Archive of Our Own ^beta

His house was.. unfamiliar, to say the least. Distant memories of something one of them knew didn't register to all three, leaving them all confused and overwhelmed by the new environment. Part of him felt a strange comfort, while the other felt disdain. Still, though, anything's better than that wretched factory.

He can't get it out of his head. The bloodshed, the guts, chaos swirling all around him, his mind racing as he looked for a way out. He's never moved like that before, let alone that fast. Frankly, he's not sure how he's alive. But he is. And he's home. 

The last thing he remembers is that room. Dark, damp, an interrogation room, he thinks. He noticed a small tape recorder in the background. They were recording him, like he was some animal. There were two strangers there in front of him.

Not strangers.

..Right. Strangers to two of us, at the very least. It's hard to recall how all of them felt. He remembers the woman. Susan, was that her name? She was kind, and welcomed us with open arms. The man was much more wary. Frankly, though, he doesn't blame him. Staring at himself in the mirror, he examines his reflection. He's not human. He feels an ugly disgust for this form and finds it hard to accept that this is who he is now. This is what they did to us. And it's never going away.

He felt himself getting angrier and angrier. But somehow, they were able to stop themselves. No one wanted anyone getting hurt, after all- but sometimes that's just how things go. In a miraculous turn of events, he was able to slip under a crack in the door and redirect his anger on those who lied to him. The gentle voices, the ones who said everything would be alright.

The liars.

He doesn't like to think about what happened next. And frankly, he's not sure he can. He's glad those memories aren't there to haunt the rest of his waking days. But he sees the way their- Parents, look at them. They're scared, he can see it in their eyes.

But they love you. They love all of us.

That's.. what they tell him. And despite his swirling hurricane of emotions, he believes them. But sitting in.. what's supposedly his room now, he still feels like he's intruding in a home that isn't his.

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Jackie? Honey? Can.. I come in?" His .. mother, called.

He lay on his dramatically undersized bed staring up at the ceiling, his consciousness's deciding who would be the one to answer.

Like clockwork, Matthew takes the lead.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Slithering up out of his bed, he found he was tall enough to reach the ceiling by standing up. He's too big for this place now, just another sign of how badly he stands out in this nuclear family. The door opens with a creak all too familiar, heard many times in Home Sweet Home. They never did bother to take care of that old rickety place. He stood tall, a few inches above the doorway. Ducking underneath it, he looks at the smaller woman underneath him. Susan Ayers.

"..Not to be brash, but he's not the only one here now."

"..Right- goodness, m.. my apologies, Ja... Doey."

"Ah, don't worry about it! Easy mistake to make, I suppose." In the awkward silence, he continues.

"What can I do ya for?" He says in a peppy, almost cartoon-ish voice.

"Yes! Well," She pointed to the clock, 5:30. "Dinner's at six, dear. I figured we could order out in celebration of your... your arrival." She paused. "And I'd- .. we'd, love to get to know the rest of you."

It's a trick. I wouldn't go.

Wary as always, aren't you?

She's my mom. She's safe, promise!

"Thanks for letting me know, Mrs. Ayers."

"..Just Susan is fine, Doey." Another pause. "..Or mom, if you'd like."

It stopped Doey in his tracks. He froze, a conflicted expression on his face, filled with worry and uncertainty. Susan held up her hands in a calming gesture.

"No pressure! I wouldn't- We wouldn't want to force anything on you!" There's a small panic in her eyes, one Doey however interprets as fear. His posture sinks, but he gives a half-hearted smile. "Of course, thank you."

"..How's pizza sound, sweetheart?" She replies.

Immediately, he perks up, all three of them filled with excitement. Pizza? They haven't had that in ages. It never even occurred to them that they no longer had to scavenge, no longer had to hunt, no longer had to worry about supplies. The thought made all three of them feel ecstatic. "Pizza? Really?" His tone switches from amazement to that of an eager child. "Yes, please!"

Susan smiles warmly. There’s her baby boy. "Alright, pizza in 30." She turns to leave, but before she does, she turns to Doey, and goes-

"You know you don't have to stay in your room all day."

"..I know. Still.. getting used to this whole place," he chuckles. "Still havin' a hard time comprehending that it ain't just rubble and muck anymore!" He realizes quickly his joke doesn't land when Susan's expression turns solemn. She nods, and walks down the hall to prepare dinner. Doey sighs and closes the door in a huff.

Great going, genius. You made her upset.

I'm trying my best here, no thanks to you.

Slumping against his door, he looks at the window- or rather, the closed curtains in front of it. He wants nothing more than to go outside, to feel the warmth of the sun, but they've been advised against it. Public opinion isn't exactly the highest, since the whole factory shutdown. In the eyes of the people, he's a monster. An abomination that should have never been made. Although it's not as big as the group of people offering him and his fellow toys support, it's still big enough to cause too much of a ruckus for him to leave the house. Could be dangerous, for both him and his 'new' family.

It makes him think of the others, though. The orphans, the other toys, and how they all fare. Are they in safe homes too? Are they hurt? Where are they? Will he ever get to see them again? He doesn't know too much about the other toys, but he knew the orphans. They were his friends, before he was turned into this damn sack of dough. They were his family. He can only pray that they're doing well. Part of him wants to go and find them, but that won't do good for anyone. He can't trust the people outside. The gentle voices lie, after all.

Dinner takes longer than expected, and he comes out about an hour later when hearing his mother call. He squishes through the hallway, being just a bit too big to fit inside the small corridor, and leaves blobs of dough in his wake. Sheepishly stepping through the house, despite not recognizing the layout, he finds himself walking straight to the dining room, almost instinctively. A fresh pizza lay in the middle of the table.

"I decided it might be better to order dinner instead. I know how much you loved eating out, so I figured it'd be my treat." Susan started, standing in the kitchen doorway.

George sat at the head of the table, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t place. Disdain? No, nothing hurtful, he thinks. Confusion? Not that either. Distrust, maybe. Whatever it was, he knew that he was uncertain. 

“Ah, J..ack. Good to see you, buddy.” Susan gives him a glare, but he’s not exactly sure why.

“Doey. Not... It’s Doey, right now.” George's face softens.

“My apologies.”

“No worries! Just something to adjust to.” He exaggerates his voice to emphasize his cartoony traits. He takes a deep breath and sits at the table, choosing the seat Jack always sat in as a child. His mouth waters, staring at the meal.

Susan examines his figure. “Should.. I make something else? Is this enough?” she pauses, then whispers to herself. “Can he even eat?”

“No, no, this is perfect, Thank you. We-” he laughs to himself while talking, amused. “We haven’t had food in ages. Let alone actual pizza.”

Susan watches him as he stares at his dinner, seemingly amazed by something so simple as pizza. It’s a punch to the gut, thinking about her baby starving in that wretched factory. It’s a miracle he’s… ‘alive’, she tries to reassure herself, but no child should have to go through that. Not Jackie, not Matthew, or Kevin. Their perseverance is astounding, but it also devastates her. She won’t leave them though. She’ll never leave Jackie, or any of them, ever again.

Dinner starts off quiet, the sound of their chewing filling the silence. Doey starves for more, for anything he can get, and keeps having to remind himself this isn’t going to be his last meal. Not for a long time. He tries his best not to scarf it down, to relish every bite, every cheese pull, every pepperoni slice. It’s better than he could have ever imagined.

George turns on the television to add some noise to the room, and decides to start a conversation.

“So.. Doey. Are you… Adjusting well?” An awkward question for sure, but a conversation starter nonetheless!

“Err… Well enough, I suppose.”

The room returns to quiet, the house so still you could hear a pin drop. It seems like hours before someone speaks again.

“Better than that factory, I’d imagine.” George starts. 

“George, please,” Susan begins. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to think about that place.”

He musters an awkward chuckle. “No, he’s right. Definitely better than that place. I’d reckon anywhere is!” He takes a bite of his pizza. “I’d rather be anywhere but that cell, ” he mutters. Susan looks at him with a pained expression. He catches the glance and looks away sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

“No, no need to apologize. I suppose it’s best not to avoid the elephant in the room.” She stops, fork in hand. “How about you two tell us about yourselves?” She gestures, looking at Doey. He shifts uncomfortably.

“..Uh… Us? Well-” he stops, and glares. Their minds dart back to all the questions, all the experiments, everything asked of them in Playtime Co. Undoubtedly, this was a trick, Kevin concluded. Who’d want to know about them, really? “Why? So you can stick us back in that lab?” 

George interrupts him. “No need to get hostile, son. We’re not here to hurt you.” The TV sings a familiar tune among the commotion, playing a commercial that shouldn’t be aired.

“That’s what they all said.” He crosses his arms, looking down. After a moment, his expression switches from distrust to sadness. His posture relaxes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He lets his arms droop down to his sides as his mom looks at him with an expression of pity.

“He’s stretchy, he’s gummy, he’s squishy, he’s funny-”

“It’s okay, really. You’re okay. I just want you to know you’re safe here.” She cautiously rests a hand on his shoulder, ducking down to match his height as he sits in his chair.

She’s lying.

Don’t say that. She hasn’t done anything yet, has she?

“D-O-E-Y! (Doey!)”

Her gesture sends him into a fit of anger. “You’re lying,” he smacks her hand away. “Both of you are lying. I see how you look at me, you’re scared.” He stands from his chair. “You’re scared I'm going to hurt you. You think I'm a monster.” 

“He’s silly, he’s gooey, he’s sticky, he’s gluey,”

When he looks at them both, he sees fear in their eyes. He sees terror, the same kind that those employees looked at him with. He feels anger bubbling inside him, waiting to burst. He can feel himself melting, losing form.

“D-O-E-Y! (Doey!)”

Breathe. We have to breathe.

He takes a deep breath, and whispers to himself. “You’re okay, we’re okay.” But he’s still angry. His rage doesn’t fade. To prevent anyone from getting hurt, he storms off to his room, slamming the door.

I knew they were lying. I knew it.

They aren’t lying, they love us, I know they do.

We just need to calm down. We won’t get anywhere like this.

His mind whirls with contrasting thoughts, and he grabs his head in an attempt to calm himself down. It does nothing, of course, and he stays like that for what seems like forever. Before he knew it, he found himself weeping. 

Not good enough , he tells himself. If you can’t get yourself together with something as simple as this, what else might happen? Who else might you hurt?

They’re right. We are monsters.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, huddled in the corner with his head in his hands, before he hears a knock at his door and he hears a familiar creak. He perks up at the noise.

“...Sweetheart? It’s mommy. Can I come in?”

He tries to straighten himself out and wipe his face full of tears as he calls out to Susan, “Yeah- come in!” but he does a poor job. Even on his doughy face, you can tell he was crying. Susan comes to his side, sitting next to him.

“Oh, dear. It’s okay, I’m here.” She holds him in her arms to the best of her abilities, and he tries his best not to burst into tears. He stays like that for a few minutes, taking comfort in the silence.

“We’re not scared of you, Doey. You’re our son. Our- ..Sons!” She turns his face, so he’s looking at her. “I’d never be scared of my baby. Not one bit, do you hear me?” 

He stares at her for a while, trying to register what she’s saying- trying to take her words as truth. Logically, of course, he knows she won't do anything. He’s much bigger than her, much stronger than her. He could easily overpower everyone in the house. So why is he still so scared?

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” He watches her expression shift from sadness, to one he couldn’t register. Her face softens.

“Because I’m your mom.” 

Before he knows it, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. This can’t be real, can it? This has to be some sort of trick. “You’re safe here. We’re never going to leave you again.” His muscles betray him, and he finds himself smiling. Finally, after what seems like forever of waiting, he stands up- pulling Susan into a big hug. She yelps in surprise, and hugs him back just as tight when she’s on her feet.

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, as big as he can. He’s safe. He’s okay. He’s never going back to that awful place, and he’s never felt happier.

As night falls over the sky, the moonlight sneaking through the curtains, Susan tucks Doey into bed. “We’ve oughta get you a new bed soon, don’t we, buddy?” 

“Well, this one is a little small. But I’ll manage. Anything’s better than the floor!”

Susan chuckles. “You little jokester.” He watches as she walks over to the wall and turns on Jacks nightlight. Green glowing stars light up the room, clearing out the dark. Then, she turns to Doey. “Goodnight, sweetie. Call me if you need anything.”

Doey sinks into bed, and whispers as the door closes, “Goodnight, mommy.” His eyes weigh heavy, so he closes them and lets darkness take over his vision. He snuggles under the blanket, finally resting in a warm, real bed.

Home sweet home.