A/N: thanks. You make me all warm and fuzzy.
III. Things Now Dead
He has a fever again. That does not usually happen. Perhaps it is because he is so young.
He is sweating, Winry notes. So she places a cool cloth on his brow as though it might help.
He is twitching and growling in his sleep.
She is holding a vigil over him for all the things in him that are now dead. An arm. A leg. A childhood—but that was never really alive in the first place.
But those things are not dead, Winry tells herself. They are merely changed, replaced with metal replicas.
"Good as new," she lies.