soft and sweet

“Sacred Stars!” Daisy cried, her voice cracking. “Hooooly shit! The crazy bastard did it!”

Peach subconsciously filled in the blanks; “the crazy bastard” was Mario, she presumed, and “it” was her successful rescue. For Daisy of all people to consider such a feat foolhardy… Peach felt suddenly dizzy, her stomach heavy. It took a great deal of adversity to dishearten the strong-willed princess. 

Just how hopeless must her inner circle have felt as the weeks dragged on? Would anyone have been able to save her if Mario hadn’t?

She squeezed Daisy back, feebly, yet with all her strength. She was alive. She was alive and she was here and she would restore things to their proper order in due time, and that was all that mattered.

Daisy kept her hands on Peach’s shoulders when she pulled away, just as Luigi had the night before. Perhaps they both worried she would float away if they didn’t keep her grounded. She couldn’t blame them for such an assumption; she had lost most of her “padding,” so to speak, in the past months. Nothing fit the way it was supposed to anymore. Toadette had spent the better part of an hour pinning her into one of her nicer dresses here in her bedroom.

And judging by the distaste with which Daisy’s eyes swept over her attire, Peach guessed that she still didn’t look presentable enough.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, though she sounded more agitated than devastated. Her eyes then swept over the room until they fell upon Toadsworth, standing loosely at attention by the bed’s baseboard… and what joy remained in her face morphed into something far less friendly.

Peach knew exactly what was about to happen. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so joyous either.

“And you! ” She threw an accusatory finger in his direction, so swift and sudden that he stumbled backward a step or two. “Maybe you can give me a good answer here!”

Peach instinctively jerked in his direction, intent on catching him, but he righted himself with a soft Hmph! before she could break from beneath Daisy’s hand. “Daisy,” she implored softly, returning her attention back to her belligerent friend, “this isn’t the time—”

“I had to fight through thousands of Toads and like a hundred different journalists and news crews just to get inside!” Daisy soldiered on. “Everyone’s saying the Princess is gonna give a speech at the top of the hour!”

In spite of Peach’s stuttered protests, Daisy pulled her into a side-hug, so tight that it actually hurt. Daisy’s strongest embraces were capable of bruising, even when Peach was in otherwise good health. She almost dreaded to think what her arms would look like after she was turned loose.

“But that’s crazy, right? She’s been a prisoner of war for the past three months and just got home last night! So that whole crowd’s just misinformed, and you’ve only got her all dressed and made up so you can figure out what she needs in the way of gowns and cosmetics, and the Princess isn’t doing anything that doesn’t involve food or rest for at least the next few weeks.” Daisy squeezed even tighter, and Peach swore she felt something pop. “Right? ”

“Hey! Cool your jets!” It was Toadette who spoke up now, throwing herself in front of the elderly steward with her arms spread wide. “Look, I get it! But do you think we didn’t try talking her outta this?”

“Oh, don’t go pinning this on—”

“She’s right.” Peach made her best effort to pry herself free of Daisy’s arm, wincing as she did so. Stars Almighty, she was still so sore. “Daisy, I agreed to this,” she said, quickly giving up her efforts and refocusing her energy. “Willingly, and against both of their wishes.”

Daisy scoffed, not even looking her way. “Toadsworth, you’re technically still in charge, right? Lay down the law! Tell her to get her butt back to the infirmary!”

Toadsworth’s features, already tense with indignity, turned solemn, betraying the extent of his weariness. Yes, he was still in charge. Yes, he had expressed reluctance at the thought of a press conference so soon. But he’d given her the freedom to choose, because he knew as well as she did what sorts of sacrifices needed to be made. Something burned within Peach, not quite anger, but close enough. Hadn’t he already endured enough?

“N-n-now, Lady Daisy,” he managed to interject, tapping his cane to the floor and gently pushing Toadette aside, “I understand your concern, but you must understand. This has been a difficult time for our kingdom. The people want a statement from their Princess.”

“The people—” Daisy sputtered for a moment, and she finally let go of Peach to engage in a spot of frustrated gesticulation. “Well! In that case, this princess has a statement to make, too…”

“Daisy…”

“The people can go bend over the railings and shove those cameras up their stubby— ”

“Daisy!” That feeling like anger flared into a flashover, granting Peach the strength to turn Daisy in her direction, take firm hold of her shoulders, and glare her into silence. She fell silent alright, but she glared right back at Peach, her turquoise eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed, her cheeks hot with an anger far more indignant than her own.

Peach knew her friend too well to be upset at her behavior. Daisy’s hostility was never random. She was, if Peach had to guess, afraid. Just as Peach was afraid last night, hearing the screams of a loved one she couldn’t reach, helpless to ease his pain; such fear can push even the most level-headed of individuals to rash extremes. No one in such a state could make fully rational decisions.

“I’m going to wave and say a few words of encouragement, then I’m going straight back to the infirmary.” She squeezed Daisy’s shoulders in wordless reassurance. “I promise.” I don’t have the energy for much else, she thought about tacking on, but she decided against it. Best not admit just how tired she truly was.

Granted, she couldn’t pretend the idea thrilled her. To step into the public eye and show her people a Princess that had grown frail and emaciated, her golden hair now a lusterless yellow, a thick caking of makeup barely hiding a countenance burdened with scratches and bruises… she wanted to shed her regalia and wash her face clean. She wanted to crawl into her nightgown, cover herself in fluffy blankets, eat soup and laugh with her friends and just exist for a while.

She longed above all else to be back in Mario’s arms, warm and safe, drifting in and out of blissful sleep. She had promised to be there when he woke up again. Could he forgive her for abandoning him?

But she also longed to see her subjects once more. For three months, they’d lived under constant fear that she would never return, that life as they knew it would be uprooted and set ablaze. She wanted to stand in the sun before them so they could hear her voice and see for themselves that their resilience hadn’t been in vain.

Her duties as a ruler came above all else. She would be the people’s Princess for a few minutes, then she could be Peach again. Poor, pitiful, pathetic Peach. 

It took several seconds more of unbroken eye contact, but finally, Daisy’s face softened.

“You look terrible, Peach Pit,” she said, voice quiet. I don’t want to lose you again.

Peach couldn’t help but smile. “So I’ve been told.” You won’t.

Tinnnnng! Tinnnnng! Tinnnnng! The grandfather clock next to her writing desk chimed out the top of the hour. It was time.

“You’re sure about this?” Daisy covered one of Peach’s hands with her own, and the smile she returned was begrudgingly playful, if heavy. “Last chance. We can still bail you out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

With one more quick embrace, Daisy straightened the ruffles of Peach’s bodice, gave her sleeves a quick poof, then nodded in approval. Toadette’s carefree mannerisms and brash mouth belied a delicate touch with both fabric and cosmetics. Though she still didn’t care to look into a mirror, Peach trusted that she looked presentable.

This notion kept her calm as she made her way to the double balcony doors. “Right behind you, Princess,” she heard Toadsworth say as she rested her hands on the brass door handles, and that added an extra layer of mental security. Right. She wasn’t alone. A few words, a smile or two, and then it would be over. Simple enough.

With a quick breath, she gracefully pushed the doors open.

The world outside went still — and then plunged into chaos.

Interlacing her fingers and squeezing as hard as she could was all that stopped her from slapping her hands over her ears. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Cries of “Princess!” and “Oh, thank the stars!”  and a thousand other celebrations merged into a single mass of sound, rumbling and churning and vibrating in her eardrums.

The sunlight that assaulted her as she passed the overhang was equally relentless, and for a moment, it blinded her. All she could see was white. The roar was even louder with one less sense to guide her, and it was hot, she realized, her chilled skin suddenly vulnerable, burning—

His blood soaking into her dress was the first warmth she had felt in three months. Her hands stung when she touched him. When she jerked away at the pain, the top layer of his skin came with her, gooey and red and black. Skin wasn’t supposed to feel like that— he wasn’t supposed to look like that—

“Princess?”

Peach jolted, and it all slammed into focus: rolling green hills. A cloudless blue sky. A sea of colors and caps and polka dots, smiling faces, triumphant pink flags and banners.

No. No, no, this was her reality. This was her present, and this was her kingdom, and these were her people, and she couldn’t afford to lose sight of that, not so publicly.

Her feet stopped when she reached the balcony’s edge, and she held onto the wall for dear life, for fear of collapsing. The stones were warm, having basked all morning in the summer sun. It wasn’t heat of an oppressive or debilitating sort. It was comfortable.

It was home.

She lifted her head, and she raised her hand, and the world went silent once more. And with a disconnect she hadn’t known she was capable of, she closed her eyes, fell back onto a lifetime’s worth of training, and let that training do the talking for her.

.

.

.

.

.

“...so kickass! You did awesome! ”

“We shouldn’t have doubted you for a moment, Peach Pit! Look at you, showin’ ‘em who’s boss!”

“Excellent, my dear. Most excellent.”

It took a few moments for Peach to come back to herself. The sight of blue skies and green hills faded into swaths of white and pink silk, her hands planted in her lap, her eyes fixed on some point between or beyond them. The warmth of the sun had long since left her; once more, a chill settled over her, so familiar by now that she didn’t even shiver. The chair beneath and behind her felt both luxuriously soft and rigid.

Too many hands were on her. There was one on her back, one on her shoulder, one on her knee, one holding hers. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, hold up— give her some space! Give her some space. She needs a minute.” It was Toadette’s voice that made the call, and then all points of contact left her, and her newly-released body pulled in a loud, shuddering gasp of air, so deep and so fast that her lungs burned.

It took a few more breaths for Peach to be able to acknowledge the rest of her surroundings. She was back in her room, surrounded by her steward and two of her closest friends, the balcony doors closed once more.

“You okay?” It was Daisy who asked this, and after another breath, Peach was able to nod.

She had checked out. She had fully, mentally checked out from the moment she spoke until she got back inside. Peach wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the phenomenon; being able to detach herself from her innermost thoughts and feelings and allow her training to take control had allowed her to save face in many a high-stress scenario.

It just… usually wasn’t this… intense.

A knock on the door gave her one more real-word happening to focus on. By the time Toadsworth reached the bedroom door, Peach was able to stand (with minimal wobbling) and collect herself, setting her shoulders back and lifting her chin. One more visitor. Okay. She could handle one more visitor.

The door opened, and suddenly Peach didn’t feel quite so collected anymore.

Luigi ducked his head and stepped into the bedroom, his cap clutched to his chest in a gesture of respect. He smiled at her, but it was an uneasy smile, one that only barely hid a metric ton of uncertainty. His eyes, only slightly less tired than last night, were unreadable.

He had caught her just before she left the medical ward that morning. He had promised he’d come get her if Mario’s condition worsened. He had grinned and promised she wouldn’t see him until she returned, stars willing.

Peach’s knees went weak beneath her. 

“D-don’t panic, Princess, don’t panic!” Luigi was quick to say, reaching out as if preparing to steady her. “Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong. Mario’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.”

Though it was too late to keep her upright, Peach breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair. Too much. Today was just too much. “Nothing’s wrong,” she repeated, both in question and to resettle her nerves. 

But if nothing was wrong…

“Then what are you…?” Peach gestured up at him, letting her hands finish her sentence.

“Actually, there’s, uh… y’see, there’s nothing wrong, per say, but something’s…”  Luigi cracked his neck, his eyes uneasily darting to another corner of the room, and then he pulled his cap back onto his head. “I-I think you need to see for yourself.”

~~~

Sure enough, Mario was okay. Where he’d been swaddled in gauze when she’d left that morning, he was now uncovered, his entire upper half exposed.

And he looked… perfectly healthy. Almost unharmed.

Areas where Peach remembered gashes and deep scratches had faded into clusters of scars, the larger ones pink and fresh, the smaller ones pale, as though he’d attained the original injuries weeks ago. Patches of burnt skin that blistered and oozed the night before now wouldn’t even pass for sunburns, they blended so seamlessly into his skin. His face, completely unblemished, not even lingering hints of bruising or bleeding or anything of the sort.

Last night, there had been a gash in his left side, spanning from the base of his ribcage to his hip. When he’d first reached Peach, it spilled blood freely, and though she tried blocking the image from her head, she distinctly remembered seeing exposed, severed muscle and what might have been bone. Even after flooding him with every bit of magic she possessed, it only stayed closed — and barely, at that — thanks to strips she had torn from her own skirts and wrapped tightly around him. By the time they reached home, those strips were all but dripping with ichor and infection, pink fabric dyed red and green and yellow.

Now, that same wound idly seeped a clear fluid, the width of her thumb at its widest point, already scarring at one tip. Though a blanket covered everything from his hips down, she presumed the opposite tip was in a similar stage of healing.

Once she had gotten a proper eyeful, Peach sank into the loveseat against the wall, Daisy and Toadette quickly joining her on either side. The notion that she might be dreaming after all hovered nearby in spite of the informal guard flanking her; while the doctor filled everyone in, she quietly stamped her foot a few times to agitate the sores there. Good. She never felt pain in her dreams.

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” Dr. Toad (not to be confused with Dr. Nurse Toadessa or Captain Toad or Toad Himself) confessed. Beady eyes peered over thick spectacles, flicking back and forth between his patient and an oversized clipboard in his hands. “Now, I’ve seen a handful of 1-UP patients, and that’s about the closest comparison I can make, but…”

Peach’s eyes met Luigi’s, who was standing vigil at his brother’s bedside, and the question on his face was clear: Did you sneak him a 1-UP? She shook her head. 1-UPs, the colloquial term for a subspecies of Mushroom with power so potent it could even restore the dead, were found so rarely in nature that many still believed they didn’t exist. Ten of these specimens sat in the royal vault, but even Peach herself wasn’t permitted to access them without going through several layers of security and fail-safes.

And anyway, if she understood correctly how their magic worked—

“Well,” the doctor continued, “when someone consumes a 1-UP, everything heals up. The body’s restored to prime condition, any sicknesses or infections disappear, there’s no trace the patient was ever hurt to begin with.” He cleared his throat, and something like fascination twinkled in his dark eyes. “That’s where the divergence comes in: none of this has been instantaneous. He’s healing up like anyone else would, just… at an alarmingly accelerated rate.” 

Another four sets of eyes turned back to Mario, still sound asleep. One couldn’t tell just from looking that he had been on death’s door only twelve hours earlier. That should have gladdened Peach. But…

Alarming. She didn’t like that word at all. She knew with a fair amount of certainty that this wasn’t the work of her magic; the initial burst she’d transferred to him wore off in an hour’s time, and any additional slivers she’d slipped him surely weren’t strong enough to linger much longer than that, much less heal to this extent.

What, then…?

“So how bad was he last night?” Daisy asked.

“Pretty… pretty bad.” Luigi’s response was quiet, his eyes distant as he spoke, and Peach knew then that he’d seen exactly what she had seen. Possibly even more. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek and focused on taking deep breaths.

“So he’s gone through like, what,” Toadette chimed in, “two or three weeks’ worth of R&R in one night?”

“I’d say closer to a month or two. His infection’s almost completely gone. He’s still running a fever, but it’s a lot lower than it was last night.” Rolling up the sleeves of a comically oversized lab coat (or at least attempting to — they fell right back into place, earning a stifled chuckle from Daisy), the doctor scribbled some indistinct note onto his clipboard’s topmost paper. “Granted, I’ve only seen how 1-UPs affect Toads and Koopas and a Goomba or two. Maybe it works differently in humans?”

Though his tone carried the weight of skepticism, Peach was at least half-heartedly willing to accept it. Such specimens were rare, yes, but they did exist. Perhaps Mario had stumbled across one on his way to the Darklands and consumed it with the belief that it was just an ordinary Mushroom? That coupled with her magic could easily…

Wait. Come to think of it, had she even told anyone? Wouldn’t that be useful information to divulge?

“I did attempt to heal him myself.” She clasped her hands in her lap as she spoke, tapping her thumbs together absently. “What we’re seeing is beyond what I’m capable of, but perhaps that comes into play?”

Dr. Toad’s eyes flashed with revelation. “Ah! Of course!” he cried, waving his pen in her direction. “That would explain things a bit better. I imagine your wish power certainly played a role.”

“Wait— w-what exactly did you do? ”

Peach’s heart jolted at Luigi’s inquiry, then it gradually sunk as she faced him. She watched in real time as his face changed, surprise phasing into cogitation phasing into dawning realization, and she felt helpless to do anything but meet his darkening gaze as the implications set in.

“...What did you do?” he asked again, and Peach heard the question buried beneath loud and clear: If he was in such bad shape last night, how bad was it before you healed him?

Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t said anything. Or she at least wished she’d brought it to the doctor in private. She lowered her eyes and studied the stitching of her gloves. She’d hoped to spare him the knowledge.

“Well, I… I did what I could. I transferred as much of my magic as I could summon when he reached me and rationed out what remained on the journey home, so that he…” So that he wouldn’t bleed out or go septic or drop dead from shock. She had no desire to say as much out loud. Surely Luigi got the picture.

A quiet click-click-click echoed through the room. “Well,” Dr. Toad said, fidgeting with the thrust device on his pen as he thought, “I would guess that’s it. Your wish power can linger when used in large enough bursts, can it not? But I would expect the effects to weaken over time, especially the more you use up, not…”

When he didn’t finish his thought, Peach lifted her eyes to the doctor… and found him staring directly at her. Once more she watched as confusion morphed into realization, and this time, she came along for the ride.

Yes. She could only use so much wish power in one go before needing to recharge. She had never actually pushed beyond that point. Not before last night.

The doctor blinked once, twice, then he finally took the plunge, his voice stern but even: “How much of your power did you use, Your Highness?”

Peach swallowed.

“As much as I had,” she confessed, quietly. And when she still felt eyes boring into her, she added: “...and then some.”

A silence fell over the room, cold and heavy. The steady beeping of Mario’s heart monitor was Peach’s only proof that she hadn’t fallen deaf.

“Oh, Stars Almighty— Peach!” 

Peach winced. For Toadette to use her name alone, she knew she was in deep trouble.

“You’re not some well of infinite magical ability!” her lady-in-waiting continued. “You know if you keep using magic after you use up all your wish power—”

“—I deplete my lifeforce.” Balling her hands into loose fists, Peach found the nerve to look her directly in the eye, unwavering. “I’m well aware.”

Yes, she knew the risk of overextending herself. An innate magic lay deep within her, so potent and pure that it allowed her to wield the power of the Stars Themselves; this, in turn, was what granted her the ability to heal, to renew. Yet she was only human, and she could only wield so much of that magic safely. The Stars would therefore only grant her a limited amount of power each time she summoned it.

She could push herself beyond what the Stars would permit, and she could tap into her magic directly once her wish power was expended, but doing so would come at a cost: the depletion of her lifeforce. Toadsworth drilled this information into her head every time she so much as healed her own paper cuts in his presence.

She’d never stopped to wonder what exactly depleting her lifeforce meant, or even implied; she’d never been in a position where she had to. She’d vaguely interpreted this warning as Your magic at its most powerful is so taxing that it will overwhelm your body and kill you.

But it was far more than that, she understood now. Her lifeforce and that dangerous, forbidden magic within her were one and the same. She knew full well the risk she took in giving Mario that final push to the finish. What she hadn’t realized — what she realized now — was that the magic she had desperately transferred to him in those final moments was far more than mere magic.

She had, in essence, given him part of her very soul, the ether that breathed being into her. And the only reason she was still alive was because he had broken free and urged her to make that last push alongside him.

Peach grit her teeth and stamped her foot once more, and the stinging sensation in her sole distracted from the burning in her eyes. He had saved her twice over. No reward would ever come close to being payback enough.

The sofa dipped on one side of Peach, then Daisy stood, the newly-decompressed cushion sending Peach toppling over onto Toadette.

“So… what does that mean?” Daisy pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut and brows furrowed tightly, and as Peach righted herself and muttered an apology to her lady-in-waiting, her fellow princess began to pace the width of the room. “‘Depleted her lifeforce’? What does— does that mean she’s, like, a goner? Is she dying now? How much time does… Oh, Peach, what did you…!”

Her voice pitched and cracked as she spoke, her freckled cheeks growing darker, and Peach desperately tried and failed to still the trembling that overtook her. Daisy was once more answering fear with anger. Peach wanted so desperately to alleviate her woes, assure her that everything would be alright, magically undo everything that had been done, somehow... but there was nothing worth undoing. Knowing for a fact that her actions saved Mario’s life, she couldn’t bring herself to regret what she had done. Did that make her remorseless? Selfish?

Guilt and pride and joy and fear. Peach wanted now more than ever to sink into the loveseat’s cushions, to curl into a ball and disappear until this poison fog of emotions passed her by.

“Clearly she’s not a goner, ” Dr. Toad mercifully interrupted, “lest she wouldn’t be here with us now.” He flipped frantically through the papers on his clipboard, as if one of them might contain a field guide for such a niche problem’s diagnostic outlook. “Her, uh, her lifeforce should be self-sustaining, same as her wish power. It’ll likely refill given time.”

“You don’t know that for sure?!” 

“Admittedly there’s very little documentation on—”

“Well maybe all you geniuses should have documented this shit better —”

“Hey, hey, we’ll figure it out, don’t—!”

A quiet groan silenced the trio of overlapping voices. Peach’s leaden heart suddenly leapt into her throat.

Mario was no longer the picture of peaceful rest. His face was screwed into a tired grimace, and he turned his head away from the commotion at his bedside with another pained noise.

He still sounded so weak. Peach wanted so terribly to rush to his side, take his hand, ease what remained of his pain somehow. Show him that she hadn’t broken her promise after all. She scooted to the edge of her cushion, waiting for his eyes to flutter open.

They never did. Mario sighed in his sleep, and then he was still and silent once more, his chest steadily rising and falling.

Looking over to Luigi, Peach’s heart fell once more. Had he been this pale all day? She realized, watching him stare down at his brother with hollow eyes, that he hadn’t spoken at all since Peach made her confession.

“Perhaps we should continue this at another time,” Dr. Toad suggested in a voice just above a whisper. His spectacles had fallen halfway down his face in the preceding havoc, and now he took a moment to set them back in place, smiling at Peach. “Let me bump caps with some other minds. I’ll get you some more definitive answers, Your Highness.”

She cleared her throat. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime… I would recommend abstaining from any and all uses of magic. Err on the side of caution.”

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said, shooting a glare at Peach that made her stomach churn. “Don’t worry, Doc. We’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything so stupid again.”

“Daisy,” Toadette groaned, and Peach felt a comforting hand on her lap, but the damage was already done. She rose to her feet and trained her eyes on the sterile white floors and excused herself, pointedly ignoring the calls of her name as she retreated back to her medical room.

By the time she managed to free herself from swathes of pins and fabric, her tears had already washed a good portion of her makeup away, which at least gave her one less thing to worry about removing.

~~~

Luigi stood the moment he caught sight of Peach in the doorway, removing his cap and ducking his head with a small smile. He didn’t look nearly so pale now, and his eyes seemed fully alert, and that was all good, Peach decided. 

“Has he woken up?” 

“For a little bit. Just a couple minutes.” He stepped aside as she approached, gesturing to the chair he had pulled up to Mario’s bedside, a silent offer for his seat. Peach shook her head and held her right hand palm-out in grateful rejection. “Still pretty out of it, but he’s not hurting as bad,” he continued, pushing the chair aside so she could comfortably stand beside him. “Even got him to have a snack! Just a couple of crackers, but definitely a step in the right direction.”

Peach smiled down at her sleeping hero, and for a moment, everything that weighed heavy upon her was forgotten. Crumbs still lodged in his mustache and fledgling beard backed Luigi’s story up. He had finally been given a proper medical gown, baby blue with a green Mushroom pattern. It looked quite cute on him.

She couldn’t resist stepping forward to rest a palm atop his hand. An IV drip remained taped in place, but the surrounding skin trauma that had just last night overflowed from beneath his bandages was nowhere to be found.

“Did he say anything?” she chanced.

In her peripheral, he nodded. “He asked about you.”

Peach winced without really meaning to. Her momentary cheer dissipated just as easily, and a creeping guilt gnawed a hole into her gut, small but festering. Guilt for leaving his side; guilt that his brother’s attentive care was met only with inquiries regarding her.

“I said you were in the shower and you’d be right back. He seemed happy with that answer. Went right back to sleep afterward, heh...” Even without looking, she could hear the strained smile in his voice. Was he upset? She certainly couldn’t fault him if he was.

She had already monopolized enough of his time with Mario. The least she could do was back off until she was called for again. After all, she knew now that her hero would live. With the uncertainty eliminated, she could happily retreat until she was needed again. Or she could at least suffer through the loneliness in contented silence.

Giving his warm hand one last squeeze, Peach withdrew, turning to apologize and excuse herself—

“He died, didn’t he?”

Peach blinked.

Luigi wouldn’t look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Mario, his smile hollow, distant.

“I…” Suddenly she felt as though her whole mouth was stuffed with cotton. “What?”

“Your—” Luigi began to shake his wrists out, a favored stim of his when words wouldn’t come easily. “Princess, I’ve seen your wish power. I-I’ve seen you do things I didn’t think were possible with it. And if even that wasn’t— I mean, if you had to… I-I’m still not real sure I follow everything, but if you drained your lifeforce somehow…”

With a huff, he finally faced Peach. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were dark, but he didn’t look angry, just hurt. “Was he dead? At some point, was he dead?”

Peach stood uselessly, her mouth opening then shutting just as quickly. She didn’t know. In the time it would have taken her to assess Mario’s condition when he first reached her, he would have died. That was the only thing she was certain of. Had she brought him back from a newly-crossed horizon, or had she only narrowly prevented him from crossing in the first place? She didn’t know.

Her silence still gave Luigi the answer he needed.

Inhaling sharply, he ripped his cap from his head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and buried his fingers into his hair. “You…” He tightened his grasp and yanked at his hair, though whether he winced from the pain of that action or the pain within him Peach couldn’t say for sure. “Y-you…!”

She balled her hands into fists and held her breath, willing a surge of fresh tears away. You killed him. You almost took him away. You’re horrible. I hate you. You should have died instead. All warranted, all perfectly fair thoughts, all things she needed yet selfishly couldn’t bear to hear. She would take it with composure, and then she would spend the remainder of her natural days in atonement, whatever good that might do—

“You brought him back to me…!”

Before Peach could process these words, he let go of his hair in favor of lunging at her… and wrapping his arms around her.

Not for the first time that day, Peach went still beneath the force of shock, unable to do anything but draw shallow breaths and stare at the wall ahead of her. This embrace was so much tighter than the one he’d pulled her into yesterday, so much more forceful, and rather than smile and feed her words of cheerful encouragement, he buried his face into her shoulder and cried so hard that his whole body shook and his tears rapidly saturated her nightgown.

You brought him back to me.

Hesitantly, Peach returned his embrace, because she was certain her legs would fail her if she didn’t grab hold of something.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, and though her body still felt too stunned and weak to produce tears, her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Luigi—”

“You saved him,” Luigi interrupted, his voice half-absorbed by her gown. “I never really let myself think about it but I kinda just accepted that he wasn’t coming back, y’know? Because he always told me he’d die for you, but— but you could’ve— and you still—”

Peach sniffled, digging in deeper and fighting against the ever-growing desire to crumple to the floor. She wouldn’t have had to save him in the first place if he hadn’t gotten himself killed or near to it rescuing her. The fact that he needed saving in the first place was all her fault.

He’d die for you. This wasn’t news to Peach. It was Mario’s job as her guard to protect her with his life. She had witnessed him hold to that vow with her own eyes. But to hear it spoken so plainly, so openly, now that everything was okay—

“Grazie. Grazie. Grazie di cuore, Principessa…! Grazie…!” Thanks continued to pour from Luigi in his native tongue, each one more heartfelt, more overwhelmed, more agonizing than the last. She had caused his brother so much pain — she had caused them both so much pain, physically, emotionally, psychologically, and he was thanking her? For doing what literally anyone else would have done in her shoes? For doing the bare minimum for someone she claimed to love with her whole heart?

For being so useless that it took the sacrifices of others just to keep her alive?

No — dreaming, she amended when Toadette joined him. Her lady-in-waiting was still far too healthy and young and feisty to have dropped dead suddenly, unless by some great coincidence. Peach was laying at a slight angle, her legs straight out but her upper body inclined; Toadette climbed up into her lap (which Toadsworth objected to vehemently, but his protests, naturally, went unheard) and threw her arms around her neck, and suddenly she was crying too. Yes, this was certainly a dream. Since when did Toadette cry?

“I made wishes for your safety every single day!” she said between hiccuping sobs. “And I kept your room dusted and aired it out every day and had the maids change the bedding every week because I knew you’d be coming home! But I’m— oh Peach Pit I’m so happy you’re alive!”

Peach's throat suddenly felt tight, almost suffocating. She’d never dreamed about going home. In her dreams, she simply hadn’t been abducted to begin with, or else her abduction was treated as a memory so distant that it scarcely crossed her mind.

She didn’t dare let herself believe this might be real; perhaps waking up would be even harder now, and perhaps it would finally sap the last thread of hope she uselessly clung to, but for now, what was the harm in enjoying this strange dream? False happiness is still happiness, however temporary. So she let herself hug her dear friend back, and she let herself reach out and find Toadsworth’s hand once more, and she let herself feel present in their company and protected by the plush blanket tucked around her. It all felt so fuzzy and surreal and good.

And then the screaming began.

Instantly Peach’s blood froze in her veins. Her surroundings didn’t shift or go dark, as they usually did when she was startled out of a dream, and though she felt cold, everything around her remained warm. Even her illusionary Toadsworth and Toadette reacted to the sound, twisting their necks in alarmed horror in its direction — some room to the left of where Peach lay, it seemed.

By the second scream, a nagging sense of familiarity kicked in. She knew the wall she and her steward and lady-in-waiting stared at, recognized the muted pink wallpaper with white and dark pink accents. Didn’t the castle infirmary have that same wallpaper? She rarely had need to visit, lest she might have been able to place it sooner.

And she knew that voice. She couldn’t quite place it, since the cries were wordless and muffled by a layer of dressed stone, yet it made her stomach turn all the same. It was guttural, it was heart-wrenching, it was—

By the third scream, it all came flooding back.

“Y-your Highness, please—”

“Peach, hey, it’s okay, lay back down—”

“Princess, you mustn't—!”

More familiar voices surrounded Peach, voices she should have been happy to hear, but she paid them no mind. Something was holding her back. A blanket. A body. A wire taped to her hand. She winced as she ripped herself free, her feet moving independently of her mind, which assaulted her with vision after vision after terrible vision.

Mario, collapsing to the cobblestone streets of Toad Town in pure exhaustion, fate catching up to him once more. Mario, his face strained and his spine slumped but his eyes ever sure, wincing and hissing through his teeth but soldiering on anyway, stopping only to ensure that she was able to do the same. Mario, a broken heap at her feet, scorched to the point of disfigurement and motionless in a pool of his own blood.

Mario, screaming in unbearable pain, just out of her reach.

This was no dream.

Something caught her right hand just as she reached the door.

“They’re taking care of him!” Toadette cried somewhere behind her. “You’ve gotta let us take care of you, too!”

Some job “they’re” doing, Peach wanted to snap back. She could help him. How long had she been unconscious? Surely she had enough magic back now — she could continue mending the worst of his wounds, or she could help “them” fix him more quickly, or at the absolute least she could rearrange the receptors in his brain and make him think he wasn’t in pain. 

She tried to yank free of Toadette’s grasp, but she only held on tighter.

“I can help him.” She tried again, throwing her body forward against the much smaller girl’s weight, but it still wasn’t enough. “Just let me help him, and then I’ll return.” 

Then her left hand was seized, just as she tried reaching for the door. “You’re not helping anyone in this state.” Toadessa, head of the castle’s medical staff. She didn’t actively try pulling Peach back as Toadette did, but she remained firmly planted and unmoving. Something hot burned in Peach’s chest and throat, bitter like bile, and though the room was beginning to spin and her legs were already shaking, she tried once more to throw herself forward.

“Let me help him!” she cried. “Please!” She could have easily ordered them to let her go; she was their Princess, and no matter how they wished to help her, her word was still law. But this never crossed her mind. Those agonized shrieks drowned out every last rational thought, and all she could muster were futile efforts to break free and pleas that went unheeded.

Two Toads. It took all of two Toads to hold her back. One more effort was all her body could take before it failed her, and she fell to the infirmary floor with a startled yelp.

By the time she went slack, the screaming stopped.

All Peach could hear now was panicked murmurs behind her and the sound of her own breath, gasping and rapid. Air came too quickly for her lungs to absorb any oxygen. Her hyperventilation only exacerbated her dizziness, and that in turn nauseated her beyond measure, yet she knew vomiting would be of no use, because there wasn’t even anything in her stomach.

Silence rang in her ears. The silence was even more oppressive than the screaming. At least if Mario was screaming, she knew that he was alive.

Not that she could help him anyway. Not if she couldn’t even breathe properly. Not if it only took two Toads to hold her back.

“Your Highness…”

Her hands remained seized, as though she might actually try to escape again. As though she could.

The small but strong hands holding her back were real. The chill where stark tiles met bare skin was real. Mario’s screams, and then his silence, were real. 

Peach’s gasps gave way easily to sobs, yet she couldn’t even do that properly; they came in quiet, punctuated whines, the kinds of sounds an injured animal might emit. She doubled over there on the floor, making her best effort to fold in on herself to stave off the cold and the wooziness and the sheer helplessness that threatened to crush her alive. 

If only it would.

~~~

Peach still shivered as she stood beneath a rain of hot water. Her favorite soap had been brought to her, and while she wanted to revel in this small luxury, its flowery fragrance just made her dizzy. The soap also helped her identify every last scratch and sore on her body, burning with white-hot heat where it touched broken skin, and she wasn't quite sure if she hated the sensation or if she was grateful for it. Whatever the case, she took slow and deep breaths to refamiliarize herself with the way she used to smell, taking care to keep her eyes closed as she scrubbed off.

The lights were just as bright in the infirmary washrooms as they were in the resting rooms. Glimpsing her reflection had been bad enough. She couldn’t bear to look at herself any longer than necessary.

She was even worse off than she’d expected to be. In the first month of her captivity, she had done her best to spread out the single daily meal she was given, eat it slowly over the course of several hours. As despair slowly claimed her, she found she couldn’t even finish her meals at all, and there were days when she refused food outright in favor of curling up on her cot and letting gentler daydreams sustain her. By the time Mario reached her, her skin hugged the bones in her hands closely, and the dress that had been tailored to fit her perfectly hung loosely from her figure. So she had expected to look in the mirror and find herself frailer and paler. Even so, she hadn’t recognized the sickly and bruised figure that stared at her with dull, sunken eyes.

Feeble and filthy and poignantly helpless. She loathed to think that might be Mario’s final image of her.

Another shiver tore through her body. No, that wasn’t the case. He was alive. He was alive and if he was going to die, it wouldn't happen while she bathed. Toadessa had graciously checked and reported back to Peach, and she confirmed his relative well-being with such assurance that she was either telling the truth, or she had suddenly become a spectacular liar. Peach couldn’t afford the energy to suspect.

He was hurt. But he was alive. For now, that was enough.

Toadette was waiting for her when the water shut off, and Peach graciously accepted the oversized, fluffy towel she offered, eager to trap as much of the water and steam’s residual heat as possible. It swallowed her whole while careful fingers worked through her tangled hair, yet she shivered anyway. Still so cold. Why was she still so cold?

The nightgown she donned once her hair was presentable was only slightly better. It too hung from her more loosely than she was used to, but the feel of laundered silk against clean skin made the cold a touch more bearable.

“You oughta have a hot bowl of soup waiting for you by now,” Toadette said from where she knelt on the floor, wrapping the open sores on Peach’s feet in pillowy gauze. Her usually energetic timbre was far quieter, her bright smile more nervous. The brief glimpse Peach caught of her black eyes as she sat back to asses her work betrayed even more unshed tears.

Peach couldn’t blame her. She could hardly stand to look at herself. Toadette had no choice. She tried to thank her, or at least apologize, but the words wouldn't come.

She wasn’t hungry, somehow. Perhaps she had grown too accustomed to starvation. Perhaps she would feel differently in a moment’s time, when presented with her first hot meal in three months. She would at least make an effort, she decided, because seeing her eat would lift Toadsworth’s spirits. She owed him that much after the hell she had put him through.

But it wasn’t Toadsworth that awaited her when she was led back into her room. A much taller figure sat hunched over on the leather loveseat against the opposite wall, his knee bouncing frantically, his cap dangling in his hand by the brim; he looked up when he heard Peach, and for a moment she could do nothing but hold his eyes and hold her breath.

“Princess…!” A smile spread across his face, and he slapped his cap back on his head and held his arms out as he stood, and Peach found herself rushing into those arms before her legs could fail her again.

Luigi’s hugs were light but sturdy, his embrace a beacon of security in uncertain times. The embrace he welcomed her into now was no different, solid and gentle and warm, and for the first time, Peach truly felt that she was home.

“Oh, santo cielo!” he whispered into her shoulder. “Per fortuna stai bene…!”

Peach inhaled sharply. No more tears. She was already so sick of crying.

He never pulled away fully. He kept his hands on her shoulders even as their hug ended, beaming at her through misty eyes. “Th-the doctors say you’ll need to eat soup, soup, and more soup for the time being, but lucky for you, Mama knew a thousand ways to make a good soup! So we’re gonna keep ya well-fed, yeah? You’ll be feeling like yourself again in no time!”

He looked… disheveled, in a word. His neatly-styled mustache wasn’t neatly styled at all, fraying at the tips into a series of split ends, and the hair on his head didn’t look much neater. But most obvious were his eyes. The skin beneath them was dark, and his upper eyelids drooped as he spoke, as if he was struggling to keep them open. Seeing him in such disarray made that feeling of home a bit more distant than before.

It made perfect sense for him to be in such a state, Peach supposed. Between a dear friend being kidnapped and his brother…

Wait. Why was he here?

“What about Mario?” She finished her thought aloud. “Where is he? Is he alright? Has he eaten yet?”

“Oh, Peach Pit,” she heard Toadette grumble not far away. Peach couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed, not when she knew how deeply her friend worried for her, but it was still well within her rights to inquire about his health, and she had half a mind to say as much—

“No, no,” Luigi said quickly, leaning sideways so he could speak over her shoulder, “it’s okay! We'll get her fed! Gotta make sure she's comfortable first too.” Then his attention was back on Peach, and he dropped one hand but still kept a point of contact on her shoulder, and Luigi was notoriously squeamish when it came to extended periods of physical contact… 

The first stirrings of dread came alive within her, dark and heavy.

But Luigi’s face remained cheerful, and though his smile softened, it wasn’t sad. “He’s out cold right now. The doctors gave him the good stuff, so he’ll be out for a while, but I’ll bet the first thing he asks for when he wakes up is a big plate of carbonara, and we’ll take care of that! So don’t you worry.”

The corners of his eyes creased, and not just from his smile. These reassurances were as much for his own sake as for Peach’s. Suddenly her tongue felt woolen in her mouth.

“May I see him?” she somehow managed.

Luigi didn’t break from her gaze to seek Toadette or Toadessa or anyone else who might have been in the room’s approval. He nodded without hesitation. “O-of course. Of course.”

She tried not to hold her breath as she was led to the next room over, focusing on her breath and the grounding sting of each footstep. Growing faint or passing out wouldn’t improve his condition.

Not that his condition could get much worse, she realized upon seeing him.

He’d been stripped and washed at some point, but that still didn’t give Peach much to look at. Whatever wasn’t covered with a blanket was swaddled in gauze. Layer upon layer wrapped across his chest and arms and hands, around his midsection, over his shoulders, and their sterile white made the angry red splotches and scratches that peeked from beneath them look that much more painful.

All she could see in full was his face. Aside from a wrap around his head, partially covered by his hair, it remained unobscured. And the absence of soot and dried blood gave Peach a good idea of what the rest of him looked like: wrecked, his skin dark with bruises or else bright with first- and second-degree burns.

In spite of this, he looked… peaceful. His expression read as neutral and his mouth hung loosely open, the gradual rise and fall of his chest assuring Peach that he was breathing. It was even more obvious in this state that he hadn’t touched a razor in days, if not weeks; the stubble on his cheeks and chin had grown out enough that it looked almost like a proper beard. He looked handsome, even now.

Peach exhaled shakily. The picture of serenity on the brink of death. She wanted so badly to take his hand in hers, yet she feared to find it cold to the touch. She feared for the first time that a single touch might break him.

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” she heard Luigi assure beside her. “You shoulda seen him after this scrap he got into with Scapelli back in high school, or the first couple times he tried parkouring through an active construction zone. He didn’t look much better then than he does now!”  

Peach tore her eyes from one unnerving sight to set them upon another. There was concern in Luigi’s tired eyes, concern and fear and uncertainty, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of those burdens. Yet his voice was friendly, his smile kind, and he regarded her with every bit as much fondness as always.

Why? He should hate her. It was for her sake that Mario was like this in the first place. And if he didn’t pull through…

Her vision went unfocused, and she ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut, as if that alone could stop the guilt that overtook her, or better yet, make her invisible. One less pitiful sight Luigi would be forced to endure. Hadn’t she already put him through enough?

“Hey.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close, and she selfishly accepted his embrace, slumping against him. “Hey, h-he’s gonna be okie-dokie, Princess, you know that! He’s a tough cookie. This is hardly all it’s gonna take to keep him down.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted so desperately to believe him. But she’d never heard Mario scream like she had today. “He sounded like he was in tremendous pain.” She could barely utter the thought above a whisper.

A pause.

“Well... y-you know how Mario is with doctors,” Luigi eventually answered. “He can get the stuffing beat outta him and walk away just fine, but the second a doctor touches him it’s ‘Oh, the pain! The agony! Mamma mia, make it stop!’” And he laughed, just genuinely enough to fool anyone else, but not well enough to fool her. 

The remnants of a smile still lingered on his lips when she found the nerve to look at him again. How could he smile through all of this? How could he smile at her, the one responsible for his brother's potential demise?

“...They put something really strong on the worst of his, uh… everything,” he finally confessed. “Cleaned ‘em real good then slathered ‘em in some mix of Mushroom tonic and crushed Flowers and…” He laughed again, even less convincing than the first time. “The anesthetics had kicked in just enough to make him kinda loopy, but not enough to knock him out. I’ll bet it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. He probably just panicked.”

Or he was well enough out of it that he couldn’t hide how badly he hurt any longer. This went unspoken, but the thought hung heavy in the air above them nonetheless. Peach’s mind conjured up a disturbing image: Mario thrashing in agony, his brother pinning him down so the doctors could work, meeting his cries with reassurances stuttered in their shared tongue.

She did her best to force the image from her mind, replace it with the image of Mario resting peacefully before her. She didn’t need to know any more than she already knew. What mattered was the here and now, and here and now, he was alright.

“...I honestly thought it was gonna be a lot worse.” Luigi’s voice was quiet, the slightest bit slurred with exhaustion. “I’m just… happy he’s okay, for now.”

Mario, hurt but clean and on the mend, dozing restfully beneath comfortable sheets— Mario, his face melted and blistering, charred skin sloughing from every exposed plane and floating atop the viscous scarlet that flowed without end—

Peach balled her hands into fists and squeezed until her arms trembled from the force. She had put the younger brother through enough heartache. She alone would bear the truth. It had been worse. So, so much worse. Getting him to the state he was in now — getting him home alive, if only barely — had nearly killed her twice over.

And until she saw him back on his feet, she would continue to wish she had succeeded in giving her life to him. At least then his recovery would be guaranteed.

It should have been her. Why wasn't it her?

Luigi jostled her out of her ruminations, letting go of her shoulders to clap a hand gently against her back.

“How about this: we let him rest, you get some rest too, and I'll come get you when he wakes up. Sound good?"

Peach thought to protest, but she knew any objections would be pointless. Denying herself the chance to heal wouldn't help Mario any faster. She nodded in reluctant agreement, an action which Luigi mirrored.

“Then let's get you some’a that soup, yeah? Toadsworth will have my head mounted on the wall if I let you starve. For that matter, I don’t think Mario would be much happier.”

A new image cut through the morbid memories and visions that weighed heavy in Peach's mind: Toadsworth, chasing a screaming Luigi through the corridors of the castle with a halberd twice his weight and three times his height, a scuffed-up but otherwise healthy Mario looking on from a doorway in some mix of exasperation and amusement.

For the first time since awakening, laughter bubbled in Peach’s chest, fleeting but joyously light.

“‘Ey,” Luigi cheered, his own expression perking up, “there’s a smile! Oh, it’s so good to see you smile again, Princess! C'mon.”

She let her muscles loosen as he led her back towards the door, already prattling on about the hearty tomato soup waiting for her, and his newfound pep made her feel just a bit less heavy. No, martyrdom would benefit no one. To let herself curl up and wish for death, no matter the reasoning, would be to spit in the face of all that Mario had fought so hard for. All that he had nearly died for, too.

Taking one last glance at him as she left the room, she let herself believe for the time being that everything had worked out exactly as it needed to.

As it stood now, they both held a fighting chance for normalcy. Though Peach would have happily given her life for his, she much preferred the thought of them both living, rediscovering their own normals side-by-side, reveling in all of life’s little pleasures together. And if that was selfish of her, well, maybe she could afford to be a bit selfish for now.

~~~

Sleep eluded Peach, which she counted as both a blessing and a curse.

She was tired, so utterly tired, and yet she couldn’t get comfortable. The lights in her room were dimmed, but not turned out entirely for the sake of sporadic nurse visits, confusing her already ruined circadian rhythm. She hadn’t struggled to eat as much as she feared she would; the soup she’d been promised was tangy and sweet and the slightest bit acidic, and she’d scarfed it down while Luigi and a slightly more upbeat Toadette entertained her with lighthearted stories. They’d even managed to draw a few more laughs out of her.

But now her belly felt uncomfortably heavy, and the silence felt heavier still. And she was still so cold. Laying on her back, she couldn’t breathe properly, not helped by her constant shivering. Laying on her side, she could at least pull her blankets tighter around her own huddled form, but curling into herself agitated her full stomach and nauseated her. She'd only had one meal. She didn't care to lose it.

The blessing part of this struggle came from the simple notion that she’d already slept enough. There was little to do in her dungeon but pace and brood and sleep, and she hadn’t even done much of the first two in the past several weeks. No, she decided, folding back her blankets and finding unsteady footing, there was no point tossing and turning. If she was going to remain awake, the least she could do was use her time productively.

This was how she found herself back at Mario’s side in the hour before dawn.

As she approached his bedside, she glanced over at the loveseat against the opposite wall. Luigi was sprawled on its cushions, his cap pulled over his eyes and a thin stream of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, his legs dangling over the sofa’s arm. How many sleepless nights had he endured in these past months? The room was silent save for his soft snoring and the steady beeping of a heart monitor, and Peach intended to keep it that way. Stars knew she owed him that much at least.

Kneeling beside Mario, she hesitantly reached for his hand, steadying her breath before touching his wrist. A sigh of relief forced its way past her lips at their contact. Her fears were unfounded. He was warm.

She spent a moment tracing her fingers over the back of his hand in contemplation. The dark hair that normally covered his skin had been shaved in the name of finding a good vein for an IV drip, and a piece of medical tape beneath a thin layer of gauze held the needle in place, delivering much-needed fluids to his system. A perfect entry point. Though her magic could penetrate even covered skin easily, she found it was most potent when concentrated directly into the bloodstream. Right now, she needed as much potency as possible.

Resting her palm atop that spot, she closed her eyes and focused. Surely there was enough by now. Maybe not enough to heal, but at least enough to ease the pain, or maybe even seal up some of his lesser injuries. 

But even conjuring her magic in the first place proved a great struggle. Her muscles constricted as she called it forth, a dull ache which grew into sharp, stabbing surges, and she dug the nails of her free hand into her thigh to keep herself focused. No matter how she tried, nothing came of her efforts. She willed it forward once, once more, once again, as if dragging a barbed hook through layers of sinew; she sniffed and gasped each time, biting into her tongue to keep any further noise reigned in, and still nothing came of it.

Only once had her own magic caused her such pain: reviving her dead hero, what felt like weeks ago now. But it worked. Her pain bore fruit, and her efforts were rewarded with renewed life. Why wasn’t it working now?

The ambience of the heart monitor came into the forefront of Peach’s senses, its once-steady tone picking up in tempo and compromising her already fragile concentration. 

Her body relaxed against her own volition, and she cursed beneath her breath. Yet as oxygen poured back into her lungs, as blood flow returned to her brain, her frustration morphed into hope. Increased heart rate. If his heart was beating faster, that meant something was happening. That meant her magic was coursing through him, no matter how little, and his body was repairing itself again. Right?

With one last deep breath, she lifted her eyes to his face.

His eyes were already fixed on her.

Peach yelped out in shock before she could stop herself, slapping a hand over her mouth moments too late. That shock was reflected in Mario’s eyes, already wide when their gazes met, growing wider still as they stared one another down; the brilliant blues of his irises caught the blinking lights of assorted medical equipment, cloudy and drowsy but awake and aware.

The monitor hooked to his pulse went haywire, but its frantic beeping faded into ambiance once more.

“Hey,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse from exertion or disuse or some combination of the two, but it was his, and that single word set Peach’s pulse racing every bit as quickly.

“Hey,” she whispered back. He smiled weakly at this, and somehow, she smiled back.

Peach had never been the impulsive sort. As a politician, she made sure to consider her every move deliberately before acting, a habit that had been drilled into her while she was still in high chairs. So she wasn’t quite sure what force compelled her to climb into his bed, nor was she quite sure what force compelled him to make room for her. Whatever their reasoning, three minutes and several careful adjustments later, they laid facing one another, their heads sharing the same pillow, their bodies separated only by her gown and his blanket.

Peach knew well enough how improper this was, and still she didn’t care. Not with Mario so close, so present, so alive. The exertion of rolling onto his side and scooting a few inches back had exhausted him; with his last ounce of physical strength, he draped an arm over her side, weakly flexing it forward, as if trying to pull her closer. She would have happily met him halfway if it didn’t mean losing her line of sight. She wanted to look at him just a moment longer, just to make sure he was really here.

She drew her hand up slowly, careful not to agitate any of his numerous wounds, until at last her fingertips rested at his jawline. That seemed the safest place to touch. Perhaps the only safe place to touch for now.

Mario muttered something beneath his breath, too quiet for Peach to hear, and she feared that even this gentle touch was too much for him.

“Beg pardon?”

“Sorry about the beard,” he repeated, and though his eyes remained closed, he smirked. He was joking. He was awake and aware and alive and cracking jokes. He really was going to be okay.

Though she lay exposed above the blanket, the bitter cold she had grown begrudgingly accustomed to melted away, and warmth penetrated to her very bones.

“Actually, I quite like it,” she found the strength to tease back, and she swore she felt his skin grow hot beneath her fingers.

“Y’do?”

“Mmhm.”

“Mm. Think I should keep it?”

“I think you should do whatever you want for the rest of your life.”

He chuckled at this, deep in his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

Her touch remained light, just in case, but if his facial hair hid any additional injuries, he wasn’t showing it. He looked peaceful beneath her touch, smiling softly as she stroked her thumb along the curve of his jaw. Had he gone without food, too? His face seemed sharper, his cheeks less plump than she remembered. 

She didn’t have very long to muse on this notion. When he eventually peeked his eyes open, they pulled her back into the present moment; they were heavy with impending sleep, and the pain she feared would remain etched into them eternally was nowhere to be found. All she could see in those eyes was adoration. Adoration so strong and pure that it made her feel impossibly small yet equally unstoppable, so obvious that she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before.

Perhaps she had seen it. Perhaps she had convinced herself it was all in her imagination; perhaps she was too afraid to let herself hope that he might return her affections.

He returned her affections. He was alive, and he would be okay, and he loved her just as deeply as she loved him. The rush that overtook Peach would have easily brought her to her knees, and she thanked the stars that she was already laying down. 

Their words of mutual confirmation comprised the second of two mantras that kept Peach going, even when she was certain she could go no further, and in her fear for his life she hadn’t let herself dwell on them any further. But they’d exchanged that mantra back and forth even as their already limited energy dwindled, even when collapse and failure and death felt inevitable, filling the air between them when all other words failed: I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

“I love you,” Mario said now, in that same hoarse whisper as before.

Peach inhaled sharply, and suddenly the tears she’d so valiantly fought off stung at the backs of her eyes. He’d told her those three blessed words ten or twenty or fifty times in the past day, but this time was different. There was no desperation or disbelief in his voice, no heaviness of affliction or regret or uncertainty, no exhaustion holding his tongue. He said it quietly but unwaveringly, unapologetic.

How else had he said it? At multiple points in their journey, he couldn’t find the strength to translate his thoughts into the common tongue, and so he would squeeze her hand and utter a pair of foreign words to her, the same two words, over and over and over.

“Ti amo,” Peach echoed now. Foreign or not, those words felt right on her tongue, effortless.

Mario’s face changed, suddenly more alert than before, and for a brief instance Peach felt cold again. Had she misremembered or misspoken? Just as quickly as he’d reacted, though, he closed his eyes and pushed his cheek deeper into the pillow, that breathtaking smile returning in full force.

“Noooo,” he whined, the syllable broken up by a breathless laugh, “don’t say that, Princess! I’m not ready to wake up yet.”

The arm draped over her flexed again, and his bright smile morphed into something darker, sadder. Something like bleak resignation.

He thought this was a dream. Nothing but a pleasant and misleading dream, perhaps one of many, just as she’d thought her own awakening to be. The first of a new wave of tears forced their way past Peach’s defense, and she swallowed thickly to rid the lump in her throat.

“Then don’t.” She obliged his nonverbal request this time, scooting closer until their bodies were flush, ducking her head beneath his chin. Warm. So present and real and warm. “Just— just sleep for now. Rest with me.”

Mario hummed, and she felt it reverberate in his throat, the vibrations and unshaven scruff tickling her cheek. “Will you… be here?” he managed after a moment. “When I wake up?”

Peach sniffled. He no longer smelled of burnt skin and fresh blood. Medicinal salve filled her olfactory senses now, sharp and clean. “They’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

This earned another laugh from her hero, her closest friend, the love of her life, and he nuzzled his chin into the crown of her head with a satisfied sigh.

They lay together in comfortable silence after this, and while Mario dozed, Peach took the opportunity to ground herself. The twangy aroma of salve; the rise and fall of his chest against hers; the weight of his arm holding her close; the beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor gone steady once more. She buried her face into a thick patch of gauze on his shoulder and let her tears flow freely, content to tremble in the safety of his embrace.

This was real. She was home. 

The forest around them shifted and spun, each step sending jolts of nauseating pain to her head, and beside her she could hear Mario’s steps faltering. If she had her wits about her, Peach would have suggested they stop right here, in the relative safety of the forest’s edge, or at least make it to the inn on the outskirts of town. The castle would still be there come morning. Right now, she needed him to focus on resting and not dying.

But some nagging voice deep within her overrode all other senses. That voice told her that, if they stopped now, they’d never get back up — he’d never get back up. She had long since pumped every ounce of magic she could muster into his body just to revive him, just to keep him in one piece until they made it back, and even then, she knew it wasn’t enough to last. They’d already cheated fate once. Next time they might not be so lucky. It was surely a miracle that they’d made it this far.

And what would be the point in making it home if he didn’t make it with her?

Peach swallowed uneasily. She truly had no more to give. That wouldn’t stop her from giving it all to him anyway.

Closing her eyes to block out her dizzying surroundings, she grit her teeth and summoned what little was left from some well deep within her chest, a well she knew couldn’t be replenished once it had been spent. Her very own lifeforce. That force couldn’t travel fast enough; it trickled through her like a broken tap, constricted her lungs and stiffened her muscles and amplified every last unpleasant sensation in her body, and she dug her nails into Mario’s skin to make certain he received every last bit of it.

Infuriatingly slow though it was, she knew it was working. His footsteps gradually grew steadier, quicker, and she let herself follow him blindly, until at last the grass beneath their feet gave way to a sturdier path. Their footsteps clacked against cobblestones, echoing into an empty, sleeping town.

Or maybe just his footsteps. Peach couldn’t be sure that she was walking any longer. The sting of open blisters on her feet faded into a pillowy nothing, as did the jolts of pain that kept her awake and moving, yet the wherewithal to consider this a relief — or to consider anything, really — was far from her grasp. She tried to open her eyes, gauge how much farther they had to go, but all she could see was darkness. Her well was running dry.

“Almost.” His voice sounded so far away. Garbled, like she was hearing it from beneath the murky depths of some dark lake. Perhaps that was where she was: drowning, drifting aimlessly beneath the undertow as it all faded away, every sound, every sensation, every last proof of life but Mario’s hand in hers.

And then even that was gone, her last anchor to the realm of the living, and Peach’s body went weightless— until some unseen force knocked air back into her lungs, slammed her spirit back into her body, and she gasped from the shock of reawakening.

Darkness. Darkness and a few distorted shapes in shades of blue and purple and black, and maybe a few pinpoints of light in the distance. Somewhere beside or beneath her, she heard Mario grunt, and she let herself be jostled about as that unseen force righted her leaden body. It was only when he pulled her against his side, his arm secure around her waist, that Peach realized her saving force was none other than him.

“Stay with me.” The words came out strained and desperate, and with his opposite hand, he guided Peach’s arm over and behind his head. “We’re almost… just a little further, Princess. Come on.”

He hauled her forward a few steps before she was able to regain her footing, and she slumped against him as she redistributed her weight, her cheek just an inch or two from the top of his head. He took hold of the hand slung over his shoulder, his fingers fumbling to secure her grasp. “That’s it. Come on. Almost.”

Peach numbly searched within herself once more as they dragged each other forward, willing that trickle of magic to return, just a bit longer, just a bit more. Just until he was safe. But her focus was hampered by her own lightheadedness, a distant cacophony that she swore was growing louder, those pinpoints of light drawing closer and closer and closer…

“Princess!”

She knew that voice. She knew the voices that accompanied it. The familiar call of her commander, only the second friendly voice she’d heard in three months’ time, followed by the equally relieved and concerned shouts of the guards he led—

Her knees buckled.

She felt Mario lean into her as her legs failed, but any further efforts at keeping her upright were futile. He succeeded only in collapsing to the cobblestone first and breaking her fall with his body.

He cried out when he hit the ground, softly enough that only Peach could hear, and she couldn’t tell if it was from pain or relief.

By the time Peach managed to untangle herself from Mario’s arm and pull herself to her knees, chaos cornered her from every angle. A blanket was thrown over her shoulders. A million questions were thrown her way, stupid questions with obvious answers like Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you hungry?. She could see more clearly now, fuzzy images of spotted caps and beady eyes and halberds, but darkness still lurked in her peripheral, ever encroaching.

Mario remained doubled over in the street, his huddled form shuddering violently, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Looking down, she watched as some substance dripped onto the stones beneath him, dark and shining. One drop. Two, three, four drops. Wounds that had seeped blood their entire journey now flowed freely, unhindered by her magic.

Almost there.

“Get him to the infirmary right away.” She heard her own voice as though listening through foreign ears, stronger and steadier than the half-dead husk it came from. “He’s gravely injured.”

The beginnings of a protest sputtered past Mario’s lips, something like “Nnuh— P— Peach—” . If not for her single minded focus on remaining conscious until she saw him to safety, she might have cried — even in complete ruin, his first concern was her. 

With each pump of her heart, her vision pulsed in and out of focus. Just a bit longer. Just until she knew he would be okay. 

A quartet of Toads in foot soldiers’ armor broke through bearing a simple stretcher, a tight-woven net between two poles, and she motioned for them to lay it down beside Mario. Townsfolk had begun peeking out from their houses and spilling into the streets, and a handful of guards posted themselves around the rest to keep them at bay, shouting orders to get back, give them space, make way for the exhausted Princess and her hero.

My hero.

In spite of his increasingly incoherent and weak protests, Mario was urged onto his side by the makeshift medics, onto the stretcher, and he curled heavily into himself with a soft groan. Beneath the layer of dirt and blood it had accumulated, his face was unnaturally pale. It stood out against the darkness like a full moon in a starless sky.

But in spite of the pain, in spite of the dizziness, in spite of the rapidly slipping waking world, he managed to peek his eyes open and find her. The fire in them had cooled and left their once brilliant blue glassy and opaque. Yet he managed to smile; not a forced smile, a well-meaning but empty effort to lift her spirits, but a soft and small and achingly real smile, the sort that told her everything would be alright.

We made it.

“Your Highness…?”

Peach’s vision pulsed once more, and this time, it never went back into focus.

“Your Highness!”