Buzz Lightyear had been on many missions throughout his life. From the exhilarating but ultimately imaginary heights of intergalactic exploration, to daring rescues across high-speed traffic and runways, to mundane puzzles like escaping closed rooms, he was no stranger to the tricky, the dangerous, the challenging.

But with his best friend injured and unresponsive, never had a mission felt so dire.

A voice box was his objective, a voice box and a sure way home. The latter he'd left to Bo Peep, leaving the former in his own hands—in his hands, like this human switchblade never intended for toys. A voice box was his objective, one no doubt already inside a doll named Gabby Gabby. So his first true objective was to find her.

It might not be easy. The antique store was not only a sprawling maze of knickknacks and furniture but also Gabby's domain. But difficulty never stopped him before. So Buzz worked off observation to build a plan, as he'd always done.

Gabby Gabby was not dumb. He fully expected her to keep her bodyguard dummies close by while he remained here. Maybe only one or two; the others she'd send out to patrol and keep watch. Gabby had said she didn't want "Mr. Lightyear" to interfere, after all; not an unfounded fear. His best bet might be finding those dummies assuming they wouldn't stray too far from Gabby's location. He'd incapacitate them just in case. From there he could search the area and hopefully find her. Not a foolproof plan, but he had little options. He set out.

Buzz stumbled upon the first Benson doll with ease. They weren't exactly inconspicuous.

Lurking around the corner, he watched the tall toy stroll down the aisle with held breath, the folded knife in his hands. He'd do this quick, he wouldn't linger, wouldn't cause any more damage than necessary. His goal wasn't to cripple but incapacitate. The dummies had cloth for legs—two cuts at the heels should keep them floor bound. Granted, they probably shouldn't be able to walk with those legs in the first place, but toys were magic and that made anything possible. Likely this same magic allowed dolls like Woody and Jessie to walk on both feet as well. He shook his head. Focus.

As the Benson passed by his hiding spot, Buzz unfolded the knife and made his move. On silent feet he sneaked up behind the dummy, blade poised. But he hesitated. Even if the cuts could be repaired rather easily, he still didn't want to harm another toy like this, especially striking with their back turned—a coward's way of attack.

But then he remembered Woody's scream.

Just before the Benson reached the end of the aisle, Buzz struck. He thrust the knife forward and pierced the back of his left foot, swinging right to cut open the dark cloth. The dummy jolted, leg folding under knocking him off-kilter, making cutting the other foot trickier. Acting fast, Buzz sliced the right ankle before he could respond. It worked: the dummy slammed forward on his face. Raising his head, he looked back wildly, wide eyes flashing from shock to anger. He attempted to push up on his hands.

"Stay down," Buzz commanded as he walked past. He held the blade before his face. "Don't think I won't go farther if you choose not to." Wisely, the dummy let himself fall again. Checking the way, Buzz took off running. There wasn't a moment to waste.

As Buzz waded deeper into the store, skilfully diving and dashing from cover to cover, he happened upon two more of the dummies patrolling. At least, that's what he assumed they were doing, roaming the desks and cabinets in repeating paths. Two at once made the situation trickier.

Again Buzz found a corner to hide around, far enough away not to be caught, but still close enough to detect their patterns. They appeared the be circling two different cabinets, meeting every half-minute as they passed each other. It wouldn't give him much time, but he'd he able to deal with one while keeping the other unaware for at least a little bit.

Buzz waited for just the right moment. On standby and ready to strike, he watched the dummies pass each other again, and continued watching until the one farther away turned the corner out of view. He'd sneak up on the other just like before and quickly incapacitate him first. Blade ready, Buzz gently bounded forward on the tips of his boots. Even a clunky action figure could be graceful when he needed to be.

But evidently not graceful enough, as just as he came behind him, the dummy spun around, catching the blade not across the ankle but his upper leg. Hindering, but not enough to take him and keep him down.

Shoot.

The only positive was that the dummy couldn't speak, though he would if he could have, judging by the narrowed eyes and mouth dropped in a silent scream. The Benson lunged for him and Buzz feinted back just in time, narrowly avoiding his grasp. The dummy stumbled from his own momentum, giving Buzz a chance to charge forward and knock him to the floor. He'd used their weak balance against them before, but this time he would not fail. Positioning the blade, he brought the tip down just above his foot—

But was slammed into and bowled over before he could strike.

Briefly stunned flat out on his chest, Buzz wondered how he didn't hear the second dummy running up behind him, but he couldn't linger on that thought. Hands wrapped around his ankles trying to pin his legs, and he thrashed and kicked to no avail. He needed to break free before the toy he knocked down could get back up to pin his arms. Thinking fast, Buzz twisted his torso and aimed his wrist, beaming his laser pointer straight into the dummy's eye.

It worked: instantly he let go to cover his face and Buzz wasted no time springing to his feet again. A glance confirmed the knife had spun off behind him when he fell. He started backing up towards it, not taking his sight off his opponents for a moment. When both dummies recovered, they moved towards him with matching glares, arms reaching out to him.

Eyes darting left, Buzz suddenly ducked that direction, shouldering a roll across the ground to sweep up the knife and bounce back to his feet. He brandished it like a flame, waving it back and forth, and the dummies stopped in their tracks, one taking a nervous step back. They understood how easily that weapon could tear them apart. Maybe Buzz could talk them down before it came to that. He'd do what was necessary, but if it could be avoided...

Buzz thought anger could sustain his mission. But maybe he didn't have a heart for hatred after all.

"Listen," he spoke, mustering all authority, "you and I know how badly this can go. Just let me pass through and—"

One lunged. He didn't think—he reacted. Just before the dummy could grab him, Buzz swung the knife up, piercing through cotton where his shoulder and torso met. Startled, the dummy jerked away as Buzz tore down and with a dull thud—the arm came right off. Buzz nearly dropped the blade. The dummy stumbled back and fell. Silence.

The Benson stared at him wide-eyed, clutching his torn side. The other dummy looked on with similar shock; Buzz was pretty he looked shocked himself. Fear replaced the fire in their eyes. The dummy stumbled to his feet, the other grabbing his remaining arm to help, and, casting an indecisive look at the limb on the floor, took off running the opposite direction, his friend following after, leaving Buzz alone with a severed arm on the floor.

Which—it wasn't like with 'biological' living creatures. A cotton limb like that could be stitched up, reattached. The knowledge didn't ease the twisting in his plastic. He told himself he would do whatever it took to retrieve Woody's voicebox, but he never intended to do this much damage. He didn't like seeing such visceral fear in a toy's eyes towards him... yet hadn't he chosen to bring this knife mostly for intimidation? Wasn't this what he wanted?

Not like this.

Buzz shook his head. Now was not the time to falter. The sooner he did what needed to be done, the sooner they could all be home safe and sound and put this whole nauseating affair behind them. Casting one last glance at the arm, he continued forward.

One left. The dummies, right? Then Gabby Gabby would be wide open. He suspected the final dummy to be with Gabby as a last line of defence. Shouldn't be too hard to handle, but he was reluctant to give up the cumbersome knife until he completed his mission. Suppose the doll had another trick up her sleeve? It wouldn't do to be under prepared.

Buzz waded deeper towards the back of the store. He ran between corners and furniture, stealthy as ever, scanning each direction for any sign of movement... yet all was quiet. Not good. He didn't have time to go on a wild goose chase, he needed to end this now. But surely Gabby knew the shop better than him. If she were truly hiding, it could take him hours to find her. And if she had already left, then...

No, he wouldn't consider that just yet. Ducking around a display cabinet, Buzz took a moment to gather his thoughts. If he were Gabby Gabby, where would he go?

He didn't have to ponder long. Because somewhere behind him, a familiar voice sounded.

Head shooting up, Buzz frantically scanned the area, turning to examine behind him. A flash of yellow caught his attention, disappearing behind a solid oak display cabinet near the back wall. His eyes narrowed. Checking the way, he ran.

He kept to the shadows, remained close to furniture or items in case a sudden need to hide arose, weaving between covers like an expert in subterfuge, but slowed his sprint to a cautious crawl as he came closer to the cabinet. The element of surprise could be big here. Tip-toeing, painfully aware of his clunky plastic frame, Buzz pressed against the back of the cabinet, listening in on the one-sided conversation.

"...but what if she doesn't?" Gabby Gabby, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "I'm still just an old doll, even with the pull-string... Do you really think she'll want me? Maybe I should wait..."

Buzz shuffled around, chest against the side panel. He dared a quick peak out. The Benson doll stood right beside him with his back turned facing Gabby Gabby, who was looking down, a comforting hand on her shoulder. He did not speak, but offered an encouraging nod. The scene appeared oddly intimate and for a moment Buzz felt like he was intruding. How different they looked without all the malice, just one friend consoling another. But if they wanted to be left alone to chat, they shouldn't have touched his friend.

Ducking back, Buzz knew he'd need to make a decision quickly. His fingers drummed along the handle of the knife. He was very close to the dummy—the perfect distance for another quick cut of the ankles. Then Gabby would be on her own. He took a deep breath. He jumped out and swung.

Hand shooting back, the Benson doll caught the tip of the blade in his palm. His head snapped around to face him one hundred eighty degrees. Buzz froze. Just as abruptly the dummy spun his body towards him, realigning his head, and the sudden shift in direction wrenched the knife from his hands and sent it clattering onto the floor, knocking the space toy off-kilter. The dummy shoulder-checked him off his feet.

Looking up from the floor, Buzz met eyes with Gabby Gabby. Her own widened as his narrowed. A soft gasp slipped her lips, and then she was turning tail to run. "Stop!" he called, springing to his feet. He couldn't let her escape. But a solid wooden wall in a black-and-white suit blocked his path, face hard as stone, a red bow tie around his neck.

A red bow. The dummy to hold Woody down while Gabby ripped him open had worn a red bow. He too set his face in stone.

Fine.

Buzz charged, no warning all mass, knocking his opponent right back down in turn and rushing past. He didn't get far, however, before something hit his ankles, making him stumble. He glanced down behind—the knife—and back up to see the dummy barrelling towards him. Slamming his heel down on the handle, he caught the blade as it popped into the air and thrust it forward.

With not enough time to stop, the Benson doll hurtled into the sharp point, tearing through the material of his black suit... and jamming the tip into his wooden chest. The glare the dummy set on him could melt steel. He grabbed the blade with both hands and attempted to rip it away, but Buzz held on just as tightly.

Buzz had assumed he could handle a dummy easily one-on-one, but this one seemed stronger, more determined than the others. He could barely keep his feet in place in the struggle for the weapon and was suddenly flung back on his side as the dummy threw him off. No time to gather his bearings: the knife came at him again and again, nearly catching him as he rolled out of the way. He thanked his manufacturer for his agility and reflexes.

Scrambling to his feet, Buzz scowled at the dummy scowling right back. He had little choice but to keep backing up as his opponent stalked towards him with the knife. Dang it, he didn't have time for this; Gabby was out of sight now, she could be anywhere. But this dummy might as well be a brick wall with that blade in hand. How could he...?

Come on, space ranger. You're not made of cloth, are you?

With a flick of a button, Buzz donned his helmet and charged head-on. Caught off-guard, the dummy froze up as he rushed past. The knife nicked him on the arm, a brief flicker of pain he could easily ignore. He was, after all, plastic—a difficult material to cut or pierce. Buzz sprinted, not looking back even as he heard footsteps thundering after him. Last he'd seen, Gabby had headed back towards the front of the store, so the front it was.

Bonnie's backpack served as a bright purple landmark in the antique store, hidden behind a glass display stand. Worry sparked in his circuits knowing how close this was to where Woody and Forky were hiding—but no, Gabby wouldn't be able to fit back there anyway. He hesitated only briefly to choose which way to turn, but that slight decrease in speed was just enough for the dummy to catch up to him. As he veered left and ducked under a bookshelf, a hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him off his feet, dragging him back out into the open.

The hand released him and he rolled onto his back just in time to catch the knife bearing down on him between both hands. Glaring, the Benson doll pressed down with all his might. Buzz might be plastic, but the buttons on his chest would not appreciate a sharp tip stabbing under them. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to keep the blade away. Even the kicking of his boots against the dummy's chest didn't make him falter. He understood the boost in strength a desire to protect could bestow—and that's what Buzz saw in those fierce eyes, the desire to protect. Maybe the Benson saw the same desire reflected in his own eyes. But only one could be successful here.

As the knife came closer despite his best efforts, Buzz got the sinking feeling it might not be him. He needed a distraction, a small change in his favour, anything—

"You make me so happy. Let's be best friends."

Both toys froze. Gabby Gabby. But her voice sounded tinny and recorded—a voice box.

Then footsteps nearby, steps too loud and heavy to be from a toy. Instantly the Benson doll dropped the knife and ducked under the bookshelf to hide. Buzz followed after, keeping to the other side. They eyed each other warily, but for now the dispute was over. Human presence always took precedent. Daring to crawl closer to the other opening, Buzz peered out. If he had a heart, it would've dropped.

Because there was Gabby Gabby seated on the shelf of an open blue cabinet in toy mode... and a little human girl walking over to her. Harmony. The voice box. Facts filtered in. Gabby must have pulled the pull-string herself to get the girl's attention.

No.

Hidden in the shadows, Buzz could do nothing but watch as the girl approached the shelf and took down the doll. She inspected Gabby, turning her over to pull her pull-string—Woody's pull-string—then turned her back to watch her speak.

"I'm Gabby Gabby, and I love you."

The pit in his abdomen grew wider and wider. He'd come so far, he'd finally found her, only to have it all ripped away before his very eyes. This was the one hurdle he couldn't overcome: a child. If Gabby was claimed here and now, he couldn't interfere. If she took Gabby and left the store, that was it. He would fail.

By the way the little girl cupped Gabby's face, young eyes wide with intrigue, he knew he had.

"Oh, what have you got there?" the shopkeeper working close by asked.

"I found this old doll," the girl said.

"You can take it home if you want."

His hands curled into fists at his sides. Buzz had been so close. If only he'd been faster, he could have intervened before the girl discovered the doll. If perhaps he'd followed his first instinct to jump out the RV right after Woody, he might have found a different path, one that avoided the antique store entirely. Now he'd be returning with nothing to show, back to his injured friend that still needed help, having let him down again. They wouldn't be able to return to Bonnie, they'd be left behind, lost toys torn away from their family, and somewhere Gabby Gabby would have the life she always wanted off the pain of his best friend, and maybe Woody would never wake up again—

The girl pulled a face. "Nah," she shrugged, dropping Gabby into a wooden crate before skipping away.

Buzz stood dumbstruck. Just like that, all his fears so casually dismissed. As the humans left the scene, he remained in disbelieving silence. Glancing over, he saw the Benson doll looking on with a similar expression of shock. Had this been another stroke of miraculous luck? He should be ecstatic. Yet his relief mixed with a sour note of empathy on Gabby's behalf. Despite his anger, she was still a fellow toy, and it was never pleasant watching another toy be rejected by a human. He hesitated, weighing his options as he considered his next move.

"You two can come out now."

They started. Looking at the wooden crate she'd been dropped in, Buzz wondered how Gabby knew they were there. Maybe a glow-in-the-dark bulky action figure was more conspicuous than he thought. Regardless, he didn't have time to dawdle, even if this was some kind of trap. He glanced back at the knife left behind on the floor, then met eyes with the dummy. The look he received suggested he not push his luck. Reluctantly, Buzz left the hiding spot empty-handed, the Benson doll following behind. That did little for his nerves.

As he reached the crate, Buzz paused, but the dummy did not. He stepped past him, hand outstretched to grip the edge, when Gabby spoke again. "Not you, Benson. The space toy."

The doll tensed, fingers hovering, disbelief like a solid weight in the air. Slowly, he backed up. If looks could melt plastic, Buzz suspected he'd be a puddle on the floor. Ignoring the steely gaze, he reached for the edge and hoisted himself up and over.

Inside he found Gabby Gabby with her back to him, lying atop scattered letter blocks. Finally, when he'd found who he'd been after, he faltered. Gabby broke the silence.

"You can have your voice box back." All self-assurance had bled from her voice. "I don't need it anymore."

And well. That was that. He'd succeeded without any struggle from her. He didn't need the knife after all. He would make great time securing the voice box and heading back. They would return to Bonnie's backpack and Woody would be repaired and they could all go home. Just like that.

So why did this taste so sour?

"You don't... need it anymore?" Buzz echoed dumbly.

"Harmony was my one chance," Gabby mumbled. "My time's over. Take it and leave." He didn't respond, which seemed to agitate her further. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"You're just giving it up?" he asked. "Just like that?"

"Yes!" she snapped. "It's worthless now. You came all this way to get it, didn't you? Take it back to that rag doll and go live your perfect, happy lives with your kid."

It's worthless now?

Buzz stomped over and grabbed Gabby's arm, yanking her to face him head on. "Hey! Get your hands—"

"You've got some nerve stealing another toy's part for your own selfish gain," Buzz seethed, tightening his grip, "just to give it up at the first inconvenience! To put a toy through so much pain for something you're abandoning not even an hour later!"

Gabby glowered. "Would you rather I put up a fight?"

"Yes!" Maybe that was horrible, but it was true. If she tried to hold on to it, Buzz would know how important this was to her. Which didn't excuse her actions, but it was better than this complete flippancy over the damage she'd caused. "You put him through something horrible just to what? Give it one shot and then give up? Why even bother?"

Gabby ripped her arm away. "I don't have to explain myself to you," she hissed. "I wouldn't expect a house toy to understand. So sorry the cowboy had to suffer a little bit for once in his life! He can go back to his second owner where his biggest problem is not getting played with enough days of the week."

His fists clenched. "Suffer a little?" He didn't think he'd dealt with a more infuriating toy in all his life. "He was screaming, begging you to stop! Now he won't even wake up! Don't you care at all about the pain you've caused?"

"Well what about my pain?" Gabby countered. "To be thrown away just because I was made defective? To see so many children come through the store with their nice new toys, never giving me a second look? To spend sixty years never knowing what it's like to be played with by a child, to be loved by one? You have no idea about the pain I've been through!"

"Maybe not, but I don't have to," Buzz said coldly. "I've dealt with toys like you before, toys who use their own pain as an excuse to hurt others. And maybe I'd be willing to listen and forgive if they stopped what they were doing and tried to make amends. I know it can be done, personally. But when they still insist on hurting the ones I care for, I have no sympathy. I don't care why you did what you did, Gabby, I care about what you did."

Gabby Gabby scowled at him, eyes dark as night. "Take the voice box and leave."

"Gladly."

Which was how the whole ordeal wrapped up as he walked away, voice box in hand with some begrudging help from the Benson, agitation where relief should have settled in his chest. Buzz thought he would feel triumphant, but all he felt was a hollow sort of anger lingering like cooling ash in his circuits. He'd gotten what he'd come for—yet he didn't feel satisfied. Which was selfish and petty. Vengeance had never been his goal. But the thought that Gabby would get no comeuppance for what she'd done to his best friend beyond missing one shot at a child... He shook his head. It was over. Woody would get fixed, that's what mattered most.

But another bitter thought lingered: that it didn't have to be like this. Because he'd been through this song and dance many times before already. Toys lashing out and harming others over jealousy, loneliness, abandonment, replacement. Toys that handled hurt by causing more hurt. Yet despite these experiences, Buzz understood a toy could come back from that. He knew this because it was how it played out for the toy that had had it out for him specifically, the very one he'd gone through all this for, just to make sure he was okay again. There was always a chance for redemption, so long as you chose it.

The Prospector. Lotso. Gabby Gabby. How many more times would they have to go through this? How many times would he have to see his family be hurt again and again?

Buzz almost stopped and called out to her. To say what exactly, he didn't know. In the end he didn't. There was still a walk to be had, a cowboy to be fixed, and a little girl to return to.

Then, during said walk, a phone rang. Instinctively, he froze, eyes darting about for cover just in case a human suddenly appeared. A familiar voice came—the shopkeeper. "Hello, Second Chance Antiques." A pause. "A little purple backpack you say?"

Elation surged through his body like a fresh pair of batteries. Way to go, Bo.

"Well I can certainly take a look and see." Footsteps. Buzz ducked under a short chair, but the steps never came his way. In fact, they hardly sounded at all before falling silent again. "Afraid I didn't see anything. But you and your little one are more than welcome to come take a look yourself... oh, yes, it's no issue. Won't hurt these old bones staying open another half hour or so. Yes, yes. All right, I'll see you both soon. Goodbye."

Buzz pulled a face. How could she have possibly missed the bag so close to the entrance? Had she even really looked? He shook his head. Didn't matter. Bonnie was coming. One less thing to worry about on his long list of things to worry about.

The rest of the trip back proved uneventful. Night had fallen, and while it did make the crystalline lights throughout the store look particularly beautiful and warm, Buzz didn't have time to admire them. Now that he'd retrieved the voice box and knew for sure the humans were coming to get them, it freed up mental bandwidth to consider other concerns. What if he messed up returning the voice box into Woody's back? His knowledge of toy repair was rudimentary at best. What if this didn't even fix Woody? What if he still didn't wake up in time? He picked up his pace.

When Buzz finally reached the desk, the sudden concern that the duo might not be there anymore struck him. Maybe the owner or little girl found them, maybe another toy with bad intentions found them, maybe Forky had panicked and run off, maybe maybe maybe. Most likely he was just being paranoid, but it was hard not to worry when neither toy he left behind could defend themselves. Not wanting to startle the younger toy, Buzz approached behind the desk with heavier steps and gently knocked against the wood. "Forky?" he called.

"Oh!" The spork's round white face peeked out around the corner with a big smile. "Buzz, you're back!" Looking down, his smile widened into a grin. "And you did it! You got his voice box!"

"I did," he said. Details later. Buzz joined them behind the desk. He found Woody just as he'd left him—in fact, exactly as he'd left him. He bent to one knee beside his friend. "How was he?"

Forky sobered, staring down at Woody with big, sad eyes. "The same."

Buzz frowned. "Really? He didn't move at all?" He squeezed Woody's shoulder.

"No..."

He wasn't moving now either. Buzz tried not to let his increasing alarm show. Okay. Okay. It was fine. He got the voice box. Woody would be fine as soon as he got it back where it belonged. Another light shoulder squeeze, perhaps more for his own benefit. The stuffing felt so fragile in his hard plastic grip. Fragile was never a word he'd used to describe the sheriff, but that's how he looked right now: torn open, picked apart, thrown aside, a toy left to the mercy of the harsh world.

And now Buzz would have to be the one to tear him open. The very idea made him want to shudder, but it had to be done. After all their years of friendship, the trials they'd endured, it felt like his responsibility to look after Woody, just as Woody had looked after him. What else were friends for?

Buzz took a steadying breath. "All right. Now we need to get this back in him in time for Bonnie." He turned to Forky. "Hold on to this for me. I'll be right back."

Forky accepted the voice box in his red arms. "You'll be back? You're leaving already...?"

"Just for a second," he assured. "I'll need to open his stitches." He looked up. "Hopefully I'll be able to find something near that sewing machine that will work." Something better than his own bare hands. He hoped using a tool might help him feel more distant from the act.

Once again Buzz reached the top of the desk with ease. He trawled the surface, keeping his eyes sharp, when a gleam caught his eye. Approaching the sewing machine, he found nestled beside it a needle, unassuming and sharp. Upon picking it up, he discovered specks of cotton stuffing on the tip. Ice crept through his circuits. In his grasp, the very needle Gabby had used to tear his friend open. On principle he wanted to snap the metal in half, well-aware he wouldn't be able to. But options were slim. Gritting his teeth, Buzz hopped back down to the floor.

Forky appeared intimidated by the sewing needle. Buzz didn't blame him. "You're gonna use... that?" His voice meek.

He nodded.

"But... What if it hurts him?"

It would. Ripping open a closed-up wound, even for his own good? Definitely would hurt. But finally Woody's unconsciousness seemed more a blessing than a concern. Buzz was more than happy to have him unaware while he did what he needed, to spare him from that pain again. So long as he remained knocked out, so long as Buzz could do this despite his squeamishness, everything should work out. Right?

"I'll try to be quick," was the answer he decided on. There wasn't much more comfort he could offer the younger toy.

Forky fiddled his hands. "Okay..."

With the same care from before, Buzz lifted Woody into his arms. He'd rather do this behind the dresser, tucked away from sight, but there wouldn't be enough room to work. He chose beside the gap, close enough to quickly hide again should danger appear. Once again Buzz found himself wishing he had something better than the dirty floor to lie his friend on. If not for the risk of being seen, he'd take Woody back on the desk directly. Forky made extra sure to clear a section of dust for the immobile cowboy to rest.

Slowly, Buzz lowered Woody to his knees, easing him down onto his front. Forky waddled over, voice box and needle in his arms, and he accepted the items with quick thanks.

Forky nodded enthusiastically—no, frantically, nerves over eagerness. "Is there anything else I can do? To help...?"

He seemed so insistent. Buzz wondered if he still felt guilty. "You can keep lookout while I do this," he said. "We should be fine, but just in case."

The younger toy saluted. On reflex, Buzz returned it. Forky dawdled off to stand guard. While it never hurt to have another watching for danger, in truth he just didn't want Forky witnessing this. No use potentially upsetting or scaring him when Buzz didn't need extra hands. Besides, Woody deserved whatever privacy he had left after being ripped open for the world to see. It would be him to do this, as his friend, him and him alone.

Setting aside the voice box, Buzz stood at Woody's feet, needle in hand. He positioned the sharp point at the top of his back, just as Gabby had, and swallowed. It would be best if Woody could continue being unaware while he did this, but he needed to wake up sooner than later. If there was any time for that, Buzz figured, it would be when the voice box was back in. Woody would most likely come to in pain; he needed to be ready for that. Taking a steadying breath, he pierced the cloth.

The line Gabby drew guided his hand down the length of Woody's back. The fresh stitching came apart with little resistance, stuffing erupting along the line. Buzz tried to ignore the voice in his head demanding he stop. He fought to keep his hand stable; a sudden lapse in control could be disastrous. He cut only as far as needed to fit the voice box back inside, an estimation he hoped was correct. Dropping the needle, he fell to his knees beside Woody. Now to remove the stuffing in his way.

"Okay," Buzz said under his breath, "I'll try to do this as quick as possible." Though he doubted Woody could even hear him. Sometimes talking to yourself helped; speaking into his wrist hadn't been just for Star Command. He worked carefully but efficiently, removing the cotton filling of Woody's back. The white fluff lacked springiness, flattened by years of play, matted with love his friend, apparently, no longer thought he received. They would be needing a long talk after all this.

Buzz wasn't really sure just how much stuffing to remove. All of it? Leave some in to cushion the speaker? In the end he chose the latter, because Woody was rather soft in the chest, wasn't he? So his voice box couldn't be pressed right against his fabric. He had neither the expertise nor the time to second-guess himself. He grabbed the voice box.

Well, Buzz thought, angling it over the gaping wound, here goes everything. He pushed it into his back, nestling it into the stuffing.

And... nothing happened. Buzz wasn't sure what he was expecting anyway. For his friend to just spring back to life? Maybe he hadn't expected it, but he had been hoping at least. Maybe Woody just needed some time. That was fair. It would give a chance to return his stuffing without any fuss. He started doing just that.

Then the rag doll sprang to life.

A sharp gasp signalled his return to the waking world, startling Buzz. Before he could react, his friend lashed out, raising his leg to aim a weak, clumsy kick back at him. He missed entirely.

"Woody!" Buzz called, reaching out to grab his arm. "Woody, it's okay, it's me!"

"Stop!" Woody cried hoarsely. He jerked away from his touch, body trembling as he tried and failed to get to his hands. "D-Don't touch me, let go,—"

It wasn't hard to deduce the conclusion Woody had drawn waking up with hands in his back. But if he kept struggling like this, he could injure himself further. Silently cursing, Buzz ran around and dropped to his knees before the thrashing rag doll. "Woody, it's me—" He set his hands on his shoulders, trying to hold him still without being forceful. "It's me, it's Buzz!"

Head shooting up, Woody looked at him with wild, frightened eyes before recognition hit him. The fight immediately left his body. "B-Buzz?" he stammered.

The fight left him too. "Yeah, it's me," Buzz said. "It's okay now. You're safe."

The cowboy attempted to push himself up, only to fall back down once more, his breath catching. Buzz tightened his grasp around his shoulders. "Don't try to move just yet," he gently advised. "You're still hurt. Do you remember what happened?"

"Remember what..." His voice sounded scratchy, low and rough like he'd swallowed gravel. "Gabby." A shiver coursed through him. "S-She took my..." His face pinched with anguish. "My..."

"Your voice box," Buzz supplied, unnecessarily. "I know. But I got it back."

"You..." Woody squinted at him, brown eyes clouded with pain. "What? But—But she just took it. How could you...?"

Buzz shook his head. "No," he intoned. "She took it about twenty minutes ago. You were out the whole time." And what a nauseating twenty minutes those had been. Seeing his friend aware again, even if in rough shape, lifted an immense weight off his shoulders, unfurled the knot of anxiety that had coiled tighter and tighter with each passing second. "I just put it back in, and you came around pretty much instantly."

"You... you got it...?" Trailing off, the cowboy reached back shakily, his hand brushing over the exposed voice box and pull-string. His eyes widened. Fingers loosely curling around the ring, Woody set his head back down with a shuddering exhale.

Buzz frowned. He leaned closer, trying to get a look at his face. "Woody? Hey, are you—?"

Woody looked up, eyes full of such sincere gratitude it caught him off-guard. "Thank you," he near whispered.

The space ranger slowly smiled. "It was never a question." They were best friends and best friends helped each other without hesitation—no thanks needed.

"But how did you...?"

"Mr. Lightyear, the coast is still clear! How's it going over here with—Woody!"

Faster than one would expect for a being with fixed Popsicle feet, Forky raced over in a sporting an expression of absolute glee. Woody's face melted with relief. "Forky, you're okay—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as red pipe cleaner hands cupped his cheeks. "Woody, you're awake! I was so worried! No wait, we were so worried!" Forky babbled. "You weren't moving a-and you wouldn't wake up and...! Oh, Woody, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault, I—!"

Woody looked so overwhelmed, it would've been funny in any other situation. "Easy, Forky," Buzz chided, gently pushing him back. "Give him some space."

"Oh! I'm sorry!" He transferred his hands to his own face and continued to fret. "R-Right, it must still hurt—or it looks like it does! I'm sorry, I just got excited—"

"Forky—Forky—" Woody reached out weakly to grasp his wrist. "It's fine. I'm all right. None of this is your fault."

Forky faltered. "B-But I—"

"None of it," the cowboy repeated, with a firmness that brooked no argument and compassionate eyes that belied any irritation or anger. "Okay? You're not responsible here."

"But—But if I hadn't jumped out of the RV, none of this would have happened!"

Woody chuckled weakly. "Well, I'd prefer if you didn't go doing that again. But you're not to blame for what happened after."

Still, the young toy was not consoled. "But I told her all the stuff you told me! And you only had to come back in the first place to get me!"

"Forky," Buzz cut in, "would you have done all that if you knew this would be the outcome?" The cowboy shot him a grateful look.

Forky's eyes widened. "No, of course not!"

"Then I know you didn't mean for this to happen," Woody said. "So it's..." He took a shallow breath. "It's okay. All right?"

"Okay..." Forky didn't seem convinced, but did back down.

Buzz looked at Woody with concern. He was glad to see him awake, but he was still clearly struggling. Much as he wanted to let his friend recover a little more, they didn't have the time. "All right, you two," he said, drawing their attention. "We need to get moving. It looks like Bo made it, so Bonnie could be back any second."

Woody blinked. "What...? Bo?"

Right. He wouldn't be caught up with all that. Buzz nodded. "Bonnie left her bag here. I asked Bo to head to the RV to tell the others they needed to find a way to remind her she did. From a phone call I overheard a few minutes ago, it sounds like Bonnie is on her way."

"And Bo agreed?" Woody looked dubious. "But I thought, after we fought, she didn't..."

Buzz smiled. "Well, I guess she had a change of heart."

Despite the situation, a small smile graced Woody's lips, a welcome sight after all he'd endured. But his joy was short-lived. "That's great and all, but I still can't go back like this." He gestured to his open back.

All right, moment of truth. "If this goes the way I think it will, you won't," Buzz began. "I know I'm asking a lot for you to trust me right now, but at least hear me out."

This might not be easy: he'd let his friend down colossally. His plan was less a plan and more a confident guess on how events would play out. Woody apparently already doubted Bonnie's love for him. Why should he agree to something based on a foundation he didn't believe in? Why should he place his faith in someone who could only watch as he was ripped open? But they didn't have a lot of options here and time was running out. He opened his mouth to explain.

But then Woody frowned at him. "What? Of course I trust you. Tell me your plan."

Buzz's jaw was left hanging open several seconds too long before he noticed and promptly clamped it shut. Well. That was easier than expected. The absolute lack of hesitation, the sincere confusion in his friend's hoarse voice, sent a strange warmth through his circuits. He pressed his fist against his lips and cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. Of course."

Forky glanced obliviously between them. Get it together, space ranger.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Buzz said. "When Bonnie gets here, Forky and I will be inside the backpack. Woody, you'll be lying on top of it."

"Wh—What?" Woody balked. "Why?"

"Because none of us can sew," he stated, matter-of-fact. "But there's a good chance that shopkeeper can." Well, he couldn't say good chance with any certainty, but he was willing to make a gamble two parts hope and one part knowledge. The sewing machine was plugged in and well-maintained, toys were sold here, and it would make sense for the owner of an antique store to know some basic mending skills. "When Bonnie sees you, I'm positive she'll get the attention of the adults," Buzz continued, "and it's highly possible the shopkeeper will offer to fix you for her. But if not, Bonnie will still know to bring you back home carefully until they can get someone else to fix you."

Woody didn't exactly looked convinced. Buzz couldn't blame him. "That might work," he conceded, worrying his bottom lip, "but what if Bonnie doesn't..."

"Woody, she wants you," Buzz asserted. "I know you might not believe that right now, but will you believe me when I say, I promise you won't be going in the trash?"

If you can't trust Bonnie, you at least said you trusted me.

Woody sighed. "Yeah. I do."

Buzz grinned. "Then we've got a plan. How does that sound to you, Forky?"

The spork threw his arms up. "Hooray! No one's going in the trash!"

"That's the spirit." Turning back to Woody, his smile fall. "Okay. We need to do this, but I wasn't entirely... finished when you woke up." He picked up a stray clump of cotton.

Woody grimaced, averting his gaze. "Right... Let's do this quick, then."

"I'll do my best."

In practice, he could have done better. But Buzz chose a careful balancing act between efficiency and his friend's comfort over pure speed in returning the stuffing into his back. Woody had been through a lot and the last thing he wanted was to cause any more pain than could be helped. By how stiffly the cowboy lied on the floor, the stress of having hands under his cloth again was obvious. Thankfully, Forky provided some distraction for Woody, holding his hand as he babbled away.

"There," Buzz said as he slid the last clump inside. He leaned down. "All right?"

"Fine," Woody replied tersely. No use commenting on the slight tremor in his voice.

"We better get moving, then. Here, I'll carry you—"

But far be it for the cowboy to not be stubborn even in dire circumstances. Shaking his head, Woody tried to push himself up again. "No no, I've got it—" And again, fell right back down. He huffed. "F-Fine. I guess I'm too much of an invalid to even walk now."

Buzz had never been so happy to hear his friend's familiar sour comments. "Just for the time being," he conceded, bending to slide Woody's arms over his shoulders. He couldn't risk a bridal carry anymore, not with that hole in his back. "We'll have you good as new in no time, Sheriff."

"What's an invalid?" Forky wondered aloud.

"Me," Woody groused.

"Oh."

Readjusting his friend, Buzz looped Woody's legs over his arms, hefting him up backpack-style. He was grateful as ever for the weightlessness of rag dolls. Vinyl hands grasped his shoulders for stability. Buzz looked over at the walking utensil. "Forky, can you walk behind us in case any cotton falls out during transportation?"

Standing at attention, Forky saluted; Buzz wondered how he even picked that gesture up. "I sure can, Mr. Lightyear!"

He smiled. "Then let's go home."

Thankfully, Bonnie's bag was right around the corner. But even this short trip seemed to tire Woody out further, as Buzz soon felt the grip on his shoulders slacken. He gave a light jostle, fighting to keep the worry from his voice. "Stay with me, partner."

Woody raised his head. "'m awake, I'm awake."

Buzz walked a touch faster. "You all right back there, Forky?" he called.

"I've got three bits of stuffing!"

"Good work."

At last they reached the promised backpack. Buzz never thought it looked so wonderful. Finally, finally, this awful detour would be coming to an end. They'd go home and put this all behind them. Well, once Woody got fixed of course. He gently lowered the cowboy onto the bag, then turned to Forky, hands outstretched. "Cotton?"

"Right here!"

He turned back to Woody with fistfuls of stuffing, gesturing vaguely. "Can I—?"

Woody grimaced and hid his face. "Just get it over with."

"Right."

With the cowboy secured and all his parts where they belonged, more or less, there was nothing left to do but slide in the bag themselves and wait. Buzz held the zippered opening up for Forky to crawl inside, then slipped in after. He left his head out, however, wanting both to keep an eye on the store entrance and to not leave his friend alone until he absolutely had to. Hopefully, Bonnie would be here soon.

It seemed he wasn't the only one eager to return to the little girl. Forky vibrated with anticipation next to him, grinning and laughing to himself. "Ohh, I can't wait to see Bonnie!" he exclaimed. "Whatever and whenever she wants to play, I'm ready! I'll be the best toy ever!"

"With a can-do attitude like that, I'm sure you will be," Buzz chuckled. Forky finally accepting himself as a toy rather than utensil was an unexpected but welcome development for sure. No doubt Woody had had some influence on that change. He looked over at his friend, expecting to share an amused smile, but instead found only a pensive cowboy gazing off into nothing, tense with nervous energy. Did he truly believe Bonnie would discard him just like that?

"Woody," he murmured under the stream of Forky's babbling. When his friend looked over, Buzz flashed a reassuring smile. "Bonnie's taking you home with us. I promise." And then, though he couldn't say what exactly spurred him to do so, he held out his hand for Woody to take or decline. And, after a beat of hesitation, he took it.

"All right," Woody said, smiling weakly. Buzz squeezed his hand.

The front door swung open with a chime. He withdrew his hand. They slipped into toy mode.

"Hello. Can I help you with anything?"

"We called about the backpack?"

Buzz had never been so happy to hear the voice of Mrs. Anderson.

"Oh, yes. I couldn't find it. Feel free to look around."

"Okay, Bonnie. Why don't you go take a look that way and I'll check this side?"

Again, Buzz wondered how the storekeeper had possibly missed it. But it didn't matter, because no way Bonnie wouldn't find the conspicuous purple backpack. Sure enough, seconds later, rapid little footsteps, and a childish gasp.

"Mommy! I found it!" Bonnie called, rushing over.

A familiar little girl's face appeared over his frozen grin, brown eyes sparkling. "Forky!" She scooped the spork up to squeeze against her chest. Then— "Buzz!" Up he went, though not held with quite the same ferocity, sharp edges and all. He'd experienced the surge of warmth of being held by a child hundreds of times before, but it never lost its charm. Then—she faltered, the smile slipping off her face. Slowly, she set them down. She reached out with trepidation, and Buzz just caught a flash of Woody's boot in his peripheral overhead.

"W-Woody...?" she warbled.

Buzz couldn't see the scene playing out above him, but he knew Bonnie, knew kids in general enough to know what was happening. The short, sharp breathing, the quivering whimpers, the sniffling—crying. Bonnie was crying over her little cowboy doll. He wondered what was going through his friend's head at the moment. Abruptly Bonnie swiped Forky and Buzz into her bag and took off jogging, and just as abruptly she came to a stop.

"Oh, you found your—oh, honey, what's wrong?"

Shaky, stuttering breaths. "W-Woody... My c-cowboy..."

"Here, let me see, sweetheart..." Sympathetic tsking. "Oh, dear... Now how did this happen...?"

Buzz wished he could see what was happening exactly, but Bonnie had the bag on her back. He could only stare out the small transparent window into the store and piece together the scene from voices and his own assumptions. "Oh, no," the shopkeeper gasped. "That dang old cat...! I'm so sorry, sweetheart. But you know, I'm a bit of an old-hand with a needle. I could sew him right on up."

Bingo.

"Oh, could you? That would be just wonderful, thank you. Bonnie loves her little cowboy so much. Bonnie, do you think this nice lady could help fix Woody up?"

Bonnie didn't speak. Buzz could just the hesitation upon her young face, lip bit and brow scrunched up. "I'll be very careful with your friend, dear," the shopkeeper said. "It will only take a few minutes and he'll be good as new!"

She'd give him over, he knew she would. He just needed to place the trust in Bonnie he'd asked Woody to place in himself.

"... y-you'll be careful with him?"

"Extra careful. I promise."

Another pause, then shuffling footsteps, jostling the backpack. "Thank you, dear. Would you like to watch? No? Well that's all right. I'll be right back—"

"Wait!" The backpack slid to the floor and with a quick pull of the zipper, Buzz found himself at last facing the scene proper in his owner's little hands. Indeed the elderly shopkeeper had Woody in her grasp, Mrs. Anderson off to the side. Bonnie held the space ranger up. "W-Woody needs his best friend! So he—" A sniffle. "S-So he's not scared."

Truly, they were lucky to be in the possession of the sweetest little girl in the world.

The shopkeeper smiled warmly. "Well I think that's just a great idea. He can stand right by while I work to keep an eye on everything."

And so Buzz found himself handed over to this stranger—an unexpected occurrence in his plan, but not unwelcome. He certainly didn't object to remaining by his friend's side. Having a human fix a toy was standard, routine... but if Woody still felt anxiety during repairs, hopefully his presence might ease the fear however slight. Finally, it was time to wrap up this whole ordeal.

They returned to that sewing machine. After this, Buzz never wished to see it again. The shopkeeper set him on a corner, adjusted to face the contraption, standing tall and alert like a castle guard, forced to watch. Not that he objected necessarily; again, human repairs felt different. Safer, routine, so long as the human knew what they were doing. It certainly looked like she did, the way she gently laid Woody out beneath the needle and kicked the machine to life.

Buzz observed the scene with interest. He'd never actually witnessed a repair like this up close. The apparatus sounded harsh and mechanical, the needle bearing down forcefully, but her hand movements looked smooth, subtly sliding the rag doll forward as the point pressed against his back, using her finger to press down cotton trying to escape, slowly but surely mending the large tear. For all the stress Buzz endured over ripping open the wound, this human made fixing it seem so simple he almost felt silly worrying at all.

Yes, his friend was in good hands.

The whole thing took no more than five minutes. Turning off the machine, the shopkeeper held Woody with a smile, fixing his hat to sit just right. "You've got one sweet little girl out there, cowboy," she murmured. "Let's not keep her waiting now."

Back into her grasp Buzz went, his overseer duty fulfilled. As they headed back to the front of the store, he could just make out Bonnie's wobbly voice. "... but I p-promised Andy t-to take e-extra good care of him!"

Oh, Bonnie, Buzz thought. Is that what you're worried about?

They turned the corner. Bonnie was seated in her mother's lap, staring down at Forky in her grasp, face smeared with tears. Mrs. Anderson stroked her hair. "Bonnie, accidents happen," she soothed. "Andy would understand that. And we're getting Woody fixed now. In fact—oh, look who's done!"

Bonnie's head shot up. The shopkeeper held Woody out. "One patient, all stitched up and ready to go."

The little girl didn't need to be told twice. She hopped down, handed Forky off to her mother, and raced over. Yet even now she hesitated, hands hovering, ever the shy and polite child. The shopkeeper held Woody out farther towards her. "It's okay, dear. Your little friend is all better now. I'm sure he's eager to get home."

Bonnie scooped the rag doll up and held him close to her chest in a loving but not squeezing embrace. Mrs. Anderson walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Now Bonnie, you remember what we say when someone does something nice for us?"

Bonnie peaked up shyly from under her bangs. "... thank you," she mumbled.

"You're welcome, dear," the shopkeeper said. Buzz could hear the smile in her voice. "Your other friend here did a good job keep watching for me." She held him out and right Buzz went into Bonnie's waiting arms, gently pressed between his friend and her chest. The familiar warmth that surged through his circuits gave him a burst of refreshed optimism. Everything would be okay now.

As the adults conversed, Bonnie collected Forky and headed to her backpack resting on the ground. Kneeling, she unzipped the top, inserting them one by one inside carefully, giving Woody the most space in the centre. She leaned in, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm sorry I lost you guys..." A sniffle, a tiny fist across her cheek to wipe her dried tears. "I-I didn't mean to. I promise I'll never lose you again!" She fixed each respective name a serious look in turn. "Buzz. Forky. You two have to keep Woody safe until we get back to the RV, okay? 'Cause he's gotta heal still. When I get a scrape or bruise, it takes time to get better. So I'm putting you in charge! J-Just for a little while."

Then, she gently lifted Woody up and pressed a kiss to his chest. She looked at him with wide, fervent eyes. "Mommy gives me kisses when I get hurt," she intoned, as though sharing a great secret. "So that should help you feel better too." Nestling the cowboy back between his two bodyguards, Bonnie gave a little wave and zipped the bag up.

The next ten minutes they spent in silence, Bonnie hugging the bag as she sat on the windowsill waiting for the adults to finish talking. Buzz wouldn't mind talking, were it not so risky, but he got the feeling his friend needed that quiet to process everything anyway. Forky, thank goodness, remained just as still. When the adults wrapped up their conversation, Bonnie took her mother's hand and shifted the bag onto her back. Finally, they were leaving the antique store.

As they passed through the old heavy doors, Buzz watched the shopkeeper flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED and lock the entrance. The store grew farther away as they walked, went dark with the lights, faded into black like a half-remembered nightmare.

Moonlight streamed through the backpack's tiny plastic window, but wasn't enough to snuff his glowing suit. Buzz sensed movement and turned his head. Woody had shifted, reaching back to grasp his pull-string, then ghost his hand down his back. Slowly, he drew his hand back to his chest, fingers curling loosely around his cotton shirt. The space ranger couldn't quite make out his expression in the dim lighting, but the awe in his hushed voice said enough. "... she really does care..."

Smiling tiredly, Buzz closed his eyes and set his head back. "Of course she does. I promised, didn't I?"