Roy dragged himself down the stairs, rubbing his eyes blearily. There was only one coherent thought echoing through his mind at the moment: coffee.
The night had been long. He hadn't slept well, and was awakened twice by Ed's screams during the night. Both times he had rushed to the boy's room to find him curled up in Alphonse's arms and whimpering.
He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the boy's voice so twisted and distorted by fear and pain. He decided that it wasn't something he wanted to hear again, though he would probably be hearing it often now . . .
He shoved those thoughts aside. It was too early for that. Coffee. Coffee first, thoughts later.
He was surprised to find the lights on in the kitchen, and even more surprised to find Alphonse at the table where he had been last night, books spread out and stacked haphazardly around him, stuffed with loose notes and bookmarks and pencils. He was scribbling furiously in a notebook, his gauntlets a flurry of motion as he wrote.
He didn't seem to notice Roy as he slipped beside him, peering over the suit's massive shoulders to get a look at what had him so driven at five in the morning. Roy had never seen Alphonse's handwriting and had always thought it would be rather distorted by his enormous hands, but that wasn't the case at all. His writing was neat, and though a bit large, it was drawn in an elegant, gentle script that somehow reflected his personality.
"Chi?" Roy asked, murmuring one of the words that had come up four times in the first six sentences.
Alphonse jumped, the pencil etching a jagged line across the page from his startled hand. "Colonel! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry! I was just trying to—"
Roy waved a dismissive hand, cutting off Al's babbling. "No, I was just going to cook some breakfast before I headed for work."
Alphonse's soul fire eyes glanced at the clock on the wall. "Five in the morning? Already?"
"Almost six," Roy corrected, shifting past him and making his way for the coffee pot. "How long have you been down here?"
Alphonse glanced back at his notes. "A while, I guess. Ed hadn't woken up in a while, and while I was sitting with him, I remembered something I read last night and had a thought I wanted to look into. Something about chi. Apparently there's a way to combine alchemy with this 'chi' and use it for healing." His voice was gaining momentum, babbling excitedly in a way that reminded Roy of Ed when he had some kind of breakthrough. The boys had their differences, but they were very much alike when it came to research. "I can't find any mention of it being practiced in Amestris, but it seems to originate in Xing. There's just not enough information about it for me to work with. I thought I'd gone through every medicinal book in the State Library, but this is something I've never heard before. Maybe if I can get back in there, I can find more about it," he hinted, turning hopeful eyes to Roy.
There was no way on earth Roy would deny him that. "I'll have Miss Scheska go through and check out every book there is on chi for you."
Al looked completely ecstatic. "Thank you so much, Colonel!"
Roy smiled and picked up his first cup of coffee. "I can at least manage that much." Alphonse turned back to his books and scribbled a few points on a napkin as Roy watched him. He sipped his drink, letting the rich aroma and the liquid's chemical properties force his mind into some semblance of wakefulness as he took the opportunity to study the boy. He found nothing incredibly enlightening from the cold visage of the armor, though. "How are you holding up?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
Al glanced up as if surprised to be asked such a question. "Me? I'm fine . . . Ed's the one—"
Roy shook his head. "I didn't ask about Ed. This is taking its toll on you, too. It's okay to admit it."
Again, despite the limited expression of the helmet, Alphonse managed to look surprised. Roy wondered with a stab of guilt when the last time was that Alphonse had been treated like a child and not like a hulking suit of armor. It was so hard to remember that Alphonse was only fourteen. He was just a kid, even younger and more sensitive than his brother. It was obviously hard on him to see the one person he relied on so heavily be so broken.
"I'm fine . . ."
Roy arched an eyebrow.
Al looked down at his hands. "Well, I mean . . . I just hate seeing Ed this way . . . He's so scared, and he's never been scared, you know?" His voice was quiet, reflective. "But he hates it so much, and he's trying so hard to protect me from it that he tries to hide everything, but I can still see it. I know it kills him to rely on other people so much. He's so frustrated with himself and everything, and I don't know what to do to help."
"I think you're doing everything you can, Alphonse," Roy assured him, pulling out a chair beside him at the table and dropping into it. "He's not going to improve overnight."
"I know, but he won't even talk to me!" Al said, the frustration in his voice laced with a strange sort of desperation. "I've tried asking him what happened up in Drachma, but whenever I do, he shuts down! He won't talk or move or anything unless I touch him or something scares him."
Roy frowned at that. Despite it being a breach in protocol, he had been putting off getting Ed's report until the boy was more settled, but this complicated things. If he wouldn't even talk about it, it was going to be difficult to get the information Roy needed to find the scum that had put Ed in this position in the first place.
Just the thought of it made his blood boil anew.
He took a sip of coffee, letting it scald his tongue on the way down and settle his thoughts.
"It seems as if he's having some sort of dissociative episode," he said, trying to bring his thoughts back to the conversation.
"What can we do, though? He'll never agree to see a psychiatrist for it."
"He'll go," Roy assured him. "It's in his best interests, so I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." Though he had yet to work out how he was going to make that happen . . .
A sudden crash made them both jump from their seats.
Roy was the first to move, Al hot on his heels as he followed the stream of muffled swearing to the living room.
The sitting room was still dark in the predawn light, but Roy quickly found the cursing pile of fabric on the floor at the base of the stairs. "What are you doing, Fullmetal?!" he asked, bending down beside the blanket and pulling it back. Ed was curled up on the ground, dressed only a pair of shorts and the bandages around his torso. His only arm cradled his bandaged side as he hissed something that might have been a reply, but was probably more of a declaration of pain.
"You shouldn't be coming down the stairs by yourself!" Roy berated, trying to pull back Ed's hand to get a better look, but Ed resisted the movement.
"I can come down the stairs if I want to!" Ed snapped with a glower aimed too high above Roy's head. He shook Roy's hand away and pulled the blanket back over his shoulder almost protectively, tucking his legs under him with a wince as he made to stand.
"Whoa, Brother, let me help you," Al said, stepping forward to put a hand under Ed's arm.
Ed kept his scowl in place and brushed off his brother's touch, and though he was only a soul bound to a suit of armor, Roy saw the hurt in his glowing red eyes as if they were human. "I can stand up by myself," Edward insisted, granted his was voice much more gentle than it had been for Roy. He gingerly released his side as he sent his hand out, searching for something behind him to pull himself up.
It was Roy's turn to scowl. What had him so upset this early in the morning? "Ed, you're being unreasonable—"
Ed whirled on him, but the effect was somewhat muted by the way he was staring off to Roy's left. "No, you're being unreasonable! I'm blind, not invalid! I'm not just going to sit upstairs and wait for someone to come carry me down like some cripple." He spat the word like a curse. "And I'm not going to see some stupid psychiatrist! I can handle what's in my head myself!"
So that was what was really going on. The boy must have been eaves dropping on their conversation from the top of the stairs.
Roy sat back on his heels and took a deep breath, a vain effort to keep his temper in check. Why could the brat not do the smart thing, just for once? "Ed, you're blind. You don't know my house that well, and you're going to fall down the stairs and break your neck!"
"That would be just fine with me," Ed muttered, his voice suddenly muted as he dropped his empty eyes to the floor. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with this crap."
If Ed had shouted it, Roy wouldn't have given it a second thought.
But the hopeless way that he whispered it hit Roy so hard that he couldn't speak. Something cold settled in his gut as the weight of Ed's words sank in.
There was the slightest of chances that Ed was suicidal.
It wasn't uncommon for those who had gone through traumatic events to become that way. Roy himself had teetered on the brink before Hughes had pulled him from the edge, but this hadn't even been a possibility for Ed in Roy's mind.
Ed was so much stronger now than Roy had been.
There was no way . . .
"Brother?" Al's voice asked, a hushed, hollow whisper in the suddenly still room.
Ed's eyes widened as if he just realized what he had said. "No, Al, I didn't mean that!" he said, suddenly frantic. He turned to Al, his hand reaching out for him just inches from his metal shins. "I would never do something like that! Al?" he asked, but his brother kept silent. "Alphonse, answer me!" he demanded, hand groping desperately through the air.
With great deliberateness, Alphonse bent down on his knees. Ed froze, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he listened. Roy looked on with a frown. What was the kid doing?
Al settled himself on the floor and leaned forward, mere inches from his brother.
And punched him in the face.
Ed fell back past Roy and landed against the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock as he brought his hand up to his jaw. Admittedly the blow didn't look like it had been very hard, but once the shock of it wore off, Roy tensed, readying himself to deal with one of Ed's flashbacks.
But Ed just rubbed his jaw and stared while Al made shuddering sounds, as if he were trying to calm himself by pretending to breathe. "You're an idiot," he hissed, voice low and smoldering before he was shouting, "My brother is a big, fat idiot!"
Ed stared ahead, dazed, sightless eyes unblinking as he leaned against the wall. "Al—"
"You promised me!" Al shouted, his voice vibrating with more anger than Roy had ever heard from the boy. Even he wanted to shrink away from Al's sudden rage. "You're not allowed to die because we have to get our bodies back! How could you even say such a thing?!
"And so what if you're blind? So what? I can't do this by myself, Brother! I need you, and now you need me! Is it so bad that I want to help you? We're only trying to help you get better, and all you do is throw it back in our faces?! You've been taking care of me for seven years, Brother. It's time for you to let me take care of you!"
Ed's mouth moved up and down wordlessly for a moment before some of the shock on his face dissolved away, like dust in the rain. His expression softened, and in the dimness, Roy almost could have sworn he saw his lip twitch in a ghost of a smile. "You're right, Al," Ed murmured, looking down. "You're right. I know you're only trying to help, and I'm just . . . not being very cooperative, am I?" he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I acted this morning."
Leave it to Alphonse to get an apology out of Edward Elric.
Al took a shaky breath and nodded, though Ed couldn't see it. "And you'll go to the psychiatrist?"
A wince crossed his face, but it disappeared quickly. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll try it once," he said, the words seemingly reluctant to leave his lips.
"Six times," Al insisted.
Ed blinked. "Six?! That's an awful lot to just try something—"
"Six times," Al repeated, more forcibly. "Twice a week for three weeks."
The blond scowled. "Fine! I'll try it six times!"
Al's eyes seemed to soften, a certain warmth flooding them that contrasted sharply with the cold steel of his armor. "Thank you, Brother."
His scowl stayed firmly on his face. "But it's for you. Not for Colonel Jerk-face."
"Well," Roy commented, "Colonel 'Jerk-face' needs to look at your side now." He moved to sit beside Ed against the wall and took the opportunity to visually scan Ed's torso while his hand was out of the way, still cradling his jaw. "You didn't tear out any stitches, did you?" he asked, reaching out to peel back some of the thick bandages.
Ed flinched at the touch, but didn't swat him away this time. "It's fine," he said.
"Ed," his brother warned, a subtle hint at the conversation they had just had.
"Okay, so it hurts, but there's nothing either of you can do about it!" Ed amended grumpily, but he let Roy pull back the linens. A bit of blood seeped from four of the stitched injuries between his ribs and on his stomach where a couple of the stitches had torn lose, but nothing more. Still, with Silas moving his appointments down to twice a week, the wounds would need to be mended, cleaned and redressed.
"You're bleeding a bit, and several of these tore open. We'll have to clean this up," Roy said, looking to Alphonse. "Grab his hospital bag."
"You're going to be late to work," Al said, somehow managing to sound guilty. "We can take care of it."
"Yeah," Ed said a little too quickly, reaching for the blanket that had somehow gotten wrapped around his legs and pulling it over himself, hiding his torso from view. "Al can help me."
If Roy were being honest with himself, he would admit to feeling a twinge of hurt at the way Ed had said it, as if afraid of having Roy help him with the task.
Roy brushed it aside. Ridiculous.
"Fine. I trust you can handle breakfast as well, then?" he asked the suit of armor. "I have to be there in fifteen minutes, or Hawkeye is going to shoot me."
"In that case, maybe you should stick around a while longer," Ed suggested sweetly.
"Only if it's so I can shoot you," Roy muttered. On that note, he dragged himself to his feet and to the kitchen, dumping his mug of cooling coffee into a paper cup before shrugging on his winter coat and leaving the house.
He absently hoped the Elrics didn't destroy it by the time he got back.
The fall from the stairs hadn't been all that bad, really. As far as Ed's careful fingers could tell, there were just a few pulled stitches between his ribs and his stomach, and a bit of blood. His whole side was on fire, but it shouldn't be that big of a deal to stitch it back up, right?
Right after Mustang had left, Al tried to see to the wound, and although Ed wasn't comfortable with anyone touching his body, especially so close to something that hurt, he decided he could do that much for Al's peace of mind, and besides, Al wasn't just anybody; he had been tending to Ed's injuries for as long as Ed could remember.
So he had done his best to lay quietly so Al could see to the wounds and tried his best not to hyperventilate as irrational fear threatened to suffocate him and yank his mind to the past. Silas had always had to give him a mild tranquilizer when performing his examinations, so Ed thought he did a pretty good job of not passing out or having a flashback or ripping Al's arm off in a terrified frenzy.
But the way his gauntlets moved across his skin was all too familiar, cruel gloved hands roughly tracing up and down his emaciated rib cage, digging in to find the hallows between bones perfect for sliding in thick nails or small blades . . .
Ed squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the sensation go away. His hand dug into the blanket beside him on the bed. It was soft and warm. It wasn't the basement. He was safe. It was only Al, it was only Al, it was only Al . . .
Suddenly all the contact was gone. He heard Al step away and frowned. "I can't do it, Brother," Al murmured in a voice that could only be described as defeated.
He immediately reached for his blanket and pulled it back around him, as if it would somehow protect him. "Why not?"
"Because . . . I can't feel pressure, and you keep moving and I don't want to hurt you . . . I'm sorry, Brother."
The tone of his voice broke Ed's heart. He said it like it was all his fault and not Ed's, when he was the one that couldn't get his stupid fears under control. "No, Al, I'm sorry. Here, just try it again. I'll try not to move, I promise." Though every instinct he had fought against it, he pulled the blanket back, the cool air of the room raising gooseflesh on his bare stomach.
Cold, just like in the basement . . .
No. No.
Ed pulled the fabric back over him, squeezing his eyes shut even as his breathing quickened. He held his breath. He would not think about it. He would not he would not he would not.
He heard Al move beside him, kneeling at the bedside. "No, Ed, we don't have to. You . . . you're scared of me," he said, his voice breaking. "So we don't have to."
Ed felt his horror and frustration like a weight on his chest, crushing him, making it hard to breathe at all. "Al, I'm not scared of you," he insisted, unashamed that his pleas sounded an awful lot like begging. He reached out with his hand, latching on to Al's gauntlet on the bed beside him. It was so cold, but despite the absence of a body, he could feel Al's soul in there, thrumming through the metal with his life and energy. He had always been able to feel it, and it was the most comforting thing Ed had experienced even before his sight was taken.
"Al, please, I'm sorry. I'm not scared of you, you know that. I could never be scared of you, you're my little brother."
"Why won't you tell me what happened, then?" he asked, voice small and hurt. "Why don't you trust me enough with that?"
Just the thought of remembering . . . Ed's hand released his brother and wrapped around his throat. The bed was too soft, the air too thick, the wolves too close. He curled up on his side, the blanket tightening around him as he did. The pressure was soothing, and he tried to control his breathing.
In, hold, out, hold. In, hold, out, hold.
If he thought about it, he would find himself back there. He would realize that this was all some kind of strange, beautiful dream, like a façade that only held if he didn't question it. If he remembered, he would wake up, and if that happened, he knew for a fact that his fractured mind wouldn't survive it.
And worst of all, it was hurting Al and there was nothing Ed could do about it.
How was he supposed to be there for Al like this? How could he take care of his little brother if he panicked when he touched him, shut down when he asked him questions?
It tore him apart inside. He could feel the conflict, the anguish in his gut, clawing his stomach like a beast trying to rip free. Sudden heat burned behind his eyes, and though he tried so hard to force the tears down, to at least show Al some semblance of the big brother he had once been, he couldn't fight the raw agony rushing through his veins. Hot tears spilled down his face, and he sobbed into the feathery down of the pillow under his head.
"Brother?" Al whispered, horrified and uncertain.
And Ed could do nothing to comfort him. He couldn't even stop his own tears, much less the phantom ones he could hear in his little brother's voice.
But he couldn't just sit there while Al was hurting, even if he was the cause of it. "A—Al, it's okay," he sniffled, trying to tear his hand away from his own throat. He finally got his fingers to loosen and sought out Al. "It's okay, Al, don't cry," he whispered, finally finding Al's hand again and grabbing hold.
"I can't . . . I'm not crying, Brother," Al said, sounding both surprised and confused.
Ed could feel his lips twitch into a thin, watery smile. "I'm your brother, Al," he said, trying to blink tears away. "You can't hide from me in that suit of armor."
For a moment, everything went still. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing, and if he didn't have Al's hand under his own, he would have thought his brother wasn't there at all.
"Al?" he asked.
He felt the mattress shift and the hand under his move as Al reached his gauntlets under his knees and back, lifting him into the air blanket and all.
"Al!" he hissed, flailing for some kind of purchase as he was held in midair, disoriented as the room seemed to spin around him.
Then he felt his side touch something cold and he knew he was being held in his little brother's arms, cradled to his chest like a child. "Al?" he asked, confused, uncomfortable, and a bit worried.
"I'm sorry, Ed," Al whispered, "but . . . can we just . . . I mean . . ."
Though he was finding it hard to ask, Ed suddenly realized what his little brother needed. How long had it been since Ed had just given him a hug? Or hit him on the shoulder, or pat his head, or do anything for him other than lean on him and use him as some kind of crutch?
Right now his little brother needed this, this physical contact that was supportive and familial, even if he couldn't feel it like a normal person. He had always been needier than Ed was in that regard, always seeking out hugs from him and his parents and the Rockbells, even as a little kid. He wanted to be held as a toddler, and he liked to hold their mom's hand, even in public when Ed would be too embarrassed to do it.
And now it had been months since Ed had so much as seen him, and Ed wasn't going to deny him this. He had been so selfish, and no doubt Al was drained and exhausted from taking care of him. It was easy to get so caught up in the nightmares of his mind and forget his little brother had needs, too.
He leaned his head against Al's shoulder, letting the cool metal soothe his still-spinning head. "Sure, Al," he answered, a small smile twitching his lips.
He felt Al move, slowly sitting down on the ground with a groan of metal. Steel legs folded underneath him and he was gently lowered into his little brother's lap, his huge arms wrapping around him.
And there in his brother's solid grip, Ed had never felt safer. He leaned into the cold metal, more comforting than human flesh, and closed his eyes.
The thrum of his brother's soul gently lulled him into his first dreamless sleep in months.
-EDIT- Someone just asked when I update. I try to update 7-12 days after my last update, but I don't dare get any more specific than that. Heaven knows the day I do is the day life laughs in my face and I lose internet access for a month. This past update was an exception to the rule, since I told you guys I was going out of town, but yeah. Usually a week or a little over c: -END EDIT-
I love brotherly fluff c: Best siblings EVER.
Not sure if I'm happy with this or not, but I've kept you guys waiting for a while . . . so I posted it anyways lol. It was going to be so much longer, but I decided to hold off on the last scene for the next chapter, since it's giving me fits .
Many of you have asked what color Ed's blanket is . . . I don't think I want you to know yet, because it's something Ed's going to eventually wonder about and I don't want it ruined for you, if there's anything to be ruined lol xD It has to do with symbolism and me trying to be a good writer. I don't know if it will pan out like I want it to, but I'm going to try anyways :'D
Hope you enjoyed 'Stroke' while you were waiting for this chapter xD It was sort of my "sorry I'm not updating in a timely manner" fic. You may be wondering at this time if I am ashamed of this blatant self-promotion. The answer is no, not at all c:
Remember when i told you I was super busy? Still am lol :'D I'll try to reply to the reviews on the last chapter and on 'Stroke' by my next update.
Bed time. Bed time now.
God Bless,
-RainFlame
