Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Brother, come down!"

The demand from his younger brother echoed throughout the desolate building, tugging at the corners of Edward's mind. He was hit with the faded memory of Alphonse having said those exact words when they'd been younger, left to their own devices amongst the rolling hills of Resembool. Al's tone was the same-shrill, fretful, annoyed-as it had been back then when Ed scaled a mighty oak tree.

So much so that when Edward paused while climbing up a rusted metal ladder to peer over his shoulder, he felt transported out of the abandoned warehouse. He almost expected to see Al in the flesh, standing amongst knee-high grass, only to be slapped back into reality. Ed's heart crumpled when he stared down at a grim helm and soul-fire eyes, not a flushed face of exasperation and eyes as golden as his own.

Sometimes, looking at Alphonse was like double exposure.

Most of the time, it was effortless for Edward to see his brother beyond the metal shell he'd tethered him to. He didn't see cold steel. Even now, after a few rapid blinks, Edward's brain could easily see Alphonse as he was supposed to be: neatly parted blond hair, warm eyes, and a smile so bright it could erase every wrong Edward had ever made.

"It doesn't look safe," Alphonse's voice echoed up to him. "Get down before you fall."

Edward removed the lump in his throat with a scoff. "In'a minute, Al."

"You said that fifteen minutes ago!"

"Lemme just have a look."

"This isn't the best place to play a game of Explorers, Ed!"

Explorers. It was a silly, imaginative game for two little boys who needed to escape boredom and burdens. Carrying sticks as swords, scouring fields, old barns, or places forbidden by grown-ups. Edward felt a tingle of fondness swiftly bleed into warm embarrassment at the insinuation. He sputtered, his mismatched hands tightening on the ladder rung, the sharp bumps of erosion nipping through his gloves. He was no longer some little kid of five years; he was grown, he was the big brother on the cusp of being thirteen –

"Are you listening to me?"

Oh, shit. Edward's foot nearly slipped when he continued his climb at that comment. He bristled and could've sworn someone else had said that, using his brother's voice. Someone annoying with a punch-worthy smug face who had sent him to the stupid, boring little town of Ashforth to inspect a mine...

"Are you listening to me, Fullmetal?"

...Colonel Mustang. The Bastard. It was one thing for Al to unintentionally mimic other members of the man's unit, but it was utterly different if Al began sounding like Roy.

So, what if Ed wanted to kill some time before the train ride back to East City? He wasn't playing Explorer. He was... well, Ed supposed, he was doing his duty, wasn't he? The military checked out concerns from the public all the time, didn't they? Edward was just doing that when investigating the warehouse that Ashforth's local didn't like talking about.

"Edward!" Al squawked up at him.

Unable to help himself, Edward parroted back with mock upset. "Alphonse!"

Noise in the crumbling warehouse traveled easily. Each steady drip of water was audible, and something as small as a loose screw pinged loudly when it fell. It was why Al's whispered curse ricocheted off the walls and easily reached Edward's ears. He nearly bit his tongue off when a bark of surprised laughter left him at hearing his baby brother cuss so openly.

"Wonder what Hawkeye'd say if she knew you said those sorta words!" Edward crowed as he neared the top of the ladder.

"I – you – Brother!" Al floundered.

Cackling to himself, Edward hauled himself up onto the platform. The metal groaned ominously beneath his boots as he moved on the square-shaped structure with four lengthy gangways stretching out beyond the darkness of the immensely sized warehouse. Edward shifted about, curious and ignoring the sound of Al's nagging, and eyed the area that must have once been some sort of workstation that overlooked the ground level.

There were desks and a few tables, the surfaces coated in dust and housing nothing more than crumpled yellow paper and lab equipment. It was instinctive to be drawn to the test tubes, plucking one of them up and lifting it towards the beams of sunlight from the cracked skylight above. There was some blackish gunk inside and, after a moment, he lost interest in it. He plopped it back into the rack where it had resided, golden eyes sweeping across a grimy petri dish as he edged towards one of the narrow gangways that looked the most stable out of the four.

Mindful of where he was putting his feet, both hands skating over the rails on either side of him, Edward trotted down the gangway that made the metal grating clank. From up here, he could see nearly everything where the ruined roof let the bright sunlight in. It was a barren place with nothing beyond furniture and destroyed machinery, yet the warehouse felt cluttered between that and the rubble.

"What d'you think this place was used for?" Edward called down to his sibling. "Locals said its military property."

"The signs out front that said No Entry told us that, too," Al muttered, tone dry.

"Yeah, yeah..." Edward huffed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Al was diligently lumbering along, following him from down below. "Anyway, this place could'a been a factory to dye uniforms or somethin', I guess."

Al made a small, intrigued noise. "You think so?"

With a shrug, Edward wasn't sure. He slowed his steps to stare down at the world below him. The gangway he occupied seemed to run over a trio of huge, shockingly deep concrete tanks. Two out of the three were bone dry, revealing stone stained black. It made some sense that some type of liquid was created in there.

His body had a mind of its own when he stopped directly over the lone vat that was filled nearly to the brim with what looked like vile, stagnant water. Intrigue had him pushing himself up onto his tiptoes to peep over one of the railings and look past a thick pipe that ran above the tanks to squint down into the deep, black water below. It could've been the sunlight dancing across the surface or his imagination, but the boy could've sworn he could see something shadowy down there.

Mom used to say he had an active imagination.

Granny Pinako frequently told how curiosity killed the cat.

Teacher - Izumi - would lightly kick him in the rump to stop his dawdling.

Roy tended to flick him on the ear or scruff up his hair, ordering him to "pull your head out of the clouds, soldier.''

Attention gleamed and curiosity piqued, Ed leaned forward, transfixed at the blurs in the water below. The creak of metal that produced was no different than the rest. It was ignored until the noise stretched into a drawn-out squeal. The sound of rusted metal giving way wasn't much warning when it made the world tilt and spin, sending Ed's his feet sliding

Cold air rushed past him as he plummeted. Everything happened too quickly to register. He fell and his arm of flesh and bone slammed into a protruding metal pipe. The impact made a sickening, sharp crack; there was metal screeching and someone shouting in the distance as white-hot agony rippled through his left arm. Then, with a harsh slap, Edward vanished into icy water that stole his breath away.

Panic surged as he was dragged down, failing to claw his way up to the surface.

Automail was nothing more than a deadweight, and his left arm was bent and useless. Edward flailed and found it futile. Golden eyes were wide open in the suffocating darkness, his lungs screaming for air. Try as he might, no amount of kicking helped him surge upward, his vision blurred as he was pulled down, down, down...

Something bumped against his right leg, and he flinched within the abyss.

The movement only made the thing knock into him again. It was big and too soft not to be organic. He tried to whirl around to see what it was but only found his legs tangled in something thick, heavy, and unyielding. It felt like a chain, and thrashing his legs hindered him more. He was left straining his eyes in the bleak water, trying to make sense of the shadows dancing around him.

Slowly, the shapes began to take form, and Edward stared - uncomprehending and horrified – as dread turned his blood into slush. It almost looked like people. Waxen, pale humanoid forms that he couldn't wholly distinguish in the gloom, his blood turned to gritty ice within his veins.

For a singular, terrifying beat, all the boy could do was stare at the twisted forms and the tangle of what looked like wrought iron chains draped around them. One of those chains must have snared one of his legs, if only due to his inability to kick. He tried not to panic further when he felt something heavy and soft bump into his back, briefly brushing against his cheek. It felt limp and colder than the water he was drowning in. Shuddering at the foreign sensation, he tried to get a glimpse of what touched him when he was suddenly yanked sideways by an unseen force.

Or, Ed's fuzzy brain amended, a current.

A strong, powerful current, at that. Water roared within his ears until he couldn't hear his own heartbeat as the current swept him up, slamming him into whatever those chained up, fleshy, bloated things were as the current pulled him away, dragging him through black water. The harshness jarred his arm, his mouth opening without permission as bubbles invaded his dimmed, cold water stinging his lungs -

Light. Air. Freedom!

It all hit Edward so quickly that he barely had a chance to enjoy it. He caught a glimpse of sunlight and barely got one gulp of air when he was sucked back under, leaving him to tumble about, his body scraping against stone. Within a blink, he was spat out onto the soggy ground, letting out a choked yelp as water continued to gush onto his face from the gaping hole that had been transmuted into the concrete tank. Luckily, it didn't last long; a flash of alchemical light burned his bloodshot eyes, and the water flow stopped pouring onto him, the tank sealed back up.

Gasping and coughing, Ed lay flat on his back, dazed as he stared up at the towering form of his savior.

"Idiot brother!" Alphonse shouted at him.

Edward tried to speak. It failed. What came out of a low, pained groan of nonsense.

"C'mon, c'mon." Al was chanting, thick leather fingers tapping at his face. "Breathe. Just - breathe for me."

The blond boy thought he was breathing, but apparently, he didn't meet Al's standards.

Alphonse gave him a shove onto his side. "Please, Brother! Please.''

Gurgling, Edward felt the burning rush of black water pour past his lips.

"Okay, okay. You need to go slow. Slow breaths. You - Oh. Oh, Ed. Your arm."

"I - M'kay..."

The pathetic mumble was the best Ed could do, his teeth chattering and water sloshing comfortably within his belly. His stomach felt too full and heavy, pushing up to his lungs and restricting his breathing. Shit. It felt like he'd swallowed a lake. Maybe he did. All he knew was that his skin was crawling with the phantom touches of the dead things and Al sounded scared.

Huge gauntlets were gingerly fussing over him. "You're bleeding. Stay still, stay still -"

Any hopes of setting his brother at ease didn't work when he promptly began to violently vomit the blackened water he had inhaled.

One broken left forearm, three stitches for the gash on the right side of his torso, and too many bruises to count.

Alphonse didn't think the injuries and near drowning Ed had gained were worth twenty minutes of exploration in that dank, abandoned factory in Ashforth. Boredom had driven Brother into wanting to pick around the building, which made locals go quiet. Apparently, loitering at a quiet train station was too much to ask when there was time to take advantage of and curiosity to sate.

Still, he knew some of those bruises had been contributed by his hand, and he hated it. Al loathed how useless he'd been in that moment of watching his sibling fail to draw breath. Seeing Ed like that reminded him too much of some of the kittens he had seen born silent: wet, limp, and barely breathing. He handled them far better - far more tenderly - than he had with his brother. The gentle taps of his gauntlets had given way into a solid thwack when panic and desperation had tainted his mind.

Soul-fire eyes remained glued to that bruise.

It was spread across Edward's skin like a storm cloud of deep blue, the edges tinged with deep reds and purples. Sat directly between his brother's shoulder blades, the imprint of Alphonse's hand was large and distinct. The bruise spanned the skin in a way that reminded him of how small Ed really was -

"You 'kay, Al?"

Al barely heard the croaky whisper from Ed. The older boy remained shirtless, bolts and - bruises - scars on show, clad in a pair of leather pants and a casted arm. Edward had turned from the bed, no longer picking through the suitcase that contained more books than clothing, to squint up at him.

"I should be asking you that," Al answered softly. "You almost –" he couldn't say drowned, but he could point out another obvious. "You've been quiet."

"No," Ed fired back with a snort. "You've been quiet."

Maybe they had both been quiet, Alphonse supposed. Between doctors who asked too many questions and nurses who barely left them alone, time at the hospital had been a blur. The afternoon had dissolved into the evening, their train back to East City has come and gone. Still, it was difficult to speak when they had been given very little privacy between tests, stitches, and plaster casting. Even their current spot in the small hospital's open ward with other people, mint green curtains pulled tightly around Ed's allocated bed, the paper-thin barrier didn't give any real privacy.

The soul-bound boy could hear every sigh from a doctor, tap of shoes from a nurse, or low groan from one of the few patients. Anxiously, he kept turning his attention to the gap in the curtains when heavier footfall echoed through the ward. Waiting was awful, yet - when Alphonse said Brother was quiet - another word would've been more fitting. Muted, possibly. Edward's face might've been flushed with life, the smattering of a few freckles from the summer just gone still visible on his nose, but he was...

Subdued.

Edward had been subdued, almost in shock. There had been no shouting and kicking when nurses stripped him bare, going so far as cutting his clothes off, and toweled him dry. The same applied when the doctor muttered scripted patronizing comfort as he set Ed's arm in a bulky cast. Nothing. Brother was subdued and he looked...washed out.

"You scared me, Brother," Alphonse timidly confessed, loathing how his words added weight to his brother's shoulders.

Oh, he didn't admit to such things to burden him with more guilt. No. All Alphonse hoped was that shared honesty would achieve some equal words of truth returned to him.

"...said I was sorry," came Ed's sulky, half-spat reply. "How'd I know it would break?"

For a few beats, nothing further was said. There was a low murmur of conversation that had begun somewhere on the ward, and Alphonse resisted the urge to shuffle closer to peek through the gap in the curtain. Instead, he stayed quiet, waiting. Ed was chewing on the inside of his cheek, a telltale sign that he was going to say something.

"Are you mad at me?"

That wasn't the response Al had wanted, but he should've expected it. Brother never did see fear and upset, only anger, hate, and blame. He tried to explain it once to Roy during the second month of Ed's enlistment. Al had been left awkwardly shuffling in the Colonel's office after his brother had stormed off following another shouting match.

With a rattle of his helm, Al shook his head at it all. "No, Brother. I just..." he sighed. "I mean, didn't it scare you?"

Golden eyes looked a bit too bright under the hospital's fluorescent light at that question. Alphonse caught a flicker of too many raw emotions that he couldn't fully decipher beyond unsettled and disturbed. Yet as quickly as that glint of emotion appeared, it vanished when Ed bristled. Suddenly pivoting back to facing the bed, the older Elric found yanking a wrinkled t-shirt from his suitcase was the most important thing in the world.

"Pfft. Don't be stupid," Edward's voice was jittery, his confidence forced.

Alphonse's shoulders dipped as he watched his brother stubbornly shrug on the black material of a shirt he rarely wore, hiding injuries from sight. "Brother, you do seem a bit -"

"I'm fine!" Ed turned to him with a scowl bit too loud for the quietness of the ward. "I gotta few stitches and a cast!"

"And maybe a chest infection," Al bitterly pointed out. The doctor had said his brother was chesty. He had to agree. Ed sounded congested, his throat crackly and coughs still raw yet wet.

Edward huffed angrily. "Y'think me goin' for a lil' dip is scary?"

The younger boy never got a chance to reply; a rustle accompanied by a faint scrape of metal had diverted Alphonse's attention. He latched onto the movement, half-expectant to be scolded by a nurse but hopeful for familiar blue attire and a dark head of hair popping through the parted curtains. Alas, he was wrong on both accounts and briefly felt crushed when sharp, russet-brown eyes didn't accompany the blond head that appeared.

That pang of disappointment didn't have time to seep into Alphonse's system, though. The casual attire that involved a worn jacket had taken him off-guard, yet the tall frame and bright blue eyes brought him comfort. Havoc. Al wasn't ashamed to admit he felt lighter when seeing the Second Lieutenant brushing open the curtains.

There was something about Havoc that reminded Alphonse strongly of Uncle Yuriy. He didn't know what, exactly, given how Winry's late father and Havoc were also so drastically different. It went beyond the fair hair and blue eyes, but - whatever it was - it was there.

"Hope you enjoyed your little dip, Chief," Havoc drawled with a crooked smile. "Because you're in real deep water with the Colonel."

"H-Havoc?" Ed squeaked with surprise. "What are you doin' – wait. What is that bastard sayin' now?!"

Al couldn't help but let out a small titter of laughter at how flabbergasted his brother sounded. The Second Lieutenant put a finger to his lips as he stepped up into the small, curtained nook. Havoc's attempt to encourage Ed to lower his voice only made him receive a snarl. Unfazed, Havoc laughed as he came to a halt beside Al, one hand absently patting him on the back in greeting while his eyes scanned Ed from top to toe.

"Aw, hell. Look at you, kid..." Havoc's voice was laced with sympathy. "What kinda shit have you been up to now, huh?"

Edward's face grew pink at the genuine words that he outrightly ignored. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh..." blue eyes rolled until they met soul-fire red. "You hearin' this, Cricket?"

Cricket. Al had to admit he enjoyed the moments when people beyond Ed made him feel - wanted, normal, his real age - human. It was such a ridiculous name to give someone bound to towering, seven-foot-plus of steel armor. The nickname had been bestowed in jest and stuck around out of sheer affection ever since...

"Ed's lucky to have you, Al," Fuery beamed.

Breda nodded. "Yeah. You're like his walking, talking conscience and peacekeeper."

Alphonse, still not quite used to the banter of grown men he'd been getting to know, gently reminded them. "Brother has a conscience all of his own."

"The latest mission report says otherwise," Havoc's eyes glinted with amusement as he joined in. "His latest victim has no teeth now."

The man Ed had socked in the jaw with his automail wasn't a victim. He'd been a corrupt alchemist. Al made a small noise, half-wishing his brother hadn't stormed out of Colonel Mustang's office. He was ready to politely point out the motive behind his brother's careless actions, yet found himself cut off by Falman.

"I suppose you're his Jiminy Cricket," Falman supplied. Hawkeye paused in her writing to raise an eyebrow at him in silent query. "You know, from Collodi's book. The one with the cricket that acts as an adviser to a puppet boy."

Hawkeye gave a slow blink that screamed, "No", and Alphonse wondered if she was gearing up to tell them to finish their work, but she didn't. Instead, she gave Al a small smile, unknowingly making him settle. The unit was joking about and bantering, not being cruel.

"Well, maybe work a little harder in advisin', Alphonse," Havoc smirked. "This is the fifth dental invoice we've gained in the past month."

"I –"

The armored boy barely got to respond when the Colonel - Roy - entered the conversation with a warm rumble of laughter.

"Didn't I tell you my Major's a little scrapper?"

It wasn't Al's imagination that the man sounded boastful. He was astonished, more so at the sheer change in attitude. The Flame Alchemist had – less than fifteen minutes ago –delivered a heated lecture at Ed for 'scrapping' when on assignments. He couldn't help but boggle at the Colonel, who clearly hadn't meant to have let such words slip around him given how quickly his smile dipped into something Al couldn't take seriously.

"And you won't repeat that if you know what's good for you, Cricket."

... Back then, Roy's gravelly command had been stern, his expression blank and cold. If the man's dark eyes hadn't belied his words, Alphonse would've been intimidated. Having the entire unit burst out laughing had only set him more at ease.

"Your brother's standing here, looking as if he's been pulled through a hedge backwards and has one arm in a damn cast," Havoc's voice pulled Al back to the present. "And he has the temerity to tell me he's fine."

"What are you even doin' here?" Edward grouched.

"Brother," Al sighed. "Be nice."

Ed emitted a low growl that tapered off into a crackling cough. It sounded painful. Havoc's playful antics came to a halt, the arm that had been slung over Al slipping off as his brow furrowed. The tall blond stepped closer to the smallest of their trio, his hand reaching to press the back of his hand to Ed's grazed, ruddy face.

When the boy ducked out of reach, Havoc pulled a face in mild annoyance. "Fine," he muttered. "I'm here to fetch you two while I'm – technically – off the clock."

Oh. Alphonse felt bad now. He really shouldn't have called the Colonel a few hours prior when Edward had disappeared into a bathroom. "Sorry, Havoc. Brother and I didn't need you to – "

Havoc flapped a hand at him, silencing apologies. "Ah, none of that, kid. The Colonel had a meeting, and Hawkeye was with him. I happily volunteered as tribute."

It didn't skip Al's notice how golden eyes were flitting between him and Havoc. When Ed's eyes narrowed into slits, the soul-bound boy knew the jig was up. Brother was smart and would probably knock his helm off for 'tattling' to the Colonel.

"Alphonse..." Edward breathed. "Al. You traitor. Did you - ?"

"Don't go blaming your brother," Havoc interjected, easily deflecting suspicion. "Seriously, Chief. What did you think would've happened when you didn't report in as expected?"

Ed wrinkled his nose. "I've been late before..."

"Ashforth is only an hour away with frequent trains from noon to midnight. If you missed one, Mustang expected you to be on the next one due to roll into East City," Havoc explained with a smirk, seemingly content to take the blame and twist a few truths. "Four trains later, and you're still a no-show – well, here I am, following with strict orders."

"Thank you," Al piped up.

Havoc gave him a gentle, knowing smile that made Al feel relaxed. Havoc looked like he was going to say something to him until blue eyes latched onto Brother. Seeing automail fingers sullenly picking at the soft padding that poked out of the cast, Havoc smoothed a hand over the top of Ed's head.

"C'mon, Ed," Havoc cajoled with a lopsided smile. "Let's get you back to our Boss before he has my guts for garters."

"Bastard ain't my boss."

Without missing a beat, Havoc hummed. "Yeah. I think we both know he's more than that, don't we?"

Edward's face went red enough that Al couldn't see his fading freckles. The embarrassed, furious noise that made might've been a curse or a war cry. Typically, Alphonse would've intervened his Brother's half-hearted attacks. However, out of all Roy's men, it had long ago become apparent that Havoc enjoyed playful tussles, and the man could handle himself just fine.

"Shh. Hey, hey – stop," Havoc's laughter was louder than Ed's sputtered insults. "You're gonna – Ed. Quiet down, we're in a hospital!"

"I'll put you in a hospital!"

Alphonse felt laughter bubble up inside of him until he noticed that his sibling was trying to take a swipe using his injured arm. "Ah, Brother. Careful – "

Too late.

Bulky white plaster smacked Havoc's lower stomach, and tears sprung into golden eyes. Edward didn't scream in pain upon jarring broken bones, but he did freeze up and blanch considerably, his eyes overly watery. Havoc made a low groan born out of sympathy rather than being hit in the gut, his arms reaching forward to tuck Ed close to still any further movement.

Roy's pocket watch had been ticking toward eight in the evening when Havoc arrived at his doorstep with two boys in tow. He had not long stepped through the front door of his home, greatcoat and jacket shed, when a solid series of thumps echoed down the narrow hall. The Flame Alchemist snapped his pocket watch shut and didn't waste time in opening the door, finding the dim glow of the streetlamp opposite his stoop blocked out by hulking metal armor.

How inexpressive armor could look sheepish was a feat in itself, yet Alphonse was capable. On the other hand, Fullmetal looked smaller than ever with Havoc's brown leather jacket swamping his form, keeping the slight nip in the night air at bay. The kid looked like death warmed over, pointedly avoiding Roy's gaze while information was quickly exchanged.

It didn't take long to gain details that he hadn't gained during his phone call earlier with a fretful Alphonse and dole out another request or two. Yet, even with a few bait-worthy teases aimed at Edward, the boy ignored him. The entire time Roy spoke to his Second Lieutenant and briefly checked in with Al, Ed had scowled at the ground, one boot scraping against a small cluster of weeds by the bottom step that Roy never got around to removing.

Something was wrong.

Something that didn't involve sniffly coughs and broken bones.

Something that went beyond sulky shame, shouting matches and not wholly listening to lectures.

The Colonel wasn't equipped for... this. Whatever this was. For all that he was an articulate, sharp-minded man who could bide his time and play mental chess, Roy had to admit he was lacking when it involved Edward and Alphonse Elric. More so when things weren't obvious or tangible. He tried, though. In all his awkward, short-tempered glory, when keeping both boys at arm's length failed, he tried and kept trying –

"D'ey awdy did dis atta hopsickal."

They already did this at the hospital.

"And I'm doing it again," Roy droned, silently grateful that Maes Hughes wasn't in the vicinity. The man would've had something to say with how quickly Roy could translate such poorly spoken words from Ed. Still, he plucked the thermometer from the kid's mouth and frowned at the result. "Slight fever, but nothing too bad."

"I told you I'm fine, Mustang."

The declaration lacked its typical heat. It was sullen and drained, like an exhausted toddler. Something was off with the boy.

With a sigh, Roy lifted his gaze to send the boy, who was currently perched atop his kitchen counter, a flat, assessing look. Edward pointedly avoided him, automail fingers absently scraping against the rough plaster of his cast. The kid was pouring out too much sweat to be fully fine, yet Roy could look past signs of sickness for the time being, especially when the thermometer reassured him that Edward wouldn't keel over.

"Are you?" Roy pressed, idly turning the thermometer over in his hands.

That – finally – got golden eyes to snap to him. "...What?''

"Fine," Roy repeated. "Are you fine, Fullmetal?"

When the boy did nothing than press his lips into a thin line, Roy changed tact.

"Edward... Ed," he began gently.

These boys – especially this one – made Roy conjure up a rare softness that he had long thought had died in the desert. He remained cautious yet mindful of the time. It wouldn't be long until Alphonse returned with Havoc and a collected late-night meal of noodles. Roy had always found Ed a bit more willing to talk without an audience.

"You might think of me as a big idiot, but I'm not," Roy carried on. "I can tell there is something you need to say or something that you need. I know it isn't pain relief because Havoc reported you had some on the train. I'm not a mind reader -"

"Could'a fooled me," Edward said waspishly. "You sure make out like you know everythin'."

Roy paused at that interruption. It almost made his lips tick upward as warmth bloomed in his chest. He always found it strangely flattering how he was viewed as some lazy, all-knowing mastermind in the boy's eyes. Regardless, the Colonel placed the thermometer down on the counter and tried to keep Ed's attention on him.

"There is something going on in here –" Roy pressed a knuckle to the kid's clammy temple " – and I can't help unless you tell me, Short Round."

Edward scrunched up his face in what Roy thought was to be an angry look. "Who said I need help?"

You did, Roy wanted to argue, when you didn't focus on being called short.

It was a rarity not to have Ed launching at him like a rabid squirrel when height-related teasing occurred. Unsettled at the lack of response, Roy felt his concern triple as he remained quiet as he eyed the boy. Like this, with Ed sitting on the countertop, they were eye to eye. It was easy to see how the kid's expression rippled after a beat of silent, defiant staring. It only lasted for a second, but the guilt-riddled haunted look was there and –

"Can I go now?" Edward almost whined.

"You are aware that you and your brother are spending the night here, right?" Roy muttered lowly, unimpressed. Ed gawped up at him, having clearly presumed tonight was just a debriefing and lecture with a side of dinner. It was almost laughable, but it wasn't. Scolding Edward on his dangerous antics had come and gone, and now Roy was left fumbling with the aftermath. "Honestly, kid,'' he half-groaned. "You can go back to the barracks tomorrow but we've been through this. You nearly drowned. Secondary drowning is a thing, you know, and you need to be monitored."

The mention of drowning made Ed shrink in on himself and that look appear. There it was, Roy noted. The something.

"Al didn't say he saw 'em."

Roy almost didn't hear the tiny rasp. Almost. It was instinctive to dip a little in his posture, if only so he could gain a clear view of Edward's face. The kid had tilted his head so far down his grazed chin was touching his chest. Roy's fingers twitched with the urge to nudge that chin back up, loathing the expression of what could only be described as confused despair.

"Maybe I imagined it," Edward mumbled, seemingly to himself.

"Imagined what?" Roy urged, unaware that he had dropped his voice into a whisper.

Ed peeked at him through his bangs, looking nauseous. "I wouldn't be the first time I thought I might'a..." he tapered off with a gulp. "Nothin'. I just – when I fell in the tank, the water was so dark and black but... but it felt – I could'a sworn they looked like –"

Whatever was going to be said was sharply cut off with a frantic head wobble.

Brow furrowing deeply, Roy worked his jaw, his patience waning. Deep down, he knew barking at the boy wouldn't help; his dearest First Lieutenant reminded him enough. All Roy could do was feel his chest constrict with concern, especially when Ed's body wavered. The boy's lips trembled, and his eyes widened suddenly, glassy and desperately searching for something as they bore into Roy's own.

Dread trickled down the Flame Alchemist's spine at the thought of dealing with tears. The last time he'd seen Edward display something near enough to tears after a failed lead, he'd gruffly tossed his greatcoat over the boy and told him to catch some sleep before fleeing the office. It hadn't been his finest moment. Either way, it was no small wonder why Roy's eyes darted toward the hallway where his telephone resided.

He could think only of one person to call to deal with tears, and it wasn't him. Riza was one dial away. Roy was already weighing up his options and only became aware his focus had been divided when a wet gurgle crawled out of Edward's throat. Only then, when his gaze snapped back onto Ed's pale and panicky face, did confidence return.

Because Edward wasn't going to cry.

No. Ed was going to puke.

Now, that, Roy could deal with. It was easy to hook an arm around the boy and slide him across the worn countertop as if he were a pint glass at his aunt's bar. The action was smooth and efficient. A clean pathway that ended when Roy splayed a palm over Ed's bony, heaving chest and tipped him forward until he was over the kitchen sink.

"Easy does it, Ed," Roy murmured at the first heave. "Go on – get it all out. You're okay, buddy."

Nonsensical words were pouring past the Colonel's lips in the same way bile and murky fluid gushed out of Ed's. He kept a steady hold on the boy, feeling each spasm, uncaring if some backsplash splattered onto his forearm. The vomiting spell didn't produce much despite its violent arrival, nor did it last long compared to the aftermath of dry heaves and gasps. Nonetheless, the event had wrung out what little energy the kid had, leaving him shaky and panting in Roy's arms.

"There's a lad. I've got you," Roy continued to try, mindful of bruises as he gingerly rubbed Ed's back.

"Urgh..."

"I know. I know."

Roy wasn't entirely sure he was doing the right thing, but despite Edward's warbling groans and his bumbling attempt at comfort, the kid was curling into him. When Ed blindly rubbed his grimy face into Roy's shoulder, the Colonel tried to ignore the dampness of bile and salvia. He told himself that his shirt had been destined for the laundry anyway, and gave into the urge to slide his fingers through tangled, golden strands of a braid barely holding onto its shape.

After a short moment and a gentle shift, Roy freed up one hand to do some basic damage control. With one arm still cinched around the kid, he managed to rinse his forearm and sink with Edward slumped against his chest. If Roy pressed his cheek against Ed's while doing so, it was to make sure the half-awake boy's head didn't loll away as he stretched an arm towards the nearest cupboard.

He opened the door and scanned the near-empty shelf: Coffee. Sugar. The first aid kit he'd got the thermometer from. A canister of tea he'd purchased solely for Riza. And, finally, a lone tin of chicken broth.

"Okay. So, new plan of action, soldier," the Colonel mused aloud. "We'll get you cleaned up, and I'll eat the noodles Al brings back. You can try some broth –"

"Ain't hungry."

Ed's interruption was partly muffled by Roy's shirt, but he heard it. Instead of being drawn into an argument, Roy scratched at the boy's scalp and made a thoughtful hum of consideration. Eventually, his Major gained enough strength to lift his head, and slowly, Roy managed to implement the first part of his plan before Alphonse's return. The same couldn't be said for the last part of his plan. No amount of coaxing got Edward to have more than a spoonful of broth.

In the end, it was easier to send the kid to bed.

It was a little past midnight when Roy finally decided to do the same. He was reluctant to peel himself out of the armchair he'd planted himself in for reasons that went beyond laziness, but his spine wouldn't thank him if he fell asleep by the fireplace. Given the increased hints Alphonse had been dropping the past hour, it was safe to say the soul-bound boy wouldn't be too happy either.

"You know, I tell Brother this all the time, but you don't need to keep me company b'cos I can't sleep."

Roy tossed his pen and newspaper onto the coffee table that was cluttered with signs of previous activity. The paper landed where intended atop the scattered playing cards, but the pen rolled off onto the floor. He groaned as he pushed himself out of the chair to retrieve it. "That's a very arrogant assumption to make, kid," he grumbled. "Maybe I wanted to finish my crossword before retiring."

Al made a dubious sound. "Whatever you say, Colonel."

It was said in such a deadpan manner Roy briefly thought Riza had made an appearance. He let out a small chuff of laughter as he picked the pen up, briefly eyeing Alphonse. The mass of steel that housed the boy's soul made Roy's modestly sized living room look tiny, and despite being only a few feet shorter than the bookcases that flanked the fireplace, Al fit in nicely in all the ways that mattered. The kid was content to sit on the floor by the bay window, looking very content with a book in hand.

Naturally, Roy playfully tapped the pen twice atop Al's helm in passing, fully aware that his antics earned him an unseen smile.

"Off to bed I go," Roy began with a stretch, opting to place the pen on a side table. "Help yourself to anything. I'll be up in six hours or so, but if you need anything, get me. Ah, and remember Alphonse, you can read any of my books –"

"In the bookcases but not the ones in your study," Alphonse intoned.

The Flame Alchemist paused. The alchemy tomes in his study weren't anything he needed to keep from either of the boys, but there was one non-alchemy related book in his study that Vanessa had gifted to him as a joke. He would much rather hand over the secret to Flame Alchemy than explain to two preteens what the copy of ancient sketches of naked figures in the book were doing.

"Yes. That." A tired smirk crept onto Roy's face. "You'd think that you've heard that one before, huh?"

Soul-fire eyes were bright with amusement. "Only once or twice, sir."

Sir. It was interesting how Al remembered the ground rules of Roy's home despite only having stayed over a handful of times, yet the boy stumbled when calling him by his given name. Smothering a yawn into the back of his hand, the Colonel shuffled towards the doorway but, before he disappeared up the stairs, made a point of setting the youngest Elric's mind at ease.

"I'll speak to Havoc or Fuery in the morning about your request," Roy quietly reassured. "Fuery began service as a medic, but it didn't sit right with him. I don't blame him. Radios and wires seem more fun, and Havoc's fully trained, too. If anyone can assist you with learning hands-only CPR, it'll be those two or Hawkeye..." he trailed off, throat suddenly dry. "Although, I'm hoping you never need to use what they can teach you."

Alphonse echoed the sentiment, and Roy bid him goodnight before trudging up the stairs.

The lamp on the spindly-legged table at the top of the stairs was still on, the dim glow highlighting the narrow landing and trio of doors. He walked past the door of the second bedroom-turned-study and meandered past the bathroom until he reached the end of the hall to his bedroom. The door was still open, the light from the hall easily offering enough light for him to see into the generously sized room that was a bit more cluttered than the rest of his minimalistic home. Still, it was easy to spot Ed.

It wasn't the first time the eldest Elric had stayed over, and Roy doubted it would be the last. He really needed to consider getting a guest bed for his study. However, Edward never had any qualms about the makeshift bed Roy made for him on the small loveseat tucked in the far corner of his bedroom. It had been a leftover gift from the previous house's owner, something he didn't wholly understand until he attempted to remove it upon moving in, only to find it impossible to move. He had considered taking an axe to the antique leather and carved wooden frame yet had never got around to it.

Regardless, it came in handy. With some spare pillows and a thick blanket, it made a perfect bed for pea-sized subordinate. Plus, Alphonse could putter about downstairs freely and keep himself preoccupied without the fear of waking his sibling.

For once, Roy's procrastination had come in handy.

Naturally, for the umpteenth time this evening, the Flame Alchemist shuffled toward the couch and smiled at the lump beneath the blankets. He could only see part of Edward's nose, small and adorned with a few boyish cinnamon freckles, poking out from the mound of blankets. How the kid could sleep burrowed away like that was astonishing, yet it hardly mattered. Roy hooked a finger into part of the blanket and pulled it away enough to see his ruddy, sleep-slack features that seemed strangely angelic in sleep, his palm instinctively cupping the boy's clammy face –

"Mmm...''

Edward hummed in his sleep at the touch, nosing into the man's vast palm.

"...M-Mom?''

Ah.

The burst of warm endearment in Roy's chest solidified into stone and tumbled down to his gut. Roy held his breath, palm still, and felt his heart shrivel at the sleepy warble. Blessedly, Edward didn't open his eyes, clearly lost in what Roy hoped was a pleasant dreamscape as the kid continued to try and press his face into the curve of Roy's palm. He doubted his touch was remotely akin to the boy's mother; Roy's hands were tainted as they were large and calloused. However, this was a dream that he didn't dare disturb by speaking up, his deep timbre most certainly a far cry from the comforting feminine tone used by the late Trisha Elric.

Instead, Roy hoped the softer skin of the back of his unoccupied hand would suffice. He brushed his hand against the too-warm face until Edward settled back into a deeper sleep. Only then, content to find the low-grade fever hadn't spiked and reassured how alive the kid was with his latest antics, did Roy slip his hands away and head over to his own bed.

"I can't be doin' this sorta stuff for – for – wait a second... "

Fingers skimming over the tabs of files came to a halt, and Riza peered up from the filing cabinet at the source of constant chatter. Edward. Within the records room, while she reorganized files, Edward was sat atop a wooden ladder and assisting her. The boy was clad in a long-sleeved black top, with one sleeve rucked up to his elbow where it couldn't go beyond white plaster and typical leather trousers. He was absent of his black jacket due to the bulk of his cast, which made it impossible to wear, and his red coat remained on the coat rack at the office.

She had looked up just in time to see him whirl around on the ladder and witness the cogs turning behind golden eyes. It was mildly comical upon seeing the boy freeze on the spot, his automail fingers no longer poking away cobwebs from the topmost shelf as his jaw dropped. Times like these always made Riza realize how expressive Edward was.

"How long does it take for this –" he swung the casted arm upward with visible disgust "– to heal?"

"Careful, Ed," Riza said softly. It slipped out of her by habit. In less than twenty-four hours since the child's near-drowning Ashforth, she had seen him bump, knock, or whack it against too many people or things.

"I've never broken an arm or leg b'fore, Hawkeye," Edward bemoaned, eyes wide and pleading. "I've only lost 'em."

The Sharpshooter had to bite the inside of her cheek, a mix of endearment and dark humor almost making her smile. She hated – utterly loathed – the reminder of what Edward had been through at such a young age and the struggles that came with being down two limbs, but damn . As awful of a remark as it was, that comment tickled her.

Still, she cleared her throat and answered. "You'll have to check with Falman, but I believe it's typical for a forearm to heal between four or six weeks."

"S-Six weeks!"

Edward jolted as if struck, the ladder giving a brief wobble as he slumped against the rungs. His actions were melodramatic and suited for children his age or certain Colonel who enjoyed indulging in being thespian. The boy's voice was shrill and far too loud in the quiet room. Had this been any other day, Riza would've been tempted to send him a look that would've had the boy lowering his voice instantly.

Not today, though.

No, Riza couldn't bring herself to scold him for his current antics or whining. The reminder that they might've never had this precious moment if things had gone more amiss than they already had. Clearly, relief that Edward was okay beyond a few stitches, many bruises, and a broken bone had softened her resolve.

"Aw, no," Edward complained. "This can't be happenin'. Al and I got stuff to do! The Colonel's bein' stupid. I can't be here for six shitty weeks!"

Well, somewhat softened her... " Major ," Riza warned. "Language, please."

Ed crinkled his nose, sheepish, and slithered down one rung on the ladder. "...Six – er – stinkin' weeks?''

Goodness. Riza didn't mean to smile, but she did. Between Edward and Alphonse, her heart hadn't felt this full in years. She tried to hide her smile and lifted a file, pretending to inspect it. The records room allocated to their unit was a mess. Piles of files had been abandoned on shelves, and alphabetical filing cabinets misused. Reorganizing this room had been their lowest priority until Roy suddenly needed to find something for Edward to do as a punishment.

Even if Ed couldn't, Riza could see straight through the man's ploy.

This event, albeit minor in the grand scheme of things, had given them a small scare. It was selfish to keep the boys close to settle their frayed nerves, but it was practical to keep them nearby until Ed wasn't wincing in pain from a quick clap of his hands. Alphonse seemed more shaken over not having the ability to breathe life into his sibling, while Edward...

Edward appeared unfazed. Emotionally, that is. A little quieter at times, but not enough to be concerning. Nearly drowning would've spooked most adults. Beyond that, Roy had informed her of their arrival the night prior and how tight-lipped Ed had been before a small bout of vomiting, yet that was it. In the Flame Alchemist's own words, Fullmetal had bounced back. Literally. Roy had said his morning alarm had been replaced by cackling and an automail foot stomping on the pillow beside his head.

Physically, however –

"I know he ain't got any leads for us, but I could be helpin' Al research at the library, y'know?"

As tempting as it was to inform Edward that his perceived punishment probably would dwindle, Riza didn't. Roy would let the boy stew for a few days in Command before showing some leniency in a move that was just as manipulative as it would be lenient. Days spent in the record room would undoubtedly be shifted to a couple of hours here and there, allowing Ed to join his brother in the library while also keeping him on the Colonel's radar.

"Urgh!"

Riza lowered the file from her face at the angry grunt and found herself frowning at the boy who was currently wincing at the bare bulb. Outside of physical injuries, Edward was fine. A little hot to the touch and sweaty, his voice a bit hoarser than usual, but his lungs sounded clear when he coughed. Sure, she'd caught him wiping his runny nose on his sleeve a few times until Al shoved a tissue into his face, but he seemed to be holding out strong. A chest infection had yet to rear its ugly head.

But this - the cringing at light - was new.

It also didn't skip her keen eye how stiffly he was moving his neck, occasionally reaching up to rub it when he thought no one was looking. The latter was something Riza supposed was expected, given how Edward hadn't merely taken a tumble into water. The boy had plummeted from a height and had been suctioned out. Aches and pains were expected, yet...

"Is the light giving you a headache?" Riza queried.

"No..." Edward replied, still grimacing. "Bein' stuck here is givin' me a headache.''

With a sigh at the obvious lie, the Lieutenant slipped the file back to where it belonged and closed the filing cabinet. They hadn't been here long, maybe three hours at most, but she didn't intend to work him to the bone given his state. Edward was the exception. Always. However, Riza was used to treading carefully around the fragile egos of alchemists with a stubborn streak, and she felt as if she had grown adept at managing prideful young boys.

So, with careful consideration, she beckoned him over with a wave of her hand.

Ed was quick to comply; he slid down the ladder and landed with a slight stumble. Riza hefted up a stack of files that would require individual organization and gently deposited them into his arms, thankful that he used his automail to support them as opposed to his cast. Only then, with his hands occupied, did she press a hand to his forehead, amused that he didn't snarl and snap at her like when Roy or the other men tested his temperature throughout the morning.

Instead, golden eyes looked sulky and his tone was sheer defeat. "M' fine, Hawkeye."

The skin beneath her palm was mildly warm but very, very clammy.

Riza didn't argue, but she would be checking his temperature with a thermometer again. Roy had stated that the boy's temperature had been a little warm but remained the same as the night before. Even when Havoc had stuffed a thermometer into Ed's mouth shortly after the Elrics and Roy arrived at the office this morning, the temperature wasn't enough to warrant a doctor's visit.

Most amputees, Riza reminded herself, tended to run a little hot. However, the mild flush to Ed's face wasn't what concerned her. No, it was the amount of sweat that poured off the boy. He didn't seem to be shivering or showing any other symptoms linked to a fever, yet the amount of sweat and sniffly nose made her think his body was trying to purge something.

"Honest," Ed chirped, weakly persuading.

A soft, noncommittal hum left Riza's throat at that. She brushed his bangs from his face, ridding a few golden strands that clung to his damp skin. It wasn't her imagination that she felt him lean into the touch ever so minutely. Given his lack of embarrassment, she had a feeling it had been a subconscious action, and her heart twisted.

"I suppose it is stuffy in here," she conceded, reluctantly removing her hand. "We are due a break, but we can go through these records in the office."

Edward looked as if he was onto her carefully constructed ploy to get him to rest, yet she talked over him as he opened his mouth.

"You know I need to keep an eye on the unit; otherwise, they'll slack," Riza said, gathering another stack of files.

"I guess so..." Ed trailed off with a murmur. Then, seeing the files she had gathered, he straightened up as if he were a cadet standing to attention. Chin tipped up and stance ramrod straight, the boy lifted the load in his arms. "Put 'em on here, I can carry more!"

Even down an arm and covered in bruises, Riza didn't doubt his strength. She did, however, have reservations that he could see over the pile if she added more. Politely, she declined and tucked them under one arm while pointing out how he was carrying more than her. Before long, she ushered him out of the records room and into the hall, silently noting how the bright light from the windows had the same reaction as the bulb.

Stubbornness has the boy ducking his head, watery eyes blinking. By the time they reach the office door, Edward's reaction had lessened but not wholly gone away. It was enough time for him to uncurl himself upon entry, his expression a forced scowl.

"H-Hey, look who's back so soon!" Breda greeted from behind his desk.

Russet eyes latched onto the newspaper the redhead was swiftly trying to hide, suddenly shuffling papers and grinning too wide. Falman was a bit slow on the uptake when he flicked a paper football towards Fuery and quickly picked up his pen to scribble something on paper. On the other hand, Fuery had frozen at her arrival and got hit in the chin with the folded paper.

Havoc was the only one not to appear in a rush as he kicked his boots off the desk. "If it isn't Hawkeye and Chickadee!"

"Quit callin' me that!'' Edward yelled.

"Aw, Ed," Fuery chimed in, trying to appease. "It's not used in a bad way."

"Yeah, Big Guy," Breda added with a mischievous grin. "Besides, it's more fitting now than ever."

"Especially with you spending some quality time around the office," Havoc grinned. "Following our Hawkeye around more than usual, like her litt – "

"Gentlemen," Riza interrupted sharply.

The last thing she needed was Edward getting riled up. The boy was in some pain and clearly not 100%. She had opted to return here under the guise of him getting some respite in what was going to be a long day. Luckily, Riza didn't have to ghost a hand on her service weapon to have the men in her unit snap their attention back to the work assigned to them, not even daring to grumble.

"You can put those files on my desk, Edward," Riza directed.

Ed dumped them on the desk, but not before he peered down at Havoc's desk in passing. "Ain't that the same form you've been fillin' in since nine this mornin'?"

"Oh, c'mon!" Havoc thumped a fist onto the desk. "Since when were you a snitch?"

"Since you were bein' a dick.''

"Edward, " Riza warned again, albeit tiredly.

"W-Well, he is bein' one!" Edward defended, his tone plaintive.

Given how her tidy desk was now sprawled with manila folders from Ed's clumsy delivery, Riza opted to place the files in her hold onto the nearest filing cabinet. Maybe, Riza mused, she could improve Edward's vocabulary and choice of insults during the next few weeks. But, for now, she needed to –

A door creaked open and a familiar voice laced heavily with amusement entered the conversation.

"Ah, I thought I heard a chick chirping ."

"Colonel," the Sharpshooter sent him a flat look.

Roy chuckled, his hands raised in surrender. "Apologies. I couldn't resist, Lieutenant. I –" he cut himself short, his dark gaze narrowing at something beyond her shoulder. His cheeky, downright boyish grin vanished along with his teasing tone. The Colonel's entire posture stiffened, his face grim and voice a bit too sharp when he called out, " Fullmetal."

A part of Riza expected to turn around and find the boy taunting one of the men or slyly seeking revenge for the near use of the word Little. Ed had once stapled Fuery's cavalry skit to his desk and transmuted Falman's drawer shut. Then, of course, there was Havoc and Breda. Those two, in particular, seemed to enjoy such disruptive activities, clearly overgrown children and relished when Edward dragged them into a playful tussle. What she didn't expect was to see the boy blinking owlishly, a deep crimson stream flowing from his nose.

Edward didn't seem to notice and sniffed, his automail arm already lifting to rub the sleeve against his nose. "What?"

"Your nose is bleeding," Roy said, his feet moving and hands outstretched. In five strides, he was there, pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket, cupping the child's head, and directing it back. "Damn it, kid. Tip your head back –"

"Forward," Riza quickly corrected, joining the duo.

"OK. Forward, then," Roy stiffly ordered.

Not that Ed had a choice. The boy's head was nudged forward before he could protest, golden eyes wide and startled. Riza wasted no time in plucking the handkerchief from her superior's hand and pressed it firmly under Edward's nose. This was no minor trickle, it was a flood . The blood soaked through the white cotton almost as instantly as the spontaneous nosebleed had begun.

"Wah tha' hell?" Edward muffled into the fabric.

"You're fine, kid," Roy grunted, already patting his pockets down for a secondary handkerchief. "It's just a bit of blood."

"A bit ," Falman muttered. "That's the understatement of the century."

"Not helping, Stickman." Havoc sing-songed, his cheery tone clashing with the glare he sent.

Because it was an understatement. Blood had drenched Edward's chin, shirt and a few red drops were speckling the floor. Luckily, Fuery was already out of his chair and fetching the medical kit before Roy's search for another hanky came up empty. Riza could see the Master Sergeant ripping open a packet of gauze as he edged over to their huddle, proffering the much-needed item.

"Feeling faint, Ed?" Fuery asked.

"Nuh-uh."

Edward shook his head - or, attempted to. Roy's hand cupping the back of his head made it impossible when coupled with Riza's deft fingers gently pinching his nose, adding firm pressure along with the wad of gauze. Give Edward his due, he didn't seem panicked, only bewildered, his golden eyes flitting between Roy and Riza until he made a low, disgusted nose.

"You gonna puke?" Havoc was already hugging a wastebasket to his chest, dutifully ready to offer it.

Ed pulled a face, undoubtedly at whatever blood was trickling down his throat, but didn't seem ready to vomit or faint.

"Breathe through your mouth," Riza instructed, tightening her grip on his nose. "It's okay."

"Urk. Lew'ten'it, d'you habba squeeze ma bose?"

Riza ignored the nasally complaint to share a quick silent conversation with Roy. A quick flit of her eyes towards the chair had him smoothing a hand over Ed's hand and softly ordering, "Forward, march. You need to sit down."

Breda was already up and wheeling a desk chair towards them. "Should I call a medic?"

"Its'a bosebeed!" Edward sounded offended. "Notta 'tabwooned!"

"What?" Falman raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, kid. A nosebleed," Roy grumbled as ushered the boy into the chair. "It might not be a stab wound, but it sure is leaking like one."

"Mmmph!"

"Hawkeye?" Breda beckoned her attention. "Medic?"

Riza shook her head. It was a nosebleed. As heavy and sudden as it was, it wasn't too worrisome yet. Maybe if the flow hadn't ebbed in ten minutes, she would have taken Breda up on his offer. Given how sniffly Edward had been, he had probably irritated something and popped a vessel. Still, she kept her grip firm on his nose and the compress as she crouched down, saving her back the ache of bending down.

Twelve minutes. That was how long it took. It was twelve minutes filled with two more wads of gauze being used, a couple of quiet reassurances from the surrounding adults, and a few periodical checks. But - finally - the overwhelming gush turned into a slow trickle.

She kept the compress on his nose, fingers still pinched on his nose. In her head, she counted for another sixty seconds and gave him a small smile. Her position of being crouched down gave her a clear view of his young, disgruntled look and the tiny glint of unease growing in his eyes.

"These things can happen. You're almost there," Riza whispered, trying to soothe the child's frayed nerves. "Just a little longer and you'll be fine..."

"Dob 'ell Al," Edward garbled out a demand.

Don't tell Al.

Of course, that was what made him uneasy. Not the blood pouring from his nose or the slight scare at the amount, but that. Worrying Alphonse was a big no-no.

This boy – this silly, stubborn, never-thinking of himself boy – made Riza stifle a sigh. Honestly. Behind closed doors, the Sharpshooter teased how both Elrics would turn Roy gray before he hit thirty, but she had a feeling she might be joining him. If Edward wasn't bringing a burst of sunshine into their lives with a dash of innocuous joy, he was bringing in chaos tangling up her heartstrings with worry.

At this rate, Riza felt like this boy was going to be the death of her, and it wasn't wholly a bad way to go.

Ed knew something was wrong with him following his accidental dive into black water.

He wasn't sure what, but something was amiss. There was a constant pressure within his head and the itchy-tickle feeling of water in his ear that wouldn't go away. It all began with clammy sweats, searing migraines, a stiff neck, and barely any appetite. The nosebleed at the office wasn't a one-off; the warm gush of blood pouring from his nose eased the pressure in his head, but it became a daily event. So much so that when the third day rolls around upon his return from Ashforth, he is escorted to the hospital by Hawkeye.

A harried-looking doctor ran a few tests, mentioned possible allergies, made a flippant remark about Ed being a nose picker, and declared him healthy.

To say the First Lieutenant hadn't been impressed would've been an understatement. She had been pissed at the doctor's attitude but couldn't argue with the results. Edward was fine. Dr. Bainbridge had said so. They didn't do bloodwork and refused to such lengths when Ed's stiff neck was from having his body put through the wringer and, if anything, maybe - in Bainbridge's sour words – as was typical with children – Ed might be developing a cold.

Nevertheless, the third day progressed as normal, save for that trip for a check-up. Edward might've eavesdropped on Riza, Roy, and Fuery talking amongst themselves about it. The conversation was filled with frowns and low-murmured concerns that had the entire team breathing down his neck as he fumbled through organizing the records room. The Colonel wasn't much better and even went as far as to suggest Ed, not dissimilar from his first night back, stay overnight at Roy's narrow-bricked home.

It was an offer that Edward rejected. After that first night, he returned to the military barracks and was happy for independence. Spending all day with Team Mustang was one thing, but returning to the man's home after putting up with his needling all day sounded like an extended punishment. Besides, Ed was content in his allocated room at the dorms.

Even if one of their neighbors kept him up all night screaming gibberish.

Because the idiot soldier next door had been bellowing non-stop, probably drunk, and Edward wasn't sure if he slept. He didn't know what the person was saying, the words muffled between the thin wall, but it was constant –

"Brother?"

At the sound of Al's gentle call, Edward cringed further into his cocoon of blankets with a grunt. He wanted to sleep-really sleep. Between the loon screeching next door, the dull throbbing in his skull, and his broken arm, his broken sleep had been fitful at best. A blur of heart-jolting dreams involving shadowy hands and all-seeing eyes had him twitching awake on a never-ending loop.

"It's a little after six," Al continued. "You should get up now otherwise you'll be late."

Listlessly, Ed remained buried under his blanket and sucked in a breath. He hoped breathing in would give him the will to peel himself off the thin mattress, but it drew attention to something else. Copper. The tell-tale metallic scent was heavy, and with some subtle investigation without alerting Al, he discovered that he had claggy nostrils and a stiff patch of blood on his pillow.

Another nosebleed must've happened in the night.

And, suddenly, the lack of pressure in his skull made sense.

Because it's the fourth day since he got back from Ashforth and, save the heavy feeling of exhaustion from poor sleep, he feels.... better.

Much, much better.

The pressure was gone, along with the watery slosh of something in his ear. The doctor had stated his ears had been clear during his exam, but it no longer mattered. It was gone. Edward gingerly tilted his head, investigating under the privacy of bulky blankets. It didn't resurface. It was gone and so is the whiplash-like stiffness in his neck. It felt almost suspicious too good to be true at the sudden change.

"C'mon, Ed," Alphonse coaxed, his armor creaking closer. "I – I know today is going to be a rough day..."

Edward wasn't too sure about that. He felt good. He rubbed at his nose, mouth, and cheek. Blood flaked off easily. After a quick flip of his pillow to hide the remaining mess, and he slowly peeked out from his blanket. The room wasn't lit, save the blueish, dreary gloom of an early morning coming from the window, but Al was hulking and unmissable.

"It is?" Ed mumbled tiredly.

"You don't need to pretend, Brother," Al said, a sigh-like sound echoing out from the confines of his armor. "I'm not stupid. I know you've been a little out of sorts since Ashforth. It must be bad enough that your injured arm aches without your automail joining in due to the bad weather."

Bad weather?

"It's been storming all night. You've been tossin' and turnin' a lot, too. The rain certainly doesn't look like it's ending anytime soon."

This was the first time Ed had been told it had been storming throughout the night. He'd been too preoccupied with the weirdo ranting through the walls and restless sleep. Sure enough, the blond boy turned his focus to the window and the copious downpour of rain. That didn't make sense. Changes in the barometric pressure often left him nauseous and with sharp pangs around his automail ports. The relentless rain outside should've had him puking and crippled but he felt... nothing.

Nothing at all. Not even the slightest twinge. No pain.

Fearing some sort of wiring issue or detachment from his prosthetics, Edward kicked his blankets away. Blindly, he threw himself out of bed, cool air hitting his sweat-damp body, and stilled. His metal arm and leg worked perfectly without the tiniest hint of pain. Even without changes in weather, his automail felt more cumbersome in the mornings, sometimes making his thigh or back of his shoulder cramp.

Panic dissolved into sheer puzzlement. Being completely pain free was foreign to him. Yet, here he was, standing on two legs after a night of heavy stormy and ongoing rain, without so much as a tiny tingle of discomfort.

Something ticklish and bubbly fizzed within his stomach, and Ed had the strangest urge to laugh with giddiness.

" – don't force yourself!" Alphonse urged anxiously, his gauntlets hovering over Ed's shoulders. "I can always call the Colonel and let him know. Besides, I woke you up early to give you time to see how you'd feel, Brother. Take it easy, please."

"I – I'm okay," Ed murmur, feeling a blend of detached and curious. He stretched out his left leg and rotated his right arm. Nothing. Smooth movement and unhindered by pain. It was... unnerving yet blissful.

"You sure? If – If you want, I can call Miss Riza instead. Both her and the Colonel said I should call them if –"

"Al," Edward interjected, albeit not unkindly. "I'm fine."

He's more than fine.

Nevertheless, his reply seemed to put a stop to Al's fretting, and after a beat, Ed shuffled off to the adjoining bathroom. It was a small, cramped room of cracked white tile and rough towels that served their purpose. The moment Ed shut the door, he pinched the stitched gash on his torso. Again, nothing. Then, with bated breath, he dug an automail thumb into the flesh above his leg's port, bracing himself for pain only to feel nothing but cold metal and pressure.

Odd. Something might've been wrong amiss but this development wasn't a bad thing... Was it?

With a grunt, the boy went through the process of trying to get washed without getting his cast wet in the shower. As loathe as he was to admit it, that first night of having Roy assist his sickly self into a shallow bathtub had been far smoother and more efficient than Ed's bumbling methods of dashing himself under the shower head with his broken arm stretched out beyond the water flow. Still, as awkward as it was, Edward did it, and before long, he stumbled out of the shower and wrapped himself up in a towel.

Through the too-thin walls of the barracks, Ed can hear him again.

The soldier next door must have woken up from whatever drunken binge he'd been on the previous night, his low rumbling tone vibrating through the walls. Out of all places, his neighbor's voice seemed louder by the sink, his biting voice ricocheting from the pipe. Unlike last night of gibberish nonsense, Edward could swear he could pick out some words...

" –uck."

Ed knows an explicative when he's heard one, even if it's cut off and distorted by water and rusted pipes. Suddenly, scrubbing himself dry and brushing his teeth fell to the wayside in favor of leaning over the sink. He tilted his head, strained his ears and -

"I said look –"

The man sounded commanding-a typical soldier with a voice made for shouting drills. His neighbor might not be yelling, but the bubbling anger was present. Goosebumps came to life on Edward's skin the longer he listened, trying to pick out what he could.

" –ear me? I said –"

Oh. Ed pulled back from the sink. He could almost envision the hungover soldier berating himself in the bathroom after a rough night. It should've been funny, considering how the moron's antics had kept him awake. Yet it wasn't funny. It made Ed's stomach twist with uneasiness.

"Look up – I'm talkin' to you – look – eyes on me!"

Embarrassingly, Edward flinched. The soldier's voice wasn't overheard via the pipes and reached his ears; it was in his bones. It had reverberated through his body, the command clear as it was felt in his chest, in his skull –

"Look the fuck up!"

Instinctually, golden eyes flitted up to the mirror at that order.

What – who – Edward saw was unrecognizable. It was him, but not. It was – wrong. The mirror seemed to ripple and blur, his reflection's eyes having resembling dark, hollow pits as small, black hands slithered over the distorted person's shoulders. A choked noise of revulsion left Ed, his arms flying upward to swipe frantically at his shoulders as he stumbled back and fell onto cold tile, the cast smacking noisily against the cast iron radiator.

It didn't hurt.

The bathroom door swung open, revealing Alphonse. "Brother, I heard a – ?" he paused. "Oh. Ed."

Al sounded so grief-stricken. Had he not been catching his breath, Edward might've yelled at him for using such a pitying tone. Instead, huge gauntlets collected a fallen towel and bundled him into the wash-worn fabric with all the careful tenderness Mom used to do during bathtime.

"– hit your cast again?" Al was firing questions that Ed wasn't paying attention to. "Are you okay?"

Words were difficult right now, so Ed nodded. Alphonse made a small sound and helped him up, muttering something about the small vial of pain relief Granny Pinako said to use if the automail pain got too much. For that, Ed shook his head, his eyes glued to the fogged-up mirror that showed nothing but blurry smudges.

He must've imagined it.

He was exhausted from a sleepless night.

"I – I'm just tired," Edward croaked to himself.