Ed had always paced when he was nervous. When his mind was racing a mile a minute, it was like his body felt the need to keep up, and the urge to move was not one that could be easily stifled.

But even that small luxury was denied him. He sat on Mustang's couch, hand curled around Alphonse's knee and Alphonse's broad hand on his shoulder. He shifted, bouncing his real leg up and down, leaning up and back, curling his body underneath the blanket and straightening it. His skin was cold and clammy from sweat, but his face seemed to be burning up, and he felt that horrible, sick feeling as if his stomach were about to heave what little was in it all over the floor.

He had heard the car pull up outside a while ago now. Or at least it seemed a while ago . . . his sense of time wasn't very accurate anymore, but he knew why they were sitting out there, waiting. He knew exactly what they were waiting for.

Mustang would have told her everything, or at least everything he could. And Winry would be trying to stop crying.

Ed had tried all morning to keep his mouth shut in front of Alphonse, but as his fear grew, his need to confess did as well. He wanted to tell Al how scared he was, how much he didn't want her to see him this way. He wanted to beg his brother to take him away, or to tell Winry he was fine and to go home. Anything to avoid this.

But no matter what he said, this wouldn't go away and anything he had to say would just make his brother feel worse than he probably already did. Alphonse was suffering just as much if not more than Ed was, watching the head of their small, broken family turn into a crippled wreck. Ed bit his tongue and tried to be strong for Al, but strength was something that had fled him months ago. He found himself shaking, the conflict between what he wanted to do and what he needed do breaking him apart from the inside out. He drew in shuddering breathes as his body fought a wave of adrenaline, and finally he couldn't stand it.

"I can't do this, Al," Ed finally whispered, voice catching. She was the only one left, the only one he could still protect, if she just stayed away. If she saw him, she would know, and there would be no one left to pretend for. He wouldn't be able to lie to himself anymore. "Please just tell her to leave, Al, please."

He heard Al shift beside him and felt the huge gauntlet on his empty shoulder port move, wrapping around his thin body in a protective, supportive embrace. He leaned into it, allowing his body to conform against the hard metal suit, feeling the pulse of his brother's soul, strong and steady. "I'm here, Brother," he said, his sweet voice calm over a barely detectable tension. He was nervous, too. "I won't let anything happen. I promise."

He didn't understand. No one knew him as well as Alphonse, and even he didn't understand.

A sudden, terrible sense of isolation threatened to smother him.

Edward screwed his eyes shut and released a tight breath, then caught himself and hoped Alphonse didn't feel it. He hated how Al had to comfort him when Ed was supposed to be the one reassuring his little brother. He was supposed to be the big brother, strong and protective and infallible. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be this pathetic.

And now Winry would know, too.

He heard the car doors open and shut.

His heart jumped into his throat.

Ed suddenly got to his feet, staggering a bit as balance evaded him and his only arm flew out to steady himself on the coffee table.

"Brother, where are you going?!" Al asked, surprise pitching his voice an octave too high, armor clanking as he rose, too.

Ed clutched his blanket to him and stumbled to the other side of the table as quickly as he could. It wasn't very fast, but at least Al didn't catch up to stop him and he didn't fall down. He swept his hand out in front of him like some kind of radar, wincing when it finally smacked into the banister. He latched on and began dragging himself up the stairs as fast as his warped automail would allow.

You're such a coward.

"Brother, stop! Where are you going?" Al asked again, this time not far behind. Ed had surprised him, but it wouldn't be another few seconds before Al caught up and stopped him.

He heard keys fumbling at the front door.

Ed made it to the landing, Al's armor creaking just a few feet behind him and the door opened downstairs. "Boys?" Mustang called, the way he did after coming home from work. Like this was an ordinary day and not the end of all that was Edward Elric.

Ed skipped the first bedroom, then hurled himself into the open bathroom and locked the door behind him.

"Brother! What are you doing?" Al asked, his voice muffled by the door and carrying an edge of panic to it. A heavy leather gauntlet thumped against the door. "Open the door!"

Ed backed up, feeling the fluffy bath rug under his bare foot, then heard his automail clack against the cold tile as his back hit the wall. He reached to the side, his one arm clasping the porcelain side of the bathtub. The door kept pounding and Alphonse kept pleading, but Ed made no move to open it.

Maybe if he just took a few minutes . . . maybe if it was on his own terms, he could compose himself. Maybe he wouldn't feel so much like his world was spinning out of his control; like a boat in a storm, helplessly being driven to crash against the rocks.

Maybe if he really focused, he could be strong for Winry. If he were strong enough, he wouldn't have a flashback, and he wouldn't hurt her, and he could protect her from the mess he had become.

Then he could keep lying to himself. He could keep telling himself that everything would be okay.

Ed crawled into the tub, the cool walls soothing against his feverish skin. It was like pressing his cheek against Al's metal suit, except he didn't have to pretend to hide how his frail body shook. He curled up, pulling the blanket tighter around him and focused on his breathing, trying to center his spinning thoughts that threatened to make him sick with fear and shame.

In and out.

He could hear Mustang outside, then the shrill squeak of Winry's panicked voice.

He redoubled his efforts to tune them out, focusing on his warm breath bouncing from the smooth surface before him and back to his face.

If he could stop this drowning feeling, maybe he could do it.

In and out.

More voices, sounding even farther away.

Good. Just think about nothing important. Just like in the basement. He would make his mind blank until even pain didn't hurt anymore. Like Teacher taught him.

The fear started to ebb, the roar being tamed into a quiet buzz. He could do this, if he just kept breathing.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

A shrill whine, accompanied by the scent of ozone, pierced through the room, shattering his concentration. The fragile peace he had found shook, then broke into a thousand pieces. He startled badly, barely catching a surprised whimper before it got past his lips.

Alchemy destroyed the lock and the door opened. Heavy footsteps approached, and Ed tried to bury his head under the blanket. He gasped a little at the touch on his side, flinching away as if from a burn. "Please go away," he begged, so quiet he wasn't sure if he could be heard. His voice shook and he swallowed thickly. It was bad enough his words were pathetic without his voice sounding so painfully weak, too.

He smelled Mustang's rich aftershave, then heard him move, telling Al and probably Winry to meet him downstairs. Then the door shut and he was left alone with Mustang in the small bathroom.

Mustang settled on the floor beside the bathtub, but Edward kept the blanket over his head and faced the wall. He didn't want to talk about it. Words wouldn't fix this, and Mustang had already told him he would deny him the small comfort of sleep aides. He had nothing left to talk about.

The sense of betrayal Mustang's presence brought suddenly made him feel hollowed and angry. He clung to the emotion, letting it cover his fear like a bandage on a bleeding wound. It was comforting in and of itself to feel fire burning through his veins instead of icy dread. Just last night Mustang had asked him to trust him, but here he was, forcing him into meeting Winry when he was far from ready. Mustang didn't care. He would do anything to get Ed mobile and out of his way. He would be happier once Ed was gone. He didn't want this. Who could possibly want to put up with a crippled, blind, foul-tempered teenager?

"What are you doing in here, Ed?" Mustang asked over him, disapproval and weariness tainting his voice.

"I didn't come in here to talk, in case you missed the way the door was shut and locked."

"I gathered that much," he said wryly. "But why . . . wait, are you hiding?"

Ed let his sullen silence answer for him.

Mustang took a deep breath and sighed. When next he spoke, his voice was sickeningly gentle in a way that made what was left of Ed's pride bristle. "Are you really that scared, Ed?"

"Why, is that not allowed?" he asked, not bothering to keep the disdain from his voice. "Sorry if I'm not 'brave' enough for you, Colonel." He spat the title like a curse. "It's not like I asked for this. I didn't ask for any of this, so you can keep your stupid comments to yourself!"

"That's not what I—"

"Just shut up!" Ed shouted, curling tighter around himself. There was a time when he would be up and jumping as he yelled at his stupid superior and maybe even threw a punch at him, if he got angry enough, but those days were gone. Mustang could outmaneuver him to a pathetic degree, like a cat batting around injured prey. "I don't want to hear it, Mustang! I'm tired of it! I'm sick of being here with you breathing down my neck and acting like you actually give a crap about me and Al. What's with the whole charade, huh? Is Hawkeye making you do it? Because I don't need your help! I don't want it!"

If Ed had stopped to think, he would realize he was pushing Mustang to do what terrified him most of all. But he was angry, and he never said what he meant to when he was angry, and he just wanted Mustang to leave him alone and stop staring at him the way you look at hopeless cripples and the terminally ill. All of that nauseating pity made his gut turn.

That's how everyone looked at him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. He had felt it every day in the hospital, and he had felt it every day since. He already hated himself enough without being ashamed and humiliated that he was some kind of a walking complex.

The silence Edward had thought he wanted turned out to be deafening. All he could hear were Mustang's breathes moving in and out and his own nervous pulse echoing through the porcelain tub.

"So," Mustang began, his deep voice careful but firm. "You didn't deny that you're scared."

Edward ground his teeth. What was the point of this?! Was he trying to belittle him? Rub it in his face that he was cowering in the bathroom like a toddler hiding from imaginary monsters? The cruelty of it made Ed's eyes sting with hot tears that he quickly blinked away.

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he was like this now.

Maybe if he told that to himself enough, he would start to believe it.

They used to ask him if he was scared. The leader, the one he saw the most with the salt-and-pepper beard and the dark, malicious eyes used to ask him in his accented voice if he was scared yet. Before they took his sight, he'd defiantly answered no and they'd hit him and stabbed him and electrocuted him until he was a gibbering, weeping wreck, but he would still scream that he wasn't afraid. Not of them. The man promised he would be soon.

After his eyes were gone, he couldn't summon the courage to answer at all.

They hit him anyways.

The man laughed a rough, grating sound, like ice against stone. It was a terrible, humiliating sound and Ed tried to curl in on himself, trying to block out the awful screech of it . . .

"Ed, stay with me," Mustang said.

Ed flinched as if struck, the sound of the Colonel's voice jolting him back from his drifting thoughts. But it had been his fault that his mind was wondering in the first place! "Why are you still here? I told you to leave!"

"No," Mustang said simply. "I'm not leaving you alone like this."

"Like what?"

"No one should have to be alone when they're scared, Fullmetal."

Honestly?

He tried to choke it down, but his body started to shake, his stomach convulsing and shoulders quivering until a hysteric laugh forced its way past his lips. It sounded harsh and foreign, even to his own ears, and had a touch of madness to it that made him laugh all the more. His weakened body quickly started to ache from the simple strain of it and he had to slow his guffaws into quiet chuckles, but he couldn't keep the derisive smile off his cracked lips. He hadn't laughed like that in months, sanely or otherwise.

"Edward?" Mustang asked, sounding uncertain and a bit worried. It was about time the idiot figured out he was out of his league on this one.

What a load of crap! Not alone when he was scared . . . He had spent the past three months alone and scared. The only difference Mustang would make would be someone there to witness him trying to hold his mind together as he unraveled at the seams.

Ed found the irony of it all terribly funny.

Maybe that was proof he was losing his mind.

He didn't realize his laugh had turned into sobs until he felt hot tears running down his face. He furiously swiped at them with the corner of the blanket, but more appeared in their place and he couldn't stop them. His body began to tremble anew, and as much as he tried to stop it he was powerless. Too much had happened. His body hurt, his mind hurt and his soul hurt the most of all and he couldn't slow down the stupid tears.

He had always tried so hard to keep himself from crying, and now he couldn't seem to stop.

Strong hands reached into the bath around him, slowly, gently hooking under his knees and around his shoulders. He could only gasp in protest as Mustang picked him up from his resting place, settling on the floor and pulling him into his lap like he was a little kid. Ed didn't have it in him to fight it as Mustang tucked his head under his jaw and held him close as he wept, his tears soaking the front of the older man's jacket and his body convulsing with tight sobs.

If Ed were being honest with himself, it didn't feel so bad to be held by hands that didn't try to hurt him. Now that he was pressed to the older man's chest, he found the he craved the closeness, the security of having strong, familiar arms around him. It helped ease the ache of isolation, a sensation that had become so pervasive and so normal that he usually forgot it was there altogether. Like the way he never seemed to notice he was famished until food was placed before him, his body so used to starvation that it didn't feel the need to remind him anymore. His soul was used to being trapped alone in the darkness.

But more than that, Ed felt safe. He felt that no matter what nightmares or hallucinations tried to tear him from reality, Mustang's firm embrace would hold them at bay.

So he held onto Mustang and wept. He wasn't sure how long they stayed there, but it had to have been a good while. He stopped crying a few times. His tears would finally slow, then he would listen to Mustang's heartbeat under his right ear and sniffle and start sobbing again with renewed despair as he was reminded again how after this, nothing would ever be the same.

This was how it was going to be. He would be blind the rest of his life. Blind and scared, and Al would be stuck in that suit, Winry would lose all faith in him, and everyone he had ever admired would look at him like a useless cripple. One by one they would leave, and he would be alone and he would deserve it.

But Mustang was still here, holding him like his own child. He'd been here through all of it.

"Why, Mustang?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" Mustang's deep voice vibrated in his chest under Ed's cheek, somehow soothing.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, trying hard to make his voice stop shaking as more tears slid down his face. His hand fisted Mustang's lapel in an attempt to stop its trembling. "It doesn't make sense. You don't owe me anything. I'm not even your subordinate anymore. I don't have anything to give you and I'm less than useless. I say all kinds of awful things to you and bite you and keep you awake at night with all my stupid screaming. I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

Mustang sighed against him, his breath ruffling Ed's hair. "You're an idiot, Ed," he said, and Ed could hear the smile in his voice. "For all your talk of being a genius, you don't have a clue. Guess I'll have to spell it out for you, huh?"

Ed didn't feel the need to dignify that with a response.

"I told you I'd help you get through this. I told you I wasn't going anywhere."

"That's not a reason," Ed muttered.

He felt Mustang's chin move as he probably smirked. "No, that's not a reason. The reason is, whether you're still in the military or not, you're still one of mine. I look out for my own, Fullmetal. So, whether you like it or not, I'm going to be here, pushing you and dragging you if I have to. Whatever it takes to get you through this."

Could that be true? Was it really that simple? Would Mustang really let him stay, just like that?

He wouldn't leave . . .?

Ed wasn't sure if it was discernment or desperation, but he needed to believe that. He needed it so badly it hurt deep in his chest and made the notion of rejecting it impossible. He was tired, so tired of being afraid and alone.

It had to be true, or Ed knew deep in his soul that what was left of him would break.

So whether it was wise or not, whether it was true or not, Ed let himself believe. He let himself be relieved and warm and safe, because the alternative was unbearable, and it was so nice to tell himself that he could depend on Mustang.

So he believed.

He ignored the tiny, trepid voice in the back of his mind that told him how painful it would be the day Mustang stabbed him in the back.

A consuming sense of relief flooded him, filling a deep, dark void he hadn't realized was there until it was practically gone. It felt good to trust Mustang. It felt right, like there was a real, actual chance Mustang could somehow make this turn out alright.

A weak laugh that sounded more like another sob escaped Ed's lips and, despite his reservations, he clung to Mustang's lapel even tighter, as if he could banish the feeling altogether by force of will. "Another one of your stupid pep talks, Mustang?"

"I'll give you one every hour, if I have to."

Ed took a steadying breath. If what Mustang said was true, he had been such a jerk. Mustang had taken care of him when he wasn't much more than a rabid animal, and now here he was, cradling him on the bathroom floor while he sobbed and carried on like a deranged idiot, and all he had gotten for his troubles was Ed's temper. "Sorry. About what I said before . . . I mean—"

"Forget it."

"But—"

"Apologies were never your strong suite, Fullmetal," Mustang said with a smile in his voice. "Besides, I think you're entitled to be a little angry, after everything you've been through."

How could he just think that? How could he be so forgiving? Ed shook his head. Mustang had to be missing something. "Maybe at . . . at those people, but not at you or Al. You don't . . . you shouldn't . . ." Ed gritted his teeth in frustration as the words refused to come.

Mustang made a faintly amused sound. "Apology accepted."

Just like that? Ed almost melted in relief at those two simple words, but something held him back. He couldn't be sure. He heard his voice, but the Colonel was a good liar, and without Mustang's eyes, Ed couldn't tell if he was being altogether truthful.

He couldn't tell if the trust he had just desperately forced out of himself was misplaced.

Ignore it.

They sat there in quietness, broken only by their breathing and steady heartbeats. Ed became suddenly self-conscious, curled up in the lap of his former superior like some kind of child. Mustang might just be helping out of some illogical sense of obligation. Why would he want to be there? How could he not be upset, after all the things Ed put him through? Ed thought about getting up, but wasn't sure if he could manage it on his own.

"Think you're ready?" Mustang finally asked.

Ed flinched, his response coming slow and unsteady. "I don't think I can do it, Colonel."

"I think you can."

Ed's fingers tightened around Mustang's coat, momentarily not caring how pathetic it made him look. Mustang thought he could do it? "How do you know?"

Mustang made another amused snort. "Ed, you've taken on homunculi, murderers, soldiers and Hawkeye when her chocolate stash runs dry. I think you can handle a little automail tune-up, don't you think?"

A weak laugh shook his frame and a few lingering tears squeezed past his eyes. "Like you'd know anything, jerk."

"I know enough not to be a big sissy about it," Mustang said, the smirk in his voice something so solid, Ed could almost see it. Mustang was letting him know that they were okay. They may not have been good, but they were okay. For now, okay was good enough for Ed. "You've done it a hundred times. What's one more?"

Ed relaxed just a bit, the familiar banter taking the edge off of his fears. "Easy for you to say. Automail hurts like crap."

"All I hear is whining," Mustang said, removing an arm from around him and wrapping it under his elbow. Ed let the older man help pull them both to their feet. Edward swayed dangerously, but Mustang didn't let him fall, pulling him close and holding steady. "Let's go say hi to Winry."

And Ed started walking, because he decided he trusted Mustang.

Mustang carefully led Ed out of the bathroom and to the stairs. Ed allowed himself to be pulled along, but his anxiety returned, slowly building with each step. It felt like the longest walk of his life, like he was a condemned man walking to the gallows.

When Winry saw him, it would be over.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Mustang murmured gently, as if reading his mind.

"What if . . . I mean, she's upset, isn't she? What is she going to think when she actually sees this?" Ed asked, feeling his voice waver like his mismatched steps.

Mustang just held him tighter, pulling him even closer as if he could lend Ed his own strength. "If Miss Rockbell is anything like the way you and Alphonse have described, she won't think any less of you. I promise."

"How do you know?" Ed asked, unable to stop the sad little question before it could leave his lips.

"Have a little faith in people, will you?" he said with another one of those soft smiles in his voice. It didn't feel quite so patronizing this time.

They stopped at the stairs and Ed let Mustang guide him down. He heard hushed voices in the kitchen, but couldn't make out any words over the faltering whirl in his damaged automail and their muffled steps.

"Is she upset?" Ed asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it all the same.

"One of her closest friends is hurt. Of course she's upset," Mustang said in the same tone he told Ed that of course formal attire was required, or of course he wasn't allowed to blow up half the city to find a petty thief. "Why wouldn't she be?"

Ed didn't respond to that. He had to stop talking and instead start forcing one step in front of the other. It was difficult enough to move his left leg when he wanted to, but it seemed the automail picked up on his hesitation, and now it was barely bending at all. He had to swing it out ahead of him from his hip, the effort of it exhausting him physically the same way his worry exhausted him emotionally. Even his real leg didn't cooperate, shaking so badly he was sure he would topple over if Mustang weren't holding onto him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and began to cross the living room. The voices grew louder.

Ed's quivering hand grabbed a handful of Mustang's sleeve.

He knew when they rounded the corner. It was evident because two voices gave a soft, collective gasp and all sound stopped. Mustang brought them to a halt, and Ed wondered why they had to stop there. He didn't know where Alphonse was. When he stopped moving, his metal body was impossible to find by sound alone. He thought he heard faint breathing not far in front of him, but that could have been his pulse pounding in his ears.

The silence stretched on and Ed tried not to hyperventilate. Where were they? What was everyone waiting on? Was he supposed to say something?

She was probably speechless from the sight of him. He hadn't gotten a look at himself in months, but he could imagine; hopelessly thin, wasting body, bleached eyes and pale, papery skin with more bruises and lacerations than he could possibly count and a haunted visage that he couldn't wipe away. He probably looked like a beaten skeleton in a skin suit, more wraith than human.

He let go of his steadying hold on Mustang and clutched his blanket tighter around him, a vain effort to hide his shriveled body and his shaking knees.

Would no one say anything?

Tentative footsteps shuffled right in front of him. He froze, listening.

Then he smelled it: sunshine and clean air and citrus. He smelled his childhood, when everything was perfect and he and Al and Winry played outside all day, running through the fields and swimming in the lake until the sun had set and the day ended, only to start again the next morning. He smelled summer and grass and freedom and peace, like stepping out of this nightmare and into a wonderful dream.

Winry smelled like home.

"Edward?" came her hushed, sweet voice, and suddenly he couldn't breathe anymore. It was sad and watery, the way she sounded after she cried, but there was something else. There was a fear there that he only ever heard a few times and he hated the sound of it. Like she was afraid he wouldn't recognize her, afraid he had forgotten and would cower from her because he couldn't see her. She was asking permission and reassurance at the same time.

But Ed knew her. Even without eyes, he would know her voice and her scent anywhere.

It took him a few tries, but he finally found his voice. "Win . . . ry . . ."

"Oh, Ed!" she cried, and Mustang released him just in time for him to be caught in a tight embrace. He almost fell over, but Winry's thin arms wrapped around his shoulders, steadying him as he instinctively snaked his arm underneath hers.

Her body was soft and warm against him, feeling like home and heaven all at once. He buried his head in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, losing himself in warm memories. He felt like if he closed his eyes tight enough, he would be back in Resembool, holding her in the Rockbell living room, and Al would playfully be telling him not to hog all of Winry's attention, and Granny Pinako would be making lunch with Den barking outside, and when he opened his eyes, he would see her face and she would ask what had gotten into him and make fun of him for being stupid and everything would be right.

She breathed raggedly into the crook of his neck and started crying.

"Oh, no, Winry, don't cry," he begged, patting her back in what he hoped was a soothing way. "It's okay, Winry. It's okay."

She suddenly went ridged against him. "How . . . how can you say that?!" she demanded, voice thick and muffled but her tone all too clear. She sounded like she wanted to yell at his face, but she didn't let go of him. "It's not okay, Ed, it's not okay at all! Why didn't you call?! Why didn't you tell me, you big idiot!" If it were possible, she clung even tighter to him. Ed's sensitive ribs protested sharply at the abuse, but he ignored them. This was too important.

"I don't know," he answered. "I don't know, and I'm sorry." Her body shook more than his and he fought to keep his balance.

It seemed like his apology gave her pause, though, because slowly, she calmed. Her breathing gradually evened out, and soon she was just holding him the same way he was holding her, her silent tears leaving cooling tracks down his neck to mix with his own.

When he opened his eyes, he didn't see Resembool.

Strange enough, something about it still felt like home.


This is, like, the first chapter to sort of end on a happy-ish note xD

Sorry for the super long delay! D: Hopefully the longish chapter made up for it lol xDThis is one of those chapters where I write a few sentences, then stare at it and see how everything is wrong and erase and restart. I probably went back and redid most of it fifteen times, and I'm still not totally satisfied with it, but alas, I give up lol. I like it well enough xD

Oh my gosh, guys, over 300 reviews? And over 15,000 views? I'm going to faint from how awesome you guys are. Seriously, your support means the world to me :) Thanks so much for being here and reading, and those that take the time to review, thank you so much! You guys are awesome 3

By the by, some people have drawn some wonderful fan art for this fic over on deviantart. If you'll just go to rainflame07 .deviantart (.com)/ art/ Stairway-to-Paradise-Ch11-FMA-Fan-Fiction- 402455199 and take out the () and all the silly spaces, scroll down to my comments and there's a section with links to some really awesome pics C: If you've done fan art, I'd love for you to show me so I can link everyone to it :)

Again, you guys are the best! I'll respond to reviews from last time before next time lol xD Hope you enjoyed, and if you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter! ;)

God Bless,

-RainFlame