Warning: This fic contains vore, slash, emotional distress, physical injury, mentions of rape, lots and lots of crying, and is generally for a mature audience. Read at your own discretion.
It all felt like some kind of sick and twisted dream. That's all it had ever been.
"Thanks, bro…" Luigi murmured under his breath as the red-clad plumber departed with a backwards glance. He faced the jester before him, trying to keep the fire in his eyes.
"Ah ha ha ha. How tender. I just squeezed out a tear. Yes… Mario can run along. And if he somehow manages to defeat Count Bleck on his own… all the better! And so I strike, like an unseen dodgeball in an echoing gymnasium!" Dimentio monologued dramatically.
Luigi tensed, ready to fight, but as soon as Mario was gone, the jester straightened. His demeanor changed to a less threatening one in an instant.
After a moment, Luigi straightened as well. He couldn't keep a glare off his face, feeling again the all-too-fresh pain of what Dimentio had done to him.
Dimentio noticed. He saw it. "I had to…" he said quietly.
Luigi just shook his head, fists tightening.
"It's your fault, you know…man in green…"
"Yeah? How so?!" he snapped.
How long had he been lying there?
"Your fault… It's your fault. I was never made to feel!" the jester hissed disdainfully. "But you… You really do something to me."
"And perhaps maybe I do something to you…" He looked thoughtful for a moment, before a brief flicker of pain returned his expression to neutrality.
Luigi leapt at him, intent on making him feel everything he'd been feeling since he'd woken up in the Underwhere, alone. Dimentio easily caught his fist and threw him back onto the floor, wagging a finger at him. "Ah ah ah… I don't wish to fight you."
"Too bad." He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked up at the jester hovering menacingly above him.
Was he still breathing?
"It doesn't have to be this way…" Dimentio said sadly. "I really do like you." He carefully offered him a hand up. "I can ensure your safety… Come with me, Mr. L… No…Luigi. Come with me… Please."
Too late. It was too late.
Luigi stared at him. Very briefly, the gray and yellow eyes flickered blue, so quickly that he wasn't sure he had truly seen it. He stared at the hand. For a moment, he was honestly tempted. Some days, he dreamed that he could just leave all his misery behind, and start anew. And here was someone offering that very thing.
But could he trust him? He remembered all the lies, the subtle manipulation. Had any of that been real?
He was a fool to hope.
This was the price for such emotions.
He knocked the hand away, standing on his own. The life of every living being small or great was only an afterthought.
"No. I don't trust you, Dimentio."
"You used to…"
"Well, you kind of threw that trust to the dogs, didn't you."
Dimentio had the poor taste to look ashamed of himself. What a miserable actor he was. "Please…"
He was weak, lying on the floor like this, hugging his chest as if to hold himself together.
Tears were weak. He couldn't stop.
"Go to hell." He threw another punch, which was again blocked. Dimentio didn't release his fist this time, but squeezed it so that the tiny bones ground together painfully. Luigi tried punching with his other hand, but that one was also caught.
Having captured both of Luigi's hands, Dimentio drifted closer until their noses were almost touching. He cocked his head and said, "Very well. Let's go together, shall we?"
Luigi blinked. "W-What?" He was suddenly released, and tried to dart away, but bumped into something solid. He glanced over his shoulder and realized with a yelp that he was in another golden execution box. Only this time…Dimentio was in here with him.
He got to his knees, struggling not to be sick.
There was no hope. The damage was too much.
He looked over at the jester with a startled gasp, blue eyes wide. Dimentio's expression was completely unreadable. He slowly raised his right hand, fingers poised to snap.
"N-No! What are you doing?!"
Dimentio said nothing, calmly meeting Luigi's gaze.
"S-Stop! Not again! Please, not again!"
A demented smile started to appear on the jester's face as he came closer.
Luigi backed away, pressing himself into the corner of the box, trembling. He was too afraid to do more than breathe, "Why you too…"
He knocked some things over, trying to stand…
Dimentio knelt down and grasped Luigi's face with both hands, fingers pressing indents into the back of his head and his thumbs directly over the plumber's pulse points. There was something very dangerous in his mismatched eyes. His lips lightly grazed along his former friend's cheek as he delicately whispered into his ear, "You should have said yes."
Luigi heard the snap. Then everything was fire and pain and screaming. Oh Grambi, it hurt! It hurt even more than the first time! His consciousness slipped away from him, and he fell gratefully into darkness.
His legs refused to hold his weight. Weak.
Dimentio listened to the dying screams with a conflicted smile, a frightening unknowable force running a cold finger down his spine. The bursts of heat going off all around him were unnerving, but certainly not the cause of this small but lingering pain inside of him. He hadn't meant to do it this way, or make it hurt so much. He hated being rejected.
Why wouldn't his stupid heart quit pounding like this?
The magic walls faded, and the smoke cleared, revealing that Luigi was perfectly unharmed, only unconscious. He'd never attempted an illusion like that before, but Luigi's expectation of what was to come helped it reach fruition. He sat down next to the unmoving form and folded his legs under him, simply looking for a time.
Luigi's eyes moved haphazardly under his eyelids, and he occasionally murmured something incomprehensible. Nightmares. Dimentio shuffled a little closer, and wasn't quite sure why he felt sorry. Maybe it was because, for once, he had been the one to break things off. The one person who had accepted him just the way he was…
He took off his glove and gently, very, very gently, ran his fingers along Luigi's face, through his bangs and over his closed eyes and along his chin, skimming his well-groomed mustache, just touching for the sake of it. No one ever let him touch them when they were awake. He sighed, savoring the warmth coming off the living skin before withdrawing. For a time, he watched the chest expand and contract with his breathing.
He was shaking. What now? What was there for him?
Many would consider this creepy, but he didn't care. He was imprinting this to memory, to relish, just in case. Human interaction and such alien feelings were so rare for him. He was also stalling, because, again, he didn't wish to do this. And again, there was no alternative.
He shifted and sat cross-legged, carefully cradling Luigi's head in his lap. Absentmindedly, he stroked the brown locks of hair, a sharp and bittersweet something bubbling in his chest. He stared at a distant wall, deliberating. What would happen if he abandoned his notion of a perfect world? Perfection was a foolish concept, but it was the only word that fit his desire. He was a fool, he knew, for railing against the whole world.
He hated this. He hated himself, everything, everyone, this rotten existence.
Count Bleck would die, surely. There was no other way to close The Void before it consumed everything. But he hadn't planned for this. And there was no guarantee of anything… It could be so long, farewell, good luck, hope to never see you again. There was no way to earn back that precious trust. At least, when he had won, Luigi would have to accept him, because there would be no one else in existence for a long time except for the two of them.
Yes, this was the best way. Nothing could go wrong. A guarantee.
He was too afraid to die.
She said… She said…
His hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, perfectly round seed. He removed Luigi's green cap and put it aside, clutching the seed in a tight fist. He gently bent Luigi's head forward a bit, other hand hovering above his scalp. Who knew what sort of damage this could do. Who knew what other fragile structures he was destroying.
He looked again at the sleeping face, scrunched with slight fear. Yes, he could make the nightmares go away.
He would cease to exist in everyone's perceptions but his own.
He pressed the seed into Luigi's hair, coaxing it to grow with a little magic. The roots emerged and poked into the sensitive skin, drawing blood and drinking it. Luigi winced and whimpered, and Dimentio shivered a little. With the sprout planted and well hidden, he replaced Luigi's cap but didn't get up. He hugged Luigi a little tighter as the roots burrowed deeper. Luigi moaned and squirmed, in pain. "Sshh, it's alright… Everything will be fine…"
Like he never existed at all.
He had tried, he really had. He didn't really want Mario and his friends to join him, but he had done his best to sway them, regardless, because Luigi cared about them, too. But that butterfly…Tippi… She had blocked his every move, having a counterargument to everything he offered.
So now Luigi would come alone. He had to.
He fell over and curled into himself, trembling.
Dimentio leaned down and softly kissed Luigi's forehead. His stomach was twisting and churning with heavy dread. He slowly stood and left his friend there to be found by the others, knowing they would make an appearance soon. Now, it was time to make his final preparations…
Please come back.
Make it go away.
I'm so scared…
He heard someone crying. Was…was that him? Stop…stop sobbing, you fool, you weakling…
He couldn't. He'd done everything wrong.
He was horribly thirsty. Dehydrated. Starving. How long…?
He felt weak, bodily, mentally. Could he recover from this? He had to, or die.
What was this? Why had he opened himself up to this?
Numb. Numb was good. Numb was nice. There was no pain with numb.
He got up slowly, carefully. He was walking to the kitchen. The sink, water…
Good. Fuel was good. He needed to eat.
What had happened? …Nothing. It was nothing to him.
Alone? Of course. Nothing had changed. This wasn't any different from before.
He could heal. Let's pretend.
Clear away the reminders. Acknowledge nothing.
Things to occupy. Familiar, bad things. He itched for them.
No. Yes. Not right. Who cares. Everyone does. Everyone but him.
Everything was blending together. He had no perception of time.
He felt nothing. Good, familiar nothing.