She doesn't even know how many times she's had to fix his automail over the years. She lost count a long time ago. And she doesn't know how many times she's yelled at him for getting it destroyed, told him to stop being so reckless, how many wrenches she's thrown at him - but none of this has ever stuck. He still went gallivanting off with that cocky grin, as if his automail had just magically broken itself. She couldn't imagine at the time the kind of danger he must have been in to get his automail messed up. He never told her, either.

The first time he'd come back with no arm at all, Winry had felt a little nauseous. She'd told him she was angry because he'd destroyed her creation, but it was the thought of Edward and Alphonse fighting something strong enough to completely shatter an automail arm that made her truly frightened.

There were very few people Winry would have done a three-day rush order for - possibly only one. She'd never have said so out loud, but she probably would have even done it for free, as well. But the way Ed had buzzed around her while she worked, she'd known there must have been a good reason for his rush. And she wanted her friends back in their original bodies just as much as they did.

She sometimes dreamt about it. Only rarely, but every now and then she would see Al's face, his real face, smiling at her like he always had, as if everything were normal once again. She would see Edward romping about on two flesh legs, giving her that classic Ed brush-off wave with a real flesh arm.

Looking back, Winry wonders if perhaps, subconsciously, she had left out that screw on purpose. She's not sure which is more believable, that she was somehow hoping he would need to come back, or that she had actually forgotten a part so important. She still feels awful for the outcome that oversight had for Ed, but when she thinks about what one little screw had done for all three of them, she can't help but smile just a bit.