It hadn't stopped. It had never ended. He saw her reach for the gun, gripping it with white knuckles. Her movements were horrible to watch; like a puppet having its strings manipulated, she shakily raised the firearm into the red-eyed face of death. He should be moving, he should be able to fling himself in front of the barrel, but smoky fingers were reaching up to grip him.

They pulled him away from her; he saw Winry and the Ishvalan waver like a warped mirror. Then, he was floundering in the Briggs mountain range, the snow swallowing his heavy legs as he tried to reach her before Kimblee did. He wasn't sure if the sickening pressure building in his throat was due to the Crimson Alchemist's perverted fascination with Winry, or because the snow was closing in over his head and shutting out light and air.

And then it was the worst of all: her body on the dark ground, wracked and twisted as the most powerful transmutation since the doom of Xerxes devoured her soul. He shouted for her, but he was nothing, not even a breath. After everything you gave me, I still couldn't protect you.

In the screaming darkness, her hair was the only bright thing: luminous and warm, it was like the last embers of the dying sun. He clung to that vision, smelling dust and mildew as the void relinquished him.

Edward's eyes snapped open, and, feeling immediate pain, he jerked his hand away from the tiny lamp the librarian had offered him at the beginning of the night. He must have reached towards the meager light source before fully awakening, and now he cursed the impulse as he sucked his burnt fingertips.

He had fallen asleep with his face resting on a stack of research texts, and the top page's decades of creasing had indented his right cheek. Ed rubbed his sore neck, picking up the lamp with his other hand and stretching to wake himself up. The library's cold, cavernous halls were doing nothing to increase his comfort.

That was a worse one than usual.

Ed didn't want to think about his dream too much; this wasn't his usual nightmare material. It was all about Winry. How I always put her in so much danger.

He sighed. And now he'd already been gone for over five months, studying nonstop in Creta's finest—and most creepy—research institutes. Ed gave an uneasy glance at the yawning blackness on the edges of the circle of lamplight, then tried to shake some sense into himself. It's not the shadows that are the danger. Ignorance and arrogance—Shou Tucker and Father. Those were—ARE—the real enemies. He refocused his attention on the ancient tome in front of him, but he couldn't seem to stop seeing swirling smoke on the edges of his vision, reaching into the pool of light to drag him away.

He slammed the book impatiently, snatching up several more to tuck under his arm. He slung his coat over one shoulder and grabbed the lamp, holding it out in front of him like a weapon. Ed strode toward the exit doorway, reasoning that a change of location would set him to rights. There were some comfortable armchairs in the lobby that he could easily occupy, and finish the night's study in peace.

The lobby was brighter than the library itself, despite the late hour. The librarian had locked up and departed several hours since, but had left Ed with full access to whatever resources he needed. Ed freely claimed the largest armchair as one of those resources, and after setting down his coat and the faltering lamp, immediately buried his nose in the book that had earlier served as his pillow.

As usual, he couldn't move. He observed only what he could see from his vantage point on the small cot. And what he could see was Winry's tear-streaked, determined young face focused intently on the stump of his right arm. Pinako was guiding her through the nerve attachment process, and he saw the girl flinch as his own broken yelp knifed through the room.

"Winry, I can do this part if you want to take a little break and check on Alphonse."

"No."

Her blue eyes brimmed with imminent tears, but they also glittered with ice-cold resolve. Pinako took a step back from her granddaughter as Winry leaned closer to his face to get better leverage.

"Ed, I'm sorry—this'll hurt a lot. But I have to give you back your arm. I have to do something." She dropped her head a bit, and uttered in a tone too soft for her grandmother to hear: "I can't be useless. This won't be like Mom and Dad. I can help you." And she tugged the wrench again, shutting her eyes against his anguished howl.

Scope shifting, Ed saw her again bind up the wounds of her parents' murderer. She had shown more mercy and genuine goodness than he thought any human being ever capable of. Then her hot fury was suddenly directed at him: she demanded he promise to save the entire country of Amestris, and come back alive at the end of it. She was too greedy. She would never accept no as an answer. Ed realized that she might be the only person alive who could match him in sheer stubbornness.

Then he was at the train station. Instead of giving his stupid equivalent exchange speech, Ed was getting off the train—the only passenger to disembark. And there she was, waiting at the center of the platform. Her face opened in that wonderful smile, the one she gave him and Al when they came back to Resembool almost two and a half years ago. When he hugged her, it felt real—in some awful, pragmatic part of his mind, Ed knew this was illusion—but she smelled like grease and gardens, which reminded him, oddly, of his mother. And when he kissed her, that definitely felt real, almost better than their kiss the night before he left. Because this kiss meant reunion, not separation. Ed locked his arms around her and resolved to never let go, ever—they could stand here on this platform until the train station eroded around them, and he could stay happy. If only that damn train would just stop whistling and leave already…

Ed's tongue felt like sandpaper, and the white morning rays felt like they were dissolving his retinas. He groaned and peeled his face off the book, which he had once again fallen asleep reading. The whistling was coming from a teapot across the lobby, where the librarian was currently occupied.

"Dammit, I really need to get some actual work done," Ed muttered in annoyance, but he definitely felt more rested than when he first woke in the night. A recollection of his recent dream brought a smile to his face as he watched the librarian walk over with two steaming cups.

"You state alchemists and your all-nighters," the salt-and-pepper, soft-spoken man reproved as he handed Ed his tea. Ed had noticed his accent the night before when he opened up the library for him: the man was not Cretan, but another Amestrian. The presence of someone from his own country was surprisingly comforting, Ed thought.

"Thanks." Ed sipped the scalding, caffeinated brew. "Have you had a lot of state alchemists work here recently?"

"No, but I've known my share in the past. My younger brother was one, actually. He wanted to learn how to heal with alchemy, but the military put him to work in classified research."

Ed narrowed his eyes, staring into his cup. That means…the Philosopher's Stone. They forced alchemists like him to conduct those experiments and destroy other humans. Poor bastard.

"See him much?" Ed couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Haven't since the start of the Ishval genocide. I'm not actually surprised. You state alchemists have had it rough."

Ed gave a dark chuckle. "Some enjoyed the job a bit too much."

The librarian fixed him with piercing dark eyes; though his voice was gentle, his eyes were crystalline sharp, Ed thought.

"But you didn't. And neither did my brother. And those like you who work hard to do good things with alchemy deserve the world's respect."

He brought out a heavy key ring and started counting the keys, averting his astute stare.

"Speaking of which, how much more time will you need to use the stacks? You are welcome here for as long as necessary; I just need to know how best to accommodate you."

Ed shut the book in front of him and thought about it briefly. "Two more nights. There's a lot to go over here, but I can get through it by then."

"Very well." The librarian rose from the chair and smiled at Ed. "Enjoy your tea while it's still hot, and maybe take a rest from research for a bit. Like I said, your kind have had it rough."

Ed watched the man's back as he walked to the desk to finish opening up the building. He looks familiar. Ed discarded the passing thought as he considered the librarian's parting comment, and remembered his dream's final image: what hopefully awaited him at the end of his travels. Not all of us have it that rough.

He put down the alchemy books and reached for a notepad. In one of his coat pockets he found a pen. Uncapping it, he smiled again as he touched the tip to the paper.

Dear Winry…