The Smurf That Depends On Everyone

It was the day after the funeral. Does it technically count as a funeral if there's no body? Or wouldn't that be called a "memorial" instead? Or was that just overthinking a typically human custom and terminology that couldn't neatly be applied to smurfs in the first place? Not that it really mattered, Poet supposed.

He'd been here before, hadn't he? Mourning the loss of Papa Smurf? He'd had experience with this before, back when all those smurfs had gotten lost in time. But back then, it had been different. It had all been up in the air as no one had been sure of what had become of the smurfs, if or when they'd be coming back. It had been painful, but the notion that they were really gone was also somewhat of a gradual one that crept in over time, constantly being fought off as they'd all attempted to retain hope. It was dished out in portions for him to come to terms with. It had still been difficult, so very difficult. But it had also been very different to what he was experiencing right now.

He still couldn't have been emotionally prepared for this. This was sudden. It was swift and it was devastating, completely bowling him over, rendering him numb at first, where it felt like everything around him was strangely muted.

This was permanent. There was no chance of Papa ever coming back.

Some smurfs were gathered about idly. Baby Smurf was playing in his sandbox nearby.

"What are we going to do?"

"With Papa gone, how will we…?"

"We'll be fine," Farmer spoke up. "We managed to get by without Papa Smurf before. We can do it again. We already did it for six long years and then some."

Farmer was, of course, referring to everyone who had been left behind to deal with the fallout when seventeen of them had been snatched away by time travel. But some of the smurfs, such as Smurfette, Handy, Jokey and Lazy, who'd been among those seventeen and were present in the small group that had gathered, all glanced between themselves uncertainly at Farmer's words. Maybe most of the village already had experience with not having Papa around and in charge, but they didn't. This was entirely new territory for them, the notion of this sort of loss entirely fresh, and when they weren't dealing with their grief, they had no idea what to think or how to feel about it.

"No… No!" Dreamy exclaimed suddenly in a tone of defiance. "I won't! Not again. We can't do that again! Not like that. I refuse! It needs to be different – different this time. Or else I - I'll leave!"

"L-Leave?!"

"Leave the village, huh…?" Grandpa murmured to himself.

"I mean it. I'll go and I won't come back if I need to," Dreamy warned, still sounding rather frantic.

"Wait, whoa, whoa, hold on, no need to be rash," Handy cautioned, looking alarmed at the outburst. "We don't… I mean, I'm sure we can all talk things through, no need to do anything drastic."

Dabbler gave a brief hum. "So what would that involve exactly, doing things "differently"?"

"I don't know. But I'll tell you this: this village can't be trusted to keep itself running," was Dreamy's firm reply.

Dabbler frowned. "What are you saying?"

"Uh…" Jokey fiddled with his hands. "So ya mean like, are you talking about… someone being in charge…?"

There was a silence.

"Well," began Farmer, "I would think not. And now is not the time to smurf such things, so I'd appreciate anysmurf to refrain from such outlandishness, as nothing would come of it so it might as well be put to rest. Besides, it's not like there's any smurf among us who can-"

"Oh, what about Scaredy?" Nosey spoke up, promptly grabbing and pulling the smurf in question who was walking past nearby into the discussion group. Scaredy, for his part, appeared to try and shrink away.

Smurfette, Handy, Jokey and Lazy all promptly burst out laughing. Even Grandpa was smiling to himself.

"Scaredy? Scaredy Smurf?!" Smurfette wheezed, practically doubled over with laughter.

"Oh, gee Nosey, that's a good one! Cheered me right up!" Handy added, wiping away a tear of mirth from one eye. Nosey only stared back blankly.

At first, Scaredy had looked deeply alarmed by Nosey's initial suggestion. But as the laughter went on, his expression changed into one of distinct annoyance and he crossed his arms with an air of indignation. He considered making some kind of remark, but seeing as Farmer was present, he ultimately decided against it.

The laughter finally died down. None of the other smurfs seemed to have found the suggestion remotely funny.

"Smurf-a-rooney, I'm sure you- we can all smurf through this together, no matter what, or how. We're all going through a lot, and we have a lot on our plates. But there's no need to panic or be impulsive. We simply need to work together to do what's best for the village," said Grandpa, before adding on: "And any discussion on what's best for the village should be had among everyone, giving all an equal voice, not just a couple of us who happen to be standing around."

"Yeah…" Smurfette sighed in agreement, and then turned to look over at Baby, who was still happily playing among the sand. The other smurfs all followed her gaze. "You know," she continued thoughtfully, "I guess we always figured that Baby was destined for leadership - to lead a village of his own someday. If we did need a leader, he'd probably be the one smurf who could do it. But he can't, of course. He's too young, and if he were to be a leader, it would be for a future generation. Not us. We never thought we'd be in this position. But we still need to help take care of him, because he relies on us. That's why we have to work together. We have to help ourselves to be able to help him." She turned back to face the others. "But don't you find it a little ironic? The perfect leader, someone possibly destined for the role, could be sitting right there in front of us, except too young to understand a thing."

Poet moved a little closer to where Baby was, letting Smurfette's words hang in the air. Baby looked up at him at his approach, and then over at the others, finally noticing and acknowledging their presence. He smiled a lovely smile, all the picture of perfect youthful innocence. A handful of sand was casually tossed into the air in welcome.

"I like sand!" was seemingly the only thing he had to say to them at that moment, his singular humble offering to contribute to conversation. It was a cheerful declaration, bound up in all its simplicity and spoken with a reassuring conviction.