#sorry if this chapter feels kinda... draggy. or lackluster

[peaches2217]

Untarnished

Chapter 3 (TW: Brief but graphic descriptions of injuries)

AO3 link! | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Beginning

~~~

“P-presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Daisy Nambuthiri of the Sarasaland Empire, Firstborn of Emperor Oleander and Heir Apparent to—”

“Move it!”

The squeak of an unfortunate messenger Toad being knocked against a wall preceded Daisy’s appearance, and not once did she look behind to acknowledge the carnage left in her wake. At some point in the near future, Peach knew she would have to make amends for whatever property destruction and bruised egos she’d doled out in her haste.

For the time being, the shock and joy that came with her arrival far outweighed any sense of responsibility. Peach stood as quickly as she could without getting lightheaded, and Daisy cried her name as she lunged forth, pulling her into a familiar, full-bodied hug, ever-so-slightly uncomfortable hug.

“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?

A few tears finally managed to slip down her cheeks as the barrage of unwarranted gratitude continued, but she fought with what little strength and stamina was left within her to remain silent. She had forced others to shoulder her hardships for long enough. It was high time she returned the favor. And if that meant keeping her mouth shut and suffering in perfect silence, then so be it.