Playlist

by CheeseCakeParty

Every moment in their lives plays a different melody. (A collection of stories mostly about the Koopalings)

9. Matches

Going to start putting the names of the songs. It's named Playlist for a reason.

---

Matches

Ephixa & Stephen Walking: Matches (feat. Aaron Richards)

---

Iggy is out in the courtyard trying not to pester the gardener when he finds a stray seed nestled unearthed in the garden soil. Unplanted and slightly dented, Iggy grimaces at the sight of the pitiful seed sitting on the dirt, patiently awaiting that fateful day the gardener will finally notice it. Which—Iggy knows from experience and how often he must get his own hands dirty to fix the guy's screw ups—probably won't happen in this lifetime.

Really, the lack of care from the gardener is disgraceful to all gardeners of the Darklands. Dad could have easily planted a farm before this gardener even got his shovel ready to start digging. Part of Iggy wants to chew the lazy gardener out for his terrible job because what's the point of paying the guy if all he does is sing awful songs aloud and overwater the tulips?

Although, Iggy shoots down that idea before he begins crafting the long speech he'll say. He had gotten an ear full from Kamek about his short temper after he ripped the gardener's confidence to pieces with a hefty, insult-filled tangent on proper garden care. He then proceeded to stomp on the remains of what was once the gardener's carefree disposition when he was finished speaking his mind. Well, metaphorically.

In truth, he made him cry. A little. Okay, no, maybe a lot. Maybe enough to fill a swimming pool or two if he had collected his tears for sport. Though he's not that sadistic. Sometimes.

Iggy had apparently caused so much emotional distress, Kamek granted the gardener a week off to recover and a guaranteed promise to never allow Iggy to speak to him that way again. As if the gardener deserved any time off for his negligence and ineptitude. He should have spent his time off seeking out a career change.

Iggy stares helplessly at the little seed, uncertain on what to do. If he leaves it as is, perhaps it'll eventually take root in the soil. Though, there is the possibility of it becoming an opportunistic critter's next meal too. It's not the seed's fault its caretaker is so oblivious to everything but the current top forty pop songs on the radio. He sends a silent glare the gardener's way as the idiot hums too loudly and offkey.

An idea springs to Iggy's mind.

What if he tries to grow it himself?

Surely, he can do ten times better than that doofus. As if the stars above read his mind and wanted to prove him correct, he watches the gardener fumble with the hose, witnessing the disaster on two legs accidentally spray himself straight in the face. The gardener hacks up water from his lungs, sputtering for air. Iggy feels no ounce of sympathy, choking down a round of laughs to avoid a pointless scolding from Kamek.

His decision is made immediately after. With a roll of his eyes and a few quiet snickers, Iggy picks up the tiny red and white-spotted seed, holding it delicately in his palms.

Iggy wonders what type of plant it could possibly grow up to be. It's definitely not a tulip bulb like the others blooming around it or the new cosmos planted around the pavilion. He doesn't recall it in any of Dad's plant encyclopedias. He's suddenly eager to plant it and uncover the mysteries blooming inside.

It's one of the reasons he loves gardening. Sure, inventing and tinkering machines is fun, but to witness a tiny sprout grow after all the hard work put into taking care of it causes an indescribable warmth to burst in his chest.

He always loved following Dad around, assisting him in the garden or digging around his dad's personal study for hours and reading any book he could find.

He rushes to the greenhouse shoved into the corner of the courtyard and giddily begins collecting his supplies. He brazenly ransacks the place, mentally checking off his list and not caring if a bit of soil spills here or some shovels end up there.

Revenge, he thinks wickedly as another bag of soil slouches, choking up dirt as it sags. He knows who will have to clean it up when they get back from watering the flowers outside and it makes him cackle.

As Iggy walks out of the courtyard with full hands coated in soil, he mischievously eyes the lawn faucet that the hose is attached to. He reminds himself he'd be in gigantic amounts of trouble if he tinkers with it just to mess with the unsuspecting gardener.

It takes a lot of willpower and reasoning to get him out the door before he decides to toss all the possible bad outcomes aside and cause a bit of mayhem.

…

Iggy chooses not to tell anyone about the new addition to his room. He doesn't see any reason to inform his siblings he's attempting to grow a plant. When it eventually blooms, he plans on flaunting it then and rubbing it in the gardener's dumbfounded face until he cries again.

The process is slow, almost torturous, and he's not as patient as a middle child should be when shoved in-between six other children. His excitement morphs into irritation some days. Though he's quick to remind himself—like building a machine—things like this take time and effort.

Oftentimes, he sits at his desk, tweaking at the desk light to adjust the brightness as he prepares for the germination stage. Eventually, he'll have to replace the crisp white—almost blinding—light bulb with something less harsh. A gentle blue light bulb with a lower wattage is ideal to help stimulate its growth and he plans to switch it from blue to red when the plant begins flowering.

He knows there's a few colored bulbs inside the greenhouse storage compartment. The gardeners use those whenever a plant needs extra attention to nurse it back to health or when they receive a new batch of seedlings to nurture.

As Iggy examines the soil, fingers testing the moisture, his mind wanders back to Dad's tiny study and it's abundance of flora. Dad had a shelf of various seedlings basking in red and blue lights. Dad constantly examined their growths, adjusting the lights as often as he adjusted his glasses, charting information as they progressed through their stages.

Iggy recalls that a lone aloe vera plant sat on Dad's desk which he sometimes used for their cuts and burns and hanging in the corner of the room was a philodendron with extremely spindly stems and leaves that reminded him of a spider.

Although the lack of sunlight was always an issue for Dad when keeping more prettier varieties of plants in his office like flowers. He was resilient with his care and adamantly kept a pot of miniature roses in his study beside his bookcase.

Dad said yellow miniature roses were Mom's favorite flower when Iggy asked why he bothered to keep up with its particularly finicky maintenance. She always loved cute things and bright colors despite her punk phase and love for rock music. And what was cuter than a huddle of tiny yellow roses?

It explains why she felt the need to coddle Lemmy with affection so much and dress him in silly clothes with ribbons.

With a bright orange shell and matching blonde hair—before he went and dyed it a multitude of colors—he was physically the brightest child out of the bunch. Plus, he was extremely tiny for a young Koopa—something Lemmy found incredibly annoying. Especially when Iggy and Roy—both younger than him—began towering above him and he stayed at the same height.

Thinking of his parents causes his heart to tighten in his chest. He frantically blinks back the unshed build up of tears. Iggy wonders when thinking about them won't feel like he's ripping off scabs and opening new wounds. He rattles up his thoughts by furiously shaking his head, shakily getting up from his chair. He turns towards the door in hopes of seeking out a distraction for the day.

When a little green stem pops from the dirt, he's ecstatic to know his hard work is finally getting him somewhere. Part of him was worried the plant wouldn't sprout at all due to the damage of the seed. He adjusts the lighting accordingly, checking the progress each day when he wakes up in the morning and after dinner.

It takes a few more weeks of nurturing for the plant to sprout any type of flower. He wouldn't exactly call it a flower. It's a huge white bulb, similar in shape to a tulip, but lacks the origami folds and softness of petals. Strangely enough, it's smooth to the touch almost like a freshly peeled onion and its reflective skin mirrors back Iggy's big eyes staring curiously at it.

He isn't discouraged by the lackluster bulb he gets. If anything, he grows even more eager to examine the end results, thrilled to discover a plant unfamiliar to him. Iggy expects it to eventually burst, finally exposing its velvet-like petals and colors to the world. Although if it retains the same milky white as before he won't be upset either.

After an event-free dinner without any casualties or heated debates disguised as arguments, Iggy retreats to his room to check on the bulb's soil. He hasn't watered it in a few days and it may be parched. His other plan before bedtime is to tinker with a robot toy currently laying on his bed that refuses to make sounds for Larry.

Ludwig had begged Iggy for assistance in fixing the broken toy in order to stop another tantrum from Larry. No matter how hard the toddler smacks the toy against the table or floor, the robot remains eerily silent and Larry grows more violent and frustrated. Sometimes he even unrelentingly wails until Bowser bursts into the room and silences him with promises of sweets.

Iggy opens the door to his room, trudges to his nightstand and searches the clustered drawer of scrap metal, papers, and miscellaneous tools for his screwdriver. He finds it easily enough since the handle is a bright cherry red. He grabs the toy from his bed that he threw there earlier and turns the toy over in his hands, inspecting it closely. He already spots a few problems made worse from his tiny brother's abusive habits.

He distractedly makes his way over to his desk, absentmindedly chipping the blue paint of the robot away with his claws. He spares his plant a fleeting glance, not expecting much progress from this morning's inspection.

He freezes, heart jumping from his chest and lodging in his throat. At first, he thinks he's finally slipped into insanity. After all, what he's seeing cannot be real—but after blinking his eyes rapidly a few times without the picture in front of him changing, he realizes this is reality.

The tiny white bulb of the plant pokes its head out from the dark soil, beady black eyes sleepily blink up at him. Iggy nearly shrieks, dropping the toy onto his foot. He slaps a hand over his mouth, swallowing his screams of surprise and pain. The last thing he needs is Ludwig racing down the hall to play parent or Lemmy bursting into the room and asking a million questions Iggy clearly can't answer yet.

The pain in his foot is quick to subside, but his gobsmacked expression remains etched onto his face. Iggy cocks his head to the side, mouth still shielded by his hand. He's humored when the tiny being mimics his action. He exhales, slowly lowering his hand from his face, choosing to rub at his arm.

"Uh…" Iggy trails off, laughing nervously to fill the silence and to keep himself from further freaking out. "You're not what I expected."

It coos eagerly at him, stretching its stem as far as it allows and flutters its leaves in some sort of greeting. Iggy surmises it's trying to reach for him. Without really thinking, he places his hand gingerly on the tiny plant's slightly encaved head. Iggy smiles; just like the seed it sprouted from.

A fuzzy feeling stirs in his chest when the plant seemingly leans into his touch, eyes staring up at him like he's suddenly become its whole world. A warning reminder seeps into his mind like a quick injection of poison. Instantly, he grows apprehensive and tenses. His body chills as the ominous thoughts sink to his stomach, causing his breath to hitch.

The plant naively continues to savor the warmth from his fingers, unknowingly causing Iggy to clench his teeth. He knows he shouldn't be finding anything this plant does endearing and he shouldn't be touching it. Especially when he knows exactly what this little seedling will sprout up to be.

What does he even do about this?

Dad had told him about the dangers of a plant with large sharp teeth and an even bigger appetite. At first, his younger and far more ignorant self believed Dad was conjuring stories to keep him from wandering too far off from the house, but he learned rather quickly that Dad wasn't trying to frighten him in order to keep him obedient.

The foreboding tone of Dad's voice, the nervous worry flickering in his eyes as he made Iggy promise to run if he ever saw one should have been an obvious sign he wasn't crafting the nightmarish creature from thin air.

Spotting that Iggy still wasn't fully persuaded, Dad pulled a book from the highest shelf of his collection and set it in on the table with an authoritative and attentional thump.

Iggy had eagerly skimmed the pages, elated to absorb new information from a book he had never read before. Although his childish excitement quickly dissolved away, sucked up by the printed pages. A sense of looming dread settled in his stomach as it began to churn.

His four-year-old mind couldn't handle the brutality of the world they lived in and he chose to snap it closed in hopes of quelling his rising anxiety levels.

When Dad wanted to get his point across, he made sure his words stuck like the stickiest of glues. Iggy had gotten nightmares for weeks and Mom gave Dad a severe scolding for being too blunt with him.

Iggy remembers reading—from the tidbits he didn't block out due to emotional trauma—that Piranha Plants were cross pollinated and bred many generations ago to assist in the almost nonstop wars between the Darklands and its enemies.

Many of the current species of today weren't naturally occurring instances in nature until they began sprouting up like weeds. The more scientists prodded and dabbled with their genetics, the more deadly and resilient the plant became.

Although the Piranha Plant comes in many varieties it only has two purposes in life; to maim its foe and survive. Dad warned him to stay as far away as possible if he spotted one in the wild because certain species had quite a range of attack.

According to Dad and the book Iggy couldn't stomach to finish, certain Piranha Plants can shoot fireballs from their mouths, others bites are coated in poison ensuring a slow and painful demise to anyone unlucky enough to get too close, and all of them are capable of swallowing an enemy whole without prejudice.

Younger Iggy had been an idiot who thought Dad had been teasing him to get a reaction out of him until Dad decided to use a more traumatic and forceful approach. Dad wasn't much of a joking type to begin with. Why would he lie to his son when he sounded so stern and afraid for his safety?

Now Present Iggy is an even bigger idiot for growing one in the place where he sleeps.

He shivers, hand retreating to his chest before it ends up on the menu. He glares at the little plant, daring it to try anything funny. It does nothing but continue to wordlessly stare at him. Maybe it's a sick trick his mind is playing on him, but the plant looks almost upset?

He shoves that possibility somewhere deep down, burying it under logical and scientific facts that disagree with it ever occurring. He refuses to be easily swayed by its cuteness when it's a figurative time bomb set to explode in his face the moment it gains teeth.

He groans, head falling into his hands.

"Okay, Iggy," he mumbles to himself. "Your stupid ego really screwed you over this time. Now what? What if it eats your family?"

He spares the plant a brief glance. The plant seemingly studies its new surroundings. Its bulbous head flicks in all directions like an alert infant attempting to understand the new world around it. It comes off as the very definition of an innocent creature, curious of its new home. The exact opposite demeanor of a bloodthirsty plant bred to cause harm.

Well, until it's older, Iggy reasons to himself before he gets too attached to something he shouldn't be getting attached too. He may as well pluck a Bob-omb from the closest factory and carry it around until it explodes in his face. He's officially the biggest moron to ever live in Bowser's castle.

He releases another groan out of frustration and directs it at his own stupidity. It's one of the longest defeated groans in history—definitely one for the record books. He doesn't even know what type of Piranha Plant it is which makes things impossibly worse.

What if this one explodes or something?

With that in mind, his first assignment is to find out what breed it is. He definitely cannot tell Kamek or Bowser about it. The trouble he'd be in would be deeper than the ocean. Hell, he'd be better off plunging into the ocean at this point.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

Angrily, Iggy extends the palm of his hand to his forehead and slaps himself a few times. He half-expects to hear an echo from inside his hollow head. The only thing he manages to do is cause a bit of stinging pain and a red mark.

…

Iggy sneaks a book about Piranha Plants from the library the next morning. If anyone inquires about his sudden interest in something so terrifyingly deadly; he has a full tale of lies hidden under his shell ready to fire off until one eventually lands. Exhaustedly, he skims through the book, eyes half-lidded and head resting on a curled fist, fighting to stay awake.

The creature currently residing in his room is giving him a rerun of nightmares he had a few years ago. Sleep wasn't easy to achieve when the looming presence of a monster sat only feet away, rustling in a pot.

Iggy learns quickly that he's lucky. Sorta.

The plant sprouted from a red and white-spotted seed meaning it could be a standard Piranha Plant. In that case, the most he'd have to worry about is the thing swallowing him whole. Although that's still up in the air, lost amongst Iggy's common sense because he shouldn't be keeping it in his room if he wants to survive until adulthood.

Red, white-spotted Piranha Plants can still spit poison, fireballs, or spiked balls. If that wasn't bad enough, it can possibly even grow up to be capable of extending its stem many feet from its pot or jump right out of it and attack.

Iggy snaps the book closed out of frustration, leaning back in his swiveling chair. He gives it a spin just for the fun of it. The brief excitement quells the uneasiness and growing anxiety spouting like weeds inside his hectic mind. It's a thrilling yet momentary rush.

Of course fate chooses to burst his bubble and the chair coincidentally stops right in front of the source of all his newest problems. Iggy can practically hear the universe laughing at his dismay as his face drops to an unamused and deep frown.

He uneasily eyes the Nipper Plant munching on the apples he picked from their tree outside, wincing at the squelching noises coming from its mouth.

Although mostly carnivorous creatures; Piranha Plants eat practically anything for energy, even their own. As of right now; apples seem to be the little seedling's favorite food to munch on.

Who knows when it's appetite will grow to be more bloody and ravenous?

Iggy shakes his head, rattling up the gruesome images his creative imagination conjures up. The Nipper Plant is more docile than its adult counterpart due to its smaller size. The only time infant Piranha Plants turn aggressive are during what the book labels as feeding frenzies.

Iggy recoils at the thought of witnessing a feeding frenzy in the flesh. The very descriptive accounts of a feeding frenzy send an icy shiver slithering down his spine, the stone sitting in his stomach dives impossibly further.

He doesn't think he could handle watching a horde of Nipper Plants fighting over their meals as some sort of entertainment. The unique snapping sound of their jaws filling the air as they heartlessly rip apart their food and siblings for any ounce of nutritional value to aid in their growth.

Most runts don't survive past a week while others suffer lifelong disabilities from it. It's not uncommon to spot a disfigured Piranha Plant in the wild. Survival of the fittest has never sounded so cruel on paper.

He physically forced himself to tear his eyes away from the page as he read on. The paralyzing fear he once experienced years ago made him begin to hyperventilate. The somber thought of his siblings being devoured because of his ego was enough for him to clutch his stomach, nauseous.

In this case, the Nipper Plant lacks competition for food like it would in the wild. Iggy won't have to experience the feeding frenzy firsthand and his siblings are safely out of its reach as long as they stay away from his room. Which is an easy feat to accomplish since retreating to their rooms is a telltale sign they need time away from each other. The lock he has on his door is also a big plus.

There is a possible bright side in all of this. Breeding Piranha Plants for generations, scientists successfully domesticated them for their use in war. According to the encyclopedia, Piranha Plants are extremely loyal to the hand that feeds them, becoming extremely attached to its handlers. They have a high-intelligence, capable of understanding and recognizing faces and following taught commands.

Iggy will keep feeding the thing if it'll prevent him from becoming its favorite chew toy.

"Hey."

The Nipper Plant halts its devouring, looking up at Iggy and blinks. Apple juices dribble from its toothless mouth, coating its body in a layer of sticky juices. It's as messy as Larry; the toddler loves to play with his food and use his hands as utensils. Ludwig despises it and reprimands the toddler often, but Iggy always found Larry's enthusiasm during mealtime extremely infectious.

Iggy will have to spray it with the squirt bottle when it's finished to wash away the chewed remains of the deceased apple like Larry needing a bath whenever anything with pasta is involved.

Except, unfortunately, Iggy knows spraying it at a distance won't be enough. He'll have to pat it down with a towel too or else the soil will stick to its fleshy skin like a second layer. Showering the plant will likely become a constant occurrence whenever the plant eats its meals.

Iggy's posture deflates and the chair makes humorous groaning noises the further he sinks. Usually the sounds cause him to snicker, but he remains stuck in a taciturn state, unable to form a smile.

If he hopes to keep the thing clean; he has to learn how to handle it with his hands—which sucks because he likes having hands with all his fingers still attached. He stares down at his beautiful fingers, undamaged with trimmed claws. He mourns for them already.

Iggy clenches his fists, digging his claws into his palms. Maybe he just has to be assertive with it. Maybe he won't have to lose a finger or two.

"Listen here," he regards the plant with disdain and an inflection so frigid he half-expects frost to settle on its greenery. "If you promise not to eat anyone then you can stay here. If you so much as bite me, I'm tossing you into the lava myself; got it?"

Iggy crosses his arms, eyes narrowed, trying to appear as intimidating as he feels. He imagines Roy in the same pose, scaring off hordes of bullies just by doing the exact same thing. He hopes he looks as threatening as Roy does.

The Nipper Plant remains statuesque, seemingly mulling over Iggy's proposition. It releases a strange strangled chirp before taking a large bite out of another unlucky apple.

Iggy spontaneously wonders if it's possible to feel sympathy for a fruit? Apple pieces and juices mixed with saliva spew from its mouth as it attempts to gobble it down in record time. Iggy feels the moisture sprinkle his face. He wipes off a particularly huge chunk of apple from his cheek, frowning deeply.

"Great, glad we've come to an agreement."

…

For the next few days, Iggy continues to read up on proper Piranha Plant care after lessons. He's been feeding the thing a diet of strictly water and apples. He's hesitant to feed it anything meat-related. Once it knows the delicious taste of meat, he's terrified it'll seek the flavor out and start trying to take chunks out of him.

He tries to keep it entertained by throwing food to see if it can catch it or he'll set it's pot by the window sill during the evening hours so it can watch the world move.

Iggy's careful to scan the perimeters of the castle before placing it there to avoid anyone catching sight of it. Although the probability of someone actually spotting the plant so far above is rather slim—unless their superpower is amazing vision. Still, it's better to be overly cautious than overly careless.

Iggy also found the plant cannot stay exposed to the stale, volcanic air for too long before he notices it's leaves beginning to wilt, tips dyed a dry brown. He hydrates it immediately after its world watching session and it perks up like nothing had been wrong to begin with.

The Nipper Plant is an extremely needy thing too. Whining when Iggy ignores it, begging for attention as Iggy scribbles away at blueprints for fun, and causing mischief when it's bored just so Iggy acknowledges it. It's hard to get anything accomplished when he's locked in his room for the sole purpose of being alone only to be pestered by a persistent plant.

Iggy doesn't know how many times he's come back to his room after lessons or dinner to find his desk a mess of shredded paper and his pen holder knocked to the floor, pens and pencils either chewed to pieces or all sprawled out covered in spit.

The impish plant is really testing his patience. Part of him wants to tell Kamek or Bowser so he can get rid of it, but then he imagines the punishment for housing it, the lengthy reprimands he'd sit through, and the burning shame at having to own up to his idiotic decision to keep it in the first place.

He decides it's not worth it. Ludwig would probably rub his poor lapse of judgment in his face till he's dead in the ground. Iggy is responsible for the Nipper Plant. He has to accept the consequences he wrought on himself.

Tonight, a thunderstorm rattles the stone walls of the old castle and lightning brightens the dark sky. Every flash illuminates his drab room, projecting monstrous deformities against his walls. He's not one to believe in monsters hiding under beds or in closets, but he huddles further under the covers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

He tries not to think of that night. Soaked in rain, huddled under a tree with the others. His only priority wasn't to sleep or to mourn; it was ensuring Lemmy stayed warm enough to not get sick.

Roy and Ludwig seemed to share in his worry, sparring glances his way while the younger children slept. Lemmy's shell remained in Iggy's possession, huddled close to his chest, wrapped in his arms as he shivered. His spikes sometimes nicked at his scales, but Iggy didn't care. Lemmy couldn't afford to fall ill.

A soft whine pulls him away from the edge his mind is currently standing on. He's back in the present, underneath a mountain of comforters, warm in bed.

The storm is unrelenting, aggressive, and Iggy is five seconds away from bursting out of his room to run to Lemmy's room if it means he can get an ounce of sleep. Since Lemmy's room doesn't have any windows, it's easier to block out the noises coming from outside and a companion to weather the storm with wouldn't be so bad.

Morton is probably already in there, soundlessly sleeping. Lemmy's bed is big enough to fit an entire army, one more wouldn't hurt.

Another whimper from Iggy's desk prevents him from doing such a thing. He rolls over in his bed to face the wall, shoving a pillow over his ear holes to block out the needy sounds. It does little to help mute the mews and whines growing louder and louder the longer the storm rages on. It's almost like it's trying to outdo the storm.

After several minutes of continuous whining, he decides he's had enough. Eventually someone will catch onto the strange noises coming from his room. The last thing he needs is one of his siblings thinking it's him and digging into his personal life. He imagines how much coddling Lemmy would give him if he believed he was having night terrors again.

Iggy rolls out of bed with a groan, stumbling through the dark to the desk. He can barely make out it's shape in the murky shadows, only catching glimpses during each lightning strike. He sleepily admonishes it, although most of it is guttural grunts and hastily whispered gibberish. He only receives more whines in response.

With no other option in sight, he takes the pot and places it on his bedside table without caring much for the consequences. If he's missing a hand in the morning, at least he got some sleep. All he wants is to sleep.

"Better?" he asks the plant, exasperated. It's blissfully silent as it watches him crawl back into bed.

Immediately the warmth under the covers soothes his irritation and he cuddles closely against his soft pillow. His eyes start to drift close, weighed down by his fatigue when the plant releases a needy chirp.

He snaps his eyes open and groans out almost desperately. Blindly and half-asleep, he reaches out his hand, patting and stroking the plant to keep it quiet. It magically works wonders. The only sounds echoing in his room are the rumbling of thunder and the patter of guards or servants walking past his door.

Too exhausted to care, he feels the slimy tongue of the plant lick his hand and nudge it. He shivers from a mixture of disgust and the cool night air meeting his saliva soaked fingers. Somehow, he manages to fall asleep.

Iggy wakes up the next morning to find his hand still attached to his wrist. It rests in the soil, coated in a layer of dirt and dried drool. He flexes his hand, testing for any sharp jolts of pain from bite marks or missing fingers. Satisfied to find nothing missing or damaged, he cracks his eyes open.

His hooded gaze crawls upward to find the plant's head barely making contact with the tips of his claws as it continues to sleep quietly. He closes his eyes, preparing to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep himself since it's a Saturday.

Vaguely, he hears a soft snore escape the plants mouth followed by a few short whimpers before silence settles over the room again. Unconsciously, the noises cause him to smile.

"How cute."

Iggy's eyes bulge at the fleeting thought and he sits upright too fast in his bed. His mind swirls in all directions as blood rushes to his thick head, trying to play catch up and jump start the rest of his senses.

He places his head in his hands to stop the room from spinning, covering his eyes to block out the sudden rush of light slamming into his corneas. He still feels the heaviness of sleep clinging to his tired muscles, but after that thought he knows he won't be able to fall back asleep any time soon.

Iggy shouldn't get attached. He's warned himself of this numerous times. He can't take that risk. He can't. It's dangerous. Unpredictable. Vicious. He halts in his thoughts, eyes gradually expanding when he realizes something.

It all sounds so familiar to him.

Dangerous…unpredictable… vicious.

Those same words are often used to describe him. By his old classmates, by his old teacher, by the guards and servants who don't know he's standing in the shadows as they tear his name apart. They're afraid of him; a child teeming at the line of insanity.

Only he is treated like some sort of feral stray by the workers in the castle. His siblings are all welcomed as new members. Greetings are tossed their way without much thought, smiles and pleasantries exchanged. Not even Roy's explosive bouts of anger are enough to frighten the minions into avoiding him.

Roy never raises his hands towards any of his defenseless siblings, scaring them stiff with his explosive temper. They don't have to cower, afraid they'll end up the punching bag.

He's never beat them to the ground over a simple mention of their parents. He's never swung towards them when he grows furious at things out of his control. No, his violent attacks turn to inanimate objects instead. Easily replaceable objects like pillows or lamps are the only things that have to fear his wrath. His control is far superior to Iggy's.

Yet, no one in the castle gives Iggy the opportunity to prove himself. The rumors and stories spread around like a contagious illness have tarnished his name. Why should they give him a chance, though? The only thing he's proven to them is how catastrophic and over emotional he is.

What has the Nipper Plant done to warrant such distrust when he's never given it a chance to prove itself?

Despite the many accounts stating Piranha Plants imprint on their caregiver during infancy and rarely bite them; he chooses to disregard it, terrified of what it might do in the future. He isn't any better than the people who mock him behind his back due to his slip-ups and questionable state of mind.

He casts the plant a glance between his fingers, squinting hard since his glasses are on the table beside it. His sudden movements must have woken it up. It seemingly smiles at him, mouth open wide, leaves shaking excitedly at having caught his attention. He sets down his hands and finds himself grinning meekly back.

Iggy swallows his fear then reaches out a hand, tentative and slow. He pauses, uncertain if he should take the plunge. After all, it will become a deadly plant with razor sharp teeth capable of swallowing a Goomba whole. He wonders if this underlying, but completely rational fear will ever go away.

Is this even the logical course of action to take?

The Nipper Plant decides for him. It meets him the rest of the way, leaves flapping as it extends its stem. Its smooth head caresses gently against Iggy fingers as it releases noises of content.

Iggy smiles. He won't know until he takes a chance.

…

So far, Iggy appendages are all accounted for. Most of his notebook of sketches of future projects become filled with notes on the Nipper Plant's weekly measurements, odd behaviors, a growing list of its favorite foods and an even longer list of foods it finds repulsive.

The books he read made it seem as if Piranha Plants didn't have preferences when consuming food for energy. Iggy quickly learned through experience that they didn't just gobble anything in front of them. For example, last week he snuck a few pieces of hard candy to his room for the plant to suck on for the boost of sugar.

He found it loved all of the flavors offered to it—beside the grape. As soon as the candy touched its tongue, it immediately spit it out, launching it across his room and nearly shattering his lamp.

Iggy had found it hilarious; cackling madly while he stroked its head like a proud father. He also despised the grape flavor too—to him it tasted like cough syrup. It was nice to see they shared an opinion.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing spit at him. When he offered the Nipper Plant a drink of water, it had excitedly chirped what he thought was a confirmation.

Eagerly, it basked in its pseudo rain shower, sucking it down in big gulps as he sprayed it. Until it discovered it could gather it in its mouth and spit it out in short bursts, sprinkling the water everywhere.

It seemingly enjoyed Iggy's boisterous shrieks as it gave him his own shower of disgustingly warm water combined with drool and apple pieces. Iggy was soaked after enduring the onslaught. Luckily, no one spotted his dripping wet figure trodding to the bathroom. He didn't have a believable enough excuse to use if he were to be caught.

There was one instance when, during feeding, it unintentionally had—true to its name—nipped his finger. The plant had released his finger the moment Iggy yelped, remnants of chewed food dropping with it.

Iggy assessed the damage, panicking and expecting to find a chunk of his finger gone. All he found was a small, red mark. It stung like a paper cut, but the cut wasn't deep enough to draw much blood.

The Nipper Plant whimpered apologetically as Iggy went digging in his desk for his emergency stash of bandaids. He assured the plant he was fine as he stuck the bandage over the cut. His words weren't enough to soothe it.

He stroked its head as a show of forgiveness. Not once did he think of taking back his words and deeming the plant a danger to society. It had been an accident due to his own carelessness. The plant immediately let go of him when it realized it had gotten a hold of him.

It seemed to have taken his threat from before to heart and Iggy swelled with pride while he continued to praise its good behavior.

Iggy doesn't know when he starts addressing 'it' as a 'he', but once he starts; he can't stop himself. From there, the loving pet names begin. Pal, Buddy, Dude, and Guy are the many ways Iggy chooses to dryly address him when he starts to act mischievous. Like when he bites at his hair or slobbers on his fingers until they're pruny just to get his attention.

Iggy decides that the nicknames have to change. The Nipper Plant needs a proper name.

So Iggy finds himself staring at his list, tapping the pink eraser on the end of his pencil to his chin. As of right now, all his ideas are absolutely terrible if not down-right insulting.

"How about Jaws?" he asks the plant, gauging his reaction.

The plant simply tilts his head as his very unhelpful response, blinking wondrously at him like he's grown a second set of eyes. The Nipper Plant opens his mouth wide, choosing to gnaw on the end of a pencil in the pen holder set too close to his pot. Instead of providing assistance or input, he disregards the importance of names by stirring up his owner.

Iggy snatches the pencil away from him with an aggravated huff, glaring at him. The seedling has watched him scribble for the last half an hour, sitting patiently as Iggy comes up with a name. It's not surprising he's growing bored from the lack of interaction and stimulation. If Iggy is being honest, he's slowly going mad himself.

Still, he's determined to name him today. Although speaking his recently proposed name out loud again causes Iggy to snort derisively and dispose of that idea entirely. He rips the paper littered with eraser marks and hastily written names from his notebook, crinkles it up, and tosses it into the wastebasket near the desk.

Iggy sighs, sitting back in his chair. "I wish you could throw in some helpful suggestions because I really suck at naming things."

He leans forward and the chair creaks from the quick movement. He rests his head on his palm while he absentmindedly strokes the tiny plant with the other. A small smile rests on his lips at the chirps vibrating from the plant. He listens to the familiar sound of rustling leaves, as the plant happily shimmies his stem.

"I think I get that from my Dad," Iggy mutters, sending a disgruntled look skyward. "He named his first born 'Ludwig' and thought it was fine."

The plant elicits a few whimpers, snapping Iggy out of his thoughts. The Nipper Plants eyes lock on the apple sitting on his desk he planned to snack on himself. Iggy smiles knowingly, handing it off to him to eat.

As the plant begins choking down the apple, Iggy's mind gets a sudden spark of inspiration from watching him.

"McIntosh," he tries the name aloud, testing it on his tongue.

The plant immediately looks up at him, chewing thoughtfully, craning his stem to the side. Iggy's smile broadens until his cheeks hurt.

"McIntosh it is then."

…

When Iggy wakes up on a Sunday morning, he recollects the previous night trying to figure out why he's so exhausted and why his brain is pulsating behind his skull. Maybe it was due to Lemmy and him playing tag for two hours, maybe it was because of his lack of hydration, or maybe he shouldn't stay up till the early hours of the morning alternating between reading and fiddling with electronics.

As he scrolls through his memories trying to recall the last time he's had water, he stiffens when he realizes—during his zombie-like state—he forgot to lock his door before passing out. As he struggles to wake up, fighting off his headache, he notes a strange warmth radiating at his side. He peers over to find Morton curled into him, fast asleep.

"No, no, no."

He panics, hopping out of bed like it's suddenly on fire. He hisses as the world swims from standing up right too fast then frantically grabs his spectacles off the nightstand. The book he'd been reading the night before tumbles to the floor, but it's not enough to rouse Morton.

The world around Iggy shifts from blurry pictures to crisp edges and lines. He whirls his body to find McIntosh still sleeping soundly on his desk and then directs his gaze to his little brother still cocooned in his comforters.

He has to get him out of here before it's too late. He violently begins shaking his brother, harshly whispering his name. His voice slowly rises in volume the longer Morton refuses to stir.

Eventually, his jostling gets results. Morton yawns, blinking sleepily up at his big brother. Languidly he stretches like a feline, then rubs the dried crust from his eyes. He yawns again, smacking his tongue like he's sampling the taste of his morning breath.

Iggy spots a dry trail of drool on the side of his brother's mouth near a particularly sharp tooth. His attention drops to his bed, scanning the area to find a puddle of drool on one of his poor pillows. He winces.

Gross.

"Hi, Iggy."

No response. Iggy chooses to make a displeased expression that would make Mom proud. This grabs Morton's attention and all signs of sleepiness are wiped clean off his face.

"Is Iggy okay?" he inquires almost timidly, voice small.

"No," Iggy hisses, crossing his arms tightly. Morton flinches. "He's not. What are you doing here?"

Morton senses the irritation seeping into his tone and whimpers like a wounded animal. He grips the edge of the comforter between his fingers till the color of his knuckles desaturate. He sinks further under the covers like he's trying to hide from Iggy's glowering.

"Morton is sorry. I was scared. A bad dream," Morton hastily explains in fragments, unable to meet his brother's caustic glare. He's beginning to panic too, tears already forming in the corner of his frightened eyes which he attempts to blink away. His bottom lip trembles.

Their loud conversation rouses McIntosh awake. Iggy can hear the tiny plant shuffling in his pot, rustling his leaves like he does every morning. Morton suddenly forgets his trepidation. He is no longer avoiding looking at Iggy by sporadically flicking his gaze around the room. His wide gaze is solemnly focused behind Iggy, locked on a specific target.

Iggy places a hand to his forehead and groans. His plans burst into flames right before his eyes.

He doesn't stop Morton from climbing out of his bed or when he approaches his desk. Iggy doesn't see the point. It's too late to play dumb.

"What's this?" Morton asks, standing on his toes to get a better look at McIntosh. He peers at the plant, attention completely absorbed. McIntosh seems just as interested in him, stretching as far out as his little stem allows him to go.

Iggy approaches his brother, scowling. "It's nothing."

Morton turns his head to give Iggy a big pout. "Iggy is a big liar."

Iggy snorts, swatting away the words that would hurt a four-year-old baby with ease but not an independent seven-year-old like himself. "Yeah, whatever. I'm a big liar."

Morton waits for an answer, staring intensely at the plant as it continues to unwaveringly stare back.

Iggy concedes with a heavy sigh. "It's a Nipper Plant."

"Oh." Morton nods his head like he understands and Iggy's lips quirk when McIntosh mirrors Morton's movement. He's not the only one to find it amusing, Morton giggles lightly.

Morton cranes his head upwards to gaze up at his brother. "What's a Nipper Plant?"

So Iggy delves into all he's learned these past several weeks about his newest addition to his room. He leaves out the more grisley facts pertaining to Nipper Plants because Morton is so easily frightened. The child could start to panic and run to Roy or Lemmy in tears if Iggy described the harsh reality of survival of the fittest.

As Iggy's short summary unconsciously breaks off into a long tangent, he knows Morton is still listening intently. Every so often, Morton spares the Nipper Plant a few curious glances before returning his gaze to his brother. At one point, he works up the courage to touch him after Iggy rants about Piranha Plants' undying loyalty.

He nods along to Iggy's words, humming affirmations when Iggy inquires if he understands the more challenging information he's spewing out almost too quickly to understand. He can't help himself; admittedly it's nice to have someone else in on his secret.

Despite Morton seemingly allowing complex explanations and words to bounce right off his brain and to the ground; Iggy knows better. Morton isn't an idiot. He doesn't require the constant handholding like Ludwig thinks he does.

Morton may struggle and grasp at the language spoken to him, he may sometimes speak in the third person or skeet past pronunciation, but it doesn't make him brainless. His memory absorbs information like a sponge and he can retain even the slightest, most unimportant detail given to him.

Although the words he repeats back are butchered by his lack of understanding spoken language, he can still recall the information without much thought. Sometimes Morton leaves Ludwig dumbfounded when he recollects the scientific facts Iggy once fed him about the biology of plants or the study of machines.

When Iggy finishes dumping all his newfound information on Morton, he lets his brother soak it all in. Morton taps a finger to his lips, eyes skyward like he's reading an imaginary text bubble over his brother's head.

"McIntosh is cool, Iggy," Morton settles on, patting the plant. "Morton likes Mac."

It's at this moment, McIntosh licks Morton's pudgy fingers. Morton's happy face morphs to one of displeasure and he squeals, flailing his wet hand to dry it off. Iggy laughs heartily, clutching his stomach.

He grabs the drool towel near his desk that he's been keeping in his room for such occasions. As he wipes off his brother's hand his expression hardens, mouth contorting into a line. He directs his stern stare to his brother.

"You gotta promise you're not gonna tell anyone or McIntosh will get taken away."

Morton nods furiously, brow slightly wrinkled, determination burning in his eyes.

"Promise," he brings a drool free finger to his lips, baby fangs poking out of his mouth as he musters up the best 'serious' face he can. "Mac stays a secret. Morton will tell no one."

Iggy supposes it's the best he can get from a four-year-old. He tosses the damp towel to the side. Sighing softly, he's uncertain if he can trust Morton to keep his word.

He'll just have to wait to find out.

…

Strangely enough, Morton quickly finds a new friend in McIntosh and McIntosh seems to take a liking to him too.

The downside is Iggy finds himself being followed by Morton more often than usual. Which, before, was unavoidable when they once shared a room. It constantly annoyed him when he woke up to find Morton sleeping in his bed when Morton had a bed only a few feet from him.

An irritating habit brought on by Mom. She had a tendency to let him sleep with her and Dad when he was scared. When Larry was born, and the crying infant kept his parents preoccupied, Mom decided to swap living arrangements to save the sanity of the family.

Lemmy and Ludwig now shared a room and Iggy despised the change. He and Lemmy had been roomies for as long as he could remember. Though Mom keenly figured out the reason both he and Lemmy were a challenge to wake up for school was from their late night chats.

Ludwig appeared hesitant about it, while Roy happily accepted the switch since he had a room practically to himself now until Larry was older. Which meant he had two good years of solitude to look forward to.

Wendy always had her own room—something about being a girl made her different. Iggy never cared to listen to the details or moot excuses. Realistically, she was just spoiled. Which left only two children.

Mom had placed Morton with Iggy. Why—Iggy has no idea—but he soon found out why Roy grumbled and complained about bunking with Morton. He snored, he cried at any sound outside the window, his nightlight may as well have been the sun, and he was exceptionally clingy.

It would have been easier to count how many days Morton slept in his own bed than count how many times Iggy found him scrunched up next to him.

Iggy would physically kick him out of his bed most nights. Grumbling empty threats until Morton crawled back to his own bed. Iggy could hear the sniffing coming from Morton's side of the room as he hid under his blanket. Iggy would relent sometimes, groaning loudly and inviting him back if only to get him to shut up.

A habit made worse after the fire, but Iggy now has his own room with a lock on the door and a shiny key in his hands. Morton has to seek a sleeping buddy elsewhere.

According to Lemmy, it's usually him, sometimes Ludwig, rarely Roy. Nightmares, Lemmy explained tiredly, were plaguing Morton's mind most nights and he couldn't find sleep despite the warm security of another. It explained a lot. Morton hated being alone with his thoughts.

In the ignorant eyes of his siblings; Roy—Morton's favorite sibling to shadow behind—appears to no longer be Morton's favorite.

Roy notices this immediate shift, sending quizzical looks Iggy's way whenever Morton latches onto his arm and guides him to his room to visit his new friend. If Iggy didn't know any better he'd say Roy is jealous of Morton's sudden interest in him. Funny. Roy's usually the first one to shove him away and tell him to grow a backbone.

Iggy only responds with a small shrug to Roy's confusion, feigning the same amount of befuddlement Roy gives him. When Roy begins pressing Morton aggressively for a valid excuse, Iggy is quick to defend him. Iggy blames Roy's natural stench as the main reason for Morton's avoidance, directing the topic elsewhere and diluting Roy's incredulous questions with insults.

Roy is always so quick to defend himself against the accusations, but Iggy's caught him sniffing himself a few times to check if it's true when he believes no one is looking.

Lemmy finds Morton's sudden clinginess endearing, but the way he stares at Iggy like he's trying to decipher his thoughts freaks him out. He retreats rather quickly when Lemmy feigns a smile, prodding lightly for answers.

It doesn't help his case when he's been avoiding Lemmy more than unusual. It's hard to hide something from someone who knows you too well. Avoidance—besides telling the truth—is the best option right now.

Perhaps he'll let Lemmy in on the secret eventually. If only to quell the remorse heaving his already weighty conscience. Whenever Lemmy asks to play or hangout only to receive a curt response or an excuse, Iggy feels himself get pulled deeper into the guilt. Truthfully, he doesn't know how Lemmy will react if or when he does find out.

When Ludwig interrogates Iggy about Morton, suspiciously eying him like he hopes his brother will crack under the heat of his scrutiny. Iggy waves it off as nothing and is forced to promise Ludwig he isn't forming some elaborate prank or creating lies a gullible child like Morton will fall for. It's enough to get Ludwig off his shell, but he's clearly still skeptical.

Today is a lazy Saturday afternoon, Morton sits at Iggy's desk. He lays his chin on his crossed arms, glancing up at McIntosh as he eats the baconstrips he snuck him. McIntosh has proven his loyalty enough for Iggy to start adding meat to his diet and Morton thought bacon—his favorite food—was something McIntosh deserved to try.

Iggy lays on his floor, absentmindedly doodling in the margins, inspiration dwindling the longer he fails to successfully solve the equation in front of him. He knows the answer is somewhere in his head, but his brain is having a moment of relapse.

Morton gasps unexpectedly, causing Iggy to look up from his drawing of a spaceship. Morton seemingly remembers something, digging into his shell. He pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper. He sets it on the desk trying to flatten out the edges, smoothing it down. When it's presentable enough, he smiles brightly.

"Look, I drew your favorite snack," Morton exclaims, holding a crudely drawn apple up for McIntosh to inspect.

When Morton displays his work of art, McIntosh decides it looks believable enough to eat and samples it. He grabs a hold of the paper with his strong jaws and pulls.

"No," Morton cries, yanking back. "Not food. It's not food!"

Thankfully, McIntosh drops the soggy drawing before he swallows it. The paper meets the floor with a wet splat, saliva pooling below it like a murder scene in a crime show. With how crestfallen Morton appears, it may as well have been a murder. Iggy cackles while Morton fixes the plant with a glare.

Morton wags his finger, cheeks puffed. "Don't eat drawings."

McIntosh has the decency to appear apologetic, whimpering under his heated glowering. Iggy slaps his notebook shut, sitting up. His brain isn't in it today and his motivation is nonexistent. He sighs, stretching his hands above his head and yawns.

Iggy decides now is the perfect opportunity to discuss this newest issue with Morton. Their older siblings are getting way too nosy.

"Y'know, Morton," Iggy starts, fiddling with his pencil covered in bite marks. "You should probably stop coming into my room so often. Everyone is getting suspicious."

Morton twirls the chair to face Iggy. "Why?"

"Because you usually follow Roy around and now you're following me," Iggy swallows heavily, dropping his pencil on top of his notebook.

He glares down at the black and white design of his composition notebook, struggling to force out his thoughts. The next part is hard to admit, but it's something he's always known.

"You're afraid of me so it doesn't make sense for you to suddenly like me."

Morton's face twists, perturbed. "Morton likes Iggy as much as Roy."

"But you're afraid of me," Iggy states, exasperatedly.

Morton knots his fingers together. He hums to fill the void of silence as he mulls over Iggy's words.

"Sometimes," he begins, staring down at his twiddling thumbs, thoughtfully. "Sometimes Iggy scares me, but Morton loves Iggy anyways. Iggy is very smart and teaches me a lot of stuff and he's funny."

Morton looks at him and smiles genuinely. Iggy bites down on his lip, turning away. He didn't predict that. Honestly, he doesn't know how to respond. He decides to drop the topic, disposing of it somewhere for him to pull apart later.

Luckily, after dinner, Morton decides to heed Iggy's advice and seeks out Roy, grabbing at his arm. Roy groans and grumbles at this, though Iggy spots the elation in his eyes and the corner of his lips twitching upward.

With Morton out of the way, Iggy turns to Lemmy asking if he, Larry, and Wendy are down for a game of hide and seek. The three siblings simultaneously perk up, excited and all four of them scramble out of the dining room.

Briefly he hears Bowser shout about being careful outside and Kamek chiming in with a curfew. None of the children catch the set time over their shouts of delight. Ludwig, shockingly, joins them outside, but he chooses to mope under the apple tree with a history book in his hands.

When all of them—besides Ludwig—return inside covered in mud and various twigs, Kamek demands they all shower before bed. So Iggy does as he's told, returning to his room afterwards to prepare for bed. He finds Morton at his door, rocking on his heels.

Iggy questions what he's doing at his door, Morton sneakily glances side to side in the empty hallways before claiming he wishes to say good night to McIntosh. Iggy unlocks his door, holding it open so Morton can slip inside.

The hours of roughhousing catch up to Iggy. Sleepily, he waves in McIntosh's direction before dragging himself to bed. As soon as his face hits the pillows and he wraps himself up like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, he's practically asleep. Somewhere in the haziness, he mumbles about Morton promising to lock his door before he leaves.

He never hears the reply.

Iggy wakes up in a cold sweat, shooting upright in his bed. His mind allows him no time to properly wake, quick to play the images tainting his usually sleepless dreams with nightmares. He hasn't had a night terror in months.

He finally feels like he's gaining some ounce of control during the darker days. With McIntosh as a valid distraction, it's become easier to yank himself back before he sinks too deep. Whenever his mind wanders, McIntosh is always there to lick his face or suck on his fingers until he snaps out of it and squirms in disgust. It's gross, but it shatters through his fragile state of mind.

So why now are they resurfacing from the depths below?

Dad had been right there in front of him, within reach, smiling ignorantly, surrounded by fire he couldn't see. He didn't know the fate that awaited him as soon as his foot touched the wooden step leading back upstairs. He just continued to grin at Iggy like nothing else in the world mattered.

The more Iggy examined Dad's smile the more sinister and twisted it grew. Like he was mocking him; mocking the fact he couldn't save him and mocking his inability to move on. Always stuck. Unmoving.

The trembling begins, teeth clattering loudly in his mouth. Chills dance up and down his arms, Iggy's unable to control how much his body is shivering. His breathing is erratic, shockingly abnormal. He clutches his rainbow hair tightly between his fingers, yanking hard. The pain isn't enough to pull him back and the stupid tears fall.

He hears a voice, his bed sinks, and then the flicker of his light as it turns on.

Morton, Iggy realizes, is directly in front of him, speaking to him. His brother never left the room when he told Iggy he simply wanted to wish McIntosh a good night. Idiot, Morton should have left when he had the chance.

Iggy feels his fear morph to fiery. He directs his burning gaze at his brother's blurry face, clenching his jaw and curling his fists.

"Iggy is okay," Morton says, repeating the phrase over and over again like a sorrowful hymn.

Iggy scarcely feels Morton hop off his bed, pattering footsteps rushing off. Iggy hopes he's running away, saving himself from him. What he doesn't expect is for Morton to return to his side with McIntosh in his hands.

"Iggy," Morton slowly sets McIntosh in Iggy's trembling hands. Morton's pudgy fingers rest over his own to steady him and to keep him from dropping McIntosh's pot. "Mac and Morton love Iggy. Right, Mac?"

Morton looks at McIntosh. The Nipper Plant shakes his leaves and chirps as his response.

"See, Iggy? Everything is okay. Don't cry. Don't be sad. Me and Mac are here." Morton's voice is so sincere, but panicstricken and breathy.

Iggy squeezes his eyes tightly shut. He focuses on the sounds of Morton's frightened panting and gentle words, the familiar whispering of leaves as McIntosh presses his head against Iggy's chest, licking away the tears collecting under his shaking jaw.

He recalls the moment from earlier when McIntosh attempted to eat his drawing. Iggy tried to push Morton away for getting too close. Yet, here he is with McIntosh trying to help him. Iggy momentarily wonders why he's always closing figurative doors on others. He steadies his breathing, the anger flaring inside him dulls like a dying flame.

Soon, his breathing slows. He's left hollow, empty. He stares blankly down at McIntosh then snaps his gaze up to Morton's foggy face. He squints, studying his brother's expression. Morton looks at him with concern, the star birthmark over his eye is soaked with tears

which run down his cheeks and gather under his chin where they drip onto the comforter.

"Iggy is okay?" Morton repeats again, but this time it's not a statement of fact; it's an uncertain inquiry directed at him.

"Yeah," Iggy nods, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat. "I'm fine."

Satisfied, Morton cracks a smile, peeling his hands off of Iggy's. He wipes at his face then climbs over to space beside his brother, justling the bed. Iggy watches Morton shimmy back under the warmth of the blankets, yawning. He expectedly looks up at Iggy, waiting patiently with an encouraging smile on his face.

"We're here, Iggy."

Iggy nods dumbly, staring down at McIntosh still in his hands. The plant cocks his head slightly then gives his face another lick. Iggy chuckles breathlessly, gently setting him on his bedside table. Shakily, he exhales as he lays back down next to Morton. His light is still on but he doesn't care to turn it off.

Iggy stares at the ceiling, contemplating Morton's words.

"We're here, Iggy."

His brother cuddles into his side as if reading his thoughts. Such a blunt statement of fact, yet he knows the meaning behind it is much more than that.

"Thanks, Morton."

Iggy turns to find Morton already asleep. He smiles, rolling his eyes. He reaches out and rubs McIntosh's head.

"Thanks, McIntosh."

Iggy closes his eyes and a dreamless night finds him.

…

Morton comes crying to Iggy as he's in the library collecting more information on Piranha Plant care and engineering. Morton comes barreling in, tackling his brother in a tight hug. The book Iggy had been digesting information from drops to the floor with a thud, missing his toes by mere centimeters.

Little Morton is a mess of gross snot and hot tears, rubbing the disgusting combination of liquids onto his brother's chest as he babbles. Iggy scowls while Morton speaks in tongues with a word or two Iggy understands thrown into the mix. His little brother attempts to force the words out of his throat, choking and blubbering the more he tries.

"Morton, calm down," Iggy pulls away to look at his heartbroken face. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't tell anyone!" Morton cries out, starling Iggy. "Morton promised Iggy he wouldn't. They're taking him away!"

"What are you—"

It clicks like a key turning into a lock.

Iggy's suddenly rushing out of the library. Morton wails uncontrollably like a lost soul in mourning as he follows him, begging over and over again for Iggy to believe him.

He spots his siblings, Kamek, and a couple of Hammer Bros hovering at his door. One steps out carrying McIntosh a few feet away from his face and brandishing a pair of gloves as protection. McIntosh makes no attempts to bite the soldier though and instead chooses to confusingly cry out, flailing sporadically.

Can't they see that? Can't they see he's not hurting anyone?

Iggy's heart slams straight into his ribs and he releases a feral noise from somewhere deep inside him. Ludwig and Wendy simultaneously jump. All his siblings' eyes are on him. Lemmy is quick to approach him, but he shoves him out of the way.

"What are you doing?" he roars, stomping over to the group.

"Ignatius," Kamek greets him monotonously, undeterred and unbothered by his fury. He casually adjusts his spectacles, offering the child a disappointed frown. "Have you lost your mind? Piranha Plants are extremely dangerous."

Before Iggy's instincts to lunge forward and attack him kick in; Roy grabs Iggy's slender wrist, yanking him firmly back. He yelps as he's unexpectedly pulled backwards, roughly slamming into Roy's chest and causing his brother to hiss as the spikes of his shell dig into his brother's plastron.

Roy, though, refuses to let go. He squeezes down hard enough on Iggy's wrist to leave a mark. It's a silent reminder of what he's capable of if Iggy pushes it too far.

"I would think with how smart you are that you would know not to keep such a vicious creature inside your room," Kamek remarks, mercilessly.

Unlike Ludwig—who hates disappointing authority—Iggy is an indomitable child. He isn't so easily dissuaded and the insult at his intelligence is glossed over by the rage tearing through his chest. His only response is to scream out insults.

"Iggy, listen to Kamek," Ludwig steps into his view, speaking slowly and calmly like Iggy is some sort of raging animal. Maybe he is. His teeth are bared, he's practically snarling at the spectators.

"You're a traitor!" Iggy spits out. Somewhere far off he hears Larry whine and Wendy gasp. "A stupid teacher's pet! Of course you'll believe whatever he says!"

Ludwig shrivels back, worrying his lip between his teeth, the sting of his words wetting his eyes. That definitely knocked him down a few pegs and the self-gratification he feels fuels his anger more.

"Give him back!" Iggy screams, grabbing at Roy's hand still wrapped around his wrist. He sinks the claws of his free hand into the back of his brother's hoping he'll release him. Of course, Roy snatches at his other hand, twisting his arms behind him, instantly putting an end to that.

Iggy gulps in the stale air, feeling lightheaded and breathless. He's panicking the further away the Hammer Bro gets with McIntosh. He fights against the shackle of tight fingers wrapped around his wrists as hot and angry tears run down his face.

He hears McIntosh whimper and cry out intermingling painfully with Morton's loud sobs as he clutches onto Kamek's robes and begs him to stop hurting McIntosh. Iggy's heart is pounding loudly in his eardrums. His lungs feel like they're on fire and ready to erupt.

The constant burning builds up in his chest until it manifests into something physical. A fireball created from all his anger and agony and pain he feels spews from his mouth instead of more harrowing screams and threats. It launches towards the unsuspecting mage, zoned in on its target.

He watches the ball of hypnotic flames transverse down the hall in a flash of orange. Kamek shoves Morton out of the way, barely skirting to the side in time as it flies past him. The fireball loses its momentum, skipping like a stone on water until it uselessly splutters to the ground, scorching the stone black. Iggy smacks his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek till he tastes blood.

How did he do that?

His eyes dart to the rest of his siblings who appear just as lost as he is. Lemmy especially appears shaken.

"Watch your temper," Kamek scolds, clicking his tongue. He's surprisingly nonchalant about this like it isn't the first time this has happened to him. Knowing Bowser and his literal fiery temper; it probably isn't.

He noisily dusts off his robes, muttering under his breath as he adjusts his hat flopping too much to the left. He clears his throat authoritatively when he deems himself presentable again. Although blocked from view by his spectacles, his glare directed towards Iggy is piercing.

"We will be discussing this with Bowser later."

Kamek leaves, Morton still attached to his robes and hysterical. Lemmy pushes past the group, stopping to send Iggy a look of bitter betrayal. Iggy's anger deflates, the crushing guilt quickly taking its place.

Lemmy doesn't have to say anything; Iggy knows he's lost his trust in him. Lemmy opens his mouth as if he wishes to speak his mind then bites down on his lip and shakes his head, deciding better of it. He runs to catch up with Kamek, most likely volunteering to help calm Morton down.

The remainder of his siblings stare at him in awe and fear. Wendy is behind Ludwig, peeking at Iggy like he's a monster. He can't bear to look at Larry, afraid of what he'll see.

Iggy yanks his hands free from Roy's grip. Wordlessly, he turns to his door, slams it shut, and locks it behind him. He falls to his knees and screams.

…

Like Kamek said, Iggy's summoned to Bowser's study an hour after the incident. If they had hoped Iggy took the time to calm down and reflect, they're going to soon find out he's prepared to walk into an active battlefield with words at the ready to fire.

When he makes it to Bowser's study, he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The first thing he notices is that Bowser is furious. He's teetering towards losing his composure, though not quite there yet. His huge body is hunched over like he's prepared to launch it forward in an attack and he flashes all his sharp teeth at the sight of him. They glint menacingly in the light, Iggy wards away his shivers. He has to be an unmoving stone in a rushing river.

He folds his arms to hide the fact they're shaking. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Bowser spitefully repeats back. "You're joking."

Bowser laughs, devoid of any sign of humor. It ends with a snarl, burning red eyes scorchingly hot to look at. Iggy recoils away.

"You have to be joking," Bowser repeats again like he cannot believe Iggy has the nerve, pointing a finger at him. "Don't you dare start with the attitude when you know damn well what you did. Honestly, how could you be so stupid?"

Iggy narrows his eyes, insulted. "You're not my parent. I don't have to listen to you."

"You're living in my house which means you're gonna follow my rules. You understand it's dangerous, right?! I forbid you from keeping that thing."

That thing? McIntosh isn't a simple thing. Rage coils in Iggy's stomach, tightening it's burning hold on his resolve to keep things civil until it metaphorically snaps. All the control he's built up over the past few months is gone just like that, tossed into the fiery lava pits below the castle where he believes all useless things are discarded.

What will they do to McIntosh? Toss him in the moat? Is he already dead? Those thoughts alone frighten him.

Is McIntosh really dangerous when compared to himself? At least McIntosh can be easily trained to remain submissive, but what about him? They all think they control the reins to yank him back when he could snap his restraints in half if he tried hard enough.

Iggy laughs cruelly, laughing at the sick irony Bowser's brought forth to the table. Bowser's not clever enough to realize the cards he's played, exposing his hand to someone more cunning and broken in the head. It's no surprise Bowser is thrown off course by Iggy's maniac response. No normal child would react as bizarrely as Iggy during a stern scolding. Laughing in the face of your guardian isn't something precious and obedient children do.

Bowser physically takes a step back from the harsh sounds spilling past Iggy's dry lips, ramming straight into his eardrums like a perfectly placed target. Though he quickly wipes off the initial shock, remaining firmly in place. His stance is defensive and glare threatening like he's prepared to fight off any of the sharp words Iggy throws at him like poison-coated daggers.

Iggy isn't intimidated in the slightest. The more Bowser is ready to push back, the more eager Iggy is to see how long Bowser's patience will last before he finally gives up on him. Before Bowser finally proves Iggy right and that he's just not worth the trouble.

It's entertaining to think Bowser believes that little plant is a monster. Dangerous even! A mere seedling that doesn't know any better is dangerous?

Bowser keeps Iggy unleashed and free to roam around the castle when he should be the one carefully surveillanced lest they want another 'incident' on their hands. He clenches his fists, feeling the sting of his claws digging into his sweaty palms. He launched a fireball at Kamek over an hour ago. Did everyone in this damn castle suddenly become an amnesiac?

"So am I but you guys still keep me around," Iggy retorts coldly yet the growing familiarity of fire scorches his throat dry.

He fights it down, chokes on the heat seeping through his clenched teeth, ignoring the swirling smoke spilling from his nostrils. He momentarily wonders why his words are trying to prove Bowser right, but his body is vehemently trying to prove him wrong.

Everything is working against him, isn't it?

Bowser's fury melts away, filtered out by the severity of Iggy's words. He snaps his mouth shut, quick to sober as he processes what Iggy said. Soon, it's replaced by a painful grimace, contorting his face into a wrinkled mess of hurt and sympathy.

All the comforting garbage Bowser wants to preach to him is audibly swallowed down his throat. He chooses to dumbly stand there and Iggy braces for the moment Bowser finally decides he's had enough.

Iggy despises the fact that he can see his own self-depreciation reflecting back at him in Bowser's crimson eyes. Those same eyes dart frantically around his face as Bowser tries to decipher him like he's reading an instruction manual. Bowser keeps attempting to pull away all his layers piece by piece until there's nothing left, but Iggy cannot allow him to gain anymore ground.

Yet why does some small part of him want Bowser to figure him out? Why is that nameless piece screaming at him to shut up and let Bowser in? Isn't he tired of constantly being miserable?

"Stop pushing others away," it screams.

Bowser futility searches through the sea full of self-hatred Iggy drowns himself in, wanting answers even Iggy cannot find in his mess of a brain. Though Bowser appears to see something Iggy can't because there's a brief spark of recognition before his gaze softens. A reassuring hand reaches out to settle on Iggy's shoulder to provide him with some sort of comfort, squeezing it gentle.

"Iggy, you're not dangerous. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Part of Iggy wants to hit him across the face just to prove him wrong. He slaps the hand resting on his shoulder instead, resisting the urge to cry at Bowser's torn expression. Iggy needs to gain control again, he needs to stop this before it gets worse.

The familiar heat building in his chest resurfaces. He can't do this right now. He needs to retreat before he regrets everything he's about to do and say. He doesn't mean any of it, this isn't him. Why does he feel like there's two different people inside of him wrestling for control of the console?

"Whatever you say, King Bowser," are the emotionless words he leaves Bowser with.

He slams the door on his way out. The guards posted at the door regard him with questioning looks, he snarls at them and it's laughable how frightened they look. He stomps away, ignoring Bowser calling his name.

…

Iggy hides himself in his room for days only leaving when he absolutely must. He stares longingly at the desk like it'll somehow magically manifest McIntosh back in the empty spot.

Willingly, he allows his mind to drift into a catatonic state. It hurts less when he's lost in a stupor and mindlessly tweaking away at machinery or staring blankly at pages of blueprints or books.

Only at night does he wander the halls, searching for possible places McIntosh is stored and fulfilling his basic needs. He counts the days off, refusing to show his face until they give into his demands.

The first day; it's Bowser at his door. He knocks a few times, gently calling his name through the door, waiting for a response that will never come. He leaves with a sigh so massive it practically rattles the door off its hinges.

The second day; it's Lemmy and Larry. Lemmy asks Iggy if he wants to play with them. He hears Larry's muffled question, asking Lemmy why Iggy's so sad.

Lemmy's response is too quiet to make out, but the inflection in his tone is a tad venomous coming from him. After a pregnant pause, his older brother gives up as Larry complains of boredom and whines about wanting to play outside.

The third day; it's Ludwig. He gives Iggy a long speech about how they should respect Kamek and Bowser's wishes. Unknown to Ludwig, his better-than-thou rant turns into a soliloquy. Iggy doesn't hear the rest because he dozes off somewhere in the middle of it. Ludwig is gone when he wakes up.

The fourth day; Bowser returns. His approach this time is more violent. He pounds on his door, yelling at him to come to dinner. Sardonically, he asks him if his brilliant plan is to waste away and starve.

Iggy's stomach growls in agreement with Bowser's shouting, but it's easy to ignore when the pain in his chest leaves him without much of an appetite. Bowser leaves with a huge huff and stomps away, mumbling obscenities.

Later that night, Iggy peeks outside his bedroom and finds a cold plate of food at his door. He doesn't bother to eat it, heading towards the kitchen in search of snacks before going to sleep.

On the fifth day; no one comes to his door. Thankfully, it's silent and he sleeps most of the day away to numb the expansive hole in his chest. He wakes up in the middle of the night, half-expecting McIntosh to be there only to find stale air and silence. He can't stop the tears dripping down his face, pulling the covers over his head and returning to sleep where he doesn't hurt as much.

The sixth day; Bowser is back again. He knocks once.

"Iggy, we gotta talk. Open the door."

Even with the wood mumbling his words, Iggy can hear the defeated tone subduing his otherwise overpowering timbre.

Iggy slowly opens the door, staring up at Bowser. He hasn't bothered keeping up with appearances and it must show. Bowser's gaze roves over him and he visibly flinches at what he sees. The worry written deeply on his face is palpable, unspoken questions of concerns left hanging in the tense air.

"What do you want?" Iggy snaps.

"I know you're mad at me—" Bowser starts and Iggy gives him a look of utter disbelief and a matching scowl. Bowser glares at this, but continues with a slight clip to his voice,"but you were keeping a Piranha Plant in your room. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

Dangerous. There's that word again.

"Maybe if you read a book you'd learn a thing or two about them. When they're raised from infancy; they don't become mindless monsters. I did the research unlike you," Iggy responds, cantankerously. He clenches his teeth tightly till it hurts.

He then prepares to slam the door in his face, wanting to put an end to this conversation, but Bowser seemingly reads his intentions and stops the door with little effort of his hand.

"That doesn't matter," he growls, claws digging into his door and leaving marks. "The thing can still take your arm clean off if it wants to."

"He has a name; it's McIntosh." Iggy retorts. "If he wanted to, he could have eaten me already, but— unfortunately—here I am."

Bowser's eyes grow wide at the grim statement. The hold on Iggy's door lessens, anger melting right off Bowser's face.

"You don't mean that, Iggy. I know you don't."

Iggy cannot deny or confirm Bowser's sentimental words. His mind blanches on him, refusing to conjure up a valid explanation to hide his dark thoughts. He chooses to stare at the floor, lost. His mind wanders to another topic; the very reason Bowser is at his door. He thinks of McIntosh and how everyone around him claims he's dangerous.

"What did you do with him?" Iggy swallows roughly, peering up at Bowser. "Did you get rid of him because he's too dangerous? Am I next?"

A suffocated pause fills the silence while Bowser's eyes soften. He reaches out a hand, then seemingly remembers what happened last time and let's it fall uselessly to his side.

"No, I didn't," Bowser runs a hand through his fiery mane. "I couldn't bring myself to. Morton wouldn't stop begging me not to and according to one of the gardeners, the thing—" Bowser clears his throat, "McIntosh has been crying nonstop since we took it—him—away."

Iggy's heart breaks. He misses him dearly. At the same time, he's somewhat touched by Bowser's inability to dispose of him due to Morton's pleading.

"Can I see him?" Iggy meekly questions, tweaking his glasses. He's playing cute and acting shy. It works for him, of course. Bowser is a sucker for the act.

Bowser sighs, shoulders sagging.

"As long as someone is with you," Bowser reluctantly relents. His words are filled with longer than average spaces of silence like he's processing them as he speaks them. He's clearly not sure if it's a good idea.

"Can I see him right now?" Iggy presses, hopeful.

"We aren't finished—" Iggy gives Bowser his best puppy eyes and he sighs heavier than the last. "Fine, let's go see him right now but this conversation isn't over."

Iggy nods.

…

Iggy spots McIntosh sitting in his own designated area inside the greenhouse surrounded by all types of tropical fauna. At the sight of him, McIntosh squeals happily, disrupting the gardeners attending to the plants surrounding him. One even drops his watering can with a loud clatter as metal meets the cobblestone floor.

Iggy runs over to him, ignoring all the variety of strange looks from the gardners. He sticks out his hand and allows the plant to slobber all over his fingers. He laughs, patting McIntosh a few times as a 'thank you' for all the saliva coating his hand.

When Iggy turns to Bowser, he finds his face pale, brows creased and mouth contorted.

"That's disgusting," he comments, looking greener than usual. A hard feat to accomplish since he's mostly green.

Iggy chuckles, back at McIntosh, petting him a few times. "It's how Piranha Plants show affection."

"You really know your stuff."

Iggy scoffs, offended. "It's amazing what you can learn when you read a book," he snarks back.

Bowser laughs despite himself. He clears his throat, scuffing his foot against the cobblestone.

"Uh, listen, kid," Bowser says. "Since we were having one of the best screaming matches in the history of the Darklands, I never got to bring this up."

"Oh no."

"Kamek told me you spit a fireball at him."

Iggy tenses at his words, harshly thrown back into the memory of him losing his control once again. Except instead of launching himself at the closest individual, he launched fire instead. He doesn't know what's worst; attacking someone with unabated punches or scorching someone with hot flames.

"He said you looked kinda horrified by it; did your parents not tell you that you could do that?"

Iggy fingers mindlessly—almost mechanically—begin tweaking his glasses as he swallows. He's so flustered he doesn't notice the drool from the plant smearing his frames.

"No, it's just that—"

"My parents didn't allow us to learn how."

Iggy snaps his mouth shut, furrowing his brows, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How do you explain it to someone who never had to pretend they were walking with crutches when they clearly knew how to run?

Dad's adamant assistance was a secret demand to keep their differences as Koopas under wraps. He appeared to shy away from the questions from both his children and nosy neighbors. His responses were lacquered, succinct, practiced, and always so vague.

He physically shielded his children from the more official eyes that rarely visited their run down village. Many times Iggy recalls Dad quickly ushering them away from soldiers marching through the streets while Roy complained about wanting to sneak a peek.

Dad never allowed them an opportunity to marvel at the Darklands best. Whenever a soldier got too close, he'd guide them along under his cloak as they passed by, undetected.

Always reluctant to devolve into the species of Koopa they exactly were, Dad's neurotic tendencies meant something deeper than what was presented at surface level. Iggy knew, Ludwig knew, and Lemmy and Roy had their suspicions, but asking Mom was like spinning in circles until nauseated

Even she talked in code, putting on her best front of ignorance until Ludwig and Iggy got tired of the lack of answers and discreet gazes shared amongst their parents. They chose to drop the topic altogether to save their sanity.

Eventually, Dad put a name to it; Draconic Koopas or often simply called Greater Koopas. But that's as far as they got because Dad refused to delve further into the discussion.

Until Bowser, Iggy only knew of his siblings and parents as the lone survivors of the Draconic Koopa species. Ludwig once speculated perhaps Draconic Koopas were a rarity long before they were all born, like the almost cryptic occurrence of spotting a Magikoopa in person, but then what happened to the rest of them?

"We weren't allowed to," Iggy tries, shuffling through his mind for a better response. He isn't going to pretend he knows why Dad kept them sheltered. Unlike Ludwig, he isn't afraid to admit he doesn't know everything. It helps the learning process along when he doesn't kick his feet and act like the smartest Koopa in the room. Although oftentimes, he is.

Bowser nods like he understands the unspoken context beneath Iggy's half-baked response.

"Your parents probably avoided a lot of mayhem then. I once set my bed on fire because Kamek wouldn't let me stay up past ten."

"When was this? Yesterday?" Iggy remarks, sarcastically.

Bowser chokes out a nasally snort. The action causes a puff of black smoke to expel from his nostrils. Iggy briefly thinks he's also capable of such a feat too. When a week ago, he had no idea he could.

"I walked right into that one," Bowser grumbles under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Iggy hides his laugh behind a poorly timed cough.

"Well, we should probably start teaching you guys how to control it then. To avoid another—" Bowser twirls his wrist, searching for a specific word. "incident."

Incident is putting it lightly. Iggy raises a brow. "Who's gonna teach us? Kamek?"

Bowser grunts. "If Kamek could breathe fire, maybe. But I was talking about myself."

"Oh no," Iggy whispers mockingly, placing an exaggerated hand over his mouth like he's just heard the juiciest piece of gossip. Bowser shakes his head at his antics.

"I should be insulted but I ain't gonna pretend I'm the best teacher. You kids gotta learn somehow," Bowser rolls his eyes, gaze hovering above them like he's begging any deity who can hear his prayers that it will be a smooth process.

Knowing Iggy and his rambunctious siblings, it won't be. The sigh that follows after Bowser kneads at his forehead is a telling sign he knows this too.

"Listen, I know you and McIntosh are friends. But I can't have him alone in your room right now. I don't trust him yet."

The 'yet' latched meticulously onto the end of Bowser's sentence means this living arrangement may not be permanent. Perhaps, if McIntosh can gain his trust, Iggy can have his plant roommate back.

"I told Morton I wasn't gonna hurt him or get rid of him. Now I'm telling you this."

Iggy glances at Bowser, studying his expression. He's a bit skeptical of Bowser's intentions. It's easy to dispose of something so fragile and defenseless in the middle of the night without Iggy's consent. As king, no one would question Bowser's decision either.

Iggy finds nothing but honesty in Bowser's gaze. Iggy smirks, extending out his pinky to test his theory.

"You promise?" he eyes him intensely, waiting. Bowser's lips quirk at the familiar motion.

Bowser hooks his pinky with Iggy's. "I promise."

Iggy releases an embarrassingly shrill squeak when Bowser unexpectedly yanks him forward. He lands face first into his hard chest with a thud. Bowser wraps his arms around him in a crushing bearhug.

Iggy blinks, dazed. What's happening?

"I know I probably sound like a broken record, but I hope you know your self-worth is higher than you think it is." Bowser ruffles his hair and if he was as stingy as Ludwig was about hair care routine; he'd grumble out a complaint. "You're a good kid, you just gotta see it."

Iggy knows this. Or he thinks he does. Somewhere, surrounded by all the destruction and hatred catalyzing his mind, he knows his life is worth as much as anyones. His parents gave that gift to him and to waste it would be like spitting on their graves.

Unable to respond, he clings onto Bowser, closing his eyes tightly, embracing the overwhelming heat radiating off Bowser's scales. Before, he'd imagine his parents as the ones holding him, but he's grown accustomed to Bowser's unique way of consoling him. It's almost like he's never done it before.

The awkward almost hesitant hand coursing through his hair, pausing every time Iggy exhales heavily. The accidental crushing of his bones because Bowser isn't used to holding something so fragile in his arms like this. Oddly, it's comforting and he finds solace in the warmth.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "For being an ass."

Bowser guffaws vociferously at his bluntness. The action causes his chest to rumble. Iggy decides then he enjoys making Bowser laugh as much as he enjoys picking on him.

"I think you should probably apologize to Kamek. He's the one you almost barbecued."

Iggy laughs. "True."

Their heartfelt moment is rudely interrupted by a tiny noise of aggravation. Iggy shifts his head to find McIntosh staring at him, flapping his leaves.

"Someone's jealous," Bowser jokes, releasing Iggy.

Iggy grins widely as he approaches McIntosh. He places his hands on opposite sides of McIntosh's big head and draws him to him. His forehead gently knocks against what would be McIntosh's if he shared the same anatomy of a Koopa. Iggy can faintly hear Bowser laugh behind him and the frantic flutter of McIntosh's leaves as he nuzzles into him.

He laughs too.

---

It's been a while. Uh… so, this was supposed to be short. Iggy grows new friend and then that was it. 4,000 words tops. Then backstory came along and then the angst and brotherly bonding—which both punched me in the face. This is longer than the first chapter. I need help.

Got this idea because Iggy's always thrown in the jungle worlds and thought maybe the dude who looks like a plant likes plants. Also, I had to put my cat down so I dedicate to her. You never realize how much a pet keeps you grounded until after the fact. There's obviously therapy pets for a reason. So let's give Iggy one.

Ten Points if ya'll can figure out why he's named McIntosh. I am so damn clever. Haha.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!