welcome back! In this chapter, we see more snippets of Ed's first experiences with consciousness, and all the changes he's endured- both in body and mind. Denial, guilt, nightmares, phantom pain, and reliable friendship... it's all here!

Enjoy!

(Update 10/30/22: updated chapter with revisions)

(Update 2/21/23: fixed dashes and hyphens)

(Update 8/7/23: mass update!)

(Update 9/25/24: mass update! but the darn italics are broken again, where it removes the formatting I pasted once I save the document, so i'm having to go through and manually re-italicize things *exasperated groan*)

Ch 3: Quiet Mumblings

Ten days after the Elrics' dramatic entrance into their lives, the Rockbells finally form a coherent routine. As soon as Pinako wakes, she checks all of Edward's vitals, feeds him, gives him his medication, and then does her housework. By the time she finishes, Winry is awake and keeps Alphonse occupied. Pinako loves the boy, but he's as uncoordinated as uncoordinated can be, and she would rather not have him traipsing around the house in boredom. He was practically a runaway train the first few days, trying so hard to learn a sense of control but unable to. If he wasn't Alphonse, she probably would have made him stay outside—especially after he nearly trampled Winry the second day. That incident scared him as much as it did the Rockells, and after much tearless sobbing, he self-exiled to one of the upstairs bedrooms and refused to leave until he could walk without bumping into everything. He's miles better now, but still as clumsy as a toddler most of the time. It's an absolute miracle he was so coordinated the day of the transmutation, and the only explanation Pinako has for it is sheer determination to get help for his brother. Because once he'd fulfilled that task…he lost any semblance of control.

So, Pinako lets him and Winry play outside as long as they want. It's unnerving, more so than she wants it to be, seeing her granddaughter and a seven foot tall suit of armor playing together. But Winry seems to see nothing odd about this, so Pinako tries not to either. Winry has grown up watching people with various metal pieces come in and out of her home, so why would she be concerned by her friend's new body? Pinako wonders if she's actually unbothered or just doing her best to seem like it.

The old woman shudders, thinking back to the second day. She'd finally asked Al how he was still here, seeing and hearing and talking when he had no physical body. He said there was an alchemical seal drawn inside the armor, and took off the helmet to show her. He said when Edward woke up a couple days ago, he'd told Al that the price to transmute his soul was his arm, but he was worried it didn't work.

Pinako was horrified by the ten-year-old's nonchalant explanation. She figured Edward's limb loss was due to the human transmutation, but apparently he'd still had three limbs when it was over. The idea that he would willingly give up another one to bring back his brother was disturbing. She was proud, in a twisted way, that he would give himself up for his family, but also, well, disturbed.

Pinako didn't ask anything else after that.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, the old woman finishes cleaning the kitchen. Her house is always a hodgepodge of normal living space and automail workshop, and she picks several screws and wrenches off the counter. Ed always joked how he could never tell where the workshop ended and the house began, and Winry would always get defensive, saying he had no right to talk when his house was like an alchemical experiment lab. Then they'd break into rapid fire insults, and Al would try to mediate, and the three would eventually end up in fits of laughter. Pinako smiles slightly at the memories, looking out the small window above the kitchen sink. Winry and Alphonse are playing some kind of tag outside, and as far as she knows, Edward is still unconscious. He's woken up a dozen times since day three, but each time, he's been confused and nothing like his normal self. Only about three of those times has he even been aware enough to speak. She knows it's both trauma and the copious amount of medication he's on, but it's still unsettling to see such a bright and lively boy reduced to glazed over eyes and slow speech.

Pinako decides to sit in Ed's room and read for a bit while the other children play. She's always believed unconscious people can tell when they have company, and she doesn't want him to get too lonely. Plus, she can use this opportunity to check up on him (even if she's already done so several times).

She makes her way to the business side of the house. The (official) automail practice takes up about a third of the building, consisting of four rooms. There's Surgical and its adjacent prep/storage room, a physical therapy room, and Recovery (which has two bed spaces and its own bathroom). She moved Edward out of Surgical on day two, and assigned one of the two beds in Recovery to him (probably for the foreseeable future. Most patients have a home to go back to after the first few days of intensive recovery, but there's no way she would let him out of her sight. The rest of her patients aren't victims of vicious wayward alchemy…or family members).

As she suspected, when she gets to Ed, he's still out. She can't quite call it sleep, because sleep doesn't last twenty-plus hours a session, but she can't call it a coma either, because of the waking spells. He was only completely unconscious for the first day and a half; since then, he's had random waking spells, sometimes just enough to shift his body and briefly open his eyes, and other times enough to have a semi-coherent conversation. His body just doesn't seem to know how to respond to everything that's been done to it, and she's not sure how long this half comatose, half conscious stage will last.

She stands at his bedside, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest for a moment. Even if he's been stable for a week, she still gets worried she's going to walk in one morning and he'll be dead. The first few days, she would get up several times a night just to make sure he was still breathing. Pinako sighs, putting a hand against his face. He doesn't react to the touch, but she brushes a bit of golden hair out of his eyes anyway. She remembers the day he was born, and how scared Trisha had been throughout the entire labor and delivery. But the second she saw him, her eyes lit up with the kind of pure love only a mother can hold, and all her fears disappeared, if just for a moment. Pinako wonders where Trisha is now.

Even though she's already done her morning check-up, Pinako decides to give him another quick look over. He caught an infection on day eight and it still hasn't entirely gone away, so she can't be too careful. It'll delay his recovery, but she'd much rather be safe than sorry, so she'll be cleaning out his shoulder every morning and night for at least a couple more days. After she gives the wound a look, she double checks that all the other tubes and lines feeding into his body are in place, then finally settles into her chair with her book.

Thirty minutes into her reading, Ed begins stirring, turning onto his side, facing her. He's still asleep, but she sees his hand move to the empty space below his right shoulder, fingers feeling around for the limb that should be there. His expression shifts several times, and she knows he's really trying to wake up. Finally, his eyes blink open, golden irises dull and blank. She's not sure if he's even seeing anything, until his gaze shifts up and finally focuses on her.

She just stays sitting in her chair, book folded on her lap. He's not aware enough yet to understand anything if she started talking, anyway. She has to let him be the first to say something.

It takes several minutes, but he finally manages a quiet, "Granny…"

"Ed," she replies.

"My arm hurts."

"Where?"

"Dunno...hurts."

"It's going to hurt for a while, Ed."

"How long?"

"A while." She doesn't want to give him the real answer, which is that it'll probably be for the rest of his life. It'll get better, but it'll never completely go away. "Does anything else hurt?"

He stays quiet for a minute, and she briefly wonders if he slipped back under with his eyes open. Finally, he says, "yes."

"Where?"

"My head. And chest. And legs. And back. Kinda everywhere."

"I'm sorry, Sprout." Pinako knows there isn't really anything she can do. He's already on every pain medication she has, and if he wasn't, he'd be in such debilitating agony he wouldn't even be talking.

It's quiet for a couple more minutes before he speaks again. "Granny?"

"Hm?"

"Are my arm and leg really gone?"

"You know the answer to that, Ed."

"Yeah...just doesn't feel real."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"How am I gonna live now?"

"We'll work it out, Edward."

Ed doesn't seem satisfied with that response, but is too incoherent to really care. She can see his eyes fighting to stay open now.

"Get some rest," she says softly. He doesn't even need the suggestion, though.

She opens her book again, trying to read more, but it's futile. She can't focus anymore.

…

Twelve days after The Incident, Edward wakes the Rockbells with screaming.

Remembering what happened last time he was screaming, Pinako rushes to Recovery, only to find Ed asleep. He's thrashing back and forth and mumbling to himself, but definitely asleep.

"What's wrong?!" Winry's panicked voice comes up beside Pinako, all dressed in pajamas and hair wild, but eyes wide and panicked.

"I think he's having a nightmare," Pinako answers. "Let's see if we can wake him up. Gently, though, we don't want to scare him more."

Winry walks up beside Ed, looking at him worriedly. "Hey, Ed...can you hear me? It's Winry."

"And Granny," Pinako says. "You're dreaming, Ed. You're okay."

Ed turns over again, face twisted in agony. He's still mumbling to himself, until Winry catches one word, being repeated over and over. Or rather, one name.

"Al...Al, Al…"

"Grandma, he's dreaming about Al!" Winry says.

"Of course he is...I'll be right back," Pinako says, rushing out of the room.

Winry watches her friend, trying desperately to escape whatever images his unconscious mind is seeing. He grabs his blanket, clutching the fabric so tightly his knuckles turn white. She sees tears leaking down his face, and she reaches forward hesitantly, unsure how he'd react to contact. Before she can touch him, however, the sound of crashing metal comes through the door.

"Remember, Al, be gentle!" Granny calls after him.

Al slows immediately, trying his hardest to tiptoe up to Ed. "Brother?" he says softly.

In his sleep, a look of confusion crosses Ed's face. "It's me, Ed, it's Alphonse. I'm here." Al picks up Ed's hand, holding it as gingerly as possible out of fear of breaking it. Al just repeats his words, over and over again. Ed's breathing slowly calms down, and after a minute, his eyes open.

"A‐Al?"

"Hi, Brother. You were having a bad dream."

Ed's eyes refill with tears. "I watched you die," he chokes out. "And Mom too. And it just kept happening, over and over."

Al sighs sadly. "It's okay. I'm okay."

The Rockbells leave, and Al stays in the room until Ed falls back asleep. He waits for his older brother to say something else, but he doesn't. He's too busy replaying that awful dream in his mind, backed with Alphonse's echoing words.

It's okay. I'm okay.

As much as he wants to, Edward can't bring himself to believe that.

…

It's late. Or very early in the morning, given the intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the room. And everything hurts.

It's different than when Edward woke up to what Granny later explained was an infection in his shoulder. When that happened, he was incoherent with fever and unable to pinpoint the source of his pain. Right now, though, he knows exactly where it's coming from, but the answer to that makes no logical sense. The pain is coming from his right arm and left leg, which, last time he checked, don't exist.

This isn't the first time he's felt like his limbs are still there (he woke up once and tried to push himself up with his right arm, only to be surprised when he couldn't), but it's never hurt like this before. It always just felt like the presence of his arm and leg.

Ed takes in a sharp breath, entirely confused as to what's going on. He'd talked to Pinako about feeling his limbs before, offhandedly mentioning it during one of his lucid spells. She said she hears that from just about every person she works with, and told him not to be too worried about it. He also knows it's normal for his shoulder and remaining left leg to hurt—he had his limbs freaking ripped off and their subsequent holes sewed back together, so of course they're going to hurt.

But right now, he feels pain in more than just the stumps of his limbs; it feels like his whole right arm and left leg are dully throbbing, similarly to the ache of a growth spurt. Every once in a while, the ache is interrupted by a sharp shooting pain, like electricity through his fingers and toes...which don't even exist anymore. Steadily, the pain gets worse, until he knows there's no hope of falling back asleep. It's still worst at the actual sites of amputation, but there's a concerning burning sensation in his left ankle now, which shouldn't be possible. Terrified, he yells for Granny.

The woman shows up a minute later, dressed in pajamas and slippers. "What's wrong, boy?"

"I—I don't know! I'm dying!" Ed yells, trying to catch his breath.

"You gotta tell me what you're feeling, Ed." Pinako steps up beside him, holding his wrist and checking the pulse, which is much too fast.

"It feels like there's fire in my arm and leg!" Ed tears his hand away from her grasp, grabbing onto his shoulder. "It's everywhere!"

Pinako looks him over, coming to a solemn realization. Ed has mentioned feeling sensation in his messing limbs before, and even though no doctors have quite figured out the phenomenon yet, she's heard about it plenty of times. "Ed, are you talking about your missing arm and leg?"

"Yes! It doesn't make any sense, Granny!" he shouts. "They're gone, but I can feel them! Except it's not like before—It—it hurts…" His words are growing more and more frustrated, his anger only heightened by the pain. "Make it stop!"

"Ed, I can't do anything," Pinako says, tone exasperated but eyes betraying her sympathy. "I can't give you medicine for limbs you don't have."

"But it feels so real, Granny…" he whimpers. "I want it to stop…"

"I wish I could help you, Ed. You know I do," Pinako says, running her hand through his hair. "I know you're telling the truth. I have a few things that might help, but ultimately, it's in your brain. You just have to let it pass."

"No it's not…it's…" Ed whimpers.

"I didn't mean you're making it up. I know the pain is very real," Pinako clarifies. "I meant the source is in your brain. We can try to calm those signals down, but I can't actually treat your arm and leg. You know that…"

"I...I know…" Ed whispers.

Another bolt of lightning flashes outside, followed by the crash of thunder. Pinako hears rain start splattering against the window, the flashes of light briefly illuminating her suffering grandson.

Ed whimpers again, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain radiates through him. Pinako feels awful; it's bad enough for patients with one missing limb, but Ed is being attacked from both top and bottom, left and right. So, she sits with him, running her fingers through his bangs as the storm rages on.

"Granny...W-what's wrong with me?" Ed stutters through choked vocal chords.

"I told you, this happens to a lot of people I work with, Ed. Especially during storms. Something about the air pressure...I'm not entirely sure. This is the first time it's been stormy since you've been here."

"Why won't it go away? It hurts...I don't like it…"

His words make Pinako's heart break a little more. He doesn't often speak like the eleven-year-old he is, so when he does, it's because he can't express himself any other way—just as a hurting, scared child who wants the pain to stop. "Let it pass," she repeats softly.

Pinako moves from massaging his head to holding his hand. Normally, he would yank himself free, but instead, he grips her tightly. She rubs her thumb over his, until finally, finally, he's too exhausted by the strain of the night, and falls into a fitful sleep. Pinako removes her hand, but stays in her chair.

She's not going anywhere else tonight.

…

There is a point in every new amputee's journey when they realize once and for all what losing limbs really means.

Of course, it's obvious from the get-go that life is different. Suddenly, your sense of self is altered, you're stripped of your independence, and you're left to wait on others to tell you what to do and how to deal with your new situation. But then, there's that all encompassing, devastating moment when you realize this is it, this is how it's going to be for the rest of your life. For especially traumatic cases, like Edward's, Pinako has found that it takes longer for the person to reach that crucial point.

Even so, Ed is taking an oddly long time. She chalks it up to his spotty consciousness, but it's been fourteen days now, and he still hasn't seemed to realize just what's happened. He knows his arm and leg are gone; that's not something he could miss, even with all the drugs. But he hasn't really seemed to process what that means. He's mentioned it in passing, how am I gonna live now, Granny?, but he hasn't reached a breaking point. She's starting to worry he never will.

As tough as it is to come to terms with loss, it's necessary. He won't be able to move on if he doesn't. Now, though, she's beginning to wonder if all the other factors in his limb loss (Alphonse, Trisha) are clouding his ability to mourn his own losses.

Pinako gathers herself, putting away the last clean dishes. She should probably go check up on Ed; it's about time to feed him and switch out his bandages.

A crash in the living room startles her, and a moment later, Al and Winry start yelling at each other. Pinako goes into the other room, mind running through every worst case scenario. Did Ed get up somehow? No...the drugs she has him on could make a horse sleep for a month. Instead, she sees her bookcase knocked over, bits of glass littering the floor, and the two kids shouting and gesturing wildly.

"You know I didn't mean it, Winry!" Al says, frustrated.

"But that's the third time it's been broken!" the girl retorts.

"And I've fixed it every time!"

"That's not the point! You need to learn to control yourself! When Ed gets better and can leave his room, you're going to break him! And he's not something you can fix with alchemy…"

"Alright, you two, calm down," Pinako says. "You know it's not Al's fault he can't feel, Winry. It's like automail, and he's still learning. And Alphonse, you know you do need to be careful, because you're still learning." She looks over the damaged bookcase. "Now, I want this fixed before dinner. I'm going to go take care of Ed."

"I'll do it," Winry grumbles. "I need a minute alone." Then, without so much as waiting for a response, she starts off toward the medical side of the house.

She's not angry at Al; she can't be, because she knows he can't help his destructive tendencies. She just gets frustrated, and worried, and overwhelmed sometimes. Winry opens the door to Recovery, walking to Ed's bedside. He's unconscious, but it doesn't look deep; he might wake up while she's working on him.

...Which is the last thing she wants right now.

Still, she can't neglect him. She gets her supplies ready, mixing a serving of their special liquid food. As she works, she hears Ed shift behind her. Great. She hopes she can finish this quickly, before he wakes up fully.

Winry uncaps Ed's feeding tube and starts funneling in the food, eyes focused on his face. She sees his brows draw together, mouth opening slightly and eyes moving beneath closed lids. It's a common unconscious reaction; while she has no first hand experience, she's been told that the sensation of tube feeding is a strange one—not being able to feel it in your mouth or throat but still feeling like you're eating nonetheless. He grimaces, turning his head away. Winry turns it back; he can't eat properly if the line is twisted. For a moment, his eyelids flutter, and Winry sighs; if he's going to wake up, he should just do it. She'd rather have him awake than half asleep. He's still not like his normal self when he's awake, but he's getting more lucid each day, and Winry would rather have that than this.

Tube feeding is a long process, and by the end of it, Ed's eyes are open and watching Winry.

"Why're you here?" he asks softly.

"To take care of you, alchemy freak," Winry replies.

"You never do it."

"Grandma was busy, so I said I'd do it."

Ed continues staring, and Winry shifts uncomfortably. She doesn't think he even realizes he's doing it, but it's unsettling nonetheless. Ed has always had an intense gaze, but he doesn't stare at her unless he's angry. She shakes her head.

"I'm gonna raise the bed," Winry says.

"Why?"

"I have to switch out your bandages, and I'd prefer to have you sitting up."

"You don't have to do that…" Ed replies.

"It's been a couple days, Ed. We don't want you to get sick again." Winry pulls the release for the bed, pushing it into its second position. It would be easier if he could sit up on his own, but it's unlikely with the amount of drugs in his system—a couple of which are muscle relaxers.

Winry climbs onto the bed, setting her tray of medicine and gauze beside her. Ed watches, silently noting how she fits perfectly in the space that should be occupied by his left leg. He looks away.

"Lift your leg up," Winry says.

Ed does as best as he can, but medication aside, he's still very weak. Winry pushes his shorts (the only clothing item left on him since being instated) up a little and unwraps his leg, lifting it up further to inspect the stitches. Normally Ed wouldn't let the Rockbells, especially Winry, anywhere near his upper leg, but the small blessings of post-surgery drugs include a decent amount of obliviousness. Winry runs her fingers over the thick scar tissue and medical thread. The graft took well to the rest of his skin, and Winry guesses the stitches will be ready to come out within the next week.

"Your leg is looking really good, Ed," she says.

"That's what Granny keeps saying," Ed replies, slightly annoyed. "But she never tells me what that means."

"It means exactly what it sounds like: your stitches are healing well. Now let me see your other leg."

"I don't understand why she keeps doing that, too."

"Because she had to take skin from it to close your left leg. We're just seeing how that's healing, too."

Ed frowns, letting Winry check the bandages wrapped around his right thigh. When she's done, she slathers a fresh coat of medicine on both wounds before rewrapping the dressings.

"Lean forward so we can do your shoulder," she says.

Ed does, looking increasingly uncomfortable. Winry notices this, brows furrowing in concern as she reaches out to stabilize him. She removes the gauze from his shoulder and chest. This wound doesn't look nearly as good as the other, but considering having been infected a week ago and only being re-stitched a few days ago, it doesn't look bad. Bruised and irritated and not healthy, but considering the state she saw him in two weeks ago, not bad. Anything is better than being cut open and dying, losing more blood than his tiny body could possibly contain. Winry forcibly removes herself from that memory, going back to her inspection.

She also notices the skin by his shoulder blades and spine is raw and irritated from being in bed 24/7, and she makes a mental note to tell Grandma. They have medicine for that, and Winry could apply it on her own but...well...Edward is her friend. If his back is irritated, everywhere is irritated. She can handle taking care of his leg, but that's where she draws the line (and so does Pinako). So she just moves on, making a comment to him. "Your shoulder looks like it's healing well too. Especially considering that infection you caught." Ed doesn't reply, and Winry pokes his ribs playfully. "What's the matter?" He shrugs, and she frowns, finishing her work in silence. She's just about to leave when he speaks again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?" She didn't mean for it to come out as a question.

He hesitates, refusing to meet Winry's eyes. "Do you think that anyone will still, y'know...wanna be my friend? When I have a body like this?"

Winry blinks; that was not what she was expecting him to ask. "I mean...you and Al read alchemy books all day, so obviously I'm more popular than the two of you combined, but...If those other kids don't wanna be your friend anymore, it's their loss. Cause honestly—" she blushes slightly, looking away, "—I'd rather hang out with you than them any day."

Ed stares at her, entirely unreadable. "...I guess."

Winry tilts her head. "So...is something else bothering you, too?"

"I don't know, I guess it's just now starting to sink in…"

She waits a moment, but he doesn't finish his statement. "What is?"

He sighs. "That my arm and leg are actually gone." He plays with the loose end of his sheet, gaze only reaching Winry for half a second before snapping away. She's staring wide-eyed at him, blue irises full of pity, and he hates it. "Stop looking at me like that! It doesn't matter. I don't know why I even said anything."

"Edward...It's okay to be upset."

"I'm not upset! I don't even care about it! You're the one making a big deal!"

"Because it is a big deal!" Winry says, and when Ed looks back at her, he freezes at the tears in her eyes. "Losing limbs is a big deal."

Ed swallows. "Yeah...I didn't really realize it until now. But I'm...I'm sad." He lightly touches the new end of his left leg, looking incredibly distraught. It makes Winry's heart ache, but she forces down the feeling for Edward's sake. He looks back at her. "Am I even allowed to be sad? My brother lost his whole body, and I only lost an arm and leg. What right do I have to be upset? But then, I think about it, and I...I don't want this, Winry. I want my arm and leg back…"

"Listen to me, Ed," Winry says sternly. "Just because Al lost his whole body doesn't mean you can't be sad about yours. I met this man once who lost a leg in a train wreck. His wife died in the accident, and he didn't want to be sad about his leg when she was dead. Grandma told him the same thing I just told you. So don't be so hard on yourself, alright?"

Ed doesn't look quite convinced, but nods nonetheless.

"And remember…" Winry averts her gaze, feeling her face heat up again. "No matter what anyone else thinks...you've always got me…"

The girl leaves quickly after that, and Ed considers everything she said. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of unconsciousness pull on him, and all the while, her words echo in his ears as he drifts off to blackness.

Okay, so I figured I'd get this out of the way right now: when it comes to Ed being outwardly emotional in this fic, there's a few big reasons I'm portraying him like that:

-he is currently heavily drugged up, which can alter people's thresholds to emotion

-one thing I liked more in 2003 was that they let Ed be emotional; in episode 8, after he and winry are kidnapped and nearly killed, he breaks down into sobbing twice

-and most importantly, he is eleven. I don't care how much of a "tough guy" he is; anyone would cry when faced with traumatic situations like this

Hope that makes my characterization a little clearer :D