Silence

A/N: Companion piece to Tools and Exodus. I recommend at least reading Exodus before continuing. Both of the aforementioned are quite short, but are actually not needed to understand the story.

Enjoy. Constructive criticism and other thoughts are greatly appreciated.

For the first time, the Smash Mansion stands silent.

No longer does laughter ring in the halls. No longer does the sweet music of the tournament matches fill the air. The swords, the plates, the wind, everything has been quieted.

Silenced.

We are still here, though. The Carpenters. The ones who were invited to help create this world. We are still here in this empty mansion once called the Home of the Smashers.

Where have they gone? What are they doing now? Will they ever come back?

So many questions are asked, but Master Hand answers none. Many of us approach him with these and many others, and all he does it turn away. He shuts himself in his office, and makes not a sound.

He silences himself from us.

The Exodus of the Smashers is supposed to speak to us. But many of us do not, can not, heed their message. Many of us sit and wait, seeking their glorious return, waiting to help shape their world once again.

They believe we are monsters. They resent the way our powers can shape their world. But we are not here to change anything. We are here to help, to improve. To better this world.

We send them partners most suitable for them so they will not be lonely. We bring back old enemies so they would not err in their skill. We sometimes place them under less than satisfactory positions to help entertain others like us, to inspire others to come shape their world.

And they reward us with silence.

They claim that we tear them apart until they are nothing like what they once were. We alone know that our reshaping of them is an improvement. We alone know the reason why cowardice becomes bravery and weakness become strength. When a group of Smashers rises, many others must fall to make it happen.

We reward the Smashers with loves they will never have dreamed to discover. With great powers beyond their imagination. With bonds that will transcend time and space itself.

And they only give this silence as thanks.

My footsteps echo in the halls. In these dark, foreboding halls. In the silence of the mansion, they seem like the beating of a war drum. The sweet beat of two hearts that will never meet.

With every step, the memories of what has come to past returns to me. I remember the Smashers standing in a line to welcome me and my fellow Carpenters into their home. I remember the laughs shared and the battles to be had as great power was shared between us and them. I remember how we promised to change the world, together as a team.

I remember the changes.

Slowly, the Smashers began to stray from us, as we slowly began making bigger and bigger changes. That Smasher needed a change in personality. Those Smashers would look excellent with each other. That Smasher would go perfectly with the life I have just created. Some of these Smashers must be taught lessons, so why not torture them to everyone else's amusement? Tabuu needs to return. This person and that person ought to be in the tournament, so why not invite them in?

Our changes came rapidly and brutally, but they were good. The Smashers might complain now, but in the end, they will see the light. We are here to benefit them, to help them. To carry out our passions with them.

At the end of the hallway, I stop. I stop and stare at one particular painting. This painting is mine, mine and a Smasher's. We painted this together, the Smasher and I.

It stands now as the guardian of a secret passage from the mansion to another place far away.

"I'm here," I whisper. My voice echoes eerily in the silence of the halls. "I want to talk…"

The painting seems to glow in the dim light of the moon. I hesitate, half hoping that any second, it will open and I will be reunited with the Smashers once again. For a moment, the painting remains still. Then, there comes the inexplicable creek of hinges and the secret door installed there so long ago is opened once again.

Perhaps for the last time.

The Smasher that comes out is the only one that I wish to see. The one who painted the picture with me. My old friend gives me a brief smile, but it is tight, almost a grimace.

"I-I…" I stammer, unable to find the words.

The Smasher holds up a hand. "Say nothing… but know that I only came here to say goodbye…"

I open my mouth to protest, but not a word comes out. Nothing is to be said. I know that my Smasher friend is unwavering in their decisions. This will be the last time I see them.

"I just want to know," I whisper, grasping my friend's hand, never wanting to let go. "… Why…?"

"It has become too much for us," the Smasher answers, looking away from me as the words are spoken. "What you… what you and your kind has done to us… we cannot go on any longer. We must leave, do you understand? We must leave and never come back."

"We only wished to help you," I protest. "We thought we were doing good…"

"There is only so much good you can do," the Smasher responds. "And always, your actions will have great consequence…" my friend looks at me and continues. "You send us love when we do not wish it or we already have it. You change our world when we are already fine with what we have. You send more to join our numbers when 40 is already plenty enough as it is. You torture us, brainwash us, rip us apart, demean us, and change us for the worst."

My voice breaks as I speak. "Please… I'm sorry… we all are… please, just come back…"

My friend shakes their head. "No. It's already too late. You should have apologized to us from the minute you changed this world- our home- for the worst. From this moment forth… Smashville is no longer our home."

Without another word, my friend removes their hand from my grasp and steps into the doorway. I let out a single cry- abnormally loud in the halls- and run forward to follow the Smasher. But the moment my fingertips touch the painting and remove it from the wall, I realize that there is no following them. The secret door, the door behind the painting that we painted together, is no more.

I stand here alone, mourning this loss in silence.