Like Father, Like Son (A Bowser Jr. Story)

The Cold

Bowser Jr. examined the green propeller, which was detached from his flying Clown Car. Several screwdrivers, hammers, and wrenches were scattered on the mahogany table in front of him. Paintbrushes and buckets littered the stone floor.

"If I change the design and switch to swept-tip blades," he muttered to himself, "it can increase the takeoff speed and be more efficient..." He scratched his chin in thought, a habit he had picked up from his father, Bowser.

Bowser Jr. grabbed the wooden box next to his chair and rummaged through the different blades. He grinned to himself, knowing his father would beam with pride once he sees the new and improved Junior Clown Car. In fact, Bowser would always be proud of him! Like the time when...when he...

Bowser Jr. paused. When was the last time his father showed his pride towards his own son? After all those battles with the Mario brothers, all those complex schemes he has come up with to help with Peach's kidnappings...surely Bowser Jr. had received a simple "Good job!" or a genuine "I'm proud of you, kiddo!" from his own father.

And yet, why can't he recall a single instance of it?

The hunched Koopa wiped the trickles of sweat off his forehead. Why has it suddenly gotten so hot? Just a few minutes ago he sat huddled in his chair from the cold.

"Oh, whatever!" he said, "It's not like I need his validation!" He pushed his chair away and stashed the propeller back in the box with a tad too much aggression. As he pulled out his hand, a sharp blade sticking out nicked his palm, and pain prickled the small cut.

"Agh! Stupid blades! This stinks! It stinks, it STINKS!!" Bowser Jr. stomped and whined, and when he stopped to catch his breath, his foot throbbed with ache. He stumbled and fell on the floor.

Bowser Jr. sniffed, licking the blood off his palm. He was panting for longer than he should be, as if there was a weight on his chest. Perhaps he doesn't deserve validation, after all. He was a bratty and annoying child, it made sense for his father to be disappointed in him. In fact, Bowser Jr. never really achieved anything to begin with.

He stared at his swollen palm. The colors of his surroundings blended into one another, and then the world grew dark. Is the sun setting already?

Fatigue draped over Bowser Jr.'s body, and so he rested his head on the floor. Perhaps it was time for a short nap. He could dream of building colossal robots and intricate machinery. He could dream of sending the Mario brothers to tears like he always wanted. And most importantly, he could dream of seeing his father's eyes swelling with pride, his hand patting the shoulder of his loyal son.

Large claws scooped Browser Jr. up. The nails poked his sides a bit, but the familiar warmth that bathed him washed all the pain and discomfort away...