Ed woke up to the dull throbbing that had become his new norm. It was so commonplace for him now that he could nearly ignore the dull aches and twangs that came with long stretches between medical doses, which were coming few and farther in-between as Ed grew stronger. Still, the winter had been harder than he had expected. Double that with getting fitted with automail and beginning rehabilitation right at the beginning of the turn of the season, Ed could barely remember the past few months through the haze of pain killers.
He was thankful the worst of the winter weather was over, and he was growing stronger and steadier every day. He nearly mastered simple use of his automail limbs, though he still had a noticeable limp and frequently ripped book pages and cracked delicate glasses. Still, Ed was making exponential progress. So much so that his rehabilitation wasn't his main focus anymore, and now he was preparing for the state alchemy exam, corresponding with Mustang, filling out applications, and doing whatever research he could get his hands on.
Ed's head flopped to the side to see Alphonse wasn't in his usual spot at Ed's bedside. As Ed got better, Al spent less time hovering over his brother 24/7. Pinako or Winry must have recruited him in making breakfast or something, and let Ed sleep in for a rare occurrence. After all, it was his birthday.
Ed blinked, realizing it was his birthday.
He had been so focused on everything else, his twelfth birthday had snuck up on him with little warning. He pushed himself into the sitting position, making sure to try to use his automail arm, when his eye caught on something uncommon sitting on the bedside table atop his most recently read alchemy book.
Ed felt his heart clench as he realized what it was. He had almost not expected to receive a letter this year; as if whatever unseen force delivering these letters would stop the moment he had caused his mother to die a second time.
He didn't want to read it. He didn't want to think about his mother. He had spent so long being so sure that he would see her again that the letters had been a source of hope. Now though, now Ed trembled at the thought of reading her letter, as if she somehow knew what he and Al had done to her, and he would get reprimanded, disowned, punished more than he and Al both already had been when the transmutation failed.
Still, Ed found his pale, shaky hand reaching out by its own volition, and taking the letter from the end table. He opened the envelope, careful not to allow his automail fingers to rip the delicate parchment.
My Dearest Darling Edward,
As always, I hope this letter finds you well. Happy birthday, sweetheart.
Ed's face crumpled even reading just the first lines. He couldn't do this, he couldn't do it. He placed the letter face down on his sheet and screwed his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions.
So he hadn't gotten better at coping with the loss of his mother; it was just the thought of seeing her again that kept Ed going. But now he knew she was gone for good. There was no human transmutation; and if there was, there was no sacrifice worth it. Nothing was worth what he had already lost, nothing worth what Al had lost.
Ed choked on a sob and pressed his automail fist to his lips to quiet the gasp that threatened to turn into full on sobbing.
He brought the paper back up to his face, determined to get through it; another small personally inflicted punishment. He had to read his mother's words, and understand the disappointment she would feel against him.
But the tears kept flowing, unrelenting, and Ed cried harder than he had in a long time. These weren't the involuntary tears of pain from automail surgery, they weren't fearful tears that came almost nightly when nightmares of losing Al inevitably came. These were tears of grief and loss, ones he should have shed when he was five years old, but had pent up for years and years behind a dam constructed with alchemical solutions, determination, and focus.
The words inked on the page smudged like watercolor in Ed's vision as the tears blinded him. He couldn't read his mother's kind words through his heavy sobs. Maybe he didn't deserve to read them anyway.
Ed had betrayed her; killed her a second time and damned the little brother she entrusted Ed to protect. She would hate him now, she would be so disappointed in everything he had done, all the time and effort wasted just for it to all blow up in their faces.
He didn't deserve his mother's letters anymore, he didn't deserve her kindness or her love.
Ed bit on his lip as it began to quiver, and he instinctively balled his fists, the letter getting crumpled mercilessly between metal fingers. He crumpled the paper further, knowing his mother wouldn't want him to have it if she knew the sins he had committed in her name, and he threw it across the room, not even watching to see where it landed before he fell onto his pillows, and sobbed himself into a comfortless sleep.