Mario's bad past

The main hall of the Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the floor, but the atmosphere was heavy with a rare, stifling boredom. SMG4 was slumped in a beanbag chair, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Saiko was tuning her guitar with a disinterested expression, while Tari and Meggy were engaged in a low-stakes game of cards. Boopkins and Bob were arguing over a comic book, but even their bickering lacked its usual fire.

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

"It’s because Mario isn’t here," Meggy replied, leaning back and stretching her arms. "He said something about going to a spaghetti convention three towns over. Honestly, I’m enjoying the lack of explosions and screaming for once."

"Yeah, my ears don't hurt as much," Saiko added, though she looked like she could use something to hit.

Suddenly, the large flat-screen TV on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't the usual static or a meme compilation. Instead, a grainy, home-video style footage began to play. The gang looked up, assuming it was one of SMG4’s old archives or perhaps a prank by the absent plumber.

"Wait, is that Mario?" Tari asked, pointing at the screen.

A small, toddler-aged Mario appeared on the screen. He was wearing an oversized red shirt and his signature hat, which kept falling over his eyes. He was playing with a small wooden block, humming a disjointed tune to himself. He looked innocent—unburdened by the chaos that would define his later years.

"Aw, he was actually kind of cute," Melony murmured, waking up from her nap and rubbing her eyes.

The mood shifted instantly. A door slammed on the screen, the sound echoing through the castle speakers with a violent crack. A tall, shadowy figure stepped into the frame, followed by another. Mario’s parents. The gang had never really met them or heard Mario speak of them, and within seconds, they understood why.

"You stupid brat!" the father’s voice boomed, distorted by the old recording but dripping with venom. "I told you to stay in the corner! Look at this mess!"

Young Mario flinched, dropping his block. "I-I was just playing, Papa..."

What followed was a sequence that drained the color from everyone's faces. The father didn't just scold him; he lunged. The camera shook as the mother stood by, shouting insults at her own child for "being a burden" and "ruining their lives." The beating was brutal, relentless, and far beyond anything the gang had ever seen in their slapstick adventures. This wasn't cartoon violence. There were no stars circling his head, no funny sound effects. Just the sound of a child sobbing and the dull thud of blows.

"Stop it," Meggy whispered, her hand over her mouth. "Turn it off, 4."

SMG4 fumbled for the remote, his hands shaking, but the TV wouldn't respond. It was as if the castle itself was forcing them to witness this.

Luigi, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, suddenly stood up. His face was pale, and his eyes were fixed on the floor. Without a word, he turned his back to the screen, his shoulders trembling. He knew. He had lived through parts of this, or perhaps he had been the one his parents spared while Mario took the brunt of the rage to protect his little brother.

The footage fast-forwarded. Year after year, the scenes played out like a horror montage. Mario at six, covered in bruises while trying to cook his own dinner. Mario at ten, locked in a dark basement for dropping a plate. Mario at fifteen, his eyes losing that spark of childhood wonder, replaced by a hollow, vacant stare that looked far too much like the "stupid" expression they all mocked him for today.

They saw him get kicked out of the house. They saw him sleeping on the streets, clutching a discarded pizza box for warmth. With every passing year, he looked worse—more disheveled, more broken, his mind clearly fracturing as a defense mechanism against the trauma.

Melony was the first to break. Large, heavy tears streamed down her face as she grabbed Boopkins and pulled him into a crushing hug, sobbing into his green scales. Boopkins didn't complain; he was crying too, his large eyes wide with horror.

"We... we call him an idiot every day," Tari sobbed, her robotic arm sparking as her emotions surged. "We hit him when he's annoying... we didn't know."

Meggy felt a cold knot of guilt twist in her stomach. She thought of all the times she had lost her temper, all the times she had called him a loser or kicked him across the room for a joke. She had pride herself on being his best friend, but looking at the screen, she realized she had just been another person in a long line of people who treated Mario like a punching bag.

"He acts like that because he has to," SMG4 said, his voice cracking. "The 'stupid' Mario... it’s not just a personality. It’s how he survived. If he’s the clown, people laugh instead of hitting him. And we... we just kept the cycle going."

The screen finally went black, leaving the room in a deafening, mournful silence. Only the sound of Melony’s muffled cries filled the air.

The heavy front doors of the castle creaked open.

"MAAAAARIO’S BACK!"

The red plumber skipped into the room, a half-eaten hotdog in one hand and a goofy, lopsided grin on his face. He was covered in mustard and humming a nonsensical tune. "Hey, why is everyone so quiet? Did someone die? Is there a funeral? Can I have the leftovers?"

He stopped in the center of the room, his smile faltering as he looked around. The air was thick with grief. He saw Melony weeping, Meggy looking at him with eyes full of pity, and Luigi still standing with his back turned, shaking.

"Uh... guys?" Mario asked, his voice dropping an octave. "Is this a prank? Because if it is, it’s not very funny. Mario doesn't like it when you're sad. It makes the spaghetti taste like sadness."

Before he could say another word, he was hit by a literal wave of people.

Meggy surged forward first, tackling him into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind out of him. She was followed by Tari, SMG4, and Boopkins. Even Saiko and Bob joined in, surrounding him in a protective huddle.

"We're so sorry, Mario!" Boopkins wailed.

"We didn't know! We're so, so sorry!" Tari cried into his shoulder.

Mario stood frozen, his arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. "What? What did Mario do? I’ll clean it up! I promise! Don't be mad!"

"We're not mad at you, Red," Meggy choked out, her face buried in his red shirt. "We're mad at the world. We're mad at ourselves. We love you, okay? We really, really love you."

Mario’s eyes flickered toward the wall. The TV screen was blank now, but the reflection showed the lingering image of the last frame—a young, broken Mario sitting alone in the rain.

The goofy, vacant expression on Mario’s face didn't just fade; it vanished. His features went slack. The "stupid" mask he wore every day crumbled, revealing a man who was tired—so incredibly tired.

He slowly sank to his knees, the weight of his friends still clinging to him. The hotdog fell from his hand, forgotten on the floor. He didn't look at them; he just stared at the blank screen, his breath hitching in his chest.

"You... you saw it," he whispered. It wasn't his usual high-pitched voice. It was deep, rasping, and filled with a lifetime of repressed agony.

"Mario, we..." SMG4 started, but he couldn't finish.

Mario’s lip trembled. A single tear, then another, began to carve paths through the dirt and mustard on his cheeks. He looked like a small child again, despite his age.

"I just..." Mario started, his voice breaking into a sob. "I just wanted to be loved."

The raw honesty of the statement hit them like a physical blow. It was the simplest desire in the world, and yet, for most of his life, it had been the one thing denied to him. He had spent years acting the fool, being the butt of every joke, and enduring constant abuse just to have a seat at the table. He took the hits because, to him, a hit was better than being ignored.

"You are loved, Mario," Luigi said, finally turning around. He walked over and knelt in front of his brother, taking Mario’s hands in his. Luigi’s face was a mask of shared pain. "I should have told them. I should have protected you more."

"No," Mario sobbed, leaning his forehead against Luigi’s shoulder. "You were just a kid too, Luigi. It wasn't your fault."

The group tightened their hold on him. For the first time in the history of their chaotic, meme-filled lives, there were no jokes. There was no "pingas," no spaghetti obsession, no screaming matches. There was only a group of friends trying to hold together a man who had been broken long before they ever met him.

Mario let out a long, shuddering wail, finally releasing the grief he had carried for decades. He cried for the boy in the wooden blocks, the teenager in the basement, and the man who thought he had to be an idiot to be kept around.

"We're here, Mario," Meggy whispered, wiping her eyes. "We're not going anywhere. And we're going to be better. We promise."

As the sun began to set outside the castle, casting long, golden shadows across the room, the group remained on the floor, huddled together. The "Avatar" of their world was finally being held, not as a hero or a nuisance, but as a person who had finally found the love he had been searching for all along.