Hello friends! Welcome back!

I have just finished my first week of my junior year of college and, oof, is it taking some getting used to. This is definitely the biggest workload I've had so far because I have three reading/analysis based classes, and I'm also working and trying to keep a good sleep schedule as well, so it's been busy. I'm going to try my hardest to keep up with writing since it's one of my favorite leisure activities but here's your warning I guess if it becomes a little more sporadic haha.

In this chapter we've got Ed losing himself again to his guilt and need to fix things, as well as some of Winry's lingering struggles with the situation. It gets serious; mans does not know the definition of self-care. My beta may or may not have said she cried reading it. But I promise things will start looking up from here... well, until the next crisis of course ;P

Also I went back through chapter one and did some editing. I fixed the pacing a bit and added some more of the characters' thoughts and feelings. Hope the improvement is noticeable!

Enjoy!

(update 9/29/24: mass update! basically the whole second section has been redone...)

Ch 16: The Deep End

Pinako drops an off-white folder onto the table with a resounding thwack. "I hope you know just how crazy this is. If you weren't family, I wouldn't even have considered it."

Edward looks from the folder to Pinako's face, slightly startled by the harsh glare in her eyes. When she woke him up early that morning saying she had something important to show him, he'd practically leapt out of bed...Well, not literally. The Rockbells had only taken his casts off the previous day, and he was still in a hell of a lot of pain. But after three weeks of being stagnant, he's itching to move on to something new. "Is that…?"

"It's your rehab schedule. Trimmed down to a year, just as you insisted." Ed reaches out and pulls the folder closer. "Like I said, a typical rehab takes at least three years. Had any of my other patients asked to do it in a third of that time, I would have called them crazy and shipped them to another mechanic." She smirks. "Actually, you still are crazy...But I won't ship you off."

Ed opens the folder, frowning at the sheets inside; nonsensical medical jargon and overcomplicated diagrams assault his vision. "You could have at least written it in Amestrian, not Doctor Crap No-one Understands."

"Blame Winry; she's the one who typed it up."

"I am going to punch her. And then write her next birthday card in code."

"I doubt you'd be tall enough to reach her," Pinako snickers, which earns her a glare. She pulls her chair around to sit beside Ed. She slides the folder between them, pulling out the first several sheets. "These pages outline the plan for your prosthetics. We always move forward with legs before arms, since the bone is stronger. And before we even get to any of that, we'll use a set of these to make sure your ports can handle weight." She points to a picture of what looks like a ball with a plug. "And after we're sure you're strong enough, we'll move on to your first leg." Pointing at the next picture, she adds, "It's almost exactly the same as the one you were using before, except it locks into your port instead of being strapped on. Then once you're good with that, we'll try out your first nerve-powered leg." She slides her finger to a picture that looks like nothing more than a stick with a few wires. "It's a skeletal form of automail. We'll slowly up the weight and functionality from there until you have a complete leg. As for the arm…" She flips to the next page. "The plan looks almost the same, just with some longer periods between stages and some smaller weight increasing increments."

Ed glances at her skeptically over the pictures. "And you're sure it'll only take a year?"

"It'll be hell, but yes."

He nods, eyeing the rest of the sheets in the folder. "What's everything else in there for?"

"I'm getting there, impatient boy. There's a lot more to automail than just the prosthetics. You have to commit to a new sort of daily life to maintain it, internally and externally." She pulls out the next paper. "This outlines your exercise plan. You always have to make sure your body stays strong enough to support your automail." The next paper. "This one talks about dietary needs. You need to intake a lot of nutrient-rich foods for the same reason." And the next paper. "This is about port maintenance, to help prevent any infections that could make you lose your automail." Another paper. "And this is about prosthetic maintenance, how to properly clean and take care of them, as well as how to remove and reconnect them if you ever find yourself in that situation." The final paper. "And this one is specifically for you. Since we've never operated on someone your age, we made an extra outline detailing what we're going to do as you get older, and your bones continue growing. We're not sure yet, but we might have to operate again later to fix the internal structure since you clearly haven't had your growth spurt yet."

Ed glares at her at that statement. "First, I'm not short. Got that, you old coot? And second...is all this really necessary?"

"It's non-negotiable," Pinako answers sternly, stacking the papers back in their folder. "I'm not about to let you ruin your chances with automail because you don't follow the plan. This stuff is serious, Edward."

Ed exhales slowly, determination coloring his features. "Okay..." He nods, picking up the folder. "Okay. I can do it."

Pinako grins, ruffling his hair. "I know you can. Go ahead and read that in detail while I make us some lunch." She pushes her chair back, standing up and bringing it back to its place. Ed watches, and just when she's nearly gone, he stops her.

"Granny?"

"Hm?"

He hesitates. "If I'm really crazy for doing this in a year...how come you still put this plan together for me?"

A sly smile spreads across Pinako's face. "I guess I realized if there's anyone stubborn enough to pull it off, it's you." She turns away, heading to the kitchen. "And besides...sometimes a little crazy is just what you need."

…

The pieces are supposed to fit right onto the permanent parts of his automail, but looking at them gives Ed a strange feeling. "Is it gonna hurt?" he asks. He's only just gotten over the leftover pain from surgery in the week since his casts came off, and isn't eager to relive it.

"Well, the plates have to be wired to your nerve plugs, but since those are just the outlets for your automail, it won't hurt. When we screw the plates on, it might hurt a little, but nothing too bad," Winry explains.

Ed closes his eyes, fixing his posture. "Just do it already."

Pinako and Winry ready their tools, the girl kneeling down to start the wiring on his leg.

"What's the first step, Winry?" Pinako asks.

"Plug the plate into the nerve outlets," she replies.

Ed moves away a little. "What are you doing? Why are you asking her?"

"I'm just testing her, boy. That's what mentors do," Pinako says, a tone of warning in her voice.

Ed scoffs, ignoring the warning. "I don't want an apprentice mechanic helping me."

"I did the entire surgery, jerk!" Winry yells. "Just 'cause I'm not old enough to be a real mechanic yet doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing!"

"Then why is Granny quizzing you?" he spits back.

"Because I'm always going to be teaching her things until she's off on her own," Pinako says sternly. "Now stop being a little snot and let her work, or I'll force you to do the whole three years."

Ed bites his tongue, ready to complain about how unfair that is when he's not even doing this for himself. But instead, he just sits stiffly, waiting for the Rockbells to continue.

"Go ahead, Winry," Pinako says, eyeing Ed.

Winry plugs the small wires inside the cover plate into the three outlets. "Now what's next?"

"To screw it into the infrastructure."

"Good. Remember to screw it tightly, but not too tightly. Though I wouldn't mind if you went a little tighter on Mr. Snappy-Mouth, here."

Ed glares at her and she glares back. Winry screws the plate into the metal ring at the end of his leg. It hurts a little with the last few turns of the screwdriver, but it's nothing compared to what he's experienced so far with automail.

"Done," Winry says.

"Alright, now do the shoulder."

Winry repeats the process for the plate on his shoulder.

"Good job, Winry." Pinako smiles. "At least some people recognize competency when they see it," she says in Ed's direction (which he scowls at again). "I'll let you get started with his weight training."

"Got it," Winry says, picking up a metal ball with a plug at the end.

"What the hell is that?" Ed asks, looking at the new object warily.

"Were you even paying attention when I was showing you your plan?" Pinako asks, exasperated.

"Of course I was!"

"Then you would know this is the first stage of automail."

Ed gives a small, guilty smile. "I paid attention to most of it…" The smile fades back into a frown. "What does a metal ball have to do with automail?"

"It's a weight," Winry explains. "To build up your muscle strength."

"Well, it looks stupid."

Winry pouts. "Do you want automail or not?"

A brief image of Alphonse, alone and trapped inside armor, flashes in Ed's mind. "Yes!"

"Then I guess you'll have to look 'stupid' for a while." Winry shakes the metal ball at Ed, coming dangerously (or perhaps purposefully) close to his head. "Besides, it's only for exercise. You'll get your first leg tomorrow, after we do some training tonight."

Ed looks a moment longer, before huffing. "Okay, then let's do it. I want to be walking as soon as possible."

The Rockbells exchange a glance at that statement (why is he being so snippy today?), but Pinako shrugs and leaves the room either way. She's annoyed, and despite Winry's fiery retorts, she knows the girl is much more patient than her grandmother.

Once the old woman is gone, Winry glances at her friend. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," Ed answers tersely. "I know you know what you're doing. I just want to get this over with."

"Was it because of whatever you and Al talked about last week?"

"No. It doesn't matter. Let's just get started."

Winry looks at him for a moment longer, ultimately deciding whatever is going on is just an "Edward Problem." She's never really understood his moods, anyway, and he always sorts himself out on his own. They'll be better off if she just moves on.

Winry holds out her hand, signaling Ed to stand; he does, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He pauses for a moment; it's kind of funny how a motion he had once been apprehensive of has become second nature. Winry leads him down two doors to the physical therapy room.

Once they're inside, Winry lets Ed settle on his stool so she can attach the weight. Ed gives it another wary glance.

"How much does that weigh?" he asks.

"This one only weighs about five pounds. We'll use it for five days, then move to heavier ones as you go from stage to stage. Now hold still. There's nothing mechanical in here so it's not going to hurt." Before Ed can even form a protest, Winry sticks the plug at the end of his leg into the socket on the ball.

Ed jumps. "Geez, Winry, warn me when you're going to do things like that!"

"If I did that, you'd just find a way to stall forever," she replies, gesturing for him to stand. He does, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar weight on his left leg. It weighs half as much as the hollow metal leg he wore before surgery, but it's been a month since the last time he used that. He had gotten used to how the remainder of his leg feels, and he doesn't like having extra weight on it now.

"Is something wrong?" Winry asks.

Ed laughs. "No. I'm just wondering how I ever used to carry around a whole leg like this."

Winry doesn't find this as funny as Edward. "It's because you haven't really used any of the muscles in your left leg for months."

"What about all that walking I was doing before surgery?"

"Well, obviously that helped some, but it wasn't the same as how you use your right leg. Pretty much everyone who loses a limb also loses muscle mass in it. You're only just now realizing how weak it is because I put a weight on it." The look in Winry's eyes darkens a little, her posture suddenly tense. "That's why we don't do things this fast," she says, the biting intent behind her words sharp and undisguised.

Winry's words hit Ed like a kick to the gut. If there was any doubt of her harboring some lingering resentment for his decisions, it's gone now. So, Ed just narrows his gaze, speaking matter of factly. "You know I don't have a choice. Al deserves to have his body back."

Winry forces Ed to the floor, lacking all of the usual concern for his comfort. "There are always choices," she says stiffly. She motions for him to lay down, grabbing his leg and stretching it to his chest so quickly that a small, pained noise escapes him. "I've seen plenty of automail rehabilitations. I know how hard they are. And I can't believe Grandma would ever let you try to do it in a year."

Ed takes a moment to regain his composure. Ouch. She's really mad. "But you know why I have to."

Winry pulls his leg the other way. "I know you want Al back. I want him back, too, Ed. I really, really do." Ed sees tears behind the furious glint in her eyes, her voice wavering. "But I don't want to watch you destroy yourself over this...Don't think I can't see it. I know you, and I know how you get when you're set on something. You're going to hurt yourself more, and I'm letting—no, helping you do it!" Her grip tightens, hands shaking, and Ed feels like she's about to pull his hip out its socket.

"Ow—Winry—stop!" he cries out, and the anger and hurt on her face immediately dissipate as she realizes what she's doing, quickly releasing her hold on him.

"I—I'm so sorry! I didn't realize how hard I was—are you okay?!" she says, features lit in panic. She hurt her patient! What kind of monster is she?

But Edward just puts on a guilty smile, massaging the side of his thigh. "It's alright, I'm fine…" Winry still looks horrified, but he has other things on his mind, his smile fading back into a serious expression. "But Winry, I...I know what I'm doing is crazy." He closes his eyes, willing his voice to stay steady. "But I really don't have any other options. And I...I need you here. I can't do this without your help…"

Winry blinks, taken aback. If someone had told her three months ago that Edward Elric would be asking her for help, she would have called them crazy. But this Edward isn't the same one from three months ago. This Edward has had his life torn apart and been thrust into a world where he can't just make a snarky comment, draw a circle, and fix everything. He's been forced to rely on other people for the first time since his mom died; forced to realize he can't do everything himself, that there are things out there bigger than him, things he can't solve alone. And how terrifying a realization that is...

Winry releases a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "You're not alone, Edward. And I'm not going anywhere." She forces her gaze to meet his. "I promise."

A flicker of gratitude flashes in Ed's eyes, and Winry begins instructing him on exercises to make use of the weight. They work without conversation, just with Winry's orders and Ed's obedient responses.

And all the while, Winry thinks back on her life growing up with the Elrics, and all the times Edward refused to let her in. He's always been protective of his feelings; where she and Al would readily express them, he kept them hidden, expressing anger and joy, but keeping sadness and fear locked away. Well, from the average eye, at least; his family, blood and adoptive alike, has learned how to read those signs over the years. Winry has just never been as good at it as Al or her grandmother. And now, thinking back on the weeks that preceded this entire ordeal, Winry can't help but wonder if maybe he was asking for her help all along.

…

The following day, Edward wakes to pain. That's something he's grown all too accustomed to over the past several months, but he finds himself groaning in annoyance nonetheless. His entire left leg is a sore mess, and as much as he'd love to blame Winry's...aggressive stretch routine, he knows that isn't the true culprit.

The truth is, hearing Winry talk about muscle atrophy last night sort of freaked him out, and he may or may not have pushed himself a little too hard with the exercise in response (despite her clarifying that automail would naturally rebuild his strength over time). Winry had asked several times if he was ready to stop, and each time, he'd pasted on a tough look and claimed he was fine. She, for better or for worse, bought into the lies, and it wasn't until he found himself literally unable to lift his leg anymore that she realized he'd been bluffing. That earned him a nice scolding, as well as a new bruise on his arm (luckily, he's still recovering, so she's yet to pull out the wrench in full force). But when she forced him to bed, he honestly didn't feel that bad. Exhausted and weak, sure, but not in pain. He'd even patted himself on the back as he drifted off to sleep, for being so sly as to get extra exercise in with minimal consequence.

He was definitely a little premature in that celebration.

Twenty or so minutes later, Edward hears Granny come into the room, and a moment later, the light from the window assaults his closed eyelids.

"Up and at 'em, Ed!" Granny announces, and he finds himself unnecessarily annoyed with the chipper tone of her voice. "You've got no reason to still be sleeping until eleven." Ed scowls, opening his eyes and blinking at the bright light. "Winry told me about your little stunt last night. Think you're still up for trying out that new leg today?" Her voice is not without concern, but he can also hear the scolding in it.

For a moment, Ed considers asking if he can wait until tomorrow, when, once again, the thought of his poor, suffering brother influences his decision. "Yeah, I can do it."

Pinako raises an eyebrow. "Are you telling the truth?"

Ed feigns an offended gasp at the insinuation he might lie. "Of course! Yeah, it hurts a little but it's nothing I can't handle!"

Pinako doesn't look fully convinced, but she leaves the room either way, returning a minute later with a familiar looking metal leg and wooden crutch.

"Is that the same one I had before?" Ed asks.

"Yup, but we modified it so it'll lock onto your port," she replies before gesturing to the edge of the bed. "Come over here."

Ed pushes himself up, his body immediately protesting the movement, but he forces down a grimace before it can reach his face. "You're going to put it on now?"

"You want to have as much time as possible to practice, don't you?"

Ed shakes any apprehension from his expression. "Of course."

"Because if you're not ready today, we can wait until tomorrow."

Ed glares at her. "Geez, old woman, just do it already!"

Pinako shrugs, clicking the prosthesis into place and flipping a small switch to lock it. "There." She lays Ed's crutch against the bed. "You can try taking that to the room, but if it's too tough, we can take the wheelchair."

Ed's glare intensifies, this time directed at the wooden object leaning against his bed. "I don't need that thing. I was walking fine on my own before surgery."

"I know that, but it's been a month since then. It's going to be harder than you think to get back into it," Pinako warns.

But Edward doesn't listen, defiantly getting to his feet unaided. He immediately realizes his mistake, his legs shaking and balance faltering. His weight pitches forward, landing him on his hand and knees. Pinako inches the crutch closer, and Ed suddenly feels like a pot ready to boil over. He balls his hand into a fist, trying to pinpoint the source of his anger. He has no idea where it's coming from or why it hit so suddenly, but he knows one thing: he's furious. "I said I don't need that thing!" he yells. "Now go! Get out! Leave! Or I'm going to use that damn crutch to hit you!"

"Edward…" Pinako warns. "This isn't the time to be stubborn."

"I am not kidding! Get out of here so I can do this!" He needs her gone. Right now.

Stiffly, Pinako leaves the room, her own anger not going unnoticed. Ed sits back, a frustrated cry worming its way from his throat. What the hell is happening? What set him off so bad?

Come on, Elric, get a hold of yourself! Stand up and walk, dammit! Ed grits his teeth, getting his right leg under him and letting the other follow as he stands. The moment he shifts his weight, his left hip screams in protest and his legs give out again, and he suddenly realizes why he's so angry.

You're weak.

He'd been doing so well before surgery, and things finally felt like they were looking up. But now, he's right back where he started. A pathetic, crippled little kid who can't do anything to help his brother.

Part of him knows that's irrational. He just needs to keep working, and it'll get better. But he wants it to be better now. He wants to fix his stupid mistakes now. He wants Alphonse back right now. And he is the only one who can do that, so he needs to be stronger than this.

Edward forces back the tears threatening his eyes, pushing himself back up. He is not going to be weak. He's going to prove them all wrong, no matter what it takes.

…

Ed opens his eyes again and glances at the door to his room, finding that, finally, the light leaking in from under it has gone dark. Everyone's gone to bed...just a few more minutes and I'll make my move. He turns over to glance at the small clock on the side table—just past eleven. He'd heard Granny open the door to check on him about half an hour ago, and has been impatiently waiting for the lights to turn off since then. Now, he just has to wait a little longer to make sure she's asleep, and then he can get some practice in without anybody telling him what to do. Ed shifts his gaze to the metal leg sitting against the dresser, as well as the empty spot beside it where his brother typically spends his nights. He feels a little guilty, purposefully annoying Al to the point he decided to spend the night in Winry's room, but it'll be worth it in the end. He can't have any overprotective little brothers telling him to take it easy, after all. Ed returns his attention to the clock, absently watching the second hand slowly tick in circles until the minute hand has moved a quarter of the way around. Feeling fairly confident that the danger of a Rockbell suddenly appearing has passed, Ed pushes his covers away, sliding onto the floor and reaching his foot out as far as he can. It takes a couple tries, but he gets his toes hooked under the fake leg's ankle, and pulls it over.

He examines the top of the leg, trying to recall how Pinako had attached it. There's a socket for his port to plug into, and after a moment of searching, he finds the little switch that locks it in place. Once it's on, he gives it a strong tug, pleased to find it doesn't budge. And they said I can't do this on my own...yeah, right. Ed goes to give his room one more look-over, just to make sure he's alone, when his eyes fall on the discarded wooden crutch laying off to the side of his bed. For just a moment, he considers grabbing it, before a little voice in his head reminds him of how weak he's become. He kicks the infernal thing a little further away and grabs onto the side of the bed in preparation of standing. I'm not weak. I'm capable of doing this by myself. If I don't...then I'll never be able to get Al back to normal. Ed forces himself to his feet, annoyed to find his balance just as awful as before. He's also still sore, the muscles in his leg tender and hip achy, but not quite as bad as that morning. Ignore it. Move. He takes a tentative step forward, silently cursing his hesitancy to let go of the bed. As soon as he does, he loses it all and ends up back on the floor. Five tries, ten tries, fifty tries, and the results don't change; he can't take more than three steps before he either loses his balance or his stupid leg gives out on him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he's aiming too high. Pinako, Winry—even Alphonse spent the entire day trying to tell him to tone down the eagerness and do what he can handle. And he almost—almost—gave in and listened to them. But then, he came back to his senses and remembered he was handling this level of activity and more just fine a month ago, and that another day he spends in recovery is another day Al spends without a body. He told them as much (likely for the hundredth time that day) and that was when Pinako sighed and announced they were done for the day. Winry removed his leg and told him he could use the crutch or yell for help if he needed anything, and Pinako said she'd bring him dinner in an hour. And that was when Ed decided he was staying up and doing things his way. Because even if deep down he knows this is irrational, the rest of him is intent on proving that wrong.

Near one o'clock, Edward finds himself laying on the floor, rigid with irritation. He scrubs his hand over his eyes, wiping away frustrated tears before they can fall. He feels entirely helpless, and even looking at the crutch in the corner leaves him trembling with rage. His entire being is shaking with exhaustion, and, infuriatingly, he realizes walking is no longer an option. So, he resigns himself to crawling out of the room. Like some kind of animal. There have been many, many times over the past few months that Edward has found himself feeling less than human, but it doesn't get easier. Especially when one finds themself brokenly dragging their body across the floor because they can't do anything else.

Twenty minutes later, he manages to get down the hall and to the exercise room, the trip leaving him feeling even more disgusted with his decrepit state than before. How could he have fallen so far in just a month? All the more reason to fix it, and fix it right now.

Edward looks over the room he's grown so accustomed to over the past couple months, eyeing the long metal railing attached to the wall. When he was relearning to walk the first time, he spent a week relying on that thing to move anywhere. Not this time. He grits his teeth, forcing himself back to his feet. His body is exhausted just from the trip here, and now both of his legs are shaking. Still, he pushes on, ending up on the floor so many times he can't keep track of it anymore. He knows it's been hours, and the next time his legs buckle, he just stays down, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Now, he's lying on his side, face pressed to the hardwood, hardly able to move. He has to move, because he can see the sun rising through the window and knows Granny and Winry are going to wake up soon, and he can't be here when they do. He can't let them see him like this. Not just because he knows they'll be mad at him for disobeying orders, but because he can't stand how pathetic he's become. He attempts to at least get to his knees so he can get out of here, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can't get himself off the floor. He feels sick, physically and emotionally. Sick of being so useless. Sick of taking three steps back for every one forward. Sick of making Al pay for his mistakes. And now, with muscles that feel like jelly and a throbbing headache and turning stomach, just plain sick.

He's not sure when he falls asleep, too exhausted to even feel himself cross the line between awake and unconscious, but he wakes to panicked screaming.

"Brother! What happened?! Wake up! Why—Ed!"

Weakly, Ed pries his eyes open, seeing the blurry shape of Alphonse above him. It stays for a moment longer before hurriedly disappearing from sight, his name replaced by cries for Granny and Winry. Ed's eyes slip closed again, faintly listening to the pair of footsteps pounding upstairs turn into two pairs, then three pairs. A minute later, they make their way to the main floor, then down the hall and into the room.

He can still hear Al whimpering in the background, and then Winry's worried voice joins in, and then Granny's rises above them all with a simple, "For God's sake, Edward…" She doesn't sound as angry as he'd expected; she definitely is, but it's mixed with concern and distress and disappointment, and it's a hundred times worse that way.

Suddenly, Edward finds himself crying, barely even able to get enough oxygen into his lungs between sobs. The others fall silent, no doubt staring at him, but he can't stop. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks through blurry vision at Granny. "I can't get up…" he chokes out, any remaining shreds of dignity slipping through his fingers.

"You're an idiot…" she replies, gently rubbing his back. "You know that?" She nods off to the side and a moment later, metal arms wrap around him, carrying him back to his room and depositing him on the bed. He curls up, still sniffling, listening to the hushed murmurs of the Rockbells talking in the doorway. Then something tugs his left leg down, and he looks over, seeing Winry fingering the release for his prosthetic.

"No! Don't take it!" he yells, pulling his leg away, but a cold leather hand pins down his thigh and no matter how much he struggles, he can't get free. "Alphonse! Let go of me!"

"No, Brother, it's for your own good," Al says, voice apologetic but firm. Winry unclips the leg and Ed glares at his brother with as much betrayal as he can muster through a tear-stained face.

"We're going to talk about this later," Winry says stiffly. "For now, get some sleep, and let Al help you if you need anything...I put your crutch by the dresser but Grandma said you can't have your leg for a day." For a moment, the cold medical tone of Winry's voice falters. "This isn't okay, Ed…" She blinks back unshed tears and opens her mouth to say more, but instead shuts it and walks out of the room. After a while, Al leaves too, not having spoken a single word, and Ed buries his face in his pillow.

Another failure to add to the pile. But he has to try again. And again, and again and again, until his stupid body learns to cooperate. He doesn't care if Winry took his leg; he'll use that damn crutch to find it, and she can't stop him.

Nobody is going to stop him from getting Al's body back. Least of all himself.

Yeah. So that happened. Hehe angst.

I meant to update my tumblr post with this chapter because of all the automail stuff at the beginning, but it's taking longer than I expected and I didn't want to leave you guys hanging on this chapter for too long. I'll make sure its updated by the time I post ch 17. Speaking of which, ch 17 is going to be a major turning point, and I'm very excited for you guys to see it ;)

Next time on Simple Things- Ch. 17: Simple Things (you KNOW it's important when it's the title of the story XD)