It's a nightmare. Or a joke.

Because when the front door bursts open and she hears Alphonse's voice echoing from inside a suit of armour please someone help my brother she wants to scream, or laugh and she can feel both bubbling up inside her.

There's blood. Too much blood and that's not Ed in his arms, and if it is then any second now he's going to sit up and laugh because it's just a joke…

He's so still.

And it's Granny that's moving fast (but she's always so slow so that's not right, none of this is right – it's not real – it can't -) her pipe falling to the floor with a noise that shakes the house as she runs to Alphonse's – is that Alphonse? – side to help him with Ed (but that's not Ed, it can't be Ed).

ooo

Hands shaking, Winry left the operating room.

Alphonse was waiting outside. He was still wearing the suit of armour, the bloodstains hidden by the way he hugged his knees tightly into his chest.

"Al?" She gently tapped him on the shoulder, the sound echoing. "Al its -"

It's not over. She stops herself before she says that.

"Ed's doing better," she says instead. And then, "You don't need to keep wearing that armour." She doesn't know why he's wearing it. She doesn't know how he fits in it. In everything that's happened in the hours between the front door being kicked open and this conversation she hasn't had a chance to ask, or wonder.

"I can't," the words hang helpless in the air.

"What happened?" She doesn't want to ask the question, but it creeps its way out of her anyway.

"We just – wanted to see mum again. It wasn't –" he buries his helmeted head in his hands, "it wasn't meant to be like this."

ooo

"What are you two up to, anyway?" she asked the brothers as they walked home from school.

"None of your business," Ed's answer was as direct and as rude as ever.

"It's a surprise," was Alphonse's response. "You'll see tomorrow!"

ooo

That had only been a few hours ago. And now Al wouldn't even look at her, and Ed was almost kil –

No.

- Ed was very badly hurt, she corrected mentally.

"I don't understand – who did this to you guys?" Winry had seen a lot of amputations, probably more than the average eleven year old had, but that wasn't unexpected when you worked with automail. Ed's arm and leg – she tried to forget the way it looked like something – someone – had ripped them away, as easily as she'd tear paper.

"We did," Al's voice sounds so small inside his armour. "This is all my fault. I messed it up."

She still doesn't want to ask, but these are her friends and they're hurt and she wants to help. "What…"

"The transmutation. This is all my fault."

She remembers when they were very young. Ed and Al had told her they were going to make her a doll. She missed her parents, and Ed had told her the doll was just going to be because they wanted to test the transmutation. She'd watched, holding her new puppy in her arms, feeling Den wriggling to get out, not understanding why she couldn't go and play with Ed and Al, as her friends drew the array in chalk on the floor of her kitchen. And watched, as the transmutation went wrong, and what should've been a doll formed into a twisted mess of cloth and floor.

Granny had been so angry at them both. They'd stayed up so long trying to work out how to put everything right again that Ed had fallen asleep in class the next day and not even realised that Pitt had spent the second half of their maths lesson doodling on his arm.

"Are you hurt?" She realises it's been hours and they've been so worried over Ed that neither she nor Granny stopped to ask Al if he was injured too.

"No. I'm… fine. I don't – I don't feel hurt."

"We should take a look at you anyway," her mouth is running on automatic, "I'll get Granny. Ed is –"

Having blood pumped back into his body but he's not dying anymore.

"- Stable now. She can look at you." She's leaving, when a huge gauntlet covered hand reaches out, grabbing her arm. He's holding her too tightly, squeezing like her bones will break. She screams and Alphonse drops her arm like its burning.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to – Are you hurt?"

And Winry wants to laugh because Alphonse shouldn't be the one asking her that. She flexes her fingers and everything feels fine,

"No," there'll be a bruise. But she doesn't need to mention that, "But what about you?"

"I'm –" he pauses, and she thinks he's going to say 'fine' again, "Please don't be scared," he says instead.

She hits him lightly on the shoulder. She's done that hundreds of times, but the hollow echo of her hand is unnatural. She manages a watery smile, as weak as she feels, "how can I be scared? It's just you, dummy."

He takes off his helmet, hands fumbling, and leans over just slightly so she can see inside.

Empty.

But I can hear him.

"I don't feel anything, Winry," his voice comes from within the armour, but there's nothing to make the sound. "So I'm fine. Really." The voice is too small for such a large space and Winry backs away before running.

She makes it to the lavatory in time, hands clutching either side of the toilet bowl as she throws up.

ooo

Afterwards she sees herself in the mirror as she washes her hands and face. Grey skin and cheeks streaked with tears. She doesn't have time to feel like this, but her hands shake as she reaches for the soap and –

Stupid. Pathetic. Crybaby. Useless.

"I can't do anything to help!"

Her little tantrum doesn't do anything except reveal how weak and fragile her voice sounds. She presses her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, one hand holding the side of the sink for support.

She punched the wall with the other, but it did nothing except graze her knuckles. She rinses the blood off and tries to remember how to breath.

ooo

Alphonse hasn't moved when she returns, the bucket heavy in her hands. She sets it down, and the clean, antiseptic smell of the soap is comforting, but doesn't mask the smell of blood.

"Al? I'm sorry."

"I didn't think you were coming back."

"Of course I was. You're my friend. Here," she gets him to unwrap his hands from around his knees, so she can see the chestplate. She dips the cloth in the bucket and, very gently – as though she's scared she might hurt him – she cleans away the blood.