Chapter Text
The nite fell quietly over Roundup, with the clear and dark sky, dotted with stars that shone like distant lights. Woody and his father were working on the northern fence, in the farthest part of the ranch, when the sky suddenly changed. A white and golden light, resembling a comet that had broken free from the firmament, swiftly crossed the horizon, leaving a bright trail behind it. It descended faster and faster, with a deep buzzing that grew into a roar, and crashed to the ground not far from there. The impact shook the ground beneath their feet, making the grass tremble and resonating in their chests like distant thunder.
"Get on Buttercup!" ordered Mr. Pride, jumping onto the horse once the tremor stopped. "Let's see what it was"
They rode, following the column of smoke that rose gently in the darkness, advancing carefully through the trees and tall grass. As they approached, surprise was reflected on their faces: there were no ruins, no uncontrolled fire, no trace of carts or animals. What they found there was something neither of them could have ever imagined.
In the middle of a clearing, there rested a small ship with soft, rounded shapes, made of a smooth and gleaming material that faintly glowed under the moonlight. It was slightly tilted, with some visible scratches on its surface, but mostly intact. They surrounded it slowly, without daring to touch it, looking at that thing that didn't seem to belong to their world.
"What was that?" Woody whispered, not taking his eyes off it.
"I don't know," his father replied, his voice low with astonishment. But it came from the sky.
A hatch opened with a soft hum, sliding to the side. First, rays of warm light emerged, and then, slowly and with difficulty, a figure appeared. He was a young man with an upright posture, dressed in a suit that combined shades of white and green, with details that softly glowed in the darkness. He stepped out, leaning on the edge, visibly limping, with one hand on his side, and his face pale from the pain. He had barely taken a step outside when the sound of approaching horses made him turn his head.
There she was, with the brightest eyes he had ever seen.
Jessie had heard the commotion and had rushed over on Bullseye. She stopped nearby, dismounted with agility, and took a few steps toward them, her reddish hair braided into a long and abundant braid that fell over her shoulder, held with a yellow ribbon that shone in the moonlight. Her red hat remained well in place, and her large, green, lively eyes looked at him with curiosity and concern.
In that instant, something broke inside Buzz. It was as if all the air had escaped from his chest, as if the stars he had traveled through had all gathered in her: she shone with her own light, warm and alive, like nothing he had seen in any of the worlds he knew. His legs, weak from the blow and trembling from something much stronger, stopped holding him up. He fell to his knees right in front of her, his gaze fixed on her eyes, unable to look away.
The spherical and transparent helmet that covered his face from the outside suddenly opened, just like two wings that had remained hidden in what seemed to be a backpack in his suit, two red lights flickered in unison, and none of the onlookers knew what to do or what it meant. That stranger seemed little concerned that it had happened; he was truly in shock.
"He fell!" exclaimed Mr. Pride, stepping forward.
Jessie ran toward him before anyone else. She knelt down to his level and held him gently in her hands. He looked at him more closely, he had blue eyes and his head seemed covered by a strange purple hood and his suit seemed to glow in the darkness.
"—Calm down," he said with a sweet and firm voice. It's safe now.
Buzz looked at her, and the words caught in his throat. —M-miss… —she managed to say, almost in a whisper.
No one doubted it was the blow. No one noticed that his eyes were not looking at the ground, but at her. Jessie helped him up, resting his shoulder under hers, and felt him tremble slightly when she touched him.
They took him to the house, Jessie mounted him on Bullseye and rode with him with utmost care. There, under the light of the lamps, Jessie carefully cleaned his wounds, applying warm cloths and bandages with skilled and steady hands. He watched her in silence, attentive to every movement she made, feeling somewhat embarrassed for having to take off his shirt to be treated, but grateful and amazed.
"Thank you, miss..." he said at one point, when she finished adjusting a bandage for him. You are very kind.
"You're welcome," she smiled. And there's no need to call me miss, you can call me Jessie.
—Jessie… —Buzz let the name travel on the wind.
—That's right, my name is Jessica Jane Pride, and you?
Buzz hesitated a bit before speaking, but with his best effort, he tried not to sound like a fool. —Buzz Lightyear —he introduced himself, with a slight bow that was a bit difficult for him.
Jessie smiled upon hearing her name and extended her hand. —Nice to meet you... Buzz.
The way she whispered his name made him shiver like never before.
The more they chatted, the more curious Jessie felt about him, and the more he wanted to talk to her.
—And where are you from? Are you from the Stars?
Buzz laughed at his curiosity and felt delighted to talk to him. He was able to realize that unlike other planets, this one to which he had been sent for an exploration mission, did not have great technological advancements; it was one of the few planets within his galaxy that had not yet reached significant development. —I come from the Star Command.
—And those things that shot out of your suit? What were they? I don't even know how they managed to hide again in that suit.
—It's a jetpack, and as for them suddenly taking off, I wouldn't know how to explain it. That never happened, it shouldn't happen. In fact, I was lucky to be able to breathe the oxygen of this planet, otherwise I would have died as soon as it opened.
—You must have been in a very strong shock if you didn't notice it until much later, you were really lucky.
Buzz started talking to him about it, and the more he told him, even Mr. Pride came closer to listen, looking just as interested as his daughter.
—And my ship... suffered a malfunction. I don't know how long it will take me to repair it. —confessed Buzz somewhat embarrassed, fearing he might cause some inconvenience.
—As long as you need —intervened Mr. Pride, who was at the door—. You can stay here as our guest. No one should be left out in the open, especially when they have fallen from the sky.
—Thank you very much, sir. If there is anything I can help you with, please let me know.
Mr. Pride withdrew, and Jessie finished tending to him as best as she could. She helped him get dressed again, giving him new clothes that would help him blend in better and provide more comfort, and she was looking off into the distance at the strange Star Command suit in which she had found him.
At that moment, Woody entered the room. He stopped at the threshold, watching the scene: his sister attending to the stranger, him with his gaze fixed on her as if nothing else existed. Something in his chest tightened. He approached slowly, with a steady step, and his voice sounded calm, but with an edge of reserve:
—I'm Woody. His brother.
Buzz looked at him and nodded respectfully.
—Nice to meet you, Woody. I greatly appreciate your hospitality. And that of your sister. Miss Jessie has been very kind to me.
Jessie smiled, but Woody did not return the smile. He stood there, arms crossed, watching everything with caution. That man was different: he came from a place none of them knew, spoke of distant worlds, and what was even stranger, he looked at her as if she were something sacred. Woody didn't know what to think, but deep down, something told him that the arrival of that stranger would change things that were not yet ready to change.
During the following weeks, Buzz was a guest in the house, and little by little, he got to know the town of Dandelion and the people who brought it to life. Almost always hand in hand with Jessie, who made sure no one felt out of place: she was the one who took him from one place to another, who explained every corner, every name, every story.
Thus he met Slink, loyal and trustworthy, Woody's comrade since childhood, with an easy smile and firm words, who welcomed him with a sincere handshake; Hamm, the son of the town's bank owner, practical and straightforward, who looked at him with curiosity and no pretense; and Rex, a young man who immediately stood out for his great height, although his arms were notably short in proportion to his body, giving him a somewhat clumsy and shy air. He spoke softly, blushed easily, and kept his hands together as if he didn't quite know where to put them, but he had a sweet and sincere look that made you want to love him instantly.
Jessie listened to everything Buzz said with eyes shining with admiration: she was fascinated to know that someone had come from so far away, that they had seen places no one in the village could even imagine. She asked him questions non-stop, and he answered with patience, with calm, always attentive to ensure she understood every detail.
Woody, on the other hand, kept his distance. One afternoon, while watching them talk near the barn, he couldn't hold back:
"I see you enjoy his company a lot," she said, with a dry tone that she couldn't soften.
Jessie didn't stop smiling, but she looked at him firmly —It's interesting, Woody. He tells stories that no one here could imagine.
Woody didn't like his sister's growing excitement about that mysterious man. "—Tales tales from another world —he replied, crossing his arms—." I don't know how true they are.
"Don't talk to him like that," Bo intervened, who had been listening from the porch, approaching gently. He doesn't hurt you.
"I'm not saying it does," replied Woody, although his voice sounded tense. I'm just saying that... you have to be careful with what you don't know.
Bo looked at him with tenderness, but also with firmness "That doesn't sound like caution, Woody." It sounds like suspicion.
Woody didn't respond. He looked away, but he couldn't stop thinking about what she had said. There was something more, much deeper than mere distrust: it was the way Jessie looked at him, as if every word he said were a gift; it was the way Buzz looked at her, as if she were the only thing shining in the valley. Something he couldn't name settled in his chest, restless and dark.
"Jesus, Woody! Who are you?" Jessie asked, surprised to see her brother with that attitude; it was so unlike him.
Mrs. Pride also kept her distance. She treated him politely, without disrespect, but without warmth, without that kindness she had for others. Woody noticed it: with him, his mother was colder than with anyone else, and that, strangely, gave him one more reason to stay on the sidelines.
Buzz, for his part, always attentive and observant, did not overlook anything. One afternoon, while they were returning from a silent walk, he asked her in a low voice —Your mother... Is it like this often?
Jessie smiled with understanding and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder —With me, yes. And with you... now too. Don't take it personally, Buzz. It's like that with everything that comes through the door and doesn't feel like its own.
He nodded, although his gaze remained thoughtful, lost on the horizon —I understand. Thank you for telling me.
"—You're welcome," she said, smiling warmly. "We want you here"
Buzz looked at her then, and for an instant, he seemed to forget where he was.
"Thank you, Jessie," he said, and his voice became softer, almost a whisper. It means a lot to me.
Buzz was still a guest at the Pride's house, and as the weeks went by, he had become part of the landscape: in the mornings, he learned from Jessie the art of being a cowboy—riding with ease, recognizing cattle, guiding horses without shouting—and in the afternoons, he worked on his ship, which was gradually regaining its original shape, each piece in its place, each panel gleaming under the sun. He was getting closer and closer to being able to leave.
Woody, however, still didn't quite open the door all the way. He continued to keep his distance, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the shared laughter, the attentive explanations, the looks that lingered a moment longer than necessary. One afternoon, Bo found him alone on the porch and spoke to him gently.
—You are too protective of her, Woody. With Buzz, you just keep watching him as if he were going to hurt her.
He didn't even let her finish "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, abruptly looking away.
He couldn't stand anyone, whoever it was, sensing what he himself barely dared to see: that between his sister and that newcomer, there was something that went beyond friendship. Any insinuation in that regard was unbearable to him, and he would cut it off abruptly before the sentence had finished coming out. It was already impossible for him to bear seeing them playing and laughing from afar.
Woody was not yet sheriff, but he was already serving as the town's constable, patrolling the streets with the same responsibility and seriousness that would always characterize him. That afternoon everything seemed calm, until a scream broke the silence: dark and dense smoke began to rise from the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head's saloon, a beloved place where people gathered to chat and share.
Chaos erupted immediately. Screams could be heard, the clash of broken wood, and the roar of a shouting match between the assailants and the few men trying to stop them. People were running in all directions, pushing and stumbling, while the flames licked the wooden walls and devoured everything in their path. Amidst all that, Woody spotted Bo. With a firm and calm voice, she was trying to contain the panic, helping Mrs. Potato Head, and hugging the three little triplets so they wouldn't see the fire. And beyond, he saw Buzz: going in and out tirelessly, taking the weak by the hand, carrying those who couldn't run, getting everyone he could out before the roof became impassable.
"—Get out, everyone!" Woody shouted, making his way through the crowd. Don't stay behind!
Bo kept the women and children away from the flames, calming them with gentle words, preventing anyone from going back inside. Buzz carried the three little ones out in his arms, handed them over to safe care, and was about to go back in when he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Jessie?" he asked, and the name got stuck in his throat.
Woody also stopped. He searched for her among the frightened faces, but he couldn't find her. Fear froze his blood.
Inside the building, the heat was stifling. Jessie had stayed behind to help with the evacuation, guiding the last ones to the exit, when one of the three assailants charged at her before she could escape.
"You're not going anywhere," he roared.
They fought hand-to-hand amidst the smoke and flames. He pushed her against a shelf; she kicked him in the leg, making him grunt in pain. He grabbed her arm and twisted it; she scratched his face with her nails, leaving red marks on his skin. Despite the era's norms on how a lady should behave, Jessie had always been a tough nut to crack; which often drove her mother to distraction at times for seeing her daughter be so heavy-handed, so it wasn't difficult for her to start defending herself with whatever she could, even if she might be at a disadvantage in strength.
They stumbled, fell, got up, and faced each other again, both coughing, with teary eyes and burning from the smoke. He was bigger and stronger, and little by little he cornered her against an overturned table. With a shove, he made her fall to the ground and threw himself on top of her, wrapping his hands around her neck.
"You stay here," he hissed.
Jessie felt like she was running out of air. Her hands desperately searched for something to defend herself with, and her fingers stumbled upon a nearly empty liquor bottle that had rolled to her. With the last strength she had left, she raised it and smashed it against the man's head. He let out a dull groan and fell to the side, unconscious.
Jessie lay on the ground, coughing, her chest rising and falling with difficulty, struggling to catch her breath. And then she heard it.
—Jessie! Where are you?
It was Buzz's voice.
"Buzz!" she managed to shout with a hoarse voice.
He ran through the smoke, knelt by her side, and took her in his arms.
"I've got you," he said to her, and she hugged him with all her strength, trembling with relief. We're going to get out of here. I'll get you out.
The place creaked around them; beams and wood were falling inside, and the ceiling seemed to give way at times. Buzz took her hand and helped her walk, but then he picked her up in his arms. They had barely made any progress when a burning beam collapsed right in front of the exit. Buzz pushed her aside to protect her, and the blow hit him squarely in the temple. He fell to his knees and then face down, not moving anymore.
"Buzz!" she shouted, crawling toward him.
Woody, who had not stopped searching for her, saw her staggering out of the smoke and ran toward her. He took her in his arms and held her tightly, trembling with fear and relief.
"I thought... I thought I had lost you," he whispered against her hair, taking her by the shoulders and checking her wounds.
Bo arrived immediately, sat her down carefully, and gave her clean water to help her recover, wiping the soot-stained face. Meanwhile, other men from the village managed to clear the debris and pulled out Buzz, who remained motionless. Jessie saw him and ran toward him before anyone could stop her. She knelt beside him, brushed the hair from his forehead, and caressed him with a tenderness that was painful to witness.
"It's okay... please, let it be okay," she repeated softly.
Buzz didn't react, but he was breathing, and that was enough for Jessie to feel a bit of relief. She refused to move him from her lap despite having her own wounds to tend to.
Woody watched them from a few steps away. He saw how he had taken the risk without a moment's hesitation, how he had gone back in when everyone thought they were safe, how he had taken the blow meant for her. She still felt some resentment, a small shadow that didn't completely disappear, but in that moment, she knew she couldn't hate someone who loved her enough to give their life for her. And he also saw, in the way she looked at him, that the feeling was mutual.