Wrench
Sango-sama
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Ed's automail, Winry's wrench, or Al's Kitten: I'm only borrowing them in this poor excuse for a homage.
******
The smell of metal overwhelmed her senses as she slowly woke up. A heavy rain was pit pattering against the glass of window beside her bed; she opened her heavy-lidded eyes just enough to see that the sky no longer held the darkness of night, instead maintaining its dreary gray cast. With a shiver, she hastily tucked her foot back under the blanket as a cold rush of air fell upon the exposed skin of her foot.
She didn't much feel like getting out of bed today.
She had been gripping the wrench in her hands much as one would a small doll. It was of a sturdy variety, solid and heavy...perfectly good for most any of the basic jobs around the shop. Tighten a bolt here and there. Turn it on its side and it becomes a perfectly serviceable hammer. Throw it at Ed's head when he was being difficult. Even Den occasionally would pick it up like a bone. That wrench was the ultimate all-purpose tool that got the job done, without complaint, and would reliably be sitting beside her on the bench beside her whenever she needed it. It was a familiar old friend. The calluses on her hands had molded themselves to form a nearly perfect grip around the smooth metal surface, still warm from being clasped in her hand for the whole night.
She wasn't quite sure when she had started to carry its heavy weight off to bed with her. It must have been sometime after Ed's automail surgery. His dabbling with forbidden alchemy had left him quite reliant on that metal arm and leg and on their small automail shop to keep that arm functioning well. True, he was trying to use those limbs to be a National Alchemist and restore himself and Al to their true forms. But he was on a mission, after all—a heavy one that he was trying to bear all on his own. There was no telling when he ever would return.
She really wanted to be there for him, for both of them. When they had first left, she took to waiting up until later and later in the evening, wrench in hand, just in case Ed and Al should come back for their help. It was only when she could no longer keep her eyes open that she would trudge sleepily up to bed, hardly even noticing that she still held the wrench.
She sighed wearily, rolling onto her back and placing the back of her palm to her forehead; Ed really needed to come back more often for routine check ups. It took a great deal of maintenance to keep such a well-designed piece of machinery in good repair. Dust and sand could sneak into the crevices and drastically reduce the viscosity. The last time he had come through, Ed's arm had been literally in shreds, but with what little had been left of that arm proved that he was not taking care of his automail properly. And if he weren't taking care of it, it wouldn't always work when he would need it to. Of course she knew that without both of his arms, he couldn't always perform alchemy, he always couldn't protect himself. The longer he stayed away, the more she would worry. At least she could do something to help Ed. Al was another matter entirely; sure, she could smelt and remold the metal into some other shape so it might be more convenient for him to move but she did not really understand how it was that Al could actually exist within that armor. Trying to rebuild him would probably do him more harm than good, but she could listen to his troubles. She could be there for both of them, if they would only let her in.
But they both felt the need to keep her at a distance.
Tears had welled in her eyes and had fallen onto the pillow; her grip on the wrench tightened, whitening the knuckles that clenched. She was reaching and she knew it. It was just that she had lost so many people that had been close to her—her mother, her father, Ed and Al's mother. Even Ed and Al were always on the move, miles and miles away from her. Being separated from all of them, one person after another, had hurt her greatly. But at least grandmother would always be there to help pick her up and keep her working, forcing it out of her mind with thoughts of the elegant machinery that she could create with her own two hands. She could still help people, in spite of her own pain.
Right now, all thoughts of her lovely automail were only a painful reminder of her Grandmother. Pinako, while still a hale and sprightly old woman all things considered, was still an old woman. It was very sudden when her health had rapidly begun to decline and Winry was quite at a loss for how to help her, other than to feed and care for her and to keep the shop running in her place. Winry's only real solace was that she had passed in her sleep and had not died in pain.
The funeral had been nothing fancy. The villagers and grateful patrons had come to the ceremony, some offering a little money or food to help her out. But they had rushed home to their families, leaving her very much alone.
A mission had detained the boys, keeping them from the funeral when she could have used their company the most. Ed had sent a letter in his characteristic, left-handed scrawl promising to come when they got the first opportunity to jump on the train. There was no telling when they would finally be able to return to Risenpool.
She snuggled back under the covers, pulling the familiar weight close to her heart. Right now, that wrench was the only thing that she could truly hold on to.
Sango-sama
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Ed's automail, Winry's wrench, or Al's Kitten: I'm only borrowing them in this poor excuse for a homage.
******
The smell of metal overwhelmed her senses as she slowly woke up. A heavy rain was pit pattering against the glass of window beside her bed; she opened her heavy-lidded eyes just enough to see that the sky no longer held the darkness of night, instead maintaining its dreary gray cast. With a shiver, she hastily tucked her foot back under the blanket as a cold rush of air fell upon the exposed skin of her foot.
She didn't much feel like getting out of bed today.
She had been gripping the wrench in her hands much as one would a small doll. It was of a sturdy variety, solid and heavy...perfectly good for most any of the basic jobs around the shop. Tighten a bolt here and there. Turn it on its side and it becomes a perfectly serviceable hammer. Throw it at Ed's head when he was being difficult. Even Den occasionally would pick it up like a bone. That wrench was the ultimate all-purpose tool that got the job done, without complaint, and would reliably be sitting beside her on the bench beside her whenever she needed it. It was a familiar old friend. The calluses on her hands had molded themselves to form a nearly perfect grip around the smooth metal surface, still warm from being clasped in her hand for the whole night.
She wasn't quite sure when she had started to carry its heavy weight off to bed with her. It must have been sometime after Ed's automail surgery. His dabbling with forbidden alchemy had left him quite reliant on that metal arm and leg and on their small automail shop to keep that arm functioning well. True, he was trying to use those limbs to be a National Alchemist and restore himself and Al to their true forms. But he was on a mission, after all—a heavy one that he was trying to bear all on his own. There was no telling when he ever would return.
She really wanted to be there for him, for both of them. When they had first left, she took to waiting up until later and later in the evening, wrench in hand, just in case Ed and Al should come back for their help. It was only when she could no longer keep her eyes open that she would trudge sleepily up to bed, hardly even noticing that she still held the wrench.
She sighed wearily, rolling onto her back and placing the back of her palm to her forehead; Ed really needed to come back more often for routine check ups. It took a great deal of maintenance to keep such a well-designed piece of machinery in good repair. Dust and sand could sneak into the crevices and drastically reduce the viscosity. The last time he had come through, Ed's arm had been literally in shreds, but with what little had been left of that arm proved that he was not taking care of his automail properly. And if he weren't taking care of it, it wouldn't always work when he would need it to. Of course she knew that without both of his arms, he couldn't always perform alchemy, he always couldn't protect himself. The longer he stayed away, the more she would worry. At least she could do something to help Ed. Al was another matter entirely; sure, she could smelt and remold the metal into some other shape so it might be more convenient for him to move but she did not really understand how it was that Al could actually exist within that armor. Trying to rebuild him would probably do him more harm than good, but she could listen to his troubles. She could be there for both of them, if they would only let her in.
But they both felt the need to keep her at a distance.
Tears had welled in her eyes and had fallen onto the pillow; her grip on the wrench tightened, whitening the knuckles that clenched. She was reaching and she knew it. It was just that she had lost so many people that had been close to her—her mother, her father, Ed and Al's mother. Even Ed and Al were always on the move, miles and miles away from her. Being separated from all of them, one person after another, had hurt her greatly. But at least grandmother would always be there to help pick her up and keep her working, forcing it out of her mind with thoughts of the elegant machinery that she could create with her own two hands. She could still help people, in spite of her own pain.
Right now, all thoughts of her lovely automail were only a painful reminder of her Grandmother. Pinako, while still a hale and sprightly old woman all things considered, was still an old woman. It was very sudden when her health had rapidly begun to decline and Winry was quite at a loss for how to help her, other than to feed and care for her and to keep the shop running in her place. Winry's only real solace was that she had passed in her sleep and had not died in pain.
The funeral had been nothing fancy. The villagers and grateful patrons had come to the ceremony, some offering a little money or food to help her out. But they had rushed home to their families, leaving her very much alone.
A mission had detained the boys, keeping them from the funeral when she could have used their company the most. Ed had sent a letter in his characteristic, left-handed scrawl promising to come when they got the first opportunity to jump on the train. There was no telling when they would finally be able to return to Risenpool.
She snuggled back under the covers, pulling the familiar weight close to her heart. Right now, that wrench was the only thing that she could truly hold on to.