Everything hurt.
His entire body was held captive with a full ache, festering in his joints and riding up his spine to the base of his neck.
His head throbbed, each heartbeat seemed to drill through his skull, his brain feeling too big for his head.
Most of all, the long incision on his side was burning. The plate and screws lying beneath the skin felt as if they were molten, scalding the surrounding tissue and welding to his ribs.
Yet despite it all, he couldn't help but feel a chill. A sense of cold that seemed to center itself deep in his bones, not bothered by the layers of blankets he had covered himself up with.
To sum it up, Edward felt like crap.
He let out a low groan as he swam further and further into wakefulness.
"Brother, are you awake?" Called a nearby familiar voice. Clanking footsteps echoed through the room until Ed was face to face with his brother, armour and all. Al crouched down next to the bed, taking in his brother's state. "You don't look so good, brother. Are you feeling okay?"
Ed blinked drowsily a few seconds, processing Al's question. His silence and flushed appearance must have been answer enough, as Al stood up from his crouched position, still looking down at Ed with worry.
"I'm going to get the thermometer, you look feverish."
With that, he hurried away from the bedside and dipped into the bathroom to dig through the medicine cabinet. A fever? That would imply that he was too hot, when the problem seemed to be that he was too cold. He resisted the urge to shiver as he pulled his knees to his chest and curled up tightly in a ball.
Soon, Al was back at Ed's side, shaking down the mercury in the thermometer and slipping it under his tongue. Ed was too exhausted to protest. He and Al sat in silence for a few moments, with Ed's eyelids bobbing open and closed as he struggled to stay awake.
Al plucked the thermometer from his mouth and held it up close to his face, scrutinizing the numbers. Worry began to pool deep within him as he read the temperature.
102
He set the glass tube down on the bedside table and looked down at his brother. His pale face was coated with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes were glossy and dazed. He took one last look at Ed, before reluctantly hurrying over to the landline on the wall.
･ﾟ: *･ﾟ*･ﾟ: *･ﾟ*･ﾟ: *･ﾟ*･ﾟ: *･ﾟ*･ﾟ: *･ﾟ*
The office was quiet that day, the atmosphere still solemn due to the fragile health of their youngest teammate, yet thick with fury towards the man who had inflicted the damage.
Colonel Mustang had filed a complaint several times so far, and he had yet to receive a response. He and everyone else in the room were getting antsy, ready to solve the problem themselves with a fist to Colonel Stratton's face. That is, until the phone rang.
They all started at the shrill tone, their heads darting to the offending device sitting in the corner of Roy's desk. He sighed and begrudgingly picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear and putting as much false energy into his greeting as possible.
"Colonel Mustang speaking."
It was silent for a while after that, with Roy occasionally muttering a few quiet words into the phone. The longer he listened, the more his brow furrowed, and he soon rested his chin in his hand, just quietly listening.
The tense silence spread throughout the room, and with the look on Roy's face it was enough to unsettle the rest of the team. Something appeared to be wrong, and they were all sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for an explanation.
There were hastened goodbyes, and Roy hung up the phone. He laid his chin on his folded hands, taking in the concerned faces of his subordinates. He sighed.
"That was Alphonse. Edward is sick with a fever, and he sounds really worried. How about we take a break and head over to the dorms? I want to see how he is." Roy explained, standing up behind his desk and tucking away a few documents.
They were all quick to agree, the mention of a fever causing an uproar of anxiety in the room. Fever was never good, especially when you're dealing with a sick kid who recently had a pretty serious operation.
Everyone was ready to go in less than five minutes. They had all tidied up their workspaces, which went quickly due to the fact that they hadn't been getting much work done in the first place.
The dorms were attached to the building through a series of hallways, which they all navigated a bit quicker than usual, all itching to see the condition that Edward was in. It seemed as if Ed's suffering was never-ending, there were incidents one after another, and the poor kid couldn't seem to catch a break. He didn't deserve any of this, and Colonel Stratton would pay, as soon as they had verified that Ed was okay first.
Soon, they were all standing in front of Ed and Al's dorm. Roy stared anxiously at the door for a moment, before delivering a few firm knocks.
Shuffling could be heard behind the door, and mere seconds later Alphonse was eagerly swinging it open.
"Colonel Mustang! Thank you for coming." He greeted with a small bow. "Please, come in." He moved out of the doorway and gestured inside.
Roy nodded to him in acknowledgement, stepping inside anxiously, dying to see just how sick his little hot-headed alchemist really was. His team was quick to follow behind him.
There upon the bed lay Edward, seemingly asleep, curled up into a tight ball under the covers. His hair was slicked against his face with sweat, the apples of his cheeks flushed against his ashen skin.
He just looked so sick. So small.
Roy and Havoc rushed over to kneel next to the bed, while the rest stayed and talked with Alphonse, though they spared the occasional worried glance towards Edward. Roy brushed the sweat-soaked bangs away from his face, before gently placing the back of his hand against his forehead. He nearly recoiled at the amount of heat radiating from Ed.
"Alphonse, when did you last check his temperature?" Roy inquired, worry seeping into his voice.
"I took it about 20 minutes ago, and it was 102." Al replied, wringing his hands together anxiously. Roy hummed uncertainly, picking up the thermometer from the side table and shaking it down. He gently pulled down Ed's chin and slipped the thermometer under his tongue, pushing his mouth back closed again.
Havoc sat on the edge of the bed, pulling down the comforter to get a look at Ed's incision. Ed curled up tighter at the loss of heat with a moan of protest. He furled up into Roy's blue jacket that was still draped around his shoulders. Havoc frowned with sympathy.
"I know kiddo, I'm sorry." He muttered, pulling the side of the jacket away to reveal the bandages on Ed's side. Ed's brow furrowed, but his eyes stayed closed as Havoc gently peeled away the gauze and tape.
The incision was a long line of inflamed red, the many lines of black stitching contrasting against the tight skin. Wherever it wasn't an angry red, was a crust of sickening yellow scabs layered over the stitches. Havoc frowned with worry, seeing exactly what he hoped wasn't the case. An infection. He softly pressed the backs of his fingers against the skin around the wound to check for unnatural heat, though he knew what to expect.
Ed's breath hitched in his throat at the touch, his eyes flickering open slightly as he pushed Havoc's hand away from his sore side. He spit out the thermometer onto his bed, squinting questioningly at Roy and Havoc.
"Hey, chief. Sorry, that must hurt, huh?" Havoc murmured in a soft voice as Roy picked up the discarded thermometer and analyzed the numbers.
Ed rubbed his eyes sleepily with a yawn, wincing at the light in the room. He pulled his knees further into his chest with a shiver. Roy's heart dropped in his chest at the sight of the temperature. He silently passed the thermometer to Havoc. Soon, the look of worry was mutual.
104
Havoc frowned, the anxiety in his gut growing steadily. He pulled the covers back over Ed, which he snuggled into gratefully. They both stood from their crouched positions, turning to face Al and the team, who watched on with worried eyes. Roy turned to Riza.
"Hawkeye, will you bring the car around? We need to go to the hospital with him." He informed regretfully. Riza's stoic and professional mask faltered for a moment, her brow furrowing and her eyes scanning over the small head of blond hair peaking out from the blankets, before she gave a stiff salute and hurried out of the room.
"What? What's wrong with him?" Alphonse queried anxiously, eyes darting over his ill brother.
"He has an infection in the incision site, he needs antibiotics." Havoc announced, a sour look of worry on his face. Al shifted and nodded with a small noise of concern. His head then popped up in realization before he padded across the room.
"Here, we can take him in this." He offered, pulling a small red wagon out from the corner of the room. "We usually use it for groceries and books, but we can pull him in this, so that way no one has to carry him the whole time." He reasoned, pulling the wagon over to Ed's bedside. Roy and Havoc both nodded in agreement.
Fuery, Breda and Falman all rushed to pull pillows and blankets from the beds and closets to pile in the wagon, making it as comfortable as possible for Ed. They placed a pillow for his head near the handle and another ust underneath so that his incision didn't bump against the hard metal.
Havoc then scooped Ed up into his arms, blankets and all, frowning at just how warm the bundle was, and gently set him down in the wagon. Ed didn't even open his eyes at the movement, quickly settling into the soft cushioning underneath him.
Fuery hurried up next to them, carrying a cool cloth that he had just run under the tap. He laid it gently down on Ed's forehead. He stirred a little at the touch, humming under his breath and shifting in his blanket cocoon. Alphonse still stood at the head of the wagon, holding on to the handle. He looked Ed up and down to make sure he seemed comfortable before heading out of the dorm, following Roy and the team.
As they walked through the hallways, they earned a few curious and concerned stares, but no one dared to ask why the Flame Alchemist was walking along in a sad-looking parade consisting of a few soldiers, a suit of armour, and a sleeping kid burritoed in blankets being tugged along in a wagon. They all found it in their best interest to keep out of the matter.
As always, Hawkeye had followed through with her orders and she was ready and waiting outside the front doors with the car. Roy thanked her with a nod, pulling open the doors to the back seats before getting himself into the passengers seat.
Havoc scooped the sleeping Ed into his arms along with his bundle of blankets, being careful not to press against the swollen stitches in his side. He got into the back seat and pulled him into his lap. Ed's eyes fluttered open a few times with all the movement, but they were hazy and unseeing, glossed over with fever.
Alphonse climbed in next to Havoc and his brother, not taking his eyes off of Ed for a second. At that point, the car was full, especially with the bulk of Al's armour. The others decided to take another car and follow behind them, and they would all meet up at the hospital.
So with that, Hawkeye pulled out of the parking lot and sped off in the direction of the hospital. She drove as gently as she could, swerving around potholes and cracks in the road, doing the best she could to avoid bumps so as to not wake or hurt Edward. In fact, Ed seemed unaware that he was in a car at all, which was unsettling as much as it was comforting.
Ed was too quiet. Too warm. Too small. Too sick. It didn't seem fitting of the rambunctious kid that nearly made up for his stature with sheer volume. As he layed there in Havoc's arms, seemingly not knowing any of his surroundings due to his concerningly high fever, they all couldn't help but worry.
After all, an infection or fever bad enough could kill someone, and Ed had just had major surgery, he was missing two limbs, and he was just plain small.
He was so sick. He may have been dying.
All thanks to some bastard with unstable self-esteem and fragile masculinity.