The past of the broken mario

The main hall of SMG4’s Showgrounds castle was unusually tranquil. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the floorboards. SMG4 was lounging on the sofa, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Bob and Fishy Boopkins were debating the merits of various anime waifus in the corner, though with significantly less volume than usual. Meggy was sharpening her Splatshot, while Tari and Melony were busy playing a handheld game together. Saiko sat nearby, her eyes closed as she listened to music through heavy headphones.

The air felt lighter than usual, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why.

"Is it just me, or is it actually... peaceful today?" SMG4 remarked, stretching his arms behind his head.

Meggy looked up, a small smile playing on her lips. "Mario’s at the spaghetti convention three towns over. He won't be back until tonight."

"It’s like a vacation for my ears," Bob grunted, though he didn't sound as mean-spirited as usual. "No screaming, no explosions, and no naked Italians running through the halls. I could get used to this."

Luigi, who was busy dusting a nearby pedestal, gave a nervous, shaky laugh. "I mean, it is nice, but I hope he’s doing okay. You know how he gets when he’s overstimulated by pasta."

"He’ll be fine, Luigi," Tari said gently. "He’s probably in heaven right now."

Suddenly, the massive television monitor mounted on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't the usual bright, obnoxious intro of an SMG4 video. Instead, the screen remained black for a few seconds before a grainy, home-movie style video began to play.

"Oh great, did Mario leave the camera on again?" SMG4 sighed, reaching for the remote. "I don't need to see a ten-hour documentary on why ravioli is superior to tortellini."

But as the image cleared, the room fell silent.

The video showed a house they didn't recognize—a cramped, dilapidated place. A very young Mario, perhaps no older than five, was sitting on a dirty floor. He looked remarkably different; his eyes were wide and bright, and he was carefully stacking wooden blocks. He wasn't the chaotic force of nature they knew. He was just a quiet, small child.

"Wait, is that... Mario?" Melony asked, leaning forward, her sleepy eyes widening.

"He looks so cute!" Boopkins chirped.

The cuteness was short-lived. A shadow fell over the child, and the sound of a heavy door slamming echoed through the speakers. Two figures entered the frame—Mario’s parents. They didn't look like the whimsical characters one would expect. They looked tired, bitter, and filled with a terrifying, simmering rage.

"You useless little brat!" a voice boomed from the TV. It was Mario’s father. He kicked the wooden blocks, scattering them across the room. "I told you to stay in the closet! Why are you out here making a mess?"

The gang watched, paralyzed, as the mother stepped forward, her face twisted in a sneer. "He’s just like his father, a waste of space. Why do we even bother?"

What followed was a blur of violence that made the air in the castle turn cold. The young Mario didn't fight back. He didn't scream for help. He simply curled into a ball, trying to protect his head as the blows fell. It wasn't "cartoon" violence. There were no goofy sound effects or stars spinning around his head. It was raw, grounded, and sickening.

"Turn it off," Meggy whispered, her face pale. "Four, turn it off."

SMG4 fumbled with the remote, but it wouldn't respond. "I—I can't! It’s locked! The system is bypassed!"

Luigi had dropped his duster. He was staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking. He knew. He had always known, but he had buried those memories so deep he’d almost convinced himself they weren't real. Seeing it played back in high definition was a nightmare he couldn't escape.

The video jumped forward in time. Mario was ten now. He was skinnier, his clothes were tattered, and he had a permanent bruise under his left eye. He was trying to cook something on a stove far too high for him, his hands trembling. When he accidentally spilled a drop of water, the cycle of yelling and hitting began all over again.

The montage continued, year after year. They saw a teenage Mario trying to smile for a school photo, only to have his father rip the picture up in front of him. They saw him sleeping in the rain outside his own house because he’d been locked out for "being annoying." As the years progressed, the light in Mario’s eyes began to dim, replaced by the vacant, wide-eyed stare they were all used to.

They began to see the transition. They saw him start to act "stupid" as a defense mechanism—a way to deflect the pain, to make people laugh so they wouldn't hit him, or to simply retreat into a world where nothing could hurt him because nothing made sense.

By the time the screen finally went black, the silence in the room was heavy enough to suffocate.

Melony was sobbing openly, clutching Boopkins so hard the little spike-fish was turning blue, though he didn't complain; he was crying too. Bob, usually the most cynical person in the room, was staring at his hooks, his metallic body unusually still.

"We..." Tari started, her voice breaking. "We call him an idiot every day. We hit him when he does something wrong. We... we've been doing exactly what they did."

Meggy sank onto the floor, her head in her hands. "I’ve kicked him into walls. I’ve screamed at him for just being himself. I thought... I thought he was just being a jerk. I didn't know he was... he was just trying to survive."

SMG4 looked at his hands. He thought of all the times he’d used Mario as a scapegoat for his videos, all the times he’d treated him like a tool rather than a friend. "He never complains," SMG4 whispered. "No matter what we do to him, he always comes back the next day with a smile and asks if we want to play. He’s the strongest person I know, and we treat him like garbage."

Luigi finally looked up, tears streaming down his face. "He took most of it for me. When we were kids... he’d hide me in the laundry basket. He’d make noise so they’d go after him instead of me. I thought he’d forgotten. I hoped he’d forgotten."

The heavy front doors of the castle creaked open.

"MAAAAARIO’S BACK!"

The familiar, loud, and slightly grating voice echoed through the hall. Mario marched in, covered in tomato sauce and bits of dough, wearing a ridiculous "I Heart Spaghetti" hat that was three sizes too big. He was humming a nonsensical tune, waddling toward the kitchen.

"Hey, why is everyone so quiet?" Mario asked, stopping in his tracks. He looked around, his large eyes blinking in confusion. "Did someone eat the last cookie? It was Bob, wasn't it? I saw him looking at the jar with his greedy little eyes."

Usually, Bob would have fired back with a witty insult. Instead, the hooded figure just looked at Mario with a gaze full of profound sadness.

Mario’s smile faltered slightly. "Uh... why is Melony leaking from her eyes? Is she broken? Do I need to turn her off and on again?"

Before he could make another joke, he was hit by a literal wave of people.

Meggy was the first, slamming into him with a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind out of him. Tari followed, then Boopkins and Melony. Even Saiko stepped forward, placing a firm, uncharacteristically gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa! Hey!" Mario flailed his arms. "What’s going on? Is this a cult? I didn't sign up for a cult! Unless there’s snacks. Are there snacks?"

"Mario, we are so sorry," Meggy sobbed into his red shirt. "We’re so, so sorry for everything."

"For being mean to you," Boopkins wailed. "You’re our best friend and we’re meanies!"

"I will literally never kick you into a sun again," Saiko muttered, her voice thick with emotion.

Mario stood frozen, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air. His eyes wandered past the group and landed on the giant TV screen. It was still showing a frozen frame of the final shot—a young, bruised Mario sitting alone in the dark.

The humor drained from Mario’s face. For a split second, the mask slipped. The "stupid" Mario vanished, and in his place was a man who looked very old and very tired. He stared at the image of his younger self, his lip quivering just a fraction of an inch.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the mask was back. He let out a loud, forced laugh and patted Meggy on the head.

"Oh, that? That’s just Mario’s origin story! It’s like Batman, but with more pasta and less money," he joked, though his voice was an octave higher than usual. "Don't be sad! Mario is fine! Look, I got a sticker at the convention for eating twenty plates of carbonara without throwing up!"

He pulled a crumpled sticker out of his pocket and slapped it onto his forehead. "See? Mario is a champion!"

"Mario, stop," SMG4 said, walking over to join the group. He looked his friend directly in the eyes. "You don't have to do that. Not here. You don't have to be the funny guy just so we won't be mad at you. We saw what happened. We know why you... why you are the way you are."

Mario’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the floor, the "I Heart Spaghetti" hat slipping forward to cover his eyes. "It was a long time ago," he said quietly. His voice was normal—no exaggerated Italian accent, no screaming. Just a quiet, weary man. "I don't like thinking about it. Thinking makes Mario’s brain hurt. If I’m funny, everyone is happy. If everyone is happy, nobody hits Mario."

The honesty of the statement was like a physical blow to everyone in the room.

"Nobody is ever going to hit you again," Meggy promised, pulling back to look him in the eye. "And if they try, they’ll have to go through all of us."

"Yeah!" Boopkins squeaked. "We’ll protect you, Mario!"

"I’ll shove my scythe so far up their—" Bob started, but Tari quickly covered his mouth.

"We mean it, Mario," Tari said softly. "We’ve been terrible friends lately. We took your kindness for granted. We thought you didn't care or didn't feel it, but you feel everything, don't you?"

Mario stayed silent for a long time. He slowly reached up and took off his hat, clutching it in his hands. He looked at Luigi, who was still standing a few feet away, looking guilty.

"It wasn't your fault, Luigi," Mario said.

Luigi let out a choked sob and ran forward, throwing his arms around his brother. "I should have helped you! I should have said something when we got older!"

"You were just a kid too," Mario whispered, hugging him back.

For the next hour, the group didn't leave the hallway. They sat on the floor together, a tangled mess of friends. They offered apology after apology, recounting specific times they had been cruel and promising to do better.

Mario listened to them all. He didn't quite know how to handle the sincerity. He was so used to being the punching bag, the comic relief, the one who was always wrong. To be treated with this much genuine tenderness was overwhelming.

Eventually, he felt the atmosphere getting a bit too heavy for his liking. He couldn't stay serious for too long; it felt like a weight was pressing down on his chest.

"Okay, okay!" Mario announced, popping back up to his feet and shoving his hat back on. "Mario accepts your apologies! But as payment for my emotional trauma, I demand that SMG4 buys me fifty pizzas. And they have to be the expensive kind, not the ones from the dumpster behind the gas station."

SMG4 wiped his eyes and gave a weak laugh. "Fifty? Mario, that’ll bankrupt me."

Mario crossed his arms and pouted. "Oh, I see. 'We’re so sorry Mario, we love you Mario,' but when it comes to pizza, suddenly the love is gone! I see how it is!"

"No, no! Okay!" SMG4 held up his hands. "Fifty pizzas. I’ll order them right now."

"And I want to watch that anime Boopkins likes," Mario added, pointing at the green fish. "The one with the big-eyed girls and the giant robots. But only if I can make fun of the dialogue."

Boopkins beamed. "I’d love that, Mario!"

As the gang moved toward the living area to settle in for a long night of movies and food, Meggy stayed behind for a moment, watching Mario. He was back to his usual self, tripping over a rug and letting out a loud "D’oh!" before getting into a mock argument with Bob about which pizza topping was the best.

He was still the same Mario. He was loud, he was messy, and he was often a headache. But now, they saw the cracks in the porcelain. They saw the little boy who had decided that the world was too cruel to be taken seriously, and they realized that his "stupidity" wasn't a flaw. It was a gift he gave himself—and them—to keep the darkness at bay.

Meggy walked over and bumped her shoulder against his. "Hey, Red?"

Mario looked over, a slice of imaginary pizza in his hand as he gestured wildly. "Yeah, Meggy?"

"I really am glad you're here," she said sincerely.

Mario paused. He gave her a small, genuine smile—one that didn't involve any screaming or goofy faces. "Me too, Meggy. Me too."

The castle was loud that night, filled with the sounds of arguments over movies and the smell of too much cheese. But for the first time in a long time, the noise didn't feel like chaos. It felt like a family, finally learning how to protect its most fragile heart.