OOPS, I'M JUMPING AROUND THE TIMELINE AGAIN. Sorry. Probably when this is all done I'll go back and put the snippets in chronological order for new readers, but if you've been following along so far, this chapter takes place juuuust after "Here and Whole".

Thank you guys SO much for your wonderful feedback, and special shoutout to anon reviewer Mal for blowing through ALL THE CHAPTERS AT ONCE and blessing me with nice reviews. :)))

CONTENT NOTE/TW: This is a sweet and low-stakes chapter BUT it deals with hospital stuff-IVs/needles, vomit and surgery.

Song is "Insomniacs of the World, Goodnight" by Gord Downie.

Wishing on the Neverstar

For our happy days of electrical smiles
And loving evenings falling down in piles
Not imagining a restlessness
That could keep us apart

If I could sleep there's a chance I could dream
And reconjure all of these vivid scenes

Insomniacs of the world, good night

Alphonse hadn't slept in years. He hadn't been tired in years either, of course, but now that he was home he was learning that sleep was so much more than just powering down so you could power back up later. Every morning he woke up from a long string of tangled and interconnected dreams, some with familiar faces and memories he recognized and some he couldn't pin down at all. While his body rested, his unconscious mind seemed to be up all night doing cartwheels.

The first night back in his own body, at the hospital in Central, he slept so long and so heavily that it almost qualified as a coma. His dreams were a kaleidoscope of colours and feelings, intense and ethereal and loud, and when he woke up he couldn't remember any one individual aspect. Just the all, not the one.

He opened his eyes to an empty room in what looked like the middle of the afternoon, slowly becoming aware that he was alive and awake. He could see the plain, ugly ceiling tiles, the pale blue walls. Hospital bed. White bedsheets. Feet.

His feet. His arm, thin and heavy and limp on the bed, with an IV drip stuck into the back of his hand. He winced; he'd always hated needles. Ew, ew, ew. He shifted his hand a little, and then he became aware that the IV site was sore.

Then, suddenly, it was like someone had just turned up the volume on a radio, but the radio was his body. Everything hurt. He couldn't remember ever being so sore in his life. Muscles he'd never even thought about felt like they were full of acid. They probably are, he thought. Lactic acid. Duh. His body felt unbelievably heavy, and even though he hadn't moved at all, he felt like he needed to stop and rest. And he was hungry. And so thirsty. His throat felt like it was full of tissue paper.

He had the vaguest, blurriest memories of arriving at the hospital and having his vitals taken, but he didn't remember getting the IV put in. He didn't remember getting to this room, for that matter. Alphonse tried to sit up, but his entire torso throbbed in protest; all he managed was to roll over onto his side, and that was still enough to make his vision swim.

When it settled down again, he was able to take in the scene in front of him. It was a double room, and there was an empty hospital bed next to his. The sheets were in disarray, and the mattress had a shallow dent; someone had been lying there not too long ago.

He could see the open door and the brightly-lit hallway outside it, but he didn't see any people.

Then his eyes landed on the little buzzer mounted next to the bed. Was that only for emergencies? Or could he use it to ask for water?

He stared at it for at least a full minute, trying to decide, before ultimately figuring that, well, it wasn't labeled, so if he wasn't supposed to press it they couldn't exactly get that mad at him, could they?

With extraordinary effort he lifted his arm and pressed the little button, which responded with a dull buzz. Hopefully it's actually hooked up to something, he thought.

Within moments, he heard the regular clacking of footsteps, and then a nurse came hurrying down the hall and into the room.

"Well, look who's finally awake!" said the nurse, a young woman with dark, freckled skin and a warm expression, her tight corkscrew curls spilling from under her white cap. "How are you feeling, Alphonse?"

Her tone was so familiar it made him wonder just how long she'd been taking care of him while he was unconscious. He tried to speak, but all he could produce was a dry rasping sound that turned into a cough.

"That sounds about right," the nurse said, laughing apologetically. "You just sit tight for a sec—I'll be right back with some water for you."

He wanted to thank her, but he couldn't speak, so he just waited. Luckily she came rushing back in record time, pushing a metal cart and carrying a clipboard.

"Here we go," she said brightly, parking the cart next to his bed and coming closer to help him sit up. She lifted him up gently, stacking pillows behind his thin frame to prop him upright, and Al became suddenly aware that he was wearing a hospital gown that he had no memory of changing into. This was a terrible realization to make right as the nurse was close enough to him that he could see her distractingly long eyelashes up close, and he felt himself blush.

"Okay," she said, apparently undaunted by his beet-red face. "I know you're thirsty, but you're gonna want to take this real slow, alright?" She held a cup of water up to his face so he could drink it, and he took a grateful sip. She held it back from him for a few seconds before letting him have another.

At that moment Alphonse had never tasted anything better. The cool water was easing the scratchiness in his throat, and he reached for another sip as soon as the nurse let him.

Finally, his mouth wasn't so dry, and he tried to speak again. He faltered at first, then cleared his throat and tried again. "T…thanks," he said softly.

"No problem," she replied, flashing him a warm smile. She was incredibly pretty; Alphonse smiled awkwardly and reached for the water again, and she let him finish the glass.

"So," she said brightly, "how are we feeling?"

"Um…" Al paused, considering. "Okay. Sore. Hungry."

"Hungry's a good sign!" she replied, making a note on her clipboard. "We've got some broth right here for you—" she gestured to the cart "—but you're going to have to go super slow until your stomach adapts."

"Right."

"The soreness should ease up in a few days," the nurse continued, eyeing his chart, "but if it's bothering you a lot let me know and I can get you an anti-inflammatory once you've kept some food down."

"Hmm."

She then proceeded to spoon-feed him warm broth. It felt like overkill at first—after all, he wasn't that weak, was he? But when he asked to try to do it himself, she'd handed him the spoon and he'd dropped it instantly.

They made it—very slowly—through about half of the small bowl of soup before the nausea hit him. He paused, pursing his lips oddly and turning his head a little, which was a signal the nurse recognized before he did. Without missing a beat, she moved the tray aside and replaced it with a little metal basin just in time for him to retch into it.

His head swam and his eyes watered; it had been more than five years since he'd last thrown up, and as he felt hot acid stinging his throat, he couldn't say he'd missed it. He gagged several times, his stomach contracting painfully, and he was vaguely aware of the nurse's hand on his back.

"Okay," she said gently after giving him water to rinse his mouth. "So your stomach's not quite ready for all that excitement. We'll try again in a little bit." She wiped his mouth matter-of-factly with a cloth and then stood up again, scribbling a few more notes on her clipboard. "You just take it easy, Alphonse. You've got a lot to adjust to now that you're back among the living, hmm?"

Al blinked at her in surprise.

"Don't worry," she said, giving him a reassuring smile that made his heart flutter. "I know what happened, and so does your doctor—we're old friends of Maria's, so we're all filled in."

Maria? Alphonse squinted. "Oh! Second Lieutenant Ross!"

"Exactly," she said. "My name's Anna. I'll be back in a little bit to check on you."

"O—okay," Al blurted. "Thanks."

She gathered up the empty tray and the soiled basin and wheeled the little cart out of the room, and Al watched as her crisp white uniform disappeared down the hallway. Then he slumped back against the pillows.

Great, he thought. My first day back in my original body and I've already puked in front of a cute girl.

He lay still for awhile, trying not to pay too much attention to the steady dripping sound from his IV that reminded him of the gross, gross needle thing stuck in his hand. His body still felt incredibly heavy, but at least his throat didn't burn so much anymore.

Then, suddenly, he heard a very familiar set of footsteps coming down the hall—loud, impatient, and the right one just a little different from the left. They were accompanied by clattering little wheels, and he heard a hurried "Whoa! S'cuse me! Sorry!" that clearly identified the culprit—not that he didn't already know who it was.

"Al! You're awake!" Ed practically shouted, shuffling into the room as fast as he could while pulling his IV behind him. His left arm was in a sling, heavily bandaged, while his thinner, paler right arm dragged the little metal pole on wheels across the threshold. He was in a hospital gown too, although he didn't look too upset about it. He was grinning ear to ear.

"Brother!"

"Well? How's it feel to be back?"

"Awful. So bad. Having a body is the worst."

"Man, just wait 'til we find the jerk who did this to you, eh?" Ed joked.

"I don't know what I ever did to him," Al replied, laughing and then wincing slightly as the movement shook every sore muscle in his torso. "Ah—oww."

Ed gave him a rueful, sympathetic half-smile—and when Al gave him the same look back they both broke into legitimate grins.

"Man," Ed said, "it is so good to see you smile again."

Al sighed, letting his heavy eyes close again for a few seconds. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it, at least," he said.

"Sorry—I know you must feel pretty rough," Ed replied, tugging absently at the sling on his shoulder. "Apparently you're seriously malnourished, you're deficient in like every vitamin and you've got severe muscle wastage."

"Hmm. Yeah, that checks out."

"But," Ed continued, his tone brightening, "they also said that once you're able to eat again you'll start feeling a lot better—and that it might take awhile, but with enough training, they don't see any reason why you won't be able to make a full recovery."

"Really?" Al opened one eye to look at his older brother, who was settling back down into his own hospital bed now.

"Really," Ed assured him. "You're gonna be fine, Al."

Alphonse smiled wearily. "Thanks, Brother."

"Hey, don't mention it."

Al blinked, slowly soaking in the information around him. "Wait, why are you in here? Are you okay?"

"Me?" Ed scoffed. "I'm fine. They're just keeping me in here because I lost a lot of blood—that's what this stupid thing's for," he said, pointing to the IV in the crook of his elbow. "Although, frankly, I'm kind of confused, because technically I gained a lot of blood, too."

"Huh. I guess they don't see that too often in here, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess not," he said, smirking. "Anyway, I'm going under the knife first thing tomorrow, so I'm not allowed to eat anymore today."

"You're what?!" Al's voice squeaked a little. "What are they doing?"

"Oh—it's no big deal," Ed backpedaled hastily. "They've just gotta scoop out some loose bits of metal on my right shoulder and fix a lacerated tendon on my left. Should be fine. They said we'll both be out of here in six to eight weeks."

"Brother! Double shoulder surgery is a big deal! You don't have to downplay it!"

"I'm not! Listen, when you've had your arm explode as many times as I have, it just doesn't have the same bite to it."

"But those are your real arms!"

Ed looked down at his right hand, flexing his fingers out and relaxing them again. "Yeah," he said simply.

"Anyway," he continued, "it's gonna be fine. They'll be done by lunchtime tomorrow, and then they'll take me back up here from recovery the next morning."

"Okay. Well—do they really have to do both at the same time? Isn't that going to make it hard to recover?"

"I thought that too, but apparently it's not that invasive. I'll have to take it easy for awhile, but it's not—y'know, it's nothing like when I had my grafts put in."

They'd both been thinking the same thing.

Al breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good," he said simply.

"Yeah."

There was a beat of silence between them, the only sound coming from their respective IVs dripping away.

"Brother?"

"Yeah?"

"Th—" Alphonse started to speak, but his breath hitched, and he scrunched his eyes shut. "Thanks," he choked out, his voice unmistakeably watery. "I always knew that you'd do it, and you did it." Tears leaked out despite his best efforts, rolling down the hollowed-out curves of his face.

"Aw—Al—" Edward had been lying down, but he sat up again and climbed back out of bed, crossing the small space to sit on the floor next to his brother's bedside. "Al, don't cry, come on."

"Sorry," Al said, covering his eyes with his arm as a fresh wave of tears slid from them. "I just—I can't believe it."

"I—" Edward tried to think of something to say, but the sight of his flesh-and-blood little brother trying to smile and hide his tears at the same time was too much. He felt his own voice break, and hot tears welled up in his eyes before he could stop them. He made a sound that was part-laugh, part-sob, and was incredibly grateful it was just the two of them in the hospital room.

Alphonse blinked up at his brother, abandoning his attempt to hide his eyes, and made a similar noise. They both laughed, simultaneously embarrassed and way past being embarrassed, as tears dripped down their faces.

"Aw, jeez," Ed said, lifting the collar of his hospital gown to wipe his face on it. "Look at us—what a mess." He sniffled conspicuously. "I—I can't believe it either. We really did it."

When Anna came back to check on them some time later, she found Edward still sitting slumped against the side of his little brother's hospital bed, both boys sound asleep with tear-tracks drying on their faces. She changed their saline bags as quietly as possible; normal protocol dictated that she should wake the patient and make sure he was in bed, but professional discretionary instinct told her that this particular patient was—for the time being, anyway—resting exactly where he needed to.

There ya have it. And yeah, I have a soft spot for tales of emotional upheaval that end in wholesome naps! Sue me! I have a few more stories I want to write about Ed and Al in the hospital, and they'll be titled "Recovery" like this one. The next chapter in the Party arc is still on its way, but I hope this tides you guys over for awhile! Stay safe, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think. :)