"Aw, crap. It's starting to rain," Ed grumbled as he and his younger brother trudged through the city toward the train station. Heavy rain poured down on them, and they were at least an hour away from their destination.
Alphonse looked over at him. "Do you want to stop under that awning until the rain passes?" he asked, voice ever high-pitched and always thoughtful.
"No," Edward kept forward, pulling his hood over his head. "Let's keep going. We need to get back to Central by tomorrow."
Ed's clothes were soaked through and he was starting to shiver uncontrollably. But at least they'd reached the station.
"What do you mean they are no more trains until tomorrow?" he exclaimed, rage spreading through his body.
"Brother, calm down. We'll just find shelter and take the first one out in the morning," Alphonse tried to reason with him.
"Fine," he grumbled, already setting off to find refugee from the gloomy weather.
"Brother, wait up!" the suit of armor called after him.
Ed slid down under the awning at the edge of the platform. His whole body was dripping wet, including his automail, and he was chilled down to the bone. He growled as Al sat down next to him.
"Brother, we have to board the train now."
Ed moaned as his brother shook him awake. I don't even remember falling asleep... Finally sitting up, he realized it was actually dawn. "Wha-?" he murmured, feeling an intense migraine coming on.
"Come on, Brother," Al stood, gesturing toward the train waiting on the tracks in front of them. "You were the one who was upset we couldn't leave here yesterday. Come on!"
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," he grumbled, pushing himself off on the ground to stand and follow his brother.
After making it onto the train and finding their seats, Ed found himself suddenly struggling to keep his eyes open, and nearly dozing off once every ten minutes or so.
"... Central station," Al continued as Ed caught himself from falling out of his seat. "Brother, are listening to me?" he asked, voice skeptical and annoyed.
The young alchemist shrugged as he stifled a yawn. "Sorry, no, I was too busy trying not to fall flat on my face," he said snidely.
"Are you alright, Brother?"
"Of course I'm alright. I'm Ed freaking Elric," his comment lost its bite when his voice cracked as he finished the sentence. Dammit, he thought.
Al didn't seem to appreciate the comment. "You sound terrible." He leaned over and pressed the back of his metal hand to Ed's clammy forehead. His older brother leaned foreword as well, seemingly finding the gesture comforting somehow. The empty armor pulled away when he realized he couldn't feel anything.
Ed huffed in irritation. "I don't have a fever, Alphonse. I'm not sick. I'm just thirsty."
"I'm not so sure. Anyways, if you're thirsty, go get some water."
The thirteen-year-old shrugged. "Fine," he scoffed, standing up to go get a glass from the dining car.
Bad idea, he thought as he stood up too fast, causing an extreme case of vertigo. Whoa. He leaned onto the table in between him and his brother, trying to steady himself.
"Brother..."
"I'm fine, Alphonse... My automail's just a little stiff."
"Should we go back to Risembool and have Winry look at it?" he asked, not buying Ed's excuse at all.
"No. Winry would kill me... Anyways, It's just the rain from last night. A little oil and it'll be good as new," Ed blew off his brother's obvious concern. Sometimes Al worried over nothing.
The oldest Elric tried not to fall over as he made his way through the train and into the dining car.
As he walked out of the car, glass of water in hand, the dizziness came back at full force, nearly sending him on his face once more. Aw shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
Before he could regain his footing, the crystal glass slipped out of his hand, crashing to its death on the floor.
Dammit.
As a natural reflex, Ed clapped his hands together and pressed them to the floor. Nothing happened.
Wha-?
A crippling headache shot through his head as he remembered what his teacher had told him years before.
Practicing alchemy with elevated body temperature is never a good idea. Consequences range depending on the severity of the illness but it always backfires one way or another.
He pressed his fingers against his suddenly throbbing temples, trying to suppress the whimpering that threatened to escape out of his sore throat. Come on, Edward. You're the Fullmetal fucking Alchemist. You don't get sick. Stand up, dammit, stand up!
Ed bit his lip as he stood up, slowly this time, using the wall for support.
Alphonse gave him a lecture as Ed came back into the compartment, all energy depleted from his body. Ed drifted off as Alphonse droned on and on about how getting a glass of water shouldn't take forty-five minutes, especially how he could have possibly come back empty handed, and - for God's sake - why was he so tired and pale if he wasn't sick? All Ed wanted to do besides sleep was smack his younger brother upside the head.
"Shut up," he grumbled as he pulled his still-damp red hood up to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the window beside him. The quickly moving trees only made him feel sick to his stomach, anyways.
"Brother! Come on, they're about to board the train again! Wake up!" Edward was brutally shaken awake by his brother.
"Fine... fine," he mumbled as he was dragged mindlessly off the train and through the platform until somehow they were somehow back at their military barracks. Huh? Ed shook his head, trying to get rid of the cotton fogging up his thoughts. Still, the only thing he could think about was his bed, and - dammit - how good it should feel to collapse into it and pull the covers up to his chin, and fall asleep until everything melted away.
Until Colonel Mustang's face popped into his mind. Dammit - the report.
Aw, crap.
"Screw the damn report," he grumbled, already trudging toward the small bedroom. "I'm going to bed."
"If you say so, Brother," Al shrugged, staring into space as usual.
He fell onto the mattress, letting the worn out springs catch him as his eyes closed and he drifted off.
Ed sneezed himself awake, covered in sweat. Where's the blanket? I'm freezing, he said to himself, trying to keep himself from turning into a human icecube.
Then he realized... he was covered in three thick quilts. Al must've laid these on me...
Pulling the mountain of blankets up closer to his chin, he rolled over, trying to go back to sleep.
His eyes flew open as his stomach lurched and jumped into his throat.
He spiraled into a coughing fit and he kicked off layer upon layer, desperate to make it to the bathroom.
Ed threw open the door to their small bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet. He moaned, gagged, and spat into the toilet bowl for what felt like eons, cursing everyone he knew for how awful he felt - even though it was no one's fault he wasn't feeling well.
Ed barely heard the door creak open over his hacking.
"Brother-" Alphonse began, voice quivering.
"Al, get out!" he croaked, leaning further into the toilet.
"But-"
"Alphonse, I said get out!"
Al immediately complied, softly shutting the door behind him as to not disturb his brother more.
However, he went into Motherly Mode as Ed staggered into the small living room area.
"That's it. I'm calling Colonel Mustang and telling him that you are not going into work today. I don't care how much you deny it," he lectured him as the crabby alchemist sat down on the ratty sofa.
"That's nonsense. Colonel Asswipe would make me go in anyway. And I'm not sick. I've told you that a million times already!" Ed fought back, and even though he was obviously exhausted, his voice still had a microscopic amount of stubborn bite to it.
"Yes you are! I took your temperature when you were sleeping-"
"YOU DID WHAT?" his voice cracked, however, and he went into another hacking fit.
"What was I supposed to do? You were crying out in your sleep and you were covered in sweat and shivering like you were outside in the snow without a coat and..." the tin suit of armor confessed, voice hysterical and drenched in concern. "I was just worried you."
"Damn you, Al!" he mumbled hoarsely, pulling on his red cloak as he made his way out the front door.
"You can't go to work! You're too sick!" Alphonse called after him.
"I'm not sick! I'm just sickened at the thought of seeing that bastard Mustang and admitting we followed yet another false lead!" he yelled back.
"Go home, Fullmetal," the Colonel said the second Edward stepped into his office.
"The report-" he began, even though he was unable to finish.
"Forget about the goddamn report. Turn around and go home. I don't want to see your face around here until you're feeling better."
"But I feel fine-" Ed argued, the room still spinning around him like he was in the center of carousel.
Before he could finish talking, Roy leaned over and placed the back of his hand against Ed's forehead. He pulled away as though he had accidentally touched a hot plate.
"Dammit, Fullmetal! You're on fire!"
The young boy closed his tired eyes, trying to block out the vertigo.
"Okay. I'm taking you home. Now." Roy stood up, and searched his pockets for his car keys. Unsuccessful, he looked back toward Ed.
Damn. He really did look awful.
"Alright, Fullmetal. I'll be right back. Just lay down on the sofa over there. You look like you're about to fall on your face."
Ed complied, hugging his knees to his chest and shuddering as chills ran through his body. He stayed hovering between sleep and consciousness while he waited for the Colonel to come back into the room.
He moaned as the nausea got increasingly worse with every second that passed. Where was Colonel Buttface with his car keys?
His stomach continued to churn and twist even as he lay completely still on Roy's sofa.
Ugh… Bile filled his mouth for the umpteenth time that day.
You can't get sick. Not in Colonel Mustang's office. You can't get sick. You can't get sick. He repeated that one phrase over and over in his mind, trying to keep down whatever was still inside his stomach.
His will power failed. The vile substance continued rising up his throat, and he couldn't fight it anymore.
Edward tried to gently get down off the couch, but considering his total lack of balance and composure, he wound up more falling off the sofa and onto the floor. Unable to stand back up, he spied the wastebasket beside Roy's desk, crawled over to it, shoving his face into it.
A thin, filmy bile was the result of vomiting on an already empty stomach.
Of course, that was the moment Lieutenant Colonel Hughes decided to barge in.
"Ed?" he asked, immediately rushing to the sick boy's side. "Mustang said you weren't feeling well..." he trailed off, and began rubbing circles into Ed's back between his shoulder blades as he retched and heaved up hydrochloric acid.
Ed finally slowed down after the dry heaving began. He moaned in disgust and pushed the garbage bin away, trying to avoid the stench of his vomit. "Hughes...? What are you doing here?" He asked wearily, barely trusting his ability to speak.
"Roy got called away to an investigation with Lieutenant Hawkeye and asked me to take you home instead," the obsessive father answered gently. He ruffled Ed's matted blond hair. "Think you can stand, Ed?"
The boy gave a small, slow nod as he stood up at the speed of molasses.
"Now... can you make it to my car?"
This time, he shook his head, knees buckling as Hughes reached an arm under his shoulders as support.
Ed leaned into the fatherly figure as he helped the boy down stairs and into the street, where Hughes' car was parked, waiting for them to hop inside and drive the to the barracks.
Extreme stop and start lurching from congested traffic while they were in transit caused Ed's gut to roil. He placed his head between his knees and took deep breaths... but he only felt worse.
He moaned, knowing he would just vomit again.
"I know, Ed," Hughes soothed over his shoulder. "But we're almost there."
Ed barely found any comfort from Hughes' friendly, calm voice. He was still using all his willpower to not puke in the man's car. Doing so would make him lose every last bit of the dignity he could still cling to, and he wasn't about to let it slip from his fingertips so easily.
He lost the battle again.
He hacked again as he leaned forward and vomited into the space in front of his feet. He wiped his mouth as he finished, trying not to dry heave. Disgusting.
"Sorry, Hughes..." he croaked, resting his head against the window, trying to ignore the world going by too fast outside the car.
"No need to apologize. It's not my car - it's the military's," he joked lightheartedly, feeling sympathy for the boy, who was unmistakably extremely ill.
Hughes slowly shifted the car into park, and pulled the parking break.
Before Hughes could open his car door, a large suit of armor came running out the front door of the barracks.
"Brother!" he called out, sounding a little agitated. "I told you not to go into work today, but what do you do? You go in anyway! And look where you are now!"
Hughes held up his hands in playful surrender. "Hey, Al. Calm down. Give the kid a break."
Al looked in the window at his brother, pale, sweaty, and hunched over. He reached down and pulled the door to the backseat open, and Edward almost fell out onto the street.
"What the hell was that about?" Ed groaned, squinting against the sun and rubbing his head.
"Because you didn't listen," Al stated, "You should've stayed home today and rested. But you-"
"Alphonse..." Ed pleaded, voice hoarse and almost inaudible. "I'm home now, can I just go to bed without any drama?"
"Right..." Al backed down, actually seeing how ill his older brother was.
Ed gave a small whimper. "Um... Al?"
"Yes, Brother?" Alphonse answered, high pitched voice tinged with concern.
"I don't think I can stand..." Edward trailed off, voice weak and exhausted.
Al bent at the knees, turning so his back was facing Ed. "Hop on, Brother," he offered.
Ed, too tired not to, climbed on, letting his body go limp as Al started to walk toward the barracks, Hughes in tow.
After Al had laid down an unconscious Edward in his small bed, Hughes set off to make tea in their even smaller kitchenette.
"Lieutenant Colonel?" Al asked from the sofa in their living room.
"Yeah, Al?" Maes called back.
"How high was Ed's fever?"
"Huh? Oh, right. Well, it was certainly fairly high. If you have a thermometer, I can take his temperature for you," he offered, poking his head out from the archway.
Al reached into his armor and pulled out a small, mercury powered thermometer. "I went out and bought it last night while Brother was asleep... He was sweating so much I was worried about him," Alphonse confessed.
"What did his temperature read as?"
"101 degrees," he responded with a small voice.
"That's not so bad, but I'll take it again when I bring him his tea," Hughes gave the worried tin suit a reassuring smile before he went back to tend to the boiling water on their barely-used stovetop.
"AL!" came a shrill voice from the bedroom. His younger brother immediately ran inside, sure that worry would be written all over his face had he actually had one. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes wasn't far behind.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry Al..." Ed writhed under the thick covers, sweat drenching nearly completely through the quilts on top of him.
"You must hate me... Mother must hate me... I-I..." he trailed off, hyperventilating as he flailed around on top of the mattress. "I couldn't do it... I couldn't do it right..."
"I failed you... I failed you both..." he cried before the convulsions slowed down and he began to breathe, albeit labored, fairly normally again.
Maes brushed the boy's sweaty bangs out of his face. "Damn, he's burning up..." he mumbled to himself as he turned to Al. "You got the thermometer?" he asked, holding out his hand.
Al reached out and placed the small temperature-reader in Hughes' hands. "There you go."
"Hey, Kiddo," he said gently. "Can you open your mouth for me?"
Ed grumbled, rolling over so his back was facing the Lieutenant Colonel.
"Come on, Ed. It won't hurt, I promise."
The boy let out a weak snore, still unconscious.
Hughes put his hands on Ed's shoulder, pulling him onto his back. The boy didn't respond, not even with a low moan in protest. He just lie there, hardly coherent.
The family man grabbed the alchemist's jaw and pried it open, trying as gently as he could to shove the thermometer under his tongue.
A few minutes later, he carefully pulled the device out of Ed's mouth, and looked down at the reading. "Damn!" he exclaimed. "I didn't realize it was that high..."
"What? Is he okay?" Al asked, voice shaking with worry and uncertainty. Hughes could've sworn the kid would be crying if he had any tear ducts.
"His fever spiked, but he should be alright. Just go get a cool, damp washcloth for me okay?" Maes tried to be of best comfort as he could.
The empty suit of armor walked out of the room, leaving the man alone with the sick boy, and no way to properly take care of such a high fever.
He looked back down at the thermometer. 103 ° F it read, meaning they needed to bring Ed's fever down - fast - or it could only get worse, and then where would they be?
Well... where would Al be?
Roy Mustang showed up at the army barracks, Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye by his side. He'd insisted that they go straight to Ed as soon as they finished their investigation. Riza had complied without questions or hesitations.
After they'd ascended the stairs to the boys' small dormitory, he knocked softly on the worn wooden door. A grim-faced Hughes answered it, looking exhausted.
"Hey, Roy," he greeted wearily.
"What's the matter?" he asked, and immediately sprung into action.
"I won't be able to go home tonight," he murmured solemnly.
Roy inwardly groaned. Hughes' obsession with his family never so much as lightened. It seemed to be worse whenever Roy was around, however.
"Ed is too sick for me to leave. His fever's done nothing but get worse, and I can't leave Al here to take care of him on his own. Seems like Elysia will have to go without her daddy tonight..." he sighed.
Mustang raised an eyebrow. "How high is his fever?"
"Um... last time I checked it was 104 degrees."
"When was that?"
"About two hours ago, why?"
The Colonel pushed past him. "Where is he?" he asked, taking a quick look around the room. The only thing he saw was a sofa, where an unobservant Al sat, staring at the wall.
"The bedroom..."
Roy barged into the small room, and rushed to Ed's side. "Has he been unconscious for long?"
"He's been in and out of consciousness, and he was mumbling some things in his sleep. But they didn't make much sense as far as Alphonse or I could tell."
"So he's delirious? Damn."
Roy shook the boy's shoulders as gently as possible, trying to rouse him. When that didn't succeed, he resorted to slapping him across the cheek. "Come on, Fullmetal! Wake up!"
Riza grabbed Roy's hand as he went in for another hit. "Sir, this isn't a very conventional way to wake up a sick boy."
"Yeah? I'm trying to keep him from dying on us. Hughes, can I see that thermometer?"
Maes immediately handed it over.
Roy wasted no time shoving the device into Ed's mouth, making sure it wound up under his tongue. He pulled it out after timing it correctly, and glanced down to read it.
"Dammit! Why haven't you monitored him more closely?" he asked, suddenly finding some kind of odd adrenaline rush. 105 ° F...
He hurled the thermometer at Maes and tossed back the thick mess of quilts covering the boy. He scooped the kid's small body and ran into the adjacent bathroom.
"Riza, go get ice. As much as you can scavenge up. Hughes, go find the phone and call an ambulance immediately. I'll work on trying to bring his fever down while we wait for the EMTs," he ordered over his shoulder as he laid the sweating, burning alchemist into the bathtub.
He reached over and turned on the shower at the coldest setting possible before climbing in with him, and pulling the boy's head onto his lap to avoid causing his lungs to fill with water.
Maes stood in the doorway, dumbstruck.
"Why are you just standing there?" Roy yelled, feeling himself become annoyed.
"Can't you just use your alchemy powers to bring his fever down or something?"
"I'm an alchemist, not a magician. Besides, I highly doubt flames would help him at all in this situation. So just call the damn ambulance, Hughes, or this kid's brain will boil."
"Fine, Mr. Magic Pants," the man mumbled as he rushed away to go find the phone.
After they'd spent nearly five - albeit awkward - minutes in the shower, Ed's eyes finally, but just barely, fluttered open, revealing part of his golden irises.
"Mother..." he croaked, shivering as the freezing water rained down on both of them. "Stop burning her... I should be... The one on the stake..."
What the fuck is this kid talking about?
Ed closed his eyes again, calming down slightly, and his chest continued to rise and fall - but Roy could tell the boy was having trouble breathing.
It took a few seconds for Roy to realize who was standing in the doorway.
"Alphonse," he said softly.
"How bad is he?" he asked, voice cracking with fear and concern. "I can't lose him too."
"Al, he'll be fine, I'm sure of it. He's been through bigger-"
Riza rushed in, holding a light blue cold compress. "These kids don't have any ice - this was the best I could find," she said as she got on her knees and handed over the compress.
"Thanks, Lieutenant," he said solemnly before gently pressing the cold pack against the boy's forehead.
Maes ran in. "The ambulance will be here in a few. They'll take him to the military hospital... Oh, hi, Al. I didn't realize you were in here."
"That's a little hard to-" Riza began but stopped herself, knowing that now was not the time to start correcting her superiors.
It felt like millions of years had passed before the EMTs arrived, carrying a stretcher far too large for the small kid, ready to cart the boy off to the hospital.
"I'll go with him in the ambulance," Hughes offered, eyes sympathetic as he looked down on the unconscious child lying on the stretcher. "So he's not alone. Of course, that is, unless you want to Roy," he glanced over at his friend and superior. The man, dripping wet from sitting underneath the showerhead for so long, only shook his head - claiming that he would get sick too if he went outside in his soaked uniform and wet hair.
When he turned to Riza, she just nodded, eyes telling Hughes to go ahead and follow the medical staff outside and into the vehicle. They couldn't waste time, not now, not yet.
Maes raced after the three technicians, leaving the other three standing in the bathroom, looking around - at the walls, at the floor, at each other - and taking in deep breaths, unsure of what to do next.
"Riza, we need to head back to my apartment before going on to meet up with Hughes. I'll need a change of clothes since I don't know how long we'll be there."
She gave a curt nod, "Yes, sir."
They both headed out the door. Roy stopped, realizing he didn't hear the clanking of Al's metal body. He turned around, eyes locking with the boy's, who was frozen in the doorway, somehow unsure of what to do.
"Are you coming, Alphonse?" he asked.
The steel didn't say a word; he only immediately hurried to catch up with the Colonel and the First Lieutenant, who were already halfway down the stairs.
Roy Mustang had never liked hospitals. He'd been in far too many - makeshift and conventional alike - and they always carried some kind of pain that he could never stand.
The sun shone through the windows of the Ed's room in the hospital. Everyone in the room except him and Alphonse had fallen asleep through the endless night as nurses and doctors ran in and out with cooling blankets and buckets of ice, desperately trying to bring down the boy's fever.
He adjusted his position, accidentally rousing Lieutenant Hawkeye, who'd dozed off and used his shoulder as a pillow.
Roy looked up from the floor at the sleeping kid. The doctors had barely gotten his fever out of the danger zone, and Fullmetal had yet to regain consciousness. Ever since he'd mumbled that nonsense about his mother and a fire, he hadn't even made a peep about anything - not even a mere hallucination.
Alphonse was trembling oh so slightly, showing the few alert people in the room just how worried he was.
"...Al?" a husky, very small voice whispered from the bed in the middle of the room. "Forgive me, but I think I'm dying."
"Shut up, Brother," Al mumbled, although everyone could tell he was extremely relieved. "You can't die on me just yet."
Ed's faced turned a light greenish hue at the sight of the white liquid sitting on his lunch tray. "No way in hell will I drink that monstrosity," he whimpered, trying to keep energy in his voice.
Al groaned. "Are we really going to do this again? Drink the milk, Ed. You need to build up your strength and it couldn't hurt to see if you'd get any taller-"
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE COULD GET STEPPED ON BY A MOUSE?" the sudden outburst sent him into another laborious coughing fit.
"Brother!" Al held up his steel hands in playful surrender. "I didn't say anything like that!"
The Colonel stood up from his chair with a deep, obviously staged sigh. "Fullmetal, if you don't drink I'll be forced to shove it down your throat. Got that?" he ordered calmly.
"No way..."
In an act of sheer desperation, Ed clapped his hands together and pressed them to the glass - hoping to do anything so long as it got out of his sight.
Before anyone could react, Ed was sent doubling over the side of the bed, hacking up some kind of bile onto the floor.
"Damn..." he murmured as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Fullmetal, you moron," Mustang chuckled. "Your fever hasn't gone down enough to practice alchemy yet. Now drink it."
"Do you really want to make me throw up again?" Ed pleaded.
Roy raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly but now that we know you're not going to die, it's entertaining to watch you suffer."
"That's so evil..." Ed whimpered as Mustang pounced and poured the milk down his throat in one foul swoop.
The boy rubbed his throat as the milk sloshed down his esophagus. "Damn you...!"
"You'll thank me when you get taller," Mustang smirked with sick satisfaction,
Ed's eyes narrowed. "YOU WANT TO CALL ME A RUNT COLONEL ASSFACE? SHORT? SMALL ENOUGH TO FALL INTO THE TOILET? HUH, ASSWIPE?" Ed started to kick around on the bed in hysterics, letting his misdirected anger get the best of him.
"Brother! He didn't say anything like that! Calm down, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm!" Al scolded, reaching out to hold him down as he flailed around on the hospital bed.
"Do I detect a bit of Short-Man-Syndrome there?" Roy chuckled, gaining a little bit too much entertainment from the scene Edward was causing.
"SHUT UP!" Ed shouted, voice almost completely gone.
"Make me."
Hawkeye stepped up, annoyance flashed across her face. "Sir, is this really-"
Ed threw himself into another coughing fit, sure he almost hacked up lung tissue. "Dammit, Colonel. When I get out of here... Be prepared to get your flamey ass kicked."
A/N: This idea just came to me and I started writing :P I can't believe it turned out to be so long! About fifteen pages worth, wow!
Anyways, thanks to you guys for reading and ESPECIALLY to the amazing AmberTonks for helping me come up with ideas for this and for getting me into FMA in the first place :D I really hope you enjoyed this, and if you didn't, well that's up to you.