AN: I recommend that you see Toy Story 3 before reading this.
I wanted to do a story about Woody's past. He always seems so confident and sure of himself but sometimes, insecurities leak through. I wanted to explore what could have caused his devotion to Andy. I also wanted to explore Andy's mothers understanding of the importance of Woody in her sons life…
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"Mum! When can I open my presents?"
"We'll open them as soon as you settle down."
"But I am settled!"
"It doesn't look that way to me. I want you sitting down before we open the presents."
"Okay, okay," a pause and a thud, "Can I open them now?"
"What does your father think?"
"I think the boy's been patient enough."
An excited yell ripped through the air and Woody glanced nervously around in the dark. He was still in his package, his hands tied to the casing of his box. His body felt strange and he realized that soon, he would be walking for the first time in his life. He had never met another toy before and he hoped that the boy would play nice with him.
"Open it slowly."
A ripping sound shocked him into immovability and light pierced the box. He body shook from side to side as the box was shaken with the force of the boy's unwrapping.
"Wow! A Woody the Sheriff toy!"
His blank eyes encountered the huge, smiling face of a young boy. He was gazing in wonder at Woody, his eyes wide and unblinking. He felt awed to be held and looked at in such a way. Behind him, a kind looking woman was gazing at the boy expectantly while a large and broad faced man smoked. The boy tore open his box and ripped his body from its ties. He felt his long arms sag down as he was lifted, the warm and soft hand of the boy enclosing his body.
"Wait until I show the guys! Thanks ma' and pa'!"
"I'm glad you like him, the shopkeeper said that he's the most popular toy at the moment."
"You're my favourite deputy."
"Just like the show! He's the rootin', tootin' cowboy in the wild wild west," the boy twirled him around while he sang, a whistle following his strange accented speech. He could see the room as he spun; it was dark and lit only by a few small lamps that littered the place. A door led from the room and a brightly coloured cake was sitting on top of an old wooden table.
"Now, Tommy, it's time for you to go to bed. You can play with your toy in the morning."
The boy mumbled as his body stopped twirling. Woody was still in shock, his body hanging limply from his hand. The carpet was old and stained dark from use. As the boy walked away from his parents and to his room, the carpet thinned. They entered another room, which was dark until a light pierced it. The boy tossed him onto the bed and he gazed absently at the nearby wall. The bed dipped as Tommy jumped onto it and grabbed his body again, lifting him above him as he lay on his back.
"You're the best present ever."
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"In fact, any man possessing a short wave receiver can hear the new Russian earth satellite as it hurtles over his area of the globe…"
"Mum, we should buy a short wave receiver."
"Not until your eighteen."
"But we might not be able to hear Sputnik then!"
"That's a risk I'm just going to have to take."
"Dad?"
"Listen to your mother, Tommy."
Woody strained behind the door to hear Tommy's voice. He craved his attention, more so then anything he has ever craved before. His hands itched to be near him and his body felt cold and strange without Tommy's hand encircling it.
It had been so long since he had been played with.
His face fell. He used to be Tommy's favorite toy. He used to be played with every day. Each and every night, Tommy would prop him up on the pillow next to him, stare at him for a moment and then fall fast asleep. He felt safe then and wanted and it had been the happiest time of his short life. He had felt complete and whole, as a toy should.
That was until Tommy started to like space. The Wild West held no adventure for the boy anymore. He no longer whistled as he walked or tried in vain to throw his makeshift lasso over the bedpost. It wasn't long until Woody was demoted from the bed to the desk. It was cold there, cold and dark and sometimes in the night, the darkness would creep up on him and make him curl into a ball until the sun peeked its head over the horizon.
He missed Tommy.
"It's no use crying over spilt milk."
He turned around, "Patrick?"
The large bear blinked at him solemnly, "You've lost your chance with him, just like we did. It's time you started to find other things to occupy yourself with."
Woody turned back to the door, scratching at the wood as he tipped his hat over his eyes, "You don't know what you're talking about…"
"Of course I do. Tommy isn't my first owner. It's rare to find a kid that'll only play with one toy. Those parents give him too many presents as it is so you're lucky you got as long as you did."
"Tommy loves me," he said to no one in particular as he closed his eyes.
"Then why do you sleep on the desk?" the bear's voice was gentle and soft.
"Because… because… I can't fit in his bed a-anymore."
A pause followed his voice as the bear gazed at him. A deep sigh accompanied Patrick as he spoke, "We all tell ourselves different things to let go. Whatever helps you to sleep at night."
That night, Woody rolled himself into a ball and watched Tommy sleep until the sun rose. He didn't even notice the fact that he hadn't blinked.
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"Where do you want me to put this?"
"In the cellar. I don't have any more room in the attic."
"What about the damp?"
"It should be fine. We'll stack the box on top of something."
The box shook and a few Styrofoam pieces fell out. A shuffle, a thud and the box was hauled on top of something. Footsteps followed the movement, growing distant until the sound of a door echoed strangely in the space.
Woody shot up in his box. He swam through the Styrofoam pieces until he reached the top. A small beam of light penetrated the inside and he clawed desperately at the opening. Nothing shifted and he breathed harder.
Shaking, he stopped his frantic clawing and looked around with wide, desperate eyes. He was in the cellar. He hadn't even been good enough to be put in the attic with the rest of the toys. He listened; the only sound reaching his ears was that of a drop of water as it fell into a puddle. He could feel the silence, more so than hear it. No other toy was in the cellar.
It was damp and cold. The beam of light was thinning and he knew that soon it would be dark.
Wrapping his thin, long arms around himself, he shivered. His legs came up to meet his chest and he gazed around in the dark once more. He heard a squeak and the strange pattering of feet. Lifting his head, he asked loudly to the darkness, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
The pattering of the feet stopped before retreating into the distance.
He was alone.
Years passed and the only thing he held onto was the small beam of light that sometimes trickled through the crack.
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"I can't believe my baby is getting married."
"Well I am."
"I know… it just seems like yesterday that I was tucking you into bed."
It was more of an eternity.
"Mum, I need to ask you a question…. What do you think of her?"
"Oh, my little baby. I'm so proud of you and I really and truly couldn't have picked a nicer woman."
"… Thanks, mum. That means a lot."
A rustle of clothing, "Oh gosh, I think I have something in my eye… a-anyway, what do you want to take to the house?"
"How about those boxes in the corner?"
"Oh, those? They just have Christmas decorations in them."
"What about these?"
"Ah, those are your old records."
"Can I take them?"
"I don't see why not."
Woody gasped as his box was moved. He looked to the beam of light as it fell away, replaced by the shadow of a man. The voice was so familiar; he knew it from somewhere but couldn't place it. For years, he had drifted in and out of a hazy, dreamless sleep. Sometimes, it felt like he was reversing his awakening. It felt like he was becoming silent again.
The box was tipped and he felt his body collide with the side of the box, the damp old cardboard springing against him as he fell onto it. His legs felt numb from disuse and he flexed his fingers experimentally. He wondered briefly where all the other toys were.
The beam of light was back, except that it was no longer small and dwindling. It was brilliant and intense and he had to blink against its rays for a moment. Birds sung and the sweet sound brought a strange smile to his face, an expression that was hard to produce when for years he had been blank and emotionless. The box tumbled to the side before going still.
He waited; breathing hard and for a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of distant talking. Footsteps approached and something opened and closed quickly. An engine started.
He bit back a yell of fright as the box collided with a solid object. The engine roared in his ears. He didn't know what was happening but he assumed that he was in a car, travelling somewhere. He hoped with all of his small, wounded heart that he wasn't going to be thrown away. His life felt empty and useless, wasted in the cellar of an old house.
The tumbling stopped, as did the engine and he exhaled slowly. Light penetrated the box again as the tumbling began once more and he grasped onto the side of the box stubbornly.
And suddenly, he was immobile as light filled his vision and a hand, warm and soft closed, around his body. His mind was shaking as a leaf would and he felt confused and scared, with a bit of desperate hope welling inside of him. He wanted to look into the eyes of Tommy.
"Hey, it's my old Woody doll," he remembered the voice now. Hope grew within him.
"Oh, that's so cute!" A high, young voice entered his ears. It was unfamiliar and new, distracting him from the intense gaze of his owner.
"I forgot I had him."
"Are you going to throw him out?"
"No… I'll keep him in the attic…. Who knows, he might come in handy some day?"
A woman laughed, "Steady boy. Let's go on our honeymoon first!"
There was giggling and laughing and once again, he was pushed into the box, destined to watch a single strand of light as it fell through a crack.
It wasn't damp anymore but it was cold and dark.
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"So Andy, do you see anything you like?"
He opened his eyes. The voice was older and more mature but he knew it. He often heard it drift up from the house and into his little box. The voice was sometimes loud enough to penetrate his ears, waking him from his eternal slumber. It was often the only thing, which lifted him from his sleep, and the only thing that stopped him from becoming just a piece of colourful, moulded plastic.
"You don't have to look if you don't want to?"
The pitter-patter of feet met his ears as something light and small walked across the wooden floorboards.
"What about his old records?"
He gasped as loud footsteps approached his box. The seal was torn off his prison and he lay limp under the scrutiny of mature eyes, "O-oh…. It's…. it's his old toy."
"Toy? Can I have the toy?"
The woman picked him up; her hand longer and thinner than Tommy's used to be. A small boy was beside her, dressed in overalls with a curious expression on his face. A blotchy mess filled the boys face, showing that he had obviously been crying before he appeared.
"Yes, I think Daddy would have liked that."
The small boy tore him from his mother's grasp and he was nearly giddy with the excitement of having two people hold him.
"I want the toy!"
"Be careful with him. He used to be your Daddy's. His name is Woody."
"Woody. My toy!"
"Yes, your toy, Andy."
He couldn't stop the feeling of hope that grew in his small, weak chest.
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AN: I hope you enjoyed my fic. I have another Toy Story fic called: Andy's Property, which is basically a sequel to this. If you liked this, please read that one.
I've come to conclusion that Woody was Andy's fathers toy. I don't think his mom would have held onto him so firmly at the yard sale if he weren't something incredibly special.
I can't see Woody as having a past that is cheery and happy. Even if he was a super best friend with Andy's dad, he was probably still manufactured in the 1950's and used by Andy's dad in either the '50's or the '60's. Regardless of the age of Andy's dad, he would still be unused for about 20 or 30 years, which means storage. When he meets Jessie, after he hears her story, he is incredibly accepting of her, leading me to believe that he does not feel sympathy but empathy. Even in Toy Story 3, his desperation to be with Andy is almost delusional as he refuses to accept that Andy will move on. If he was forgotten by Andy's dad, that may explain why he is so determined to stay with Andy. That's my little theory anyways.
Please review!