Story Four! It's been a while, I know... two weeks. Anyway, here it is! Chronologically, this story takes place first in the series, right after Edward loses his arm and leg and Alphonse loses his body. I've had this one done for a while now, just haven't posted it, and for some reason, I decided to today (exactly two weeks since my last post on this project; I didn't know that until I checked the calendar, I promise!). This story has been in my head for a while, or the idea of it at least. It changed a lot from the time I imagined it to the time I finally typed it, and I'm very happy with the final version.

StarKatt427

Story Four: Comfort

...Because seeing him smile gives her hope...

Winry wasn't sure what had woken her. She opened her eyes blearily, caught in between being awake and asleep, trying to figure out if there had been a sound that had pulled her from slumber. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and staring into the darkness of her bedroom, listening and looking; maybe something had fallen from one of the shelves. As she groggily glanced over the floor, searching for a fallen book or a metal wrench that could have tumbled off the edge of her desk, she found herself wondering if maybe she'd just been dreaming, dreaming that something had fallen, and that was what had woken her. There seemed to be nothing out of place that she could see, the pale moonlight illuminating her room just enough so that she could make out the shapes of her furniture and possessions.

A dream. It had to have been a dream. Winry sighed at herself softly and promptly flopped back down onto her back, the deep stillness of slumber already beginning to take hold of her consciousness.

Her eyes opened once again, more quickly than before, as a strange, almost tickling feeling brushed through her chest. It fluttered, the feeling beginning to settle into place, and she placed her hands over her heart instinctively. Her heartbeat was fine, normal. Still, the sensation was becoming a somewhat profound, rather heavy pressure that weighed down on her. It felt like she was being suffocated, but could still somehow breath. Winry took in several deep, even breaths, then a few shallower ones, testing her inhalation and exhalation. Normal.

Sitting up once again, hands shoved down beneath her shirt and pressed against the flat skin of her chest, a sense of familiarity swam over her. Déjà vu maybe? She slightly remembered once feeling this almost choking weight before, one that she realized seemed a lot like nervousness mixed with something else, an emotion she couldn't yet grasp.

Winry crawled out of her bed and walked toward her mirror, staring into the looking glass that reflected her entire figure. She looked paler than usual, but maybe that was just the darkness and moon glow creeping over her skin. Still, she couldn't miss the bruise like circles underneath her eyes, signaling her lack of sleep. How many days had it been since she'd actually had a full night's sleep? Two? Or did this now count as three? Lemon blonde hair sticking up in several directions and out of her loose ponytail, body swallowed up by the oversized sleeping shirt that her mother had once worn, Winry saw just how little she looked, like she was years younger. But then again, everyone looked younger when they slept and after they'd just woken up, especially Ed; his bangs would always stick to his face and he'd rub the sleep from his eyes, expression almost innocent, still lost in his dreams.

The pressure in her chest seemed to grow in heaviness and tightness, yanking her from her thoughts.

And that was when she remembered that she needed to go check on Edward.

So that's what the feeling had been; slight apprehension, but mostly just reminding her of her duties. Winry suddenly recalled the time she'd felt this before, not counting the last few nights as she'd taken care of Ed. She remembered feeling this before, except that time had been filled with fear and even more anxiety, when the two men in blue military uniforms came to her house three years ago to inform her of her parents' death in Ishval.

The familiar sting behind her eyes signaled the coming of tears, but she forced her eyelids shut, taking deep breaths as she waited for the ache to leave her chest; maybe not leave, but at least diminish. It would never truly go away.

She didn't have time to think about her pain now though. Edward's was more important.

Although small traces of sleep still clung to her, Winry moved with a quiet, swift determination toward the door, not bothering with her house slippers because they would make that infernal clopping sound. She twisted the doorknob gently, trying to keep from breaking the silence with the sound of squeaking brass, even though she knew no one would be able to hear her; Pinako was sleeping in one of the neighboring surgery rooms downstairs, checking on Ed every hour or so, Edward was probably either too drugged or too lost to his nightmares to even be woken, and Alphonse…well, Al couldn't sleep, so she didn't need to worry.

A flash of pain at the thought of little Al, who was now not so little anymore, awake and alone all through the night flared throughout Winry's chest, and she bit her lip.

She left the door cracked slightly, then walked quietly down the hall to the stairs. Careful of the creaky fifth stair, she skipped over it, nearly loosing her balance in the process. She flailed her arms to help regain her footing, then grabbed the banister for support and quietly continued her descent.

The first thing she did was to see if Granny was still asleep. She peeped into the room where the old woman had been sleeping, and felt a sigh of relief bubble up from her throat at the sight of her dear grandmother, sound asleep on one of the cots. Winry smiled, then quietly shut the door as to not wake her; she was glad Granny was finally getting some sleep.

As she made her way to the neighboring surgical room where Edward had been staying since "the incident" as she referred to it, the nights that now added up to three, Winry was suddenly overcome with a sense of fear. Although she was ashamed to admit it, she didn't want to go in there. It scared her, not being able to help more; she'd been able to help stop the bleeding of Ed's stumps when he'd first gotten there and was still helping Granny with his bandaging, but was that all she could do? Granny was in charge of replacing hid IV fluids, forcing nutrients into his terribly weak body, and had Winry checking on him ever so often, but had to be something else she could do. Right?

She sighed, suddenly imagining Alphonse and his giant, uncoordinated hands, knowing he must feel even more useless than she did. At least she could put a cold wash clothe on Ed's feverish, sweat coated face, brush his matted hair away from his eyes, actually place her fingertips against the area where his right arm had previously been, without fear of hurting him. She knew that was what really terrified Alphonse: not being able to help his brother.

Still, Al had been the one to carry Edward all the way from their house to hers, cradling his broken, blood gushing body in through the door. Alphonse was the only reason Ed hadn't died from blood loss.

Al. Alphonse wasn't afraid to be in the sick room with Edward, even knowing there wasn't much of anything he could do to help. He stayed with Ed most of the day. But not the night. Not very often.

Standing there, Winry tried to imagine what it would be like, not being able to sleep at all. The thought wasn't appealing.

If Alphonse could stand being in the same room as his wounded brother, could bare not being able to fall asleep at night, then why was she so afraid?

Holding her jaw firm, she opened the door.

The first things she was aware of was the dim, yellowish light illuminating the room and the sound of shifting blankets. The light came from the small lamp that sat on the bedside table not far from where Edward lay in his cot, the rustling from Ed himself as he tossed lightly in his sleep, unable to move excessively due to his injuries. Winry shut the door quietly behind her as she walked somewhat timidly into the room, toward the sleeping boy.

Once at Edward's bedside, she leaned down over him, examining his features. She felt her lips fall into a quivering, miserable frown.

Since he couldn't move his entire body around freely in his sleep, Ed mostly tossed his head this way and that, his good arm flopping limply around him, right leg flexing beneath the blankets. His face was, beneath it's natural light tan, flushed red with fever and covered with sticky sweat. Dark gold hair was caked to his cheeks, caught in his mouth, stuck to the base of his neck; lips parted, he faintly mumbled in his sleep, but Winry couldn't make out the words. The rag Granny had placed on his forehead earlier that night had lost all traces of wetness, the heat of Ed's fever having quickly soaked all the water up, and now lay beside his face, tossed away long ago. Ed's eyebrows seemed to quiver, his mouth pulling down momentarily into a tight grimace, then just barely relaxing.

Winry could see now that the morphine was wearing off and most likely had been for a while. Cautiously, she placed her fingers to his forehead, nearly pulling back at the heat of his skin. She stroked her fingers over his face softly, pushing the hair out of his mouth, brushing over one of his surprisingly soft cheeks, hoping this could somehow sooth him.

Still, even if this did help, it wouldn't be enough. He would need the pain medicine, and Winry wasn't aloud to give him any.

Edward, having momentarily stilled, suddenly moved underneath her fingers. Winry began to pull back, but was stopped by the sight of Ed nuzzling against her hand, the fingertip of her pinky catching momentarily on his bottom lip as he did so. He angled himself in his sleep as to where her palm was cupping his right cheek, and then he sighed, a strange, brokenly painful yet somehow content little sound.

Winry was in shock. Edward, if he had been in his right mind and not the fragilely wounded person that he was now, would never have let her touch him like that, never would have allowed it. She found herself captivated as she watched him; his face was still drawn up in pain, but his jaw didn't seem quite as tightly clenched.

Something in the way he had nuzzled into her hand suddenly reminded Winry of once long ago, when she was probably not even six yet and she'd been sick with a stomach virus. She could remember the way it felt like her stomach was burning away and biting at itself from the inside out, the way her entire body seemed to grow horribly limp and weak as she'd heaved the contents of her stomach into the commode, emptying it of hot bile and acid. Leaning weakly against the toilet, she could remember her mother coming into the bathroom, a cool wash clothe and a glass of ginger ale in hand. Her mother had sat the glass on the sink, then had kneeled down beside Winry, placing the clothe to her sweaty face. She had given her a gentle smile, then started wiping at the perspiration on her face, blue eyes very calming as she'd said, "It's only a little virus, Winry. You'll be better in no time." And Winry could remember snuggling into her mother's soft, sweet smelling hand, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the cool wetness on her face, trusting in her mother's words.

A bittersweet smile spread across Winry's face at the memory, but also at the fact that, if she was correct, Edward probably thought she was his mother. Her heart ached for him, but also for herself, as she wished more than anything he'd just told her that he and Al had been planning to resurrect Trisha Elric.

As if to confirm her theory, Ed mumbled into her hand, lips seeming to caress a word that sounded suspiciously like "mom".

She stroked her fingers over his cheek, trying to put a real smile on her face even as her eyes brimmed with tears, and said, voice surprisingly steady and strangely tender, "It's only a little pain, Edward. You'll be better in no time."

He sighed, turning into her hand a little more, some part of him hearing her words even through sleep.

Winry kept her hand on his face for several more minutes, simply stroking over his sweaty cheeks and forehead, trying to ignore the small rumbling in her stomach. She hadn't gotten around to eating much the night before at dinner and the lack of food was catching up with her.

She was finally pulled away from the action of caressing Edward's face by the look of pain that kept flashing across his features. He still needed the morphine.

A determined twinkle suddenly came into Winry's eyes and she smiled. Petting Ed's face once more, she stood and walked over to the medicine cabinet. Granny could kill her in the morning for this.

Reaching the large wooden cupboard, she glanced down at the notepad Granny had sat there the first night that Ed and Al arrived. Winry glanced over the list her grandmother had written to see the last time she'd given him morphine was a little over two hours ago, and the time before that had been at 9:35. Almost two hours in between exactly. Winry grabbed a pen and glanced over at the clock, then scribbled down 1:46. She reached inside and pulled out the small glass bottle containing the medicine, then a syringe, and lastly, a needle. She shoved the needle into the end of the syringe, pulling the protective cap from the sharp point as she did. Quickly, she placed the needle in the bottle and pushed the syringe down, then pulled it back up, watching as the white, silky looking substance filled up the syringe. Once done, she turned to look back at Ed.

Winry had never injected morphine or any other substance into a person's IV, but had watched her grandmother do it countless times. Still, she couldn't stop the fluttering nervousness that filled her heart and made her knees shake.

There was no way she could do this. Pinako hadn't yet gotten around to teaching her about what medicines to use during surgery or how to inject them, and Winry felt her hands begin to tremble.

She was just about to go wake Granny up when she heard Edward moan, a horribly pitiful, broken sound that no one, especially Edward, should ever make.

And that solidified her resolve, her faith in herself. She could do this. She had to. For him.

She walked over to the IV, studying the port. For a moment, she considered just shooting the drug straight into the bag, but was afraid that would mess something up and hurt Ed. Sighing, trying to not be afraid, she lifted the cap on the port and, after finally forcing her hand to stop shaking, inserted the needle into it. Carefully and painfully slow, she pressed down on the syringe and watched as the milky substance gradually crawled up into Ed's drip.

The drug didn't take long to work; she knew this from watching Edward and countless other patients. Winry wanted to watch Ed long enough to see if it helped any, but she made herself walk back across the room to put up her supplies, a sense of pride filling up her chest and causing her to smile at what she'd just done.

Winry had just finished putting everything back in it's correct place in the cupboard when she heard a relaxed nose sigh come from Edward. She turned around and walked over to the boy, pleased to have made those horrible lines leave his face, even for a little while. Now, his face was relaxed and calm, making him look several years younger. She was right; he did look innocent when he slept. The light cast a strange, almost ethereal glow across Ed's sleeping face, reminding Winry of, for some strange reason, an angel. Maybe it wasn't so strange though; his blonde hair did look sort of like a halo.

There was still the fever though. Winry picked up the clothe from his bed and quietly walked to the kitchen, going to the sink, then soaking the rag with icy cool water. She squeezed it out, then walked back into Ed's room and placed it on his head.

At the contact, Edward's eyelids slowly lifted and he looked around dazedly, trying to remember where he was. He looked over at Winry, who now sat on the floor beside him, her eyes wide and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "I was just checking on you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He watched her, still lost to the clutches of sleep, but she could see he was forcing his eyes to stay open. "S'okay," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Winry stood up, feeling uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed at having been caught. I should have just left before he had the chance to wake up! "Well…sorry, again. 'Night."

She was stopped from walking out of the room by a gentle, warm pressure on her hand.

When she turned back around, she looked down to see that Edward's left hand was reaching over his body and holding onto hers, his fingers surprisingly gentle on her eyes were more focused now, unnaturally dull golden irises swimming in the lamplight as he watched her, expression odd; he looked almost…hurt. Not physically, but maybe his feelings.

"Ah…" she began, trying not to blush.

"Stay," he whispered quietly, looking away from her, but still holding her wrist. "Stay. Please?"

A fluttering in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger filled her. She nodded.

As soon as she gave notice that she would stay, Edward released her, then patted the edge of the bed expectantly.

Without another word, Winry sat down next to him.

The silence was awkward at first, as Winry had no clue why Ed would want her to stay and she wasn't sure if he even wanted to talk. His eyes were closed again, face to the ceiling, his hand resting across his stomach. Winry watched him from under her lashes, wanting to just say anything, but not sure is she should.

She was on the verge of just telling him to get some sleep and leave when she heard, so quiet she could have just imagined it, "Thanks."

Edward was looking up at her, his expression void of all emotion even as he said the sentiment. Winry watched him, he eyebrows furrowing, and she cocked her head to the side in confusion. "For what?" she asked, sincerely puzzled.

Ed rolled his eyes, but there was no irritation in the gesture; merely something that looked almost like exasperated affection. "For the morphine."

"You…how did you?"

"Pretty obvious. I start feeling better all of a sudden, and when I open my eyes, you're right there. Who else would it have been?" Even through the haze of medication and sleep and the dullness that Winry had now come to associate with him, Edward managed to give her a look that made her feel like she was an inch tall, barely to be worried with.

"Oh yeah," she replied, trying not to take his somewhat crass words personally; they came out slightly harder than she'd anticipated, bitter. "Well, it was nothing. Just, you know, doing what I needed to."

A rough, slightly clammy hand reached over and, somewhat hesitantly, rested over her own. She looked at their hands, then at Ed, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring off to the side, eyes focused on some other object. He glanced back at her, squeezing her hand softly.

She forgot what it was he had said that hurt her feelings.

"Thank you," he repeated, face still blank, like he felt nothing at all. But Winry didn't miss the appreciation his eyes held, along with the first sparkle she'd seen in days; they were still overcast gold, but they seemed to have lightened, just a tiny bit.

She smiled, somewhat shy at the intimacy he displayed, then squeezed his hand back. "Anytime."

They were like that for a minute, neither talking, their hands back in their rightful place. Winry watched Edward from the corner of her eyes, and it didn't surprise her when she saw him trying to fight sleep by keeping his eyes open.

"I better go," she said, standing up. Winry reached down and turned the cloth on his forehead onto the other, cooler side, then pulled the blankets up over his chest. She gave him a light smile. "You need to sleep."

It scared her when his eyes suddenly grew wide and slightly wild, pupils dilating. His hand reached up and grabbed her arm; it was trembling.

"Ed?" she asked, voice squeaking.

"Please…" he begged, voice raw and fragile; it sounded like tears weren't far away. "Don't go. Please. Not until I fall asleep at least, okay? Please?"

He watched her, that same nervous fear in his eyes, even as Winry's hands instinctively found their way to his face. She softly cupped his cheeks, giving him a small, humorless laugh that was the only thing keeping her from breaking down into tears.

"Okay. I'll stay here as long as you want me to," she said, her voice catching slightly.

It was amazing, the way Edward seemed to relax. His eyes lost that terrified, feral look and quickly turned back into their previous state of dulled cloudiness, but with the light of relief and satisfaction beneath. He sighed softly, still holding her arm, and he pulled at it gently.

Winry understood his message: she knelt down, her face resting beside his on the pillow, a hand going to his hair to brush it away from his eyes. He allowed her to continue, eyes slipping shut calmly.

For a reason that she wasn't yet able to understand, she liked this; being this close to Ed, touching his face and hair. It was nice. She gently bumped her head against his and sighed.

She was just beginning to feel sleep's embrace when Edward murmured, voice strangely chocked, "Thanks for earlier, too."

Winry sat up, trying to focus her eyes on Edward's face. He wasn't looking at her, but at his hand, expression ashamed. But why?

"For what?" she whispered.

"What you said, I mean."

Realization hit her somewhat slowly, but when it did, she understood he was talking about what she'd said when he'd nestled her hand: "You'll be better in no time."

She felt herself smile to cover up her embarrassment at him hearing that, then laughed lightly. "I meant it."

Edward looked at her, eyes suddenly guarded and closed off, but she just smiled. Gradually, as she watched him, his expression shifted from anger to surprise, to uncertainty, until finally settling on a combination of awe and hopefulness. His eyes were still dim with the terrors he'd inflicted upon Alphonse and himself, and Winry didn't really believe that he'd ever be the same as before, but this was progress. Just seeing his eyes lighten a fraction in tone, seeing his mouth curl up into a strange little encouraged expression instead of a beaten, hopeless frown, made Winry's heart the lightest it had been in days.

"Really?" he asked, voice very soft.

"Duh." She pushed herself up just enough to poke her nose against his and gave him her usual bright smile.

Edward looked unsure at first, like he wasn't sure if he could really smile or not anymore. Somehow, though, his lips parted into a small, somewhat shy smile. It was just a trace of his old confident grin, but it was still a smile, and Winry felt her cheeks suddenly grow a little pink at the softness of it. She'd never seen this smile before, this expression that looked so gentle and soft and thankful and utterly not Ed, but she liked it. A lot.

So instead of worrying about how Edward would be tomorrow, if he would plummet downward once again or be able to rise above the anguish, Winry focused on that sole smile, because it was a start. Things were going to change and might never be the same, but there was a chance that everything would be good again one day.

Because in that smile, Winry could see something she hadn't seen in a while: hope.

They fell asleep like that, their faces toward the other, Edward's body somehow managing to curl toward Winry's and her hand locked in his.