Disclaimer: I do not own Toy Story

summary: While taking a break at his secret spot in a dump site, Sid discovers something so unexpected, it forces him to rethink some of the decisions he's made and the way he sees himself and others.

warning!: This is a dark fic. containing the gruesome results of a violent act, foul language and minor drug use.

I haven't written a lot of dark fics, especially fics with the use of profanity (it's not in my nature), but under the circumstances I felt the need to use it to emphasize the situation. I think it's hard enough getting into the mindset of Sid from who we see the point of view from. The story of Andy was meant to be used for something much longer, but due to time and a desire to place focus on Sid, I decided to make this a three-shot (though it was going to be a two-shot). The concept was inspired by a serious topic on a talk show. I wanted to address that here using two human characters from Toy Story.

Lost

Shit. It wasn't something I should be thinking. It's not how I'm supposed to feel after lighting the end and taking a drag. But that's how I felt. I wasn't gonna admit that out loud. Didn't matter anyhow, cause no one was around. It's just me, surrounded by heaps and heaps of garbage. All the necessary stuff that nobody thought they needed or wanted anymore, becoming nothing but trash. I'd seen it all: old sofas with nothing but a bad color scheme and a few holes; cracked lamps, some with uncracked bulbs and nice lamp shades; colored TVs that hadn't met their expiration; limp dresses, dusty blue jeans and boots that could've been used on some homeless guy; holiday decorations, including banners and lights that could've had another shot for the year. And then there were things like a full package of chocolate muffins. There was even a whole roasted turkey. Cans of things like peas and corn, and tuba ware of casseroles. It was all mixed up with rusted pipes, springs and motors from useless cars.

Yeah, some of it was good stuff. Hell, a lot of it was, but whoever threw them out didn't think so. What did they care anyway. They had pockets full of dough, they could replace what they didn't want. But whatever the hell it was, it would end up in a dump. It was never good enough. And that's where the garbage men came in.

It's a meager job. Nobody thinks nothing of a garbage man. Nobody except me gives a crap.

I am one- and not ashamed to be one.

I think about that when I'm done for the day, and head back to a pile. I think about that now. If I should be ashamed. No. It's not a question of shame. It's a question of whether I belong.

I took another drag and repositioned myself on an old cushion I'd found. An old spring popped up and ripped into my jeans. Damn, mom'll have to fix that.

I ignore it and look back out across the land. If anybody saw me, they'd think I was crazy for sitting here in a dump, especially since I'm not working at the moment. I'm just sitting here. This is my place of refuge, whenever I really needed one-and tonight I felt I needed one. No one knew I was here. This particular dump was just outside the city, away from my normal route with the other guys on the job. It was a smelly, dirty hideaway, and it was all mine. A land filled with discarded treasures.

That's what I see. Things that weren't good enough for other people, but were just fine for me. I don't know why. It's natural. It's chaotic. I've always been chaotic. Since I was a kid blowin up toys in my backyard.

Trash can be chaotic. It was a mix of things, like me. Stuff nobody wanted, that was useless and didn't have a place anywhere.

"Shit," I said. "That's me."

That's me all over sometimes. My damn father made sure of that once. And so did my toys. I shiver at the thought of that delusion. My toys, coming to life, attacking me. They say it was a delusion. My mom, and eventually Hannah when she tired of taunting me about it. But it wasn't a delusion. It was real.

My plastic creations still sit in my room. For the past years when I set foot there, I waited, wondering if they'd come to life, to mess me up again. They never did.

I scan the largest heaps around me, imagining what was buried within. I could guess many of the things in there were toys. Great. And this job was supposed to relax me. It was a gamble, but since I was going to associate myself with garbage, I decided to hack that problem of toy fear. Like a magpie I go around collecting interesting and fixable stuff. Some of that stuff was toys.

Guess somewhere in my sick mind I thought it would earn safety from my living toys and that damn cowboy doll that started it. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe the day my toys, my toys screwed with my mind was the day I stopped being normal. Least to everyone else. With dad not being much of a number one father, there's no one to encourage me to do better. Me and mom fight all the time. She thinks I'm doing drugs. Wouldn't she like to know. I took another drag and blew out into the evening air. I know she doesn't think much of my chosen career. I can't explain the reason for it still. Me and garbage just go together.

I can't do any better. I wasn't one of those kids that brings home A's and makes honor rolls. I ain't so smart, but I know what I like. I like what I do. And it feels good with a bag of grass on hand. I reached into my back pocket to make sure it hadn't fallen out. Yep, it's still there. I can't help feel a little disappointed. I don't like toting this kind of trash with me, but I can't let it go. I glance around like I'm making sure no one is watching, then I pulled it out. I always think of throwing it out there to get lost. It's no good. It's doing me no good. My rock music does better.

I grimace and shoved it back in my pocket.

"Dammit," I cursed. Just trash holding onto trash. I was never good enough.

I sat there a few minutes longer, taking the last drag out before the bud became useless. I flicked it aside. I'm too young to be smoking, but I'll be damned if I give that up anytime soon. I sigh and straighten my posture. It was getting late. I ought to go home. I had to get up for work again anyways.

I stood and stuffed my hands in my pockets. Just like always, I took a moment to scan my horizons. Usually I took this opportunity to go scavenger hunting. Find those treasures nobody seemed to want. I wanted to find them, but I didn't have much of a motivation tonight.

A cold breeze started up and I shivered. With nothing but a t-shirt on, I was gonna freeze my ass off. That wouldn't keep me from searching the place, but I just couldn't tonight. It was stupid, but the dump felt different tonight. Like there was somebody here lurking around in the shadows.

I shook my head and laughed it off. That's those delusions again from my screwed up mind. But was it real this time?

I didn't want to know.

I reached for the headphones around my neck as I walked away. I was seconds away from placing it on my ears, before my attention drifted. Some pale object was lying on the ground around the corner of two heaps of junk. I squinted as I tried to see what it was from where I stood. It was large, which gave me the impression that it was some kind of doll. I actually gulped. That fear of toys hadn't quite left me, especially at the sight of a doll that looked so huge. But I had to know.

I walked toward it. The cold air was getting colder.

I now stood a few feet away from it, and I was shaking like a pansy-with good reason. What I thought was a doll, wasn't a doll at all. At least that's what I kept telling myself. It was as tall as me, and if anything, it was paler up close. It was face down, and shirtless. Jeans pulled down to his knees, exposing his white briefs. But the thing that stole my attention more was the giant pool of blood it was lying in.

I hoped it was a doll, a mannequin if anything. That would have been a hell of a lot better. But it wasn't. It was some dead guy. A kid really, that looked to be around my age. I didn't want to see him as dead, but he was lying so still. I glanced around, expecting to find the ones responsible for his discarded body. We were alone.

The first thing I should've done was race back to my truck and get the hell out of here. But I didn't. I couldn't move at first, but when I did, I was moving toward the body. I stretched out a shaky hand and clamped down on his shoulder. Slowly I rolled him onto his back.

It took a full minute before his face registered in my head. Right now, I was still trying to get past the shock of his face. It was beaten real bad. His right eye was almost swollen shut. His cheeks puffed up in black and blue and covered in smears of blood. The rest of his body didn't get off any better, but the nasty coloring on his chest and torso showed it received a worse treatment than his face. If that was possible. The open cuts and severe damage was the cause of the red spill. It sickened me to study the damage any longer so I turned back to his face. I frowned as I really looked at it. It wasn't so easy with all the bruising, and the fact that I was eager to get the hell out of here. Then a brand new shock took over as I realized that I recognized the guy. He went to my school. He once was my next door neighbor when he was a kid, though I never paid him much attention. I actually fell back when I saw that I knew him. His name was Andy I think. Yeah, Davis.

Several questions ran through my mind at once, except the question of how this happened to him. I'd been fortunate enough to catch a sneak preview of it once. But at the time, I didn't really care. If it had nothing to do with me, why should I bother?

Four days ago, I'm tapping away on the desk of my English class. The teacher's babbling on about some dude. I'm watching the clock. Only a minute left. 'Come on already!' It seems like forever. Then the bell rings and I'm like the first outta my seat. It's the end of the day and I'm just happy to get out of class. I sling my pack over my back and head out the door. I'm so eager for a drag. It's safe for me to take one a few blocks away from the school around a brick wall. Where teachers won't hassle me about smoking. It's not far from the school, but it's outta sight of nosy teachers and kids.

But I wasn't the only one who knew that.

I leaned against a bricked up wall and pulled out my possession. I still look at it as trash, but I just can't get rid of it. Not right now, so I light up. Take a drag, the usual thing with me. Then I hear something different. I turn and see Davis a couple of yards away from me.

I couldn't help narrowing my eyes at him. Goody-two shoes Davis. He may not be the most popular kid, but he obviously leaves an impression of being the perfect student. I didn't hate the guy, not really. I just ignored him. But I couldn't ignore him here. He wasn't alone as he crossed the field. He had a gang of boys laughing and trailing behind him. They weren't friends of his. They were a bunch of punks who were a living hell to anyone unfortunate enough to catch their attention. Davis had caught theirs for a while. I seen them harass his ass on a number of occasions. Kiddy stuff like calling him names, knocking books from his hands, or bumping him into lockers. Once or twice, I'd seen they moved up a level when Davis was sporting a black eye. What did I care. Personally I thought he had it coming. Them bringing the golden boy down to reality. I don't know whether he ever thought he had it coming, I assumed Davis never said a word about it to anyone. Guess he thought he could handle them on his own. Well he couldn't this time. They were ganging up on him.

He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring them. I shook my head and grinned. If it were me, I would've turned and started swinging my fists. That's another problem with Davis. He wasn't a fighter. Well, not much of one.

I cursed as they got even closer. I had a feeling it was going to get worse, or maybe I just didn't feel like seeing Davis get licked today. I started to turn, but I was too late.

One of the punks grabbed Davis' backpack and pulled him back. He did it so hard the strap broke and the pack fell to the ground. Two others took his arms then they pushed him up against a wire fence. I tensed with the force they used. The fence clanged loudly. I turned my back to the scene, determined to hide them from me; but I could still see. The punks were laughing and Davis was shouting at them as one of the guys started digging through his pack. He threw the contents on the ground. Davis pushed against the guys holding his arms back and made for the other punk. He swung the pack, hitting Davis in the cheek. He stumbled back and the other guys jumped him, knocking him to the ground.

Davis gave a good struggle, but it wasn't good enough. Dude had no chance. All four of them was on top of him. Their fist were swinging. Their legs were kicking. Their mouths were yelling all kinds of names and curses that I couldn't hear. That I didn't want to hear. So I didn't. I stomped out my cigarette and moved on. I didn't look back neither. Not even when I thought I heard Davis crying out for help.

That was four days ago. I had barely caught a glimpse of him after that incident. What they'd done that day wasn't noticeable, otherwise I would have heard the gossip on what was wrong with the Davis kid. But seeing as how I heard nothing, I suppose he just covered up the lie again. Suspecting no one knew about his private punishments. But I knew. And now I was faced with the result of one of their beatings on the kid. And what's worse was that he was dumped, in my dump. Like those punks desecrated my secret spot! I scrunched up my nose in disgust. His blood was dampening my soil; my garbage. But then it occurred to me-he was garbage now. At least those guys thought so. They'd dumped him, half naked too. His American blue shirt in tatters under my feet.

They'd left him here to be permanent garbage. He'd deteriorate or whatever it was dead bodies do, and he'd be nothing but unrecognizable bones.

I stared at him-at his face. If I didn't know who the guy was, I might not have felt anything except fear and sickness. I was feeling that, but in a different way. Hell, I don't know how to explain it. He wasn't someone I liked, but he was someone I knew. That made me all the more disgusted. That I had to see a face I knew end up like this.

I didn't know what to do. Before I could really think of something, I was startled. I stepped closer to the Davis kid and stared hard.

Either my eyes were deceiving me or I had seen a shiver pass through him.

"No way," I gasped. I kneeled down next to him, and with much hesitation I placed my hand on his wrist. I didn't know much about how to check if someone's alive. It was only lucky I'd paid a little more attention to my P.E. coach whenever I learned about checking pulses. I guess I figured it would happen to me or someone I knew if I was going to go farther in smoking weed.

I didn't want to think about that now. I let my fingers slide to his wrist. I didn't want to think about the drugs I could have been taking. Why was I thinking about that now? At a time like this?

I knew why.

I lifted my eyes to look at Davis's closed and damaged ones. He could've been me. I could've ended up in my own dump. I shut my eyes and shook away the ghost image of myself. I concentrated on finding the beat that would tell me I wasn't seeing a dead guy in front of me. A beat like the rhythm of my music.

First I didn't think I found it. It's a bitch sometimes to try and find such things, especially at a time like this. I ain't no doctor. I should've called a doctor, but then he would've found my dump.

But...my dump was meaningless now. It was poisoned with blood.

I kept searching. Silently I was praying that it wasn't a trick of my delusional mind. That Davis was alive. Then there was something. It was faint, but I felt something. In my excitement, I lost contact, but I found it again.

"Shit, you're still...alive?" I asked him, my voice shaking terribly. It seemed impossible he could have survived what those punks put him through. I moved my hand away and surveyed his body again. He was paler than a sheet. I really didn't want to explore the bruises again, so I looked down at where I shouldn't be looking.

The fact that his pants were pulled down to his legs was a great concern. For him anyways. I could only imagine why they'd done that.

And I was even more sick than before.

The marks on his hips suggested their rough hands forcing them down his legs as they forced their way onto him-or into.

I gulped and turned away as my stomach did somersaults. 'Damn!' I couldn't start piecing together possibilities. I could've been wrong. I hoped I was wrong.

That all those sickos did was beat him up. But in today's world you never know. And if Davis did survived this, he wasn't gonna tell anybody anyhow, if what I was dreading really did happen to him. And I thought that kind of thing only happened to girls. But if it were me, I wouldn't tell a soul.

It was gettin colder now. I didn't know how long this kid had been out here, but I knew any longer wouldn't be good. He'd be good as dead soon. I stood and looked around. I could make the call, but by the time an ambulance got here, they would have to contact the morgue.

I don't know why, but I felt he had a better chance if I took him. It was like some kind of nutty punishment. Cause I didn't do nothing when he was attacked and I had to do something now.

"Dammit, why me? Huh?" I wasn't asking anyone in particular. I was just mad. Angry that this responsibility had to fall on my shoulders. Course I could've just walked away. I could say I didn't know nothing if someone asked. I didn't have to do nothin. But my eyes couldn't move away from his face. I had a sick feelin the image of his trashed body was going to haunt me. For as long as that damn cowboy doll still haunts me to this day.

"Shit," I cursed again. I sighed. I didn't see no other way around it. I couldn't just leave him now.

I looked to where my truck was parked. I looked back at the kid. I couldn't drag him over there. I'd have to move closer.

"Don't go nowhere," I couldn't help saying.

I ran. The fear fueled me. If my coach could see what motivates me enough.

When I reached the truck and hopped in the seat, I had a second thought of high-tailing it out of here. I honestly sat there for a full minute. Least it seemed that way. But then the image of my ghost body lying on the ground, covered in my own blood came back to me. Hell, if it was the other way around, Davis wouldn't hesitate to save me. I know he wouldn't. He was too much of a golden kid not to do so, even to the worst of people. I started the ignition and turned around.

Davis was right where I'd left him when I ran to him. A few more shivers passed through his limp body. How long before they stopped?

"All right man, how're we gonna do this?"

It was a risk in more ways than one. He'd been soaking in his own blood for so long. I dreaded the thought of him gettin it all over my seats. The irony smell was already filling my nose cause there was so much of it. If I didn't care so much about my seats, I wouldn't have thought about him. Moving that broken body might do a serious amount of damage. Glad I knew that much. I move him too much and his death would be my fault. It was all the more reason to call the cops. Let them move him. I wasn't gentle; not in the least. I moved back to my truck and opened the back door. Rolled up on the floor was a blanket I'd found. A nice warm wool one somebody threw out. I didn't use it before, but it was gonna come in handy now. I spread it out on the backseats as good as I could. Then, reluctantly I walked up to Davis.

"Okay, how we gonna do this?" I didn't feel the least bit confident.

I bent down behind Davis's head. Slowly and as gently as I could, I started lifting his shoulders. I stopped when I heard a groan. It wasn't me, it was him. He was more okay than I thought. Or else I was hurting him. I moved even slower. I let my hands slide down under his arms. Damn his skin was so cold, and slick with blood. I wished those punks hadn't gone as far as undressing him. I personally hated the feel of blood. With the movement I was making of his body, his pants slipped down a little. The last thing I wanted to do was tackle that issue. I went about moving him slower. Davis's head fell back against my shoulder.

"Nice," I groaned. To keep him from slipping out of my grasps, I had to interlock my fingers. Rather than drag him, I turned with him on the spot so I could load him in head first. As we moved, I tried not to imagine how ridiculous this made me look. If anyone had told me I'd one day have my arms around Davis, I'd of punched him. But clearly it wasn't like that. I needed to force away my awkwardness about it and remember that this was a rescue. And it wasn't because I cared about him. It wasn't like we were ever friends in the first place. No. If I saw something that deserved a second chance, I snatched it out of the garbage. Of course, that way of thinking only referred to my job as a garbage man, yet it wasn't exactly in my job description to save things. I decided that when I realized what treasures people threw away. And surprisingly that didn't only refer to objects and foods. For some reason, I couldn't help also saving a few toys.

Maybe it's because I sometimes expected to see that cowboy again. Well, if I didn't rescue Davis, I'd probably be seeing him again; like as a ghost or some paranormal shit.

I shook my head at it. We were close to the truck now. I knew it wasn't going to be easy to get him in there, especially since I was still uncomfortable about the whole thing.

"It'd help me out if you'd wake up," I told him in annoyance. Clearly he wasn't going to wake.

I unlocked my fingers and placed the support on his back and side as I leaned him against the seat. As carefully as possible, I slid him in and onto the blanket. It felt like it took forever until I got him inside. I took a moment to double check that he hadn't had the nerve to die on me. There was still a pulse-still faint. I pulled my hand away and stared at the scene, dumbfounded. Without thinking, I grabbed the corners of the blanket and wrapped them around him. It was done. Davis was in my truck now. There was no turning back now. I slammed the door closed then hopped in the driver's seat. I started the ignition and set the air for heat. I glanced around at him before I started.

"You better not die on me," I warned him. "After all the trouble I went through."

He didn't respond. His eyes were still sealed tight, his face frowned in pain. I turned back around and gulped. This was it. I hit the gas and made a turn around, heading out of my secret place, which wasn't a secret anymore.

I hit the road with a slight bump. I said a quiet, "Sorry," to Davis, before deciding it was pointless to be saying anything to him. He was far too out of it to hear me. Instead I concentrated on remembering the nearest hospital. We were way on the outskirts of town. Those lousy bastards making it impossible for him to reach help anywhere close. That in turn made it difficult on me. I sighed. There was no way around it unless I made that call; again I couldn't bring myself to do it. I glanced at my cell sitting on the passenger's seat. Who was I kidding. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't some golden boy like Davis. I wasn't the kind of kid that did this kind of thing. I sighed again.

"I must be out of my mind," I stated.

I heard Davis groan again. I growled, irritated, and made to reach for my cigs. It wasn't easy to do while driving, so I decided not to reach for them anymore. Instead I decided it was too quiet and depressing in here, so I reached to turn on my rock station. As my finger hovered before the knob, Davis groaned even louder. I even heard the springs in the seat like he was moving around. I pulled away from turning on the radio and glanced over at him. He was moaning and tossing a little. I wondered if the heat had roused him, or if it was too much. I cut it down a little.

"Sounds like you're more alive than when I first found you."

In response he groaned.

"Guess I don't have to worry about you dyin' on me."

He groaned a little louder and shifted on the seat. I risked taking my eyes off the road long enough to look at him through the rearview mirror. It was down too low for me to see. I went to lift it up, but not before catching Davis's head falling in my direction; and seeing his swollen eyes open half-way. I couldn't concentrate too long on him since I was driving. I was dying to pull over, but I hated risking the time. He might not be as okay as I thought.

"Davis," I growled. I wasn't sure if he needed to stay awake or not.

He groaned again and this time, he went to the effort of actually talking.

"W-w-where,...am I?" he said in a low hoarse voice. He sounded like he looked. I felt a pang of guilt as I made to answer. I wasn't sure if there was a lot of point in it. Whether he was delusional in his question, but he sounded sane to me.

"You're in my, truck. You got the crap beat out of you," I admitted. For a brief second, I saw a flash of the day he got beat up, when I turned my back on him. I gulped. If I was awkward before, I felt even more awkward at talking to him. I focused on the road, determined to ignore him. I assumed he would fall out of consciousness, but I was wrong.

"Who...are, y-you?" he managed to ask.

I gritted my teeth. I really didn't wanna be talkin to him. I especially didn't want to give him my name. I sighed. What did it matter really? He'd probably forget it.

"Ah, Sid," I admitted regretfully.

He was quiet for a minute, which made me think he had knocked himself out with the strain of trying to stay awake. I risked glancing back at him. His eyes were still half open, but they were trained on me. He seemed to actually be focused on me.

"Sid?" he asked curiously.

He said it like my name registered in his head. I swallowed hard. I couldn't see how it was possible that he was so lucid.

"Sid?" he asked again. "Sid Philips?"

"Yeah, what of it?" I challenged. I couldn't help being annoyed with him now that he was awake. It was like I felt he would hold it over my head; that I was saving him. But it wasn't like that. I just needed him outta my dump. That was the only reason. The only reason. 'Damn I need a drag,' I thought desperately.

"Sid,...you-"

He never got to say anymore, because the next thing he did was start coughing. It was serious coughing too, so much so that I nearly swerved the car out of my control in surprise. I risked turning completely around.

"Hey, Hey dude!"

The coughing got worse, so I pulled over in a hurry. Now wasn't the time for him to die. I got out and opened the back door. I was appalled to see blood was sputtering from his mouth. There was a nasty gurgling sound which told me he was having difficulty catching his breath on his back. I moved forward and lifted him up into a sitting position. The dark ooze dribbled down his chin. I hoped that wasn't a bad sign, all this blood.

"Come on man, not in my truck," I couldn't help begging. His brutal beating could've stained my memory, and my dump, but not my truck.

Slowly his coughing fit settled. I looked around my truck and my eyes fell to the floor. There was a half a bottle of water rolling around down there. I reached down and picked it up.

Again, I'm not claiming myself as no doctor. I wasn't sure if giving him a drink would upset him even worse. I mean as far as I could tell, he had a mouth full of blood. I cringed at the sight of it. He wouldn't be able to get any water down. The most good it could do was to wash it out. After a minute I saw that it might not be necessary. He was coughing again, blood clearing his mouth some. Nonetheless, I unscrewed the cap and tilted his head back.

"Hey, drink this," I told him. I didn't wait for a reply. I stuck the bottle in his mouth. Jeez, if I felt ridiculous before, it wasn't nothing compared to now. Supporting his head and the bottle like he was a baby. But what did it matter? No one would know, except me. Davis sputtered on the little bit I poured into him, so I immediately stopped. His body shook like crazy as he started another fit of coughs. If anything, to me he sounded worse than before. Again I started to panic. I sat the water down and with some hesitation, I patted and rubbed circles into his back. Thank God I was here alone. I didn't think I could bare the idea of someone seeing what I was doing, especially to the Davis kid. But it looked like it was helping him. His coughing slowed and turned into heaving gasps to steady his breathing. He had his eyes closed tight in pain.

I hoped I hadn't made things worse. I felt like I hadn't when his breathing slowed.

He opened his eyes and like before, they focused on me looking down at him. He blinked a few times, probably to clear his focus. I wondered if he was really seeing me or if he thought he was dreaming. Surely he would think this was a dream. No one in their right mind would think I would resort to helping someone like him.

"W-who are you?" he stuttered. He was frowning at me.

"What, you forgot already?" I sneered.

He blinked in response. He looked awake enough to understand.

"Sid, remember?"

"S-sid?" he questioned. He was still frowning. Man, those punks did a good job pounding him. Shakin' lose his brains. I was close to wishing him good luck on his next algebra test. That was another thing that annoyed me and the kids that did this to him. Davis was always so smart about everything. I heard it all the time from teachers. It was enough to make me sick. But, after seeing Davis this way, I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"Yeah, Phillips remember? Damn, Casey and his bunch really did a number on you."

"Casey?" he asked.

"Those punks that beat you up," I almost shouted. This was getting a little irritating. "That's why you're in my truck remember? You got the crap beat outta yah."

Davis turned his gaze away from me. I could tell he was trying to remember what happened. I just hoped he wouldn't share it.

"Yeah," he said very quietly. "I, think I do." He fell quiet after that. Even though he didn't go into the details of it, (and I'm pretty sure it was because he couldn't remember them) I wished he hadn't admitted that. I mean the way he said it, in such a pathetic voice, made he feel more sorry for him. I turned away and tried to think of something to say or do. Anything to keep the depressing mood from getting to me. I turned back to the water. I grabbed it with some hesitation. I still wasn't sure if he should be drinking any in his condition.

"Here, you want some more, water?"

He raised his eyes toward me again. "No," he said in a hoarse voice.

Jeez, he sounded like he needed it. "No? You sure?" He didn't answer. He just looked miserable, and might I add vulnerable which he was.

"All right," I said as I set the water down. Davis gave a few short coughs before settling down. Then he looked up at me again, but this time, he didn't seem to see me so clear.

"Where's mom?" he asked softly.

I frowned. "How should I know? Probably at home. I'm getting rid of you at a hospital. The sooner we get there, the faster I'm done with your ass."

I laid him back down flat on the seat. Davis didn't protest in anyway. I didn't think he could because he looked like he was gonna pass out again.

"They, attacked me mom," he muttered. "Sorry I didn't, tell you before."

What could I do? All I could do was stare. I didn't know what to say. Obviously he was losing it, and there was nothing I could do about it, except get to the hospital as soon as possible.

"Sure," I said as I made to close the back door. But I stopped when he looked at me.

"Sid?" he asked.

I raised a curious eyebrow. "Yeah?" I asked slowly.

Davis didn't get to finish saying whatever he wanted to say to me. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his eyelids came down. He was out again. I bit my lip and refrained from telling him a "Sweet Dreams". I shut the door and hopped into the front seat again. I turned around and looked at Davis. He only appeared to be sleeping at the moment. I wanted to curse him for all the trouble he put me through, but I realized I really couldn't. It was my choice to do this after all. I didn't have to give a damn. I could've ignored the whole thing, minded my own business and avoided the dump for at least a month. But I didn't.

I really couldn't.

I was a garbage man and my job was to help get rid of things, things that nobody wanted, yet I managed to do the opposite most of the time. I saved things that people thought were useless trash. And now I had done it again. Those punks thought Davis was trash and deserved to be in the dump. Only real useless things deserved to be in my dump, and one of them wasn't Davis. Sure he annoyed the hell out of me, but too many people believed he was worth something.

I couldn't say the same for me. I had always belonged in the dump. Not Davis though.

I curse myself for feeling so sentimental, but it couldn't be helped. My hideaway was stained with blood and I had to do something about it. I had to fix this wrong and be the hero.

As I drove along the quiet, dark road, I couldn't help thinking what would have happened if I hadn't become a garbage man who saved things that shouldn't be thrown away. Davis sure didn't deserve to be thrown away. But those were just thoughts.

I think the inspiration for having Sid enjoy his job came from other fanfic writers who had Sid enjoying that employment. I don't think anyone's made Sid a drug addict, but that's part of the garbage in this story. Being that this is a first person point of view, I found it a little challenging to write since we don't really know Sid in his teens. All we get from him is his childhood days where he blew up toys, and only a glimpse of him in TS3.

Like I said earlier, this was based off of a topic on a talk show and now you know the topic was about bullying. I've already written two other Toy Story fics, (one of them, the movie like adventure Toy Size), and this is nothing like them being that it's so dark. I would have loved to write another Andy/Woody tale, but here the focus is on Sid being the unlikely hero. The term of garbage clearly has a lot of references for what's going on. Sid found Andy in a tragic state and he and you can only assume all of what happened to him. Sid has a pretty bad attitude toward Andy, but in the next two chapters, we'll find out whether that's gonna hurt Andy or help him.