The silence between them was long and oppressive. Alphonse was lost in his own world, and Roy had no idea what to tell the poor kid to bring him out of it. After all, how could you comfort someone confronted with a brother who was self harming? Especially—Roy tried not to think this, but the words forced themselves into his mind—if Edward had had more than harm in mind when he was cutting…

A faint groan issued from the blonde on the bed that had Roy and Al jumping up, mirroring each other's movements precisely. Ed stirred, slowly opening his eyes. "Ow," he muttered, squinting up at the hospital's fluorescent lighting. He moved one arm over his eyes. "Shit!" Edward sat up, hastily placing his arm back at his side, wincing.

"Brother?" Alphonse asked timidly.

"Al?" Ed looked confused for a moment, and then—"Oh, shit, shit, shit." He looked around, taking in the scrubbed surfaces, and then down at himself, all bandages and hospital gown. It was then that he noticed Roy. "What's he doing here?"

Al answered in a whisper. "I—I asked him to come. You need help, Brother...and I didn't know what to do."

The blonde seemed unable to hold either of their gazes, instead flopping back down onto the bed and covering his face with a pillow. "This wasn't supposed to happen," came the muted words.

"Then what was?" Roy inquired. "What did you expect?"

"I am not having this conversation with you."

While it seemed that Alphonse intended to handle his brother with care, Roy had a different method in mind. He ripped the pillow from Edward's hands, causing the boy to cry out as his arms were jerked. Roy bent down and held Ed's face in place, forcing the blonde to look him in the eye. "Look, I know you're in pain, and I want to help you, but you are going to have this conversation with me. Al found you slicing your wrists open, and if you're not going to answer for yourself, you at least owe him an explanation."

Edward glanced guiltily at Alphonse, sitting up once more. Roy released his face, and the boy's gaze fell to his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Why, Brother?" Alphonse had tears in his eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm sorry," Ed stated once more. "It's just…the cutting helps. It distracts me, helps me to not think when I don't want to have to. The pain makes me forget…everything else." His next words were soft, barely audible, and he spoke them gingerly, as if it hurt to make the confession aloud. "And I deserve it."

Al began to tremble slightly. Roy felt for the boy—he could fight against his brother's side, but when the blonde was evidently fighting against himself, what was Alphonse to do?

"Edward," Roy said gently, "why do you need to be distracted? What are you trying to forget?"

The boy, having gotten so quiet and almost docile, glared up at him and snapped, "It's not of your business!" At Al's responding squeak, he calmed. "It's nothing you did, Al. It's me, it's my fault. I know you're blaming yourself, and I'm sorry you had to see that, but it's not you."

"Then tell us what it is," Roy demanded.

"Me!" Edward rounded on him. "I just told you, it's me, all my fucking fault! Can't we just leave it at that?"

"Let me ask you a question." Roy fought to control his voice. He felt for the blonde, he really did, but he couldn't help being angry as well. "Were you just cutting to get rid of the pain, or were you trying to kill yourself?"

The following silence was broken only by the sounds of Al's increasingly labored breathing, and the soft hissing of hospital sheets as Edward fidgeted. Eventually, he responded, voice quavering. "I…don't know."

Roy looked at him sadly. "Do you really want to die, Edward?"

"I don't know."

"Brother," Alphonse pleaded. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," the blonde insisted. "I don't know if I want to live, if I deserve to live."

"Do you want to keep feeling like you do?" Roy asked.

Ed seemed to consider this carefully. "No," he replied. "No. I hate it. I hate hating myself and feeling guilty all the time, and I hate feeling like cutting myself open is the only way to atone for my sins. And I hate that it feels so good, so right when I do, like I made a good decision. I hate that you and Al had to find out when I only wanted to hurt myself, no one else."

Roy regarded the boy on the bed silently. He couldn't seem to stop rubbing the bandages, perhaps trying to make the cuts reopen, perhaps simply wanting to feel the devastation he had caused.

He was about to speak when Alphonse interrupted. "Brother, how could you like doing that to yourself?"

Edward shook his head. "You don't want to know, Al."

"Yes, I do."

Ed took a deep breath. When he let it out, he spoke, voice sickeningly excited by what he was saying. "It's…exhilarating. Building up to that moment, everything is pain, so deep you feel like you're drowning in it. I grab the knife, or whatever blade I can find, and I'm just drawn towards it. I want to punish myself, and at the same time I know that, in a way, it's going to feel fantastic to do so. And when I cut…it's like my head clears and fogs at the same time. The physical pain takes my breath away, and the sight of my blood distracts me from any other thought…but it doesn't last long, and I have to do it again, and again…" the blonde stopped, breathless. Alphonse looked like he was going to be sick, but rested a hand on Ed's shoulder.

"Ed," Roy murmured. "That's not healthy, and you know it. And I think that deep down, you want to get better."

"Not that deep," Edward muttered. "It feels good, but being happy felt better."

"Exactly," Roy continued. "But we can't help you if we don't know why you feel the need to do this."

The boy looked from him, to Al, to his shaking wrists. "I hate myself."

Roy was becoming impatient. "You already said that—"

"Let me finish!" Ed insisted. "I hate myself because of why I'm hurting. I—look, this sounds so stupid and stereotypical—I…fell in love. With this…guy."

Roy raised his eyebrows, while Alphonse furrowed his. Surely they were both thinking the same thing: that Edward was much too confident to do this to himself because of his sexuality.

The blonde kept going. "And I'll admit, some of the pain is because I know he could never love me back. That sucks beyond belief." He rubbed at his wrists again, harder, golden eyes staring but far away. "But the biggest thing is who it is. He's honestly the worst person I know. He's…evil, there's no other way to put it. And I can't stand the fact that I love him. I don't know why I do, and I hate myself for loving someone so despicable."

Roy still found himself to be uncomprehending. "I'm not trying to be insensitive, but can't you just…find someone else?"

"That's the thing," Ed muttered. "I can't. I've tried, but I can't stop thinking of him, wanting him. Fate has it out for me; I finally find my soul mate, and he's someone I not only can't have, but shouldn't want in the first place."

"Brother," Alphonse asked. "Who is this person?"

Edward acted as though he had not heard the question. Before Al could push him further, Roy interjected his own statement. "Ed, whoever this person is, you can't be doing this to yourself over them. I'm not one to get all heart-to-heart, but you need to know that you're worth more than that. " Al nodded in agreement.

Ed stared at the two of them, eyes flashing. "Do either of you know what it's like to love someone who's killed people, and enjoyed it? Do you know how little that makes you think of yourself? That's why I cut; because I am disgusting, able to forget what he's done and even hope that he could change, even though I know it's hopeless, because I love him. Do you know what it's like to hate yourself so thoroughly?"

Neither Roy nor Al could find a response.

"I didn't think so."