The abuse of a friend

The main hall of SMG4’s Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet. The air was stagnant, lacking the usual scent of burnt spaghetti and the echoing sounds of high-pitched screaming or explosions. SMG4 was slumped in a beanbag chair, scrolling idly through his phone, while Bob and Boopkins were half-heartedly trying to play a board game that neither of them understood. Meggy was sharpening her Splat-shot, her mind wandering, and Saiko was tuning her guitar with a bored expression.

"Is it just me, or is it actually... nice today?" SMG4 asked, breaking the silence.

"It’s the lack of the fat Italian," Bob remarked, not looking up from the dice. "My ears don't hurt for once. It’s like a vacation, but without the expensive drinks."

"I hope Mario is okay, though," Boopkins said, looking a bit worried. "He said he was going to go find a 'secret stash' of pasta in the woods."

"He’ll be fine, Boopkins," Meggy said, though she felt a strange pang of guilt she couldn't quite place. "He’s survived worse. Let’s just enjoy the peace while it lasts."

Luigi, who was sitting in the corner nursing a cup of tea, didn't say anything. He looked paler than usual, his eyes fixed on the floor. He seemed to be bracing himself for something, his hands trembling slightly against the ceramic mug.

Suddenly, the massive television monitor mounted on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't the usual bright, neon colors of a meme or a new video upload. The screen was grainy, flickering with the static of an old VHS tape.

"Uh, SMG4? Did you start a stream?" Tari asked, pointing at the screen.

"No, I’m not even touching the remote," SMG4 said, standing up and walking toward the screen. "What is this? A glitch?"

The static cleared, revealing a dated living room. It was small, cramped, and dimly lit. A small child, no more than five or six years old, was sitting on the floor playing with a wooden block. He had a shock of dark hair and a familiar red shirt, though it was oversized and ragged.

"Wait... is that Mario?" Meggy whispered, stepping closer.

"Aw, he looks so cute!" Melony chirped, her eyes widening as she woke up from her nap. "Look at the little Mario!"

The sentiment lasted only a second. A heavy door slammed open on the screen, the sound echoing through the hall with a violent crack. Two figures stepped into the frame—Mario’s parents. They didn't look like the whimsical characters the gang expected. They looked tired, angry, and sharp-edged.

"You little brat!" the man roared, his voice distorted by the old recording but dripping with venom. "I told you to stay in the corner! Why are you touching things?"

The young Mario shrank back, his eyes wide with a terror that no child should ever know. "I-I was just..."

The blow came so fast that half the room gasped. It wasn't a cartoonish slap or a comedic bonk. It was a heavy, closed-fist strike that sent the small boy sprawling across the floor.

"Oh my god," Tari whispered, covering her mouth with her robotic hand.

The video didn't stop. It became a montage of horrors. They watched as the years ticked by on the corner of the screen. They saw Mario at seven, being shoved into a dark closet for hours because he dropped a plate. They saw him at ten, his back covered in bruises as his mother screamed insults at him, calling him a failure, a burden, a waste of space.

The gang was frozen. This wasn't the Mario they knew—the loud, invincible, chaotic force of nature. This was a broken child trying to survive a nightmare.

"Luigi?" SMG4 turned, his voice shaking. "Luigi, did you... did you see this?"

Luigi didn't look up. He had curled into a ball, his hands over his ears. "I tried to stop them," he sobbed quietly. "I was younger... I couldn't... they were nicer to me, but they hated him. They hated him for everything."

The screen flickered again. Mario was now a teenager. He looked exhausted. His eyes, usually so bright and full of mischief, were dull and sunken. He was standing in front of a mirror, trying to force a smile. He practiced a goofy laugh, a high-pitched, "It's-a me!"

He was building a mask. He was creating the persona they all knew, a loud, colorful shield to hide the boy who had been beaten into silence.

"He... he’s been pretending?" Meggy’s voice broke. Tears were streaming down her face. She thought of all the times she’d yelled at him, called him an idiot, or kicked him for being annoying. She thought of the times they’d used him as a meat shield or laughed at his misfortune.

"We were so mean to him," Boopkins wailed, fat tears rolling down his scaly cheeks. "He just wanted to be loved, and we treated him like a joke!"

Saiko gripped her hammer so hard her knuckles turned white, but she wasn't angry at Mario. She was looking at the screen with a redirected fury. "If those people were still alive, I’d turn them into paste."

The video showed one final clip. A young adult Mario, carrying a small suitcase, walking out of a house and never looking back. As he walked down the street, he saw a poster for a spaghetti festival. For the first time in the entire video, a genuine, albeit faint, spark of light returned to his eyes. He put on his hat, pulled it low, and started to hum a tune to drown out the voices in his head.

The screen went black.

The silence in the castle was deafening, broken only by the sound of muffled sobbing. Melony was inconsolable, her deity powers flickering erratically as she cried into her hands.

"Mario..." she choked out. "Mario, I’m so sorry!"

"How did we not know?" SMG4 asked, his voice a hollow whisper. "I’ve known him for years. I thought he was just... stupid. I didn't know he was hurting like that."

"He didn't want us to know," Luigi said, finally looking up. His eyes were red. "He told me once that if he stopped being 'Mario,' he’d have nothing left. He thought if we saw the real him, we wouldn't want to be his friends anymore."

The heavy front doors of the castle creaked open. The sound made everyone jump.

In walked Mario. He was covered in burrs and dirt, holding a slightly crushed box of discount pasta he’d found in a dumpster behind a grocery store. He was whistling a jaunty tune, his belly jiggling as he walked.

"Hey guys!" Mario shouted, his voice booming through the hall. "You wouldn't believe it! Mario found the legendary dumpster ravioli! It only has a little bit of mold on it! Why is everyone standing around like you saw a ghost? Did Peach come back? Is she under the floorboards?"

He stopped walking when he realized no one was laughing. He looked around, his smile faltering as he saw the tear-streaked faces of his friends. SMG4 looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Meggy was trembling.

"Uh... guys?" Mario asked, his voice dropping an octave, losing some of that forced cheer. "Are you alright? Did someone die? Is the Wi-Fi out?"

Before he could take another step, a green and white blur slammed into his chest. Melony had tackled him with the force of a hurricane, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his red shirt.

"MARIO!" she wailed, her voice cracking with pure, unadulterated sorrow. "I’M SO SORRY! WE LOVE YOU, MARIO!"

Mario stumbled back, nearly dropping his pasta. "Whoa! Melony! What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream about the melons again?"

Then, the rest of them moved.

Meggy threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Boopkins hugged his leg, and even Bob walked over, awkwardly patting Mario’s back while looking away to hide his own watery eyes. SMG4 stepped forward and placed a hand on Mario’s shoulder, his grip firm and desperate.

"Mario," SMG4 said, his voice thick with emotion. "We saw it. The video. We saw everything."

Mario froze. The goofy, vacant expression he usually wore vanished in an instant. His body went rigid, and for a second, the mask slipped. His eyes went wide, darting to the blank TV screen and then back to his friends. The "stupid" Mario was gone, replaced by a man who looked very, very tired.

"Oh," Mario whispered. The pitch of his voice changed—it was deeper, calmer, and filled with an ancient weight. "That. You weren't supposed to see that."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Meggy sobbed, pulling back to look him in the eye. "Mario, we’re your family! We would have helped you! We wouldn't have... I wouldn't have been so mean to you!"

Mario looked at her, and for the first time, he didn't look like a cartoon character. He looked like a human being. He reached up, gently wiping a tear from Meggy’s cheek with his gloved thumb.

"Because," Mario said softly, "Mario is the funny one. If Mario is sad, then everyone is sad. And I don't like it when my friends are sad."

"You don't have to carry that alone anymore," SMG4 said, pulling him into the group hug. "Never again. You’re not a burden, Mario. You’re the heart of this place."

Mario stood there, surrounded by the people he had spent years trying to distract with his antics. He felt the warmth of their embrace, the sincerity of their tears. Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. He dropped the box of ravioli and finally, tentatively, wrapped his arms around his friends.

He didn't make a joke. He didn't scream for spaghetti. He just closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath he’d been holding since he was five years old.

"Thank you," he whispered, so low only they could hear it. "Thank you for being my real family."

Luigi joined the huddle, grabbing his brother's hand. For the first time in the history of the castle, there was no chaos—just the quiet, healing sound of a family finally understanding one another. Mario knew the scars wouldn't go away, but for the first time, he didn't feel like he had to hide them under a red cap.