse just how much he used to hang on his words. But this time he was fascinated; there was something about Dad that made him appear to hold his tongue, and his silence had been genuinely thrilling where he expected opposition. He had only given him a tight nod and wished him to be careful before abruptly excusing himself, and it rang annoyingly apathetic but he was so happy he couldn't even be bothered to wonder where all of the theatrics had gone.

He had been cut loose at last, freed from the thoughts that tethered him to that dark forsaken place to now go on to make a new place for himself…whatever that ended up being. There wasn't much of a plan for that yet. He really did like it out here despite himself, the sun shone way brighter than he ever remembered it being back home…It was wide open but not in the least bit frightening, like a lid had been opened somewhere and he was finally able to see the world in a way that made him forget where he came from. It was all he ever really wanted but now that he was out here alone he didn't really know where to go either…

It was foreign and weird but so were his father's arms at first, and as clumsy as he had been back then, he would eventually learn to stand on his own here, too. He could do this, he had already done the hard part-all by himself, no less. It was a comfortable game at this point, though he wasn't sure what he was playing for. Surely something better than this boring old stick…

The wand grew heavy in his grip, its weight all the more symbolic. Lame, maybe…but if it was important to Bowser, it was important to him, and he was willing to fight for that reason alone. That was all he really needed to know. Though life had fashioned him to be something of a pessimist, he at least dared to hope for a little bit of fun before the inevitable occurred.

I'm running out of ways to indicate age without it sounding forced so I think I'll just put it down here by section, if you're curious.

1) 1.5

2) 3.5

3-4) 6