Hey!
Do y'all want a poorly edited, poorly proofread update to a story no one cares about?
No?
Too fucking bad.
He was falling.
He couldn't remember the ground disappearing beneath him.
He couldn't remember if he screamed.
He only remembered falling, and though he couldn't remember landing, he remembered what happened when he woke.
He did not want to wake up.
XXX
Alphonse had seen how fast his brother could move.
At least, he thought he had.
The storm had caused some damage; not too bad, but bad enough that Farmer Sweet down the road had asked the brothers if they would come make some repairs on the loft of his barn. It was a miracle that the central beam hadn't snapped already, he explained as he led Alphonse and Edward along mud-soaked path to his dairy farm. The work was old and it hadn't been treated against the humidity of summer and dryness of winter, and the intersection where it came through the loft floor had been showing signs of rot.
"I'm too big to go up there myself; I'll send the whole place crashing. But y'all are small. I bet it'll stay put for you."
Edward had bristled at being called small.
Alphonse had told him to stay put.
"The storm did a number on your leg – don't tell me it didn't because I was the one who brought you your aspirin because you told Winry to… besides, you can't really" he waved his hands in a vague gesture "anymore."
Al pretended not to notice the passing pain in his brother's eyes at the reminder of his alchemy – or rather, his lack thereof.
"No, I can't… but I can run faster to the nearest phone when you inevitably shatter the wood from the weight of your giant muscles."
Alphonse smiled and raised a golden eyebrow.
"I see how it is. You don't want to be stuck in the house with Winry during her monthlies."
Ed's face swelled with blood.
"I – that's not it –"
"The female reproductive system is truly a terrifying thing."
"The colonel says women need privacy –"
"You asked the brigadier general about a woman's monthlies?!"
"No! I mean, the lieutenant didn't come in one day and I was worried so I asked –"
"Aww, you do care!"
Edward gave up and pushed passed his brother and out of the house before Alphonse could stop him.
He should have listened to his brother.
He wasn't much help, watching Alphonse work on the beam, sitting on a hay bale in the loft and feeling the sharp ends of the straw stab him in the thighs.
"I'll have to break the rotten part out and lengthen the wood with some scrap before I can put the bottom half back on," Al though out loud, studying the rectangle dropping down from the ceiling. The other half lay sprawled on the floor of the barn ten feet below. "Hey, Brother, what kind of wood is this? Is it oak? I think it's oak."
"What does it matter?" Ed yawned and flopped onto his back on the hay. "Wood is wood is wood."
"Because different types of wood have different hardnesses, different densities. If I use the wrong kind, the inconsistency in the grain could make the beam weaker."
Ed opened an eye, looked the beam up and down, and closed his eye.
"It's pine. It's too white and doesn't have enough swirls to be oak. No wonder it snapped. Anyone who knows anything about wood knows you used oak or fir for building. Pine is for furniture."
Edward couldn't see Alphonse staring with his eyes closed.
"How… how do you know that?"
"Didn't have much to do up north. The doctor's kid is a carpenter's apprentice. Read some of his old books while I was…"
The silence was awkward.
"Um… okay, well. Do you think there's any pine in the firewood?"
Ed rolled onto his feet again with a huff.
"If you really wanna fix it, just change the whole beam."
"Farmer Sweet didn't say to change the beam, he said to fix it."
"Farmer Sweet doesn't know shit."
"Brother! Can't you just –"Al stopped himself, took a deep breath, let it out, and started over. "Could you please go ask Farmer Sweet for some one wood?"
Edward huffed and crossed his arms.
"Why don't you do it?"
"Because I'm working on the beam."
"Yeah. And getting more wood is part of working on it."
"Can't hear you, too busy doing the work Farmer Sweet is paying me to do."
"Can't hear you, that soft pine is soaking up all the sound waves."
CRACK!
The pine wood did not soak up the sound of itself breaking as Al transmuted the rotten section off the beam.
Neither could it participate in holding up the loft now that it was no longer connected to the support beams underneath.
The half of the loft closest to the inside of the barn – the half Ed and Al were on, lurched sickeningly as the newly released force dissipated.
"Okay," Al said once the wood had stabilized, "now to get this rotten bit off the supports… You might want to get off now, Brother, I'm not sure the loft can take the weight of your automail right now."
No response.
"Brother?"
Al looked up and was met with nothing.
Edward was gone.
XXX
He didn't realize he'd been running until he stopped.
He sucked the air like it was thick and his knees buckled.
There was grass underneath him.
He could smell water.
"What in the – what are you doing out here, little one?"
Mrs. Sweet, her apron covered in flour from kneading dough, was running towards him, her tawny hair bouncing in its curls.
Edward was too breathless to be upset.
"Honey, why are you by the duck pond? Abel said you and your brother were up in the barn."
Ed turned to look. Sure enough, the oval shaped pool lay to his right, a brown-feathered duck and her green-headed mallard gliding peacefully on the smooth water.
"You're shaking… Is Alphonse all right? Did he fall?"
Ed felt his eyes bulge out of his head at the idea of his brother falling from the loft. It wouldn't have been a big drop, but it the floor of the barn was hard and unforgiving.
"Brother!"
Alphonse had not fallen from the loft.
He was running towards Edward and Mrs. Sweet, his face pinched and worried.
"Brother, you… you disappeared. What happened? Did you fall?" Then he stopped, realized the absurdity of the question, and changed it to, "Why are you by the duck pond?"
"Ducks," Edward mimed stupidly.
Why had he run to the duck pond?
Al's expression of worry deepened. He tried to hide it by pretending to share Ed's sudden fascination with the birds.
"Yes, Brother, they are ducks… Let's go home, okay? You look tired."
Ed frowned and when Al tried to take his arm and lead him away, he pulled free and took a shaking step back.
"No… no, we have to fix the loft. Farmer Sweet –"
" – Is perfectly capable of fixing it himself, the lazy oaf," Mrs. Sweet said, taking Ed's sweaty hand in her floury one. "But he did promise you money. Al, darling, go back and finish your work. I'll take care of Edward."
Al looked from his shaken brother, who was trying to recompose himself and might have if he'd been able to stop trembling, to the doting farm wife.
He bit his lip.
"Well… if you're sure."
"Go away, Al."
Ed flinched when he heard how high his voice came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"I'm fine. Let's just get this done."
"No, Brother," Al's own voice was kind but firm. "You're not well. Stay here and have a cup of tea with Mrs. Sweet.
"I don't want a cup of tea. I want to fix the barn."
"Oh, come now, there's nothing wrong with that barn and Abel knows it. He's just trying to see which one of you would make a good husband for Jane."
Jane Sweet had left Risembool the day after her sixteenth birthday, claiming she was chasing an apprenticeship at the East City Times.
Al's cheeks turned pink.
"Um… I'm sorry, but… we're both seeing someone."
"And Jane doesn't like men anyway. Now come, I'll get this boy something to drink and you go back to doing Abel's work for him."
Al's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth. Few in Risembool discussed practices considered to be forms of deviancy, let alone admit that partook in such practices. With the alchemical conquering of the various tribes to create Amestris came the near destruction of organized religion, but cultural trends run deep in a people. They may not say so out loud, but they all knew of the small shrines that popped up in the forest and around the river and the little offerings that would sometimes be left at them.
Edward found himself being tugged into a homely larder, a small room bordered by walls with shelves lined with jars, cans, and bags. He smelled the tang of salted meat and the dryness of beans. Mrs. Sweet took him through the larder and into the kitchen; the dining room connected to it and made up of only a small table by a bright window.
He was all but thrown into one of the chairs and Mrs. Sweet turned on the gas stove before filling the kettle with water. Ed noticed the window over the stove was open and pie sat cooling on the sill. As he watched, Mrs. Sweet took the pie from the window and placed it on the counter, taking up a pastry knife and slicing.
Edward opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Sweet, using whatever sense grandmothers have to know what the young are about to say before they say it, said, "Hush, young man. I made this for you and your brother. If Abel isn't willing to put in the work himself, he doesn't need the tea and cakes that come with it."
The pie was stuffed with gooseberries and blackberries and the tea tasted expensive.
When Alphonse joined them, Edward was finishing his second helping of pie and tea, and Mrs. Sweet was busily preparing a cup for Al.
Alphonse smiled ruefully at the crumbs on his brother's face, helped himself to Mrs. Sweet's cooking, then thanked the aging woman and escorted his brother home, assuring the Sweets that, no, they didn't need Farmer Sweet to hook up the wagon and take them home and they did not Mrs. Sweet to walk them.
Alphonse, sweaty and covered in wood shavings, walked side by side with his brother down the dirt road for the three quarters of a mile journey to the Rockbell house. As he walked, he studied his brother.
"Don't ask it, I don't want to talk about it," Edward said before Al could even begin conversation.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to. It was nothing. I just… I needed a piss."
"You must have needed it badly. I blinked and you were gone."
Ed looked away, watching the sky bruise from blue into indigo.
"I guess."
XXX
His hand had been rough.
Edward recognized the callouses of a man who was used to gripping things; hard things like the handles of shovels and axes, tools for farming and building, and taut leather straps like the reins of horses and an ox's yoke.
He remembered his mother had always wanted a cow.
A sweet milk cow they could visit in the morning and drink the hot, creamy milk from the bucket.
Alphonse had approved.
Edward had protested.
Trisha died before they could settle the decision.
Edward had closed his eyes and wished he'd let his mother have her milk cow.
XXX
The man's hand was rough.
That was the only thing he understood before he was staring at the dark-skinned man, his hair suggesting he was only part Ishvallan, rocking on the ground of the market and groaning as he clutched his broken arm.
Edward hadn't known what had happened.
"Brother? Brother!"
Alphonse had grabbed him and pulled him away. Winry had taken him from his brother and shook him.
"Edward Elric, what the hell did you do?!"
Edward had stared at her stupidly, not having an answer to give her.
"I'm sorry. My brother and I… we've –"
"He's the soldier boy, sir, it was his army training, you'll have to forgive him."
Ed didn't know what to think of the fruit seller standing up for him.
Alphonse kneeled beside the man and gently peeled his fingers from his arm. The break was clean and straight, more a fracture than anything else, but the swelling denied the possibility of a sprain.
The man had stopped moaning and stared at Alphonse silently, his jaw trembling as his teeth chattered. Ed didn't have to be a doctor to know he was going into shock.
"I'm sorry."
He pulled away from Winry and stood above the man he'd injured, too afraid to kneel and not daring to step away.
"I… I don't know –"
"It was a reflex."
The man's voice was steady despite the shakiness of his shoulders.
"You acted on instinct, not impulse. You have nothing to be forgiven for."
They took the man home. Edward did not dare to speak on the way.
Pinako splinted and wrapped his arm.
They offered to let him stay with them until he was healed and promised he would owe them nothing.
He was gone in the morning.
For some reason, the worst thing about it all for Edward was that they had been in town to buy apples for one of Winry's pies.
XXX
There were monsters all around.
They'd come out of nowhere, without warning, without reason.
They'd tried to tear him apart, and some succeeded, but he always escaped, bleeding and broken.
But the monsters were perfect predators.
They were only playing with their food.
XXX
He heard noises constantly.
The creak of a foot on the floorboards, the scrape of boots on gravel, a knife whispering as it was pulled from its sheathe and the whistling of hidden breathing.
Ed kept glancing over his shoulder, stopping and listening, flinching and jumping at the smallest of sounds.
Al never asked because he heard them too.
The only reason why he rarely reacted was because he kept forgetting he wasn't invincible.
XXX
When the day came, they lay together in bed late into the morning, the three of them each having their private reasons for not starting the day.
Winry stroked Al's soft, human hair and Al curled against Ed, none of them wanting to speak.
When they did, it was Winry who broke the silence.
"You know, this is supposed to be a happy day."
More silence.
"Not everything that happened that day was happy," Alphonse finally answered, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to his brother.
"No," Winry agreed, twining his hair into a braid. "I guess most of it wasn't."
They all jumped when the phone rang.
"Ed! Al! It's for you!"
For a minute, the brothers fought over who would take the call. They ended up unsurprisingly both going, Ed being the one to take the phone when Pinako grunted, "It's that Mustang man. I thought you retired." She didn't wait for his response and trundled away to continue her day's work.
"Fullmetal."
"'m not a State Alchemist anymore."
A beat, and then, "Edward."
"What do you want?"
"How are you holding up?"
"Holding up what? What do you want? I'm retired."
"You know what day it is."
Ed didn't say anything.
"How's your brother?"
"Why do you care?"
"Why don't you let him speak for himself?"
Ed took a breath to make a retort, then let it out in a huff before he handed the speaker and mouthpiece to his brother.
"Hello, Colonel – I mean, Brigadier General."
"Good morning, Alphonse."
"It's the afternoon."
Mustang chuckled humorlessly.
"I suppose it is. How are you."
"We're okay."
"Are you?"
Al smiled softly smiled.
"Sir, I can't help but get the impression that you're asking about yourself."
Roy huffed into the phone.
"You were always better at seeing through people than your brother. I just… I know anniversaries can be hard. Especially when it's the first one."
Alphonse remembered the first year after his mother died.
"The first's always the worst."
"How have you been sleeping?"
This time Al's laugh was humorous.
"Better than I have in years."
An awkward pause.
"I could do without the nightmares, though."
He expected a snide comeback. Instead, Roy simply said, "We all could."
Then, "They're normal. The bad dreams. Everyone has them."
"I know. It would just be nice not to be jumpy all day and all night."
It was supposed to be a joke.
Mustang did not seem to think it was funny.
"You're… jumpy?"
"Me and Brother both. You should have seen him the other week. We were fixing Farmer Sweet's barn and when the loft moved 'cause I was working on it, Brother ran so fast he was at the duck pond before I even knew he was gone!"
Edward elbowed his little brother in the ribs.
Al kicked his big brother in the shin.
"That's… impressive. Have you –"
"Not nearly as impressive as Brother. I mean, my muscles aren't as strong, I'm used to fighting in the armor. Probably a good thing, too. It would have been pretty bad if I'd actually hit Mr. Buxton's mule. It spooked me when it screamed. Have you ever heard a mule? They sound like they're having their insides pulled out, but it's just how they sound."
"Alphonse –"
"Brother actually did hit they guy who snuck up on him. It was a crowded day at the market and everyone was trying to get some pineapples – pineapples, General, real pineapples – and I guess Ed thought the guy was… well, he looked part Ishvallan – and he broke the poor guy's arm! But he was so cool about it! He said he wished he could have been able to spar with Brother because it was clear Brother knows how to fight and –"
"Alphonse!"
It was the tone of concern in the brigadier general's voice rather than Al's name that made him stop.
"This… how long has this been going on?!"
Al had to think about that.
"I don't know. Maybe six months? I don't… I actually didn't really notice that it was weird. I guess I'm just…"
He didn't want to say he was used to being in danger.
It was during this pause that Edward snatched the phone from his brother.
"What the hell are you doing to my baby brother, you bastard?!"
"We haven't seen each other in awhile. How about if the colonel and I come and visit?"
"We don't want you here."
"Unfortunately, my reasons do not involve what you want, Fullmetal."
"I'm retired!"
"We'll see you both next weekend."
Ed threw the phone on the receiver with a roar.
Two days later, he had his first seizure.
XXX
After the incident in the market, Ed had secluded himself in the house.
This included isolating himself from the people of the house.
It hadn't been the first mistake of its kind since the brothers returned from Central, but it had certainly been the most serious. Edward knew it was probably irrational, some silly part of him that was making a mountain out a molehill… but he couldn't help wondering.
The wondering stopped when he'd been spending the day in the room he shared with Alphonse, reading a book about a compilation of allegedly true stories of people who'd experienced near-death experiences and claimed they'd seen God or angels – a surprising choice for Edward, who was irreligious and agnostic in so far that he believed that whoever or whatever had created the universe he lived in did so not so much with the intention of making children to dote on than for the sake of some self-serving agenda. He did not particularly care what that agenda was, considering his near non-existent ability to affect it. His interest in the book stemmed from the theory that the "God" or "angel" these people believed they had seen may have been, in fact, the Truth as they passed through, or nearly passed through, the transmutation that was death; and he'd wanted to test this theory by searching for similarities between the authors' experiences and his own.
His first thought when he began swallowing repeatedly was that his throat was dry and he simply needed something to drink. He set the book down and headed downstairs towards the kitchen, thinking about the pitcher of lemonade Winry had made yesterday. By the time he reached the ice box, he'd swallowed his own spit so many times his mouth was completely dry. He meant to open the ice box with his right hand and take the pitcher with his left when a burst of nervelessness travelled from his left shoulder down to his fingers and his shoulder started jumping without command.
Edward watched, too shocked to be horrified, as his shrugging shoulder morphed into jerking elbow, then a twisting wrist and wiggling fingers.
It occurred to him he should get help.
He was halfway across the living room when a second pop of numbness appeared in his left thigh. Now aware enough of what was happening to be properly afraid, he threw the right side of his body towards the front door as the metal of his automail knee buckled with a ear-grating squeal. By the time he reached the door, his leg was thrashing, its biological power source catching it up in the neural cascade spreading across Ed's body.
When Edward felt the right side of his body begin to thrash, he realized what exactly was happening to him.
Weird, he found himself thinking. I thought people passed out when these happened.
When Alphonse came inside, his fingers covered with sawdust from transmuting blocks of wood for the hearth, he found his brother blocking the threshold, drool running down his chin as he sat on the floor and stared at nothing in particular. When Al opened the door, he grinned and said in a slurred, warbley voice, "I drop my arm on da floor."
XXX
Pinako did not let him leave the bed for the rest of the day.
He did not argue with her since the migraine he woke up with after being half-carried, half-drug to his room by Alphonse and Winry kept him against the wall so that he could press his forehead against the plaster. He'd slept the rest of the day, answering any attempts to get him to eat with a moaned order to leave him be.
He slept long and hard, and when he woke the next day it was lunch time. He'd been famished from skipping dinner and breakfast and all but inhaled the sandwich he found waiting for him in the kitchen.
"How are you, Brother?" Al dared to ask as Ed chugged the final glass of lemonade in the house.
"Don't ask me what happened, I can't remember. Really!" he insisted, seeing Al's disbelieving glare. "I was reading a book and I got thirsty, and so I came downstairs and got all twitchy, and then I woke up upstairs. That's it."
"He's telling the truth," Winry spoke up from where she'd been listening in the corner, leaning against the sink, an unfinished second pitcher of lemonade on the counter beside her. "Most people who have seizures can't remember them." Edward would have wondered if he was having a second one, what with how rarely Winry readily agreed with him on anything, but the fact that she had more medical knowledge than he could ever hope to have suggested her siding with him was real.
Edward had expected Winry to be angry. Instead, her face was tight with worry and she wordlessly returned to stirring the contents of the pitcher. After a minute, she asked, "Is this the first time you've… that this has happened?"
Ed crunched into the pickle Winry had given him with his sandwich.
"If it wasn't, I wouldn't remember it."
Winry couldn't really argue with her own logic, though it didn't change the decision she'd made.
"As your specialist, I'm forbidding you from exerting yourself today."
"Wasn't planning on it."
"Alphonse, I'm putting you in charge of him."
Edward choked on his pickle.
"What?! I don't need babysitting!"
Al simply shrugged.
"So, business as usual?"
They spent the day playing poker, which ended with Al holding Ed in a headlock and rubbing Ed's scalp with his knuckles.
"Al!"
"You cheated!"
"Let me go!"
"Ah ah ah! Remember what Winry said! No exerting yourself."
"All right, all right, uncle, uncle!"
"So you admitted you cheated?"
"No!"
"Winry!"
"Hey, that's cheating!"
XXX
Edward's second seizure happened three days before the brigadier general and the colonel were scheduled to arrive.
He was resting from his third when Alphonse answered the door on Saturday.
"Alphonse. How are you?" Roy Mustang removed his hat and bowed slightly. Colonel Hawkeye, ever beside him, stood stoic and silent.
Al managed a forced smile.
"I'm fine, sir. How have you been?"
Roy stepped into the house, Riza right behind him.
"I can't complain. Central is as it always has been… well, almost always."
"Without the electorate party to cast votes in the name of the people, the public can choose their leaders directly don't have to risk losing their choice to corrupted officials," Hawkeye explained, her air official but her eyes warm.
Roy "hmmed" amusedly and she allowed herself a small smile in return.
"But you didn't invite us to talk politics. Where's Fullmetal? How is your brother?"
Alphonse couldn't stop his face from falling.
"He's… he's not been well…"
"I'm fine, you jackass!"
Edward stumbled down the stairs, his movements clumsy and his hair every which way. He looked drunk, Al thought, as Ed hobbled over to the guests and glared at his former commanding officer.
"I ain't been better'n my life."
Roy raised an eyebrow.
"You've certainly looked better, Fullmetal."
"I'm retired, you moron!"
"Brother! You're supposed to be resting –"
"I'm not tired."
Riza stepped forward, taking Ed's arm and trying to lead him to the soft furniture of the living room. "Let's sit down, Edward."
Edward wobbled obediently the first few steps, stopped, and brought a hand to his neck when his throat started pulsing reflexively.
"No, no, not again!" Al moaned as he grabbed his brother and pulled him the rest of the way to the sofa.
"I fucking knew it," Mustang swore as he watched the the convulsions spread from Ed's throat to his face and left shoulder.
"I have to get Winry. Don't let him die!" Alphonse tore out of the room, leaving Edward glowering in what Roy could only fathom was annoyance as he twitched and jerked.
"Bet you wished you told me when I asked, hey pipsqueak?"
"Sir, please."
Hawkeye sat down next to Edward and braced his body with her hand on his jumping shoulder.
Alphonse returned with Winry Rockwell in tow. The girl walked with a cool concern that Al envied.
"How long has this one been going on for?"
"Only a minute."
Roy wondered what that told her, but it must have told her something because her jaw stiffened and sat down on Ed's other side and took his thin fingers in hers, doing her best to keep her own pressed to Ed's right wrist, which was only now beginning to move.
She monitored his pulse, but other than that, did nothing. Feeling useless, Mustang offered to fetch something – water, a cloth, anything she might need to treat her patient – but Winry shook her head.
"The best we can do is to make sure he doesn't hurt himself and wait for it to stop. If we hold him down, we could break bones. Generalized seizures like this can make some pretty powerful muscle movements."
"You seem familiar with this."
Winry eyed the general sidelong in a way that made him feel like she was wondering why he bothered asking.
"I'm an automail surgeon and the daughter of doctors. I see seizures like this all the time. I have to be able to tell if the seizure is caused by brain damage, a neural disorder, or a response to medication."
So she knew.
That made Roy's job a little easier.
Al seemed to catch the unspoken meaning that passed between them and his pale face whitened considerably.
"Br… brain damage?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It's not at all uncommon in retired soldiers, and after the Promised Day…" his throat went dry for a reason he couldn't explain. He swallowed and tried again. "Lately, we've been seeing it more often than usual. In fact, it's why the colonel and I decided to pay a visit."
Roy paused to watch in morbid fascination as the seizure finished its journey, spreading to all parts of Edward's body so that all his limbs, fake and real, as well as his head were spasming.
"This isn't just happening to Fullmetal. It's happening to people everywhere. So we've decided to do something about it."
Taut is almost done. After almost six years, that feels weird to think about.
As soon as its out of the way, I have a story like it planned out, but I can't talk about it, 'cause anything I'd say would be a spoiler.