Archive of Our Own ^beta

Woody screamed in fear and pain as his back seam was torn open. He struggled, but it was no use. The dummies held him down fast. Woody's screams were cut short as his voicebox was lifted out. White-hot pain filled him briefly, then he blacked out.

When Woody came to, all he could see were stars, far above him. He tried to call for help, but nothing came out. He tried to sit up, tried to move, but found himself frozen. He couldn't even properly turn his head. He stayed like that for hours, trying to keep himself from worrying, trying to rest. Finally, it was light enough to see. Turning his eyes as far to the side as he could, he caught a glimpse of his vest and the bright yellow of his shirt. Horror filled him as he realized what had happened, why he couldn't move. They hadn't just stolen his voicebox, they'd torn him apart. His head was completely detached from his body, his legs were nowhere in sight. There was nothing Woody could do but hope, hope that Buzz would find him, that he would think to look at this obscure shop. He stared back up at the sky and tried to hold on.

Woody stared up at the stars. He was glad he'd fallen face up; if he couldn't move or cry for help, at least he could see the stars. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there; it seemed like years. But it didn't really matter. His friend would come, would find him eventually. Woody tried to remember his friend clearly. His friend loved the stars, more than anything else. The stars reminded Woody of his friend, which was why he liked to stare at them. It made it easier to hold onto whatever was left of himself. His own name was Woody, and his friend's name was...Buzz? Yea, Buzz.

The sun rose, the sun set. The old toy still waited patiently. He knew his friend was looking and would look forever if that's what it took. His friend was as determined, as patient as the stars he loved. His name was...Andy? No, his name was Buzz. Andy was the toy's own name. But no, the toy thought, that wasn't quite right either. Andy was another friend who had left. His own name was...The old toy couldn't quite remember, and his heart would have sunk if he'd had one. He knew he'd been a sheriff once, though. And he had a friend who would stop at nothing to find him. That thought cheered him a little.

The moon set, the moon rose. The stars wheeled overhead. 'I'm the sheriff, my friend is Buzz.' he repeated to himself over and over and over again. It had become almost a mindless chant. 'Buzz loves the stars, and I love Buzz. Buzz will find me.' The old sheriff knew Buzz would find him someday and he just had to stay awake, to be here. He knew his friend wouldn't give up on him, any more than he could stop loving the stars. Buzz would find him, would find a way to fix him.

The old toy stared at the stars. He had a friend that was looking for him, he knew. He couldn't quite remember the friend's name, only that the friend loved the stars, and him. He just had to hold on. In truth, the old toy was getting tired. He desperately wanted to see his friend again, was trying to hold out as long as it took. But it was getting harder. He was so tired. It didn't matter though. He knew his friend would find him, and until then, he had the stars to keep him company.

Just as the old toy was about to close his eyes, to finally give in to the exhaustion that plagued him, he heard footsteps. A purple-hooded head blocked out the stars.