Mother Of The Universe: Yeah, chapters 52, 53, and 54 are a lot. A ton happens, lol. I honestly can't believe how close this story is to being completed, either. There's just a couple group therapy sessions and a few little plot things that need concluding and it's over! You've been reading and reviewing for a while and all I can say is thank you. It's incredible that you've been reading this little thing I've been working on since becoming a fan of FMA. That's insane! I'm glad it's been a good couple years and I hope the story wraps up in a way you'll enjoy. Thank you again and I hope you like the chapter!

Guys, today marks the second year anniversary of me posting this story online. I've talked a lot about this story but I think it bears repeating; I never thought this story would span 55 chapters, have so many people reading, and have such a loyal readership. This was literally all an experiment, one I was writing just to practice in first person present. I never imagined all the turns the story has taken, never even pictured the response. So many people have told me about how this story has connected with them on an emotional level because they relate to something Ed and Al have been through, something their family and/or friends have been through, or the boys are feeling something that's real - something that's tangible. The heart of this story is you guys just as much as it's Ed. Ed and Al's story, their recovery, and their hearts are what fuels what I write, but you guys do, too. Without you, I don't know where this story would have gone or how it would have ended. Maybe there still would have been 55 chapters, maybe it would have ended before the first anniversary. The point is, I am extremely humbled and grateful for the response to this story and I hope it continues to touch your lives like it has touched mine. Thank you all so much for reading and here's to another great year.


True to his word, Dada called both the dentist and the eye doctor yesterday morning and set up appointments for both me and Al. He didn't want to make Al miss volunteering with Mei like last week but didn't want us to miss therapy or group, so we're going to the dentist during school on Monday and the eye doctor right after that. We'll only be at school for, like, four hours on Monday. Dad's gonna pick us up right before lunch time and we should be all done with those appointments in time for therapy. Paranoid as always, though, Dada told the secretary at Dr. Hughes' office yesterday afternoon that we may be an hour late for the appointment if our other appointments take more time than we're expecting. Therapy was good yesterday. We didn't talk about much. We've been doing lots of art therapy lately and I think it's helping. Al drew a sad picture yesterday, though. He drew this picture of what happened between him and David. At first, he tried to hide it but Dr. Hughes eventually got Al to show him the picture. That prompted Al to talk a little about the molestation before breaking down into tears. Al didn't really talk much the rest of the day after that. I don't blame him, honestly.

Dad has a date with Lucy all the way in Champaign-Urbana tonight. They're going to some nerdy exhibition thing. I don't know what it's about or anything. Before that, though, we're going to get me a phone. Now that I'm driving, it's time for me to get a phone. Yesterday afternoon, Dada dropped Al off with Granny after therapy and took me to a parking lot. It was supposed to be my first time driving. I sat in the driver's seat but was too anxious to do anything. I wound up having a panic attack and didn't even drive at all. Dada assured me that it would get easier the more we try. I'm not so sure, though. I'm scared that I'm never gonna learn since I couldn't even put the car in gear yesterday. After that, we went back to Granny's house and had dinner with her and Winry. Al asked how my first lesson with but I was too embarrassed to tell him how it went in front of Winry and Granny. I waited until late last night to tell him. He still seems pretty optimistic that I'll learn to drive. At least some people think I'll be driving eventually 'cause I sure as hell don't.

My family is eating lunch and when we're done, we're going to the AT&T store to get my phone. I'm getting the iPhone 6 Plus. Me and Al call it the Super Six, though, 'cause it's so ridiculously big. I want a big phone, though, so I can draw on it and watch Netflix. Dr. Hughes told me that there are lots of drawing apps and I have some on my iPad already. I figured a larger screen would be easier to use those apps with. Dr. Hughes suggested those apps for when I need to cut or want to color but don't have paper or a coloring book. I don't use them a lot on my iPad since when I'm at home I can just get a pen or a coloring book. I think I'll use the apps a lot more on my phone, though. There are lots of times when I'm at school and I wanna cut but don't have my iPad so I can't use the apps and I don't wanna draw all over my arm while at school. Al's been really quiet since yesterday. I was actually kinda scared that after his breakdown yesterday he'd be too depressed to get up out of bed like after the abuse ended. Al's a trooper, though, and he did get up around nine this morning. His plate of food is pretty much untouched, though. Dad has tried to get him to eat but he hasn't been successful. I can tell Al's anxiety is on overdrive, probably 'cause he's thinking about his bad touch and it's stressing him out. He'll probably suck his thumb later, even though he's trying hard not to. Hell, he might just sit in the car and freak out while Dada and I are in the store. I hope not.

Me and Dada finish eating and try a couple more times to get Al to eat before giving up. We ask if he'd rather just go to Granny's now since we'll be hanging out with her and Winry tonight while Dada's with Lucy. Al shakes his head. He speaks for the first time all morning, I think, and says he wants to go. Dad asks if he's absolutely sure and Al nods. Dada and I exchange looks but Dad smiles at him. Dad asks Al if he needs to pee and Al shakes his head. Dad asks if Al wants to try and Al shakes his head again. He's desperately holding on to Chico and I sigh. This is the worst his anxiety has been in a long time. When his anxiety gets like this, it overpowers his brain. He can't talk, can't eat, can't really do anything. I'm really surprised he's up and walking around, actually. I mean, I'm glad he is 'cause I'd rather him be up and walking then lying in bed all day. Anyways, even if Al has to pee, he's not gonna go right now. He's too anxious right now to separate himself from us. Besides, when Al gets like this but has something he needs or wants to do, his brain gets sorta stuck on whatever it is he's doing. We'll probably have to make an emergency stop for Al on the way home. We go to the garage and get in the car. Since Al is so insanely anxious right now, I decide to sit in the back with him. I'm expecting him to hold my hand but he doesn't. He lays his head on my shoulder, curling his legs up underneath him. He's shaking so hard and there's hardly anything I can do for him. Asking him about it has helped before, but it's also sent him into a panic attack before. I bet Dada will ask at some point.

The AT&T store is, like, thirty minutes away. There's a Sprint store in the square, but Dada switched from Sprint to AT&T when he decided to get a smart phone back in, like, 2011 or something. He got the Samsung Galaxy and never looked back. I like his phone but I've always liked the iPhone better. Winry has the iPhone and since I've had an iPad for a long time, the iPhone is the way to go. Dad doesn't honestly care about stuff like that. He keeps using Galaxy phones 'cause he knows how. I bet he could switch to an iPhone whenever he wants since he does have an iPad, but he claims it's just easier to keep upgrading the phone he already has. He's old. I don't know. The ride to the store is super quiet. Dad has music softly playing in the back ground, though it's so quiet I can't tell what it is. He and I talk a little bit, but Al doesn't. His eyes are shut, his knuckles turning white since he has a death grip on Chico. I kinda want to tell him to just suck his thumb since he's so anxious but I also know I shouldn't. He's trying really hard to get better and encouraging regressive or bad behaviors isn't something I should do. I want him to get better and I don't want him to feel guilty later. So instead I just pet his hair and whisper softly to him so he'll feel better. We get to the store, Al sitting up straight for the first time since leaving the house. Dada parks and looks backward at us. I can tell he's worried about how this is going to go. When Al's anxious like this, he can't go out in public. He just can't. He has panic attacks and then we gotta go home. Dada doesn't like to see Al that way and neither do I. But I kinda think Al'd have a panic attack if we left him alone, too. So I don't know what the hell we're gonna do.

"Well," Dada says gently, "Let's go get Brother's phone. In and out, okay?" We both nod.

"Don't let them talk you into a phone for Al," I tease lightly, getting out of the car.

"I won't," Dad chuckles. Al stays put for a second or two before getting out of the car. He hurries over to me and takes my hand. He's got Chico in the other as a way to prevent himself from sucking his thumb. I rub the back of his hand with my thumb and guide him into the store. He freezes up instantly and I gently tug on his arm.

"C'mon, Alphie," I say softly, Dada already at the iPhone display. He wasn't kidding; in and out. "It's okay, buddy. I'm right here." Al doesn't do anything, his body shaking. He whimpers softly and shakes his head. I look over at Dad and he looks at me. I tell him with my eyes that I'm gonna try to take Al back outside to avoid a scene. That's the last thing Al wants. It's bad enough he has the panic attacks to begin with. Having one in public is the worst 'cause everyone stares at you the whole time. I pull on Al's arm, scared that it might be too late. He won't budge. He's just standing in the doorway. We need to move so we aren't in the way.

"Al," I try again, "Al, come on. Let's go outside." Al's heaving, bending over as his whole body shakes. I hear someone groan behind us and my heart starts beating frantically. We're in the way. We gotta move.

"Could you brats get out of the way?" A woman questions rudely from behind me. I look over at her and swallow nervously.

"Uh, sorry," I apologize in a whisper, getting out of the woman's way. She huffs and storms passed us, intentionally bumping into Al. I flinch as Al freezes up and screams loudly. The woman stops dead in her tracks and turns back toward us. I get in front of Al who's slowly descending into a full blow panic attack. He's wheezing loudly, sobbing and fearfully begging for someone to stay away from him.

"You boys got a problem?" She questions harshly, employees walking over to us.

"Um, you bumped Al," I squeak, Dada hurrying over.

"What's going on?" He asks as an employee stands in front of me. The woman quickly turns to the employee, a scowl on her face.

"These two are a disruption," she snaps. "They need to go."

"Hold on," Dad interjects quickly. "My youngest has a panic disorder. Something set him off. It's not his fault." The employee looks over at me and I swallow nervously.

"She bumped into Al," I explain, the woman glaring at me. "He's scared." Dad nods and looks over at the lady.

"Why did you run into my son?" Dada asks, Al panicking behind me.

"The dumb kid was just standing in the way," the woman defends bitterly.

"Let's not cause a scene," the employee cuts in, the woman glaring at him.

"Dada, Al's not doing so good," I say anxiously. I turn around to face him, Al pale and shaky. I see some wet spots on the hard wood floor and frantically turn to Dada. "We have a major problem!"

"Ed, honey, see if you can calm him down enough to get him outside," Dad tells me. "Your phone's almost paid for." He tosses the car keys at me and I catch them. Al's barely breathing as he stands on his shaking legs.

"Al," I say gently, "Al, breathe. You can do it."

"Wh-Where are we?" Al wheezes, tears running down his face.

"We're at the AT&T store, remember?" I tell him softly. "You're safe, it's okay. Let's go out to the car."

"Ed, I'm almost finished paying," Dad tells me from the counter. I nod, the woman who ran into Al crossing her arms and glaring at me.

"These two need to go," she insists, the employee walking over to me. He looks at the floor and gaps, looking over at me.

"Is that…." The employee says, trailing off.

"Uh, yeah," I tell him softly. "Al has a panic disorder. When he gets like this, he can't always control his muscles and sometimes he throws up, too. I'm trying to get him to leave, I promise."

"Maybe we should call an ambulance," the employee says nervously. My brow furrows as Al forcefully grabs my arm.

"What's the matter?" I ask him.

"Brother, th-the room's spinning," Al gaps, struggling to stay standing. He starts to fall and I catch him before he can hit the floor. He's all sweaty and his breathing is panicked and labored.

"Woah!" I cry, lowering Al to the floor. "Hey, what's wrong?" Al's pale, grimacing.

"M-My head h-hurts," he whimpers. "I d-don't feel good. The world's tilting."

"Dad!" I cry. "New problem!" Dad's at the counter and his eyes widen.

"What happened?" Dada cries.

"I'm calling an ambulance," the employee decides, obviously freaked out. Dad hurries over and squats down by Al.

"What's wrong?" Dad asks frantically. I shake my head.

"I-I don't know," I say, panicked. "He, uh, says the world's tilting. He doesn't feel good."

"Al, are you going to throw up?" Dad asks urgently.

"Y-Yeah," Al gurgles. Without saying anything Dada grabs Al and rolls him over on his side. Al forcefully throws up, what little food he had in his stomach splattering all over the floor.

"Dada, what's going on?" I ask anxiously. "Is he having a seizure?" Dada shakes his head.

"No, honey," Dad replies, rubbing Al's back as he keeps him on his side. "It think this is an episode of vertigo."

"Al's never had that before," I comment, the whole store coming to look.

"I know," Dada says. "Does your head hurt, Al?" Al nods, spitting more vomit on to the floor.

"I'm scared, Daddy," Al whimpers.

"I know, baby," Dada comforts. "I'm right here. It's okay." I hear sirens and look over to the window. I see the ambulance pull up, the lights on and everything.

"Dad, the ambulance is here," I say anxiously and probably too loud. Two paramedics come in, pushing a stretcher with them. They get over to Al and one of them asks,

"Is he seizing?" There's a boy and a girl paramedic. The guy's big and has really dark skin. The girl is tiny with blonde hair. Dad shakes his head.

"No," he answers, "I think it's vertigo."

"Is there a history of vertigo?" The man asks.

"No, he's never had vertigo," Dad replies.

"What about migraine headaches?" The man asks.

"Al has migraines occasionally, but they've never been this severe," Dada tells them.

"Well, let's get him up on the stretcher," the woman says. "Dad, you might have to help. Your son's going to be pretty weak and is going to have a hard time standing." Dada nods and the man asks,

"What's his name and date of birth?"

"Alphonse Elric," Dad answers as the pair of paramedics prepare to lift Al, "He goes by Al. His birth date is May 19, 2001."

"Do you know his height and weight?" The woman asks.

"He's about 4'10'' and weighs almost 90 pounds," Dada answers. They both give him a strange look and Dad quickly says, "We've been trying to get him to gain weight but he can't seem to. I've taken him to the doctor many times for this issue." I look over at the paramedics, recognizing that look in their eyes. They have the same look Teacher and Granny always had around her. They think abuse is going on. I swallow hard and frantically cut in,

"Our step-mom used to abuse us." Everyone, including Al, stares at me and I go on, "It's over now. We look like abused kids because we were. My dad is a good person. If you called state, you'd hear that from our social worker." They nod, though I'm not so sure they believe me.

"Can one of you ride in the ambulance and give a medical history?" The woman asks. Dada and I exchange looks.

"Ed? If I texted things to you could you do it?" Dad asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I reply. "I know some stuff already, too." Dada smiles warmly at me.

"I know, honey," he tells me. "You're a good big brother." I grin like an idiot briefly at the praise before turning back to look at Al.

"How can I help?" I ask the paramedics.

"Michelle and I are going to get him on the stretcher," the man explains. "You and your dad might have to help stabilize him. After that, he'll just need you to hold his hand, okay?" I nod. I can do that.

"Let me know if you need help lifting," Dad tells them worriedly. The man nods and walks over to Al. He squats down in front of him, Al crying silently.

"Hey, buddy," the man greets, "My name is Tyrone. You go by Al, right?" Al nods, his chin quivering pathetically.

"Uh-huh," Al answers.

"Okay, Al, has the world stopped moving yet?" Tyrone asks.

"I… I think so," Al replies. "I'm scared."

"I bet," Tyrone says. "Your dad said you've never experienced anything like this before. I bet it's scary."

"Al was having a panic attack before the vertigo started," Dada mentions. "He has anxiety and a panic disorder. I don't know if the panic attack and vertigo are connected, but Al does get worn out after panic attacks so he's going to be pretty floppy." Tyrone nods.

"Okay, Michelle and I are going to stand you up and help you onto our stretcher," Tyrone explains. "You'll be pretty weak and tired so try to nap. When you get to the ED, don't try getting up without help. You'll be too weak and that weakness might go on for several hours or even days depending on what caused your vertigo. The ED is going to make sure nothing serious is going on." Al nods and the other paramedic, Michelle, walks over.

"Count of three," Michelle says.

"One," they count together, "two, three." They stand Al up, Al flopping forward 'cause he's weak and tired. They help him on to the stretcher and cover him up with a blanket. Dada walks over to me and hands me my new phone.

"I wanted this to have more pomp and circumstance but I digress," Dad tells me. "My number's already in there. I'll text you Al's medical history including past surgeries and medications he's on and all you have to do is read it to them, okay?" I nod.

"Okay," I say anxiously. "Dad, what if they hot line you?"

"Then they hot line me," Dad replies. "Honey, we have a social worker who knows our family's history. She might have to visit sooner than we have planned but that would be it. No one is going to take you and Al away from me." I nod, not convinced, but I'm doing my best to trust Dada. It's scary, but I want my anxiety to stop making liars out of the people I trust the most.

"Did you put a passcode on it?" I ask. Dad shakes his head.

"No, sweetie," Dada answers. "Okay, walk with Al to the ambulance. I'll meet you boys at the ER." I nod and give Dada a quick hug. He kisses my hair and walks over to the stretcher. He kisses Al's forehead and I walk to the other side of the stretcher.

"You're going to be okay," Dada tells Al. "Try to relax, okay? All the doctors are going to do is make sure nothing serious is going on. I think this I secondary to a migraine."

"O-Okay," Al whimpers.

"See you in a few minutes," Dad says, finally walking out the door. I hold Al's hand as the paramedics push him out to the ambulance. I have to let go of his hand as they load the stretcher in and I climb in the back as soon as they tell me it's okay. My phone's vibrating so I look at it. I already have five lengthy texts from Dada. I sit down on the cushioned bench in the back of the ambulance as Tyrone starts to take Al's vitals.

"Um, my dad texted me some of Al's medical history," I tell him nervously. Tyrone nods.

"Let me get these vitals, okay?" He says. "Then I'll get that history from you."

"Yeah, okay," I reply. "Uh, Al hates getting his blood pressure taken."

"I'll make it as quick as possible," Tyrone says, getting everything hooked up to Al. Al's silently crying, sniffling loudly.

"You okay?" I ask him gently. He shakes his head so I ask, "Does your head still hurt?"

"Y-Yeah," he whimpers. "My tummy's upset."

"I know, buddy," I comforted, Al's breathing picking up as the blood pressure cuff tightens around his arm. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay. It'll be over soon, Alphie. It's okay."

"Okay," Tyrone sighed, removing all the equipment from Al. "Let's hear that history." I nod and unlock my phone. Some of the texts aren't about Al's medical history but just texts Dad sent to make me feel better.

"So, Al's a preemie," I begin, "He was born at six months. He was a relatively healthy baby according to Dada. No food allergies and no drug allergies. Alphie does have a latex allergy, though. Al also has seasonal allergies and is allergic to dust. Um, Al had appendicitis when he was seven and got his appendix removed. He had his tonsils out when he was twelve 'cause he had strep throat a lot. Al has PTSD, generalized anxiety, panic disorder, and depression. Al also has overactive bladder with urge incontinence sometimes. He doesn't have any issues with breathing or his heart, but does have acid reflex and constipation constantly. He's got a history of chronic malnutrition which is why he's having trouble putting on weight." I look up at Tyrone and say, "That's all my dad sent me."

"Any medications?" Tyrone asks.

"Not right now," I tell him. I look at my phone and read; "We've tried things to help control the depression and anxiety, but the side effects made him super tired and irritable so
the doctor took him off."

"Your father mentioned a history of migraines," Tyrone says. I nod and he goes on, "What does he normally take for migraines?"

"Tylenol," I answer. "Just one pill, I think."

"Nothing for the overactive bladder?" Tyrone asks. I shake my head.

"No, Dada didn't want him on something for that 'cause the side effects are risky," I explain. "He pees around the same times every day and that pretty much works. He has issues sometimes but not very often. Dr. Marcoh, that's our doctor, thinks he's actually starting to grow out of it."

"Is there anything else your dad mentioned that's relevant to what's going on?" Tyrone questions.

"Not really," I answer, scrolling through the messages Dada sent me. "Nothing else is really wrong with him. Other than that stuff, Al's pretty healthy. We both are, all things considered."

"That's all I need from you, thank you," Tyrone tells me. "The ED will have access to all of his health record so there's no need to pester your father for more information. He was pretty detailed."

"So, what happens after the vertigo?" I ask nervously.

"Well, it's sort of like what happens after a seizure," Tyrone explains. "Do you remember what I said back at the store?" I nod.

"Yeah," I answer. "You said he's gonna be really tired and weak for a while. That happens after a seizure, too?"

"That's right," Tyrone confirms. "Both events are extremely fatiguing and once some of his anxiety goes down, your brother's probably going to be sleeping for a while and if he's not sleeping, he's not going to be doing much of anything."

"You sleepy, Al?" I ask. Al nods, his lip trembling.

"Yeah-uh," he whimpers.

"I know you're scared," I tell him gently. "But it's okay. You can take a nap if you want."

"I'm cold, Brother," Al cries.

"Shh, I know," I coo softly, "I know. We'll get you changed soon." Al's crying again so I hold out my phone for him.

"I linked my phone with my iPad so I've got my coloring book apps on my phone," I tell him softly. "Want to color for a little while?" Al nods, his chin quivering.

"Only if you color with me," Al answers. I smile at him and nod.

"Yeah, sure," I reply. I unlock my phone and hand it to my brother. "Pick one, okay?" Al nods and I see him weakly tapping on my phone. He starts to color with his index finger, his eyelids dropping. I watch as one of his thumbs goes into his mouth, Tyrone glancing over at us briefly.

"Is he okay?" Tyrone asks.

"He's okay," I reply. "He sucks his thumb sometimes when he's anxious. He's trying to break the habit."

"And he's fourteen, right?" Tyrone questions. I glare at him.

"Yeah," I say shortly, crossing my arms. "And he's completely normal but was, you know, abused when he was a little kid." Tyrone's eyes widen and he looks a way guiltily.

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"He was four when it started," I say, the words rolling off my tongue before I can stop them. God, there are times I wish my bubbles would trap my words. Usually, I don't want them to but there are times where I wish they did. This is one of those times. "It ended when my step-mom was arrested. Al was eleven. So, basically, his whole early childhood was abuse."

"You don't have to say anything else, I'm sorry," Tyrone tells me. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Ed," Al says sleepily. "Look." I look over and Al's trying to hand me my phone. I smile and take it from him. He colored a picture of a lion.

"Good job," I praise.

"Your turn," Al yawns, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

"Okay," I say. I decide to color a picture of fish and show Al when I'm done. We pass my phone back and forth until we get to the hospital. They took us to the hospital in Resembool. Resembool has the biggest hospital for a few miles so lots of emergencies from surrounding towns go there. There's a hospital near Morton and one in Peoria. We were close enough to home, though, for the paramedics to take us there. Tyrone pulls the stretcher out of the ambulance and I follow them. Tyrone and Michell push the stretcher into the ER and help Al get off the stretcher and into the bed in the room. He's pretty out of it but is still kinda awake. The paramedics talk to the nurses and leave. One of the two nurses leaves, the other one looking over at us.

"Okay, I'm going to go and get your father," she tells us with a smile. "Once your dad's in here, I'll assess your brother and talk with the physician. We'll get some tests going and hopefully get you guys out of here so the poor little guy can sleep." I nod and the nurse leaves. Al shuts his eyes and I sit down on the edge of his bed. I decide to lay down next to him and notice how much he's shivering. Al must be freezing. He's still wearing his wet clothes and is still sweating really bad.

"Al," I say quietly, "Are you cold?" Al nods, huddling closer to me. "I'm sorry." The door opens and I sit up as Dada walks in.

"Hey, boys," Dad greets. He walks over and the nurse comes in after him. "I asked the nurse to bring Al something dry to wear."

"Good," I say, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "He's cold, Dada." Dad nods and walks over.

"How's he doing?" Dad asks me.

"He's tired," I answer. "Changing might be hard."

"I can assist him," the nurse replies. "I don't want him up and walking so soon after a vertigo episode." Dada nods.

"Neither do I," Dad agrees. I hop off the bed and the nurse walks over.

"Alphonse," she addresses gently. "Honey, do you need to go to the bathroom?" Al moans and opens his eyes.

"No," he whines.

"Okay," the nurse says. "Then if you want to change your clothes, we have to do it in bed, okay?" Al nods weakly and the nurse turns back to look at me and Dad; "Would you two mind stepping out while we change his clothes? I'll come get you when we're done." Dad nods and puts his hand right between my shoulder blades.

"C'mon, Ed," he says softly. "Let's give Alphie some privacy."

"But…." I trail off, looking over at the bed. Al's staring at me, big hazel eyes filling up with tears. "He's still anxious, Dada. We can't leave him."

"Edward, I know he's still anxious but the nurse can't get him out of his wet clothes with both of us standing here," Dada explains. "She has rules she has to follow. If he were younger, I'm sure we could both stay but he's fourteen and the nurse has a duty to protect his privacy."

"Yeah, but," I say, gesturing for Dada to lean down so I can whisper in his ear. He does so I whisper, "This might make him think of his bad touch, Dad, and send him into another panic attack."

"Okay, honey, I'll ask the nurse if just one of us can stay with him," Dad whispers back, standing up straight and walking away. He walks over to the nurse and pulls her away from Al. I walk back over to the bed and sit down, Al worming his way over to me.

"You're not gonna leave, are you?" Al asks, obviously scared.

"Nah," I say confidently. "Not in a million years." I look up, the nurse walking over to me.

"Okay, your dad's going to wait right outside the room," she tells me and Al. "Edward, right?" I nod and she goes on, "You can stay since your brother seems to want some company during all this. I understand this has been hard on him."

"Yeah and I don't want him to have another panic attack," I say. "He's still getting over one." The nurse nods.

"That's what your father told me," she replies. "Okay, Edward, please get off the bed so I can get started. It'll be difficult to hold your brother's hand through all this but you can stand near the head of the bed and talk to him the whole time." I nod and hop off the bed. Al whimpers so I turn around and smile at him.

"It's okay," I assure him. "The nurse isn't gonna hurt you. All she's gonna do is change your clothes." Al nods, his chin quivering. I walk to the head of the bed and watch the nurse throw a thick, towel-looking blanket over the blankets already on top of Al. She works the other blankets out from under the new blanket, leaving Al covered up still. That was smart.

"So," the nurse begins, "I'll do as much of the work as possible, but if you feel like you can help, Alphonse, feel free to jump right in. It's okay if you can't, though. I know you're tired and don't feel good." Al doesn't do anything so I nod at her.

"Yeah," I say, "Okay." The nurse stands closer to the bed and raises it up so it's at her waist. She then pulls a tiny hand sanitizer bottle out and uses some on her hands before pulling gloves out of her pocket and putting them on. Her pockets kinda remind me of Mary Poppins' bag; it's bottomless. Anything you could ever want is inside. Anyways, the nurse pushes the blanket aside around Al's hips and I can hear Al start to wheeze. Oh, no. This isn't good. He's basically in the same position he was when the bad touch happened. I knew that memory was going to be an issue. I want to say something to the nurse before she starts but she's fast. Her hands are already at the waist of his jeans and she's attempting to work them off of him. I can see Al tense up, his eyes widening as he hyperventilates.

"Hey," I say quietly, the nurse ignoring me. I huff; I was talking to her, not Al. Guess she thought it was the other way around. Al starts screaming loudly, the nurse recoiling instantly.

"What's the matter?" She asks calmly. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, honey." I look at her and shake my head.

"Uh, you didn't hurt him," I tell her, my voice shaking. The nurse's brow furrows and I take a deep breath; "Al was molested by a boy in a foster home when he was eleven. He was in bed when it happened and the boy pulled all his clothes off. Al's just scared."

"Oh, my goodness," the nurse says softly. "I had no idea, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I assure her. "It's not something we like to talk about. My dad and I didn't even know it happened until just a few days ago."

"I see," the nurse replies. She shakes her head and says, "Until he calms down, I can't do anything for him."

"Would it be easier to get him up and on the potty?" I ask.

"Easier, no," the nurse tells me. "Better for him? Yes, I would say so." I nod, Al hyperventilating loudly in bed.

"I think we should try it," I say. The nurse nods.

"Here's what I can do," she starts, "I can run and get a bedside commode so that he doesn't have to get into a wheel chair, out of a wheel chair, on to the toilet, off the toilet, back in the wheel chair, and then have to get in bed. That would be very hard for him considering how fatigued he is. With the bedside commode, he can just move from the bed to the commode and back again."

"I like that," I say. "I'll calm him down." The nurse nods and leaves the room. I turn to Al and climb up into bed with him. It may not be a good idea, but I decide to touch him. I know it can freak him out most of the time but thing is he's already freaked out. Maybe holding him will calm him down. I get closer, feeling Al's already tense body attempt to get away from me. I put my arms around him and pull him in close, Al trying to fight me.

"Shh," I whisper, the struggling coming to an end, "Shh. It's okay. It's just Brother. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. You're safe, buddy. It's okay. I'm right here." Al relaxes a little, still wheezing loudly as he starts to cry. I pull him up into my lap and sit up, starting to rock him back and forth; back and forth. He cries and cries and the only thing I can do is offer him Chico and the gentle motion of rocking him. Al sobs loudly into me and I lower my face into his shoulder.

"It's okay, Al," I whimper. "I got you." My throat's tightening up and I wish there was more I could do for Al. Eventually, holding him and rocking him will get him to calm down. Eventually. I just wish that there was more I could do to help. The door opens and I lift my head. The nurse is back with the bedside commode. It kinda looks like a potty chair, but bigger. I think I've seen one before. Mom had one, I think, sometimes while in the hospital. The nurse brings it over, standing awkwardly next to the bed.

"Should I come back in a few minutes?" The nurse asks. I nod.

"He won't stop crying," I tell her. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, buddy," she assures me. "Push the call light when he's calm, okay?" I nod and she leaves again. I don't know where Dada is. Maybe in the bathroom or getting coffee or something. He hasn't come back yet. Not that there's much he could do, though. None of us can do anything when Al cries like this. I guess I just want him to be here so he could make me feel better. Al's not crying nearly as hard now. I can hear him sucking his thumb and I sigh in relief. The worst is over, I think.

"Alphie," I address softly, "The nurse brought you this potty to sit on so you can change your clothes. Are you ready to get up?" I feel Al nod and I reach for the call light and push the button. "The nurse will be here in a minute. Are you okay?"

"I'm tired," Al says quietly. "My body's heavy, Brother."

"Does your head still hurt?" I ask.

"Yeah," he replies. "I have a migraine."

"I know, bud," I say. "I think that's why you had vertigo." Al tenses up, whimpering softly. "What?"

"I have to pee," he tells me urgently. "Now."

"But, the nurse isn't back yet," I say. "I don't know if I can help you."

"Ed, I gotta pee," Al says desperately, pulling away. He's still got a thumb in his mouth, his chin quivering.

"Okay," I sigh. "Okay. Uh, I'll do my best to help." I quickly get out of the bed and drag the commode as close to the bed as possible while still giving Al room to stand up. I turn back to him, Al struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed. I hurry and help him, Al swaying side to side as he struggles to stay sitting. Al weakly scoots forward, his shoes touching the floor.

"Ready?" I ask. Al nods and I say, "I'll help you stay on your feet and we'll turn around. Uh, why don't you hold on to my waist?"

"Okay," Al says, standing up. He nearly falls over and I hold my arms out. He grabs my arms and I know I gotta work fast. I start to turn, Al dragging his feet in sync with mine. I get Al positioned and help him get his jeans off. He flops down and sighs loudly. I bend forward, panting slightly.

"Let's never do that again," I tell him, winded. "That was crazy hard." Al nods.

"Yeah," he pants. "Thanks, Brother." I nod.

"You're welcome," I reply. "I'm just glad I didn't drop you."

"I wanna change," Al says. I nod and grab the hospital clothes the nurse left. The fabric is really scratchy and I grimace.

"I think these are too rough for your skin," I tell him. Al looks over at me, bags under his eyes. I shake my head and walk over to him. "You won't have to wear them for long. We'll be home soon and when we get home you can wear some really soft pajamas." Al nods and I hand him the scratchy hospital shirt. Al tries to put it on himself, but is too weak to pull the old shirt off.

"Buddy, is your shirt wet at all?" I ask. Al shakes his head so I say, "Let's not worry about the shirt, then. We'll just change your pants." Someone knocks at the door and comes in.

"Nursing." It's Al's nurse, her eyes widening when she sees he's on the commode.

"Did you get out of bed on your own?" She asks calmly. I shake my head.

"He had to pee so I helped him," I explain. "When Al's gotta go, he's gotta go. He can't wait."

"I'm glad you were able to assist him but let's try to avoid that in the future," she tells me. "While he's in the ED, only nurses should assist him in and out of bed." I nod.

"Sorry," I apologize. The nurse smiles at me.

"It's okay," she assures me. "You're a good brother for helping out. I'll change his bottoms, okay? You don't have to worry about it." I step aside and grab Al's hand.

"I'm ready to nap," Al tells me softly. I grin weakly at him.

"I bet," I reply.

"Alphonse, are you in pain?" The nurse asks as she pulls his wet jeans off. Al nods and she asks, "Where?"

"My head," he answers quietly. "I have a migraine."

"And on a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain, how would you rate your pain?" She asks.

"Seven," Al answers.

"I'll give you something for the pain, okay?" She tells him. "Just by looking at you and based on what the paramedics told me, it's a good bet the vertigo was caused by your migraine. I'll give the data to the doctor and if he thinks nothing else is going on, he'll let you go. He may want to do a CT scan, but it's not scary." Al just kinda stares at her, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm tired," he whines.

"I know," she says. "Are you done going potty?"

"Yeah," Al answers.

"Let's get up and get you tucked in so you can sleep," the nurse says. She counts to three and helps Al stand up. He leans on her, the nurse pulling his pants up and guiding him to the bed. His movements are stiff and heavy, shuffling his feet. He sits down and the nurse puts his feet in the bed. She tucks him in, reminds him to use his call light, and leaves to get him some pain medicine. I crawl into the cramped hospital bed, Al falling asleep long before the nurse or Dada come back.

Al got a bunch of tests done on him to eliminate something more serious that could have caused the vertigo. All the tests came back negative so he got discharged. Dada was thinking he should cancel on Lucy tonight but I told him Al'd be fine. Granny and I will take good care of him. Dad wasn't sure but in the end, I convinced him to go on his date as planned. We went back home and Dad got ready while I looked after Al. Al was sleeping and he's still sleeping. Dad didn't take long to get dressed and he took us to Winry's. Al's sleeping on the couch now, Dada talking to Granny about what happened. I'm sitting next to Al, playing on my phone. I really like it so far. Winry comes in and sits down across from me, staring at Al. I look up at her, her brow knitted together with worry.

"He's fine, you know," I tell her offhandedly. Winry looks over at me and nods.

"Yeah, I know," Winry replies. "Was it scary?"

"Terrifying," I answer. "I've never seen Al so scared and helpless before. He couldn't even hold his head up."

"Geeze," Winry sighs. "I hope this is an isolated incident."

"You and me both," I scoff, Dada coming into the living room.

"I've got to go," he tells me. I nod and Dada walks over to me. He squats down and says, "Call me if anything happens, okay? I'll come straight home."

"I will," I say. "But we'll be fine. Have fun, okay?" Dad smiles warmly at me and kisses my forehead.

"You're a good kid," he praises. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I tell him. He stands up and walks over to the couch Al's on. He bends over and kisses Al's hair before standing up straight.

"Have fun, Uncle Victor," Winry chirps. Dada smiles at her.

"I will," he replies. "You kids have fun, too. I'll see you all later tonight." I nod and Dada leaves. Winry leans closer to me and says,

"Granny was thinking of ordering pizza. You up for it?"

"Yeah, sure," I reply. "I'm never opposed to pizza, Win."

"Yeah, yeah," she dismisses. "What about Al?"

"He may sleep through dinner," I point out.

"Okay, but if he doesn't?" Winry asks.

"Soup, probably," I answer. "He was feeling really barfy earlier." Winry nods, Al moaning softly and stirring. I look over at him, his eyes slowly opening.

"Uh," he groans, trying to sit up. He's too weak, though, and just falls back on to the couch.

"Hey," I say as Al looks over at me, bags under his eyes.

"What time is it?" Al asks sleepily.

"5:30," I answer. "Dada just left for his date."

"Oh," Al yawns.

"You okay, Ally?" Winry asks nervously. I roll my eyes as Al chuckles softly.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Al replies weakly. "Just super tired."

"Is your migraine gone?" I ask.

"Uh-huh," Al answers. "My tummy's still upset."

"I can get you something for that," Winry tells him, standing. "Be right back." Al shifts weakly on the couch, moaning quietly.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"I think I gotta pee again," Al complains.

"Think you can get up?" I question. Al shakes his head and sighs.

"No," he tells me, his eye lids drooping. "I'm tired, Brother."

"Okay, buddy," I say. "Just stay awake a bit longer so Winry can give you that medicine. After that you can go back to sleep." Al nods, Winry and Granny coming back in.

"How's he doing?" Granny asks, Winry walking over and handing me the medicine.

"I'm fine," Al answers sleepily. "Just tired."

"Does he need anything besides the medicine?" Granny questions. I shake my head.

"He just needs to sleep some more," I reply.

"Okay," Granny says. "I'm going to order some pizza."

"I don't think Al's gonna eat," I tell her.

"That's fine," she says. "Be right back." I nod and help Al drink down the medicine. He sighs, falling asleep almost instantly. I sit near the couch all evening, staying near him so he doesn't get scared. I gotta take care of him, even if he's asleep. If I don't, I won't be doing my job – the only job that I know how to do.