A/N: Ahh, it feels good to write again. Credits go to the writer of Fathers and Toys (to be more specific, its sequel) for inspiration. This is my take on the Woody hand-me-down story and a warm-up before I go writing again. Please review and rate!
Note: Toy Story 3 doesn't belong to me. It belongs to Disney/Pixar.
Woody didn't like boxes.
Not that he was claustrophobic, but Woody was afraid that something might happen to his owner. Or worse, he might replace him with a newer toy. He admitted to himself that he was selfish. He never wanted playtime to end. He wished that he and his owner would always be together. Woody knew that was impossible but he kept dreaming. And when he was confined in the box, those illusions kept him from growing insane. He imagined that his owner was young and immortal, and they played all day and night. His owner would be there through thick and thin, and Woody would be his forever loyal companion.
All his fantasies weren't enough to replace the soft and warm touch of his owner's hand but at least, it was enough for Woody.
He didn't remember why his owner had left him waiting for so long. He did not know why he was boxed, confined to a never-ending darkness. What he knew was that he loved his owner. Whatever he did, there must be an explanation and Woody trusted in his judgment. There must be a higher purpose for his safekeeping and Woody would wait it out. He was a sheriff and he was loyal to whom he stood for. His loyalty would never waver. Never.
Time went by so slowly for Woody. He never moved in his enclosure, waiting for the day that his owner would love him again. He always thought of how he would look like when he would find Woody and when they would play together.
But he was tired.
Woody grew impatient. He never complained but he wanted playtime. He wanted love, and companionship. Those were basic concepts, something that grew alien the more time passed. Woody hated time. Woody scorned time. Time, Woody thought, was a damaging thing. Time shortened the moments he could be with his owner and prolonged his incarceration in the box.
He hated the dark, too. He was forced to dream forever, but sometimes, it would give him nightmares. These twisted dreams about his owner haunted him in the eternal blackness of the box he was currently stored in. He would see demented visions of his owner throwing him into the trash, forgetting about him, or worse, replacing him with a newer toy. But still, Woody was forever loyal. He would wait it out, He would wait it out, He would wait it out...
Light!
Woody made no attempt to close his eyes to the light. He knew his owner was waiting behind this initial burst of light and he was sure his owner would welcome him back with open arms. He saw the silhouette of his owner's face, mysterious yet magical. Woody waited long and hard for this moment, the moment he would come back for him. Now, his hands were reaching out for him, almost there, almost there...
His hands touched his side. But they felt strange.
Those hands were still warm and gentle, the same Woody has known. But the hands of his owner had become calloused with age, rough with time. Time. He disliked mentioning his enemy's name. But he still loved his owner, no matter how aged his hands will get.
He didn't play with him.
His owner carried him outside. Woody can see that not only his owner had grown taller but he had aged considerably. Woody wasn't played with but still, he was happy that he had held him. Even though that that they cannot play forever, Woody was happy with his owner's embrace. He treasured the light, enjoying the scenery of houses, people walking together and children. His owner boarded a cab and they hit the road.
It was sunset and the sky was orange. Woody missed color and the sunset invigorated him. It was the sweetest day of his life and Woody won't miss it for the world. The wind was blowing, and his hat!
The wind stole away his hat. His owner ran after it and and...
THUD
The car that hit his owner retreated and sped away. Woody was thrown several feet into the air, hitting a fire hydrant and landing on the sidewalk next to his hat. His owner was on the road, unconscious, a trail of blood streaming from his head. Woody was an old toy but he did know how to use a phone.
But there are no more payphones around. And what number should he dial?
He rushed to the side of his owner, taking his handkerchief and bandaging the bleeding wound on his head. He went around the pockets, looking for something that can help. He pulled out a contraption that looked like an unwired phone. There's no harm in trying, right? He pressed the button that looked like a phone and names and numbers popped up. Bingo.
Woody dialed the number labeled "Emergency", telling them of his predicament and current location. But Woody didn't notice his injured companion coming to consciousness.
"You...you're alive?"
Woody was suddenly distracted. Rule one for a toy was to never let anyone know they're alive. But in these circumstances, does it really matter now?
"Yes sir." Woody said with a firm voice. His owner looked around and coughed out blood. Woody's legs were shaking, hoping that this won't be the last moment they will be together. "Please," he said, coughing even harder, "Take care of my son. Show him that I loved him until the end."
Woody nodded.
George Davis slowly closed his eyes with a satisfied smile on his face as an ambulance came racing down the other side of the road. Woody dropped beside George as the paramedics placed him on a stretcher and rushed him to the hospital. All his personal effects were taken by the paramedic in the front seat for safekeeping. Woody was back in the dark for better, or for worse. Woody tried to rest and he fell asleep.
He woke up in a locker, as far as he could tell. A clear voice was outside, talking to another. The other voice was breaking up. Woody moved to hear more of their conversation. The first words he heard was a shock.
"I'm sorry. He was dead upon arrival. Here is the key to his personal effects. We'll help you choose a funeral home"
Even though Woody was paralyzed by the news, he had to make sure he was given to Andy. He saw a pen and some paper and began scribbling. When he was done, he punched his hand through the paper, making a tag. He lay down next to the phone as the locker opened. He was tired. He fell asleep again after he was given to a young boy with a soft and warm hug of appreciation.
Andy.
The sky was blue but was still filled with clouds, the same way Andy's wallpaper was. Everyone was wearing black including Andy. Woody was the only one there not in black. He watched as the pearl white casket was lowered with finality and the workers started filling the hole. Woody silently vowed to keep the promise he made to George. He looked back one last time as Andy and his mother left the cemetery for home.
So long, partner.