Title: Baptism
Author: S J Smith
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood. 2nd Person POV.
Author's Notes: Much thanks to D. M. Evans for her medical knowledge and her edits for this story.
Summary: Acid is burning your throat but you can't throw up now.
Disclaimer: I only wish these characters and this world was mine.
Additional notes: Written for the Live Journal Community, GirlSavesBoyFic, which is simply a great idea, especially for Arakawa's characters.
There is so much blood.
Ed's body is slick with it and Granny is yelling at Al to hold Ed down and Ed's thrashing –
- thrashing -
And he's so pale and there's blood everywhere and a tourniquet wrapped around his left thigh but that's not helping his right arm and the blood spurting out of it. Your hands are shaking so much but you cut the sutures with scissors so slippery, they're nearly sliding out of your hands. You plant your hand on his stomach, lean forward so your weight is on Ed's chest. Al's no help as scared as he is, and Granny needs Ed to stay still so she can tie off the blood vessels.
"We'll need to cauterize some of these. There isn't time to suture all of them." There's a splash of blood on Granny's glasses and she swipes at it with her forearm, smearing it enough that she can see again.
Al is hovering and he's in the light and you want to scream at him but it won't do any good. "Al. Go get some hot water in a basin." When he hesitates, you shout, "Now!" Al runs and Granny gives you a wry smile without any humor in it, a thanks for your quick thinking. You scissor through the suture and swallow hard. Acid is burning in your throat but you can't throw up now. Ed needs you. You're not going to let him down. Later, you can scream and cry but now you need to be hands and weight and scissors and whatever Granny needs you to be to make sure Ed survives.
He's groaning and kicking and you lean harder on his chest. "Ed! Ed, listen!" You press your hand against his forehead, trying to remember what Granny's told you to do with her patients in the past. There almost isn't enough of Ed to restrain. "Ed, you have to stay still. We can't help you if you don't stay still!"
His eyes fly open, practically whirling in pain, and Granny's readying an IV, swabbing the inside of Ed's elbow. The cords in his neck stand out and Ed gasps. You shield his eyes with the palm of your hand so Granny can slip the needle home without Ed seeing. "Shh," you whisper, "it's okay, Ed. Close your eyes."
"Hnng!" He shudders but there's something in his gaze that lets you know he's heard you. Ed takes a breath through his clenched teeth. You tell him to settle down. You keep petting his forehead. You're smearing blood on his face, in his hair, but he's starting to relax, at least a little bit. He's listening to you.
Ed's listening to you.
And Granny is working on what's left of his arm. She's hissing softly through her teeth, not quite whistling. Her glasses glint and you look sideways, meeting her gaze. They're not so strained and you think that maybe, maybe Ed has a chance.
"Ed, we're going to take care of you. You're doing okay. You're going to be fine." His bangs are stained with blood but his eyes are dulled from the sedative now, not bright with agony. And he's watching you.
Ed keeps watching you until his eyelids flutter, shading his gaze. His hair sticks to your hand as you pull it away, then falls in a clump back onto his forehead. Later, when Granny and you have gotten the bleeding under control, when a second liter of fluids is helping to stabilize Ed, Al enters the room, somehow managing to walk without clattering too much and waking Ed. He brings you a basin of hot water and, for a few seconds, you can't remember why. But Ed needs to be washed up and there isn't any way you feel like you can close your eyes, not until Ed opens his again. So you find a clean piece of cloth and use it to carefully wipe Ed's skin. You almost wish his hair was long enough to dunk in the basin but manage to scrub the blood out of the strands until they're gold again instead of reddish black.
"How is he?"
Al's voice is strange, tinny, hollow. You realize it isn't the ringing in your ears: That armor really is Al. All the sorrow and fear you've smashed down into a little box wants to come screaming out, but Ed's sleeping and you won't wake him, you won't. "He'll be okay." You barely recognize your own voice, it barely sounds like you, and you think that's probably right, since you almost didn't recognize Al's voice and you'd know him anywhere. Even…even like this.
The clatter of the suit of armor seems so loud but you don't say anything about it. No, you flinch and think maybe you're lucky Al's helmet is pointed at Ed's sleeping form so he doesn't see. Instead, you tell Al you'll be back in a few minutes and carry the basin out of the room. The bloody water gets dumped and the basin rinsed, the cloth tossed into the sink. And while the stream of water runs over the dirty cloth, you let yourself cry.
Morning seems a fragile thing, a weak beam of sunlight gilding your fingers where they rest on white sheets. You raise your head, rubbing at your eyes, and last night floods back, stiffening your spine and making you half-rise off the stool next to the bed.
A hand touches your shoulder. Granny's voice is rough and you wonder if she slept last night, or if she cried, too. "He's going to be all right, girl. You did a good job." She pats your back, gives your hair a quick caress. You hear her leave the room as she says, "I'm going to make breakfast."
Ed's so pale, he nearly blends in with the cotton. Even his hair seems washed out. But he's still breathing. And you'll sit by his side, until you know he's okay again.