A/N: There are two stories that have brought me to shameless, uncontrollable tears, especially as an adult: one, of course, is the final scene of Toy Story 3 and the other is The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. Both are very similar in subject matter and I wanted to see if I could combine them without completely rehashing their narratives. There's probably a lot more I could've done with this but, I think I'm going to stick with a Buzz/Jessie centered fic, it's a lot easier for me to focus on one or two characters rather than doing something with the whole cast (plus, I'm a sap and it's just what I wanted to write). I apologize if this chapter seems too short, I'm still kind of experimenting with writing styles and the like. As always, feedback is appreciated!
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"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by
side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does
it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that
happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just
to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When
you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit
by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It
takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who
break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved
off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are
Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
-The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams
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THE VELVETEEN RABBIT THEORY
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Buzz wakes feeling stiff and profoundly groggy. There's a kink in his spine and an ache surrounding his head and when he opens his eyes he has to clamp them shut again to block out the light shining in his face. There's a rustling at his left and a beeping noise at his right and dread grows heavy in his chest as he realizes he isn't waking up in Bonnie's room and he doesn't know how he got here or how to get back.
When his eyes adjust to the light he realizes he's been strapped down in a hospital bed surrounded by men in white chattering rapidly at computer screens and monitors and at his bedside. He shouts at them, demands to know where he is and what has become of his friends. They mutter incomprehensible jargon at him, something about an agreement, something about staying calm, but it isn't until he notices himself, his own form, that he stops struggling.
His suit is gone. Replaced with a blue cotton t-shirt and jeans and the natural proportions of a human. His mind takes a second to jumpstart, all at once recalling the clothes, the room, the drive over to the facility, the injection…
"Mr. Balfre," one of the white figures addresses him, hands outstretched. "I know you must be confused, I assure you everything will be explained…"
"No, I-I don't… I don't need an explanation. I'm fine. I remember."
That seems to be enough for the gentleman and he motions for the others to start removing the wires and monitors and the IV needle while he retrieves a wallet and a set of keys.
Mark Balfre stares at his own driver's license like it's a counterfeit. He tries not to let it show how embarrassed he is, that for a moment he actually confused his own identity. This was his face. The brown crew cut and the long ears and the full-rimmed glasses, he steals a glance at his reflection in a powered down monitor to be sure, all matched the photo and all were his.
Though he didn't need any sort of photo to remember what Buzz Lightyear's face was supposed to look like.
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They have him use the restroom and shower and they pick him up a cheeseburger from Burger King and Mark marvels at how little his appetite actually is considering he's been asleep for two days. The handful of doctors and technicians shed their white coats and he's led by two of them through several corridors of the building to a smaller room with carpeting and a round table and at least eight chairs.
They want to know about Buzz. And not just what Buzz looked like and acted like but what it felt like to actually be him. Subconsciously, of course. When he asks them why they remind him of their research, the experiment he volunteered for, the system of linked dreaming and the information they need to gather to make an educated comparison between their subjects' experiences. They share a laptop between them, but type notes only rarely and Mark recalls some sort of waiver he signed allowing the recording of his interview.
Following a slew of questions, some quite detailed, concerning Buzz and toy-hood they begin to ask about Andy and then Woody and then Jessie and Bullseye and Potatohead and Mark finds that even in memory they seem so incredibly life-like.
Something suddenly occurs to him and he asks the doctors about the other volunteers. Did everyone he knew in that dream have a human counterpart, sitting in some other room recounting the same story? They respond that participants had been waking up at different times and that all their information was to be kept confidential.
The interview comes to a close. The three men shake hands and Mark promises to return in a week for further debriefing for the experiment.
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By the time Mark arrives at home it's nearly eleven, or as Buzz would say, twenty-three hundred hours. He isn't sure why, but the thought of going to sleep makes him a little apprehensive. He lounges in front of the TV and scrolls through channels for over twenty minutes before settling on some cop show he has never seen before. Sometime during the episode he falls asleep on his couch and wakes up the next morning profoundly disappointed he can't remember what he dreamt.