.Toy Legacy.

SUMMARY: 'He is a family toy.' Indeed he was. Woody carries his own legacy in form of the memories, attachment to the hat and empty gun holder.

WARNINGS: Bad English ( in my honest opinion), a lot of mistakes and time confusion (I still slip when I use English past tenses). Beware OC and OOC (because character built up can't go without it), a lot of badly written angst too (and for a kid's movie… I can't help myself) muuuuuuuuurderrrrrrrs -(because toys die and killed here, nothing explicit, but mentioned), Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaany mistakes (just wanted to make it clear).

A/N: I have many thoughts regarding this particular fandom and every time I watch movies I always check my few fluffy toys that I still keep (sometimes I cry and want to apologize over and over again). But somehow fanfics were what made me think more deeply about the whole idea of toys being alive (. Many authors here already explored the concept of toy's past and I read many good fics regarding the angst toys feel when they are no longer needed. But one of the few ideas that struck me deep was Woody's past. The idea was developed from my theory about Woody's attachment to his hat and the empty gun holster (and I know that in second movie it was mentioned something about the gun holster being empty was the original condition of the toy… or something) and him being a 'family toy'. I couldn't help but to try to develop it into a one-shot to share with people. Even if it is badly written. So bear with me and thank you anybody who decided that this is worth your time! ;D

A/N 2 (8/03/13): Well, I started to write this fic in January and it took me almost two months to finish it. I'm not satisfied. But alas I was too lazy and then busy to finish it, but it looks like I finally did. ;D Also I really think that ending sucks. I couldn't find the right words to finish it, so decided to go with this one.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Toy Story and its characters, but a few fellas here you don't know are all mine (MIIIINNNEEEEEEEEEE I SAID).

So, shall we?

His first memories are hazy and vague from the time that passed and a heart ache that long time ago succumb him into a temporary depression and –dare he to admit it- insanity. The memories are hazy, yes, but emotions he will never forget. Because what can be compared to that feeling of warmth encircling your body with wonder and eagerness for the first time? Or that excited and careful squeeze of big (little) hands? Or the first time when somebody calls him ("Woody…") in a gentle, yet awed and thrilled whisper? Or when he was given himself?

Andrew Davis was something he will never be able to describe with words. Only feelings, raw and powerful, swell in his not-real chest and non-existing heart at the memory of his first owner, his boy, his friend, his Andrew.

He was the present on the boy's eights birthday, given him by the boy's uncle, bought somewhere far away. He didn't remember the man who bought him and (as he said earlier) the memory of that day wasn't very clear either. Only feeling of sheer happiness for being held and played with for the first time imprinted clear in his memory, and that soft feeling when he was loosely grasped in the hands of the sleeping boy.

The other thing he remembers clearly (and still recall with laugh) the moment when he was whisked from the warm hands and grasped in a tight hug by something stuffed and fluffy and the booming laughter that greeted him when he was shoved into the closet.

It was the first time he met Bucky.

He was a toy (what was pretty much obvious), a big, stuffed and quit ragged tiger to be more accurate (perfect for hugs and rids for little kids, though more often than not he was the one to ride him, alongside with Andrew).He was the 'Alfa' in the pack of Andrew's toys. The pack wasn't very big, due to the fact that Davis family didn't have that much money to spend them all on toys for their youngest son and most of them were toys from his two eldest brother (he remembers them too: the first one was already working and the second son was in school, when he was given). There were only eight of them, and all hurried to greet him as well, as soon as Bucky freed him from his fluffy grasp.

(From them he learned that The New Toy should be greeted with open arms and smiles. Bucky told him many times, they should never fight for the attention –the Alfa status, he said, because it's not their choice- but remember that they are greeting a new member into their extending family. A new friend to be played with and to be loved.)

His new friends easily accepted him and made him feel at home instantly. He learned that he was actually Andrew's first very own toy. Almost all of them were his elder brothers and Bucky was his mother's toy, since her childhood. He, on the other hand, was the first toy that Andrew could call rightfully his own.

(He remember he asked Bucky later, if all of them were angry at him because of that. The tiger only laughed and roared in response "Why should we be, dear sheriff? Our boy is happy. You are a great playmate and I can't deny the fact that your talky thingie is quite amusing!")

Maybe because he was Andrew's first own toy was the reason why he became one of his most favorite (though Andrew cared deeply about each of the toys he owned. There weren't a lot of them after all). And started the glorious time, full of laughter and games and love, and Woody wondered if he wasn't real –really real- so how could he feel? How he could be so happy? How he could love, so endlessly, so pure and so loyal?

(He often wondered if this was how Bucky and others felt for their children they had, but he selfishly doubted it. Because Andrew was his. And what they had, was special.)

Maybe he was made from wood and woolen. From paint and plastic. Maybe he wasn't really real. He was an image. A thing. A toy. An IT.

But Andrew made him Woody. He gave him himself, as soon as he touched, held and played with him. He became what he is - the courageous sheriff, with sharp tongue and western charm, who fights bad guys and rides the feral tiger named Bucky, and saved maidens in distress and never failed and was always ready to help. Loyal, devoted and good (the best) cowboy on the all West. The only and ever true cowboy, Woody Pride.

(And the best friend.)

He was Andrew's toy and Andrew was his boy. And call him young and stupid and naïve, but in that time he believed (hoped, preyed) that all the time in the universe was theirs and nothing will be able to separate such friendship.

He really believed. Until The Growing Up.

It started with small things; new interests, new people- friends- less play time. All the signs were plain and obvious, but Woody didn't (want) notice them at first. He stubbornly ignored them, feeding himself illusions that everything was okay and that he was still Andrew's toy and Andrew was still his. Oh, how he fought the reality, grasping to the last bits of fantasy that the boy –hishishisboy- build for them in his mind, convincing himself that it was just temporary and soon Andrew will return to him with a big smile and gentle hands and they will be off in their own little world-

(He remembers how Bucky looked at him when Andrew left without him for the first time. Now he understands.)

Time passed and everything around him started to crumble and cruel reality left him helpless and scared as he faced what every toy in their not-real lives faced. The fear that crept in his not-heart burned stronger and desperately as he watched how one by one his friends –family- disappeared - broken, lost, given, abounded, thrown out- until only he and Bucky were left, alone in the clumpered corner of the closet.

Like baby clothes and old things and broken mechanics, unneeded, forgotten and useless for their owner.

And Woody cried, even if he couldn't really do that, and Bucky soothed him with calm words and never ending hugs ("This is how it should be") and trying to make him see the truth ("He grew up, we served our purpose. He loved and we loved him back") but Woody didn't want to see, hear, believe ("Stop it! It's Andrew! He will remember, he will come back-!") in the hurting, burning truth that left him screaming and raging, curling into himself or into Bucky's dust-smelling fur – hiding from the reality- desperately wishing to be held, played and loved.

He didn't remember how long they spend in that closet, he in his misery with Bucky as his last anchor curling protectively around him in the most secured part of the closet, hidden from view by the boxes. Every time the door will open, he will lay still, clutching Bucky's fur in anticipation and fear ("It's Andrew AndrewAndrewAndrew-"), because if they are found… it meant he will see Andrew, but… after that there is only one way.

How hard it was to remain still when one day the hand touched him after so many-many years and brought him out on the light. Probably only harder was not to cry at the sight of his-his-his Andrew, bigger, older, but still his Andrew, looking at him with kind of a surprised look in his lovely un-changed eyes.

("Woody?...")

Oh, what he would've given for a chance to break the Rule – to move towards his boy and grasp him, never letting go and asking, pleading, begging to love him again. But, no, he couldn't. And no matter how hard it was, how hard agony broke his not-heart threatening to burst in an agonizing wail of despair through his non-existing vocal cords - he was still. Deathly still as his boy –Andrew- smiled at him with a wistful and sad and a little longing look too. And for a moment there were only two of them, in the whole universe and Woody felt like himself again when fingers skimmed across his plastic hair, as if brushing it back, affectionately and loving. He nearly broke when Andrew smiled his –sososopainfully- familiar grin and reached to the floor to get something.

(There was a wistful smile on his lips as he whispered to him "What a cowboy without his hat, huh, Woody?" sliding something gently on his head.)

For a second his vision was obscured by his own hat and Woody felt as Andrew carefully cradled him in his hands, giving the squeeze (and Woody fought hard to not to hug back and cling to him like a lifeline) before gentle hands tucked his limbs and Woody managed to catch a glimpse of Andrew's face, before-

He was in the box.

He was in the box. And Andrew was disappearing –leavingleavingleaving!-over the edge of the cardboard wall ("Hey Mom, look who I found!") with Bucky clutched in his hands, and Woody looked as his friend, his owner, his boy, his Andrew… left him. Alone. In the box.

The shatter of his not-real-heart was very real in the darkness of the attic.

The memories can become a cruel and twisted version of comfort, painfully wrenching the aching gap in your soul and slipping poison in your mind, making you delusional, lost to the world around you. They can immerse you into the deepest part of something dark and dangerous, efficiently erasing what you once were to replace you with something else.

He nearly lost himself in his own memories. Replaying, reliving them again and again, often searching for answers in hopes to figure out why- whywhywhy?- his Andrew didn't want him, didn't need him and why he left him alone- alonedarkcolduneededunloved- and maybe he will find a solution, an answer that will allow him to return his boy, to be with him again.

Or sometimes they left him raging at the unfairness, at the betrayal and lies he was fed for all his short life. Or at humans- childrenkidsgirlsboysAndrew- who hurt them with their love, their fantasies and fake gentleness and then hurt them more by casting them aside and forgetting like that was nothing. He screamed his pain and rage with curses at the unfairness, at life and Andrew, reducing himself into incoherent mass of misery and wailing at the Creator for such cruelty.

Woody doesn't like remembering his time in that kind of dark; as it consist from nothing other than grief, pain and insanity and a good amount of self-misery. He was not proud with neither his behavior nor his mood swings in those days- months, years- and he preferred to forget, but he never succeeds in this. And sometimes dark and whispers still haunt him in his sleeps, creeping into his woolen chest, reducing him into a trembling mass of fear, because he didn't want to return to that, he didn't want to fall into that again.

(He didn't want to be left again.)

Woody knew that in that time he had all rights to be bitter- furious- about it, about the betrayal, about the lies about the eternal friendship, about Andrew, but always, as soon as he felt those suffocating blinding rage rose in his woolen stuffed chest… it disappeared in a puff of hurt, of pain, of sadness, and worse of it – longing.

Yes, in the past his anger towards Andrew for betraying and forgetting was more than justified, but never could he really hate him and not to want to be with him.

(He was his boy after all.)

And with that knowledge the dark keeps away from him, leaving only hurt and longing and love for his Andrew, and knowledge that despite everything nobody will ever take the special- the only- place in his not-heart that his boy occupies.

That's probably why he was so reluctant in loving David.

Woody never really forgave himself for his attitude, for his deranged feelings towards the b- David. Even after so many years the name awoke a dull feeling of guilt and regret in him. He still wondered if David ever noticed, ever knew that his favorite toy never loved him back as strong as his owner. Sometimes, he suspected, that the kid knew… and forgave him for that.

The first meeting with David was bittersweet in every sense. When the attic was lit up by the artificial light of the flashlight and his little sanctuary was disturbed by the pair of little hands and a pair of curious eyes, he didn't really know what to feel. The face he saw wasn't Andrew's (because he left him leftleftleft) but it possessed an echoing familiarity that made him pause and wonder… But he had no time to ponder because already his world was joisted around ("Mom! Mom! Look what I found!") and he found himself not in the attic, but in the living room, cradled in the little hands and facing a surprised woman.

("What is it sweetie?-"

"I found him in the old box with Dad's name on it!"

"Oh my… this was your father's favorite toy…")

This is how he found out that his Andrew… was gone.

He had gone numb. His feelings were in disarray and his mind refused to comprehend, completely frozen in stupor, not even noticing that the 5-year-old kid- David, Andrew's son- took him into his room ("Oh, I will clean you up Mister Cowboy and then we can play!"). He didn't know what to feel. Andrew left him before, but now… his Andrew was gone.

Not coming back.

("You will keep monsters under the bed on bay, right sheriff?")

Forever.

("I hope Mom and Dad will allow me to take you with me…")

Because he was dead.

("You are my best friend Woody!")

Dead.

("What a cowboy without his hat, huh, Woody?")

Gone and leaving only painful memories and a boy with a pair of similar eyes, who decided to make him his toy.

Woody suddenly felt disgusted with himself. His owner, his boy, his friend was dead and what had he done? Moped around, cursing the universe and blaming him for what was destined to happen to them? And even worse… he was taken by another boy. He was betraying his friend.

That's why he didn't allow himself to accept the kindness, the love and attention David directed on him. Because, it was wrong to be held by somebody else, who was not Andrew. It was wrong to be played with, when Andrew was not there. It was wrong to be happy again, when his Andrew was dead.

He didn't bother to hide his reluctance and unhappiness from other toys, what made him a lone wolf of David's pack. An aloof toy that never participate in gatherings and never spoke unless needed. Others, especially the current leader (Alfa) the brightly colored wooden Clown ("Swingy, my name is Swingy, welcome to the David's room!"), tried to get through him ("Come on Cowboy! Show us what you got!"), to get to know him ("I bet you have a good story to tell us?") and his reasons ("Don't be like that we are one family after all."), but he only walked away to bask in his self-disgust, hardly paying attention to their attempts, preferring solitude over the excited bunch of toys. Through the time they get the message, but never stopped their attempts.

If only he could have cleared the same message to the kid.

He tried to hide away from David, seeking refuge under the bed, shelves, behind the curtains, in the boxes, chests, whenever he could, but it seems that the kid had a six sense in finding him and he still wonders how David didn't get suspicious of his constant change of locations and disappearances. Woody knew that this kind of behavior was almost as bad as the breaking of The Rule, as he could expose himself and other toys, but he didn't care.

It was too much painful to be near…David.

Every time David held him, he couldn't stop comparing his hands to Andrew's. The way he played, the way he smiled, the way he laughed and looked at him- everything reminded him of Andrew. And it killed him. Slowly and surely his not-real heart broke even further every time he saw the kid- a cruel reminder of what he had and what he lost… and what he didn't want to have again.

(Without Andrew)

However, as if sensing his not-heart ache, David decided to never leave Woody alone. It was like those golden years with Andrew again (another jerk on his not-heart) when the boy never let him go for more than a few minutes, constantly holding into him, which drove Woody mad.

He was angry- furious- with the kid. How dare he swing him around as if he was his toy? As if he didn't belong to Andrew before? How dare this insolent kid think that Woody will betray his Andrew by putting his loyalty to the other? How dare he expect Woody to forget his owner- friend- so fast in the hands of the other? How dare he?

Nowadays Woody is ashamed of his thoughts at those times. He was so selfish, self-absorbed in his thoughts and regrets that he didn't even stop to consider everything from the kid's point of view. Though the pack- his pack- helped him to understand, to see what he was missing and remember what he forgot. They helped, but the cost of their help was too high.

(Woody wasn't sure at that time if he should be grateful or blame David for unintentionally saving him from the destiny his pack suffered.)

When David was 8- soon-to-be-nine- during their trip to his mother's cousins (with his trusted partner cowboy of course), their home was caught in a fire. Something about short circuit and the spark caught on the wind in the extremely dry weather (it was middle of the summer) helping the fire to spread quickly over the whole house, leaving on its wake only ash and bricks and little remainders of Davis' family's possessions.

And soot covered broken and melted remains of a bunch of toys, found in the part of the kitchen near the blockaded back door.

(Churned parts of Swingy were found clinging to the piece of burned wood chunk. Even in his last minutes the Alfa tried to save his fellow toys.)

Woody will forever remember that night they spend in the hotel room, with David sobbing quietly into the pillow, crushing Woody into his chest, murmuring half-asleep in his sadness.

("I'm s-sorry… If o-only I t-took all o-of y-you g-g-guys… I'm sorry, s-sorry… I'm h-happy you a-are… you are s-safe Woody… You a-are the o-only one l-left… only o-one…")

A realization brighter and heavier than any before dawned at him that night, leaving him guilty and pained. David loved him. Loved him with all his heart. He loved him as his toy, as his friend, as one and only tangible connection to his father he had. He loved him as strong, as only child could love. And how did Woody repay him? Blaming him and scorning him for loving? No more. That night he decided: even if he couldn't accept David as a replacement for Andrew (nevernevernever will he replace Andrew) he will try to love him, to be there for him like he was there for Andrew. He will open his heart to David, he will find another special place in his heart for the kid. And he will do anything to keep him happy.

(Because even if it was painful, David was his only connection to Andrew too.)

With a new house, came new toys and Woody as sole survivor and now protector of David's, took it upon himself to become the Alfa, Leader of the new pack. Bucky and Swingy taught him what a leader should be and he be damned if he did a bad job in it. Because, Andrew's legacy in form of David was left on his care, passed through Bucky's paws and Swingy's hands. It was his duty to watch out for the fellow toys, which with months passing filled David's new room. It was his duty to keep everybody up and functioning, happy and safe.

(Because he never wants to see them burned and broken. He never wants to see David cry again.)

The darkness forgotten when Woody found his place in his pack and a place in David's hands. With friends and family it was easier to overcome the dull pain in his not-heart and sometimes (when he lost himself in David's fantasies) he could say he was truly happy again.

(And he felt guilty for his behavior with Swingy. He wonders if he and Bucky were happy and proud of him.)

Maybe because he had found a purpose besides keeping David's childhood happy, it wasn't that painful when The Growing Up found him the second time.

Well, it was painful. To relive that horror for the second time was sometimes too much for him to handle. But he was the Alfa and he was responsible not only for himself, but for the others too, that time. He fought harder. Sneaking, planning; everything to keep his pack- family- as close as possible for as long as possible. Fighting for every toy which destiny lead them either onto the garage sale or trading, saving every toy which was broken and dysfunctional. He did anything to prolong their time with David and he knew he did a decent job, when almost most of his family was sealed in the box and was put in the attic. Him included.

To close that aching hole in his not-heart from loosing another child to the adulthood, he threw himself into keeping his family together. He hoped that once they were in attic they were safe, until David will come and decide their fate. However not everyone were happy with that predicament. Woody knew what they felt (he went through that, he knew) and tried his best to keep them together, to let the hope burn brighter, but in someone that hope diminished.

He could understand rebels who had left. Once when he was in the dark he wanted to leave too, but thought of leaving Andrew (even if he didn't want him anymore) was too horrible for him. He preferred to suffer in the dark, than to consciously leave Andrew. Though he tried to stop them, to make them see that they were David's toys and it was in David's hands to decide what to do with them.

(Bucky's words he never forgot occupying his mind in those times. "We served our purpose. He loved and we loved back. We are his toys, don't ever forget that Woody. We are his, even if he doesn't hold us anymore.")

They didn't listen. In hopes for better life, filled with love and games, they left and only handful of those who agreed with Woody stayed. The time together seemed short and more bearable, though not erasing all the pain, but Woody was thankful anyway. He did his hardest not to succumb to the dark thoughts, while trying to keep others hopeful at the same time. Sometimes someone will come into the attic and even rarer, someone will open their box, but Woody taught himself long ago not to hope that it will be David (It was less painful not to hope).

Imagine his surprise and shock, when once, while he was checking the attic for rats and insects who could damage his fellow toys, the door of attic opened, revealing taller, older David.

Woody had gone limp with shock and natural reflex to stay still in the presence of a human, landing with a silent thud and he nearly yelped when David turned in his direction. He lay there in fear and anticipation as David neared him ("Woody?.. What are you doing here?...") and took him in his hands, correcting the hat on top of his head. Woody stared up at him with his frozen grin, comparing the kid-David and older-David in front of his eyes, while silently asking himself; why David was here? And as if sensing his question, a sad and slightly nervous smile graced the no-more-kid's face ("Hey buddy…") and hands squeezed him with light tremble.

("I got a conscription.")

Was it possible for a being without heart to have a heart attack? Because Woody was sure he had had one after those quietly muttered words. David was leaving. Leaving to the front, to fight for his country. To risk his life for other people. Fear for the kid clouded his mind, through it, vaguely Woody heard David quietly talk; about how he lives, about his girlfriend to whom he wants propose to before he leaves, about how he was scared that he won't return.

(David smiled sadly with eyes glistening from stray tears. "You always knew how to make me better Woody, even if it was only one of your cheesy lines or simply being with me… Probably it's weird but you were- you are my idol Woody, I always wanted to be strong and brave like you, to face my problems like a true cowboy, like you… even if you are a toy." Woody felt fingers against his hip and saw David holding his little miniature plastic gun in his fingers. "I hope you don't mind I borrow a little of your strength?")

Woody's gun attached to the chain around his neck, David returned him in the box ("Thank you for listening buddy…"), where his eager friends swarmed him with questions about the kid, but he only numbly stared at the lid of the box, unconsciously clutching the empty gun holder.

(With the gun David took another part of his not-real heart, a restless worry and anxious fear left instead.)

Every time he looks back into his life, he wonders how he didn't get crazy with all that worries for David that plagued him in those times. But, probably, because of his family, who kept him occupied enough, he had no time to concentrate on disturbing thoughts and images his overworked mind produced. But nevertheless his fears were in vain, as David returned home in less than 3 years, safe and sound, changing Woody's life once more.

Their box was brought down by David's mother and with fear for his friends Woody had prayed they weren't going to be separated, but it wasn't in his powers to decide. Some of them were put into the black bag, someone in the box labeled 'Charity'. He was almost down there in that box, his fate in inches from being sealed, but David appeared (looking older, sturdy and with the eyes of the man) and had snatched him away from his mother.

("Mom! This is Woody! How could you think about giving him?!"

"Darling, this is quiet an old toy-"

"No, mom. We won't give him away." David glanced at Woody and bright smile appeared on his face as he fingered the little gun on his neck near the dog tags. "I know what to do with him.")

It was good to be in David's hands again, a relief greater than he could imagine, but his not-heart wept for his pack and he could only pray for the better future (or peaceful death) for them. He wanted to save them to take them with him with David, mentally begging for David to take them, but it was futile as David couldn't know neither about what he thought nor that he even could think.

Next few days in apprehensive excitement somewhere in David's things, traveling in a bag from place to place, Woody was waiting and he could admit that he never suspected what David had in store for him.

Definitely not a chubby little pink face and grabby hands.

Woody was entranced by a little human being, so tiny and vulnerable, someone who will become bigger only just in a few years. A baby. A child. David's son.

("Say 'Hi' to little Mistah' Andy, Woody, your new deputy! Andy, this is your grandpa's and dad's coolest friend - the sheriff from the West! Woody Pride!-")

Andrew's son's son. Little Andrew –Andy- who was named after his Andrew.

Woody thought that his chest would have burst from the feelings that attacked him, as he looked at baby Andy, who was struggling to reach out for him. He wondered if that was a blessing or a curse from the Creator for his suffering. To be with a child again, with the one who now carries legacy of is first and second owners? To be loved and left again by the only being he couldn't not to love back? How was he guilty before the Creator to be bestowed with such wonderful and cruel gift? Or was it a sign from his Andrew? That he should continue to love and care for his children's children and so on and so on? To carry on the legacy of his boy?

He will forever remember that moment when little Andy's fingers circled around his limbs in a good grip.

(And the moment after, when little devil stuffed Woody's head into his toothless mouth.)

That moment decided that he was no longer David's, but Andy's, and a scrawny writing on his feet that appeared a few years later was the best confirmation of it.

He became Andy's toy that keeps him happy through times of boredom. He became Andy's protector that keeps him safe through nightmares. He became Andy's friend that keep him company and listen to his problems. He became the Alfa of Andy's pack, a new family, who cared and loved them. He became what Andrew, Bucky, David and Swingy made him and he became even something more for Andy.

And Woody knew that no matter what he will stand by Andy, like he stood by Andrew and David, until the time will come. He knew that he will never willingly leave Andy's side, only when Andy himself will want it. He knew that no matter what, he will do anything in his powers to do what he should, because it was who he is.

Because he is Woody Pride. The prideful sheriff from the West who never gives up. The stubborn hero who never leaves anyone in need. The loyal friend who never betrays the ones he loves the most.

The toy that proudly carries its legacy.

R&R?