Chapter 4; Torn

Bane; "it gets sadder in this one; but don't worry, still a happy ending…unless I suddenly change my mind…actually…it'd be more dramatic if…nevermind…don't want to…give it away."

Drumstick; "But…I want it to be happy."

A; "I don't care. I want sex."

Bane; "Anyway, I don't own the Full Metal Alchemist; they wouldn't sell it to me for the rights to my fanfictions, so…I guess this is the closest I'll ever get."

The next two days had passed slowly, her boredom limit reaching its maximum.

"I'm starved, Winry. And the food is too…"

"…Healthy? Hmm. Yeah. But wasn't there a place near this facility?"

"Yeah."

He groaned with exaustion.

"I told you not to pace so much."

He gave a sheepish grin, and rubbed his feet as casually as possible.

"I'll walk down and get something."

Al fished into his pocket to retrieve a few bills, but as soon as he caught first sight of the 'I'm-buying-back-the-fuck-off' look, he shoved them back into their place.

She was gone for nearly an hour, taking her time to look about the roads. And the lines for the restraunt was ridiculous. She came jogging back, stopping infront of Al. Triumphiantly, she held up the bag of fast-food, only to be met with a grim face.

"Al? Al-what's…It's not Ed is it?

He didn't reply only signaled for her to listen to talkative lady at the information desk a few yards away.

"They've tried to restrain 'im, but after he woke, lord, he was too strong. And now, the doctor's still a'tryin' to catch the dear, but not with much luck, I'd expect."

The thought occurred to her subconsciously before she had even stopped to think. Making her way up a corridor in which his sick room was located, she found several visitors and nurses alike bustling hurriedly in the opposite direction.

Several spaced rasping cries were emitted from someone in a room just a little further down.

Please not Ed, not door number 731.

She stopped at his door. The threshhold stood ajar, and the sight inside caused her heart to burn in her chest. She could find no words, only stepping towards him, tears at the ready, and yet, still not coming.

Edward was pushed against a wall. An assistant was directly behind him, his arm barring the eighteen-year-old from moving his head, which was to the side, facing Winry. Ed's arms were also flat against the wall. The metal hand was clenching and unclenching. Another was checking an unpleasantly large needle, disinfecting it in the corner.

His golden hair was disheveled, but left in its braid. They obviously hadn't bothered to put him in a hospital gown. The black leather pants were ripped and revealed small scratches on the shins. A leather strap to hold down struggling patients adorned his left arm, obviously having been ripped from it's place. His shirtless torso had been half swaddled in bandages. And the skin that showed through glistened with beads of sweat.

With every pained gasp of breath he took, he grimaced, trying not to cry out. With no warning, however, he pushed himself hard off the surface, attempting to break free. The assistant wasn't impressed; with one strengthened shove on the neck, he was thrown back into the wall with a thump.

Ed let a small whimper escape his lips, eyes shut tight in agony.

"Is the sleeping-junk ready? This guy's a pain in the ass."

"Bastard."

The man kicked him squarely in the back of the leg, causing Ed to sink to his knees with a pained sigh.

"Be gentler with him. You'll put him to sleep without anything, kicking him around like that."

The boy might have said something sardonic if he'd had the strength, or the breath. Edward opened his eyes for a moment, and caught sight of Winry. His eyes were blurry from the drugs, but he could tell that girl apart from anyone.

"W-winry…?"

In disbelief, he caught her gaze. His amber eyes seemed to plead for some assurance that she was real. And for some odd reason, she could tell that such dreams had come to him. That too many times a dream Winry would slip through his fingers.

"Please- let him go!"

Ed pushed out again, this time, though, only half-heartedly. The assistant, however, was short of patience. The force with which Ed collided with the wall caused him to fall down on all fours. His breathing was winded. And yet, after a moment he managed to say through short gasps, "I don't fucking bend that way, Bastard."

And that was enough. He wasn't about to take this from a spineless---

Bane; "Ha! See! He IS spineless, or, more or less. See, as to those who are confused, Edward (isn't he gorgeous) does have a spine. But not a real one. As of now, it's forged of automail. That's what the assistant and I are referring to!"

Drumstick and A; 0.o

A; "Hey Drumstick, You think there's a Guiness Record on 'the Worst Morbid Jokes on Earth?' "

Drumstick; "Does it matter? Bane would win whether there was a record before hers or not."

And that was enough. He wasn't about to take this from a spineless kid. With his foot, he delt a sharp tap in the middle of his back.

Sores that surrounded the steel spine seared, and the newly woven stitches snapped with the strain. The breath was knocked once more from his lungs. Edward's wheezing lured another outburst from her.

"Damn it! Leave him alone!"

The assistant ignored her.

Ed was hacking now, unable to bend his back in order to double over from the agony, he supported himself, still on all fours. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, specks of blood began to stain the floor.

Winry pulled a wrench from her pocket and was aiming it at the man's throat when an abrupt shout stopped her in her tracks.

"CEASE!"

The physician looked thoroughtly irritated, and Winry had a feeling that up until now, he had been oblivious to the proceedings. He looked rather menacing, but whether or not that was due to the fact that he was still holding the ridiculously large needle in his hand, she couldn't say. The only thing that broke the silence was the violent coughing.

He rose onto his knees, clutching his stomach fiercely. Edward let out a quiet groan, and vomitted.

It was about this time that Al found his way into the room. A look of fuy lit up his eyes. He took in the scene. A doctor with a needle that looked more like a dagger, a burly man that seemed as though enjoying the moment, a very tense Winry grasping her wrench as though it were a scythe, and…Ed, sitting pale and unmoving, the blood beginning to stain the bandages through. Alfonse opened his mouth as though he was about to speak, but the doctor raised a hand.

"Rupert, I want you to go tell our dear Ms. Rogby that we've got needs of her costodial skills. And, Rupert," he added coldly, "I want you to tell her at what level you are to blame."

"Yes, sir."

"And Rupert?"

"Yeah?"

" We're going to have to discuss…" he paused to examine his fingernails, letting time add weight to his words, " Your use of brutality." As soon as the man was gone, he turned to a scornful Winry.

"You've going to have to tell that ass that I want to discuss a few things with him too."

He smiled, apologized for the behavior his comrade had exhibited, and said as though practiced thoroughly, I'm sorry, Ms. Winry, I'll have to ask you to leave this room. At this point, only family members are admitted."

Al gave her a sympathizing look, and nodded.

Throughout the next twelve minutes, the medical staff bustled in and out. On her third attempt, she caught the attention of one of them, a rather plump woman with too much mascara to be seen in public. Her eyelashes looked like resting stations for thick, black snails.

"Oh, nothing to worry about, dear. Just some stitches."

But from the squeaks of panic and hurry in her voice, Winry wasn't so sure.

Bane; "Okay…bet you're really in a happy mood now."

A; "Muahaha."

Drumstick; sobbing