Playlist

by CheeseCakeParty

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

13. Forgiven

Forgiven

Andrew Rayel: Forgiven (feat. Jonathan Mendelsohn)

---

Bowser had found it accidentally. Rummaging through books and papers in desperate search for his son's footprints he had taken a week after he arrived at the castle to add to the baby's photo album. He needed somewhere to put all the photos and memorabilia, Kamek had suggested a more craftier method than hoarding a drawer full of pictures in his desk.

Keeping an organized and well thought out photo album is not something Bowser ever thought he'd be doing in his early twenties, but being a father has given him this new and unexplainable drive to take photos constantly and document pretty much everything the baby does. He can't help it; his son is so stinking cute.

Bowser eventually finds the little footprints wedged between the cracks of a dusty old book of a stray drawer of a filing cabinet. The footprints fall between the pages like they were used as a hastily created bookmark or he had stored them there in a rush and completely forgotten about it.

Bowser doesn't recognize the book. He notes, with thriving curiosity, the leather book is unlabeled and lacks a title. Weird. He's not exactly a frequent reader, but even he knows a book without a proper title is a bit strange. Captivated by the mysterious book like it will contain an ancient map to treasure, he opens it up to a random page.

He quickly discovers it's a handwritten book, kept like a journal with various dates in the top margin, and discolored with coffee rings on some of the pages where the writer carelessly set down their mug. The handwriting is barely eligible, like the writer used their non-dominant hand to take notes, but Bowser can comprehend the jist of it.

He scans through the pages, spotting magic jargon here and then, uninterested and growing bored. Then, like fate was leading him to this one event and patiently leaning on the edge of its seat for him to stumble across it, Bowser finds something on a particularly frantically written page.

He stares blankly at a poison recipe, mouth drying the further he reads on. All the signs and symptoms as it slowly and painfully killed its victim are familiar; delirium, violent coughing fits, and organ failure.

He thinks of his father, on his deathbed, rasping out his name hysterically, slipping in and out of conscience, while he coughs up blood and stains his peachy mouth with red splatters. His glossy, hooded eyes never waver from Bowser's face as he attempts to form worthless words Bowser disregards with a shake of his little head, wiping away futile tears.

The defiance burned brightly in his strikingly piercing gaze for someone at his age as his father begged him to carry on his legacy and to appease the kings' wishes before him. Even in the end, it was always about King Samael and his legacy, wasn't it? Bowser grits his fangs, shaking away the memories.

Flippantly, Bowser turns through to the next page, deeming it a mere coincidence since symptoms of illnesses are often similar. He glances down at the handwritten notes of another's handwriting joining the disorganized page, circling key words and ingredients to craft the recipe of this mysterious poison. Bowser realizes he's witnessing a scattered idea forming into a devious plot in the margins.

The new handwriting, he notes with a pit growing in his stomach as he presses on, is strikingly familiar. Too familiar. Like he's a conversant with having to translate the curly cursive since he's subjected to it daily.

The sensation in his stomach begins to fester the longer he forces himself to make out the furious scribbles describing the potency of potions and poisons and the purposeful notes of the person who had read this journal before Bowser knew of its existence.

The prevailing chill stirring in his veins pulses, threatening to freeze his entire body in ice and the bulge in his throat won't dissipate no matter how hard he swallows.

Bowser doesn't recognize the name signed at the end of the book, but he spots the name of another individual below it, stating the journal was their property and if lost please return it to its rightful owner as soon as possible. Bowser's careening heart sinks to the floor, confirming his suspicions.

No, suspicions hold uncertainty and doubt, he knew the moment he spotted the ornate penmanship that looked precise even when hastily jotting down notes who it belonged to. He chose to play a fool, parade around wearing a cap and bells while the world around him laughed at his idiocy.

Denial, though, is its own poison. An emotion that can easily blind and taint its victim because sometimes reality is hard to grasp and cowardice is easier to accept than the truth. But this damning evidence is too coincidental to ignore.

The little footprints clenched between his fingers he spent an hour looking for flutter to the floor, forgotten. Bowser grips the edges of the book, claws sinking into the leather and creasing the pages.

There's no way. There's no way.

Bowser snaps the book closed like he's sealing all the secrets inside it with it. It doesn't work. His mind is buzzing with questions. The feelings of betrayal he attempts to push down begin to spread from his brain into his aching chest. His heartbeat rapidly pounds in his ears, shouting for him to retreat.

Retreat to where? Away from this damned book?

So he does exactly what his reflexes force him to do. Bowser violently stumbles away from the book, suddenly nauseated by the sight of its leather bond cover. It clamors to the floor, stirring up a mess of papers on his desk and dragging them with it, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter.

He grips his hair between his claws. The iciness runs up and down his spine, his fangs clatter uncontrollably in his mouth like he's freezing to death or encased in a glacier.

Dammit. Pull yourself together. You're better than this. Tougher than this!

But how can he? How can he expect himself to do that? When—

His father's murderer is living a peaceful life in the castle.

…

In a blur, Bowser approaches Kamek's room just down the opposite hall of his son's room. It's located by a stained glass window and tucked at the far reaches of the hallway where the final scone's burning light barely touches.

When he was smaller, the desolation and stillness of the location frightened him. Especially since the rest of the castle was a cacophony of dueling noises and occupied by staff or soldiers.

Now, Bowser wonders why the mage is always isolating himself from the other occupants in the castle since the silence would drive him mad if he had to brew in it constantly. Whether it's because Kamek loves his solitude or because he holds his position at a higher standard than others; Bowser can never settle on a definite answer for his avoidance.

Most likely it's a combination of both. Bowser got his ego from somewhere even if Kamek denies having one. Bowser's father wasn't egotistical, he was a full-blown megalomaniac. Two completely different things.

One alludes to self-confidence and assurance in one's abilities to succeed. While the other creates sacrifices, using the bodies of weak individuals as stepping stones to gain absolute control. Bowser isn't as diluted as his father for the need for power. Right now, his son keeps him preoccupied and stakes a claim on his priorities.

Besides, the kingdom is still healing from the wounds inflicted by its previous ruler's ploy for absolute control. He can't throw them into more power-crazy fights. Although the citizens treat him with reverence, his citizens don't trust him enough to blindly follow him into another conflict yet.

Bowser knocks once on the door, his timid rasps carrying down the length of the hall; waiting for permission to enter. The last time he failed to knock and chose to burst into the room because 'kings should never knock', he had accidentally startled Kamek during one of his potion crafting sessions and nearly got his head taken off his shoulders from a loose spell.

There's a gentle 'come in' muffled by the door granting Bowser access to the mage's private sanctuary. Cautiously, he opens the door, preparing himself for the possibility of a stray fireball or magic orb to come flying at him. He unconsciously ducks, sacrificing the possibility of scorching his hair to save his beautiful face.

Thankfully, no such projectile is launched at him. He straightens his defensive stance and glances around the room. The ataractic effect it blankets over him is immediate. He takes in the familiar sight and scents, stirring up his memories as he lets out a calm, smoke-free exhale.

Kamek's room would be quite spacious; if not for the millions of knick knacks and miscellaneous trinkets strewn around the room and the never ending stacks of books neatly placed in piles haphazardly around his desk and pooling from his bookshelf.

Of course, the mage's small bed wedged in the corner like an afterthought is perfectly made, not a crease in the velvet blue fabrics, the comforter is evenly distributed to either side of the mattress, and an unlit candle sits on the rounded end table because Kamek claims candlelight suffices as a reliable reading light.

Like Bowser's study; Kamek has his own personal fireplace (possibly another reason why Kamek chose here to set up shop) with an old cauldron resting on a sturdy set of iron legs beneath an unlit stack of wood. On the mantle is an assortment of jars containing herbs and spices for brewing potions.

Bowser's mouth twitches into a small grin when he spots the jade jar holding Kamek's precious tea leaves since he's quite particular (borderline obsessive) with his tea preparations. Kamek prefers to brew it himself lest the castle is prepared to crumble from his displeasure.

Strung from the ceilings are various crystals and gems which—according to Kamek when a younger Bowser questioned his unique tastes—amplify the magic process. The slightest of breeze stirring from the fireplace or the door causes them to twinkle and chime, adding more whimsical flavors to the already idiosyncratic individual and his room.

Beside the dangling collection of rocks, dried out lavender is hung precarious from twine to bathe the room in its earthy aroma. As a child, Bowser had found Kamek's room mystifying and the sharp scent of lavender pleasantly tickled his nostrils in ways he couldn't understand at his age.

All he fondly remembers is the calming and sleepy effect of the pungent scent and curling up in Kamek's bed for a nap. Sometimes, he'd sneak down the hall to the mage's room after a furious scolding from his dad, letting the glowing orange peeking through the crack beneath the door guide him down the dark halls.

He pestered his father's advisor with questions for hours that Kamek felt inclined to answer with a dry and far off tone that insisted he wasn't thrilled at the abrupt interruption.

The disdain written plainly on Kamek's face whenever his smaller self scuttled onto his bed and buried himself in his sheets for a nap is burned permanently into Bowser's brain. Because, underneath all the obvious annoyance, was reluctant acceptance.

Bowser knew he was getting on Kamek's nerves every time he snuck into his room to him with rhetoric, he knew all Kamek wanted was peace and quiet, but Bowser chose to ignore all the signs. He craved the attention, whether positive or not, he never received either from his father; and Kamek always gave him that.

Bowser's wandering gaze finds the wise mage at his dark wooden desk, writing on a parchment in front of him, a steaming tea cup beside it, and surrounded by ancient scrolls of varying colors and ages.

The floor creaks as Bowser unconsciously shifts his weight between his legs. He's too preoccupied with drifting aimlessly inside his head, he doesn't notice the racket he's making with his giant mass.

"Your Quietness, what is it?" Kamek inquires distractedly with slight irritation seeping into his tone. He doesn't even have to look up to know it's him.

A barely perceptible jump startles Bowser's from his deep reverie. He takes another step inside and closes the door behind him. With the mage and him successfully trapped, Bowser deeply inhales the scent of the mage's room and stores it into his mind for another time.

His lack of a proper response grabs the mage's attention and his fierce scribbling halts. One glimpse at the handwriting and the reality of why Bowser's here crashes heavily onto the king's usually unbendable will. His legs momentarily tremble.

He has to broach this. Open his mouth and start talking.

But nothing comes out.

Funny and painfully ironic that moments before Bowser was ready to tear the door off his hinges and now? Now, he's acting like a coward or a remorseful child about to admit their wrongdoings. Except Bowser hasn't done anything wrong.

I'm so pathetic sometimes. C'mon, tough guy, pull yourself together.

Perceptive as always and sensing a conversation, the mage sets down his cherished pen (Bowser had gotten him the ornate and jeweled pen as a gift coincidentally on Father's Day) and folds his hands under his chin, craning his head slightly to the right.

"Is something troubling you?" Kamek reiterates, without any concern. His indifference sparks a deep rage inside Bowser and it's enough for his mouth to stop malfunctioning.

"You killed him," Bowser states bluntly, dive-bombing straight into the point.

Kamek raises an eyebrow at this. "Excuse me?"

Kamek is the textbook example of discerning. Why is he choosing now to play an ignorant fool? Doesn't he already know what Bowser is talking about?

What if…

Another chilling thought creeps up Bowser's spine. How many murders has the mage committed to not know who Bowser is specifically speaking off? His stomach violently lurches at the question. Maybe he doesn't know his advisor at all.

"Don't play stupid with me," Bowser snaps viciously to drown out the wave of dread. "My father. You killed him. You poisoned him."

What he expects is denial; what he wants is for it to be anything but the truth and for Kamek to give him an explanation, but Kamek simply hums before shattering his faith into tiny, miniscule pieces onto the floor.

"And if I did?"

Kamek stomps on his broken faith with the bluntness and coldness of his voice. Bowser's stomach drops to his feet, he swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. The sweat between his brows feels colder than normal.

"W-why?" Damn it, his voice cracks. It almost sounds like he's begging for an answer. Realistically, he is, but he cannot let Kamek know that.

Don't you regret it at all?

His mind telepathically presses like it hopes to escape the confines of his mind and project into actual words. No, he needs to reel back his shock and feelings of betrayal. He can't slip now and fumble for lines here.

Bowser must adjust his defeated tone and sagging posture accordingly. He has to be demanding and elude unquestionable authority. He can't back down now. Showing any ounce of vulnerability will only make Kamek sugarcoat his words and treat him like a naïve child even more than he already does.

He curls his fists, heat bubbling up his throat. The influx of animosity is what pushes through this thick wall he's found himself stuck behind.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands, smoke seeping out between his clenched teeth.

Kamek scoffs, unaffected by his sharp tone and that makes him angrier. Bowser grinds his teeth together, probably filing away at his fangs from the sheer force. It's so tempting to launch a fireball at him when he's acting so annoyingly unperturbed while Bowser is spiraling deeper into an abyss.

Unafraid, Kamek shakes his head like he's disappointed in him. "You were a mere child. You would not have comprehended anything if I told you the truth."

"But what about right now?" Bowser gestures to himself. He emphasizes his physical growth with exaggerating motions because he feels so damn lost right now. "I'm not a child anymore. Yet you keep holding my hand when I don't want it. So, again I'm gonna ask: why didn't you tell me?"

Kamek has the nerve to shrug his shoulders at him then his hands dive towards his tea cup to take a calming sip like Bowser is a nuisance he's attempting to remedy. Rarely does the mage answer questions so free of formality and without the use of his ambiguous words he loves to spout.

Bowser gnashes his teeth, tempted to berate his advisor for being disinterested in this topic. No, screw the scolding; a fireball will suffice in this situation. Despite his boiling over enmity and the various scenarios of using fire as a rebuttal flashing in his mind, he does nothing.

He could easily wield his authority over him if he had the guts to stand up to the mage who is always so irritatingly cryptic. Kamek has made Bowser rather weary since he was a child. Can anyone really blame him?

How powerful the mage truly is still a hot debate amongst the soldiers and servants. It's one of those tightly kept secrets Kamek never truly answers. He prefers to only respond with sly smiles or vague, one-worded answers that resolve nothing. Add onto the fact that Kamek is insanely clever, a talented technician spoken of in history books, he makes a powerful ally or a dangerous foe.

It's no wonder he disposed of his father with no issues. Besides being covert with his skill level, Kamek also never reveals the scars of his past or dip into his personal life. He never allows someone to fold back the layers to see the trauma he's surely lived through to gain his wisdom.

How the hell Kamek remains so enigmatic and emotionless in hectic situations is a mystery to Bowser. If Bowser wasn't present throughout the hellish nightmare his father put them through; he'd be inclined to believe none of it affected Kamek at all.

For as long as Bowser can remember; Kamek was often thrown into a sea of troubles by his dad. With figurative cinder blocks tied to Kamek's arms and a meaningless good luck; his dad tossed him off the dock to sink.

Kamek, miraculously, solved every problem that fell onto his lap and resurfaced, using his own terms and intelligence to keep his head above the water.

Except one.

His father had dumped Kamek onto an island surrounded by a bunch of rambunctious Yoshi, expecting him to assist a tantrum-prone toddler to overthrow the island. When they unsurprisingly came back as failures, the king threatened Kamek's life and taught him a lesson with physical brutality.

Some things like that don't just go away. Time may make the pain lessen, but grudges don't die so easily. To this day, Bowser still holds futile grudges towards a dead soul.

"I figured it didn't matter whether I told you or not," Kamek finally states calmly as he takes a meek sip of tea. He sets down the tea cup with a timid clink as it meets the plate.

Kamek's gaze, although unseen, is piercing. "After all, it's in the distant past. Why regret our decisions when the world moves forward regardless?"

Regret. There's that haunting word again. Why doesn't Bowser feel any sort of regret for allowing his father's murderer to live? Shouldn't he? Shouldn't he be furious Kamek murdered his father? Then… Why isn't he?

Bowser's fiery glare lessens, drifting downward to the floor as it morphs into dying cinders. "Do you regret it?"

Kamek sighs like Bowser just asked him for a tedious lecture in philosophy. "At first, I believed I did, but the more I saw the kingdom attempting to rebuild and heal after his reign and the more I saw you struggling to understand why your father despised you; I realized what I was feeling wasn't regret."

Bowser rapidly blinks, resisting the urge to snap his mouth open and gape at him.

He doesn't regret it?

"Then what were you feeling?" Bowser prompts.

There's a shift in Kamek's expression, a transformation to something darker before he sets his walls back into place, impassive and guarded.

"It was simply my mind telling me what I should be feeling because of the immoral deed I committed, but underneath it all, I was content." Kamek tilts his head down to gaze at his teacup. "Relieved even. I thought a lot about this as I raised you."

There's a long pause, like he expects Bowser to intervene or dispute his claims that he raised him. Why would he? What's his angle here?

Bowser narrows his eyes, sinking his fangs into his tongue, trying to decipher this puzzle. What does he want him to say? Kamek gives absolutely nothing to him, cards as close to his chest as possible.

Kamek raises his head, adjusts his glasses with two fingers—the perfect shield to hide his eyes which infuriates Bowser—and continues, "I remembered all Samael had done to the Darklands. He started countless wars, he sentenced my fellow Magikoopas to death whenever they faltered, and he treated his son like nothing more than a pawn he'd groom to be just like himself."

Another sip of tea impedes on his lengthy answer. The cup lingers on the tip of his sharp beak like he's scraping up any minute he can find to prologue the inevitable. No, Bowser thinks it's something else. Kamek isn't searching for time; he's stuck in his thoughts.

He lowers his teacup from his mouth, supporting it with both hands. If he wasn't wearing his spectacles, Bowser would expect to find the mage's stare fixated on the tea ripples and trembles from the lightest shift of movement from his tapping claws.

"Recently, I thought of the children and how difficult their lives were even after his death," Kamek admits quietly. "Lemmy nearly died due to that lingering fear and their parents were rightfully cautious of you."

A rare display of acrimony shatters through his neutral expression, eyebrows pulled tightly together with a profound scowl. "After all, Samael slaughtered the Greater Koopas, almost to the point of extinction over a glorified rumor without evidence. Although, he merely sent out Magikoopas to do the murdering instead and if both died in the process: it was less work for him."

Without warning, Kamek laughs cruelly. It's an empty sound that echoes in Bowser's head and he mentally recoils.

"He was a coward," Kamek spits out bitterly like the words are disgusting to him, like they weren't worth stating aloud because they were glaringly factitious even to a simpleton.

Kamek sets down his tea, delicately dabbing at the corners of his mouth with an embroidered napkin. He's eerily calm despite being backed against a wall, a figurative knife to his throat. It's as if he long accepted the possibility of Bowser finding out and is ready to reap the consequences.

Kamek clears his throat after setting down his napkin, letting the tense silence overstay its welcome. Bowser suffers in it, but remains stagnant, tossing Kamek's mind-shattering decrees around his mind.

What should I do? What should I say? He needs to be punished, right?

Finally, Kamek lifts his head to face Bowser head on, pulling Bowser from his frenetic mind. "Now, what will you do with this damning information? Sentence me to death for my crimes?"

Bowser stiffens at the remark, but Kamek bravely plows through regardless of the pain embedded into the king's startled expression. "It would set quite an example to your citizens not to cross you and I would understand your decision."

He's deflecting, playing up his indifference with that irritatingly vapid tone of his. Anyone who believes they can just roll over on their backs and accept death are delusional; the body wants to keep fighting even as one stares down the glittering blade of a guillotine hanging precariously above their heads.

Bowser's forehead creases, unconvinced. "There's more to it, isn't there? You're not telling me everything."

Kamek's rigid posture and apathetic cadence falters and Bowser watches it sputter until Kamek decides to drop his guard. The mage slouches in his chair then sighs like the weight of the world is no longer holding him down.

Again, he gathers his teacup in his hands, gazing down at it like it holds all the answers. It's a nervous tick he must have; retreating to the safety of the warmth radiating off the teacup. Perhaps that explains his tea addiction.

The steam of his tea fogs up his glasses as he stares mindlessly at the contents inside. His hold on his teacup tightens, scowl deep but contemplative. Bowser expects the fragile teacup to shatter any moment now from the pressure applied to it.

"I suppose… I knew where the path ended. Either you, the rebellious child, would end up dead by his father's hands for speaking out of line or you would eventually have to take the throne by force. I—"

Kamek swallows with difficulty, his breathing shudders. "I could not train you to become a murderer. I could never live with myself if I had used you as a puppet to dispose of the king. I could not allow you to live with the burden of regret. So, unlike your father, I did it myself."

"Dammit," Bowser growls, kneading at his forehead to stall all the conflicting thoughts bombarding him at once. "I need time to figure this out. You are not allowed to leave this room unless it's for the kids' lessons and emergencies, you got it?"

Kamek nods once. "Very well, Your Highness."

…

Dammit. What the hell? What do I even do here?

Whenever Bowser feels overwhelmed during his work, he does the one thing he always does: visit his son every opportunity he can sneak in. After that tense exchange; he needs it like an addiction. He frantically runs to the playroom after stopping a Goomba guard and inquiring the soldier about the nanny's last location.

Bowser shoos away the startled and flustered nanny watching Junior play with his blocks in his (their) playroom, giving her a break for the moment because there's no way he's getting any work done today after every thing that occurred. Kamek won't be there to pester him about his lack of motivation either.

The nanny leaves with little reluctance and a half-hearted curtsy, clearly a bit shaken by his outburst. He must seem insane to his staff members, but Bowser isn't in the mood to play nice with others after everything that was unloaded onto him.

He sits down on the floor beside his son banging his toys together and watches the curiosity of a developing infant at play. It's relaxing, if not humorous, since every toy becomes a chew toy eventually.

A gentle smile splits across the king's face as the baby explores the world without fear or discouragement from a parental figure looming over him with judgment in their eyes.

Bowser relishes in the child's flourishing interest in exploration, honing in on his newly learned skills like climbing and running. Although, Junior tends to get his grubby little claws into things he shouldn't and he's much harder to catch. There are some downsides to Junior's adventurous side.

Junior eventually grows bored of playing, especially since the children aren't here to keep him entertained, and walks unsteadily towards Bowser, his hefty shell making him top heavy, babbling and shrieking happily. He falls half-way and decides to excitedly crawl the rest of the short distance to Bowser's waiting arms.

Junior climbs right into his father's lap and uses Bowser as a stand, digging his tiny claws into his large leg to balance himself on his two feet. Bowser places a gentle hand against the child's left cheek and grins. The baby mirrors the sentiment with his own little half-smirk.

"Hey, kiddo."

Junior's lopsided grin morphs into a huge smile like the sound of his dad's voice is all he'll ever need to hear. All the confusion and anxiety inside Bowser melts away. He swoops his son in his arms and plants a ticklish kiss on the baby's soft face, unable to resist the cuteness of his bright-eyed infant.

The conflicting thoughts halt, replaced by a warm relief blooming from his chest as he showers his son in affection. He takes the opportunity to count the teeth in Junior's mouth as the baby laughs; three protruding fangs poke out of his gums.

Bowser spots another sneaky tooth emerging towards the back of his mouth, another sharp fang peeking out of his pink gums soon to be ready for use. It'll join the other teeth that have been stabbing into all the solid foods the baby has indulged himself in.

Junior's pudgy cheeks have gotten even fuller and he's getting a squishy, but very ticklish little gut after indulging in sweets and swallowing down protein-fueled diets crafted specifically for a developing Draconic Koopa.

Bowser pokes a chunky cheek, watching the flabby flesh jiggle while his son giggles happily, grasping at his large finger and gnawing on it. His teeth barely break past Bowser's scales, still too weak to cause more severe damage.

His little canines are strong enough to chew through various soft foods though. Experimenting and taste testing foods with Junior is one of Bowser's newest pastimes. He loves to watch the many expressions his son makes whenever he's trying something yet to touch his devolving taste buds.

The baby crinkles his snout at things he doesn't like or hums eagerly, practically ripping the utensil out of Bowser's hand and begs for more when he finds something delicious. It's adorable to see his son pouting whenever anyone is eating food without sharing any with him, intimidating them with his furious little glare or by stomping his foot, releasing a bubbly growl.

Bowser has caught Lemmy sneaking the baby spoonfuls of frosting from their desserts when he thinks Kamek is preoccupied and Wendy loves to feed him food like her own personal doll. Junior eagerly sucks up all the attention from his… pseudo siblings? Whatever they are. Bowser really should figure this out.

Absent-mindedly, the tips of Bowser's claws begin to twirl delicate shapes into the back of Junior's head. The infant yawns tiredly, settling his head against his chest right where his heart slowly thrums a melody. Unconsciously, Bowser slowly begins to sway his body from side to side as his son succumbs to exhaustion.

Here, in Junior's playroom, his son tucked into his arms, Bowser feels the most relaxed. His state of mind becomes languid waves instead of the whirlwind that threatened to drown him before he came in here.

Any sign of the harshness of reality remains out that door, locked outside his personal haven. Right now, it's just him, his son, and the silence of the afternoon.

It doesn't last, of course. With his distraction tucked into his arm asleep, his defenses lowered, one question manages to slip through the fissures. It predominantly flutters about despite the serenity he's surrounded by.

Is it wrong to be relieved his dad is dead?

If his dad had lived; Junior wouldn't exist, the children occupying the castle would be homeless or dead, and Kamek would have been executed eventually for his lack of loyalty and rebellious streak. Nine lives. His premature death prevented nine precious lives and probably hundreds more from being snuffed out by his avaricious tactics.

Still, Kamek had betrayed his trust. He should have told him the moment he turned eighteen. The moment he 'officially' became an adult. But then Bowser thinks back to his… embarrassing behavior.

The rashness of his decisions, the hardheaded personality he flaunted about like he was perfect and could do no wrong. Moronic teenagers at eighteen never realize how young and naïve they truly still are, always in a rush to be treated like an adult.

Bowser was no exception. Except, according to the set rules, eighteen meant he had to immediately transition into adulthood to rule a kingdom without Kamek constantly holding his hand. He was ushered forward by the nobles and his citizens into it, experiencing what it meant to hit the milestone headfirst without a helmet.

Monarchy didn't wait around for him to gain his bearings or learn 'adult stuff' by trial and error. And combined with his brash nature, he was doomed to fail from the start. He crashed and burned out.

It wasn't a surprise when the pressure felt suffocating and he ran away from his responsibilities after a year of his supposed adulthood. He disappeared for fourteen months to party around, hopping from town to town to taste the alcohol of pubs, meet the folks, and experience everything the town had to offer to him before he packed up to repeat the process.

He explored the world like a reckless teenager with nothing to lose. No one besides a handful of castle staff and Kamek (who wasn't thrilled to be handed the job of running the kingdom) knew of his disappearance. Kamek kept it tightly knit, claiming an ailing sickness kept the king locked tightly inside his castle.

Of course, rumors still ran rampant throughout the Darklands of King Bowser's absence and he heard them dealt around the pubs by gregarious patrons, told like campfire stories, but slurred by the alcohol.

It's how Bowser met her.

The female Draconic Koopa wandered the Darklands, searching for some unfathomable thing that she didn't even know the identity of when he casually inquired her about her nomadic lifestyle. Truthfully, she was just as lost as him. Drifting, attempting to scrape up the ashes his father's reign left behind.

It was no wonder they briefly connected.

Bowser never got her name. Never learned more than what she shyly allowed. He was smitten by her timid charms, her mysterious existence, her exotic appearance, but Bowser had been stupid to fall for the practiced act. He admits he only partially regrets spiraling into her web of specious tales of her previous adventures.

He was drawn into the meekness of her tone laced with sadness and the untold stories she couldn't hide behind her sullen amber eyes or honeyed words. She spoke with a deep conviction only someone who lost everything could properly convey to him.

For once in his life, Bowser felt like he found someone like him in a world where no one looked like him. He easily stood out due to his mere size alone (which wasn't ever seen as a bad thing to him since he is an extremely handsome specimen.)

Still, she was part of his species he long thought extinguished from the Darklands. The first female of his kind (besides his mother) existed, living and breathing in front of him. He couldn't help himself, she was a rarity.

As quickly as she wedged herself into his life, she hastily stumbled out of it. She left him behind, slipping through his claws because he said he wasn't ready for any commitments, only chasing after the thrill of his youth.

Like a big, bumbling moron, he claimed he had prior engagements to return to when she asked with a flustered blush if he would join her on her unknown quest, offering her name if he accepted her proposal.

It had hit him hard then, she hadn't recognized him, she didn't know he was the son of all the problems she faced. Or maybe she did, but craved company from her species as much as he did and offered him her fragile heart.

That had been the immaturity and fear talking for Bowser when he bluntly rejected her because he was afraid of the emotions he was feeling, he was afraid of ruining something yet to start. His parents' dysfunctional relationship lingered in the back of his mind as he scurried off to the next town over hoping to remedy this ache in his chest with more thrills.

Then came the consequence, wrapped in a bundle, left by the castle gates in the early morning between guard shifts, desperately crying out for attention. The stunned look on Kamek's face probably matched his own when a soldier brought in the dirty blanket and a hastily scribbled note.

Although he was a wake up call to Bowser, Junior's existence is the one consequence in his life he'd ever take back. At first, he was terrified, but now… he cannot imagine his life without his son.

It's a shame his son takes completely after him in the looks department. She was very attractive, delicate eyes clashing with the rugged appearance and body of a traveler on the road, and long, thick dark hair, but Junior got absolutely none of it. It seems Bowser's genes are just as stubborn as him.

Yet, Junior's beady coal eyes have yet to shift to their permanent color, and won't until he's older, maybe there's a slim chance they'll be a gentle amber yellow instead of his strikingly vibrant red. It'd be a reminder to what Bowser foolishly let go, but tie Junior to someone he'll never know.

There is a part of Bowser that remains at peace with his choice. He had been selfish to leave her behind, but he hadn't forced her into the life of aristocracy. Her adventurous nature would have been shackled like a prisoner if she became his queen.

He likes to believe he saved her somehow, took in the snot-nosed burden he helped create, and let her go. It makes sleeping at night a little easier and the yearning in his heart for a companion a bearable throb.

Bowser rapidly blinks, shaking his head clear of reminiscing, returning back to the present. He smiles down at his sleeping son, sifting a gentle hand through his fuzzy mane of red hair, imagining for a moment it's raven black tendrils instead. He twists his mouth from distaste, deciding the red hair definitely suits Junior more.

He wouldn't be here. None of them would be here.

The thought rams into him again like a battering ram, knocking him off course. He sighs deeply, smile dropping. No matter how many times he repeats it in his head, he still feels—

Like a monster. A cold-blooded monster without an ounce of remorse.

Betrayed. Betrayed by the one person in his life he trusted most.

Bowser squeezes his eyes shut. He's threatening to fall into the void again, precariously swaying from the ledge, staring at the nothingness below. Junior's presence isn't blanketing him anymore or there to cushion him when he plunges down. He pulls his son a bit closer in hopes his warmth will stop the wave of dread from knocking him over.

The mewling yawn his anxious shifting brings out of Junior successfully snaps him out of his thoughts. A smile breaks across his face. He runs a tiny finger against the softness of his son's cheek.

Bowser thinks that was one of the cutest sounds to ever grace his eardrums. Well, besides Iggy and Lemmy synchronizing their snorting giggles or Wendy's happy humming, accompanied by Ludwig's lower tones directing her to the right notes, or Roy and Morton's humorous roaring contests to help Morton gain his confidence, or Larry calling him 'Papa Bowser' in that heart clenching voice of his before bedtime.

Okay, it's definitely in the top ten.

A tough guy can't catch a break with all these cute distractions roaming around the castle and being as cute as they possibly can be. He fondly recalls a specific moment this week that really got to him when he caught Larry sitting in Wendy's lap in her room as she unsuccessfully taught him how to read, showing off her prowess and expertise with her developing reading skills.

Her huffs of annoyance were as adorable as Larry mispronouncing and butchering the syllables of the more complex words, but neither got frustrated or upset with the other. Wendy resigned to mimicking Larry's silly, tongue-twisting words back at him until they both devolved into giggling messes, making up their own gibberish language.

As time drifts by, Bowser's memories of the children blur as he closes his eyes. He decides that, after the day he's had, a nap sounds heavenly right now. With his son curled in his arms, Bowser surrenders to dreamland without much of a fight.

…

Procrastination and avoidance are the culprits behind Bowser's lack of finding the ground he stands on. The perfect partners in crime keep Bowser far, far away from the inevitable decision he'll have to make. Which is—

He's not exactly sure here. Kamek made a point when he brought up the possibility of his death. Technically, he committed treason of the highest caliber, but anyone who actually cared enough to seek justice for Samael is either dead or banished.

Then there's the whole debacle with Bowser feeling no ounce of mourning towards his father, just overwhelming betrayal because his glorified nanny decided to keep a secret this weighty to himself.

If Bowser feels any remorse for allowing Kamek to continue walking amongst the living, Bowser has yet to find it which puzzles him even more. Maybe he is as heartless as his father.

"Apples don't fall far from their trees" is a popular saying for a reason; even if Bowser wishes he was chucked far from his family tree.

Bowser grunts, pressing a palm to his forehead and kneads the aching throb behind his eyes. He's been sitting on the floor of the playroom idly watching his son tottle around for over an hour now.

It's been almost a week since he cornered Kamek in his room and he hasn't seen his advisor since, prefering to shower his son with affection to relieve the throb in his chest. He hasn't touched his paperwork since either, unable to concentrate long enough to comprehend anything written on the paper. He can't imagine the towering height of the paper piles by now.

Bowser's little distraction alternates between walking leisurely with a toy in hand or breaking into a sprint and shouting to the heavens for absolutely no reason. His rambunctious and unpredictable behavior is humorous, but Bowser can't enjoy the sight with these ever-present issues pounding against his thick skull.

Avoidance is a coward's approach when they're faced with difficult problems, but he really has no idea where to start yet. How does one tackle their guilt because they're not experiencing guilt for the right reason?

Bowser is so trapped inside his internal debate, head lowered as he sulks and massages his temples to stall the oncoming headache, he doesn't notice someone else has entered the room or that his son has stopped boisterously playing until they're both right in front of him.

"Aren't you thinking too hard for that small brain of yours?"

Bowser briefly jumps, his wide-eyes flickering up towards the source. Iggy stands over Bowser with Junior latched onto his leg. His arms are crossed, one brow quirked upward as he stares down at Bowser sharply like he's an equation yet to be solved. Bowser immediately waves the kid and his daily dose of sarcasm off with a clawed hand.

"Not now, Iggy," Bowser mutters, rustling up his mane with a hand. The pressure behind his skull lessens almost instantaneously and he briefly contemplates if it's because Iggy's here. He casts Iggy a flat look. "I'm trying to enjoy my day off."

"Funny," Iggy snorts out a condescending laugh, "You seem to be taking a lot of days off and I haven't seen your nanny hovering around you either."

Iggy tilts his head cutely, feigning innocence by placing a finger to his lips and tapping it there, but Bowser knows Iggy and his need for sarcasm-fueled theatrics by now. He is anything but innocuous or ignorant.

"Did you guys have a fight?" he inquires oh-so sweetly, hitting the mark with his first guess.

Bowser rolls his eyes. Iggy isn't coyly crafting his sentences today. He chooses to forgo his word games, trading it in to be blunt but still retain his mischievousness in only a way he can.

"Sorta," Bowser grumbles. "It's nice to not have someone constantly on my case."

"He's a nag," Iggy agrees with a brief cackle, "But shouldn't you be, I don't know, running a kingdom?"

Damn. Told off by an seven-year-old.

Bowser prays his wince is ambiguous enough to remain undetected. With his pride successfully wounded, he harshly throws a seething glare at Iggy, and usually his death glare is enough to get others to back off, but Iggy smiles triumphantly. Smarmy brat. Bowser has never met someone so unafraid of poking a beast with a stick.

Bowser huffs, a puff of smoke disperses into the air. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, minding your own business? Go eat some fruit snacks and drink a juice box, kid."

"So grouchy and sensitive today." Iggy clicks his tongue, hands settling on his hips. Junior's eyes zone in the hand closest to him and immediately trades in hanging off Iggy's leg to grab it.

Without a peep or complaint, Iggy allows the infant to grip his hand between his pudgy claws, wrapping his own hand tightly around the infant's, almost acting as if it's an unconscious reflex at this point. The brief bonding moment softens Bowser up slightly, a small smiling tracing his lips.

"Must have been a huge fight," Iggy remarks. The fuzziness in Bowser's stomach passes in an instant, returning him to the reality of his situation and this unfortunate conversation he's been forcibly dragged into.

Bowser grunts non-commitically in response. He hopes this will conclude the conversation and Iggy's curiosity will morph into disinterest, but everything the little twerp does is meant to agitate him in some way. He won't let anything go without an answer.

Like Bowser unfortunately predicted, Iggy drops to the floor beside him, setting up camp for the long wait. The opportunistic infant scurries into Iggy's lap to join them, staring up at Iggy with a wide, curious gaze as Iggy looks back at him with levity in his eyes, poking his tongue out. He laughs when Junior mimics the action.

Bowser groans, ignoring the cuteness when he realizes Iggy is here to stay. "Really, kid. It's nothing important. Go bother your siblings outside. I don't need you to play psychiatrist. I'm a grown king."

Bowser leans over to snag his son from Iggy, but Iggy sets up a protective barrier by wrapping his arms around the happy baby. Iggy slants his head towards Bowser, eyes narrowed suspiciously, he isn't fazed or here to accede.

"I think shirking out of your kingly responsibilities because of whatever this is; means it's kinda important," he retorts cooly.

"It's adult stuff," Bowser responds simply. "Don't worry about it."

"Adult stuff?" Iggy repeats, unconvinced. "That's a lame excuse."

It is a lame excuse that would sedate Morton or Larry, but Bowser knows Iggy isn't easily fooled. His intelligence and ambition is commendable for his young age. Bowser can't help but feel a tad envious since his seven-year-old memories involve a lot of playing in the mud just to see how red Kamek could get and falling asleep during his lessons from sheer boredom.

Despite Iggy's knowledgeable brain, how exactly can Bowser tell someone Iggy's age his complex and hapless dilemmas? He wouldn't understand—he's just a kid. No. That's not exactly the correct definition here.

Iggy is a grieving child.

Yes, Iggy is a child, but he's a child who experienced something as traumatic as Bowser had, witnessing his happiness burn to the ground right before his eyes. Still, Iggy's father did everything in his power to keep them safe while Bowser's father acted as if Bowser was a minor inconvenience.

At the mere thought of his father, Bowser scowls and that same stupid question pops into his brain, tenacious as usual. He's been asking himself this for days without settling on a definitive answer:

"Is it okay for me not to miss my dad?"

Iggy freezes. "What?"

Bowser hadn't meant for that to slip out. What is wrong with him? Is he really going to speak of his woes with a child because Kamek isn't here with some form of direction or advice?

It's not like Bowser has much of a choice with his options of who to vent to, but Iggy? Really? Unfortunately for Bowser, Iggy isn't the type to capitulate, waving a flag of surrender. Iggy enjoys the thrill of the chase and victory of the catch. He'd pester Bowser nonstop to get to the bottom of this mystery until Bowser resorts to locking himself in his room to avoid him.

Kamek claims Iggy has a scientific mind, yearning for answers, and conducting his own research for entertainment. Of course this translates into Iggy's conversations and his need for answers can cause him to come-off as pushy or incredibly nosy. Too nosy.

A sigh of resignation breezes past Bowser's lips. He's trapped due to his own negligence with nowhere to retreat. Well, he may as well explain himself, if only to placate the unquenchable curiosity carved into Iggy's face.

"My father, he wasn't the greatest dad in the world," Bowser reiterates, "But he was still my dad. I should be upset about his death, right?" Bowser sighs. "At first, I cried a lot for him when I was a kid, but, truthfully"—Bowser snorts out a cloud of grey smoke, a bitter taste in his mouth—"I could care less about the guy now."

After the words tumble from his mind and spew out into the world, Bowser realizes how unsympathetic and despondent he must sound to the kid. Iggy remains quiet as he ponders, further causing Bowser to break out into an anxious sweat.

Junior also seems to sense the thick pressure compacted in the atmosphere because he is as quiet and as motionless as Iggy or maybe he's copying Iggy's reaction.

Bowser laughs nervously, hoping to shatter through all the tension, running a hand through his mane. All he manages to do is smack face first into it, feeling the aftermath of the awkwardness he created by opening his mouth in the first place.

He desperately wonders how he'll be perceived in Iggy's eyes. These kids heavily rely on him, but would they quickly turn their backs on him after hearing him declare he's relieved someone is dead? Especially if it involves a parent, something all of them grieve deeply over losing because, unlike him, their parents loved them.

"I guess that makes me pretty heartless, huh?" Bowser jokes to fill the silence, followed by the world's most unconvincing chuckle.

Iggy shrugs, reverie snapped, and his thoughtful expression is free of any judgment as he glances at Bowser. "When a king like that kicks the bucket, it's more like a giant celebration than a funeral."

Bowser feels Iggy slightly lean into him, and he's half-convinced he's imagining the heat radiating off the kid's scales warming his side until he catches a glimpse of Iggy's cheek mere inches from his arm. Iggy rakes a claw through Junior's bad case of bed head, somewhat taming the red mop of fuzz.

Junior coos, soaking in the sensation. He burrows deeper into Iggy's lap, eyes drooping closed. He purrs in pure bliss, leaning into the touch and warmth of Iggy's body, little tail thumping wildly behind him.

Good thing Junior's spikes on his shell are still little nubs or Iggy would be impaled by all the baby's squirming to get into a more comfortable position. When Junior settles down, Iggy continues his thought.

"I don't mean to offend you, but the guy seemed like a huge waste of space, from what I've learned." He holds Bowser's gaze out of the corner of his eyes. "I think it's completely normal to not miss someone so abusive and power hungry," Iggy sourly testifies.

A shadow of contempt flashes across his face, glare directed at someone unseen and far off. He must have pieced together the reason for Lemmy's lack of medical care was due to Bowser's father's grip on the citizens or Kamek or Lemmy had told him of their parents' fears. Knowing the brainiac's deduction skills, it's probably the latter.

The hatred on Iggy's face passes as quickly as it came. Bowser momentarily believes he's reading too into things until he remembers Iggy's expressions are ever changing to shield the pain inside him from seeping out.

Iggy snickers, glancing at Bowser with humor in his eyes. "Then again, what would I know? I only eat fruit snacks and drink juice out of boxes."

Bowser snorts, rolling his eyes. "Smart ass."

Iggy gasps dramatically. "Swearing in front of Junior. What would Kamek say?"

"He'd probably keel over."

Both of them chuckle quietly.

"But you're right, I've been voted the number one smart ass in the castle," Iggy beams proudly, chest puffed out and nose held high, "Thank you for recognizing my talents."

"Watch your mouth," Bowser warns, elbowing the kid gently to knock him off his grandiose pedestal. "If Kamek catches you swearing; you'll be tasting soap for weeks."

Iggy shudders. "Noted."

"And you're right," Bowser adds thoughtfully, "My dad was a huge waste of space. I was always surprised when he said my name since I was convinced he didn't care enough to remember it. I just feel like a…" he intakes a deep breath, "a heartless jerk. I should feel something besides relief."

"Well, you're not a heartless jerk," Iggy states firmly, "If you were; you wouldn't have taken in a bunch of random kids. A heartless jerk would have shipped them off to an orphanage or a jail cell for their kleptomania. If anything, I'd argue that your heart's too big."

There's a pregnant pause, Iggy wrinkles his snout like he caught whiff of Junior's dirty diaper. "It's honestly disgusting how mushy you are. I guess all those stories of ferocious King Bowser were just tall tales." Iggy shoulders sag. "What a let down."

"Yeah, what the hell was I thinking?" Bowser laughs boisterously. "Taking in all these damn kids? I must be losing my mind."

"I think you've already lost it at this point," Iggy jokes.

Bowser hooks a meaty arm around the kid's shoulders, pulls Iggy and Junior to him, and fluffs up Iggy's technicolor hair with his free hand. Iggy growls, squirming to get away, but unable to get far with Junior weighing his legs down.

Dazed, Junior blinks away the haziness in his eyes, perking up from his spot to watch Iggy struggle. Junior begins to giggle at them, crawling out of Iggy's lap to watch the show, bouncing up and down, cheering someone on. Bowser likes to believe it's for him.

Bowser rumbles out a laugh, taking Iggy's face in his hands. Iggy grumbles at this, threatening to bite Bowser if he doesn't release him. Bowser chuckles deeply at his attempts to scare him off, smushing the kid's round cheeks between his palms, enunciating Iggy's pouting expression and knocking his glasses askew.

Iggy whines viciously, but Bowser thinks the kid likes the attention too since he doesn't put up much fight, only huffs and puffs and flails his arms wildly. At one point he reaches out to Junior, begging the infant to save him. Junior merely laughs at Iggy's pleading, clapping his hands excitedly together as if to egg his father on.

Bowser admits Iggy is a cute kid, but that mouth of his is nothing but trouble and yet, Bowser somewhat appreciates his wit. He releases him after he's had his fill of affection and teasing from the brat.

Iggy mutters half-heartedly, fixing his rainbow Mohawk and adjusting his frames before he childishly sticks out his tongue at Bowser. Bowser chortles, returning the immaturity with his own reptilian tongue.

When Junior senses the fun is over, he hobbles back over to them, obviously ready for a nap. Bowser feels a sting of betrayal when, instead of going to his father to hunker down on, Junior clamors back into Iggy's lap, reclaiming his spot and drapes himself across him like a feline.

Iggy laughs victoriously at Bowser's dejected expression and deflated body language, teasing him about being the new favorite. Iggy resumes running his hands through the small child's hair to return him to his sleepy state after they had unintentionally riled him up with their antics.

Eventually, Junior succumbs to his need for sleep, snoring softly while Iggy and Bowser quietly sit, tossing back mocking nicknames to each other while elbowing each other's sides.

"King Old Dude," Iggy harshly whispers, his pointy elbow jabs Bowser in the ribs.

Bowser snorts, unaffected. "Nerd."

Iggy rolls his eyes. "King Cries-at-Puppies."

"Four-Eyes."

"Really original, King Loser."

"Thanks, Rainbowhead," Bowser says more solemnly, wrapping his arm around the child in a sorry attempt of a half-hug.

Iggy pauses, detecting the shift. His gaze jumps from the infant curled up in his lap to Bowser. "For what?" he asks incredulously.

Bowser tosses Iggy a half-grin. "For listening to the crazy ramblings of an old man."

Iggy purses his lips, brows furrowed. "Speaking of old, this has been bothering me for a while; how old is Kamek?"

Without thinking, Bowser bluntly blurts out the first number to pop into his head, "A million."

Iggy snickers quietly in glee. "I thought the same thing. He was probably born before a language and writing system was even established."

"Maybe some of those cave drawings were drawn by Kamek as a kid. You should ask him sometime, I'm sure he'd be thrilled," Bowser comments dryly, "Y'know how he loves to tell his stories."

Comfortably, they laugh together. Iggy stays still for a few more minutes before he offers Bowser his son back, claiming he has to feed McIntosh. Bowser smiles knowingly, scooping up his sleeping child, and cautiously adjusts him in his arms.

Junior stirs briefly, raising his head, blinking sleepily up at his dad, before immediately falling back asleep. Bowser heads off to the baby's room to set him down in his crib.

The entire trip there, a content smile rests on Bowser's face. When Junior is properly settled into his crib. Bowser scurries over to the rocking chair to rest. He takes in the heady concoction of baby lotion and baby powder wafting in the air, dosing himself in the familiarity.

He starts to sway languidly, listening to the tiny creak of the wood complaining about his hefty weight, pondering over the conversation with Iggy. Iggy held no ill will towards him, he understood the severity of the words Bowser refused to say in front of a child.

Bowser feels… relieved. Relieved to be accepted by one of the children he works so damn hard to impress and provide for. He sinks lower into the rocking chair, his butt warmed by the hand-knitted cushion his mom sloppily knitted while sick in bed with nothing to do to pass the time.

He refused to get rid of it as it fell apart due to age and poorly stitched seams, holding onto the one sentimental thing his mom left behind even if it was hastily made, like she knew her time was running out, demanding Kamek to find a seamstress worthy enough to fix the holes and mend his mother's mistakes.

With her on his mind, he briefly imagines, if she was still around, if she'd knit little trinkets for his children. Wait…

Children?

Children. Plural. He has one child not—

What would I do without them?

His life would definitely be easier, but—he groans quietly under his breath. Halting his rocking to put his head in his hands. He loves them. Dammit. He loves them like his own, doesn't he?

He wonders what he really expected to happen after taking them in. His original plan, when he hastily explained it to Kamek when they encountered the group of raggedy children, was that he would allow them stay for a few weeks, acting like a foster parent, until he figured out what to do with them.

Perhaps a relative would come to claim them or someone would willingly request to adopt them if he mentioned it in passing.

That plan was a bust the moment Ludwig smiled at him, reflecting the sorrow Bowser once felt at his age back at him like he was looking in a mirror. It only took about two months before Bowser decided this was their forever home and he couldn't risk separating the pack if a pair of parents wished to take only one or two of them.

He promised Ludwig he wouldn't throw them out onto the streets when the children were difficult or fussy, and Bowser felt like he was breaking his promise somehow, like a tiny clause between the paragraphs, if he separated them. Talk about being the perfect example of a failed foster father.

Kamek hadn't been surprised by Bowser's final decision either. The children grew on him and Junior, usually so fussy with strangers, immediately accepted them too. It's like it was preordained, orchestrated from the start. They were here to stay the moment their dirty feet stamped footprints on the carpet causing the maids to sigh like overworked mothers.

When Bowser thinks of his family, Kamek and Junior instantly spring to his mind, but now, there are seven more slots filled. Now he sees them smiling along with him, framed in a photo, hanging in the hall of royalty. A warmth pulsates within his chest at the thought.

Iggy's right. I am soft.

Bowser sighs. This softness would have been seen as a weakness to his father. Childcare was for nursemaids, nannies, and mothers; a king only ensured the child was fit to rule when the time came, teaching their child the traditions that tutors couldn't, spilling secrets of the monarchy only reserved for the heir.

It's such a barbaric and outdated way of raising a child. Bowser sneers at the thought of pawning off all his responsibilities of raising his baby to his servants, only seeing the baby when absolutely necessary, never involved in his life or watching him grow.

Bowser learned how to raise a child from Kamek and the little moments he recalls of his mother. Kamek openly displayed affection towards Bowser when they both realized their partnership was a permanent arrangement, a stipulation from King Samael himself.

Kamek warmed up to the idea within a month, becoming overprotective of Bowser, and pushing his luck when Bowser's birth father dared to speak ill of him. Even when little Bowser huffed about hugs and lullabies being 'baby stuff', Kamek still circled him in his arms and hummed him melodies.

Now Bowser does the same, displaying his vulnerability to his son and the children because they deserve to see his fissures too. They deserve to learn that everyone has cracks and everyone has a softness inside them wanting to be exposed to the ones they love the most.

It probably causes his father to roll in his grave. Bowser can picture his father's ghostly aspiration shouting about how Bowser's weaknesses will lead to his demise, but he's the one in a casket due to his own belligerence and Bowser is the survivor of his abuse slowly climbing to the top of being deemed an estimable ruler.

He's becoming someone Junior can proudly proclaim is his Papa. Someone the children can proudly proclaim is their… their? What can he be defined as to them?

Larry secretly calls him 'Papa' and the effect it has on him lingers in his heart for days. What would the others call him? Just Bowser?

He conjures up a scenario in which Iggy is smiling at him, his pesky baby canine he's been wrestling with for months finally missing. He opens his mouth and calls him 'Dad' instead of Bowser. Bowser's stomach experiences an influx of fluttering butterflies, his face flushes, and his heart thumps a happy tune.

Bowser sighs, hiding his smile behind the tips of his claws. He knows he can't do this alone either. He'll need some assistance from the Koopa who raised him to raise all these damn kids. And, he'll never admit to it, he misses Kamek and his nagging, hovering around him like a persistence fly, but always loyally beside him.

Perhaps it's time to speak to Kamek about his betrayal like two adults instead of hiding like it'll eventually go away. Bowser can't avoid it forever. He just needs a day or more to collective his thoughts.

…

Reinvigorated by a combination of Iggy's pep talk(?) and his prolonged vacation, Bowser decides today is the day to finally confront Kamek. No more stalling, no more moping around. His headspace is ready to handle anything Kamek spills and he's created a mental list of topics to bring up. It's time to tackle this issue and wrestle it to the ground.

Bowser summons a servant to fetch Kamek and bring him to his study. He sits in his recliner, tapping his claws impatiently against the armrest. His confident disposition doesn't dissipate when he spots Kamek peer through the crack in the door.

Bowser remains stoic, calm, and quiet as Kamek approaches him, sitting on the loveseat across him. Three words rarely used to describe him at all. He feels a beam of pride for retaining his composure and that incites his determination.

Kamek opens his mouth, prepared to spill some premade speech, but Bowser raises a hand, sharply cutting him off with a curt shake of his head.

"Don't speak unless I ask a question, got it?"

Kamek snaps his mouth closed and nods.

"Good," Bowser sinks comfortably in his chair, "now let's start with the basics here. How did you do it?"

Kamek smooths down his robes, then clears his throat. "The ingredients for the particular poison I used are only found in Soda Jungle. It isn't deadly in small doses, but over time, it slowly begins to eat away at the insides with constant exposure. It was a simple slip into his tea or medicine every now and then to keep it potent enough to do its job."

Bowser isn't convinced. He theorized his father's murder would be more of a labyrinthine plot, littered with insane amounts of luck, and back alley deals. Not a visit to a jungle and a slight-of-hand magic trick.

Bowser furrows his brows. "It couldn't have been that easy."

Kamek hums. "I have your mother to thank for that." He tweeks his frames. "I searched for a poison closely resembling her symptoms. Her illness was unheard of at the time. Only small cases cropped up in Soda Jungle and some in World Three, but it still remains a mystery to us how she contracted it in the first place if she never visited those locations."

Kamek's tone shifts, lowering slightly. "I believe some foul play was involved, but your father never cared to investigate further. He was still fuming over the fact she named you instead of passing down the Samael name."

That's right. His mother had named him. A name Bowser disliked at a young age because it was vastly different from others and made him feel inferior to the four kings preceding him. As he grew older and learned more of his father's abysmal behavior, his appreciation towards his unique name flourished.

According to Kamek; King Samael despised Queen Morrigan for naming their only heir without his permission. He held that grudge until he died, ranting deliriously about how the Samael name should not be dying with him, projecting his failures onto the ghost of a woman long dead.

Queen Morrigan failed to report their son's hatching until after she finalized her decision, signing the papers herself. Bowser imagines she signed them with her head held high in defiance, a knowing smirk on her lips. Why Samael never bothered to undo the paperwork, Kamek claims he doesn't know for certain.

Maybe his dad had a heart somewhere inside him after all? Or maybe his father's dislike for change and following tradition was far more powerful than passing down a name? Royalty doesn't just change the name of their child after the child's birth and name is announced to the public.

Kamek's theories would only remain theories because the former king is a pile of bones in a coffin somewhere.

Bowser had been the name the queen settled on and he's thankful to her. Instead of taking a name he wouldn't have been proud of wielding, Bowser was gently handed the opportunity to erase the four generations preceding him, including his father's.

When Junior was dumped onto his doorstep, his first instinct was to name the child after Kamek, but the mage insisted his child's life would be full of mockery and bullying with such an outdated and outclassed name. Though he was immensely flattered by the gesture.

Then Kamek had told Bowser the story of his own name and how hard his mother fought to have some choice in her cobblestone prison. Although she was queen, she rarely had a say in political affairs and was flaunted around like a pretty trophy that dangled off the king's arm.

His name had been her one moment of rebellion, breaking her silence in such an attention-seeking way. Her final stand against the king.

So Bowser settled on Bowser Junior to spite his dad and honor the Koopa who had the guts to step up to his father: his mother. If Junior decides not to carry on the legacy of his name to his own offspring, Bowser will be a bit disappointed, but he'll understand.

He won't ignore his son for years, silently fuming and holding some pointless grudge like his father had done to his mother.

Bowser hums thoughtfully, impressed but not surprised by Kamek's aptitude. "So you used the illness as a cover-up to hide the fact you were poisoning him."

Kamek nods. "That's correct. It confused the castle doctor for quite some time because your father would be completely fine for a day and then bedridden the next after another dose.

Eventually, I believed the doctor figured out the true cause of your father's declining health, but it was too late. The damage was already irreversible and he hadn't the faintest idea who was feeding the king poison. Honestly, I do not believe he cared.

He never brought it up to the authorities when questioned and he signed the death certificate stating there was absolutely no foul play involved."

"Maybe he was sick of my dad too," Bowser grumbles, familiar with the many grudges the citizens held against Samael. "The guy treated everyone but his council of advisors like garbage."

With Kamek's devious meddling; it seems the lower classes' silent hatred won out in the end. However, many of Samael's loyal followers falsely believed Bowser would take the reins and continue to feed into the Darklandians' suffering and align their pockets with profit.

When those foolish loyalists quickly realized they couldn't manipulate a child when Kamek was at his side pulling apart their ploys; the extremists carried out their own plans, proudly brandishing Samael's name as a reason for their immoral deeds.

A loyalist and former advisor had gone as far as hiring an assassin to murder the monarchs of a kingdom where tensions were high. His only goal was to throw the Darklands into yet another war because he owned a mining facility which yielded valuable ore to make weapons and armor.

In the end, the King and Queen of the Mushroom Kingdom were murdered in their own beds at the dead of night, but, thankfully, their young daughter had remained unscathed. Apparently, the captured assassin had sung the truth without much prompt or torturous methods. He dropped a name and further instructions and plans for the future.

A war never erupted from the chaos. The princess was even younger than Bowser at the time and Kamek sent parchment after parchment stating the assassin and the loyalist in question had worked against the orders of the crown.

As a sign of peace; they shipped the loyalist off to the Mushroom Kingdom wrapped in a neat little bow for them to decide his fate. Even as he was whisked off to his guaranteed death, the Koopa did not beg for his life or forgiveness; he looked content.

It disgusted Bowser, left a bitter taste in his mouth he sometimes tastes when he thinks of the orphan ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. He remembers watching this murderer show not an ounce of remorse and wanting to punch the serenity right off his face.

The loyalist didn't care if another orphaned monarchy and another unfortunate child ruler was added to the list; Bowser wouldn't wish this fate of ruling as a child even on his worst enemies.

How his father retained so many loyal followers despite the majority despising him made little sense to Bowser. Coins talk, he supposes, persuasive words sweetened up by the promise of money can make any greedy man fall to his knees or any desperate family remain submissive pawns.

"If I recall; the doctor's son was a soldier who died in the line of duty during a skirmish on the border," Kamek eleborates, unknowingly interrupting Bowser's vengeful thoughts. "It was a pointless battle that cost us many young lives. Those freshly-trained soldiers were used as nothing more than bait."

Sounds exactly like his father to use the disposable lives of others for his own gain. Especially perky young soldiers, freshly trained, and eager to prove their worth to the crown, fighting for fantasies of triumph and recognition they'll never receive. They were merely nameless chess pieces, all sacrificed pawns, in a bloody game of chess.

Kamek's voice wavers, growing sullen. "The doctor's husband fell into a deep depression afterwards. He was never the same after they lost their only child. Perhaps the doctor held contempt towards King Samael for destroying his family."

"I don't blame him then." Bowser crosses his arms over his chest. "I'd do anything for my kids too."

Kids? What is he saying? He only has one child.

For now.

Thankfully, Kamek glosses over the comment, only a brief twitch of his lips is the only indication he caught the slip up too.

"Did you make your decision? Are my days numbered?" Kamek's tone is drenched with sarcasm. "Shall I start the first draft of my will?"

Bowser throws him an unimpressed look with a matching scowl. "Enough with the theatrics, you old bat. You and I both know that option was never on the table."

First topic down. Now—

Bowser sucks in his bottom lip, biting down on it as he contemplates whether to ask Kamek his next planned question. He decides 'what the hell' and jumps head first into it. Might as well get it all over with.

"Do you feel cold-hearted because you don't regret the choice you made?" he asks.

Kamek appears momentarily surprised before it disappears as he considers the question. "I've asked myself that a lot. Did my morals disappear as I grew more vengeful and bitter or did I simply want the suffering of others to end?"

Bowser leans further in his chair, eager for Kamek's response. "And the conclusion you got was?"

Kamek laughs lightly as if humored by Bowser's interest or to scavenge for time. "It's… complicated," he confesses. "My decision was entirely selfish, but at the same time; selfless. I did it for myself—that I cannot dispute with—but I also did it for my fellow mages." Kamek pauses, tone softening, "And… I realized, years later, that I mostly did it for you. I saw potential in you."

Bowser stiffens, eyes widening. Sensing Kamek has more to say, Bowser sinks his fangs into his bottom lip to keep from regurgitating a million questions like a moron. His impatience is astounding even to himself sometimes. Really, how is he decent at raising kids?

Kamek folds his hands in his lap, facing Bowser head on. "You had such a fiery spirit. Your inability to give up was admirable given your age. It was mesmerizing to witness a mere child always put down by their own flesh and blood, pick themselves back off the floor and dust themselves off. What was once seen as a babysitting job to keep the king from roasting me alive became something more."

Bowser watches Kamek stand up, approaching him. Kamek stands before him, momentarily hesitating before setting his hands on top of one of Bowser's own. He gathers it in his small hands, probably marveling at the size difference.

Kamek rubs his thumb along the ridges of Bowser's giant knuckle, the inflection in his voice is so warm Bowser feels as if he's wrapped in a blanket. Kamek cracks a miniscule smile.

"I wanted to watch you grow," Kamek admits. "I wanted to see what you'd become if given the chance. Every time your father dared to raise a hand against you, I wanted to put him into the ground for treating you as if you weren't good enough."

Kamek slightly shakes his head like he's shaking the thoughts of Samael out of his mind. "In the end, he became obsolete. A fleeting king mentioned in history books; hopefully he'll be forgotten years from now."

Kamek's expression experiences an overcast, voice dropping slightly along with his head. "I apologize for keeping this from you. I know my decision was morbid—it was murder—but look at you now." Kamek cranes his neck upward, staring right at Bowser with awe. "You're raising your own son while helping a ragtag group of orphans find their way in the same world you were once lost in."

Kamek releases Bowser's hand to lower his frames perched on his beak, coal black eyes, wrinkled in the corners because of age, stare right through Bowser. Kamek smiles, adding more wrinkles onto his face. It's genuine, warm, and full of affection, projecting all that at him.

Dad.

His father. Bowser realizes this is his father. Always has been. He's never cared enough to actually accept their relationship for what it is, never defined it or disregarded the insinuations or jokes from others. As if Kamek is reading his thoughts as he thinks them, Kamek's next set of words prove everything to Bowser.

"I'm proud of you," Kamek proclaims with a tone that offers no room for one to debate him or wedge in pointless opinions.

Dammit. Kamek hits him right in the chest.

Bowser knows he won't ever need to vie for his dead father's approval or repeat his tarnished legacy. His harsh words are nothing more than ghosts which haunt his mind and that's all they'll ever be; pointless apparitions.

Hearing Kamek say he's proud of him means more than his father's love ever could. All Bowser wanted was to hear those words said to him and Kamek never faltered to guide him to this moment, the moment where he proclaims without a doubt that he is proud of Bowser's accomplishments.

Was it okay to be relieved that his dad no longer existed? He comes to the conclusion, after the conversation he had with Iggy and listening to Kamek's answer, although it's bleak; that it is okay. It's okay to find solace from someone's death.

Especially since his dad is right here. Kamek willingly committed treason to ensure Bowser survived the onslaught of King Samael's rage and journey to power. He willingly put his own life on the line for Bowser to thrive without the chains of his father wrapped around his ankles, unable to move forward.

Bowser isn't an emotional guy, but this is a direct hit, shattering his daddy issues into pieces because right in front of him is the Koopa who has been his dad all along, watching him grow, offering advice, helping him fix his mistakes. Bowser stands up, casting a looming shadow over Kamek, biting the inside of his cheek with his brows drawn together.

"King Bowser?" Kamek's befuddled voice sounds far away despite standing directly in front of him.

Without warning, he pulls Kamek into his arms because it feels like the right thing to do. "Thank you," he mutters soberly. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear someone say that to me."

He feels Kamek pat the ridges of his plastron with a gentle hand. "This reminds me of when you were little," Kamek says wistfully. He lets out a long sigh and Bowser can feel the warm breath on his scales. "You always claimed you weren't a baby, but I still held you anyways."

Bowser can hear the curve of Kamek's smile as he reminisces. "Despite your tantrum; you fell asleep in my arms every time. Of course, you didn't tower over me and you smelled like boogers and always had pieces of candy stuck in your hair."

Bowser groans. Leave it to Kamek to ruin the mood.

"I could crush you, y'know," he grumbles childishly.

Kamek barks out a laugh as he pulls away. "You definitely could, but you unfortunately need my help. Those kids aren't going to raise themselves."

Ah.

This is the perfect segue into the next topic he had planned. He nervously shuffles, preferring to stare at the space beside Kamek's head.

"That's another thing we gotta talk about," he starts, sounding pretty pathetic after displaying such raw confidence moments before.

Kamek tilts his head. "Oh?"

Bowser rubs the back of his neck, letting out a breathy chuckle. "I'll admit I was definitely slacking off the entire week, but I kinda realized I… I think I want to make this arrangement officially permanent, like… on paper."

Bowser bites his cheek, cheeks gaining a more pinkish color. His nervous gaze frantically flitters around the room, settling on the grandfather clock. "What do you think they'd say if I asked them about adopting them?"

Kamek's eyes must be blown wide, if the curved raise of his scaly brows from behind his spectacles is any implication to his surprise. He recovers quickly, shocked expression melting into a teasing grin.

"My, you have grown," Kamek pinches Bowser's arm. Bowser barely feels a thing, but casts Kamek a dry look for the playful teasing. "Look at all this responsibility you're taking on without me pestering you. Speaking of which, how is this week's paperwork, Your Sullenness?"

Bowser groans again, body blocking the view of his desk. "Don't remind me. I know I gotta start playing catch up after letting it sit there."

"Well, shall we start tackling the pile you've been trying to hide from me?" Kamek smiles knowingly, slightly peeking out from behind Bowser's mass to glance at the paper cityscape on the desk behind him.

Bowser has enough sense to look guilty, rolling his shoulders when Kamek extends his neck upward to stare back at him with what Bowser assumes is a humorous but exasperated look.

Kamek shakes his head, already beginning to approach the desk. He throws a glance over his shoulder when he notices Bowser hasn't budged from his spot.

"We can also discuss the proper procedure for adoption while we work, if you would like," he adds on.

Bowser sighs heavily, dragging his claws down his face.

Goodbye, tiny vacation. Guess it's time to get back to work.

---

Welp. I didn't want Bowser to be the one to kill his dad. I dunno. Felt weird to me and everyone seems to do it so I kinda did the whole 'illness' thing and then got this brilliant idea. First off, I dunno if it's apparent, but I love Kamek and felt like this made perfect sense and that's my whole argument there.

Sorry about all the backstory here. Still, go off, sis. Kill a king. I really liked this story. It's probably my favorite. Until I've read it so many times I got sick of it. Did my writing improve with this one? I dunno .

Also, I really need to update the chapters to their newest edits, but Fanfiction is so complicated with edits. I can't just edit is as I go like AO3. Bah.