Dream
He has forgotten how to sleep.
Even now, after getting his body back at last, he is still in the habit of sitting quietly with his back to the wall, while Ed snores in dense unconsciousness, staring straight ahead of him and losing himself in thought. Somehow, it has never occurred to him that he ought to do anything else at night. It has always been a time in which to sit still and think, and to come to terms with the day's events, whether good or bad. Of course, he used to sleep, once, long ago, but he can no longer remember exactly what sleep is or how to go about it. In any case, he feels in particular need of contemplation that night.
And so, his bed sterile and crisp and empty, and Ed submerged in sleep not three metres away, he huddles in the corner and watches the moonlight creep gradually across the floor of the room, and thinks.
He doesn't realise morning has come for a long time. It takes him even longer to realise that Ed has woken up, and longer still to register that he is talking.
Al moves at last, and looks up, confused, startled. Then he gasps, and puts a hand to his neck. His whole body is aching from the lack of movement.
Wincing, he stands and stretches his limbs painfully.
"What the hell?" Ed asks him.
He glances over. "Huh?"
Ed gestures wildly, incredulously. "What were you doing sitting there?"
". . .Thinking," he replies, rather lamely, he realises.
"Why weren't you in bed?"
Al hesitates. The last thing he wants is to let his brother know of the problem he is having. Ed has a tendency to blame himself for everything, and it doesn't take much to provoke a frenzy of guilt in him. Any problem Al has with his body, he knows, Ed will doubtless attribute to a mistake on his own part.
"I was too excited to sleep," Al says finally.
Ed's brow clears and he smiles in relief. "Well, okay," he says, "but you'd better sleep tonight. It's bad for you to stay up all night, you know."
Al knows he is right- the last thing he wants is to damage his body when he only just got it back- and so that night he follows Ed's example, climbing into bed and lying determinedly still. It doesn't take long before Ed is asleep, stomach exposed to the world and drooling onto his pillow.
But only a few metres away, Al lies stiff and unmoving, eyes forced close, his whole body tense with the effort. He knows that lying still is the only way to achieve sleep, in theory, but has forgotten all the finer points of it. His mind is buzzing, and he feels terribly restless and can't prevent himself from fidgeting.
He lies awake all night.
Ed is pleased when he wakes the next morning to see his little brother in his bed on the other side of the room, eyes closed and breathing slowly. He gets up quietly and tries to leave the room without making any noise.
When he reaches the door he looks back over his shoulder and catches sight of Al, still in bed and in the same position; but with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
Ed yelps.
Al blinks, turns his head slowly and looks at him. "Good morning."
Ed, slightly freaked out, but happy that Al is sleeping at all, cautiously approaches. "Sleep well?"
"Uh-huh," Al mumbles helplessly.
As the days pass, Al becomes filled with an increasing sense of futility. No matter how hard he tries, how many times he clamps his eyes shut and wills sleep to come, he is unable to get any rest. He feels himself gradually beginning to sag under the weight of the tiredness, the sawdusty feeling and the constant dull ache in the back of his head, the deep weariness reaching through his whole body, and watches his appearance in the mirror grow pale and his eyes bloodshot, ringed with dark hollows. The tiredness consumes him so that he can only sit in miserable silence, almost hoping to collapse from exhaustion, just for the few sweet moments of unconsciousness.
Eventually it becomes unbearable, and he at last swallows his foreboding and issues a plea for help, one bright, sunny morning that appears clouded to his drooping eyes. "Brother, I can't sleep."
Ed huffs in outraged agreement. "I know! Wasn't the wind loud last night?"
Al crumbles.
But Winry, who is sitting at the table in silence, hears what Al says, and it worries her.
That night, as he sits, head bowed over his knees, on his bed, eyes closed purely out of habit, she comes silently into the room and kneels on the bed behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Startled, he almost cries out, but she puts a finger swiftly to his lips to quieten him.
She pulls him gently backwards until they are curled side by side. And then, as Ed snores in oblivion on the other side of the room, she begins to whisper softly over Al's shoulder into his ear, still holding him tightly, just explaining her day, talking about her work, chatting about the gossip she heard from her friends, discussing her plans for tomorrow, all in a sibilant undertone. He listens in a confused silence, occasionally responding to a question or providing an opinion, once in a while offering his own narrative.
And gradually the flow of conversation becomes a trickle, and he begins to feel very slow and heavy and comfortable in her arms. . .
He opens his eyes and it is bright, and sunlight is streaming in through the windows. Winry has gone, and so too has Ed, his bed swiftly and carelessly made. Al sits up, bewildered, unable to comprehend what in the world has happened, before catching sight of the clock on the table.
"Afternoon, Al," Ed says laughingly as he comes, still only pyjama-clad, his hair dishevelled and rumpled, into the kitchen.
Al glances at Winry on the opposite end of the table, but she doesn't look up to meet his eye.
"Tired, were you?" Ed is still talking.
A slow realisation creeps over Al as he understands what happened, and he has to think carefully before he answers. "Yes," he says eventually. "But it was mostly because of the dream I had."
"Was it a good one?"
Al looks at Winry. "Amazing," he says.
Author's notes: I wrote this in bed, reeeeally late at night. I was shattered after a long day, but I knew that I couldn't go to sleep until I had finished the story, or I would forget all my ideas. And what was the story about. . . ? You can't imagine what it was like. They should make it into some sort of refined torture.
I totally wasn't planning to upload this fic for like. . . ever. I MUSTN'T RUSH! I MUST KEEP SOME IN RESERVE TO TIDE ME OVER IF I HIT A DRY SPELL!!!! DX But I wrote four stories in the last two days, even though I didn't have any ideas (That's the beauty of drabbles :D) So. . . aw hell. Live a little.
I only just realised a few days ago that I always write Ed as being either moronic, insensitive, sadistic or just generally useless, especially in this series. Oh well, it works nicely. So, here's some more moron!Ed for you :D
ALSO, (and this is of vital importance) may I just say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone in the whole world?! Srsly. This series has twice as many reviews as any of my other fics, and more than three times as many hits. That's awesome. I flipping love you all. Gatebabies. Now. (I am yet to think of a way to thank certain people who have been especially fabulous and encouraging and just made of unadulterated win, but for now let's just assume that you know who you are, and. . . expect something large and chocolate-covered.)