Ch 11: Adrenaline

Rated K+

Characters: Winry, Edward

Timeline: BH/Manga

Notes: and another prompt from that scrapped 100 prompt story makes a reappearance *nervous laughing*. It was originally for the prompt "breathe again", and like with the blind!Roy one, this also has been improved from its original form. It takes place during the scene when Winry nearly kills Scar after finding out about her parents death, from her POV. I know first person isn't everyone's favorite, but I hope you'll still give it a chance! As always, dialogue is slightly off because memory

Shaking. Cold. Cold? Why is it cold? It was warm just a second ago. But now I'm shaking. And cold. My blood feels like ice in my veins.

I misheard that. I must have. Because there's no way it's true.

There's no way this man killed my mom and dad.

But I'm still shaking. And cold. My legs feel weak. I'm on my knees now. My hands feel numb—actually, everything feels numb.

I think I'm speaking, but I'm not entirely sure. I can't seem to separate my thoughts from words spoken aloud. I just want to know why. But it's too cold…cold…cold eyes. This man has cold eyes.

My eyes are wet. I'm crying. When did I start crying?

I think Ed and Al are here. That's why I came down this alley, isn't it? Because I saw their backs walking away, leaving me forever? Another fight, another opportunity for them to die, to never be with me again. Why do they have to fight so much?

I see faces. Soft blue eyes and blond hair, smiles warm with affection.

We'll be back before you know it.

Be a good girl while we're gone, okay?

I choke back my tears as they hug me, donning coats and hats and meeting a military officer on the front porch. Then it's just their backs, walking down the road, and my grandmother's hand on my shoulder.

I never saw their faces again.

Because of this man.

This man took away my mom and dad.

Why? What did they ever do to deserve such a fate? They were doctors. They only ever helped people. They helped the person who killed them. Why did they deserve to die? Why did I deserve this? What did I do to deserve my parents' murder?

…Murder. This man is a murderer. He was going to murder Ed and Al too.

I see something at the edge of my field of vision. A small handgun, just off to the side on the ground. Military police issue; I've seen them around.

Murderer. Backs walking away. Blue and yellow and red and gold and gray.

My hand finds the gun.

Your mom and dad aren't coming home. They died in Ishval.

They were heroes. The Rockbells saved so many people.

It's a tragedy, isn't it?

White stones, etched with names and dates. Tears and well-meaning words. That's all we got. Not even their bodies made it out of that desert.

My hands are shaking, raising the gun out in front of me. My body still feels numb. I can't even see or hear clearly.

I think someone is talking to me. Two of them. The voices are familiar. Safe. I try to focus on them, but I can't.

"Shoot, girl."

That voice is not familiar. Not safe. It steals my attention. My finger twitches and I feel the trigger tremble beneath it.

"If you can't shoot, then get out of my way."

It's the murderer. The man who tore my family apart. The man who was about to do it all over again.

It's like I'm inside a vacuum. There's no feeling. No sound.

No air.

Faintly, I see a hand reaching for me, the skin laced with dark lines. Am I about to meet the same fate as my parents? Maybe I am. Maybe I'm about to die.

…Maybe that's okay.

"Don't shoot!"

A flash of red fills my vision, and someone presses up against me. I blink. It's familiar. It smells like cotton and oil, and makes me think of home. I look up slightly, focusing on a gold braid and red coat.

Ed is in front of me.

Ed is in front of me, arms outstretched in defense, tense and panting. It's still for a moment. I think I hear Al say something. The ground rumbles off to the side, and Ed's breathing slowly calms, even though the tension remains. He turns to face me, but I still can't focus on him.

"Winry, let go of the gun."

I know he's talking to me—but I can still see their faces, promising me they'll be home soon. Their backs walking away. A solemn soldier knocking on the door. Flowers and white stones.

He was right there. The man who did it. Right there. The gun is still in my hand. Why didn't I use it?

"He… he said he killed my mom and dad." It's my voice, raw and choked with tears. "But I—I couldn't do it."

Why couldn't I do it? Why am I so weak?

Ed stays quiet for a moment, and my blood runs even colder. Why isn't he responding?

"...I know you couldn't," he finally replies.

He knows I'm weak. He knows I can't protect anyone. He knows. I squeeze my eyes shut, on the verge of losing it all.

"Why, Ed?! Why couldn't I do it?!" I scream, angry with myself for my own inability to do anything. For just a moment, I think back to the gun in my hand, wondering if I should turn it on myself.

But then there are other hands.

One soft and warm, the other cold and hard. They envelop my own, the one not holding the gun.

"Remember in Rush Valley?" Ed's voice begins, quiet and thoughtful. "You helped deliver that baby. You saved two lives."

He pulls two of my fingers down. I blink, blurry vision locked onto our hands. I did save them, didn't I? But why does that matter?

"And you gave me an arm…and a leg, to replace the ones I lost."

Two more fingers are added to the count, and the gun clatters to the ground. Ed cups my hands with his own.

"It's your hands…" he says gently. "They weren't meant to kill. They're meant to give life…That's why."

I stare at our hands. Both sets are trembling. Three made of flesh and blood, one made of metal. The metal I crafted myself, that helped him get back on his feet when he'd lost all hope.

Something in me breaks.

I fall forward, clutching onto his jacket and crying harder than I've ever cried before. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer. It's safe, and familiar, and smells like cotton and oil and home. Shaking…I'm still shaking.

But I'm no longer cold.

A hand runs over my hair, the other tightly clutching my back. For a moment, the hands leave, and I curl forward even more, yearning for the lost touch. Then, something warm and soft settles over my shoulders, surrounding me with that familiar scent. The hands return, patient and comforting. And I continue to cling to him, sobbing uncontrollably, holding onto his presence like a lifeline. He doesn't say anything, just lets me cry into his chest, arms ever present around me. I can hear his heart beating, feel his lungs rising and falling against my forehead.

The vacuum dissipates. For the first time since I heard that man speak, I can feel. And finally, pressed against the boy I grew up with, who's always been there for me when I need him most, I can breathe again.