Dedicated to FanFiciton author FreakingCrazy: not only for her incredible Smurf drabbles, but also for her generosity in letting me try my hand at expanding some of them. I hope I did you justice.
This took far too long to get up. Sorry, Crazy.
I own nothing. Any grammatical errors are my fault.
219: Backup
Handy never told anyone, because he figured they would freak out and overreact, but he always had a few wooden limbs and fingers made and stored away. They were made to look real, in case he lost anything if an invention went haywire. Hefty, however, did find out and was struck by the sudden realization that Handy did some of the most dangerous work in the village.
They'd been best friends for decades, centuries even. Hefty knew Handy could be eccentric, outlandish, imaginative to the point of insanity, all contributing factors to the constant cluttered state of his mind and his workshop, but nothing in his long, long life prepared Hefty for the utter carnage lain out before him.
Even before he entered Handy's house, there was the underlying feeling of wrongness. It was near midday, a time when the workshop should have been bustling with the noise of hundreds of machine parts banging against one another in a mad technological cacophony. Even if Handy wasn't perfecting an existing invention, there was always some type of noise spilling through the open windows and oozing across the dirt pathways like oil; a hammer at work or a squeaky floorboard or even light-hearted humming as the mechanic went about his business. Today, there was nothing except the mull of Hefty's many other siblings, talking and laughing and utterly unaware of the fact that this was not right.
As he stepped through the threshold, however, his suspicions were confirmed. The door barely opened, unusual for Handy. Everything in his house that could be oiled was oiled, everything that needed to be fixed repaired. No door was stuck or rusting while Handy was on the case. Even so, it took Hefty nearly four tries to shove into the abandoned hurricane that was Handy's workshop. As his eyes adjusted to the dusty light, his chest tightened.
It didn't take Brainy to figure out something had gone horribly wrong with an invention. A mess of splintered wood and gears stood in the middle of the room, standing higher than Hefty's head and smoking slightly. A blast burn scorched the floors and walls, indicating some type of explosion. Any furniture or parts Handy had left laying around rested in unnatural positions in even more unnatural locations, this being the cause of the struggle to open the door. Hefty came in fully and closed the door with nary a sound. For some unexplainable reason, he was reluctant to examine the scene. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he was afraid of what he might find.
Yes, Hefty Smurf was afraid.
But in this scenario, who wouldn't be?
He trudged through the wreckage, around the base of the smouldering machine. With every step, his heart seized up, wondering if he was going to see a limp blue hand around the bend, ora twisted and mangled foot. He knew all too well what that would look like. As he completed a circuit around the invention, he relaxed slightly. No body. But then where was Handy?
Abandoning the main level, Hefty started up the stairs to where Handy's living quarters were located. HIs steps were quick and light on the wooden stairs, worry fuelling his motions as he climbed. A thousand scenarios raced through his mind. What if Handy wasn't upstairs? What if Hefty had missed his friend in his initial inspection of the workshop, laying bruised and broken under a pile of debris? What if...
No, Hefty attempted to shake the thought from his head. Handy wasn't stupid. Handy always took precautions, even when he was neck-deep in an idea. If there was a chance something could have gone seriously wrong, Handy would have been prepared for the occurrence.
All his internal reassurance did nothing at all to quell the squirming monster inside Hefty's gut.
As Hefty rose into the cap of the mushroom, the tension in his chest relaxed slightly. There was a spot of blue and white in the bed, the fluffy comforter rising and falling gently. Handy was turned away from the stairwell, blanket slightly askew from night movement.
Hefty smiled fondly at his friend, coming around the other side of the bed. At least this time Handy made it upstairs. Normally the inventor just passed out leaning against his latest creation. The burly Smurf made a move to readjust the blankets, but paused when something red popped out against the blue and white. Upon identifying the source, his heart clenched again.
Handy's right hand was bound tightly in bandages, soaked through at one point with blood. It must have been caught in the brunt of the mess-up downstairs. With care no one would have assumed he had given his name, Hefty unwrapped Handy's hand. Along the back was a diagonal slash from the base of the thumb to the third finger's knuckle. Deep enough to ooze, but not so much that it required a visit to Papa.
The dressing would need to be changed. The blood-soaked wrap would be of little use now. Where did Handy normally keep his health supplies?
Ah, yes. The closet.
Like the rest of his mushroom, Handy's closet was unkempt and cluttered. There was a whole manner of treasures in the tiny space; discarded inventions and blueprints for creations not yet come to light. Now where was the health kit under all this junk?
Hefty supposed this was what Marco Smurf always felt like on his adventures, exploring the unknown. The depths of Handy's closet resembled the thick jungles of which the sailor Smurf often spoke. Wading through the great Soiled Clothes Bog and easing over the Hill of Broken Pencils, Hefty finally stumbled upon his elusive prize: The Magic Bandage of Healing.
It was also stuck.
Not wanting to rip the roll, Hefty reached around to pull at the snagged end, but it disappeared into the wall. Searching near-blindly, Hefty's fingers found a crack in the wall, like there was another compartment to the closet. Using the strength for which he was named, Hefty heaved on the crack. It swung open obediently.
Hefty had to stifle a scream.
An arm. A leg! Fingers rolling everywhere! All belonging to Smurfs!
Suppressing the urge to turn and run (he was the brave one, for Smurf's sake!), Hefty leaned down. Gathering every speck of courage and will residing in his body, he poked one of the limbs. His eyebrows furrowed, and he poked it again.
It was wood! All the limbs in the closet were wooden, painted (very realistically) to look like Smurf limbs!
Numb, Hefty cast his gaze back to his sleeping friend. Handy slept on, blissfully unaware of Hefty's near panic attack. Back and forth Hefty's gaze travelled, from Handy to the gruesome discovery and back again.
Handy... Handy had made these.
This fact hitting Hefty harder than a punch ever could, he was thrown into a horrifying realization.
Handy, the first Smurf to fiddle with technology or a new material, could quite possibly have the most dangerous job in the village. And he knew this. And he did it anyway. Of course he was careful, but he was also a little absentminded. He could be as cautious as he wanted, but accidents happened, especially when experimenting. Sure, while Handy was prepared to lose a finger, or an entire arm, Hefty was sure his friend didn't have a spare head laying around. Handy endangered himself every day, and often it was in the process of bettering the Smurf Village.
For a moment, Hefty stood dumbly, staring at his discovery. Only when the now-forgotten bandage roll slipped from his limp fingers did the burly Smurf snap back to himself. He returned to Handy's bedside, looking at the sleeping Smurf with no less fondness but also with a newfound respect, perhaps even awe. Timidly, as if he might damage it even more, he wrapped the cut hand with the new bandage and rearranged the blankets. Handy murmured in his sleep, snuggling down into the bedding.
Handy didn't want people to know. He did what he did, inventing and experimenting, not only to improve the lives of others, but also because he loved what he did. If anyone else, Papa Smurf especially, were made aware of the level of danger in which Handy put himself regularly...
Hefty stared into the closet. Should he tell...?
The question was answered before he asked it. No, of course not. And risk Handy's passion being taken from him? Handy was smart, he knew the risks. If he didn't want Hefty to know, he sure as Smurf wouldn't want anyone else to know.
Quietly as he could, Hefty loaded the false limbs into the compartment and shut the door. He headed towards the staircase, his work done, and glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping brother.
Handy snored softly once, and Hefty couldn't help his soft smile. Keep your secrets, Handy. But now I know. And I'm going to make sure you never need to use those replacements. I'm going to keep you safe, even if it kills me.
He vanished down the stairs as silently as he'd come.
END