Disclaimer: Not mine. At all.
Warnings: TOY STORY 3 SPOILERS. Like, serious spoilers. Prompts come from the Serendipity plot generator for WriMos. Pairings will stick with canon, though there may be developing pairings along the way.
A/N: I knew this was coming... went to the midnight premiere, enjoyed it, and so... this was born. I'm planning it as a chapter fic, though don't cross your fingers for fast updates. These chapters will, as far as I have planned, begin with a prompt scenario for a "game", I suppose you could say, and may or may not have more meaning at the end.
Prompt: Without warning a sinister cashier requests a favor from your protagonist's spouse.
"Idiots! Children destroy toys. You'll be ruined, forgotten, spending eternity rotting on some landfill." ~The Prospector
"Well, Stinky Pete, I think it's time you learned the true meaning of playtime." ~Woody
She Was a Child
"An' so the ebil Doctor Porkchop attacks!" Blocks went flying everywhere the moment she spoke; the peas in a pod bounced far further than stuffed fabric should have been able too. Hamm went crashing through obstacles until he was nose to nose with Mrs. Potato Head.
"Gimme yer monies!" The exclamation point truly was audible as the young girl attempted to make her voice sound just a bit more sinister. Weight was added to the statement when Hamm rammed into Mrs. Potato Head a few times, before small fingers took a fairly chewed handbag and slung it around Hamm's foot. A number of high pitched shrieks that were meant to be fear were thrown in the mix as Mrs. Potato Head panicked; a moment later, she was dropped to the ground as Mr. Potato Head was picked up.
"Not so fast, buster," a voice just a tad bit deeper than Hamm's had been spoke. "That's my wife you're talking to. You won't get away with that!"
A violent chase scene ensued: Hamm was swung over the bed, nearly flying out of Bonnie's hand, as Mr. Potato Head—whose angry eyes had been put in—was nearly thrown at him across the bed. The two bashed heads a few times, though nothing too serious, when Hamm was released, tumbling toward the edge of the bed.
There was a sudden flurry of motion as both Buzz and Woody entered the picture, moving rather lopsided as they and their trusty steeds were both being held in the same hand. All five toys—Mr. Potato Head, Buzz, Woody, Buttercup, and Bullseye—approached Hamm in a way that could only be considered menacing, and the piggy bank could have sworn he saw an evil glint pass over Mr. Potato Head's eyes.
The group surrounded him, but in seconds Mr. Potato Head was strewn across the colorful quilt as Buttercup and Bullseye were left behind. Now it was Buzz and Woody simply surrounding Hamm.
"This town ain't big enough for the two of us!" came Woody's voice systematically as Bonnie pulled his string; to an outsider, it sounded the same as always, but to the well-trained ear of another toy it was clear that he was putting just a bit more forth this time, a bit more enthusiasm for the scene.
Woody attempted to jump on Hamm in order to pin him down, but he managed to escape as he had magically developed the ability to levitate, the small girl reaching as high as she could. Floating above the bed, it appeared that the Evil Doctor Porkchop would escape—except for one little detail.
"Buzz, Buzz, Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" Wings popped out with the push of a button, still just as easily ejected as they were when he was mint in the box. He soared upward, little fingers twisting in such a way that they could push the button on his arm as well. The laser fired and Hamm went soaring down, the handbag landing haphazardly on the floor. Bonnie placed Hamm on the floor before trapping him under the cardboard box she had previously been using as a space ship; her now free hand was used to grab Woody from a few inches away.
"You did it, Buzz," she said, her voice the best impersonation of Woody a small girl could muster.
"No, we did it, Woody." Plastic hands clapped together in a sloppy yet enthusiastic high five, and it seem some sort of elaborate victory tea party was about to follow when the ever-present parental voice floated up the stairs.
"Bonnie, honey, it's time for dinner!"
"Coming," the little girl called, dropping them on the floor as her socked feet scrambled down the hall. After a moment the sound faded into nothing but giggles at the dinner table, and the toys sprung to life, cracking necks and backs and fingers that had stiffened during the required still mode during play time.
"Nice job, Buzz," Woody commented, rolling his eyes in a playful gesture as he gave the space ranger a much cleaner high five than that prompted by the young girl.
"Hey, guys, a little help from those of you with opposable thumbs," Hamm called, sounding less than pleased and interrupting any chance at a victory salute. Nonetheless, Woody and Buzzed flipped over the box.
Sometime during the eventful session Mr. Potato Head had managed to make his way to the floor, angry eyes successfully swapped with his original set. Mrs. Potato Head, instead of fawning over him for successfully saving her handbag, was glaring.
"You never do anything," she chattered, flailing the chewed red bag from side to side; it took more than a bit of skilled dodging on the Mr.'s part not to get whacked by it. "It's always those two saving the day and you're lying down on the job." She continued to rant to him in the dramatic fashion only a Potato Head could possess, and sooner rather than later her voice blended into the background as the rest of the group began to chit-chat.
"I'm jealous, you know," Jessie commented, but there was mirth in her voice as she said it, "stealing Bullseye. I mean, he's yours and all that, but really Woody?" The sheriff rolled his eyes and was about to make a retort when he caught sight of a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. Even without turning, Woody knew it was Buzz, and so he shooed the cowgirl off with a flick of his wrist. She rushed past him, presumably into an embrace, and Woody set off toward the opposite direction in order to avoid whatever the lovebirds had planned.
Around him, the hustle and bustle of a room with a door nearly closed and no child played out. The noise level was loud, though Woody knew how a toy's 'loud' would be a human's 'whisper', so he did not fret over the escalating volume. Instead, he retreated to just under the bed: it was a place he had used to fear, but with time had learned that it could be as good a place as any.
The underside of Bonnie's bed was entirely free of toys, something Woody was still not accustomed to. He suspected the reason for this was the same as that for the lack of dust: she often crawled under there, using it as a tunnel or a cave or a prison or a hiding place or any number of other areas for a scene of her choice.
Alone, Woody sat in the dimly-lit space. The noise level continued outside, only muffled by the skirt on the bed, and memories of similar times floated back to him.
Similar times with Andy.
With some trepidation, Woody lifted his boot. Yet, the worry was for nothing: the name was still written in permanent marker, not painted over like it had been so many years prior when he'd accidentally ended up with an owner who did not appreciate him for what he was—a toy.
Releasing a gentle sigh, Woody adjusted his hat as he stood and went to rejoin the external crowd.
He may have been in a different home, but it was still the home of a loving child, and that was all that truly mattered.
A/N: Critique, criticism, praise, my Buzz Lightyear, and tear-filled stories about how much you loved the movie are all appreciated. :3 (Mostly the first three, though. ;))