The countryside was a barren wasteland. Fields that were
once lusciously green were now upturned and rocky. The
military had come through and laid waste to the land as
they pursued the Ishval rebels.

Winry crawled through a hidden doorway from the
basement beneath the rubble she once called her house.
She, like her parents before her, moved about the
battlefield giving aid to anyone still able to benefit from it.

She was a mechanic, but the patients who came to her
occasionally needed emergency care before she could help
them. She could save lives just like they did; no matter
what the cost.

She remembered the night Alphonse brought Edward into
her house.

Winry ran from person to person, checking for vital signs
and passing over those who were too far gone. It was a
painful choice, but she had to reserve her time and medical
supplies for those who would live through the ordeal.

She ran to the next casualty and dropped her gear beside
them. It was only after she opened her bag that she
looked at the person's face.

"Winry."

Her blood ran cold as she stared down at the boy
beneath her.

His uniform was caked in blood and his automail arm was
shattered into millions of tiny pieces. His eyes were dilated
and voice shaky as he lifted his left arm to her face and
spoke to her. Everything must have been just a dream to
him as his life slipped away.

"I'm broken, Winry," he whimpered, "Help."

She stroked his hair out of his face, tears falling on him as
she made her decision.

Maybe it would have been different if the fighting had
ended sooner. Their lives would have been happier.

"It's okay," she whispered and pulled a syringe from her
bag, "I'm here. I'll take care of you."

She pushed the syringe into an empty bottle and filled the
tube with air. Her hands shook as she pierced the skin of his
neck.

"You have the most beautiful wings."

Winry had some difficulty choking out the next sentence.

"Just relax. It won't hurt anymore."

I'm so sorry . . .