Work Text:
Ed was facing the God-consumed Father in his horrific glory. His veins throbbed around his wide eyes, tiny pupils wildly focused on Ed as he ran toward him in an attack stance. Ed’s next movements came to him like muscle memory - he launched to the left to position himself for a counter-attack. His feet felt like he was wading through syrup, his breathing coming too slow to take in enough oxygen for the roundabout swing. He brought his arms together in a clap, mentally picturing the beams rising from the earth to impale Father, but only his left arm came to his call. Ed looked down at his right arm and, to his horror, could only see the fragmented remains of his destroyed automail. Wire and metal dangled limply from his shoulder port.
Father was dashing forward, closer and closer to him, in spasmodic movements. His muscular, veiny arms were outstretched and Ed knew he was aiming for his throat. His lungs couldn’t inflate nearly quickly enough for Ed to get a good breath in, and his legs were moving in slow-motion. As Father’s first hand gripped his left shoulder and the other prepared to clench Ed’s throat, a scream ripped from his throat. He was going to die. He was going to die -
“Edward!” cried Winry in a hushed whisper. Ed’s wild scream rattled glass somewhere to his right. He took in a deep, wheezing breath, feeling his lungs work at full capacity for the first time - since when?
In the dark bedroom, Edward could feel the adrenaline and terror of his encounter with Father melting away. His heart was slamming against his chest so hard it might burst. The reality of where he was spread into his consciousness like ink bleeding onto paper. He was sitting upright in bed, blindly looking around in the dark of night. Where was Father? Was he in the bedroom?
“Ed…” Winry said quietly “Please...let me go.” Edward looked wildly to his left and saw Winry sitting up beside him, hair down and messy, tears swimming in her big eyes. He looked down toward where they joined and realized that he had a shaking, vice-like grip on her wrist.
Immediately, he dropped his grip, confused. He had grabbed Father’s wrist when it grabbed his shoulder - when had Winry gotten there? He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He had both flesh arms again. When he closed his eyes, he was back at the crater in the middle of Central, and Father was right there, jerking in freeze-frames toward him. He opened his eyes as wide as they would go, trying to ground himself in the reality that was his shared bedroom with Winry.
“Winry…” he murmured, staring at her. She had a look on her face - fear mixed with determination. Was she afraid of him? The thought of his closest friend, his lover, terrified of him made his heart drop into his stomach. “I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to hurt -”
Wordlessly, the blonde woman took his left hand into hers and pressed a kiss against it. “You’re okay, Ed,” she said quietly. “You’re in Resembool with me. Father is gone. It’s just us, and the kids, and Al.”
At hearing his name, Ed froze. Was Winry working with Father? Was this all a lie, some psychological torture to bring him down? Slowly, the truth of reality diffused into his brain. No. He had experienced this before, many times. Dozens of nightmares where Father had Ed by the throat, running at super-speed while Ed couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
The bedroom door creaked open. “Brother?” Al’s voice, from his human body, sounded hesitant. “Can I come in?”
Ed looked to Winry. He was still gasping for breath, his heart pounding just a little less in his chest.
“Come in, Al,” said Winry, turning from Ed to the door. Al opened the door wider. He was tall and pajama-clad. After months of hospitalization and physical therapy, he had gained weight and muscle enough to appear almost completely normal - as if his body hadn’t been imprisoned for years of his adolescence. A haunted, hungry look still remained on his slim face, and Ed could see that even in the darkness of his bedroom.
“Another nightmare?” Al asked. Ed nodded, speechless. His adrenaline was winding down and he could feel his hands shaking uncontrollably. Nerve pain shot down his right arm like sparks - a leftover side effect of a flesh arm unexpectedly reappearing where an automail port had been surgically placed. He tucked his arms tightly across his bare chest.
“It’s okay, Brother,” Al said calmly. He crossed the bedroom to join Ed on his side. It was then that Edward realized that his brother had brought a pillow and a blanket. “I’m going to be here until morning. Do you want to talk about what you saw?”
Ed swallowed. He grabbed the glass of water on his bedside table, the one he always placed there for nights like these. After downing it, he cleared his aching throat. “That bastard was winning. He was so much faster than me, and I couldn’t move or breathe enough to get out of his way. He grabbed me -” Ed trailed off, glancing guiltily at Winry.
“You didn’t break me, Ed,” she said, offering a weak smile.
The trio shared a moment of silence as Al set up his camp next to the bed. Ed stared down at his two hands. They were both made of flesh. It had been four years since the Day of Promise, and Ed’s coordination with his right hand was nearly what it was when he was a child. He was able to hold his children, write his research notes, and feel his hair as he plaited it every morning. Even with his arm returned to him, it was nights like these that left Ed feeling empty, incomplete. The Homunculi, with Father at the lead, had taken so much from him. He couldn’t allow himself to feel safe anywhere, even as he slept.
“Will it ever end?” Ed quietly asked nobody in particular.
Winry took Ed into her arms and took him down with her into their pillows. He rested his head on her collarbone. She brushed her calloused, gentle fingers through his hair. Her smell, lavender, vanilla, and motor oil, brought comfort to Ed. His brain settled into drowsiness like sinking into a warm bath. As his mind grew hazy and his consciousness drifted, he clung to Winry like a lifeboat. He closed his eyes, and Father was no longer there.