“Bear! Sir Bear!”

Sammy’s voice echoed in the night air, frosting in puffs with each cry. Surrounded, he pressed his back against the metal of a street lamp, the stinging cold biting through the thin material of his red, stripy pajamas. His feet almost tripped over a black bin bag that had been piled with others against the street lamp. There was nowhere for him to run–they had cut off his escape back up the alley towards home and the exit out onto the main road. At this time of night, everyone was asleep. No-one would hear his calls for help.

He only had one hope.

The orange light of the street lamp painted the shadows of his three assailants longer than their diminutive statures should allow. They watched Sammy hungrily, each atop a beaten, scar-ridden cat. He had never liked cats. Too mean. Dogs were his favorite, although his parents had never let him have one. They weren’t going to change their mind any time soon either.

To his left was a one-armed Action Man, to his right a Monsieur Stretchstrong with limbs twice the length of its body, and between them was a one-eyed Barbie whose hair had seen better days. Judging by her dress-up clothes, Sammy guessed she had been a Doctor Barbie. He remembered seeing the advert on TV last Christmas.

They tightened the circle around him, their little plastic faces lit up with the joy of cornered prey. Sammy knew what they wanted. He also knew they’d never be satisfied with any amount he offered them. They’d want it all and, even if he didn’t know how, he knew they would take every last speck.

Sammy shivered.

“Lay it on us, boy, and we’ll make sure you get home safe to your parents,” said the Action Man. His tone was calm, but Sammy noticed he didn’t sound like he did on the advert. He was supposed to be American, but he sounded more like the bald road worker who whistles at Mum when she walks him to school. Mum always walks faster on that road, her hand a bit tighter around Sammy’s.

“N-no,” stuttered Sammy. He looked over the heads of his attackers for a sign of hope. He would come. “Sir Bear told me never to trust wild toys.”

Barbie’s cat stepped forward, hissing. “We just want to play.” She sounded like Sammy’s aunt from Birmingham, a woman never without a cigarette in her mouth.

“I’m not playing with this kid,” said Monsieur Stretchstrong. He definitely didn’t sound French. Sammy didn’t know what he sounded like. Why did toys never sound like they were supposed to?

“That’s not what Barbs means, Stretch,” said Action Man. He looked Sammy up and down. “You shouldn’t play with your food.”

A voice rumbled from the darkness beyond the synthetic glow of the street lamp. “Away, plastic leeches. Thou shall not have my squire.”

Sammy’s heart lifted. He knew he would come. He always did.

“You guys are in trouble now,” said Sammy. A wide smile stretched across his face, dissipating the fear the three wild toys and their steeds had cast over him.

The wild toys twisted around to face the voice, their little plastic hands yanking at the cats’ furry necks to turn. The cats yowled in anger and pain. Sammy felt a bit bad for them, even if they looked ready to scratch his face off.

The Action Man scanned the darkness beyond their halo of light, one of his small hands scratching behind his cat’s ear. It purred approvingly, forgetting the rough handling. “What’s this? An appetizer for our main course?”

Sir Bear, or just Bear as Sammy called him, waddled into the light. His usual frown was deeper than ever, a look the people of the toy company would have hated to see on their cute and cuddly teddy bear. Being Sammy’s Guardian seemed to bring it out in the knee-high teddy. Bear straightened his little red shirt–it constantly rode up on his paunchy body–and pulled his pen-sized sword from the scabbard slung across his back.

Sammy had never found out where the sword came from; he had never even been allowed to hold it. It certainly hadn’t come with Bear–especially as it was a very real and very sharp blade. Despite asking about it many times, Bear always answered the questions in the same way: A Knight is nothing without his sword.

Bear levelled the sword at each of them in turn, as if marking them. The street lamp lit the blade with a fiery glow. “Die dishonorably by my hand, or fade honorably. The choice is thine,” he grumbled.

“You owned toys are all pompous little freaks,” said Barbie.

Bear nodded, accepting that as answer enough. He looked at Sammy. “Close thy eyes, squire. Don’t open them until I say.”

“But–”

“Squire…” Bear warned.

Reluctantly, Sammy covered his eyes with his fingers. How was he supposed to become a knight if he didn’t watch Bear fight? But Bear insisted combat was not for young eyes. In fact, his code as a knight forbade it. Violence should not darken one’s childhood, as Bear had once said, rather definitively, after an afternoon of Sammy’s begging to sword fight.

Sammy opened his fingers a crack, enough to see the small battle play out. Of course, it was only in case Bear needed his help.

Bear leapt at Monsieur Stretchstrong with all the agility of a gymnast. You would never think it looking at him: his pudgy, round body and plump arms and legs were built for cuddling, not fighting. Bear grumbled about his size often, but Sammy knew he preferred it that way. Everyone underestimated the snuggly teddy bear.

Monsieur Stretchstrong was thrown from his cat, his limbs trailing after him like the tendrils of a jellyfish. Bear smacked the rear of Monsieur Stretchstrong’s cat, which hissed and scampered away. A rubbery arm flew at Bear, trying to wrap itself around him. With a single swing, Bear hacked the arm in two, the fist falling to the floor.

Sammy gasped.

Bear’s frown became a scowl. “Peek not, squire. I know thou art watching.”

Sammy closed the crack between his fingers. “I’m not!”

Bear didn’t reply. All Sammy heard for the next few minutes was hissing cats, metal shearing plastic, and the frenzied shouts of the wild toys. The sounds of battle only tempted him to peek again, but Sammy stopped himself. Bear was angry enough with him already. All he could do was listen.

A husky cry of pain made Sammy look. Worry swelled. He had never heard that noise from Bear before.

The broken, inanimate bodies of the wild toys littered Bear’s battlefield. Sammy saw the faint gold of their life magic escaping into the night air–barely sparks against the dark sky. No wonder they had fought Bear so desperately–they had been on the cusp of fading. With or without Sammy and Bear, tonight would always have been their last.