FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 7 + ART
Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.
This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14. (Though the current chapter is in "Flashback" mode)
Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Genre: AU, humor, angst
Spoilers: None
Length of this Chapter: 9,328
CrazyLostStar is my Beta-Muse.
"... Without fail, each brother would come to the other's aid, unbidden. It wasn't a question of whether it was necessary or not: it was simply the right thing to do. And strangely enough, when Al found himself speaking up on Ed's behalf, he began to get an early taste on what it was like to protect someone you care greatly about. That had been a role Ed had assigned himself throughout their entire lives, and now, Al was beginning to share in the burden that that responsibility, that love, brought..."
ART: Available on LiveJournal publically under username "theregaltigress":
"The Missing Piece" - This "sketch" was drawn freehand in brown water-soluble pen, and then "tinted" with water, and then fine-tuned in PhotoShop. It is only about three inches wide by two inches high in person.
This chapter was mostly E. S. Posthumus's "Nara." These folks have been making film trailers for years and years, and "Nara" is a song off one of their first CD-available albums.
While this track probably goes with the next chapter more so, it definitely had its own way of inspiring this one.
As always: enjoy the story
"Threads of Time" - Chapter 7
While Ed braved the bleak weather outside, life went on in the Rockbell household.
The bitter rains of Fall had changed to the chilling winds of an unforgiving Winter, and from inside the frosted glass panes, Al could faintly make out the foggy horizon which separated the blue-gray sky from the endless outstretch of white snow. Intrinsically, he knew time was passing and seasons were changing. He could tell by the quietly shifting scenery outside his window, by the low hum of the radiator that the heat was on almost constantly now, and by the slowly thickening layers of clothes to which the Rockbell residents were adapting. He could notice all of these things and he could quietly observe each and every passing detail inside the house as well as the subtle shifts occurring outside which he witnessed through his makeshift "looking glass," but it was all still so profoundly "different" than way he was accustomed to time passing. Now, he quietly observed these changes as if he was locked within a glass cage, for he hadn't been outside even once since this had all began.
His young mind still clung to the "usual" ways of observing time pass: of getting to bed at a set time only to get up early to go to school, or in the case of Izumi, for training. He was used to looking forward to lunches, and the simple pleasures of racing his brother and Winry home from school. The changing of seasons was beckoned in with the promise of "vacation" from school, of little seasonal projects to look forward to like pumpkin carving or dressing up in costumes. New seasons would open up new activities, like building snowmen or ice forts, and as the seasons rolled by, the games they'd play would subtly shift, but there was always something to do , something to keep their minds and bodies active.
And now, as irony would have it, after all those years of complaining about having to get up early for school, or belaboring walking in the snow, what Al wouldn't have given just to go outside. Here, he finally had what most children spend their nights dreaming about: a vacation from homework, from teachers and little responsibilities and chores, and he was spending it primarily laying in a bed making constellations out of spots on the ceiling while he wondered if he'd ever really walk again.
Al could hear the steady drip of the bathroom faucet (which was only one of many things that he couldn't attend to, since even doing so simple as using the restroom meant that he needed assistance in getting there). But if he listened closely enough, he could hear Granny Pinako and Winry cleaning house after they had seen a visiting automail client off. Al understood that the Rockbells were running, above all things, a business, and therefore that entailed other visitors to the household, but he couldn't help feeling that said visitors were somehow invading on sacred ground where they didn't belong.
Neither of the boys particularly liked having the burly freight man around much: particularly Ed. Ed had busied himself with chores as he could, and had tried to his best to ignore the man's strange looks and coyly prying questions. The older Elric had taken a sudden liking to hiding himself back away in what had become Al's room, and Al hadn't missed his brother's discontent.
While Al had never really considered himself an "innocent," when he was growing up with Ed, it was always Ed who was more prone to exaggeration while Alphonse tended towards honesty. That wasn't so say Ed wasn't honest, he just… had a "knack" with shady wording and the occasional creative white lie (which had gotten him in trouble in more than one occasion).
Al and his brother had kept secrets from adults, certainly, but they were always in the manner of little things. Careless adventures they shouldn't have had, or a bad word one of them had learned from another child.
After their mother had died, however, Al and Ed had both become the young keepers of their secret mission to restore their family. More than once, too, Al had been tempted to confess this plan to Izumi, to beg her for her help because he'd hoped she would understand, and that she'd guide them on their way.
But as time passed, and with Ed's gentle persuasion, Al had managed to swallow his temptation to tell Izumi, and instead he'd kept the secret because that's what brothers do. He trusted Ed, and he wanted their revised dream to come true just as much as Ed did.
Now, however, there was a different sort of secret that surrounding them. It wasn't a secret of simply what they planned to do, and the fear of having their plan discovered and unraveled. No: now they lived with a deeper, more worrisome fear. A fear of not only being discovered and punished for what they had already done, but moreover, that their very dark secret might further prevent them from finding a way to restore their bodies to them.
Children and adults both could "hide" internal things like plans, secrets, and intentions, but it was impossible to "hide" that something had gone very wrong with the Elric brothers to put them in the their current state. And, uncomfortable as the man's gentle questions had been, as innocent as they seemed, they'd made Al nervous. For so long, it had been Ed that had "protected" his little brother, and now, Al found that each of the Elrics were more than willing to speak up in their brother's defense, or to steer conversation away from "how did you lose your limbs?" or "do you ever take off that suit of armor? It's got to be uncomfortable in there." Without fail, each brother would come to the other's aid, unbidden. It wasn't a question of whether it was necessary or not: it was simply the right thing to do. And strangely enough, when Al found himself speaking up on Ed's behalf, he began to get an early taste on what it was like to protect someone you care greatly about. That had been a role Ed had assigned himself throughout their entire lives, and now, Al was beginning to share in the burden that that responsibility, that love, brought.
The automail client, however, had not been easily deterred. He had been around for a little over a month, and without much else to do, the Elric brothers had becomes his personal "mystery" that needed solved. When he couldn't get the information he was seeking from the brothers directly, he had gotten clever. More than once Al had heard him try to question Pinako, and while Al had nervously listened in, gripping onto his quilt with white knuckles, Pinako had avoided his questions and the man had never received the information he was so curious about. In fact: when Pinako caught him interrogating Winry, she'd reprimanded him outright and threatened to not complete the maintenance on his automail hand if he continued to "harass" the children in her own house.
Their secret, their horrible secret, was safe for the moment.
But as the automail client had ventured back into the bitter cold at last, Al found himself worrying. What if wherever he was going, he told others what he had seen? Of the strange brothers living out in Risesmbool, and their curiously unexplained appearance? He didn't know what they were going to do, but he suspected that he and Ed would have to come up with a cleverly fabricated story that was a deal more tame and believable than their present reality.
He was so tired of lying: he felt like he'd spent the last year and a half lying to adults, and even to himself. He didn't want to do more of it, but he couldn't figure out any way around it, and that frustrated him even more.
Al sighed as he sat in bed with a small, wooden puzzle-table crossed over his lap and waited for Ed to get back from the market. Once Al had been able to comfortably sit up in bed, he'd struggled to figure out any activities he could use to occupy his starving mind. Oftentimes he'd talk with Ed, or occasionally Winry. He'd play simple board games or logic puzzles that he and Ed would collaborate on, and Ed would fill out (since Al couldn't manage to hold a pencil properly). They'd started out with some creative ways to pass the time, but after a certain point, they'd run dry on ideas, and instead were forced to busily recycle them.
Even with the unwelcoming weather rolling around outside, it felt odd to be sitting there longing he could simply get up and go to school on such a dreary morning, but Al would have jumped at the opportunity had he the willpower to pull it off.
As his left hand hovered over puzzle pieces he found himself frowning, and he was somewhat glad Ed wasn't there to see it. They wouldn't be able to go back to school, would they? Al had never put that particular reality of their together, but it seemed so obvious to him now. How could they? Well maybe they could after they got Ed's body back: Al was certain they could come up with an excuse for his own automail limbs, but he was rather certain The suit of armor with his brother's voice wouldn't go over terribly well with teachers or their peers, he thought. And besides: what use would school be when there was something so much more pressing to take care of? It wasn't as if the sort of things the brothers needed to know were on any elementary curriculum. Al was sure there were probably worthwhile things to learn there, but it seemed to him that he and Ed were likely already ahead of the curve for the moment as far as things like arithmetic and life's lessons went.
One of the things Al missed was reading. He'd spent so much time researching alongside his brother, just pouring over books and organizing and memorizing details that it seemed surreal have that almost daily part of his existence so suddenly cut out.
He doubted now, however, that the answers they sought would be found in books and manuscripts alone. They'd already been walked through that lesson once, and Al was uncertain if after what they'd been through, if he wanted to do much with alchemy ever again. He certainly had no desire to look at diagrams and heavy wording inside those thick tomes right now.
Yet on some early mornings when Al would chance to catch Ed reading, he had to admit that a fraction of him was jealous simply because he, himself, wanted something to keep his mind occupied, and much as Al tried, he couldn't properly hold a book using his automail hand just yet.
At one point Ed had noticed Al's interested and had offered to read to Al. While Al had tried his best to listen, something deeper in Al bristled and reasoned that this felt, for some reason, as though he was a child that needed to be entertained by a proverbial "bedtime story." Though there were a lot of things that Al wasn't sure about, one thing he was certain of was that he wasn't a child anymore. Not really.
While Ed occasionally indulged his little brother in whatever books he could find (ones that weren't medical texts or the numerous books on assorted mechanical explorations), Al found himself unable to concentrate on the content of his brother's words, and instead found his mind guiltily lingering over the strange echoes that had swallowed his brother's voice.
He hadn't asked Ed to read much after that.
Instead, puzzles had become Al's mindless method of escape. The Rockbells had a sizeable collection of them to explore, whereas Al could only remember he and Ed owning a few here or there (and he distinctly remembered Ed tossing puzzle pieces at him on more than one occasion when his frustration had overwhelmed his tenacity for the straightforward project). Winry wasn't beyond throwing things, herself, but Al wondered why she'd apparently taken such a fancy to puzzles. They weren't very interesting at all. They were only passably interactive, and you couldn't come up with stories about them, or make sound effects for them like you could when you were playing with a toy car.
But puzzles were, as Al was finding out, a rather effective way to pass the time if there was no one else around. Al had never really thought of it that way before. He'd always just seen them as a rather simple game that needed solved. Yet, seeing as Winry didn't have a brother of sister to keep her company, he supposed it made sense she'd have taken to the hobby, particularly after Ed and Al had gone away to study under Izumi. Maybe the intricacies of the pieces, and the meticulous patience the puzzles required (patience even Al doubted he naturally possessed), had made even more sense considering that even at a young age, Winry seemed bent on being an Automail mechanic. There were certainly some parallels Al was beginning to pick up on.
It was only a guess, but now when Al thought back to some of the many times he and Ed were off on their own getting into and out of trouble, he now imagined Winry sitting alone in her room working puzzles because there was nothing better to do. Al hadn't really ever thought about it that way: whether or not he was out playing with Winry, he always had his brother for a constant companion, and they always had eachother. But Al was coming to realize that Winry had no such playmate or confidant.
Al sighed as he eyed the cover of the puzzle box and the happy meadow and puppies that stared back at him. Each of them had ribbon tied around its neck, and while Al knew that the final picture of the puzzle shouldn't really matter since this was simply an activity to pass the time anyway, he did have to wonder why Winry couldn't have more respectable puzzles. Ones with dragons or something. At least something without bows. Pink bows, at that.
Though if it was a kitten, he might have possibly made exception to the "bow" rule.
Al pursed his lips as he observed the outline of the puzzle. It was about a quarter done, with various sections of puppy faces and wet noses already pieced together. His automail arm lay across his lap, while his left hand rummaged through the box of puzzle pieces in search of a certain piece of floppy ear.
It was entirely frustrating to only have one "useful" hand especially when it was Al's non-dominant hand, but he was struggling to make due. After all: it was just a puzzle, and that particular activity was somewhat manageable with just one hand if he could keep from knocking anything out of reach of that hand. It was strange though: even when he specifically put the box on his left side, he would still instinctively try to reach for pieces using his right hand. Even after five months of there not being a hand there to respond, his mind still assumed it was at the ready. Each time his right hand failed to respond, he had to catch himself and try to push back the lump it brought to his throat.
Al turned his attention to the puzzle piece he'd plucked from the open box. He carefully regarded the strange patterns on the piece before comparing it to the puzzle he was currently working on. It certainly didn't seem to belong with the particular puzzle, as he couldn't find a single spot of pure "red" across the entire image of springtime puppies. He thumbed it between his fingers and tried to mentally retrace what puzzles he'd worked on that the piece might belong to, but came up blank. He considered it carefully, and though he knew he was probably making it out to be more important than it actually was, he felt… "sorry," somehow, that he didn't know where the missing piece belonged.
He pursed his lips and then strained to reach over to the nightstand and tenderly lay the "lost" piece there. He struggled for a minute to accomplish the feat and make sure he didn't inadvertently manage to nudge the puzzle box out of reach in the process, since Ed wasn't there this time to calmly put it back in place. After glancing at the piece to make sure it was "safe," Al squirmed back into place and returned to the die-cut task laid out before him. He wondered when Ed was going to be back: he'd been gone for hours now, but his absence allowed Al's mind to travel to other concerns.
As his fingers played over the pieces his mind flickered back to "that" night. He still didn't understand what had happened, but on another level, he had an almost surreal complete comprehension of what was going on, and that confliction still struggled to resolve itself in his mind. He'd seen things, heard things, just… "knew" things that he shouldn't have. Ed had always been the prodigy of the two brothers, which wasn't to say that Al wasn't smart or skilled, because he certainly was, but it seemed that in various arenas Ed just naturally excelled , and alchemy was one of them.
But as Al's eyes moves around the shapes in the room around him, he couldn't help but be reminded of arrays, of equations and a thousand and one associations he would have never made previously before that night. Something had just… "clicked." He'd known alchemy, but now he understood it in a way he never thought possible. He felt as though he could now practice it in like never before. Things seemed profoundly "different," now, as if piles of information had been jammed in his mind with only a faint resemblance of order. He knew things now that he knew he logically shouldn't have, but knew just the same. He'd seen something, there, on the brink of whatever it was that they'd done, and he assumed Ed had seen it too. But his brother had said he didn't remember anything. Did that mean Ed hadn't experienced this new influx of information as well? What did that mean for them?
Predictably, Al's mind began to swim in the knowledge he still struggled to digest. It latched onto the thought of alchemy. Could his brother still practice it? He had a mind, in a manner of speaking, so he should be able to shape the elements, to mold them to his will, but he'd never read of something quite like their particular case before. Al wasn't even sure why his mind kept returning to alchemy, other than because it had been such a core of both their lives for so many years. It was familiar, comfortable territory, but the thought that Ed might be unable to practice it would be crushing to him. When the time was right, he should probably talk to his brother about it.
Before Al's mind could spiral off anymore, there was a knock on his door. He shook his head quickly in a weak attempt to clear it, and then looked up towards the noise before finding his voice, "Yeah?"
At this, the door crept open and in peered Winry, clad in warm pink fleece pajamas that were sprinkled with smiling snowflakes. As was custom by now, she was trying her best to imitate a chipper mood that she no-doubt hoped would balance out the somber way of life that permeated the household and its inhabitants. While Al hardly felt energetic, he was silently appreciative at how reliably Winry was at checking in on him and seeing what she might be able to do to help improve his spirits.
The blond girl shifted the fresh puzzle box she was carrying from one hand to the other while she observed Al and the assortment of puzzle pieces prominently splayed over his puzzle table. "Oh!" she quickly remarked, "You're still working on that puzzle?" The inflection in her voice spoke this as though she was surprised, "I was going to see if you wanted another one to work on so you didn't get bored."
Of course he was still working on his puzzle. He'd only just started it the previous morning! Even if the cover of the puzzle had happy puppies, it didn't make putting together its five hundred pieces any easier.
Al puffed himself up a little as he defending his puzzle-solving prowess, "I already have the outline completed. And the faces are almost done on two of the dogs." Saying "dogs" made it sound so much more mature than admitting he was working on a puzzle featuring playful "puppies." With bows.
Winry took the initiative to walk over and observe Al's progress, and he couldn't help but feel somehow inadequate under her gaze.
"Well, it goes faster if you separate out the colors so you can tell which section they belong to." Winry said this in a manner so plain that Al feared for years he'd missed some clearly labeled instructions contained within each and every puzzle box he'd ever encountered. While Al slunk back into the mattress, Winry took it upon herself to compare the picture on the puzzle box to the pieces he'd already arranged in place. Winry put on hand to her side as she observed more curiously than critically, "And haven't you done this one at least three times before? You'd think you would get faster with it each time…"
Al bit his lip. With seemingly all the knowledge of the universe bouncing around somewhere inside of his head, Al would have thought he could manage puzzles a bit better than he was currently. Perhaps it was an innate skill, or a developmental skill set that … "whatever" it was in that Gate only gave out on special occasions. That didn't seem very fair to him.
"I'm not in any hurry," Al responded with the slightest amount of hurt defiance in his voice, "and besides: it's not as much of an accomplishment after the first time anyway." He thought it was entirely sensible reasoning.
"Still…" Winry said as she looked at the puzzle, before her blue eyes trailed of its edge to the automail arm that was lying lifelessly across his waist. Alphonse didn't miss her shifting gaze, and he attempted to place his other hand atop his automail one in a frantic attempt to avoid another "talk" from Winry. Al knew she wanted only what was best for him, and in Winry's own opinion, that meant that she had a God-given right to make sure that Al was trying to work on the physical therapy "aspect" of his recovery at every possible opportunity.
Mealtime was one such "opportunity," where Al would make a few hard attempts to hold a fork between unresponsive automail fingers before he would give up and strain to maneuver a fork with his only somewhat more coordinated left hand. Winry seemed convinced that the more he worked on it, the faster he would recover and regain use of his limbs. Puzzles were therefore, as she saw it, a perfect opportunity for Al to work on his fine motor skills, but Al was just as content to let his arm lay across his lap where it wouldn't cause him any more pain than absolutely necessary. He could hardly move the fingers, so how she expected him to be able to control them to do something as delicate as pick up a puzzle piece, he didn't know.
Besides: he knew it would slow down his progress on the puzzle if he even tried. Though, he conceded, perhaps if he did, Winry wouldn't have been examining him as incredulously as she was just then.
Al tried to make sure that his flesh hand was covering his automail one as he took a break from his puzzle to regard Winry. He hoped she would see the languid move as something casual, unplanned. Nothing to alert her attention, certainly.
For not the first time in his life, he was simply not that lucky.
"You'd probably be able to put it together faster if you were using both hands," she pointedly added.
"I…" He set his features, "It has nothing to do with that!" How was it she could manage to make him feel so guilty ? That must be an innate skill as well, he reasoned.
"Mhhmm…" she said, easily looking back to the puzzle. She picked out a loose piece and observed it as she thumbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Casually, her eyes bounced between the puzzle box and the actual puzzle, and after a moment more of careful inspection, she easily snapped the piece directly into place.
Al's mouth just dropped open. Before he could say anything else, she'd picked up another piece, traced its outline with one finger, and snapped it precisely in place yet again.
"But… how did you…?" he started, awed.
She just offered him one of her usual smiles, before she shrugged, "Eh? Just practice."
Winry was definitely a creature all unto herself. Around Ed, she used to struggle to keep up with he and his stubborn, often almost prideful personality. Unbidden, she was usually happy to try and bring him down to the level of the "normal" people, and if that didn't work, she was more than capable of challenging Ed directly, be it with words, the "business" end of a wrench, or a watermelon-eating contest (which she won outright, much to the Elric's own dismay).
But she had another side too. She was there to dry Al's tears here and there when he got hurt (and he supposed this was his own failing, since admittedly, he was the more sensitive of the two brothers), and when she worked to cheer him up, she was often so calm with him, so understanding, which was somewhat polar to how she "dealt" with Ed's own emotional outbursts.
Al sighed in resignation as he glanced longingly out the frosty window, "I'm so tired of being cooped up," he confessed aloud to her as he watched her continue to work at the puzzle. He found he had no desire to stop her, though: she had a certain intensity about her when she was transfixed in her work, and it was something he saw no reason to cut into. Whether he finished it or she finished it, he was just as content so long as she didn't badger him about it later. In fact: if she was able to finish it by the time Ed gone home, he might even be suitably impressed.
"Well, the sooner you work on your arm, the sooner we can get you on crutches," Winry's voice remarked as the eyes under her white-blond bangs connected with his own, "I know you aren't fond of the wheelchair."
This elicited a whimper from Al. He truly didn't like the wheelchair, but his recent attempt at crutches had been an utter failure in every sense of the word. The weight of his limbs simply wasn't balanced, and being in a standing position meant the weight of his leg pulled on very much alive muscles, tendons, and nerves that surrounded where the replacement limb was grafted onto his femur. Everything about it felt "off," and so he'd sworn off the crutches until he could at least stomach standing. After making a solemn oath never to touch the crutches again until he'd regained his strength, he had boldly returned to the alluring comfort of his bed.
It wasn't a very glamorous life, but he was learning to make due.
Al sat and watched Winry negotiate the puzzle while his own flesh fingers traced the smooth edges of the welding points of his automail knuckles. He willed the fingers to flex how he wanted them to, but instead he only felt them momentarily tighten and twitch. It was really no wonder he couldn't hold a book, no less a pencil or pen with that hand: he could hardly even form something that resembled a fist, and really, it was the fine motor control he missed most. If he had an itch his left hand couldn't reach, he had to ask for help with it. While he was fine asking for help with large tasks, it seemed so childish to have to ask for help with something so trivial as an itch. Lately, there were only so many times he could ask Ed to help him with that sort of thing before he found himself squirming in all sorts of ways to be rid of the renegade itch himself.
"I just want you to get better," Winry said, keeping her eyes on the puzzle, which was now rapidly moving toward completion. "Granny and I made some modifications on your elbow yesterday. You should try using it."
Before Al could whimper and respond to Winry's polite "suggestion," Al's salvation came in the form of commotion towards the other end of the house, which no doubtedly announced Ed's return. Alphonse's eyes uncharacteristically lit up: he was saved! "Saved" from what was undoubtedly about to be a session of Winry telling him that he should be spending more time trying to rotate and hold his arm this way and that so he might be able to improve his stamina and response time just "so." While Al was more than happy working on this aspect of his recovery, he just couldn't will himself to do it as MUCH as Winry thought he ought to. It was uncomfortable at best, and painful and worst. So he worked on it, of course, but at a different pace than Winry so desired.
That probably explained the terse glare he received from Winry when she saw the victorious smile spread over Al's face. The way the young girl before him set her jaw alerted Al that he would do best to restrain his relieved smile as quickly as possible for fear that not doing so might shorten his own life.
Though Al could hear Ed moving around the groceries he'd returned with while talking with Pinako, he couldn't make out their words. He listened closely, but within only a moment or two, Al could hear Ed's familiar clanking footsteps making their way to his room.
Al wasn't aware of just how much his smile had betrayed that he thought Ed's return would mark a release from Winry's medical inquiries, but much to his own dismay, Winry obviously noticed the look of profound (now restrained) relief that had spread across his face. Her brow noticeably twitched as Al eagerly called out for Ed, "Brother! You're back!" He really did think he was going to be able to get out of this one.
As Ed walked through the threshold of the doorway, the way his pace slowed and he at once caught his brother's pleading eyes as well as Winry's gaze (which seemed to read "Oh! You're back, and that means you can help me with Al.") Ed seemed to seriously reconsider if he would be better off going back to the kitchen to help Granny prepare lunch. It seemed like a more appealing option, especially with the way Winry's eyes and clenched jaw were regarding him. He could be a seven-foot suit of steel with not a single spot available on him to bruise, and STILL her glares intimidated him. She was also a girl , and somewhere along the way, he'd picked up that that should be yet another reason he shouldn't be intimidated.
But he was.
Of course, he'd never admit anything like that to her, but there was certainly a challenge in her eyes right then, and Ed's mind scrambled to figure out what he could have possibly done to deserve it, considering he'd been gone the whole morning. He felt like he'd just walked in on a battle of wills that was already well in progress. For the moment, he decided to respond to Al rather than inquire what all this was all about, "Yeah, and I brought back some pastries too."
Alphonse's amber eyes were obviously trying to relay some sort of crucial sibling distress-call to Ed, and while Ed wasn't sure about the intimate details, he was certain Al was undoubtly trying to steer the conversation away from whatever it had been before Ed had entered into the battleground. Ed regarded his little brother and the now wickedly-grinning blond and he found himself torn between the sibling desire to "protect" Al, and that other, deeper, part of Ed that thought self-preservation might not be all that bad of an option.
The sibling bond, however, won out. He would protect Al, even if that meant "protecting" him from Winry.
Ed stood his ground as he reminded himself that he was safe, and that Winry couldn't hurt him in any ways he knew of.
"Ohhh… pastries? What kin--?" Al started, trying to sound impressively more interested than he really was.
"Now that you're back," Winry interjected, "you can help me with Al's physical therapy." While Winry never defined "help" in explicit terms, Ed had come to understand that she used the word to imply her firm belief that Ed should clearly support whatever methods she suggested should be used on his little brother. Deep down, Ed really did believe that she simply wanted the best for Al, but he would be the first to admit that he didn't always agree with her methods, most of which were plainly rather painful.
Winry seemed to lock eyes with Ed, as if willing her determination through to him and Al bit his lip as he looked between the dueling combatants. He was glad she didn't have any tools (or puzzle pieces) in hand.
At this point, Den chose to poke his head through the door. There was utter silence as the dog thoughtfully observed the assembled, and then when he came to the apparent decision that there was nothing new to report, he pleasantly trotted over to sit by Winry at Al's bedside. The quiet tap of his claws and automail limb followed him until he found the optimal position in the room through which he could observe the momentarily silent debate.
Winry unconsciously scratched Den's head while her gaze shifted from the older brother to the younger Elric Alphonse warily watched Winry beside him; he knew what was coming next, and apparently this time, it was an unavoidable fate. For the past months this had become a sort of rigorous custom for them by now: that multiple times a day Winry or Pinako would come in and poke and prod Al whether he was in the mood or not. As Winry strode around to the other side of the bed (closer to his automail arm), Al knew each footstep only solidified his impending doom.
Al cringed reflexively as Winry's voice shattered the silence that had crept into the room, "Try lifting your arm again," her voice was the one she usually used with patients: crisp and direct. She was all business now.
"Winry I---," Al started.
She gave him a significant look and repeated more firmly, as professional as a young girl could manage, "Lift it. I saw you do it earlier."
"I didn't TRY it earlier. I was trying to move my wrist," Al corrected with a frown.
When Al seemed more inclined to debate details than attempt to lift his arm, Winry cast Ed an accusatory look, as if somehow this pronounced stubbornness was all his doing.
The ever-present suit of armor held out his hands in his own defense, and even seemed to recoil for a moment as if he worried Winry might plan on striking him with her hard glare. Instead, however, she huffed once and tapped Al's automail arm. "Look, I know it's not comfortable trying to move it, but the only way you're going to get more control of it is to practice."
"I do practice!" Al said with a half-pout, "It's just really sore from yesterday."
Winry, however, had already decided that she was done with asking nicely, and instead she forcibly gripped automail Al's arm and lifted it so it was sticking straight out from his body, "Fine then! Now hold that there."
She had such an accomplished grin spread across her face as Al cringed and through clenched teeth gritted out, "OW! You didn't have to do that! Arugh! Did you really have to pull it out like that ?!"
"Hold it there," she repeated, "You have to build strength."
"I think he's had enough for today," Ed spoke up, "he was working on that sort of stuff before I went to the market this morning. I helped him." Protocol went that big brothers were supposed to speak up for their little brothers when their little brothers were in distress.
As if caught in slow motion, Winry's head turned to Ed, "You… "helped" him?" she said incredulously.
Ed was tempted to take a step back, but he held his ground, "Yeah. We worked on some exercises before breakfast." While he could no longer "feel" in the traditional sense, Ed was certain that he could somehow "sense" the strange tension that had been growing between he and Winry slowly coil itself inside the room.
Winry's eyes were still locked on Ed as she repeated her words with more emphasis and increasing intensity, " Helped him?"
Al didn't like where this was going, but he was afraid if he moved his arm, it would only make things worse. He strained to keep is held aloft to his side as he spoke up on his brother's behalf, "He did, Winry, we—."
A wave of Winry's hand cut Al short, but her fiery eyes were still locked on Ed's, "You 'helped' him," she repeated, "and by help you mean you get him to practice when he's in the mood, or until it gets uncomfortable and then you tell him it's fine to stop. You should be pushing him harder, so he can get better, not just letting him take the easy route!"
Ed really didn't have any response ready for this variety of verbal assault. Winry was clearly crossing lines here, "Are you trying to imply that I'm a bad brother, or I don't want the best for Al?" he challenged.
Al had a strange feeling that no one in the room remembered he was even there…
"Maybe!" Winry hotly declared.
…but perhaps that was a "good" thing that they'd momentarily forgotten about him, Al reasoned.
Ed forcibly crossed his arms in defiance as the antenna-like flock of hair twitched along his brow, "I can't believe you'd say that! You don't know anything!"
"Guys…" Al tried to interject.
"I don't know anything, huh? Then why is it your only brother is complaining more and recovering slower than Den ever did when he had to go through the very same surgery? Huh? Explain that one to me! I'm all ears, Ed!"
"….Did she just compare me to the dog?" Al said in confusion as he glanced to Den, at which point Den simply cast him an apologetic look and decided it was an optimal time to yawn and rest his head over top of the bed.
"That's completely different!" Ed declared. He wasn't precisely sure how it was different, but he was certain it was. As Al's older brother, it was his responsibility to look out for Al's best interests, and sometimes that meant pushing him, as he'd done when he'd pushed his little brother (too hard, in hindsight) to research alchemy for their "experiment," and other times, like now, it meant backing off and letting Al think and act for himself. Al was making progress, things were going just fine.
But as Winry glared back at Ed, he was wondering how on Earth she could make him feel so guilty. He already carried with him the guilt for what he'd done to Al to get him to this condition, how was it that it was now Ed's "fault" that Al wasn't improving as quickly as Winry apparently through he should be? He'd already seen his little brother in more than enough pain for one lifetime, thanks. Ed didn't feel he should be forced into promoting any more of that than could be avoided.
The dark look Winry cast him clearly spoke to the contrary. She was trying to be so professional, but something was lurking under the surface of her young face, and for a moment Ed got a frighteningly good look at it. Her face faltered as she set her jaw and turned back to Al, who was still obediently struggling to keep his arm held aloft, "you know what? Why am I even trying to help you? You obviously don't want to get better because half the time you're just arguing with me anyway. Do you think I like seeing you like this? Do you really think that I enjoy seeing you in pain? That this is no big deal for me?"
Al could see Winry's eyes starting to well up in tears, as he quickly stepped in and tried to reason with her, "Winry… it's not that. I mean, I want to get better, and we know you're only trying to help--."
For not the first time Winry cut him off. Her young voice cracked as it pled with Al, "Then let me help! There's really nothing else I can do! I'm good at automail, Granny told me so! I've helped her with lots and lots of patients so I know what I'm doing!" The voice she'd struggled so hard to remain convincingly professional was faltering. Her age, her hurt was seeping through. She looked up at Ed, and then back to Al, "You both disappeared for a year, a whole year, and I haven't asked once about that. Not once! I didn't ask what happened! I don't even think I want to know. I'm just trying to help you both make the best of things, but you're fighting me the whole way!" She laughed then, a painfully sad, almost bitter laugh that seemed far too old for her years, as she continued to fight back tears, "Some way to treat a friend, huh? Just ignore Winry when you're not in the mood?"
Ed's frustration faded out of him as he stood, just watching her. He wasn't sure what to say or how to respond, but his brother (with his right arm still painfully outstretched) was trying to reason with their childhood friend, "Winry, c'mon, we DO appreciate it, you know that," Al was trying his best to be the voice of reason, "it's just…." Al got quiet and cast a fleeting glance to Ed before lowering his eyes, "…this is all just really complicated."
Winry crossed her arms as if she was waiting for something more, but Ed wasn't volunteering either. "No, you're both making it a lot more complicated than this needs to be. You're already through the worst of it, now you just need to keep at it."
Al frowned then, and had Ed a face that displayed the emotions that suffocated themselves around him, he would have been frowning as well, for both the brothers knew they were unlikely to be past the "worst" of things, not while the other brother needed their rightful body returned to them.
Winry could read Al's expression of discontent as clear as anything, though she didn't understand why it resided there. As far as she was concerned, Al really was past the worst of things as far as the automail surgery went. With each passing day he'd hopefully get closer and closer to regaining complete control of his limbs, and hopefully in time, he could go on to live a normal life. She'd do everything in her power to make sure that happened, even if it meant fighting both of the stubborn Elric brothers uphill both ways.
She could see the uncertainty in Al's eyes, but she couldn't understand it. He voice was quieter as she inquired, "What is it?"
Ed turned away from them both, then, and there was another frozen silence that enveloped the room as Al found himself lying to one of the people he cared most about.
"Nothing," Al softly responded, feeling sicker for his words.
The Elrics were an enigma more complex than any puzzle Winry would ever encounter, and though she looked into Al's face and met his eyes with a soft, affirmative nod, she didn't believe him.
The sadness that crept into her expression was something she was unable to hide. Though up until that point he'd never lied to her, somehow she knew better this time.
The rest of the next hour was spent in an impromptu therapy session. The room remained almost silent for the length of it except for Winry's pointed instructions and a whimper or two here and there from Al. Winry's unexpected speech had taken away the brothers' fight, and for once, Al he resigned himself to his fate and did each and every action that Winry asked without complaint (even if that meant holding his breath through the pain). He did his best to move joints that seemed only half-willing to respond, and he'd hold fingers in various positions as Winry helped to move them and made the occasional adjustment. Taking full advantage of his temporarily agreeability, Winry also bid him to do some exercises with his automail leg. While the physiotherapy wasn't something Al enjoyed in the least, at least the attention on his leg gave his now screaming shoulder a momentary reprieve.
Al's elation over the momentary change in pace was short-lived, however, because Winry soon concluded that Al should try putting weight on the leg again, rather than simply working with it from a sitting position in bed. Her slender hands moved the puzzle-table from the bed and then expertly helped to rotate Al so that his legs would dangle from the side of the bed. It was painfully obvious that Al was failing at willing his arm to assist properly, no less support his quest to turn himself, but Winry wordlessly propped it up and properly aligning it so that it acted as more than simply dead weight.
The moment his automail leg hit open air, however, Al caught himself in a small cry and forcibly closed his eyes. The pull of the heavy limb against raw bone and muscle was incredibly painful, and even without putting weight on it, he was rapidly wishing he could turn tail and lie back down. Intuitively, he knew it was too late for that.
As his body tensed, however, he noticed that the automail elbow Winry had positioned to help support him had started to slip out from under him. But before gravity had his way with the younger Elric, he felt a hand at his back. Through one open eye, he could see Ed had "caught" him, and was working to guide the arm back into position again as Winry attended to his leg.
"Don't worry: I got you," Ed's quiet, echoing voice said from somewhere far above him.
Al nodded, and in far too short a time, Ed was helping to support Al's weight as he ever so gently lowered his brother's feet to the floor.
"You two should do this every few hours," Winry instructed, her face betraying her compassion for Al's plight. "I know it doesn't feel good at all, but you have to get used to putting weight on it. The fine detail on the toes we can work on as we go, but it will take you awhile to relearn how to 'walk' again, and you have to start somewhere." Her words were calm and not as condescending as they sometimes were: it seemed the "fight" had gone out of her as well.
As Winry worked, Al found that her words from earlier still nagged at him. Al's quiet lie swirled around him, teasing him with its self-assured harmlessness. Al sometimes tried to believe that the worst was over, that life for them was due to be easier, and that it was all downhill from there, but he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Not while Ed didn't have his body. Not while there was so much they didn't know. He didn't have to try very hard to momentarily push the worries from his mind when he felt Winry push down on his left shoulder just slightly to make sure Al was actually attempting to put weight on his "bad" leg, rather than perhaps trying to stand on his tip-toes to avoid it like he sometimes did.
Winry's negotiations were met with a soft whine from Al and a sympathetic toe lick from Den. The unexpected sensation of wet dog tongue on exposed pinky toe made Al squeal momentarily while he at once found himself fighting to maintain his balance while struggling to helplessly shoo the troublemaker away (which was rather more difficult than it sounded, considering he had only two useful limbs, and one of those was supporting the majority of his weight).
Ed suppressed a light, reverberant chuckle as he intervened and came to Al's "rescue," "I'm sure Al appreciates your help, Den, but I think that toe is good for now." The suit of armor so many feet taller than either of the children was trying his best to help support the young boy to his side.
The canine in question looked up at the suit of armor and tilted his head. Den regarded the suit, then Winry, Al, and the suit again. He seemed to deliberate a moment before he went to fastidiously licking one of the spikes on Ed's foot. At this point even Winry had to cover her mouth to suppress a small giggle while the three of them watched Den's tail happy dancing to and fro to the beat of each loving lick he gave Ed's foot.
As Winry's work came to a close, Pinako called for Ed from the kitchen. Ed and Winry two of them helped Al back into bed before the suit of armor cast the room one final, longing look.
"Don't worry, I'm done with him, for now," Winry said to Ed with a small smirk that crept over one side of her face.
Ed gauged her features a moment before turning to his bed-ridden sibling, "I'll be back in a little while, okay?" he assured him, as if he was well aware that he was leaving his only little brother to fend for himself against some uncertain adversary.
Al nodded, "Okay."
Once Ed had disappeared down the hallway with Den happily trotting at his heels, Winry looked back to Al and went to fetch the puzzle-table back for him. She endeavored to place it back just where it was before, and once satisfied, she brushed off her hands. "Well that's that. I'll come and get you with Ed once lunch is ready."
Al nodded an affirmative, but as Winry turned to go, he found himself gazing back at the countenances of the three blissfully happy puppies staring back at him from the cover of the puzzle box. While he still wasn't much for those silly bows, he found himself staring into the simple canine expressions and found himself helplessly reminded of not Den, and his apparent tolerance against automail surgery that surpassed Al's own meager prowess, but instead, the joyful playfulness in those eyes reminded Al of his brother, Winry, and himself. The puppy that was toppling over the flower pot could just have easily been Ed causing trouble like he usually did, and the puppy with the blue eyes that was going after that one's tail was not altogether unlike Winry and the way she sometimes harped on and harassed Ed.
And the puppy with the one floppy brown ear eagerly bounding alongside them? He couldn't deny that somehow, he was certain he'd seen himself trotting along with those two on more than one young adventure. That was just the way things were.
Al caught himself looking over the cover of the puzzle box and wondering when exactly it was that things had gotten so complicated. He could remember when things were so much simpler amongst them. When that they would spend lazy hours hanging off of trees and would think nothing more of the afternoon other than what shapes the clouds seemed to be and what they were going to have for dinner. The future didn't hold any surprises then, it just was. Childhood seemed like a timeless dream.
But the dream had come and gone, and now Al sat regarding the carefree innocence of the puzzle. He pulled his eyes up from it to see that Winry had already made it all the way to the door and was just stepping into the hallway when he spoke up, "Hey, Winry?" His voice ventured, as if he was somehow worried about intruding, "Do you want to work on this puzzle a little?"
While her back was still to him, she paused in the doorway and seemed to deliberate. She then slowly turned her uncertain eyes to search his face, as if to make sure she'd heard him correctly. Al only gazed back at her, "You're really good at them," he added as he took one hand and lightly tousled the box of loose puzzle pieces, as if trying to tempt her back.
Finally, the serious "adult" expression that seemed to so often dominate Winry's young face faded and was replaced by a remarkably childlike smile. "I'd like that," she said simply as she walked back to Al's beside and eagerly flexed her fingers as she surveyed the puzzle anew.
Al wasn't sure when the last time it was that he'd seen her smile so brightly, but as Winry properly situated herself beside him and got back to business, he was certain he saw a tentative smile slip quietly across her face, and then it contagiously moved to his as well.
The two worked together efficiently for at least ten or fifteen minutes until Winry looked up at Al and helpfully remarked, "You know, your hair is starting to get all wild. You could probably use a hair cut." She nodded to herself once as she snapped together a set of pieces.
Al tilted his head in confusion at the seeming spontaneous change in subject, as he laid down a puzzle piece (one which he had unsuccessfully tried to snap in place at least six or seven times) and ran his hand through his dark-blond hair.
He made a face as his fingers gauged the strands, "I think it's just fine," he concluded somewhat uncertainly.
"But it could use a trim," Winry corrected as she observed the head of hair in question once more, and then shrugged and went back to the lure of the puzzle laid out before her.
Alphonse Elric might not have been able to use his right arm and left leg properly just yet, but he was certain he wasn't about to let a girl tell him how he should cut or style his hair. She might be good with automail, and perhaps a prodigy at puzzles, but that didn't mean he should be concerned with her thoughts concerning his hair .
There were just some points of masculinity that simply weren't up for debate, and he concluded in that moment that that was one of them.
I also pulled a "Spielberg" and gave out an "aww" ending to this chapter as well as the "humor" ending so… I hope you liked them:D The spot earlier where Den commiserated with Al made me giggle as I was writing it. smirks Humor, at last!
In all honesty: this chapter was not supposed, to end here, but instead it continued on and…. Ended up at around 35+ pages single-spaced in Word. As such, I decided to separate both "parts" into two separate chapters. ;) The plus side is that it means Chapter 8 is already 70 "done!"
And special thanks to "GrassAngel" for her additional input/thoughts on physiotherapy, which gave me food for thought in planning out Al's recovery.
As always: I hope you enjoyed this chapter/the art! Feedback is always eagerly welcomed!
-Kymba
