Chapter Text
He had to hurry.
Time was running out for the Sheriff, and he was forced to think under pressure. But oh, how could he think? It was impossible to hear himself over the pouring rain, beating down relentlessly all around him. Or over the casual conversation between Andy’s mother and the unexpected visitor who’d dropped by, conversing at the doorstep. Or the incessant ringing in his ears, unable to let any thoughts formulate in his head. If that were not difficult enough to produce concentration, it was even worse with the four pairs of eyes that were fixated on him, innocently awaiting what he was to do or say. Three were soft and black, belonging to the trio of porcelain sheep whose names he could not recall at that moment. And the last were a piercing, beautiful blue pair that belonged to their owner, his beloved shepherdess doll, Bo Peep. Bo Peep who had unexpectedly been taken away from Molly’s room to donate. Bo Peep who had been his rock, the doll who could reassure him in times of stress and whom he had subsequently blossomed feelings for. Bo Peep who had asked just him to run off with her to start a brand-new life together. It had been a lot to ask of the cowboy doll. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he had always known that that option was there. But… what about his friends? And more importantly… what about Andy?
The cowboy’s cotton brain worked quickly to come up with answers to both questions. His friends, he supposed, would fair just fine without him. Buzz and Jessie had great leadership qualities, and could very well look over the others without a problem. And Andy… well, the way he saw it, the boy was growing up anyhow, getting rid of older, unluckier toys that he hadn’t held much of a fondness for. Sooner or later, he could end up like Etch, given away to a Goodwill, or Wheezy, sold off at a yard sale. Or the worst of it all – at the landfill, thrown away like any other plastic bag or half-eaten pizzas that were tossed out daily without a second thought. He shuddered to even think of it.
The cowboy was drawn back to the moment when he heard the voice of the man closer than before, halfway down the sidewalk and calling out goodbyes to Andy’s mother. His eyes widened. He needed to come up with a decision. Fast. His fingers were numb, unable to even drum against the rim of the box to create a soothing motion for him to distract himself with as he wracked his brain. He wouldn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to any of his friends – Buzz, Jess, Hamm, Rex, the Potato Heads… It was all happening too quick. None of them would know what became of him, much less Andy, who had no clue of the life his toys held within. But they could understand, right? The toys were all there when Andy’s mother had been packing Bo away in the box, and they were well aware of what was happening. They were also quite aware of how much Bo meant to the cowboy. Could anyone blame him if he were to take the jump and go off? And Andy… he was still a boy, but one day Woody was sure that he'd come to find love, and understand just what it meant to revel in that sensation with another who felt the same way.
The feelings he held for his darling shepherdess were unlike any other. It made him feel lighter than a feather, soar higher than the clouds, and more alive than anything else in the world. Perhaps, he thought with an epiphanic realization, even moreso than with Andy. It would indeed take some time to get over his sentiments for Andy, the loss of his purpose as a toy and imaginative companion already excruciating in thought. But with Bo? They were feelings far too strong to disregard. And he knew, if he were to ever disregard them, they would morph into a black hole of regret, consuming every thought he had of the day into its endless black void of misery. He would lose the doll he loved, likely forever. It was a rarity for toys who were separated to ever be reunited again, with how they were often they were given away to different owners. Letting Bo go now meant running into that risk. He supposed, as it was, that he could one day find as special of a connection with another toy, as would she. But… why should he have to suffer through that when there was very clearly an alternative option presented to him, at that very moment, not to? In short: he couldn’t. There was no way. Little Bo Peep, ceramic figurine that was part of a lamp set likely sold by the hundreds around the world, was worth more to him than anything in the entire world. She was his world. All he had to do to prove it was take a leap of faith. Literally.
His resolve set, Woody took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He silently counted to three within his head, and then, heaving himself upward, the toy stumbled into the cardboard box in a clumsy heap.