A/N: This is incredibly long, maudlin, and dripping with angst. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

I think the power of Pixar to make me possibly cry is pathetic. It's practically Pavlovian at this point.

Sacrifices

They had all made sacrifices, to get them to where they were now.

The first had been Etch, and it had been so sudden, so quick, that there was nothing anyone could have done. That was what Woody told himself, over and over again.

Andy was twelve, coming in after a sports game, flushed with victory. The trophy in his hand was pumped up in down in the air as he slammed the door and started across the room, heedless of the toys scattered on the floor. His cry of "We won! We won!" was cut short by crunch that followed his first step.

Andy lifted his foot and looked down at the broken Etch-a-Sketch. His smile had faded. Confusion filled his face and was quickly moving to regret as he bent to pick up the plastic fragments of what had once been the screen. He tried to put them back into place, tried to spin the knobs, but there was no fixing the toy.

The others watched in horror and in grief, frozen in position, as Andy collected all the pieces, piled it on top of what was left of Etch, and left for the kitchen trash. These things happened, they knew. They accepted it and moved on, but no matter what, the room always seemed quieter after that, without the shaking beat that had accompanied Etch's every step.

Bo was next, and may have been the worse.

Yard sales had come, been thwarted, and gone, and another one was upon them. The army men were in position with the walkie talkie, and they had gathered in Andy's room to hear this year's plans. A little tuning, and the voices came through:

"Molly, there's a box over there of your stuff, why don't you look through it and make sure nothing you want is in there."

Molly, who was not eager to give up some of her toys, protested.

"…and the Sheppard girl and the sheep? When was the last time you played with them?"

"Maybe you should ask Andy. He always played with her more than I did."

Andy, who was fifteen and couldn't be bothered at that moment, mumbled something about "the perfect hostage situations" before his heavy footsteps indicated he'd left the room. And with that Bo Peep had been put on the yard sale list.

Woody wasn't worried then. Lawn rescues were an occasional occurrence, and this time they had fair warning.

"Now, try to stay at the top of the box, that way you'll be put on the table near the garage," he explained to her as Buzz made sure everyone accounted for their accessories and took role. "If you can do that, Buster should cooperate with the doors, and I think we can have you back here in maybe, five minutes after the yard sale starts."

Mrs. Potato Head was trying to sort which of the LGM's was number 1,2, and 3, while Ham was pretty sure he was missing seventeen cents somewhere. Bo Peep gave a sad smile. Her bleating sheep had formed a circle around her.

"And where am I going to stay?" she asked. "I can't just show up in some corner of Andy's room, can I?"

"Sure you can," Woody answered, confused. "You used to, all the time."

"Oh, Woody," Bo said calmly. "I'm not one of Andy's toys." She lifted her small, unmarked foot to prove the point. Then she wrapped her hand around Woody's arm like she had many times before. "I don't…want you to come out to the yard sale today."

"What?" Woody went to move away, but her grasp tightened.

"Molly doesn't need me. And I can't hide away in Andy's room." She spoke to his Sheriff badge. "There just isn't a place for me anymore."

"Sure there is," he could think of them now: the attic, under the bed, with him in the bottom of the toy chest. He moved closer to her and put his other hand on her shoulder. "Look, we stick together, we don't just give up."

Bo finally looked him in the eye and said, "This time, I think we have to."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Everyone else gathered themselves together, Buzz counted Woody, made his last check and they piled into the toy chest again, the lid closing behind them. Woody stayed where he was, with Bo's hand wrapped around his arm and looked at her. He didn't know what else to say, and, anyway, didn't have the time to say it.

Bo added one last thing. "Promise me I won't see you out there."

He didn't say anything. The feet were almost at the door. He looked at her and knew they should have been getting in position, but he couldn't bring himself to end that moment until he absolutely had to.

Andy walks in with a half filled box and sees toys lying on floor. He scoops up the sheep, disentangles the Sheppard toy from his Sheriff doll, puts them in the box, and mutters, "Don't get mad at me about playing with your stuff, Molly." Then he puts Woody back in the toy chest and heads downstairs.

Woody didn't go down. He kept the promise he had never made, but sent Buzz instead, just to make sure she didn't change her mind, or get thrown out on accident. He waited all day, and maybe, just maybe he was hoping she wouldn't get sold. That she'd have to come back.

At the end of the day the toy chest opened and Buzz climbed in. He didn't say anything, just laid a Sheppard staff down beside him, put his hand on his shoulder, and left him alone. He'd learn later that it got separated from her during the bustle of the sale. That she was sold without it, but with all of her sheep. At least there was that. It would get thrown out during the next spring cleaning. He never saw her again.

They spent a lot of time in the toy chest, and some days, he was almost glad for it. Almost, because he still wanted Andy, wanted his time, wanted his attention. And he couldn't not want him because, however much he felt for Bo Peep, he loved Andy just that much more. So he waited. They all did.

They knew things would be more dangerous when Andy started driving. But when Buster came into Andy's room, whining and whimpering like the puppy he wasn't anymore, and carrying a squashed piece of plastic, they were still shocked.

What had once been Wheezy the Penguin had been rolled flat with a tire tread over his back. When Buster gave it a sad nudge, as if asking them to fix it, something like a squeak still sounded.

There was nothing for Woody to do but crawl back into the toy chest and wait for someone to discover what the dog had drug in. He still doesn't know how Wheezy got out there to begin with, or what he was doing behind the car. They'll probably never know.

Time went by, and they lost others too, but still managed to stay all together more often than not. He kept morale high, and they found other things besides Andy to occupy their increasing spare time. But he was always in the background, and they all really knew that all they were waiting for was for Andy, for one more time, for one last game.

It got hard sometimes, the waiting, but the Sergeant put it best when he said: "This is war, Sheriff. We're fighting the clock, and we can't win. We can only stretch it out; sacrifice what we have to and make the most of it, until our mission is accomplished."

In the end, it's Andy who makes the last sacrifice. His life is hardly done, and far from over. He's heading off into a big unknown with some hard, challenging, formative years ahead of him.

He's always had Woody with him, no matter what. He likes the idea of his other toys waiting for him at home, like nothing has really changed. Because it feels like everything is changing. He knows he's not done with needing them. He wonders if he ever really will be.

But when he had taken them out of the toy chest to put them in storage, they had seemed so…unused. Almost neglected. He had felt guilty for a moment, before reminding himself that he had had other things to do now besides playtime. Still, when he reads the Post-It note, he makes a decision. Not because it was what was best for him, but because he knew it was what was best for them. He still needs them. And they need this.

He says his goodbyes and drives his car. He meets a little girl and introduces her to some of the most important people in his young life. For an amazing, all too short, time he succumbs again to the fantasy as they act out their every creative impulse. It feels so freeing, so right, and he relishes each second.

When it's over, and he really does have to go, he helps her arrange them – his toys and hers – on the steps around her. He drags out the moment until he is standing at his car. He watches as she has Woody wave goodbye, and almost walks over and takes them all back. Almost.

He has never felt as old or as young as he does as he gets in that car and tells himself it's not really goodbye. He'll be home for the holidays, and they will only be a hundred feet away. He'll be sure to visit. If he has time.

Driving away is hard. He wants Woody. He wants them all. He doesn't know if he can do this. He doesn't know if he can do this without them, but he has to try. It gets easier the farther away he is, and soon he can focus on his evening ahead, and remembers he should call his mom to let her know when he arrives in one piece.

It's a few months until his first break, and he already knows he's expected at home. He'll have to try to get around the corner for a visit. Really try.

Until then, he can wait.

A/N: This was written and edited in the middle of the night. I'm sorry for any horrible errors. If you see any, please let me know in a review.