Disclaimer: I don't own Toy Story

I had planned to make this idea a reality in a Toy Story fic one day, and I'm glad I finally have had the time to do so. I wanted to do some other kind of serious subject matter TS fic. I did the subject matter of bullying in my previous fic "Garbage", and now, I'm doing alcohol as the subject. So as the story goes, the toys have come to be living with an alcoholic Andy. Woody must figure out how to help their owner without exposing their secret. The title was originally "Drugs, Dolls, and Alcohol", but seeing as there's no drugs in this, and considering the concept, I changed the title.

The Problem

Alcohol was something a toy usually never knew the meaning of, and that was because the toy would be long gone from the kid's life before he or she learned about it. Unfortunately for Woody and the rest of the gang, they were learning the meaning of that word all too soon. It wasn't obvious at first, but little by little, Woody had begun to realize something was wrong with his boy. And it wasn't too long after that did he discover the physical reason.

It hadn't happened until several weeks after his birthday; his seventeenth birthday. And when his birthday came around, it seemed to become just another regular day for the toys. No longer was Woody seated at the edge of Andy's bed, listening to Sarge over the walkie-talkie for updates on his owner's gifts. Rex, Slinky, Hamm and the others weren't panicking down below, fearing they would get replaced. And Buzz was no longer required to assure everyone that things were going to be okay. Those days had passed far too quickly for Woody's liking. As soon as he'd turned thirteen, it was the end of newcomers. Andy had wanted what other boys his age wanted. Things like video games and the latest in sports' gear. Childish playthings were far from his mind, yet after that point, Woody had tried hard to convince them that it was simply a phase. There was no fooling them. They knew no more toys would be coming into the room, which made them feel slightly relieved. But no new toys also meant no toys at all. It meant that Andy was done with them. The message became all the more clear when they suddenly found themselves in the accursed toy box after Andy turned fifteen. Still, Woody would try to tell them that Andy hadn't fully forgotten about them. That there would come a time when he needed them. Woody gave them credited for trying to have faith in the idea, but it was fading fast.

And now Andy was seventeen. An age Woody assumed would title him as a man. But in his eyes, he was still just a kid. He had pulled himself out of the box and crossed the room when that birthday came along.

"Woody, where are you going?" Buzz had shouted from the box.

"I just want to find out what he got," Woody had told him. "It's his birthday afterall."

"You don't expect him to get any new toys do you?" Jessie had called out.

Woody hadn't answered. Up to the point where Andy received his last toy, a remote controlled truck, he couldn't help keeping an ear out.

He had gotten Sarge and the other army guys to follow the old routine of sneaking the walkie downstairs. This time the walkie was under the desk instead of ontop, so it would be easier to push out of sight should Andy make a quick return. Woody had waited and waited for word from Sarge. He didn't know what he wanted to hear. That he'd gotten a new toy? That he'd gotten a new t-shirt? But then Sarge had informed him that Andy would be spending his party elsewhere; a possible last minute decision on Andy's part. Woody had then clicked off the radio for the last time.

What followed was a phase, a phase Woody wasn't sure he liked. A phase in which a new friend started spending time with Andy. A dark-haired boy Woody believed was called James. Before him, it was a girl stealing his owner's attention. But it was expected that Andy would take an interest in gaining a girlfriend. She never spent much time with him in his room. It was always Andy who went to see her. She, and James, and the rest of the circle of friends became Andy's new toys. They were the replacements who pulled him from his room far too often. Though Woody and the others appreciated having more time to act lively without his presence, they still missed not seeing him often. He was growing up, and he wanted his independence from his room, from his house—from his toys. Woody didn't want to know if the others accepted it, especially since he hadn't. They were now simply existing within the room, or within the box.

So when several weeks after his birthday struck, it was Woody alone who noticed a change in their owner, because he was paying the most attention to the boy's changes.

They were hearing a lot more of "Andy's coming!" from Hamm as Andy was now spending a bit more time alone in his room. But that wasn't what was odd. Woody had noticed the look on his face before Andy dropped across his bed, stomach side down, to take a nap. He looked, in his opinion, sad.

"Woody, drop the lid before Andy sees you!" Jessie had hissed as he was the one holding it up to study the boy.

"He's asleep, knocked out," he reassured her.

"You can't take a chance with a teenager," said Mr. Potato Head.

"Come on guys, it's safe. And the fresh air will do us all some good."

"Well I got news for you cowboy, it's in here we have to get used to," Mr. Potato Head told him.

But Woody hadn't listened. He was studying Andy's face. He looked more than sad. He looked exhausted, and maybe a bit depressed; still he had been asleep at the time.

But soon enough, it became the way he looked even when he was awake. It hadn't been easy for Woody too get sneak peeks. The others had ducked below, not wanting to take the chance of being caught. But Buzz, Rex, Hamm and all the rest had joined him in spying on Andy when they heard him rummaging wildly and angrily through his closet one day.

He was muttering something they couldn't quite understand. Woody was sure it was a good thing that they couldn't. And then Molly peeked in upon hearing the commotion, and to the toys' shock, Andy started yelling at her. He accused her of being in his closet, then when she denied it, he demanded she leave his room. To illustrate his meaning, he had physically pushed her out with such a force she fell to the floor. Molly had gone running to mom and Andy followed to deny anything.

"What,..what was that all about?" Jessie had asked, unable to understand.

"Andy was really upset," Rex noted.

"No kidding," said Hamm.

"Something's definitely wrong," Buzz decided.

Woody could only grit his teeth as he heard the argument downstairs, wishing more than ever that Andy had just come to them. Woody knew he could have soothed the boy's rage, but what he had wanted to know was where it had come from.

The days following turned out no different, except that Andy wasn't expressing his anger. He was keeping it bottled up inside him or expressing it on his face. Mom had punished him to his room with no friend visitations. It hadn't bothered Andy too much as he had brought along the source of his frustration and depression. But Woody and the others hadn't caught on. All they'd noticed was that Andy appeared more tired than usual. They'd catch signs of red eyes, and they'd hear his slurred speech over the cell. They'd even hear or see him stumbling about like a young boy would do after running around in a circle to dizzy himself.

"Maybe he's sick," Slinky guessed.

Woody counted that theory out quickly. He knew Andy had never been sick in such a way.

"Maybe it's some kind of phase, like Woody said," said Mrs. Potato Head.

"No, I don't think so," Woody said gravely. He had concocted a slight idea, but he had dismissed it quickly, not believing it was possible for his boy. He was too good, too smart.

"What could it be?" Jessie questioned.

"Perhaps it has something to do with school," Buzz suggested.

Woody let them come up with all the possibilities they wanted. He was determined not to share his thoughts, maybe not even after he found proof.

When Andy's grounding was lifted and he'd left the house, Woody sent the soldiers on a special secret mission. One in which they scoured the room in silence, and whenever someone asked what they were up to, they'd simply say, "That information is classified." When they asked Woody, he gave the excuse that they were practicing their training since Andy no longer brought them out into a battlefield. They figured it was their private game, and left Woody and the soldiers to it.

After a day of searching, Woody was convinced that he was wrong as they had found nothing. He had been vague in his explanation about what he wanted them to find.

"Just look for any usual bottles or containers with strong liquid inside."

No such things were found and Woody was relieved. But Andy's strange behavior continued on the next day, so Woody had the men go into action once more. After a much more thorough search, it was found behind a secret compartment of Andy's closet; a brown bottle in a paper sack. There was definitely liquid still inside—a foul smelling liquid.

When Woody found himself standing before it, he felt apart of himself die. This was the source of his angry moments, his sudden stumbly seemingly clumsy way, his sometimes slurry speech, his exhaustion and depression. Woody stared at it as if it were the only mark of evil in the world. But then his expression dropped to pain. How could he tell the others. If he did tell the others, there was nothing they could do. They were to remain quiet. Andy wouldn't seek comfort in them, he would seek it in that bottle and many more that he'd sneak into the house.

Woody had only a brief knowledge of alcohol from a brief owner before Andy's father. He learned grown-ups liked to use it as a replacement for milk and other childlike drinks, while others liked to use it to solve a problem. The latter, from what he'd seen, never worked. And now his boy, the greatest brightest kid in the world, was headed down that same dark path. He wasn't even a full grown-up yet.

He was brought out of the horror when a hand landed on his shoulder. Buzz was standing by his side, gazing at the source of Woody's pain.

"What have you found cowboy?"

If Buzz didn't know he was a toy in the beginning, how could he understand what they were looking at?

"Something, Andy shouldn't have," he answered in a broken voice. "It's why he's been acting so strange lately."

"What is it Woody?"

He didn't want to tell him. He wanted the childish illusion to continue. If he told, it would be admitting that Andy was no longer a boy. That he was old enough to make such a decision, a stupid decision that didn't involve them. If he told Buzz and all the others, they would be leaving their innocent world behind, and joining the clearer, darker side that humans experienced as they grew.

"It's bad Buzz. Real bad."

Buzz moved closer to it, and his eyebrows raised.

"Wait a minute, I believe I've heard of this before." He looked around at Woody, who now had no choice but to explain.

For the next three days, they'd kept it between themselves. But as Andy worsened, the others bombarded them for answers as they realized the guilty looks on their faces. Woody had sat, curled up in a corner of the box, listening to Andy stumble around and slur on the phone. He half listened as Buzz gave the truth to the small group before him. The silence following gripped at Woody's invisible soul. Now they knew. Now they knew what kind of person Andy had become. A boy not to be proud of, and Woody couldn't look any of them in the eye.

When Andy left the room, they exited the box while maintaining their unnerved silence. No one knew what to say, until Mrs. Potato Head opened her mouth and started the conversation.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," she cried.

"Neither can I," said her husband. "Andy's always been such a good kid. Why would he want to do something like putting poison into his system."

"There are all kinds of influences out there, and we can't see them all, being locked away in a box," Buzz reasoned.

"And we can't do anything about it either," said Hamm.

"Mom could do something," Rex suggested.

"If she knew about it," said Jessie as she patted Bullseye. "Maybe, somehow, we can tell her."

"No," Woody said coldly. He had his back to all of them, lost in his own oncoming darkness.

"But Woody, we can't let Andy hurt himself like this. We gotta do something," she begged.

"It's are job isn't it?" asked Slinky.

"Hff, our job was to be his best friends, until he outgrew us," said Mr. Potato Head.

"Mom can't know," said Woody, darkly. "She can't become ashamed of him. She's the only parent he has left."

"So what are you saying we do? Sweep it under the rug?" Buzz asked.

"I don't know yet. I have to think."

Woody walked away from them, knowing their eyes were at his back, desiring an answer from their leader; but he had none. All he knew was that he didn't want Andy's mom or his sister to become heartbroken by finding out the truth. Part of him wondered if he was simply being selfish; that he simply wanted to be the one and only one to save the day—to save Andy. But how could he? He was just a toy, incapable of truly talking with his owner.

Woody climbed onto the desk overlooking the room and looked at the picture of his boy posted on the bulletin board. There was the happy, innocent, bright eyed eight year old version of the boy, smiling with all his toys around him. Woody was in his hand, smiling as well. It was a fake and real smile at the same time. As he stared at it, he couldn't help wonder what his father would say about this. Woody shut his eyes briefly and decided that if his father was here, he wouldn't want him to know either. He opened his eyes and looked into Andy's happy ones.

"Why Andy?" he whispered sadly. "Why?"

This was originally going to be a oneshot, but with all the details, I am forced to cut it in half. So now it's a two-shot. This part introducing the problem the next, well, you'll see. Will Woody discover the reason Andy's turned to drinking? I guarantee you it's big…really big. It has to be as it would be out of character for Andy to even be doing it. But the reason for it is also out of his character.

I really wanted this story to have a dark edge with just the right details, especially considering the toys can't see a lot as they are in the toy box now. I hope I did okay by it. I don't know a lot about drunkenness except what you get on t.v. But it's simple enough. Please review like crazy! And stay tuned for the last chapter!

Remember, review, review Review!