Chapter Text
The town of Willow Creek woke slowly.
It always had.
By half past five, the sun was only just climbing over the endless Midwestern cornfields, painting the sky in soft oranges and pale blues. A lone tractor rumbled somewhere beyond the Pride farm, birds argued noisily from the fence posts, and the smell of fresh hay drifted lazily through the open kitchen window.
Woody liked mornings. Most sheriffs preferred the excitement—the emergencies, the adrenaline, the satisfaction of solving problems. Woody preferred this.
Coffee.
Quiet.
Bo humming to herself while she made breakfast. Bullseye snoring loudly beneath the kitchen table, occasionally twitching as he chased something in his dreams.
It reminded him that, for all the difficult days, the world usually woke up wanting to be ordinary.
He wished people did too.
Bo wandered into the kitchen wearing one of his old sheriff's shirts, sleeves rolled up past her elbows and blonde hair tied into a loose braid. Without a word, she stole his coffee. Woody watched her take a long sip. "...Morning."
She smiled over the rim of the mug. "Morning."
"That's mine."
"It was."
"You made your own."
"I changed my mind."
He sighed dramatically. "I married a criminal."
"You married someone smarter than you."
Bullseye's tail thumped against the floor.
Traitor.
Bo laughed.
"You don't get involved."
Bullseye thumped harder.
By seven, Woody was pulling into the sheriff's office.
The building was small enough that visitors often mistook it for a post office. Inside, it looked more like organised chaos than law enforcement. Deputy Rex was trying—and failing—to change the toner cartridge in the printer. Deputy Slinky was drinking coffee so strong it probably qualified as paint stripper. Hamm, who somehow managed the town bank and still found time to gossip, leaned comfortably against the reception desk. And sitting with both boots on Woody's desk, eating someone else's doughnut, was Buzz Lightyear.
"You know," Woody said, hanging up his hat, "most deputies wait until after the sheriff gets to work before stealing his breakfast."
Buzz looked down at the half-eaten doughnut. "...This is yours?" Woody stared. Buzz slowly lowered it. "...Hypothetically."
Rex looked up from the printer. "I told him not to."
"You absolutely encouraged me."
"I encouraged honesty."
"You encouraged theft."
Slinky took another sip of coffee. "I encouraged watching."
Woody pinched the bridge of his nose.
Every morning.
Every single morning.
"I leave you people unsupervised for five minutes..."
"You were gone forty-three." Buzz stood, brushing sugar from his uniform. "Anyway." He tossed Woody a folder. "Cattle got loose on County Road Twelve."
Woody caught it one-handed. "Again?"
"Again."
"Hamm?"
"Not mine this time."
"Mrs. Davis?"
"Yep."
Woody sighed. "Let's go rescue cows."
Buzz grinned. "I knew you'd say yes."
By lunchtime, the excitement of escaped livestock had given way to paperwork.
The glamour of policing.
Woody was halfway through a report when his desk phone rang.
He almost ignored it.
Almost.
"Willow Creek Sheriff's Office. Sheriff Pride speaking."
"Mr. Pride?" His shoulders stiffened. Nobody called him Mister unless they wanted something official. "This is Dolly from County Family Services."
Woody sat up straighter. "How can I help?"
"I'm calling regarding Jessica Pride."
Everything stopped.
The sounds of the office faded into the background.
Buzz was saying something.
Rex had finally fixed the printer.
Someone laughed.
Woody heard none of it. "...Excuse me?"
"Jessica Pride. Date of birth—"
"I know who Jessie is." His voice came out rougher than intended. "I'm sorry."
Dolly paused. "You're listed as her closest living relative."
Woody swallowed. "...Is she alright?"
The question escaped before he could stop it.
He hadn't spoken Jessie's name aloud in years.
Not because he'd forgotten.
Because it hurt too much.
Ten years earlier...
He'd been nineteen.
Too young to become a parent.
Too young to fight a legal battle against his own uncle.
Their parents had died within months of one another.
Everything afterwards blurred together into courtrooms, paperwork and impossible choices.
Pete had insisted he was the stable option.
A homeowner.
Financially secure.
An adult.
Woody had been a teenager working nights while putting himself through the police academy.
The judge had agreed.
"I'll let you visit," Pete had promised afterwards. "You'll still see her."
Woody had believed him.
The visits became phone calls.
The phone calls became letters.
The letters came back unopened.
Eventually...
Nothing.
For ten years, Woody had wondered whether Jessie remembered him.
Whether she'd been told he stopped trying.
Whether she hated him.
It was the one case he'd never managed to solve.
"Mr. Pride?" Dolly's voice pulled him back.
"I'm here."
"Your uncle, Peter Prospector, has relinquished guardianship."
The words didn't make sense. "...What?"
"He states that Jessica has become impossible to manage due to ongoing behavioural issues."
Woody laughed.
Once.
Short.
Disbelieving.
"No."
"I'm sorry?"
"That's not Jessie."
"You haven't seen her for some time."
"No." His voice became quieter. "But I know my sister."
Dolly was silent for a moment. Then she said carefully, "She's on her way to your home now."
Woody stood so quickly his chair rolled backwards into the filing cabinet. "...Now?"
"The transport left twenty minutes ago."
He looked through the office window without seeing it.
The farm.
Bo.
The spare bedroom they'd always called "the guest room."
It wasn't a guest room anymore.
Jessie was coming home.
After ten years...
His little sister was coming home.
And somehow-
Instead of relief-
The only thing Woody could think was:
What happened to you?
Outside the office, Buzz looked up as Woody strode past. "Everything alright?"
Woody stopped.
For a moment, he couldn't find the words.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile.
Just a stunned one.
"My sister's coming."
Buzz frowned. "You've never mentioned a sister."
"I know." A pause. "I haven't had one to mention for a long time."
Buzz's expression softened immediately. "You want me to come with you?"
Woody shook his head. "No." Then, after a beat- "...Actually..."
Buzz smiled. "I'll follow."
Forty minutes later, Woody stood on the porch of the farmhouse, staring down the gravel drive.
Beside him, Bo slipped her hand into his.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them needed to.
In the distance...
A county sedan appeared over the hill.
Slowly making its way toward the house.
Toward home.
Or what Woody desperately hoped could become one.