It was always abrupt. Ed would jerk awake, panicked and terrified, a sob bursting from his throat. His mother, his brother, Nina...it wasn't always the same dream, but it was always the same theme. He'd failed them. He always failed them.

Self-loathing would bubble to the surface of his thoughts, hot tears escaping over his cheeks and he would wish, wish so achingly that he could go back and save them, pleading to the universe he knew wasn't listening that none of his failures were true.

He rarely got past that point in his thoughts before there were gentle arms around him, and murmured comforts that he never listened to but were there all the same. Lips would press to the top of his head, and Ed would offer a token struggle at the confinement, a weak protest choked out. He didn't deserve comfort, or this patient love. He didn't deserve forgiveness.

It could be anywhere from ten minutes to an hour before the Elric would stop shaking and fall asleep once more, but throughout, Roy would whisper stupid, loving nonsense, idly tracing patterns on his terrified lover's back, unbothered by the bruises he'd received in the initial thrashing wakeup. They'd heal.

His bad dreams were sporadic, but more frequent than Roy's; he'd easily interrupt two or three nights a week, depending, in comparison to once or twice a month. But even though the Colonel had to be exhausted the mornings after, he never complained, and he never turned away from the bad dreams, always there to offer support.

Ed could never admit it, and despite how childish he felt for thinking it, he couldn't remember feeling safer than he did with Roy's arms around him.