Chapter Text
Thingamajigs can’t get hurt. Scratch that. Thingamajigs aren’t supposed to get hurt. They’re supposed to be quick, powerful, and even purposely lack the limbs for better mobility. So, when a Thingamajig does get hurt, what’s done about it?
Well, they get better.
The perks of being built with Lums are increased strength and regeneration. Since Lums build everything in the Glade of Dreams, why can’t they build themself? Thingamajigs were designed so they could last extended periods of time without needing to ‘heal’ themselves, or at the very least, serious healing. When they’re saving the Glade, they don’t have the ability to stop and recover. But sometimes, they get so injured that they need outside help to fix themselves.
A gasp of air was heard, then a slam. The snapping of wood and the soft smack of the grass followed soon after, then a shaky breath. If he hit the tree any harder, his limbs were sure to fly off. The pelting on the rain did little to ease his wounds. As he collapsed on the ground, and with the strength he had left, he glanced up. A red Lum hovered up into the air, ignoring the rain. He let out a chuckle, not from joy, but from shock as another sound in the rain caught his attention. The light bouncing of the grass was an immediate reminder that he hasn’t won yet.
In front of him was a Psychlops, grinning wildly at its fallen prey. Its singular eye looked up and down, seeming to examine the recent damages it just caused.
The person managed to get to his knees and clutch his chest as he looked down. Where his floating hands were covering shone a bright light. He moved his hands slightly to see the wound the Nightmare just punctured in him. There was a luminous hole right in the middle of his circle. He looked back up and shot a determined glare at the enemy, using the tree he crashed into as support to stand.
He wasn’t injured only on his torso. His knuckles and face also showed a bright light, but not as bright as the hole. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand to get some of the sweat off. He couldn’t bleed, but if he could he would be covered. Actually, if he had any of the organs Teensies and Glutes had, they would all be broken.
Another laugh escaped the Darktoon’s mouth, its wings flapping up and down. It found entertainment in his suffering. This mockery only fuelled the hero’s anger.
‘Why is this so hard? I’m Rayman. I do this all the time!’
He thought, scanning the creature for any weak points. Its spikes were up and baring, so punching wasn’t an option. Maybe he could distract it or–
SHING!
Another spike was thrown at Rayman, but luckily he rolled out of the way. He didn’t have the strength to get up, so he was now on all fours, scowling at his foe. His body shook from the pain, but also a twinge of humiliation.
‘This shouldn’t be so hard. What am I doing wrong?’
Yes, the man hasn’t been on any crazy adventures as of late, but a break shouldn’t make him this bad at fighting a Psychlops of all things… right?
The rain increased in severity, droplets of water poured down and snapped him out of his thoughts. It also made it harder to see the target, but it was affecting the other party as well. They stood in the rain for a second, waiting for the other to make a move.
‘Ok, I can’t hit his sides. Where can I aim without looking like a voodoo doll?’
He eyed the Nightmare up and down and noticed its massive eye. It was also having the same sight problems as him, but probably worse. It blinked the water out of its eye rapidly, moving back slightly in the process. The Thingamajig grinned to himself and stepped back as well.
The downpour only got more aggressive as time went on. The gray hues covered the once yellow-greens of the forest. The only thing giving off light in this view was the hero’s gaping wound in his stomach. He stumbled back, his footing constantly slipping on the wet grass. After a few more steps, he shot one last glare, his sopping hair providing minimal protection from the rain, and ran forward.
The Psychlops looked up and gasped to see a foot to the eye. The second the sole made contact it let out a cry of pain before collapsing in on itself and bursting. Rayman let out a shaky breath and looked up at the passing blue Lum, the light fading as the clouds got darker.
He let out a chuckle and looked at his hands. Their wounds, from what he could see, seemed to be getting better. His lower-half… well he may need some help fixing that.
‘No… I’m stronger than that. It’s just a scratch anyway. He’s the problem, not me.’
He felt another sting of pain from the wound, causing him to fall to his knees, or wherever his knees were. He gritted his teeth and stared at the light again. It only got brighter by the second. He was glad he couldn’t physically have blood, or else he would be dead on the ground.
His breathing turned from shakily to downright coughing. He hasn’t been injured this bad since… well, a while. How was this possible? It was just a Psychlops. Was it just a stronger one, or was he losing his touch?
As the main hero of the Glade of Dreams, the latter option couldn’t be true. What would everyone do if they found out that the Rayman couldn’t defeat a simple Psychlops. He felt the puncture again, resulting in him wincing from the contact.
Rayman was really glad that it was raining right now as tears swelled up in his eyes. Tears of pain, yes, but a little bit of guilt. He blinked rapidly as the rain roared around him. The wind picked up, only making him colder.
He clutched his wound, but it slowly turned into him just clutching himself. He let out one last sob before falling over. Even in the pouring rain, he was able to make out something. Through the drum of the water, faint voices could be heard. Someone… or some people, calling for help. Was it help? His brain was too exhausted to make a conclusion. The voices got louder as the hero’s eyes drifted shut as the storm took him over. His light grew brighter as he slowly lost consciousness.
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“Rayman..?”
“Rayman…”
“RAYMAN!”
The sudden noise jolted the Thingamajig awake, only for him to feel a sharp jab in his chest. He let out a hiss as two small hands held his back, gently lowering him back down on the bed.
“Woah, woah, Ray. Don’t move so much.” The voice instructed as something else readjusted some sort of wrapping on Rayman’s torso. Rayman let out an uneven grunt in response. His eyes were still closed as he steady his breathing. “You seemed to have had quite a battle. I’m surprised we even found you in all that rain.” It continued, rubbing his back.
Rayman breathed in and out before finally opening his eyes. He was on a bed wrapped in various blankets and leaves. Around him were two of his friends, Globox and Grand Minimus. They both seemed to be covered in mud, even Minimus’ cloak had stains. They also were both slightly damp, with Globox’s skin being shinier and the king holding a towel, drying his hands.
The Thingamajig blinked a couple of times and glanced down. Where he was stabbed was now wrapped neatly in some bandages. He looked at his hands to see them also bandaged. He touched his hands to his head but pulled away, flinching from the sudden pain.
Outside the window was the rain, not as hard as it was when he was fighting, but still pouring. The only thing he could mumble right now was, “W… what happened? How long was I out?”
“Not long after we found you, thankfully.” Globox explained, turning around to dig through a bag on a nearby table. He pulled out some ointment and tilted his head back, “You were in critical condition, buddy. I was worried sick!”
“I’ll be fine, Globo– ow!” He clutched his hand again, still sore.
Grand Minimus rolled his eyes and grabbed Rayman’s hand. “Fine?” He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is a massive hole in your chest ‘fine’? If you were any other species, Rayman, you’d be dead.” He scolded, letting go of his hand.
The Glute walked over, pouring some of the liquid in a wooden spoon. “I second that. What were you even fighting to take down… you?” He shoved the spoon in Rayman’s mouth. “Here drink this…” He mumbled quietly before continuing. “Or at least get him to this state?” His question felt more directed at Minimus than Rayman himself.
Rayman coughed before forcing himself to swallow. He was reminded again of that Nightmare, the one that managed to get several vital hits on him. On the 'Hero of the Glade'. He changed the topic swiftly, not ready to admit his near-defeat yet. “Ugh, Globox! What is that?”
“Betilla gave it to me after we found you. She said it was something involving red Lums?” He squinted at the label on the bottle, turning it slightly.
“Red Lums? Guys, you know I don’t use that stuff.” He exclaimed, wiping his mouth with his hand.
The Teensy quickly shut him up though. “Ah! Ah! Ah! I don’t want to hear it. I know you think you’re ‘too good for this stuff’, but you need it if you want to survive.”
“I told you two, I’ll be fine! I can handle myself.”
“If you can handle yourself, why did we find you passed out, in the rain, basically bleeding to death?” Minimus quipped back, his arms crossed. “I had to get my cloak dirty and my shoes muddy for you.”
“Guys, guys! Can we please not fight? At least not now?” Globox pleaded, pushing Minimus slightly away from Rayman. “We sort of have a kind of really injured friend now.”
The hero lightly pushed his friend’s hand away. “I told you, Globox, I’ll be okay.”
“Rayman, as much as I want to believe you, you just won’t heal without the help of Lums. Or at least, not as well or fast.” Globox’s eyes shined with concern and worry for his best friend. Grand Minimus, as stubborn as he is, also nodded at his statement.
Rayman hesitated, his head lowered down slightly. He knew his friends were right, but there was a part of him who hated using red Lums. He always told himself that he could heal himself, which he could. But even he knows his limits, and one of those limits is being impaled.
Minimus raised an eyebrow at his hesitation. “Don’t tell me you’re still worried about André–”
“I’m not worried about André! It’s just…” He took a deep breath as looked at the ointment his creator prescribed. “This stuff just feels cheap.”
“Now, now, Rayman. This ‘stuff’ is from the Fairy Council. It’s the last thing from cheap.” Globox put the medicine back in the bag. “You don’t know how much Minimus had to plead to skip the line.”
Rayman rolled his eyes. “Hah. I assume not much because it was ‘the Rayman’ in danger.” He referred to himself in a mocking tone.
The Teensy scoffed, his expression slowly growing more and more irritated. “You would think, but no one believed me. Me! The Grand Minimus who is best friends with Rayman! I had to wait thirty minutes in the pouring rain!”
Globox put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Minimus. We got the medicine and Betilla knows. Remember how she and the Council are putting in the time to research the sudden surge in Nightmare power?”
Rayman tilted his head, “What? They are?”
“Well, duh. If you got your ass whooped, who knows what’s running around the Glade now? Robots? Mr. Dark? It is the duty of the Fairy Council to protect the inhabitants when Rayman has failed.”
The word ‘failed’, and failure as a whole, was a concept uncommon for Rayman, and a word he hated hearing as a whole. He was built to be a hero. To beat the bad guys. He’s never failed. Heroes can’t fail.
He shot a glare towards the king. “Hey. I didn’t fail, Minimus. I beat the bad guy, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, half-alive! They could never even touch you before. What happened? Who happened? How could you bungle it so badly that you were on Voodoo Mama’s door?” The king wanted a reason. He wanted to know what was roaming around the Glade defeating Thingamajigs; defeating Rayman.
“I don’t know, Minimus, okay?” Rayman hissed back, his voice getting colder. “It happened and it won’t happen again.” He mumbled, gripping the covers of the bed. He blinked faster than normal, pushing away the tears.
The room went quiet, the only thing being heard was the unsteady breathing of the hero and the patter of rain on the window. Globox had a small frown on his face as he looked between his two friends. He placed a hand on the Teensy’s shoulder.
“Come on, GM, he should get some rest.” He offered.
Minimus sighed and turned away, clutching his shoulders. “I’ll see you in the morning, Rayman. Maybe you could handle yourself better with a goodnight’s sleep.” He said softly before leaving.
The Glute followed soon after, giving Rayman a look of pity before shutting off the lights and gently closing the door behind him.
Rayman was left alone in the dimly lit room, his breaths being overshadowed by the downpour. He looked back down at his, now patched, chest and winced. He won’t let it happen again. He’ll prove he can handle himself.
He’ll prove that he’s the hero.