*Hey guys! This story will only be a few chapters long, but I hope you like it all the same. It would mean the world to me if you reviewed! Thanks in advance! Oh, and I don't own anything. Enjoy! :3

It was after our daily warm-up matches that I heard it. The whisper, borne by talkative lips, floating around the sweaty, breathless crowd.

"There's a new kid."

I tried to ignore the whisper, to punctuate the distraction with jabs of my sword. But it wasn't long before Marth ran up to me, his blue eyes gleaming like bright jewels in his comparatively colorless face.

"Did you hear?" he asked excitedly.

With a low swing, I knocked the Sandbag to its side. "Hear what?"

He watched me send it flying with a calculated kick of my foot. "We have a new Brawler."

"Oh, that."

"So you heard?"

"It's just the only thing anyone will talk about," I said, straightening up and sheathing my sword. "I'm sick of hearing about it."

"We don't even know his name yet," said Marth. "We just know he's here. And he's - a 'he'."

"Hm," I said. "And this matters because?"

"Well, it doesn't," said Marth. "But I just figured you'd want to know. You don't have to be all snippy about it, Link."

After we had all cleaned up and rested, some matches were scheduled for the new kid, to 'break him into the atmosphere', as Master Hand so artfully put it. Really, they were testing him to see what he could handle. The first match was with Peach. She returned with a torn dress, a black eye, and a blistering temper.

"He's a freak," she spat angrily at whoever would listen. "He just zooms all around the stage and shoots at me! It's cowardly!"

Falco, the next match, returned with an equally furious report.

"He's annoying. All he does is spam. No strategy whatsoever."

The next report:

"An idiot, and a rude one at that."

And the next:

"He's got such a stupid voice – if he taunts one more time I'm going to rip his stupid wings off!"

And so on.

Each chosen Brawler returned defeated and fuming, and added another line to the kid's growing description. By lunchtime, people were having serious discussions about how uncivilized and mutated this kid was, and how he must have tricked Master Hand into letting him into our private roster. Ness swore that the newcomer wasn't a humanoid at all, and was instead a large dragon that Crazy Hand had sent out to eat us all. Rumors, most of them ridiculous, circulated around the cliques and groups, twisting until we half-believed that the newcomer was a monster of some kind, rude and annoying, zooming around and showing off his wings.

I stayed off to the side, separate from them, like always. Despite being a veteran, I was the weird one. The solitary one. Even Marth stayed away when we weren't training. I supposed that I had generated so much self-hate over the years that it began to seep through the cracks, and people avoided me because of it.

But I didn't mind. Being alone – it was something you got used to, and finally, you came to prefer it.

Still, I was curious about the newcomer.

"His name is Pit," Marth snorted as we passed each other in the Mansion hallway. "Dumb name, eh? Guess it fits."

Later, when I was reading a book in the lounge, I could hear Ike and Captain Falcon scheming over how to best get "revenge" on this Pit kid. I just frowned and turned the page without comment. Wasn't it a little much to be plotting revenge on a newbie just because they beat you in a match? Then again, losing to a newcomer was a big deal in our Mansion. It rarely ever happened. It had to be humiliating.

I watched them curiously in my peripheral vision as they whispered and laughed and shot occasional glances at the door. Finally, they got up, gave each other a knowing look, and sidled out of the room. I snapped my book shut and followed them. They were probably going to talk to the newcomer. I just wanted to see him for myself. Did he really have six eyes? Were his wings really scaly, like a dragon's? Was he honestly ruder than Wario?

I stayed a safe distance away from them. If they turned and saw me, it didn't matter; they wouldn't say anything. Half the Brawlers were afraid of my dark, brooding nature; the other half just thought I was weird and didn't deign to notice me. Marth was an outstanding exception.

They turned into the match warm-up room – the place we kept all of our equipment and special training tools. I followed suit quietly, my feet barely making even the slightest whisper of a sound on the floor. Ike and Falcon immediately laughed and pointed to a small huddled shape in the corner of the room.

At first, I thought it was a kid. A kid kid, really young, like Lucas or Ness. But then the awkward shape stood up and stretched itself out, and I realized I was mistaken; the newcomer had to be at least as old as I was. My mouth dropped open.

He wasn't a monster, he wasn't a fire-breathing, man-eating dragon. He was an angel.

Well, that was new.

His wings were smaller than I expected an angel's wings to be – they looked about as big as Yoshi's in his Final Smash, like toy wings instead of real ones. They were a soft, downy white, matching his outfit, and his skin was nearly as pale – it was almost sickly-looking. A squirrel's-nest of plain brown hair was atop his head, framing his childlike face and wide, vulnerable, opalescent blue eyes. I would have said he was twelve if it weren't for those eyes – they were timeless, mature. They briefly met mine and then flashed away, settling on Ike and Falcon with great distrust.

"Well?" said the boy, Pit, and his voice was soft, like a young child's. I felt the strange urge to hug him. "What do you want?"

"We came to put you in your place," replied Ike. He sneered. "You think you're pretty cool, don't you, beating all of the veterans?"

Pit raised his nose a fraction. "I guess I'm entitled, aren't I?"

I laughed. Ike glared at me and I looked away, pretending to be examining the nearest Sandbag.

"No," said Ike, turning back to Pit. "You're not entitled. Because all of those victories – they were just luck. What's your strategy, flying in circles and shooting arrows everywhere like a complete moron?"

"What's yours?" said Pit. "Running from them?"

That started me laughing again. This time Ike lobbed an item container at my head. I ducked; it glanced off the wall and clattered onto the ground. I looked at Pit; he had a little grateful smile on his face.

"You're not supposed to camp, stupid," said Ike angrily, turning back to Pit.

"Camp?" said Pit.

Ike howled with frustration. "Camp! Camp! You don't know what camping is? God, what are you, five?"

"Camping is just sitting there and shooting your dumb arrows everywhere," snapped Falcon. "Master Hand strictly forbids it. That, and spamming."

"Spamming?"

This time they both howled, as if Pit's single question had stabbed them like a sword.

"You're so stupid!" cried Ike. "No wonder nobody can stand you!"

"It's better off if you just leave now," said Falcon threateningly. "Before we make you leave."

"I'm not leaving," said Pit, and he looked both defiant and scared. "You can't do that. Master Hand -"

"Screw Master Hand!" snarled Ike. "Why he allowed this, I have no idea. You're a mutant."

"Freak," added Falcon.

"I was born with these," muttered Pit. It sounded like he was trying not to cry.

"Well, they're small," said Falcon. "You can't even really fly with them, just hover...Meta Knight can fly...why can't you? What's wrong with you? Are you weak? Or are all angels shrimps like you?"

"Go away," said Pit.

"Come on," said Ike. "Come on, Falcon - we'll get him when the elf isn't here..."

Shooting me a derisive glance, Ike turned and stalked out. Falcon made a very insulting gesture directed at Pit and followed suit. The door slammed shut; it was just me and Pit, who was staring determinedly at his knees.

"What?" snapped Pit as I came nearer. "Going to tell me that I don't deserve to be here with all you legends? Because you're wasting your breath – I already know that. Everyone else made sure of that." His bottom lip trembled slightly, but his glare was solid.

"No," I said awkwardly. "I...are you okay?"

"Absolutely freaking fantastic," said Pit sarcastically. "Now leave me alone!"

That instantly made me bristle. "I was just trying to be nice."

"I don't need your sympathy," said Pit. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, clearly," I said, my own voice becoming unfriendly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you shouldn't sit in a corner and feel sorry for yourself," I snapped. "That's how they pick their victims – the weak and the helpless."

"I'm not weak!" said Pit defensively. "I beat them all! I beat them! I can handle them!"

"So why are they walking all over you?"

"They're not!" shouted Pit, leaping to his feet. "They're afraid of me! They know I can beat them!"

"No, they're afraid of me," I corrected him. "That's why they left without picking a fight with you."

"So?" said Pit. "So what? I don't need you to be my bodyguard."

I watched him apprehensively, but he didn't seem to want to fight. He hadn't even picked up his strange weapon that was a bow-sword crossover.

"Well, let me tell you something," I said. "You need somebody to be on your side. Because hardly anyone in this Mansion fights fair. They'll gang up on you, and it'll be three on one, or twelve on one, or thirty on one, and you won't stand a chance."

Pit rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking uncertain. Finally, he sat back down, hugging his knees to his chest, looking utterly defeated.

"They hate me," he said in a small voice.

I couldn't argue with him.

"Everyone hates me," Pit continued, a quaver in his voice.

"I don't hate you," I said.

"But you don't like me," Pit conceded, looking up at me as though daring me to deny it.

I opened my mouth and closed it again, and then found myself saying in a high-pitched voice that wasn't entirely my own, "I don't know you well enough to like you."

"Get to know me, then," said Pit. "I'll get to know you, too. What's your favorite color?"

I didn't smile.

"You don't want to get involved with me," I said darkly. "Nobody does."

"Why?" asked Pit. "What's wrong with you?"

Ha. In all my years of Brawl, nobody had once asked me such a direct and clear-cutting question. What's wrong with you?

"A lot," I said, laughing dryly.

"That's not funny, you know."

"Oh, I know."

"I'm not so perfect either," said Pit, still in that small, childlike voice. "I'm the only angel ever with wings this small."

I sat down next to him. His gleaming, catlike eyes flickered to me and then away, gazing out at something I couldn't see.

"I can't fly," he said.

He said this as though admitting an embarrassing social shortcoming, like not being able to ride a bike or tie a shoe.

It probably wasn't the most sensitive thing to say, but I offered, "What's so great about flying anyway?"

Pit gave me a belligerent look. I quickly backtracked.

"The people you fought said you were zooming all around the stage."

"I can glide and hover," said Pit sadly, pulling his wing in front of him and gazing at it with great disappointment. "I can fly for a few seconds. But I'm not strong enough to stay in the air. My goddess sent me here to get stronger, so I could finally fly. She thought it would help me. But," he burst out in frustration, "I'm not growing! I'm just sore! And when I'm sore, I can't fly! And when I can't fly, I can't strengthen my wings!" His fingers clenched around the wing he held, fingernails digging into feathers. "I don't think it's helping me at all. Nothing helps me. And these stupid Brawlers aren't exactly giving me tips!"

"I'm a stupid Brawler," I said, with a dab of asperity. "I can give you tips."

Pit buried his head in his arms.

"Look, kid," I began.

"Don't call me kid!" Pit's head flashed up, his teeth bared. "My name is Pit. My real name is Icarus. But call me Pit."

"Okay, okay," I said, startled by his ferocity. "Pit. Can I tell you something secret?"

He blinked. It was sort of cute when he did it, like a kitten tilting its head. "What?"

"I can't fly either."

He laughed for the first time, his laughter bouncing off the walls. He had a pleasant laugh, the kind you might hear on a children's show. "I sort of figured."

"My name is Link," I told him.

"Link," he said thoughtfully, examining me. Finally, he nodded as though I had earned his approval. "Nice to meet you, Link."

"Yeah, you too," I said. As he turned to leave, I added, "And, hey. Don't listen to the others. They don't know what they're talking about. Keep your chin up, okay?"

As Pit smiled, nodded, and continued out of the room, I thought privately that perhaps I should start taking my own advice.