Work Text:
Title: The Cure Lies in the Curse
Artist/Author/Gift Granter: sonjajade
Request: evil_little_ dog- 'Ed/Winry (+Al, if you wanna include him), Post-108 but prior to Ed leaving - Getting used to Rezembool again'
Rating: Strong T (language, implied sexual situations/tension)
Disclaimer: Arakawa-sensei owns all, I just play Barbies with her characters.
Notes: I wanted to convey what I always assumed would happen to Ed after they get to the hospital after the Promised Day: nervous breakdown. I have based some of the technical stuff of things I have personally experienced (I actually went through EMDR treatment, and if anyone wants to know more about it, just message me), and with the help of a friend who worked for years in the state run long term mental heath facility, I've tried my best to make all of this as true to life as possible. For the record, I began this prompt request 5 different times before I wrote something I didn't think sounded stupid and had a good balance between the WAFF and the 'adjustment'. I put a ton of work into this once it finally got rolling, and I hope that this is what you were hoping for. I'm sorry it's so incredibly long, but once I got it up and running, I just couldn't stop it. Special shoutouts to my betas seatbeltdrivein (who helped me when I derailed on Ed's character at the beginning of this approach) and bay115 (who was nice enough to read this behemoth twice). I could not have completed this without y'alls help. Title taken from the tagline of Mushi-Shi.
March 29, 1915
Fucking white coats and their goddamned condescending "know-it-all" attitudes. "Mr. Elric, you need to talk about how you're feeling." "Mr. Elric, if you can't cooperate, we're going to have to give you another dose of phenobarbitol." "Mr. Elric, if you'd just take the pills, they'll help you feel better."
FUCK YOU. Actually, it's more like FUCK ME, because when I started swinging, 3 guys about Sig Curtis' size came in and strapped me into this fucked up jacket and tossed me into a room with no bed, just a padded floor and walls. I don't know why these assholes keep telling me there's something wrong with me. The only thing that's wrong with me is I have like 5 different doctors trying to poke pills down my throat because of 'my feelings'. Just make sure my arm and my brother are okay and let me go the fuck home!
So I'm confined to a room by myself in Central Hospital's fucking psych ward. I wanna know who decided I needed to be in here and not Mustang or fucking Olivier Armstrong. I'm not crazy, I just have really vivid nightmares and evidently an anger problem. I don't think that's enough to lock someone up in the triple locked wing of the psych ward.
~E. E.
April 1, 1915
One of the dickhead doctors came in to talk with me today. He asked me why I was putting up such a struggle with everyone, and I told him it's because no one has told me what's wrong with me. If there's nothing wrong with me, then I'm not sick, and if I'm not sick then they need to let me the fuck out of here.
He adjusted his stupid twerp glasses and said in that "know-it-all" tone of voice, "Mr. Elric, you've been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress syndrome, also known to some as shell shock." So what the hell does that mean? "It means that you were under a tremendous amount of stress and mental agony, and now that it has lifted so suddenly, you're having flashbacks and blackouts." Blackouts? Flashbacks? Evidently I've gone into fits of rage that I don't remember, rages where I've attacked nurses screaming that they were really Envy, clapping my hands and reenacting certain events when I'm not even aware of it. The nightmares are another form of flashbacks. I hate that I've lost my memories, that I'm acting so weird and I don't even have any recollection of it… I guess that really does make me crazy then, doesn't it. Fuck.
So Dr. Glasses tells me if I take the pills, I'll stop having those episodes, and I'll feel a lot better. I'm too young to be a pill head, I tell him. He assures me if I do the therapy and the medication, I won't have to take the pills forever and I'll eventually be good as new. Well, that's fine and dandy, but when the fuck can I get out of this psych ward? "Start taking the pills. As soon as the blackouts stop, we'll put you with your brother."
So tonight I took the pills for the first time, no phenobarbitol shots, no fucking strait jacket, no clones of Sig Curtis. I took the damn pill and decided to stop bitching about it. Feeling good is a good thing, right? What can it fucking hurt? And if it gets me back to Al, then all the better.
~E. E.
April 5, 1915
The stupid little pills took a little longer to work than I expected. Evidently I wigged out twice while waiting for them to kick in, and both times I 'came to' strapped to my bed. This time when Dr. Glasses came to see me, he brought me pictures of the marks I left on the orderly's throat and face. Looked like I tried to strangle him after practically clawing his lips off. After I saw the pictures, I told them to do whatever it took to make me stop doing that shit to people. What if I had done that to Al? Shit… I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.
Had a good laugh today though. Dr. Glasses saw this journal sitting on the bedside table (by the way, I have to write with a fucking crayon so that I can't hurt myself or someone else… eyeroll) and he starts reading and asks me why I'm writing a book about travelling over Drachma in a hot air balloon and riding golden ponies. I wouldn't dare write in this book without coding every word I put to paper. This is written in a code that not even Al knows. These words are for me alone and whomever I decide to dictate the real story to. Fucking pricks- they think they have the right to know EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT I HAVE, just because they're fucking psych doctors. I held up my end of the bargain by not fighting you idiots so hold up yours and put me with Al already. I need to be with him right now.
Speak of the devil… A Sig clone just told me to pack up, I'm getting out of here.
I can't wait to start writing with a pen again.
~E. E.
April 9, 1915
I hadn't seen Al in almost 2 weeks, and let me tell what a difference 2 weeks can make. He's put on almost 12 pounds in that time, and his face doesn't look so sickly. Someone must've come up and cut his hair for him, because it's short and neat again. He's able to almost fucking walk by himself now! When they escorted me down to our room, he was so happy to see me that he got up out of bed and hobbled to me using only one crutch. There was a pretty nurse with him and she scolded him for moving without her help, but I could see that look in his eyes… He hugged me and told me he missed me, and goddammit I nearly cracked. I hate fucking crying like a little sissy. So even though I felt those fucking little tears burning behind my eyes I held em in, because dammit I WON'T CRY.
Anyway, once I got settled in, Dr. Glasses came in and told me right there in front of Al that my first session with him would be Tuesday, that was yesterday. I can't even understand how psychiatry is a legit science. It's all mushy stupid girly shit. He asked me things like, "How do you feel in a typical day?" (what the hell does that mean?) "Have you noticed anything feeling 'off' before?" (like being asked a ton of stupid questions by a guy with the dumbest looking pair of glasses I've ever seen?) "How old were you when your mother died?" (what's that fucking got to do with anything?) "Have you ever taken any mind altering drugs like acid or LSD?" (do I look that stupid to you?) "What is your sexual orientation and are you sexually active?" (WHY do YOU need to know THAT?) "What do you normally dream about?" (I haven't had any normal dreams since before Mom died, and that was when I was a kid, what relevance does that have now?)
So I didn't really answer anything because I kept asking him questions in response. I kind of liked fucking with him like that. Served him right the way he treated me the last 10 days or so. Eventually, he said that I needed to open up if I didn't want to be on the medication forever, that maybe I should talk to someone who's gone through all this before so I could find out what to expect. I wasn't expecting him to hand me Dr. Knox's phone number, though. I didn't tell him I knew the guy or anything, I just let him go on about how mental health was just as important as physical health. "Just because you can't see the illness doesn't mean it's not there", blah blah blah. I have to go back there again today, prepared to offer up things I really don't want to discuss with this idiot. I didn't tell Al what questions he'd asked me, but Al said if I make up stupid answers, they're likely to increase the medication, so he suggested I just bite the bullet and be honest and get it over with. Fate sure got it wrong as to who should have been the older brother, but I'll never tell him that.
~E. E.
April 11, 1915
Looks like we're going to be here a little while longer. Al's been cleared for release so long as he can arrange transportation to and from a rehabilitation center, but when he explained we're not from Central and had no where to go and no one to take him to and from, they decided to let him stay with me until I'm cleared to go home. I don't think I could make it in this place without him, and I couldn't stand it if he had to go home by himself. We made a pact that we'll go home together, same way we left together. And he's already decided he wants to walk the whole way from the train station. That's got to be at least 3 miles. Not such a long walk for a normal person but for someone in his state that's like running a fucking marathon. He had that same determined look in his eyes and I knew there would be no changing his mind on that subject.
Dr. Glasses and I did what we had to do together (damn that sounds a whole lot dirtier than I meant for it to sound) and he thinks my PTSS is bad, but not so bad that I need to be hospitalized. He thinks that the sudden change in everything is what brought it on. He said the severity of the situation we were dealing with (I broke down and explained everything to him, the Homunculi, Father, the country wide transmutation circle, the kidnapping and hostage situation with Winry and Lt. Hawkeye, the non-stop looking over our shoulders and fighting for our fucking lives while still trying to get our bodies back), it was at such a high level of fear and panic. Instead of the stress being reduced gradually over time to process what was going on, all threats on all sides were gone all at once. He explained it like this: If you fill a balloon with air until it's so full it's ready to pop, then you untie the end and gradually let the air out, you can use the balloon again, it's no different than it was when you filled it. But if you let all the air out at once, like pop it with a pin, the balloon is ruined. He said the Promised Day was like the pin in my balloon, and when it popped, I snapped inside. It was like I went from one state of matter to another with no transition.
I hate that he made sense, and I hate that I actually felt a little better at hearing those words from him. I hate that I couldn't deal with this like Al can, though Dr. Glasses (whose name I think is actually Dr. Yates) said that it's possible Al's just having a delayed reaction because he's so euphoric about having his body back. Honestly, though I'm jealous of Al's mental clarity, I wouldn't wish this on him. I'm glad he's going to be okay. I just can't fucking wait til I'm okay.
~E. E.
April 22, 1915
Dr. Yates has okayed me to go home, and since Al was released forever ago, we'll begin our journey home tomorrow, almost a month after the Promised Day. Dr. Laramie is the local doctor in Resembool, and I have to report to his office once a week to get my medication and to do an over the phone session. As soon as he said something about over the phone I started bitching. Someone will listen in, rumors will spread about me, someone will sell out to the papers and my name will be all over the place as being a wack-a-loon. He assured me it would be private and completely confidential, that he'd told Dr. Laramie of my privacy issues and that it was of the upmost priority that the room that I have to use the phone in be secure and safe from everyone. I told him if I had the slightest concerns about someone spying in on us I wouldn't do it. Then it occurred to me that I wouldn't know how secure his end was. I asked him if it would be better if maybe I just stayed at the hospital until I was completely cured, and he said no. He said eventually I'll just be taking up a bed, and unless I wanted to stay in the psych ward (WHICH I DON'T) I needed to go home and adjust to living as a normal person again.
So today I'm packing my and Al's suitcases (borrowed from Dr. Knox, who didn't ask me to share anything, just talked to me about his bout with PTSS up on the roof yesterday evening. And I thought I had it bad, jeeze). Of course the old bastard gave me shit about not drinking my milk and I gave him shit for smoking, but we shook hands and he told me to call him if I needed someone to just talk to about things.
So this will be my last entry here at the hospital. I think I might give those Sig clones the finger on the way out the door.
~E. E.
April 24, 1915
I fucking hate trains. But I have to admit, the going away present from Major Armstrong (two tickets to Resembool in First Class) may change my mind about rail travel. In First Class, the seats are plenty padded and the walls are insulated so well you can hardly feel or hear the ride at all. The food was delicious and HOT, not like the bag lunches you pay 20 C for and the chips are all broken and the sandwich is made up of hard bread and too thinly sliced baloney. We had spaghetti with huge meatballs, garlic bread, and there was tiramisu for dessert. The best part about the entire ride though was watching the scenery outside the window whizzing by. Every tree that went by was that much closer to home we were. I can't wait to get off this thing and start walking down that long dirt road, smell the clean country air and hear the sheep bleating. I can't wait to hear Den barking at us as we come up the front walk, to hear Winry calling our names and see Granny standing there smiling at us with her pipe hanging out of her mouth like always.
It's been so long since we've been 'home'. Like home to stay and not run off. I think this is the part that fucking scares me the most. What if I don't know how to just be home anymore?
Shit. That goofy medicine must be making me weird again. Of course I'll be fine. If I can take on Father and save the entire world, then surely I can go home and just live
~E. E.
April 26, 1915
Yesterday was the best homecoming ever. No one stopped us at the station, no one stopped us on the road, just gave a nod or a smile, and when we got home (a tear splash has caused some ink to run on the 'me' of 'home') Damn these pills and their mood altering effects! Winry was as beautiful as ever, maybe even more. She was so damn happy to see us. She tackled Al and me in the front yard, but when everyone finally stood up, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me so tight I could feel her boobs mashed into my chest. My mouth goes dry at the memory of it. I mean, that chest of hers is fucking IMMACULATE. I didn't know what else to do but hug her back, and when I did she made this whimper-like noise that shot straight through me and pooled in my balls. When did she ever have that kind of effect on me before? I mean, when we were at Ft. Briggs and I realized that I really do love her and I did that periodic table bullshit, what I felt then was just nerves. This I felt yesterday was like fighting instinct. Like I felt like I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep me from throwing her to the ground and fucking her right there, and I've never felt like that around her before. Maybe Dr. Yates was right when he said I'd have a hormonal surge and it might feel a little uncontrollable (WHEN DID EVERYTHING START BEING UNCONTROLLABLE? First my feelings, then my memories with the blackouts and now my hormones? FUCK!). But maybe she always did that to me and I was just too damn busy or too fucking stupid to notice. Now that I don't have anything in the way, who knows how far we might go together…
Anyway, after she turns me loose, she hugs Al too, (but not like she hugged me! :D) and then says to come in and get comfortable. She and Granny made the best damn dinner I think I've ever eaten. Maybe because it was served from the dishes I remember eating from as a kid, maybe because Winry's gotten really good at cooking over the years, or maybe just because it was eaten slowly and without any worries to keep it from going down easy. We sat out on the porch for a long time after dinner, just talking and sipping at coffee. Granny offered Al and me each a drink from the look-but-don't-touch bottle of brandy in the sitting room, but Al refused saying he didn't want it to interact with any of his medicines and I said I would wait until he could drink with me. I haven't told them yet about my own medication or the problems I'm having. And if I'm going to be cured of it eventually, why even mention it? They don't need to know.
This morning Al and I just kind of wandered around the yard and stuff. It was aimless, but it was wonderful. It irritates me that right now I kind of feel like I'm useless, but I have to admit, it's really nice to do nothing sometimes too. Granny said for the time being, I need to be with Al and help him with his exercises, make sure he doesn't hurt himself or stumble and fall. I think I can handle that.
Tomorrow is my first over-the-phone appointment from Dr. Laramie's office. I swear if that bastard Yates lets anything slip about my condition, I'll personally whip his scrawny ass.
~E. E.
April 27, 1915
Okay, having the session over the phone went a lot better than I thought it would. Dr. Laramie was very nice about the whole thing, let me use his personal office to do the call in, and didn't ask me about anything when the call was over. He had to speak to Dr. Yates to confirm my prescription and when to schedule the next appointment between them. So I came home today with a bottle of sertraline, which I guess is what they were giving me in the hospital, the pills look the same. I was told to keep eating healthy and get regular exercise (which is easy to do with Al wanting to walk all over creation) and to make sure to get plenty of uninterrupted sleep, the same old shit any country doctor could've told me.
Something else that was discussed (and trust me, I protested VEHEMENTLY about talking about it) was how I'm handling being around Winry all the time now. When I was in the hospital, I mentioned that I didn't want to see her with anyone else, that I could protect her and care for her and make her happy, always. Dr. Yates asked me if she was my girlfriend and of course I told him NO. Then he said I talked about her as if she were. In essence, he caught me. My own brother doesn't even know how I really feel about her, and he's my closest confidante. So when he asked today if our relationship had changed from that of childhood friends to anything more, I completely clamed up. I hate when people ask me shit like that. It's not something I can even think about when I'm alone without getting all red faced and nervous, so it's not really something I want to talk about with anyone. But I did tell him (sort of) how she made me feel the day we came home. He said it was normal, nothing to be ashamed of, and to realize if I'm having those feelings about her, it's likely that I'm recovering well. When he suggested that I mention to Winry that I like her in that way now, I thought I'd fall in the floor. I'm not ready for that. No fucking way. Maybe if my head ever gets right again I'll say something, but no way right now.
Tonight we had homemade beef stew, not that slop they call beef stew at the cafeteria at Central Command. I think I ate too much, and I'm sure the toilet won't like me tomorrow.
~E. E.
May 1, 1915
Well, everyone here now knows the whole goddamned truth about everything with me. I would never have said a word about it, but I had what Dr. Yates calls a triggered episode. I had a panic attack and I swear on my mother's grave I thought I was going to die. I started crying and screaming and begging anyone to do something, anything, to save me. Looking back on it now, I probably looked like a raving lunatic.
I had walked downstairs to find Winry. It was lunch time and Granny sent me to grab her away from her work bench. But when I came off that last step, I remembered when I had been there before the Promised Day, and she was working on my arm and my leg and telling me I couldn't fail. And all the times I'd come to her for servicing before, times when Al and I were banged up really bad, and the memories of how we got that way… It was like someone dropped an anvil on my chest out of nowhere and stacked forty elephants on top of it. Winry dropped whatever it was she was working on and flew to my side and held me while she was screaming at Granny for something (a sedative I found out later). You know, if I hadn't been sobbing and crying like I was on my death bed, it might've been a little romantic (Jeeze, can you imagine ME being ROMANTIC… PUKE). I had my arms wrapped around her really tight and my face was in the crook of her neck, and she had her arm around my neck and her hand was on my cheek and sometimes brushing the hair out of my face, and the other arm was squeezing me just as tight as I was squeezing her. She kept telling me in a nervous quiet voice that everything was alright and to just calm down and breathe. Then Granny came running down and stuck me with a needle, and then I started to feel a whole lot better.
When I woke up, I was upstairs in my bed. Winry said she ran and got Mr. Jaffords from the house next door to help her heft me up the 2 flights of stairs. She touched my face a lot when I was coming around. For someone who uses their hands a lot, they were so soft and warm. She asked me how I was feeling, and I just kind of let everything come out (probably because whatever Granny hit me with had me feeling really good). I told her about why we were in the hospital so long, that it was mostly because of me and how I snapped. I told her about the medicine they have me on, I told her about the attacks I'd done to people before the medicine started working, everything. I don't know why I thought in my mind she would run away from me like I was some kind of freak. She cried a little, and then she wiped her eyes and got mad at herself for crying again when she should be helping me. I think she was going to get me a drink or something to eat, but I grabbed her wrist and told her she was helping more than she knew, just by being there when I woke up and letting me know I don't have to do this by myself. I hated having to tell her I needed her help yet again, but I realized I did need her help, and if I didn't have it I was likely to go insane.
Just when I was beginning to think all this crap was going to turn her off from ever seeing me as anything but her friend or brother, she held my face in her hands, and in the sweetest voice I've ever heard, she murmured "I'll always be here for you, Ed. You don't ever have to do anything by yourself."
She kissed me. Winry kissed me, and all I could do was lay there like a dishrag.
On one hand, I don't think I'll ever forget anything about that moment, but at the same time I could kick my own ass for not at least kissing her back. When she backed away from me to go get me some hot chocolate, she had this hot as fuck little smirk on her face… Once she was gone, I realized why she was looking at me like that: I had the hardest boner I've ever had in my life, and even though I had those leather pants on, you could still tell it was there and rearing up. I rolled over on my stomach, because I couldn't exactly take care of it with her coming back in a few minutes. When she came back she giggled a little and apologized to me. Dammit, she shouldn't ever apologize for that.
Anyway, once I could get out of bed without embarrassing myself, Winry helped me downstairs and she helped me get it all out, I told them what was going on and they all agreed that I should have said something much sooner. I found it really weird that Al wasn't crowding me on the couch, that he was giving me some space and letting Winry do the crowding. Man, how long has everybody been thinking we should be like this with one another? Did I miss the fucking memo?
Now that it's all out in the open, Granny said the first thing we're going to do is get me off coffee and tea. No more caffeine for me, it just adds to the emotional fire, she says. And I really like the way Granny and Winry make plain black coffee, too… But if it helps me feel better, then what the hell. Granny also said if I wanted to, I could have that weekly phone session with Dr. Yates at the house, that she would give me the privacy I needed if I didn't feel like going into town and raising suspicion. I forget that Granny is a doctor, a surgeon. She can hand me a prescription just as easily as Dr. Laramie can. I'll have to think about that. The walk to the office helps me clear my head and get my thoughts in order, and the walk back helps me think about everything Dr. Yates tells me. Kind of like digests it all.
Everyone mentioned that I didn't seem as angry as I normally do. Granny thought it was all due to maturity and such, but now she says she knows it's the medication I'm on. At least it's making a difference somewhere. I think I'm going to go to bed now, that sedative is still working on me.
~E. E.
May 15, 1915
Dr. Yates had something else he wanted me to try. I have had a total of 6 panic attacks and another triggered episode since my first one. Yates says when I feel one coming on I need to try and distract myself from the situation and think completely and solely about ANYTHING other than that anvil on my chest feeling. And as horrifying as it is to me to even write such a statement on paper, despite this code, my distraction of choice has been jerking off. Dammit, I read that back to myself and I sound like a total fucking pervert. But when I think about how it makes the anvil go away and makes my breath ragged for a good reason, I don't even care what it makes me sound like. It takes what my body's already doing and makes it feel good rather than feel bad, and I imagine the serotonin release helps combat the adrenaline that starts the panic in the first place.
Of course, I was reluctant to use it as a tool. I tried the breathing techniques and those stupid 'you're on a beach' relaxation exercises first, but they did little to nothing for me. Just being near Winry seemed to help a lot, but it still left me feeling on edge. One night after she had to help Granny with an emergency port surgery, I was still on edge. I checked on Al, mostly to be sure he wasn't awake, and then I went to her room, flopped in the middle of her bed and started doing it, all while clutching her nightshirt to my nose.
I haven't ever done it very often. I never feel like I'm in a private enough place, like someone's going to walk in on me doing it or something. So I guess before then I'd only done it maybe a handful to a dozen of times. Not nearly enough, I'm sure. But now that I know I can do it and make the panic stop, I think I've done it about a dozen times over the past week alone. GODDAMMIT THAT SOUNDS SO FUCKING GROSS! But honestly, I think as long as it really helps me, that makes it alright- doesn't it? (and I can't deny that it makes the situation with Winry and all these feelings we both have for each other a little easier to deal with everyday)
Dr. Yates is thinking about meeting me halfway between Central and Resembool. He wants to try a new kind of healing technique that he just read about in the medical journal. He says it has something to do with how the brain processes memories and uses simulated REM sleep to do it. Sounds fruity to me, but as I already said about the masturbation (fuck I can't believe I just said that!), if it works, then I'm going to at least try it. It can't hurt anything.
~E. E.
June 10, 1915
Dr. Yates called and wants to meet me in Awrosut. That's a day's rail journey away, but he said he would pay for a private room at the hotel he will be staying at and we will spend the next day together. Part of the time we will be trying the new technique- Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, or EMDR. The other part of the time, he'll be evaluating my progress with the medicine and the therapy. I really fucking hope I'm close to getting off these meds. I don't want to have to take some stupid pill every morning just to make it through the day.
In other news, Den isn't doing so well. She fell down the steps today because her automail leg locked up from all the time she's spent in the creek lately. She washed away the lubrication in the joints. Sadly though, with her age and all, she might not come back from this one. Time will tell, and hopefully she'll be alright for a little while longer.
Al on the other hand is running now! Granted, it's not very fast, but he's steady. He's looking so healthy now. His face isn't sunken in anymore, he's got some good sun on his skin, and I don't have to worry about him falling down somewhere and not being able to get up on his own. Geeze, the last time we went to town together for groceries and to pick up a shipment from Rush Valley, the girls were peeking at him from inside the shops and all. I told him he might want to get some practice in before he commits to Mei. He swatted me on the back of the head and told me I might want to open my mouth to Winry before someone takes her out from under my nose. I didn't tell him she'd already kissed me twice, but I got to thinking about it, and maybe he's right. If I don't let her know soon about how I feel, she's going to quit waiting on me to come around.
Other than that, I finally got a job. I've been doing yard work for Mrs. Klingman. Her grandsons were doing it for her, but then the oldest one enlisted and that left the younger one to do everything, and he's just not old enough to do all of it by himself. So I cut the lawn (not the fields, those are now part of the Harrelson farm, I meant just the acre her house is on), trim the hedges, and when I have to, clean out the gutters and the downspouts. Mostly, Jeff does the weeding because I can't be down on my knees all day like that with the automail leg. And Mrs. Klingman is a really nice old lady. I only make about 500 C a week, but she makes up for it in fresh lemonade and the best damn ham sandwich I've ever tasted. It's nice to know that I'm not completely helpless and useless without alchemy. I like that.
Got to run, Granny's got supper ready and I am starved. Need to get a good night's sleep for tomorrow's train ride. I'll write more when I get back.
~E. E.
June 14, 1915
The train ride into Awrosut was uneventful, and I got in late on Wednesday evening. The hotel was just a short walk from the station, and just as he'd promised, I had a private room right next door to him. I let him know I arrived by knocking on the wall, then I grabbed a light supper and went to bed.
The next morning, Dr. Yates went with me to breakfast in the hotel dining room and we talked about what to expect with the EMDR treatment. He warned me it might sound a little hocus-pocus like, but to give it a chance, that it had done some really good work for veterans of the Ishvallan conflict. If something can cure those poor bastards, then surely it'll work for me.
After that we walked around town, mostly chatting about life at home, how I'm adjusting to regular life and farm land versus the cityscape. We talked about Al, and how my responsibilities regarding him have changed, we talked about Winry (a lot). I told him about my job, about my attempts at friendship outside of Al and Winry… It seems I'm a bit of a celebrity and people are intimidated by me, so I don't really have much in the way of friends. He asked me if I missed anyone from Central, if I had been up to visit anyone there and such. We talked for a long time about a lot of things. I actually enjoyed it (even though I thought when I first met him I was going to have to beat his face in).
After all that, we had some lunch, we each decided to take a short nap (I actually spent my time calling home and telling Granny that everything was going fine so far), and when we reconvened about an hour an a half later, we began the EMDR session.
It's things like EMDR that make me doubt psychiatry as a science. This shit was beyond hocus-pocus. This was just fucked up weird. There's a lot of imagination and imagery involved, and lot of blind faith, but at the end of it all, I left feeling much better. It felt like a big dark cloud over my head finally rolled past me. We shook hands afterward, he told me to call him on Wednesday and let him know how things were going and to experiment going to some of my trigger places and seeing what happens now. He explained I might have to do this with him a few more times before it sticks permanently, but hopefully this will stop the panic attacks and everything, and then I can ditch these pills.
I got home late on Friday night, and Winry was waiting for me on the platform. I just smiled at her and she smiled back, and we walked back together. Just before we got all the way home, she took my hand, and before we were in sight of the house, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me she was glad I was back. I didn't know what to say, so I kind of gave her a nervous smile and stammered a 'Me too', and squeezed her hand. Of course as soon as I got in the door, Al tackled me and started asking about a thousand questions, Granny gave me a hug and made Al give me a moment's peace, then I went upstairs to take a shower and get rid of the damned hard on Winry gave me. And now I'm writing all this down in case I lose my memory again somehow. But now that I've gotten everything down I'm totally going to bed.
~E. E.
June 20, 1915
Today is Al's 15th birthday. I'm so glad he didn't have to spend another birthday in that fucking suit of armor. We went into East City and took him to the movies, then we met Major Hawkeye and the rest of General Bastard's guys at this really nice restaurant for a surprise birthday party. Lots of people came, but the only one Al was interested in was Mei Chang. I'll never understand what that bean sprout girl does for him. She's 11 goddamn years old! He says she's a lot older than that mentally, but still… He's almost a grown man and she's just a kid. Whatever, to each their own.
He got a bunch of new clothes, which is good because he's outgrown just about everything he has. There were some alchemy books, a book of photos of Xing that Ling had sent with Mei to entice him to come visit, and a kitten from 2nd Lt. Fuery. She's pretty, sleek gray with dark gray stripes. Mei's panda was playing with it, and she squealed, "Look, Al-sama, our babies are playing together!" And when they realized what she had said, and what it could mean, they shared this look between them, and Mei blushed when Al grinned at her. It was almost sickening. Everyone was staring at them and they didn't even care. I couldn't do that. I guess Al's balls are bigger than mine, haha.
When we got ready to leave, Mei jumped into Al's arms and gave him the biggest hug, and after everyone else shook his hand, he knelt down and they hugged like they do in movies. The only thing missing was a wet sloppy kiss. Al left a quick smooch to her cheek instead. She promised to write him soon and after that we left on the train to come home. When we got back it was around 1 in the morning, and Granny paid a porter to drive us home. I sat in the back seat with Winry. She stayed on her side and kept attention away from us, but she did slip her pinky around mine. I think she gets that I'm really nervous about public affection. Maybe she already knows how I feel for her if she can guess that much without me telling her.
Now I have to get used to a kitten living in the bedroom Al and I share. She likes to snuggle, and she tried to snuggle with me, but I don't want any of that. The only thing I'm interested in snuggling with has long blonde hair, long legs, big boobs and the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. No offense kitty, but you're no Winry.
~E. E.
July 3, 1915
I don't know what went wrong… I've been doing great, no panic attacks, no nightmares at all, just sweet dreams of Winry lately. I could even go into her workshop without freaking out. Now all the sudden it's all back and the physical symptoms feel worse than when they first began. I called Dr. Yates and he said it's likely due to a couple of things. I've been working more (I've picked up a second yard with Jeff), Yates reduced my medication by half, and Winry's been gone in Rush Valley for two weeks with that flaming fruit Garfiel to get some training on working with a new alloy. She was supposed to be home two days ago, but now it's taking an extra week because some part they needed didn't ship with the rest of the items.
So he said if things don't get better after she gets back, he wants me to cut my work week down to two days a week and if that doesn't work we'll try the EMDR again (he said it might take more than one treatment to cure me) and if THAT doesn't work I have to up my medication again.
So I'm back to jerking off like twice a day, because that's about how many attacks I have. Al hasn't said anything about that, though I'm sure he knows what I'm doing. Lately he's been doing it a lot too. We're doing it for completely different reasons though: mine is out of a medical/health necessity, his is because Mei's letters have been coming in (creepy… jerking off to what a kid writes to you *shudder*).
I talked to Winry and I told her what was going on, so she's been calling and talking to me every night before she goes to bed. Granny said she was going to skin her alive if she ran up a huge bill, but I told her I would pay it if we did. Dammit, why do I gotta be so fucked up in the head for? Didn't I STOP the bad guys from taking over the world? Didn't I get my little brother's body back? What kind of bad karma do I have to have this stupid mental shit! I can't wait for Winry to come home. I need her so bad right now.
~E. E.
July 13, 1915
I've been itching to write this down all evening, but Al's been staying up later and later and I couldn't do it until after he went to bed. As is becoming normal it seems, I had a panic attack today. Well, it really wasn't an 'attack', because I'm getting better at keeping myself under control and keeping them from going that far, so it was more like a panic… threat. And I had been sitting under a tree just reading when it came out of nowhere, so I started my breathing thing, started getting my 'medicinal thoughts' in order and was on my way to rub them out when Winry grabbed me and asked me what it was I did in the bathroom when I had a panic attack. I was so fucking embarrassed that I'm sure I had to be red from my eyebrows to my shoulders. I just kept telling her to move that I needed to go, and she accused me of doing drugs or some stupid shit, that when I come out I act like I'm jacked up on heroin or something. She blocked the doorway and chased me into the storage shed (I couldn't block the door fast enough) and then she grabbed me and slammed me into a wall and asked me to tell her what I do in there. I'm pretty sure she would have killed me if I hadn't done what I did.
She wanted to know, so I got pissed off and told her: I jerk off while thinking about her and it makes the panic stop. You should've seen the look on her face. She didn't say anything, just turned my wrists loose and stood there staring at me for a minute. You could have fucking heard a gnat fart in there. And then I grabbed her… and I kissed her.
I didn't blackout or anything, but it was kind of like I tuned myself out. I could hear myself thinking WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING! and SHE'S GOING TO BRAIN YOU! I didn't listen. I kissed her and I even got her open her mouth for me and I tasted her. It was the first time I'd ever kissed anyone like that. She tasted like the peach cobbler she'd made for dessert. She was trembling in my arms so I stopped for a minute and asked her if she was scared. She shook her head no, then pulled me down for another long kiss.
We must've made out for a good ten minutes. I'd forgotten all about racing to the bathroom. I was a gentleman though- I didn't touch her pretty tits or squeeze her ass, I only held her and kissed her. And when she pulled away from me that last time and said something about people were going to start looking for us, I saw in the low light that her lips were swollen and I felt this swell of pride knowing that I was the reason they were that way, not that Pete Taylor guy that comes around sometimes or Ronnie Dunham from the dry goods store who's always looking at ALL the girls. Nope, it was ME. I told her to wait a little bit because her lips were all puffy, and she hid her face in her hands and I started laughing.
So we started shouting for a bit so everyone would think we were still arguing and not worry or try to come find us. Then I brushed a box off and I sat down and offered her my knee to sit on, but she sat down beside me instead. She asked me if this meant we were going together. Dammit, just remembering that part is making the knots in my stomach twist even more. I told her only if she wanted to, only if she'd have a guy who'd been through hell and was in the middle of a nervous breakdown. She looped her arm in mine and leaned against me and said "I can't think of a reason to say no."
So after all this time of liking her and thinking I might be in love with her (and not that fake shit Mustang tries to say is love with a different girl every night, I mean REAL love), Winry's my girl now. But we agreed that we have to try to keep it as low key as possible, that when we speak in front of other people things we don't want anyone to know about, we'll do it in code. So the first code she made up was if we want to say "I love you" we'll say something about making an appointment for maintenance. As rough as I am on my automail anyway no one will think anything different if we say that to one another. And if we want to make out some more, all that needs to be said is "I heard about a new relaxation technique".
After that, we decided we better get back to the house, and we kissed again, I told her I loved her (GEEZE I SOUND LIKE A SAP! : / ) and she said she loved me too, and then she left before me, faking like she was mad to cover for her red face. Then I left and went straight upstairs and paced the bedroom for like an hour while Al's kitten watched me. Then Al came to bed and asked me a ton of questions ("Why are you pacing?" "Are you feeling better today?" "Did you work today?" "Want to guess what Ling's up to these days?"), then finally he went to bed with Smokey and once I was sure he was really out, I picked up this worn out pen and had to spill my guts.
I still can't believe it, Winry and I are together. Now if I could just get myself together…
~E. E.
July 16, 1915
I haven't had a panic attack in 3 days. I'm positive it's because of what's recently happened between me and Winry. 'Closer' isn't even the word for it. And Al said the strangest thing to us this morning at breakfast. He said 'You guys are acting just like Mustang and Hawkeye… What gives?' I didn't understand what he meant, so he explains that he was told once by Maj. Armstrong that half the Amestrian army suspected them of being lovers for years. I figured this was going to happen eventually with the way Winry and I had changed around each other, though I guess I must be as oblivious as Winry accuses me of being because I had no idea Mustang and Hawkeye were like that with each other. So I asked him calmly and curiously 'What, you think me and Winry are a thing or something?' and he said 'Yes' and I said 'Only in your dreams, Al.'
He gave me this kind of irritated scowl (what! ALPHONSE knows how to SCOWL!) and said something about keeping his eye on me. So I replied that I would keep my eye on him anytime one of Mei's letters came, and he blushed beet red and shut up after that.
I talked to Jeff and told him that I'm going to have to cut back on the yard work. I gave him some lame excuse about the metal parts still in my shoulder giving me hell after a long day, and he understood. Al actually volunteered to take Mrs. Klingman's yard while I'll keep working the other one. After we got all that squared away, Al and I went home and had dinner: beef pot roast with carrots, potatoes, celery and onions, big biscuits and strawberry shortcake.
Tonight was so awesome. Win and me went for a walk down by the Kriki River and watched the fireflies come out. We didn't even really talk much, we just held hands, sometimes held each other, sometimes kissed a little. I can't believe I held off for so long with her… This is going to sound stupid, but you know how when you get sunburned really bad and your skin is stinging and your muscles are achy and you just want to die? Then someone puts some aloe vera on you and you're so grateful because it feels so good? That's what Winry is to me. My PTSS and the panic attacks are like a terrible sunburn, and Winry's like my aloe vera
The only thing that I worry about it if she will feel as good to me when the sunburn's gone…
~E. E.
July 21, 1915
I go next week for a second EMDR treatment. I'm taking Winry with me, and I'm paying for our own hotel room. I'm not even going to write down what I hope will happen. All I really want out of this trip is to finally be cured of all this bullshit.
Of course, there'll be separate beds, but we're both slim people, we could fit in a single bed together…
Shit, gotta run to the bathroom!
~E. E.
July 27, 1915
Tomorrow Winry and I go to Awrosut together. It will be our first trip anywhere as a couple, and I can't speak for her but I'm nervous as fuck. What if 'IT' happens? What do I do if she strips her shirt off and lies back on the bed and she asks me to TAKE HER? Fuck, fuck, fuck… Dammit, I should've used a different word!
I'm sure Al knows for sure what's going on now between me and Win, I've been pacing since yesterday and jump whenever anyone says my name. What if I only last like 2 seconds? What if it hurts her so bad she makes me stop and starts crying and oh jeeze what do I do if there's blood on the sheets!
I thought this was a good idea a week ago, now I wish I hadn't decided to ask her.
~E. E.
July 30, 1915
I guess technically today is the 31st because it's after 1 in the morning… Let me just say that 'IT' didn't happen…
But her tits feel as perfect as they look.
The rest can wait until tomorrow when I'm clear headed.
~ A very elated E. E.
Winry chuckled as those words rolled off of his tongue. "I had no idea you were so obsessed with my chest!" Her hand slipped easily around his bicep as she leaned her head on his shoulder.
"In those days, I think I would have jumped off the Steeple Bridge just to see them," he said with a lopsided grin. Their first anniversary wasn't going at all as planned; Winry had slipped down the back steps two weeks ago and broke her ankle. So rather than dinner and a reminiscent walk by the Kriki River, she was laid up in bed with a heavy-as-lead plaster cast.
Instead of spending his money at a restaurant for take out or on some delicate piece of jewelry she'd have crumpled in less than a day, Ed spent it on a lockable, leather bound journal and spent the week before transcribing his coded chronicle of that time when he was losing his sanity and coming to grips with daily life again into plain Amestrian. He sat next to her in their bed reading to her things she'd never heard before from when their romantic relationship first began. "Do you want me to keep going?" he asked as she yawned.
"I've always loved to hear your stories, Ed. Just don't be angry if I fall asleep. Your voice is so soothing to me that I might just nod off." She smiled up at him, and he dipped his head to give her a lingering kiss. When he pulled slowly away, she whispered, "Still as sweet as the first time."
"I might need to make an appointment, Win," he said quietly, using their secret code from years gone by, their coded term of affection. "All this taking care of you is putting extra stress on my leg."
"You always were so hard on my perfect creation," she teased. "Of course, we'll schedule an appointment real soon." She felt Ed's strong arm slide around her shoulders and he kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into his chest so that she could feel him read as well as hear it. Ed cleared his throat and began again:
"July 31, 1915; I've decided that there's no one else in this world for me. I don't know how I'm going to do it, and I don't know why she would ever agree, but I'm going to make Winry Rockbell my wife."
THE END