And now, Story Eight is up! Yay! Actually, I've had this one done for a while, but I'm pacing myself and waiting at least two weeks before updates. I've got to say, I really love this one, one reason being because I enjoyed writing it so much (I really loved doing the imagery in this one) and another being that a good portion of this story consists of flashbacks (the italicized words) and I enjoyed writing like that. It's also my longest one in the Little Wonders series so far! I got the line that goes along with Story Eight from an Alison Krause & Union Station song, "When You Say Nothing At All", and that really just came to me as I'm writing this; I think it fits Ed and Winry :) Enjoy and review, and thanks for still reading!
StarKatt427
Story Eight: Reassurance
...Because she can understand what he's saying when he says nothing at all...
It was a tranquil night, one that was not dimmed by a covering of black clouds, but filled with small points of light, stars and planets, that were sprinkled across the velvet sky, the moon casting a pale, iridescent glow over the earth. There was no wind blowing, but the air was cold with winter, and Edward sat on the roof, back against the chimney, the heat from the smoke that the fire cast up warming his back. Head resting against the heated flue and breaths coming in silver puffs, Ed stared out over the darkened land, able to make out trees and hills, the dim lights that represented the houses and barns glowing in the distance. And, although it was indistinguishable even with the light from the moon flooding down over everything, he knew exactly where his old home was.
He hadn't set foot in that house in five months, not since last September; not since the Transmutation.
To put in blankly, Edward was on the roof as to avoid the other inhabitants of the Rockbell home, emotionally unable to handle their inquiring glances and awkward silences, the question that seemed to race through the color of their eyes and the way their silences stretched out, piercing his heart like a knife: How much longer can you keep this up?
Honestly, he didn't know. He had thought he knew, but that was before today, and right now, he wasn't so sure he could handle the burden he himself had unintentionally placed on his shoulders.
It wasn't even a big deal, he lied, lifting his knees and crossing his arms over them, resting his cheek on the cold material of his long sleeve shirt, eyes closing. He'd been outside for over two hours now, alone and in silent cogitation, and no one had disturbed him, a wise move on their parts. Even Alphonse had left him be, either knowing his brother well enough to let him alone or he too scared to be around Ed right now; he wished it was the first reason.
A hallucination. That was the basis of the query to resurface, if it had even ever left their minds to begin with. It hadn't even been a hallucination really, just a trick of the eye, and while Edward found himself continuously repeating that it was nothing significant, just as he'd done for most of the time he'd been out in the cold, the dark truth of the matter gradually settled over his being that it was, if fact, of grave importance to the next few months of his and Al's life, and even their future.
Edward was in the living room of the Rockbell home, sprawled out across the couch, immersed in, surprisingly, a book that wasn't based on alchemy; an actual novel, one he had snuck from Winry's room earlier in the day. In desperate need of something to do and not quite yet willing to venture into town and be forced to put up with the stares of his neighbors, he'd scanned titles and flipped through the pages of paperbacks on her bookshelf, searching for something of worth, only to be surprised that most of the books she possessed did interest him to some degree, and he'd finally settled on a historical novel that had so much description he could barely keep up at times, and he wondered if Winry could do better with the book.
Now, hours since he'd first began the book and already through the first two hundred pages or so, with Den sleeping soundly by the couch, he heard the front door rattle, then open, and then footsteps across floor. He didn't look up from the page he was on, already knowing who it was, but found himself wondering why she wasn't getting home until almost five.
For a reason Edward couldn't comprehend, Winry had actually wanted to go back to school, even after her grandmother had told her she didn't have to; as a student of automail, most of her time would be devoted to perfecting the art of crafting metal and implanting wires, but Winry had surprised everyone when she'd asked if she could continue her schooling. Edward couldn't imagine why; school was a waste of time, since he knew most of the math and science equations, the history of the country, and once he'd realized he was being taught things he already knew, any fondness for school he'd had vanished. Apparently, though, Winry still enjoyed classes, always eager to learn more about anything possible.
Edward silently suspected that one reason she went back was to return to her life some sense of the normality it had possessed before the last few months.
She leaned in to the den, smiling, her backpack thrown over one shoulder and her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, dressed in a simple blue dress with a gray turtleneck beneath, black stockings covering her legs and brown boots on her feet. Her nose was red from the cold, eyes bright with excitement and delight, and Edward could tell she was just bubbling to spill whatever was building up within her.
"Hey," she said, nothing very significant about her tone, except that Edward could tell she was trying to keep herself under control, and he smiled crookedly at her but didn't say anything yet. He sat up, placing the book cover side up on the couch so that he wouldn't lose his place.
"Good day?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
If possible, her smile spread even wider across her face so that it was almost like she was shining, and she gave a giggle and nodded, then walked in the room and stood in front of him, leaning down to pet the now awake dog, then rocked back on her heels. She had a set of papers rolled up in her hand. "Guess what?" she asked, just waiting for him to do as she had told him.
Edward, not one for guessing games, frowned slightly, but played along anyway. "What?"
"You are looking at one of the leads in a play!" she said, flashing her teeth in a wide smile, her eyes dancing with thrill.
Sadly, the impact the news had on Edward was to the opposite effect that Winry had been hoping for; he stared at her, scrutinizing, eyebrows cocked and an 'are you serious?' look on his face.
A play. Really? That was all?
"Um, wow," he muttered, not in the least impressed. "That's great and all, but why?"
Over the course of the following moments after she had finally revealed her rewarding information, Winry's expression had fallen slowly and steadily, until it was barely even a smile, her eyes no longer blinking with light. Edward, however, was unusually oblivious today, or maybe it was just the fact that she quickly pulled a halfhearted smile back to her face, then rolled her eyes and flashed him a somewhat annoyed look. She knew better than to expect much of him.
"Because, idiot, I wanted to. It's fun."
"How?"
"Hmm." Ed watched as she looked upward, thinking, tongue flicking out the side of her mouth like it did when she was caught up in something, and, for some reason, he found himself staring. "I guess," she began, pulling Edward from his curious undertaking of staring at her so intently, "it's because when you're acting, you make the character. You're a different person, not yourself."
Whether her answer was supposed to be so philosophical or not, it caused Edward to be pulled into a deep thought, one that intrigued and worried him at the same time. Acting was a part, becoming someone else and creating their personality and traits, shedding your own skin and sliding into another one, a fresh one. You could be anyone. But, for a reason that would normally have seemed absurd to him, Ed felt himself grow somewhat anxious and unsure.
Did Winry really want to become another complete entity, to have a different life, one free of worry and pain and anguish, one without worrying over two reckless, idiotic brothers who had screwed everything up? Did she secretly want a life without him?
For the most part, he was able to push down this dread to where it was nothing more than an afterthought in the back of his mind; still present, just diminished.
"Really?" he asked, his tone betraying nothing of the way he had felts just seconds ago. "That's cool, I guess."
She huffed, a terribly cute sound that Edward should not have found cute in the slightest and that disturbed him even more than the brooding thoughts still residing in his skull. "Whatever," she said, turning away, but she wasn't mad, not really, he could tell that. She spun slowly, elegantly, hypnotically, in a circle, almost like she was dancing, and she whirled herself to the doorway, and when she turned back to face Ed, he saw her eyes were closed and she was smiling slightly, serene and carefree for the moment. Then she opened her eyes and grinned again, his lack of enthusiasm unable to deter her good mood. "I've got to go tell Granny now. At least she'll be excited."
Though the last few words she had said could have been taken harshly, they weren't delivered so, instead almost like she was making fun of Ed's tactlessness. She gave him another smile, and then, of all things, winked, and disappeared.
Edward blinked, eyes rounder than usual, surprised at her good mood. Then he laughed, scratching absently at the back of his head. Winry was usually happy and smiling, but not ecstatically so, and today she was.
And he liked seeing her like this.
When he came into the kitchen several minutes later, Den at his heels, Winry was standing at Pinako's side, the old woman holding in her hand the papers Winry had been carrying; a script, Edward realized. She talked animatedly to her grandmother, then to Al, and Alphonse simply listened to whatever she said, commenting often, his voice revealing that he was, in fact, happy for her and interested.
Edward leaned over the old woman's shoulder, glancing down at the script. "So, who're you?" he asked, looking up at Winry, trying to make up for earlier by being a little interested now. Actually, since her words about becoming another person, he was more involved than he normally would have been.
She put her pointer finger to the white paper, placing it on a name. "I'm Odile. I'm the villain."
He looked up, amazed that she could be cast as a bad guy of all things, having pictured her as some frilly little princess or some crap like that. "You? How did that happen?"
"I auditioned," she said, thumping her finger to his forehead, and he flicked her hand away impatiently.
"Not that. I mean, how did you get cast as the bad guy. You're all…"
Winry cocked an eyebrow. "I'm what?"
That was a good question, because Edward didn't even know what to say. The word sweet popped into his head, but there was no way he'd ever tell her that, and he settled for a simple shrug, murmuring, "Nothing, I guess. You're just you."
She watched him for a moment, her annoyance changing into curiosity and surprise at his statement, but she let the subject drop. "Anyway," she began after a moment of silence, which involved Pinako and Alphonse looking from one to the other, "I'm the evil twin, and Cassidy's the good one, Odette. I'm jealous of her or something, so I end up trying to get the prince she falls in love with to love me, and I try to kill her."
"That's…not you at all," Alphonse commented, his voice amazed and amused at the same time.
"Exactly," Winry said, smiling at him. "I didn't want be a character that's a lot like me, so I tried out for Odile and got the part."
Pinako looked up at Winry, smiling through the pipe in her teeth. "Congratulations. I know you're gonna work really hard, so you better do your best."
Winry blushed. "Of course I am, Granny."
"Good." The old woman handed the script back to Winry, still smiling, and then she stood up from her chair and stretched, muttering about needing to start on supper, then directing a question to Winry. "When is the play?"
"At the beginning of March," she said, shoving the papers in her bag, which, now that Edward was looked closely, seemed awfully full. "But they already have a lot of things ready. We haven't started working on the scenery yet, but the costumes are already done."
"That was fast," Al said.
"I know. The audition was almost two weeks ago, and they measured us then, so Ms. Kirkland and Mrs. Marie already had the costumes ready by today."
"So that's what's in your bag," Edward observed, poking at the backpack.
She nodded, pulling it back up from the table and onto her back, then walking toward the hall as to go to her room upstairs. "I'm gonna go try it on," she called over her shoulder, "so you guys will have to tell me how I look."
"Isn't that the director's job?" asked Granny.
"Well, yeah, but you guys are family and your opinion counts too."
"What's it look like?"
Winry laughed. "You'll have to see."
Edward didn't pick up on the remaining conversation, not after Winry's statement: 'you guys are family'. Not only Pinako, but him and Al as well. Of course he knew she thought of them as family, just as she was, in some ways, the same to him, but hearing her say it so naturally and without reservation made something catch in his chest, but he wasn't sure what, or whether it was in a good way or a bad way.
"You know you boys can go, if you want to," Pinako said quietly, catching both of the Elric's attention.
Yes, they could go. But then there would be the questions and dark looks, people especially watching Alphonse, and Edward wouldn't have people staring at his little brother like some kind of freak. "Maybe," he said softly, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring down at the one made of automail and knowing 'maybe' meant 'no', just as Pinako did.
The woman smiled sadly, but didn't let either of the brothers see.
Edward had heard Winry tromp up the stairs just moments ago, and then he heard her flying back down, feet pounding the wood, and she was leaning in the kitchen, looking directly at him. "I forgot to tell you. Happy early birthday."
Edward had nearly forgotten that it was, in fact, February eighteenth, and tomorrow he'd be turning twelve. He hadn't even thought much about birthdays the last few months, what with all the automail rehab and nightmares that still occasionally slipped into his sleep, but, of course, Winry would remember, as did Alphonse probably.
"Yeah, you're going to be twelve, Brother," Al said, answering the question Edward had just thought of, and he looked over at Alphonse, trying not to think about what his brother's next birthday would be like; would there even be a difference? He managed to smile slightly at his little brother, and then he looked back at Winry.
"Aren't we a little old for that?" he asked, no venom in his voice, just plain interest as he wondered how long they really could be young.
"You're never too old for anything." She smiled, and before Ed could argue with her statement, she asked, "So, does strawberry sound good?"
Not one to refuse any type of sweet, he smiled at the thought of cake and the fact that she'd asked if it was fine when they all knew it was his favorite. "Yeah. Vanilla frosting."
She nodded dramatically. "Got it."
And then she was running up the stairs again, her laughter trailing in her wake.
"She's really in a good mood today," Al mused, carefully resting a metal elbow on the table.
"Winry's just happy she got the part. You boys probably haven't noticed, but she's been reading lines in her room for days." Pinako washed her hands at the sink, then turned to the oven and put it on preheat. "She's worked really hard."
Edward's mouth pulled up lopsidedly, and he said, quiet enough that neither Pinako or Al could hear over the racket the old woman was now making, "Then I'm glad she got it."
The dinner Pinako had begun cooking fifteen minutes ago smelt heavenly when Edward walked back into the kitchen, he heard his stomach make a rumbling sound as he wished it was time to eat. He pulled a seat up beside his brother, propped his automail leg up in the neighboring chair, and threw his head back, eyes closed.
"Tired of reading?" Al teased.
That statement didn't exist in Edward's vocabulary, and he looked up from under his lashes, smiling with his eyes. "Nah, my mind's just too full to concentrate on anything."
"Full of what?"
"Well, everything." He bent down to scratch Den behind the ears, and the dog leaned into his touch.
"Please be specific, Brother."
Edward grinned as he imagined the look Alphonse would have been giving him if he'd had an actual face and not the mask of the armor, a mixture of a smile and slight exasperation, then continued, "Okay then. For one thing, my birthday's tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"I just…I don't know. I feel like everything's going by way too slow, but it's also really fast. You know?"
Alphonse nodded, and Edward found he didn't even cringe at the sound of metal scraping metal anymore, a great achievement. "Yeah, I get it."
They sat for a moment, watching Pinako and thinking about different things or just doing nothing in particular but sitting, the sounds of cooking food popping in the air.
"Anything else?" Al asked quietly.
Edward felt his mouth tighten, and then he was thinking about Winry again and those silly words she'd said that, for some reason, impacted him so much. In all honesty, and he wasn't the least embarrassed to admit it, he really, really hoped she didn't want to become someone else, because that could mean she would disappear one day, and he wouldn't allow that no matter what. Softly, low so that Pinako couldn't hear, he asked, "Is this good for her?"
"Who? Oh, Winry," Alphonse said when he saw the way Edward looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"We came in and messed everything up and put all this on her, and you know Winry; if something bothers her she won't ever say anything to us. It just seems like since we messed up, we're screwing everything up for her. She's always worrying about us and…I don't know. Maybe we just aren't good for her."
Edward was amazed at all of the feelings that had poured out of him, and even more so of the fact that he had let them. He'd never really talked to Al about any of this, and now it was out in the open where he could judge, and Ed wasn't sure if he was just being stupid or if his suspicions were accurate.
He looked up nervously at Alphonse. "We are good for her, aren't we?" he asked uncertainly, sounding very young, even to his own ears.
Before Al could say anything, a somewhat harsh and partly amused, gruff voice said, "You're an idiot."
Edward jerked to see Pinako watching him, her mouth pulled into something that was either a frown or a smile or both. She leaned against the counter, a spoon in hand, and she said, "Besides myself, you two are the only family that girl has. You make her happy. So don't think you're bad for her, because you're not. And besides, if you ever tried to leave and never come back, she'd probably kill you."
Ed blinked, her words repeating in his head, and then he gave her a grateful smile, for once glad that she had ears like a bat. "Yeah. Thanks, Granny."
The old woman grinned, said nothing else, and turned back to her supper.
A sound that echoed laughter exited the armor next to Edward. "You know," Alphonse said, "maybe we shouldn't worry for a while about anything. Try to, at least."
Edward didn't get a chance to answer, because at that moment, her heard the bathroom door open and footsteps on the floor, making a weird, slithery soft sound, not like socked feet, but more like ballet slippers. "Okay, I'm ready!" Winry called, and Edward understood that she probably was wearing the strange shoes as part of her costume. "Everyone ready?"
Pinako chuckled, turned the heat off to let dinner simmer, and then walked over to stand beside Al. "Yes," she called back.
Edward stood up, smirking slightly. He couldn't wait to see how she looked, whether she was a witch or some ugly old hag since she was the villain, or maybe even some beautiful seductress. He rolled his eyes at the last one; Winry, a seductress?
Instead of anything he had imagined, a dark, shadowy figure slid into the room and stared straight at them.
The thing that stood before Edward was pale, unnaturally so, wrapped in blackness, and he felt his heart to turn to ice and crash to the floor, shattering, at the sight of it.
Because he had seen the damned thing before.
It was alive, a phantasm reborn of a nightmare, with tangled midnight hair that seemed to hang grotesquely around its face and down to its waist, rotted black seaweed. Clothed in darkness, its joints stuck out at misshapen angles, bones twisted and gnarled, the fingers on its hands like snapped twigs, and, as it moved, it seemed to slither, its movements crawl like, feet caked in clotted blood and members streaked with black veins, decaying flesh hanging loosely to bones. Thin shouldered and frail, in reality, it actually possessed the strength to asphyxiate him, just as it had done before in the dreams where it had once resided, distorted hands becoming like a vise around his neck. It moved again, not any closer, but the movement was undeniable, and it's mouth unhinged, chapped, broken lips moving on words that refused to immerge up from its rattling chest, lungs sick filled with fluid and infection. Festering skin and decomposition radiated from its body and flooded his nostrils, made him gag. Eyes like engorged membranes placed far back in the head, tears of black blood ran down the angular cheeks, coating the skin beneath its hollow eyes, eyes that, if he had been in his right mind, would have appeared blue instead of the inhuman scarlet that he saw.
Edward was breathing in shallow, achy pants, cold sweat coating his forehead, the hairs on the back of his neck raised as he stared at the monster in absolute horror.
It should be dead. Granny had killed it, right? It shouldn't be here!
It was what he had brought to life; it had been born, killed, then born again of his memory, and now it was here, watching him with wide, vengeful eyes, mouth moving.
Every fiber in Ed's body was screaming for escape, for him to run, to get anywhere as long as that thing didn't follow him, couldn't follow, and he felt his real leg shaking beneath him, barely able to support the weight of a steadily growing limp body. The taste of metallic saliva ran down the back of his throat and pooled into led in his stomach; fear. Shoulders quivering, he took a step back on his automail leg, hand going behind him to the table for anything, a knife, a fork, anything he could use as a weapon.
It was really alive, and it was going to kill him, just as he had condemned it to death by giving it life.
The creature slithered forward, leaving a trail of blood in its wake, and one of the inhumanly thin arms raised up from its side, a black hand spattered and dripping with blood reaching out for him.
Any notion of defense fled his mind and a scream, so wild and feral that it could have been mistaken for a beast, left Ed's lungs and entered the world, and then he was moving, moving so quickly that it shouldn't be able to keep up; it was supposed to be slow, but it wasn't, keeping its rotting gaze directly on his face, on his eyes. It moved, so much swifter than he had ever thought possible, and reached for him again.
"NO!" Edward screamed, flinging his back against a wall, knocking into a chair and sending it toppling over, like a fallen tower. "No, get away! GET AWAY NOW!"
And then there were more hands, touching his shoulders, his hair, his back; it had more hands, more limbs. Ed lifted his own, trying to rip the appendages from his body, but the blood was already soaking into his shirt and staining his skin and hair, seeping into his soul, and he pulled himself even farther against the wall to where he was in a corner, small body twisting into a ball, burying his face in his knees, eyes shut against the phantom, and clamping his hands so tightly over his ears that it felt like his own red blood would begin oozing out from them any minute now.
He felt fingers touch his cheek, and a sob exited his throat, but he didn't even care anymore because all he could think about was that he was dying and he had no clue where Alphonse was. He jerked away from the hand, putting his back to the creature, and then, so loud and broken that no one would ever had expected it to come from Edward Elric, he screamed, "ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"
"Edward!"
A sound, skin on skin, and then a sharp pain blossomed across his face; a slap. Hands were on his shoulders pulling him into a sitting position, firm and real and, thankfully, not covered in coagulated blood and decaying skin. They were wrinkled and small, an old woman's, and when Edward finally dared to look into the face of the one who supported his weight, he saw Pinako Rockbell, her eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line. A dog barked loudly at her side; Den.
He was shaking, hard, and a strange, ripping sound was breaking out of his chest. His hands came up, gripping at the material of her apron.
"Edward, it's alright, it's fine," the woman said, a hand rubbing over his back as the broken, raspy sounds continued to exit his frame, until they finally began to turn into words, and he was looking at her with wild golden eyes.
"Granny, where is it? Where's Al? Granny, where's Alphonse?" he asked, almost hysterically, voice fracturing and high.
"Hush, child, he's fine. He's right here."
Somehow, maybe because he was his brother, Edward could sense that Alphonse was, in fact, right beside him, but he didn't look away from Pinako. "Where'd it go?" he asked again, eyes suddenly beginning to dart around the room, looking for blood and decay and gaping jaws and bloody tears and—
And he saw a little girl, clad in a black dress and tights, face sheet white and blue eyes wide and terrified, a black wig lying limp on the floor.
For the first few moments, Edward stared at her, eyes still slightly crazed, as he tried to figure out who she was, his mind still too muddled to put memories and faces together.
She moved, just enough that a long blonde ponytail flashed, and then he realized it was Winry.
Winry stood across the room, away from him and Al and her grandmother and Den, the gap between large and painfully evident. She watched Edward with large eyes, her pupils pinpoints, miniscule islands in the oceans of color they swam in, and her hands shook, her back against the wall opposite him.
Edward, still unable to comprehend what had just happened, watched her, breath coming more evenly now even as he still continued to lightly quake. "W…Winry?" he asked, so soft and raspy that there was no way she should have been able to hear.
But she did, and he saw her tremble even harder, and then her eyes grew shiny with tears that she forbade to fall. She opened her mouth and said in a voice so pain filled and anguished, "I'm sorry. I…I didn't know…I didn't know…"
Didn't know what?
He looked at the wig, a quick movement, then back to Winry, noticing for the first time the black makeup that was smeared beneath her eyes, making the blue orbs look even larger.
And then the meaning of what she was saying hit him and Edward realized he had mistaken Winry, dressed in her costume of black, for the monster he and Al had created.
His breath hitched in his chest and his own eyes grew dangerously wet as he sat there, watching this girl who meant more to him than anyone except Alphonse back up even farther. How had he ever mistaken her, a gothic angel, for that thing? Now that he could see clearly, there was no comparison, especially since the wig had fallen off in the process of trying to calm him. She was still the same girl, only clothed in the harsh, morbid color of mourning, making her look even fairer than she was. Winry was nothing like the black monster with see through skin and spiny veins, gnarled bones and swollen joints. There was no comparison.
So why had Edward seen her as that thing?
Still clinging to Pinako with one hand, the other reached up to Winry, begging for forgiveness and willing to suffer any punishment she would make him endure, if only she would forgive him. "W-winry."
The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her face, and then she was crying, the black charcoal running over her cheeks in streaks, like black blood tears, only they didn't scare Edward but made his throat grow thick and caused his eyes to burn, cloud over with a fine mist. Unable to say anything else, she shook her head, just once, and ran from the room.
And something broke in Edward's chest; maybe what was left of his fragile heart.
It was getting colder. Edward, shivering against the icy air, sat up, a hand gripping at his hair in an aggravated manner, and he threw his head back to rest against the chimney, looking across the shingles of the roof. Knowing that he would had vomited after what he had seen if he'd eaten, he was glad he hadn't, but that had been an hour ago, and now his stomach was tight with hunger pains. He still couldn't believe just how much the bloody corpse scared him, how it still made him feel so small and broken and utterly terrified, and he hated himself for his fear. How could he ever move on if that thing still haunted him? Better yet, how could he protect Alphonse when he himself was always being tortured?
Still, his hatred for his own fear was nothing compared to the loathing, gut wrenching, chest aching sensation he got every time he remembered Winry's face, all wide eyes and tears and fright, her body language screaming detachment.
What he had done…seeing Winry, his Winry of all people, as the soulless nightmare, was unforgivable on his part. She had fled, too repulsed by him and his weaknesses, and had left him dejected and, in some sense, crushed. And he didn't blame her for her aversion, her horror, because he was the monster for ever having thought she was anything but her wholly good self.
It would be completely understandable if she hated him now; natural, even. Still, as he turned his face up to the sky and closed his eyes, brows furrowed and lips only just beginning to tremble for the first time in hours, he really wished she didn't.
Because he needed her.
It was freaking cold.
The sound of a latch unlocking pulled his eyes open, and he heard the two oversized windows that looked out over the balcony of the house open, and, without actually seeing anybody, he knew Winry was outside, having left her room. Edward listened to her as she moved, hearing her movements change from footsteps to shuffles. A shingle scraped, a hand came over the edge of the roof, and he realized Winry was climbing up.
If he had been a gentleman and also not in the dark, fragile mood he was in, he would have helped her get up. Instead, he watched as an arm appeared, then another, and then she was visible from the shoulders up, heaving her body onto the roof in a way that held grace and yet was still clumsy. She pulled her legs over the side, and then she was sitting there, huffing just a little, breaths appearing in tiny white puffs.
So she had finally braved coming up to confront him. He sat motionless, frozen by fear that came from deep within, and he was forced to watch her, waiting to see what she would do.
When Winry looked at him, he was surprised to see how disheveled she looked. Her hair was free of its tress and hung limply down her shoulders, bangs messy, and she had scrubbed the makeup from under her eyes, eyes that were still slightly red rimmed from crying. They were very dark in the night, looking almost black, but it didn't scare him anymore; he knew they were really blue, and if she got close enough, he would be able to see the sparkles of moonlight reflecting in them.
What amazed him the most was that she didn't look at him with pity or fear or even abhorrence; she just looked very tired and sad.
Winry stood up carefully, then took the few steps toward Edward, and as she moved, he had time to notice she was carrying something, a coat, and then she was standing a few feet to his left, watchful of the dips in the roof.
Even if he couldn't see it, he knew she must feel hatred and disappointment, and he didn't want her to feel those things toward him, any of that. If she hated him, what could he do to fix it, to make things right again? Had they ever even really been right?
He didn't want her looking at him with those big, mesmerizing eyes, didn't want her giving him that tiny trace of a smile, but some part deep within his heart craved it, every word and look she would say and give. But Edward wasn't one for tender emotion, and even when he was overflowing with it, the words that almost always came out of his mouth were gruff and harsh and mocking.
He looked away from her, back over the darkness that was Resembool. "What do you want?" he asked, voice low.
He wouldn't look at her, now matter how much he wanted to. No matter what.
"It's getting really cold," Winry said softly, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed."
She didn't rise to the bait. "You're freezing, aren't you? Here."
Finally, he did look at Winry, only to see her reaching out, a blue coat in her hand, smile lopsided, the moon casting a white glow on her eyes, thick lashes discernable even in the night. There was no malice in her gaze or actions, only a gentle apology that, for some reason, Edward couldn't quite understand, and he took for the shame he knew she must feel for him.
He gave her a sickly sweet smile, one that was curved up in a twisted way, and barked out a hard laugh. "You really think that'll help? Look, I don't need anything, so just go tell Granny not to try." He rolled his eyes at her, looking away once again.
He had nearly stopped, tempted to tell her he was sorry, when her eyes had widened and her smile vanished, face pulling into a rejected mask. He had looked away before finishing, so he didn't see the last bit of her expression.
She was still standing there after several moments of silence, and Edward finally snarled, "Go away."
And then a voice, steely and intense, cracked over him like a whip. "I was the one who wanted to bring you this, you jerk."
Edward, eyes growing larger, looked up into Winry's face, her eyes stormy and like ice. She wasn't exactly frowning, but her mouth was pulled into a tight line, and she glared down at him. She looked imposing, but at the same time, her eyes were swimming, like she was about to cry.
Something caught in his chest at the sight, her words sinking in, but before he could even try to think about apologizing, Winry had turned away from him and was walking back the way she had come. After a moment, though, she stopped, as if contemplating something, and then, without looking at him, threw the coat at his feet.
Oh God, Ed realized. She's leaving. She was leaving, the fact that he had just double screwed everything screaming through his mind, and she wasn't going to come back, wasn't going to try to make things better again, because she just had, and he'd turned her away, cast off her words and kindness. But Winry couldn't leave; she had always been there, even when he didn't want her and told himself she wasn't needed, always around to give him a smile or to hit him, to simply listen to him when he talked. A heavy, immense weight settled in his chest and stomach. She couldn't leave, right? She wasn't allowed to leave him! Because if she did, then that would mean she didn't—
"Wait," Edward called quietly, voice breaking, a hand flying up for her even though she was out of reach.
Winry stiffened, and then slowly, she turned to look over at him, wary, her bottom lip slightly jutting out, no longer the fierce seraph she had just been; now she was Winry, the girl he'd grown up with, the one that still terrified and mystified him at the same time. She waited.
Edward swallowed. "Come back," he said softly, hand still lifted toward her, and then it was his turn to wait and see what she would do.
She stared at him for a second, eyes unreadable, her expression caught between indecision, and for a moment, Ed was afraid that she really would leave him. But then she sighed, closing her eyes and nodding, and she slowly made her way back to him.
There was a relieved, somewhat fluttery feeling in his chest as he watched her walk back to him, pick up the coat and hand it to him, then sit down, the space between them small but obviously there. That didn't matter though, because she had actually come back, and now she was looking straight ahead, slender arms wrapped around her knees.
"So?" she asked, voice still holding a slightly biting edge, but seeing Edward so broken had tremendously softened her.
Sliding the coat on, Ed swallowed, uncomfortable, then looked down at his knees. Here she was, and he couldn't even get the damned words to come out of his mouth. He swallowed again, and, instead of what he'd been trying to say, asked, "Are you okay?"
She looked at him, exhaled deeply. Something about the way she held her mouth signaled she was trying not to smile, and she simply answering his question. "Yeah. Are you?"
"Sure."
He could see from the corner of his eyes that she was still watching him, and he heard her catch on air, like she was about to say something else, then she was looking away again, pulling locks of hair through her hands.
Edward hated that he was so weak, so afraid, that he couldn't even apologize, couldn't face the fact that she might not forgive him. So he sat there, silent, and stared out into black while she pensively pulled on her hair.
Winry didn't deserve any of this. She'd lost her parents, and then he and Alphonse had gone and done something as stupid as Haman Transmutation, him losing his arm and leg and Al his entire body, then entrusting her and her grandmother with the job of making him new automail limbs. And he hadn't even said thank you, not once.
Pinako had been wrong; when he really thought about it, Winry didn't deserve to have this load placed upon her, and he didn't deserve to have Winry. She was good and kind and so much of a better person the he was, graceful and caring and smart, funny when she wasn't trying to be and a pain in the butt when she wanted to be, but she was his pain in the butt and he—
"I'm sorry," she admitted quietly, and when Edward jerked his eyes up, she wasn't looking at him, eyes instead focused on her hands.
"…What?"
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she said, moving her gaze from her hands to his, the hand of automail. They were sad eyes, filled with emotion, and they ate at his heart because it was his fault they were so remorseful. "I didn't know it would. But it's still my fault, so…" She looked up him, smiling apologetically, sadly. "I'm sorry."
Without even thinking, Edward had his flesh hand on her head, gently messing her hair up even further, and a strangled laugh, one that was actually real, exited his lips. "You really think it's your fault?" he asked, smiling softly.
At the contact of his hand, Winry had frozen, and she watched him, blinking quickly in an amazed way. She allowed him to keep his hand on her head, and asked breathlessly, "Isn't it?"
Edward sighed, hand stilling, and he gave her a smile that he rarely gave anyone, one that was gentle and fond and very sincere. "No, it's not."
"But, why?"
"It's my fault. I overreacted, that's all."
"Still," she argued, "if I'd known it would have bothered you, I wouldn't have come in."
He rolled his eyes, lifting his hand to pat her head and watching as she cringed lightly against the action. "I already told you, stupid. It's. Not. Your. Fault." He pulled his hand away, crossing it over his chest and looking steadily at her. "So don't worry about it."
For a moment, he didn't think Winry would believe him; she simply sat there, unmoving and staring. Finally, though, she nodded, giving him a smile that began repairing something in his chest, glued it back together, until it was almost like it had never been broken in the first place. He liked this feeling, even if it was confusing.
They sat quietly for a little while, and even though the space between them was still present, it didn't feel as vast.
He looked over at her, noticing for the first time a small smear of black under her right eye, a place she had missed while scrubbing her face. He lifted his hand, thumb to her cheekbone, and rubbed over the small stain until it was gone, her skin soft and cold under the pad of his finger.
Winry was watching him with large eyes, her mouth hanging open slightly, and Edward looked back at her, confused, as he tried to figure out what was wrong.
That was when he realized what he had just done and that he still hadn't moved his thumb from her cheek.
Ed inhaled sharply, his own eyes growing even larger than hers, and he jerked his hand away and shoved it down between his knees, glaring away from her as he felt himself blush, his face the only part of him that was hot at the moment. "Y-you had something on your face," he stuttered, too embarrassed to look back at her.
Winry was still watching him, her hand moving up and her fingers touching the place where his thumb had just been, and then she quickly lowered them, smiling in a slightly nervous, slightly content way. "Oh. Thanks."
"Whatever."
Quiet took over again, conversation ceasing, and Edward muddled over his thoughts, wondering what in the sake of sanity had ever made him do that and, worst of all, finding himself wanting to do it again.
When Edward's thoughts had finally settled down as much as they would, Winry turned cautiously to him, a question waiting to burst through her lips, and he watched her, waiting. She looked down, then back at him, and asked, "What happened in there?"
Edward's breathing stopped, and once again, he saw the face of that monster, felt its phantom hands touching him, and he tried to fight the shudder that traveled through his body.
Winry missed nothing; her eyes widened and, using her hands for emphasis, shook her head. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I just…I wanted to know. Sorry."
Ed sighed. "Stop apologizing." He rested his chin on his arms, unable to look at her. Should he really tell her the truth? No, that was impossible; he'd never reveal the darkness to Winry, never allow himself to confide his deepest fears to her. He never even talked about them with Al. So why would he tell her anything?
"Granny didn't tell you, I guess," he began, words coming out even while his mind told him to shut up, but he couldn't, not when he was finally telling her the truth and she was listening, "but when we tried to bring Mom back, something else came instead; maybe it was her, I don't know. It was barely alive, already dying as soon as it was born. It didn't even look like a person. But it was alive, for a moment, and it looked at me."
When he did look at her, Winry was watching him with very reflective eyes, her expression remorseful and pain filled, grief because of what they had gone through, what they had seen. She looked like she wanted to touch him, to reach out and put her hand on his, but he could tell she was trying her best not to, and he was grateful for that. "So, that's why." He looked away once again before he ended up actually letting her hold his hand.
She was silent, and Edward wasn't able to look back at her, afraid that her eyes would grow even more pitiful or even fill with revulsion. He had never told anyone this, letting Alphonse handle it instead, which resulted in everyone knowing to some extent what had happened, even Mustang; all except for Winry, who he had purposely left in the dark, out of knowledge, to keep her from worrying and knowing one of his deepest fears for as long as he could. But he had finally told her, and he felt fear swell up within him, along with the apology that he still hadn't been able to say to her.
And then a small hand, cold and pale, was on his head, fingers soft in his hair, and Winry was petting him.
For some reason, this was even more personal than words could have been, an immense action that made Edward's breath catch and caused him to shiver, but not at her cold fingers brushing his scalp; it was so intimate and so strangely welcome that he allowed her to comfort him, allowed her to tell him without words that she understood as much as was possible and that she forgave him for what had happened back there, knowing that he wanted to apologize for it but couldn't. Then he was leaning into her, against her body, closing the space and allowing himself to bask in the warmth she gave off, the fact that she didn't ask anything else and completely accepted him making his heart beat faster.
Winry moved her hand from his head, downward, until it locked around his left hand, and she twined her fingers with his, a soothing action, and she leaned toward him, her head resting slightly on his shoulder. Her cold fingers wrapped with his, Edward gripped her hand back, and then he gently knocked his head against hers, his bangs falling into his eyes.
She wanted to be with him.
He wasn't sure how long they say like that, Winry's head against his cheek, her hand in his, their palms growing warm. It was probably just a few minutes, but it seemed a lot longer, and he enjoyed every minute of it, listening to her breathe, the smell of clean fire smoke on her clothes and in her hair, simply looking out at the moon and finding the night wasn't so cold anymore; whether that was from the coat or just having Winry beside him, hardly knowing anything about his sin and still wanting to be with him anyway, he didn't know.
"Everything's going to be fine," Winry stated, looking over at Ed.
At the honest conviction and trust he saw in her eyes, in her smile, he realized that maybe everything would be, one day, at least. He could get over this darkness; never completely, but maybe it would gradually relent and allow some peace of mind, but he wouldn't really be alright for a while, not until he got Al his body back.
So, for now, he smiled back and gave her a small nod. "Yeah."
After a moment more of silence, Winry said softly, not looking at Ed and with a soft smile on her face, "Happy early birthday, Ed."
And Edward felt himself smile in return when he glanced at her, because, whether from the cold or something else, her cheeks were flushed. He chuckled softly, burying his face in her shoulder, her hair, and said, "Thank you," leaving the for everything unspoken and knowing she would still hear it.