A/N: It's been a while since I uploaded any fanfiction.

Anyway, enjoy!

GHOST TOWN

Sometimes he wanted to be noticed.

And sometimes he didn't.

It was a cold, windy autumn night; he tugged the emerald-green scarf tighter around his stiff neck and continued walking aimlessly up the narrow streets. He was in the back alleys of Toad Town, not a good place to be at any time of the day, but far more dangerous at 11PM on a dark night. The looming shapes of buildings that stood silhouetted against the waning crescent moon seemed to be trying to intimidate him of their own accord, while every shrub he passed rustled audibly as if things were hiding inside them. He shivered, teeth rattling too violently against his jaw. He felt hot and cold, feverish, and the breezy air calmed him by a fraction, as if nothing besides the raw power of nature could ease the suffering in his heart.

The dim amber glow of a streetlamp reflected on the shiny exterior of a car parked by the roadside, bent at a crooked angle, its back end overlapping the sidewalk. He passed a wooden bench that was half-sunk into the ground and his foot went out reflexively, automatically, to kick a forgotten aluminium can beneath it. He wandered over the jagged vent of a stinking drain, his steps slow and rambling. Anyone who saw him would have thought he were drunk or injured, but nobody noticed him stagger in front of the old grocery store and almost plunge into another streetlamp. The windows of the store were dark, and a sheet of paper glued haphazardly to the inside surface proclaimed it to be CLOSED TILL MORNING.

The wind picked up a little as he moved beyond the concrete enclosure of the main town and crossed into an abandoned playpark on the outskirts. Here, the grass was rich and dark, the metal frames of the play equipment gleaming eerily in the moonlight. All was silent. He listened to his crunching footsteps as his body ran on autopilot, taking him to sit down upon a rusty swing, the left side hanging down much lower than the right.

He casually held one of the freezing chains in his ungloved hand, letting the cold seep through until it numbed what he could still feel in his fingers. He dug his heel into the ground and leaned his weight back, pulling the reluctant swing into a gentle rocking motion that nearly deafened him with the screech of rusted metal. After pushing a few times, he brought his knees up and let the swing continue rocking without his intervention. The shriek of its movement calmed him; it exaggerated his isolation, stilled his fraying nerves, and seemed to confirm that nobody was coming to find him. The sound must have been audible halfway across town in the silence of the night, but the windows in the distant buildings stayed dark, no sudden lights appearing to tell him he wasn't alone.

He closed his eyes and allowed a tiny smile to curve up one side of his mouth as the swing slowed. When it finally halted, he put a foot to the ground and pushed again. The wind ruffled his hair in a gentle embrace as he rocked back and forth, and he felt as though the currents of cold air might be the only things that hadn't forgotten him yet. Back at home, his bedroom was cold and empty, the house filled with a silence that he dreaded and feared and longed to escape. Three months ago it would have been permeated by the sound of his older brother's cavernous snoring after a heavy dinner, during which the siblings would laugh and talk and share food and wine before the blazing warmth of the fireplace. Then they would go to sleep in their bunk beds and he would have a smile on his face as he remembered everything that had happened that day; the fun, the adventures, the friendship.

Now those small joys were gone, deserted him. His house was a place of no comfort after the warmth and familiarity had been taken out of it, and he felt like he was walking in a stranger's home whenever he set foot there. It was a sensation of being forbidden, as if the walls and doors themselves were protesting at his existence, angry that the real owner of the house had disappeared forever.

He didn't resent his brother for leaving, not at all; he knew how happy it had made him to run away with the Princess, to live in her splendid whitestone castle and experience the luxuries of royalty. He'd been offered a room there too, but had ultimately turned it down. He didn't think he could bear living so near his brother but being overlooked every day, cast aside as Mario's eyes sought out a different figure, one clad in a long pink dress and so beautiful she made even his heart falter. Luxury and carelessness meant nothing to him if he couldn't have his brother, and he knew he'd never have Mario back after the wedding happened. Not in the same way as before. Mario saw right through him.

It wasn't his fault, of course. There was just far more interesting people to talk to than his reserved introvert of a little brother, who still slept with a nightlight and couldn't imagine a life spent on his own. His little brother who had never so much as had a best friend, let alone been on a date, and who was almost guaranteed to be dependant on Mario for his entire existence, like some sort of parasite.

It still hurt him a tiny bit whenever he walked by the front gates of Princess Peach's castle and caught a heartbeat's glimpse of Mario and his new wife together, strolling through the beautiful gardens or enjoying a drink under the smiling sunshine. But he knew better than anyone that he needed to get over it, to put his misery aside and learn to be independent. He was an adult; he could take care of himself. But after a life of always having his big brother at his side it was hard to throw out old habits and focus on new ones.

The swing shrieked dully as he pushed the heel of his shoe into the ground once more, sounding almost as mournful as he felt. For one insane moment he wanted to pat the rusty chain his numb fingers were still gripping, to smile and tell the swing that everything would be OK in the end. Then he shook his head, forced a neutral expression onto his face and pressed aside the urge to comfort insentient play equipment.

He was just shifting his weight to climb off the seat when a breath sounded behind his ear, a warm trickle of air brushing up against his scarf-covered neck.

Dependant as he was on his brother, it took him an agonisingly long moment to remind himself that Mario was not waiting around the corner to protect him, all fiery fists and fury, as he'd done in the past. Then he clenched his cold hand and spun around to aim a clumsy punch in his attacker's direction, not stopping long enough to wonder whether it was really an attacker, or even a human being.

A stronger set of fingers than his own curled around his wrist, grinding flesh against bone, and he cried out in pain. Once again he almost expected to hear an answering shout and a vindictive battle-cry coming to save him, but none came. The wind whistling eerily through the trees told him that, as always, he was alone and as helpless as a rabbit caught between a wolf's ravenous jaws.

'P-please,' he gasped, voice shakily and faltering as the earlier numbness gave way to a searing panic that took over his body and invaded all his senses. 'Don't...' Don't what? He didn't even know what he wanted to say, yet somehow he knew it was important to speak.

The hand tightened briefly around his crushed forearm, making him hiss in renewed pain, then released its hold entirely. He immediately backed away and tensed his muscles in preparation to run, even though one hand was still absently rubbing his wrist and his eyes still squinted through the darkness in hope of glimpsing his strange attacker.

Then a very tall, thin figure stepped forwards into his line of vision and he stopped breathing for a moment.

'Waluigi?!'

It might have been wrong to say he was relieved to see his arch-rival; he wasn't. Oh yes, it was nice to know he hadn't been being stalked by some insane psycho killer with a bloodied knife ready to slash across his throat; the idea of death held nothing but fear for him. But this man had mocked and tormented him since their childhood, a constant hateful presence in his life that brought him

anger and terror and a myriad of other emotions whenever their eyes met. To say he disliked Waluigi was an understatement. But right now all he felt was annoyance and a mild sense of gratitude that it hadn't been someone more dangerous following his footsteps along the streets.

'Spot on, Green,' said Waluigi in his usual soft, snide tone. 'Expecting to see somebody else?'

'No,' he replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. If he admitted that he was relieved to see his rival instead of some random murderer, Waluigi would probably do something awful to him just to prove that he could be dangerous. But it seemed that the tall, purple-clad man had other ideas.

'So what are you doing in my thinking spot?' he asked, reaching up almost automatically to pull the brim of his cap over his eyes, throwing them into shadow. Luigi backed away another step, too scared to speak but too curious to take his chance and run for it.

'Y-your thinking spot?' he eventually managed to force out.

Waluigi chuckled, an ominous sound that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

'Yes Green, this is my place,' he said. 'Where I come to think... and to be alone.' There was just the slightest emphasis on the last word.

'How was I supposed to know that? I've never seen you here before.' A spark of defiance was returning, giving him courage. Maybe if he kept Waluigi talking long enough, he could plan a way to get out of this situation before it inevitably turned against him. Because he knew in the depths of his frightened heart that his arch-rival would never let him escape this without a fight.

'Yeah, well, how many times have you come out here? You ain't exactly the type to go wandering the streets in the middle of the night, Weegee. Bad time to explore, y'know? Anything... might happen to you.' His voice grew softer towards the end and he took a single small step forwards, causing Luigi to stumble back yet again. Suddenly his spine dug into the rusty metal of the playground fence, the sting of pain accompanied by a thrill of panic. He had nowhere left to run.

'So wh-why are you out here t-tonight?' he stammered, his mouth as dry as sawdust.

Waluigi shrugged. All at once his intimidating posture slumped down and the aura of evil that surrounded him seemed to dissipate into nothing. He looked as worn-out and tired as Luigi himself felt. 'You know. Thinking. The usual crap.'

'About what?'

'What's it to you?' he snapped. One hand shot up and for a split second Luigi thought it was aiming a blow at him; he ducked slightly on reflex, but Waluigi merely tilted his cap so it shadowed his eyes again. Then he let out a weary sigh that spoke volumes of what he was feeling. 'It's been tough lately, thought I'd just come out here for a bit of peace and quiet. Obviously I wasn't expecting to bump into an idiot like you.'

He ignored the insult and tried to focus instead on the meaning of the other man's words. Tough times sounded like something from his own recent life. He'd never have anticipated something like this coming from his arch-rival, somebody who had all the money and adventure he could wish for.

If Waluigi's problems were akin to his own, maybe they could find a tiny piece of common ground on which to stand upon... it was a gamble. But he was so scared, and so tired of being scared, that he was willing to take a risk to make things just a little bit better. His heart beat wildly out of control as he murmured, 'Is this about Wario?'

The purple-clad man stared down at him without any visible expression for what felt like at least a minute, and Luigi found himself shifting nervously from foot-to-foot, unable to quite meet the piercing gaze. Then, unexpectedly, Waluigi let out a laugh. 'You're sharper than I gave you credit for. Yeah, it's my lazy ass of a brother.' His tone turned bitter when he uttered the name. 'He ran off with his old girlfriend Mona a few days ago. They've been together for a while, but I never realised they were planning on getting married. Ha!'

Luigi tried to imagine Wario in a tuxedo, elegantly presenting a faceless girl with a bouquet of flowers, and had to bite back a snigger at the picture his mind showed him. A moment later he was hit by a shock of realisation that drove away all feelings of amusement. 'Wario... left to marry Mona?'

'That's what I said, ain't it? Moron.' It was clear Waluigi's heart wasn't in the insult. 'Yeah, he disappeared nearly a week ago to this day. Took his motorbike and didn't even leave a note. I got a letter from Mona this morning, explaining what was going on with the two of 'em. Can't say I miss him after running out on me like that.'

Despite the deep resentment colouring his tone, it was obvious he was lying. He really did miss his brother. Luigi considered the situation and felt an uneasy, reluctant, unwanted pang of sympathy well up inside him, along with something he guessed was... familiarity? He knew Waluigi's problems were strikingly similar to his own, but that didn't mean he needed to get sentimental over his hated rival.

He gently dug the toe of his shoe into the earth while he tried to think of an appropriate response that conveyed his feelings without sounding slushy. 'I suppose I came here for the same reason.' There, that was enough. Simple and pleasingly cryptic, causing Waluigi's unseen eyebrow to go up underneath his cap.

'Mario?' he said after a moment of thought.

Luigi jerked his head in a nod. He couldn't pretend that he hadn't heard a touch of pity in Waluigi's tone along with the unmistakable curiosity and - perhaps - glee that his rival was 'getting what he deserved'.

'Same as my brother, eh?' Waluigi pressed him.

'Worse. He's married the Princess.' Luigi tilted his head to look up at the taller man with a glint of suspicion in his eye. 'Surely you've heard about the wedding? It's been all over the papers for the last three months.'

'I don't read any of the papers. Waste of my valuable time.' He kicked the ground, unintentionally mimicking Luigi's earlier action. 'Besides, what's up with you now? I didn't believe a weakling like you could survive on his own without the help of his big brother.' He grinned.

Luigi felt a spike of annoyance, but shoved it back down before it was noticed. 'What makes you say that?' Then - with a sinking sensation like cold water running down the plughole - he realised his rival was right. A massive sigh of defeat escaped his lips. 'It hasn't been going too well,' he admitted softly. Much to his amazement, Waluigi didn't sneer or try to mock him for his weakness. He nodded slowly, arms folded as if thinking long and hard.

'Not too different from me, then,' he murmured half to himself. When Luigi stared at him questioningly, he shrugged again – the motion sharp and defensive - and said, 'Look, don't get any ideas here. I don't wanna see any more of you than I already do. But you have to admit, both of us are in a...' He searched for the right word, 'ditch right now. I'm not going anywhere with my life and you can't get over your big brother leaving you all alone. So let's stick together for a while, OK?' He suddenly delved into a pocket of his overalls and withdrew a ballpoint pen and a scrap of paper that looked to have been torn from the corner of a page. Scribbling something down quickly, he tossed it over.

Luigi caught the scrap on reflex and squinted through the darkness to read the words. But it wasn't a word at all; it was a six-digit number written in glistening red ink that shone like blood in the moonlight. He peered up in confusion and Waluigi let out a frustrated sigh, rapidly losing what little patience he had.

'My number,' he growled, jerking a finger towards the tiny piece of paper in his rival's hands. 'Call me and we'll discuss what to do next. Or come over if you feel brave.'

'If I feel... brave?'

Waluigi grinned even as he thrust his gloved hands into his pockets and started to walk away, heading for the gate on Luigi's left side. 'I haven't finishing clearing out all of Wario's crap yet,' he said by way of explanation, then there was an ear-splitting shriek of rust as he pushed the gate open and stepped outside. He left it swinging back and forth in the wind as his tall figure melted into the shadows and disappeared from sight.

Luigi stared down at the number for a moment longer before hastily following, eager - for the first time in months - to get back to his empty home. Even if a familiar face wouldn't be waiting at the door to greet him, he still felt that something was waiting for him there. Not a person, but something powerful and intangible, something that sent sparks of excitement and a new feeling of life coursing through his veins.

For the first time since Mario's departure, he felt hope that things might turn out OK.