AN: Revel in my complete fic~ And the crappiness of it all~ And... I fail at cliffhangers (I'm sorry.) And, I hope I kept everything correct via my own memory and wikipedia... *sighs* Ah, for SuperSmashGirlBB's bittersweet contest.

Pairing: Dark Link/Link

Breathless, but satisfied, Dark left the room with what he managed to obtain. Even though it wasn't close to what he wished for, he had to admit that it was a good haul. He also had to admit that what he was witnessing was something he wished he could forget (but he couldn't, if he wanted to protect Link.)

"How do they manage to not fly after shooting someone," Dark muttered. He was talking about the recoil that happened whenever one sent a bullet flying—he found out the gun had one the hard way. It still hurt—he was flung into the wall—but he was still alive, thankfully.

He arrived to the abandoned house within a short amount of time, and was pleasantly surprised to find Link tidying up the place (it would be much easier finding things—like weapons—now that their housing facility didn't look like a pigsty.)

The door (originally painted white—the paint was now chipped) closed softly behind him. He had to admire the blonde's skill in cleaning this "house"—it was more like a room. In the center of the room, two sleeping bags were laid (one black, the other green) where he and Link slept. In left corner closest to the door (if one had his back to the door), there was a gas stove with some tableware piled up neatly next to said stove. In the right corner closest to the door, there was a potted plant (sunflower) that looked as if it was going to die at any second.

The far right corner hosted a mess of whatever the hell was there—Dark wasn't certain, as both he and Link kept tossing random crap there whenever they felt like it. The blonde was in the far left corner, dusting off the books Dark managed to obtain through various means. The rest of the house was spotless, as they liked the mobility—corners weren't too important to them both. 'They really should've invented a window when they built this house,' Dark thought as he thought of the lack of light in the house (except that small window-like hole in the door and the few lamps they managed to get working.)

"Dark, did you get what we needed?" Link didn't even look up as he kept cleaning that corner of the room (probably because he couldn't stand to see Dark injured as he almost always was—this happened to be one of those fortunate times.)

"Of course," Dark replied, chuckling. "I also managed to find a gun, if you can believe it. It's a pain in the ass to use, but it helps me whenever I need it."

Link finally looked up, and seemed quite relieved that his best friend hadn't been murdered (or injured). Then he noticed the handgun in his friend's hand, and glared at him disapprovingly. "I thought I told you not to murder people unless it's in self-defense. A gun is not a good weapon for only injuring people—"

Dark opened his mouth to argue, but Link continued on without letting him defend himself.

"—and I'm almost certain you had to murder someone for that weapon."

"Just saying—a gun is a wonderful weapon. I can shoot someone in the leg or arm, and they won't die… immediately." Dark replied with a smug grin.

"And if you happened to miss said arm or leg, you'd be dead, or they'd be dead," Link retorted without missing a beat. In all honesty, Dark was curious as to how he knew so much about guns without seeing one (until a few minutes ago.)

"Fine. I'll go work on my aim," Dark grumbled under his breath, ignoring the chuckling blonde—he was almost certain that Link was going to say something against that.

"Dark, you have limited bullets. I highly doubt you can really practice shooting without running out of bullets," Link said, still chuckling. "If you managed to acquire a lot, however, I'm sure you could practice somewhere."

"I'll be sure to look out for… ammunition, I think I heard that general call it, the next time I'm stealing items we need to survive!" Dark snapped, exiting.

When his friend had left, Link allowed himself to fall to the ground, hugging his knees as he whispered, "That temper of yours is going to get you killed one day, Dark. And I can't bear the thought of you not living with me."

Dark, on the other hand, was trying hard not to punch something, anything, as he walked towards a familiar house. He needed someone to visit, and why not visit someone that was very familiar to him?

With a soft sigh, he knocked (he was slapped when he broke in that one time, and he didn't need to repeat that experience) and waited for someone to answer the door. While he waited, he admired the house—it was grand, extravagant, and he was envious of it.

To see the beautiful wood door that was masterfully crafted, to see how much space the house had, and to see the amount of work put into it made him even more angry (how he managed to see the people work on it—let's just say he was in the right place at the right times.)

It didn't take long for someone to come out (and that was good as he wasn't really patient right now but then again, he was never patient.) Silently following them, he made his way through his house. While the outside looked appealing, the interior decorations were a letdown… and that was a huge understatement.

To be honest, the place lacked any decorations. It was bare, it was cold, and it looked as if no one had ever lived here (but he knew better, as he had the pleasure of meeting with the owner of the house.) Closing his eyes, he sighed and knocked, knowing that would be much easier to deal with him sooner than later.

When the door opened, he looked up, and then promptly ran. It wasn't rational, he knew, but he couldn't deal with this right now—he needed out. Making a sharp turn, he found himself on the ground, staring up at someone he never expected to be here.

"M-Marth?!" He didn't know why a political figure of Germany would be here, in a rebel's housing, but he needed the answers, needed to know if they would find him and Link (needed to know if he and Link needed to run from this place they called home.)

He waited for the hurtful words, waited for some type of accusation. Instead, he was patted on the head, and given some type of food in shiny wrappings. He opened it, and put it in his mouth. It was sweet he had to admit, much more sweet than he was used to. Within minutes, he found himself addicted, found himself craving more.

At that instant, he was sure that Marth had planned this all out.