#alpha!mario

“Sit,” Luigi said immediately, tone shifting from cheerful to caretaking in less than a heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” Mario muttered, wiping at his forehead. “Just, uh… long day.”

Luigi stepped closer and put a hand on his brother’s wrist. Mario flinched—just a twitch, but enough to make Luigi’s eyebrows knit.

“Mario. Sit.”

Luigi didn’t often use that tone. When he did, Mario listened.

Mario exhaled and sank onto the couch.

Luigi didn’t ask questions at first. He disappeared for a moment, leaving Mario staring at the wall, still seeing it—the scaffolding wobbling, Spike shouting, Mario grabbing him by the vest at the last second before a metal beam swung clean across the space he had been standing in.

Mario wasn’t even scared of heights. But the thought of losing someone—again—had hit him like ice water.

Luigi returned with a glass of water, a blanket, Lil Clubs, and a small plate of cut pears, the soft kind Mario liked when he was stressed. He crouched in front of Mario, tilted his chin up gently, and inspected him like Mario usually did to him after a panic episode.

“You’re white as a ghost,” Luigi said softly. “What happened?”

Mario swallowed, voice breaking. “Spike almost got hit by a swinging beam.”

Luigi didn’t interrupt.

“I pulled him out. Barely. And after, I—I couldn’t—I don’t know, I just froze.” Mario covered his face. “I couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking. Spike had to send me home.”

Luigi clicked his tongue. “You do need the rest, bro.”

Mario blinked. “What? No—no, I should’ve stayed. I’m supposed to protect my crew. I can’t lose anyone else.” His heart lurched. “I can't—”

Luigi didn’t let him finish. He stood, walked behind Mario, and draped the blanket around his shoulders.

“You’re allowed to be overwhelmed,” Luigi said, smoothing Mario’s hair back. “Nothing about being an alpha means you have to be unbreakable.”

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Mario protested weakly.

Luigi snorted. “You’re vibrating like you have coffee jitters.”

That cracked a tiny laugh out of Mario—and that was all Luigi needed.

He walked around, sat next to him, and nudged Mario until he let his head fall sideways onto Luigi’s shoulder. Luigi wasn’t physically strong like Daisy or Bowser, but he was warm. Steady. A fixed point Mario could anchor to.

“Breathe with me,” Luigi said gently.

Mario tried—really tried—but every inhale still felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

Luigi shifted tactics. He took Mario’s wrist and guided his hand to his own chest, pressing it against the rise and fall of his breathing.

“Match me,” Luigi murmured.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

The shakes eased.

Mario exhaled, long and shaky. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I should be stronger.”

Luigi clicked his tongue again. “You are strong. Strong enough to panic when you almost watched your boss turn into a pancake. That’s normal.”

“…Luigi?”

“Yeah?”

Mario mumbled, “I don’t like that you’re the one taking care of me.”

Luigi smiled, soft and sure. “You never do, but someone has to deal with your crap and Daisy said 'nuh-uh.'”

Mario snorted, covering his face again. “Shut up.”

“Nope. Not today.” Luigi nudged him. “Today I’m the alpha.”

Mario groaned, but didn’t deny it. He didn’t even move when Luigi reached over and adjusted the blanket again.

For the first time since Spike shoved him into the taxi and told him to “go home and breathe,” Mario felt the shaking in his chest slow.

Safe. Grounded. Not alone.

Luigi rested his head lightly against Mario’s. “There you go. Just stay here. I’ve got you.”