Chapter Text
Woody’s face was buried in Bo’s side. Her breathing was soft, gentle like a breeze. He squeezed closer to Bo, interlocking his fingers.
His mind raced with disgusting thoughts, not allowing his body to sleep. Bo had told him to have a good night's sleep. And what was he doing? Not that. Woody felt absolutely horrid for ignoring her like that, but he couldn’t help it!
The others had been sleeping for a bit. Far too long for Woody’s liking. Were they dead? No, no, toys didn’t die. Not in their sleep, at least.
His heart was pounding in his chest. No…he didn’t have a heart. It was silly to think he did. But knowing he had no heart didn’t stop the rhythmic ‘thu-thump’ in his core. Woody was just imagining things; he had to be.
“Woody.” Someone whispered. It was stern and demanding, tickling the back of his neck like a breeze. Woody curled deeper into the porcelain figurine's side.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real, he tried to remind himself. He was losing his mind; he could just feel it. Every thought felt like a knife to the skull, stabbing and violating him in every way.
Woody just had to wait until the sun rose; then he’d be safe. When would the sun rise? It felt like it was supposed to happen ages ago.
The sun probably imploded on itself. He was the last living thing in the universe, and it was all his fault.
“Woody.” The voice said again, much angrier than before. Woody recognized that voice anywhere. Buzz.
“You’re not real.” Woody croaked, barely above a whisper. Buzz was with Bonnie. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t.
His throat burned. Should it burn? He didn’t think so. Woody was going crazy; he could feel it.
“Come here.” Buzz’s voice was laced with venom. Woody’s breath hitched. He didn’t want to go; he didn’t. But something inside him tugged, urging him to go.
“Go away.” Woody hissed through gritted teeth. He was in charge. He had to be. If he wasn’t, then who was he? What was he?
“Up,” Buzz commanded once again.
This time, Woody moved. Why did he move?
His arms limply released Bo, and his legs dragged him upward. Despite standing, his body felt like it was underwater.
No, this wasn’t his body anymore. It couldn’t be. Woody usually had more control than this.
Woody’s body--no, it’s body moved of its own accord. It staggered one way, and then another, barely staying on course. His eyes were glued to the grass below.
He was an absolutely disgusting toy.
Maybe he deserved this. He had left his friends when they needed him the most. And here he was, a million miles from home. They probably wanted him dead. What kind of loving leader leaves their people behind?
It didn’t matter that Bonnie didn’t need him; he was a terrible toy.
That’s the real Buzz was here; Woody knew that for a fact. To punish him. Once he made it to the field, the toys would rip him to shreds.
Woody sort of wanted it to happen. It was only a fitting consequence.
“Stop.” Buzz commanded. Woody’s body came to a screeching halt, nearly knocking him over. He wanted to question why he was brought out here but he knew why.
This was his punishment.
He didn’t want to look at the sky again. He couldn’t erase what he saw before. If he looked up, they would look back down at him. Woody wanted to vomit at the thought. Toys couldn’t vomit, but he could feel the queasy sensation pooling in the pit of his stomach.
Woody kept his gaze locked on the grass. He couldn’t look up; he couldn’t.
It was above him.
Woody knew it was; he had seen it earlier that night. Or was it months ago? He couldn’t tell. Everything was a blur.
“Woody.” Someone new spoke. Jessie.
Woody shuddered at her voice. Now he was really in for it. Whatever Buzz was going to do, Jessie could do a million times worse.
She was the new leader, wasn’t she? Oh, how she must hate him now. How could he force her to do his job?
Woody lowered his head, desperately wanting to cover his ears. But it was no use. His arms stayed limp at his sides.
“Jess…” Woody started hoarsely. He didn’t even know where to begin with her. What could he do? Apologize?
“Look up, sheriff.” Jessie ordered, ‘sheriff’ being laced in sarcasm.
Woody’s head snapped upwards, facing the sky. He squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to block out the horrific world around him. Instead, his eyes snapped open, ignoring his will.
Eyes.
Millions upon millions of eyes stared down at him, all filled with hatred and disgust. They’re the eyes of the toys he has known and the toys he will know.
They talked to him.
Selfish
Coward
Pathetic
They screamed.
He was going to die out here. He didn’t know how; he just knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable.
The toys would crawl from the sky and rip him thread by thread until he was nothing but a pile of stuffing in this very grass.
Woody stared at the sky, his breath heavy and shaky.
“I’m sorry.” Woody apologized.
Is that what they wanted to hear? He was sorry! How could he leave his friends behind? It was a selfish decision. They needed him, and he left them. He was a rotten toy, that’s what he was.
“I’m sorry!” Woody apologized louder. How many times was he going to mess this up? How many times was he going to leave toys behind for his own selfish desires?
He was going to die out here.