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It's bright, and cold, and warm, and there's fur in Ed’s face, and everything hurts - and Kimblee's still out there; Al and Winry and the others are still out there, counting on him-
"Settle down, kid. We're almost there," a low voice rumbles. It's coming from underneath him. From something... cushion-y that he's draped over. It’s jostling every second or so, causing jolts of pain in his side.
Right. The mineshaft. The... steel girder. The chimeras. Transmuting himself. That's why he’s exhausted, and why the wintry air is hitting his back like a branding iron, and why his entire left side is burning. But why’s he being... carried away?
"Where are you taking me?" Ed croaks, and coughs – a mistake. There’s an explosion of white-hot pain, and a moment of panic as his left hand flies down to the wound, clutching at it as if to – hell, he doesn’t even know – catch whatever’s falling out of him? As if that’d accomplish anything?
But his alchemical patchwork held. All he feels is torn skin and torn fabric and blood. A lot of blood. A scary amount of blood.
But everything… stayed inside him, and that’s really all he can hope for, at the moment.
He lets out a shaky breath as the chimera rumbles, "We’re finding you a doctor. All good back there?"
No. No. Doctors are for when things are safe. Not when people are in danger, especially not when Al and Winry are in danger–
Ed tries to push himself away, but his core is too wobbly and wrong. Everything goes all spinny and faded; he's forced to flop forward and cling to the chimera’s mane for dear life.
"Seriously, quit it. Unless you want me to sling you over my shoulder. Don't think that would be fun with your wounds."
Ed groans and weakly pounds a fist against his back. "But Kimblee-"
"Shut up," says another voice. The gorilla. "Save your strength. We're not letting you kill yourself."
"I can't stop now," he manages, breathless. "Al, Winry, they-"
"Think of yourself as our prisoner, if it'll make you feel better," says the lion, cutting him off. "I'll kill you before I let you kill you."
Ed’s vocal cords are too damaged to make a roar of frustration; instead, he lets out a pathetic moan, wondering if the rawness of his throat is more from breathing in rubble, screaming, or vomiting blood. After a few moments of trying and failing to come up with another protest, he slumps down, pouting. As much as he hates it, he doesn't stand a chance against the two of them in this condition. He probably can't even stand, period.
He may as well get some rest.
"You did what," says the doctor, crushing out his cigarette on an ashtray next to the examination table.
Ed looks away from the cloth in his left hand, away from the ragged wound it’s covering. Away from the fresh bloodstains, stark against his filthy skin.
He feels awful, despite all the probably-ill-advised rest on the road here. His body is begging for more of it – it’s as if he pulled two all-nighters in a row after getting gut-stabbed. Which is… scarily close to the reality of the situation.
He needs to stay conscious, though. He needs a plan.
Ed squeezes the cloth tighter, gathering words. Fresh pain from his busted knuckles sharpens his focus. His right hand creaks into a tight fist.
"Alchemy can be used for medical purposes," he says. His voice is hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “It’s dangerous, though. The body deconstructs easily but resists reconstruction. If you mess it up, things go very wrong. So I cheated, kind of, and made new connective tissue to patch up the damage.”
The doctor eyes him skeptically. “What does that mean, exactly?”
He glares back. “It means you can let me get back to what I was doing. I’ll be fine.”
“Not a chance,” says Lion, folding his arms menacingly. “I pulled a steel girder out of you hours ago. Tell the nice doctor what you did to fix it.”
Ed tenses again, but manages not to snap – the only way they’ll let him rest is if they’re convinced he’ll make it through this, and his anger tends to make things… unproductive. He takes a breath, bracing himself to relive it.
(There was a disturbing awareness of missing pieces, of ragged holes, internal organs torn open and bleeding and leaking, contents mingling with rust and grime and dirt. Life burning away with every moment spent transmuting, every gram of flesh created. Every cell in his body screamed at him to stop, that something was wrong, wrong, so, so wrong–
(And the pain felt endless. Branded into his existence. It had always been there, and it would never leave. Hurt and fear and panic and blood and pieces of himself dragged out, leaving his body along with that beam, bulging through the hole it left behind–
(There was so much to piece back together. There was so much, and he would’ve barely remembered the diagrams even if he hadn’t been barely conscious – there was so much–)
…He’s never going to be able to forget the experience, so recounting it isn’t hard, even in this state.
“I pulled out the debris and patched up my abdominal wall,” he says, somehow able to keep his voice from wavering. “Stopped some bleeding vessels. Sealed off the part of my kidney that’s missing. Patched a hole in my stomach, and reconnected my intestines.”
There's a few seconds of stunned silence. Gorilla looks a little queasy. Lion is staring at Ed’s stomach, wide-eyed. "Damn," he mutters quietly.
The doctor’s eyebrows are approaching his hairline. “Really?”
"Yeah, really –" Ed snarls, losing his patience – but it sends him into an agonizing coughing fit, which sends him into a bout of retching, which ends with him spitting another mouthful of blood into the basin Lion holds up to his face. Eyes watering, he presses the cloth to the wound and grits his bloody teeth, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling and fighting to keep his eyes open.
Who knows where Kimblee is right now, or what he's up to. And here Ed is, useless. The thought’s as painful as the damage to his body.
And now the doctor’s waving a hand at him dismissively and saying, "Calm down before you hurt yourself.”
Ed bristles again, and spits, “Are there any other doctors in North City that aren’t assholes?”
The doctor folds his arms contemplatively. "My wife will tell you herself she’s a bigger asshole than I am,” he says, nodding at the room’s door, in the direction of the tiny woman they saw on their way in. “There’s a few other doctors, but they'll ask a lot more questions than we will. And they'll notice things like a state alchemist's pocket watch and military uniforms. We won't, as long as our fee is paid in full."
The threat sobers Ed like a splash of ice water. His glare in response is sharp and alert. The chimeras tense, getting ready to reach for their guns. Cautiously, Ed says, "What did you say your name was, again?"
The doctor smiles for the first time since they've met. It's a bit unsettling. "I didn't,” he replies. “Just call me Doc."
Ed’s glare stays steady for a few seconds, until he sighs in resignation. "Fine, Doc," he says. "Let's do this.”
Being poked and prodded by doctors after getting massively injured isn't new by a long shot, but it never gets any more pleasant. Falling down a mineshaft and being run through by a structural beam makes for a lot of bruising and sore body parts, and Doc isn’t very gentle. Ed winces and grits his teeth through it, managing not to snap at him like a wounded animal. He desperately hopes Doc has good news – but when he stands back, he looks like he’s pondering something.
Ed groans, disappointed. “Please don’t tell me I need surgery,” he says before Doc can get a word in.
“I think you do.” Doc takes off his glasses and starts to clean them on his lab coat. “You’re stable for now, but I can’t see what’s going on inside of you. You could be losing blood into your abdominal cavity, or leaking bowel contents–"
“But I might not be. It’s been hours, and I’m doing better. I could’ve patched things up well enough that I’m already partway healed.”
Gorilla sits forward. "Fullmetal, why the hell are you–"
He's cut off by the fire burning in Ed's eyes when his gaze snaps over. "Let him respond," Ed says. Even through the hoarseness, his voice is firm, powerful beyond its years. He suppresses a smirk as the chimeras have the same realization as everyone else who treats him like a child – he earned the title of state alchemist, and the rank that goes with it.
He turns his attention back to Doc. “If I’m right, couldn’t I be back on the road in a week or two?”
Doc takes a few seconds to consider, putting his glasses back on as he does. “Judging just by what I can see and feel right now… it’s possible,” he reluctantly admits. “I don’t know how possible, but it’s possible.”
“Surgery would take a lot longer, right?”
“…You’d be on bed rest for a couple weeks, and then have another few weeks of taking it easy. And then a few more to be capable of strenuous physical activity.” He pauses, considering, and suggests, “Unless you could heal yourself with alchemy?”
Ed grimaces. The chimeras do, too. “That was a one-time thing,” he says, firmly not elaborating.
Thankfully, Doc gets the hint. “…Anyway, from surgery to full recovery, about two months.”
"I can’t do that," Ed says decisively – and then pauses.
This is the part where Al would yell at him. Tell him he’s being an idiot, and that he should listen to the doctor, because this is serious. This could kill him. And there’s still so much they need to do.
So he sighs, and adds, "But I don’t have a death wish, so… how screwed am I? What do you think about my chances without it?"
Doc wobbles a hand back and forth. "Honestly, you seem much better than I would’ve expected after what you went through. Your blood pressure is stable, and your abdomen seems relatively normal. But I'm not convinced that your fixes will hold, or that everything got cleaned out well enough that you’re not in danger of infection. We have some medicine that might prevent that, but not a lot of it – and it’s not a guarantee."
Those are… some infuriatingly good points. But maybe there’s another option. "If I wait, and things get worse, would you still be able to operate?"
Doc grimaces. "Probably. But it would be much easier to do it now, before things get bad. Easier to recover from, too. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t exactly a state-of-the-art hospital,” he says, gesturing at the spartan clinic, “and my wife and I have some experience, but we aren’t exactly seasoned surgeons.”
“I gotta take my chances,” Ed says, and glares over at the chimeras before they get a chance to object. Gorilla still fidgets, though, and reaches into a pocket–
And Ed stops breathing as he produces Kimblee’s first Philosopher’s Stone.
“Is this what I think it is?” Gorilla asks innocently. The faceted stone glints a familiar blood-red. “Will it do what I think it will?”
Ed has gone cold. His eyes are wide. “Where did you get that?” he breathes.
“On the ground at the bottom of the collapsed mine shaft.”
It’s so tempting. It’s more tempting than it’s ever been. Kimblee would have only used this stone for more murder and destruction, but using it would spare Ed weeks of recovery time, which could save his brother and his childhood best friend and maybe the whole damn country.
…It could, but that doesn’t mean it will. There are so many excuses to justify it, but it’s still not enough.
Ed sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “It is what you think it is, but I won’t use it.”
All three men stare at him, baffled. “Why?” says Gorilla.
He hesitates. “…I can’t tell you,” he says. “It would put your lives in danger.”
The chimeras take a second to process his meaning, but Doc immediately holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he says. Then he folds his arms. “If you’d rather do things the hard way, fine by me. Just make sure I still get paid if you die.”
Ed rolls his eyes. “Thanks for being so optimistic.”
There’s a few seconds of quiet as the chimeras shift uneasily. “I don’t like this,” Gorilla growls, apprehensive. “I believe you’ve got a good reason. I know the military’s got a lot of skeletons in its closet.” Lion nods in agreement. “But if you’re not gonna use it, at least let him do his job, Fullmetal.”
“If you don’t like it, leave,” Ed snaps. “You kidnapped me. You brought me here. And if you want him to cut me open now, you’ll have to knock me out the hard way. I’m not consenting to surgery unless I know I need it.”
Doc not-so-subtly tries to disappear, inching toward the door as tension fizzles in the air between the three of them. Then, Ed starts to cough again. Pressing his left forearm against the wound is enough to make his eyes water by itself, but it’s better than letting his alchemically-glued-together abdominal muscles try to contain it. His right fist pounds against the padded table in a mixture of frustration and pain.
Lion cracks first, watching him. “I didn’t drag you out of the rubble to watch you kill yourself like this,” he sighs.
“I’m not trying to die,” Ed shoots back through a fresh mouthful of blood. “I just can’t afford to waste any time.”
“Why?” asks Gorilla as Lion hands Ed the basin. “What’s so urgent that you’d do something this stupid?”
Ed spits, then hesitates and looks over at Doc. He barely even gets his mouth open before the man says, “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” and slips out the door, which closes with a solid click.
Ed waits a few seconds and says, “The entire country is in danger.”
It takes a while for Ed to get the chimeras to believe him – at first they think he’s gone delirious. Soon enough, though, things start making too much sense. And, hell, who are they to say that the existence of immortal pseudo-people with a secret plan to transmute everyone in the country is too far-fetched? They were fused with zoo animals. Once they understand, they even want to get involved.
(“I’ve got people I care about. If it’ll help them, I can play dead a little longer,” Gorilla says, and Lion agrees.)
They say they’ll stick around and see it through as far as they can. They aren’t thrilled about his decision to take the risk, but at least they understand it and begrudgingly agree to respect it.
The doctors clean out and pack Ed’s external wounds, which he had left mostly unaltered during the transmutation – he was more concerned with keeping his insides in than having pretty scars. They don’t have any local anesthetic on hand, though, so even with strong painkillers, the process is about as comfortable as having the beam ripped out of him in the first place. And then they tell him it needs re-packed once a day, which is not something he’s looking forward to.
Gorilla and Lion get checked out, too. Gorilla’s shoulder and ribs are a little worse for wear, but there doesn’t seem to be anything life-threating. Lion’s arm – which Ed had completely forgotten he’d stabbed – will be just fine. And because it’s relatively clean, the doctors can stitch it up. (Which is a process Ed watches enviously.)
On the first day, Ed also gets a tube in his arm – “to replace some fluids”, according to the doctors. He has to rely pretty heavily on the IV stand to get up and walk around, and it feels pretty awful when he does, but the doctors are impressed he can do it at all. On the second day, he’s allowed water and a bit of clear broth. He doesn’t keep spitting blood. He doesn’t get sick. The external wound is closing and isn’t showing signs of infection. It seems like he’ll be out of here in no time.
He spends a lot of time thinking on those days, because there isn’t much else to do apart from sleep. He wonders when he’ll see Al again, and if he was able to reach Winry and the others in time.
(He tries not to think about the fact that he doesn’t even know if Al is alive.)
…Al always makes him feel better when he’s laid up like this. He drives Ed crazy by being overprotective and trying to nurse him back to health, yeah, but they can still talk alchemy, or discuss what’s next for them, or… talk about anything, really, because they’re brothers and that’s what they do.
He distracts himself from the empty chair at his bedside by getting to know the chimeras, a bit. The lion’s name is Heinkel. The gorilla’s name is Darius. He still prefers Lion and Gorilla, but they don’t. They have the same story as every other chimera he’s met– they were given “a second chance at life,” but it didn’t matter, because the military ended their lives anyway. They don’t know much about Kimblee, either. Just that he’s a violent, ruthless madman who left them for dead.
On the third day, the pain starts. On the fourth, Ed can no longer hide it, but at least he can still keep food down. Doc asks to operate, again, but Ed refuses, again. He survived two auto-mail implants at the same time at the age of eleven. Pain is an old friend at this point. If that’s the extent of the threat, he can take it.
He can’t sleep that night, though. He thinks about what Kimblee and the homunculi could be doing while he’s rotting here in bed. He thinks about the taunts Kimblee made about his naïveté before the world came crashing down around him. He thinks about Miles’s warning – that soft heart of yours is going to get you killed.
He is going to prove them both wrong.
The fifth day is when the fever starts. When food stops staying down. When Doc’s examination is agony, and the results say they can’t wait any longer – there is definitely a problem or several, and without emergency surgery, Ed won’t recover.
But after he gets the news, even though he knows that things are getting worse by the moment and it’ll just make his recovery harder… he can’t bring himself to say it. He can’t condemn himself to so many more weeks of being useless, of leaving everyone he cares about to fend for themselves.
But the doctors start preparing anyway, with Lion’s help. They leave Gorilla to watch him in case things take a turn for the worse.
And after a few uncomfortably silent minutes together, Gorilla says, “You could use the Stone.”
Ed regards him blankly through the haze of pain and feverish delirium. “It’s made from people,” he says slowly.
“Yeah, I get that, but – they’re not people anymore, right? They’re just raw power. They’re a rock. You didn’t do that; someone else did.”
Ed can feel himself burning, now – not just from fever. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says through gritted teeth.
“I don’t,” Gorilla says calmly, “but I know that you don’t want to go through with the surgery, either. And I don’t get why using the Stone is the worse option.”
If Al were here, he’d be taking over. He’s too damn good at knowing when Ed’s rage is about to get incoherent. But Al’s not here, and Gorilla’s only trying to help, and Ed owes him, so he takes a deep breath to calm himself – well, as deep of a breath as he can handle without screaming, right now – and says, “I… used one before. I didn’t have a choice. It was that or die inside of Gluttony. I could feel the souls inside of it… crying out for help. Burning away as I used them. I can’t do that again.”
Gorilla frowns. “That’s messed up.” After a short pause, he adds, “But they’re just… souls, right? Their bodies are long gone?”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not people,” Ed snaps, and winces at a sharp twinge. He grits out, “Is my brother not a person because he doesn’t have a body?”
Gorilla holds his hands up in mock surrender. “That’s fair, but – the souls in the Stone don’t have siblings that are willing to tie them to suits of armor. They’re just… stuck.” He shivers. “If that were me, I’d want to be used up, because at least –”
“Well, you don’t get to decide for them,” Ed snarls – too forcefully. He has to take a few seconds to regain his composure as a burst of pain makes his eyes water and his fingers dig into the bedsheets.
“Sorry, kid.” Ed can’t see Gorilla through his tears-blurred vision, but he sounds regretful. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”
When he can speak again, Ed manages, “Destroying a soul is murder.”
(But one of Envy’s souls thanked him, and at least the others weren’t screaming out for help anymore–)
Ed lets out a sigh, still death-gripping his sheets. “I hate to admit it… but you’ve got a point,” he growls. “They’re suffering. Using them would stop it. But… letting Kimblee outsmart me was my mistake. And so many people have gotten hurt over my mistakes. I can’t—”
His voice cracks. Somehow, he manages to not crack along with it.
“I can’t kill them,” he breathes. “I can’t.”
“I see,” Gorilla says quietly.
Ed’s voice is embarrassingly shaky when he says, “I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I can’t help them. And now I can’t help the others, either, because I don’t know how to go through with this.”
There’s a long pause, but eventually, Gorilla breaks it by clearing his throat and saying, “I don’t regret becoming a chimera.”
After a few seconds, Ed turns his head over on the pillow to stare at him, puzzled and bleary-eyed.
“They told me I was going to die,” he says. “And I’m pretty damn sure I would’ve. A piece of shrapnel hit me in the chest, messed up my lung pretty bad. They said that every breath I took got me closer and closer to my heart stopping. But they had an experimental treatment that might save me.”
Ed keeps eyeing him, nearly incredulous. “What does that have to do with this?”
Gorilla lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I don’t remember what the actual process was like – just that it was very bright and very painful. And when it was over, I was a freak. I wasn’t allowed to reconnect with any of my family or friends. I belonged to the military. But at least I was still alive.”
After a few seconds, through the haze of pain and fever, something starts to click, and Ed says, “Oh.”
“Yep,” Gorilla responds, grinning. “If I’d denied it, I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have been able to bring you here. I wouldn’t be able to help you stop whatever that Father guy is doing. So – I know it looks like things are bad right now. Because they are. I’m not gonna tell you they aren’t. But they’re not gonna stay bad. You’re gonna get out of here, and you’re gonna help your friends. All right?”
Ed sinks into his pillow, presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.
The decision feels like enough to kill him by itself. Al’s absence hurts worse than the damn wound.
But he can’t let anyone cry over him. And he still needs to give Winry her earrings back.
“…All right,” he says. “Okay.”
The sight of two back-alley doctors cracking open the Fullmetal kid is up there with some of Heinkel’s worst moments on the battlefield. Not just because of the context, but because of their reactions.
“Dammit,” Lady-Doc hisses at her husband, already wrist-deep. She’s so short she has to stand on a chair to see and reach inside Ed’s body. “I knew you should have tried harder to convince him – this probably wasn’t necrotic four days ago.”
“He knew what the risks were, and didn’t want convincing,” Doc says grimly, holding Fullmetal’s belly wrenched open with some kind of weird bent spatula.
“He’s a teenager,” she spits, eyes scowling above her mask as she studies Ed’s insides. “He’s an idiot. Are you seeing this? His pain must have been excruciating.”
Heinkel tears his gaze away, looks back at the ether-administering mask-thing, reminding himself of his crucially important task – watching for signs that the kid’s about to either wake up or crash. He handled the thought of it a hell of a lot better than Darius, who nearly threw up, so now he’s the one that has to see it through. And he shouldn’t distract the doctors; he should let them just do their work, but he can’t help but ask…
“Is it bad?”
It takes Lady-Doc a few seconds to answer. She’s still shuffling the kid’s guts around. “It could be worse,” she says. “These dark patches are dead or dying, so they need to be removed. They haven’t gotten enough blood flow for the past few days, because his ‘fixes’ didn’t have enough vascularity to them. And – ah, dammit.” She pauses for a second, as if she found something, but Heinkel can’t bring himself to look. (And it’s not like he’d know what he’s looking at, anyway.) “He narrowed some of the viable bowel too much,” she continues. “That also needs to come out, unless he wants to live on liquids or die from an obstruction in a few months.”
Heinkel takes a deep breath. He has no idea what most of that meant, but… removing pieces of organs doesn’t sound good. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks, quieter.
There’s another uncomfortably long pause where all he can hear is wetness. “…I don’t know,” Lady-Doc finally admits. “He’ll lose a few feet of bowel, at the very least, but it probably won’t affect him much in the long run if he makes it through recovery.”
Heinkel still isn’t sure how to feel about it – so he chooses tentative relief, and keeps his eyes down on Ed’s unconscious face.
It… doesn’t make things any easier, because it forces him to remember that calling him “kid” isn’t just a cheeky nickname. He really is a teenager. He’s a child. And he’s already had two limbs replaced with auto-mail in a process Heinkel’s only ever heard described as hellish, and he’s got another nasty scar on his side that can’t be more than a couple months old.
(Are there any adults in his life that are worth a damn?)
He should be in school, or something. He shouldn’t be a dog of the military. He shouldn’t be uncovering and working to unravel government-backed plots to kill millions of people. He shouldn’t be flayed open on an operating table, clinging to life by his fingernails and about to lose even more pieces, because he’s one of the only people in this damn country that cares this much about doing the right thing.
No wonder the Fullmetal Alchemist has such a reputation. So far, he’s really lived up to his professional name – which is good, because he’s gonna have to keep being tough as steel to survive this.
Ow.
Ed feels… better. His stomach still hurts a hell of a lot, but… differently. Less like a knife twisting inside him and more like a low, achy burn. He doesn’t feel a crushing wave of awful crashing over him every few seconds, and he isn’t shivering under a pile of blankets. He’s comfortable under a single blanket, which he lifts, along with the hem of his shirt – and underneath there are a lot more bandages than there were before. He has a pretty good idea of what’s under them and he knows it won’t be pretty.
What’s done is done, but it’s not like he had another option. A grueling recovery will be better than no recovery at all.
(Unless it’s too late. Unless he just ruined everything.)
“Oh, you’re up,” comes a gravelly voice from his left. Gorilla’s at his bedside. “Be right back, gonna get Doc,” he’s saying, getting up–
“Wait,” Ed croaks, reaching toward him – but his arm is shaking. He presses his hand to his brow, covering his eyes. “…Can you give me a minute?”
There’s a sound of cloth shuffling, but no footsteps or creak of floorboards. Gorilla seems to just be… standing there.
“Um. What’s wrong?”
Ed doesn’t answer. He knows that if he answers, what comes out of him won’t be words, it’ll be tears.
The consequences are bearing down on him now. Not that they weren’t before, but – it’s over. It’s done.
He failed. He failed them all, like he failed Al, like he failed that awful thing they created, like he failed Nina–
He let Kimblee outsmart him. He couldn’t even fix himself properly by burning years off his life. Taking a risk with delaying the surgery didn’t pay off - it set his recovery back by weeks. He's going to be here for weeks. And he doesn’t know what the homunculi are planning or how far along they are, and best-case scenario, Al and Winry and Marcoh and May are with Scar – and he’s here, pathetic, alone–
There’s a hand on his shoulder, suddenly. “The docs told us you’re gonna be okay,” Gorilla says. He hesitates before uncomfortably adding, “Probably.”
Ed chokes out something that could be a laugh or a sob. It hurts, too. After a few seconds, he manages, “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Gorilla gives his shoulder a quick pat, and then there’s a sound like he’s sitting down. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
Ed nods, keeping his hand over his face. Breathing, shaking, blinking tears from his eyes at how much it hurts to breathe and hurts to shake and how much it all just hurts.
But if he’s learned anything over the years, it’s how to keep himself together through the pain.
He’s alive. He’ll be able to help soon. Nobody’s going to cry over him. He and Al are going to get their bodies back.
He is not alone.
When the doctors describe, in detail, how the operation went, Ed wonders if his sudden nausea is from the thought of them rummaging around so much in his insides or just a consequence of having his insides rummaged around in. At least he can take some pride in Lady-Doc saying he did a nice job on his kidney, even though she also said he probably wouldn’t have lost almost four feet of intestine if he'd let them operate when he first arrived.
(It’s fine – it’s fine. He can live without it. He probably wouldn’t even have known it’s gone if they hadn’t told him. He’s already lost an arm and a leg. What’s some redundant guts?)
(He can’t wallow in self-pity about how, even if he does get his limbs back, he’ll never be whole again.)
The Docs make him sit up. It feels… wrong. Bad. They make him stand, too, and walk a bit. Which was awful before the surgery, but after… Staying upright and balanced is even harder, and would be without the leftover wooziness from the anesthesia and last night’s sleep deprivation. None of it’s surprising – he knows enough about anatomy to know how messed up his abdominal muscles are, now – but it’s embarrassing that he can’t even get up to go to the bathroom by himself.
When the bandages come off for the first time, and he sees his new soon-to-be scar, he sucks in a startled breath and crumples a fistful of bedsheets.
On his left side, there’s the crooked, ugly crater where the steel beam tore through him. He’s gotten pretty used to it already. The one on his back is presumably similar. But down the center of his belly… he tries not to relate the long, straight cut to the fish and rabbits he had to clean during that month on Yock Island.
Al and Winry are going to see these scars, someday. They’ll ask what happened. They’ll scold him for not listening to the doctors, but mostly…
They’ll be so, so worried for him.
And what can he tell them? It was no big deal? I survived, and I’m back on my feet, and that’s all that matters?
It’s worked before, but this is… different. Too close. They’re smart enough to know that. To understand that if the beam had fallen a few centimeters to the right, he would never be able to get back on his feet again. Al will know he would’ve had to do something impossible just to survive the journey to North City. He won’t take any explanation other than the truth.
They’ll know that they weren’t there to help. And that will be as painful for them as it is for him to be stuck here, powerless.
“How old are you?”
Ed looks up from Doc’s crappy romance novel to see Lion staring at him. “Why should I tell you, if you don’t already know?” he fires back.
“Because I saved your life,” Lion says smugly. “And it’s not like it’s common knowledge.”
Two can play at that game. “I saved your life first – and yeah, it kind of is. Youngest state alchemist ever, and all that.”
Lion folds his arms. “You stabbed me.”
“Because you were trying to kill me!”
“I kept you knocked out for your surgery.”
That snaps Ed out of his competitive streak. “Wait, what?”
Lion raises an eyebrow. “Do you not… remember?”
Ed stares at him blankly. “Why would I remember being unconscious? Isn’t that the whole point?”
The smugness is gone, now. “They told me to talk to you while you were going under, after they showed me how the… apparatus worked. Because we knew that if you stopped responding, you were out.”
“Oh, no,” Ed groans, horror dawning. “What did I say?”
The face staring up at Heinkel is sweaty and pale. His golden hair is plastered to it in brownish streaks. His impressive physique looks… shrunken, gaunt. And his eyes were so full of determination and life, even when he was still impaled, but now –
They can see him, that much is clear. But they’re clouded with pain and fever and fear and exhaustion. It’s a look he’s seen before, on soldiers gravely wounded on the battlefield.
It’s a look he knows he’s had, before. When he couldn’t breathe, and everything was going dark, and the military doctor said there might be a way to save him.
It’s a look that shouldn’t be on the face of a child.
“…How you feeling, kid?”
It takes Ed a few seconds to reply, “Bad.”
“Well, that should’ve been obvious,” Heinkel says, maybe a touch too jovially.
Ed doesn’t react, though. He just says, “Why can’t they just get it over with?”
“Gotta knock you out first,” Heinkel explains. “You definitely don’t want to be awake for this.”
“And how long does that take?”
Heinkel grimaces. “It’s been about ten minutes. Docs said it would take about twenty. Maybe less, since you’re already, uh…”
“…Bad,” Ed finishes.
He presses his lips together. “Yeah.” He pauses. “But we gotta keep talking.”
“Why?”
“So we know when you fall asleep.”
“…That makes sense.”
There’s another awkward pause, which Heinkel eventually breaks with, “So, what should we talk about?”
“I could count. Or recite the periodic table.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah.” Ed closes his eyes. “Hydrogen, helium, lithium –”
“Okay, I believe you,” Heinkel interrupts. “We can save that for later.”
Ed’s eyes open again, as dull and unfocused as before. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
Well – Heinkel doesn’t want to talk about it, but if there’s a time to have this conversation, it’s now.
“If you… don’t wake up after this,” Heinkel says carefully, “is there anything you want me to say to anyone?”
Ed’s eyes close again, and he takes a deep breath. He makes a face at the huge whiff of ether fumes. And then he says, “…Tell Al and Winry I’m sorry.”
Heinkel waits a few seconds. “That’s it?”
Ed’s eyes re-open to halfheartedly glare. “What, is that not good enough?” he snaps, and some of his usual snark manages to shine through.
Heinkel laughs. “Nah – that’s fine. I just expected it to be a bit longer.”
Ed seems to take it as a challenge, though. “Fine. Tell Al that I love him, and I’m sorry I can’t help him get his body back, and I’m sorry that I talked him into trying to bring Mom back. And tell Winry I love her, and I’m sorry for never telling her that, and I’m sorry for staying away so much, because I’d spend every moment with her if I could. And tell them both I’m sorry for making them worry about me all the damn time. How’s that?”
Heinkel looks away. There’s a long pause before he can bring himself to say, “…Sorry, kid. About everything.”
Ed doesn’t respond. His eyes have fluttered shut.
“…Kid? Can you hear me?”
Still no response.
“Ed? You can start reciting the periodic table now, if you want,” Heinkel offers.
He doesn’t. He’s out.
Heinkel lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He turns to the doctors and gives them a nod.
They get to work.
Ed’s grimacing. “Oh.”
Lion has sobered considerably. “You scared the hell out of me, kid.”
Ed eyes him. “What do you mean?”
Lion sighs. “How old are you?”
Ed’s jaw clenches at a sudden realization. He had been too concerned with getting out of here to even think about it, and then he was too sick, and now he’s spent the handful of days since his surgery drifting in and out of consciousness, which means…
He looks away and says tiredly, “What day is it?”
“What does that matter?” Lion asks, brows furrowing.
“Do you want to know or not?” Ed snaps.
Lion pauses. “I think it’s the twentieth.”
Ed closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m sixteen.”
Lion’s eyebrows fly up. “Damn,” he mutters.
And this is why he hates telling people that don’t know. If Lion didn’t see him as a child before, he definitely does now. But there’s something else going on with his expression, he’s trying to figure something out – and then it clicks.
“…Did you turn sixteen after you got here?” Lion asks.
Ed gives him a grim nod.
Lion blinks. “Happy birthday,” he says. “When the docs let you have solid food, we’re gonna have to get you some cake.”
Despite it all, Ed can’t keep the smile off his face. But he still says, “Why does it matter how old I am?”
Lion folds his arms and takes a second to think. “I… don’t like seeing you like this,” he says eventually. “I know you care. I know you want to help. But you’re a kid. You shouldn’t be living like this.”
“I can handle it,” Ed says firmly. “I chose to take all this on.”
Lion eyes him. “I know you can handle it, but you shouldn’t have to.” He pauses to look away and mutters, “I wish there were more adults like you.”
Ed snickers. “I know a lot of people that would disagree with you.”
“Then let ‘em.” Lion shrugs. “I joined the military because I thought it was like what you do. I thought I’d be fighting for things I believed in, alongside other people who believe in them, too. I wanted to help. But I can’t think of a soldier in their right mind who believed in what we were doing in Ishval, even before the end.”
After a beat, Ed asks, “Then why’d you stay?”
Lion bristles. He takes a deep breath and lets out a humorless laugh. “Damn, kid. You don’t mess around.”
“So I’ve been told,” Ed says seriously.
Lion pauses, collecting his thoughts. “It was… easier,” he eventually says. “To follow orders. To tell myself that it was justified, and all for the greater good of Amestris. If I’d refused orders, I would’ve faced court-martial, maybe even gone to prison. If I left, I’d be jobless with no skills that were useful to civilian life. And everyone else would still be out there fighting. So… I kept going.” He looks Ed in the eye. “And I’m ashamed to say I didn’t know how wrong I was until it nearly killed me – and by that point, I didn’t have a choice.”
“…Sorry,” Ed mutters, right hand fidgeting with a wrinkle in his sheets. “That must’ve been rough.”
“I was an adult, though,” Lion says, leaning back in his chair. “Not by much, but I was. I had my time as a child because of the sacrifices and hard work of the adults who came before me. So I should’ve been willing to make sacrifices for the people who were coming after me. But I wasn’t. It seems like no one was, because you’re here in the situation you’re in, doing the things no adult around you was brave enough to do.” He unfolds his arms, scratches the back of his neck. “We should be the ones saying ‘sorry.’”
Ed keeps fidgeting. Even though he hasn’t maintained it in a few days, Winry’s become a good enough engineer that the joints of his hand aren’t squeaking. Eventually, he says, “I may be a kid, but that doesn't mean I have nothing to atone for.” The hand clenches into a fist. “That’s why I don’t get to take it easy, either.”
Lion looks a bit puzzled and asks, “Who told you that?”
Ed barks out a laugh, winces. “Everyone,” he says. “I committed the ultimate sin. I tried to play god.”
“And how old were you when you did that?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“…Eleven.”
Lion looks aghast, now. “You – really? You were eleven, and you think it’s your fault?”
“I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway.”
“When I was eleven, I knew it was wrong to break my brother’s favorite toy, but I did it anyway,” Lion huffs. “Do I deserve to be punished for the rest of my life for that?”
Ed starts to glare and says, “That’s different.”
Lion sighs. “My point is, you got a raw deal, kid. You should’ve had someone looking out for you. You shouldn’t have had to go it alone. It’s not fair. And it doesn’t make any of this your responsibility.”
At first, Ed feels like he’s going to snap, because it’s practically an insult – does this bastard think he doesn’t know that it isn’t fair? Does he not realize that he and Al did it so they wouldn’t have to be alone? Does he think they haven’t spent every damn day since they lost everything trying to figure out what’s missing from the equation so they can make it fair? They stumbled into this on accident—
But… usually he’s on the defensive in this conversation. They scold him for breaking the rules, or try and rationalize the consequences, or, ugh, try and give him advice, as if they understand what he’s had to go through. Having someone get upset on his behalf for once… softens the blow.
“Does it change anything?” Ed asks hollowly. “Is it fair that gravity will send you crashing to the ground whether you know it exists or not?”
“…Guess not,” Lion sighs.
“It is my fault,” Ed says. “I broke the rules, and there were consequences. It doesn’t matter if they aren’t fair – I still have to deal with them.”
Lion’s looking at him a little differently, now. It isn’t pity, but… he’s not quite sure what it is. “Regardless, you’ve got a lot of life left to live. And I really doubt the people who care about you wanna watch you throw it away. I know I don’t.”
“What am I supposed to do, stop and let the homunculi win?” Ed grumbles.
Lion shakes his head. “You don’t have to stop, just… take care of yourself, okay? If not for your sake, then for theirs.”
Ed grumbles wordlessly and goes back to his book.
The cake isn’t special. It’s small and white, with buttercream frosting and little orange slices on each piece. But it’s the best thing Ed’s eaten in a while.
The half-assed, impromptu birthday celebration is short and simple. It’s not particularly different from any other day of his recovery so far – it just has some goofy paper hats involved. But, somehow, it makes the little clinic in the frozen north feel warmer than it ever has.
And best of all, the following morning, Lady-Doc says, “I think you’re ready to leave.”
Ed gapes at her. “Really?”
“You’re eating and drinking enough, your organs still seem to be working well, and your wounds are healing properly. We don’t need to keep an eye on you all the time,” she explains.
His whole face lights up. “Hell yes.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re back at a hundred percent yet,” she warns, holding up a chastising finger. “Your recovery from here should be smooth if you keep taking it easy,” she adds, strongly emphasizing the last part. “You’re only cleared for light exercise, like walking, got it? Things could very much still go wrong if you’re not careful.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, hunting through the drawers of the small bedside table. “Do you know where my clothes are?”
Lady-Doc folds her arms. “Are you listening to me? Repeat what I just said.”
“Yeah, yeah - take it easy, light exercise only, be careful. I got it.” He gives up the search and calls, “Gorilla, where are my clothes?”
“Darius,” is the annoyed response he gets back from another room. “We threw them out. They were all torn up and covered in blood.”
Ed lets out an angry groan. “Well, give me some of your clothes, then.”
Gorilla has to pop his head in at that. “Do you think we’re the same size, you shrimp?!”
“HEY—”
“Shut up, both of you,” Lady-Doc snaps. “This is important.”
Ed glares at Gorilla, who looks pleased with himself, and lets out an annoyed growl – but doesn’t speak.
“Ed, please tell me that this experience has proven you aren’t invincible,” she sighs.
Ed opens his mouth angrily – but catches Gorilla’s glare and takes a second to recalibrate. “I… understand that I am not invincible,” he says slowly. “I won’t be an idiot about this. I don’t want to spend any more time than I need to recovering.”
“Good enough,” she responds.
Gorilla’s eyes flick back and forth between them. “Wait, you’re being discharged?” he asks Ed. “That’s what this is about?”
Ed nods, grinning. “Yup. Can I have some of your clothes?”
“Well, congrats – but what do you want with them? Gonna leave here wearing a tent?”
“No, I can use them to make clothes my size with alchemy.”
Gorilla grimaces. “That would destroy them, wouldn’t it?”
“Think of it as a birthday present,” Ed says slyly.
Gorilla heaves a sigh. “Fine. Gimme a minute,” he says, defeated, and leaves the room.
Lady-Doc’s still there, watching Ed. “You know, I think I’m going to miss having you guys around,” she muses. “You’ve been one hell of a pain in the ass, but at least you’re entertaining.”
“Glad you got something out of it.”
Lady-Doc smiles. It’s even creepier than her husband’s. “Right. About that. Regarding our fee...”