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Despite the exhaustion being bone-deep, Ed can’t sleep. The blankets in the barracks are too scratchy on his sore skin, but he can’t kick them off. While winter hasn’t yet arrived, the autumn chill mixed with a wicked rainstorm raging outdoors has his ports aching fiercely.
He's glad he’d convinced Al to leave for the night. Ed knew that he’d be bored to tears if he had to stay awake and still in a small room for so long, unable to do anything to alleviate any of the boredom. He’s been managing it more frequently, recently. Convincing him to find other things to occupy his mind. He’s picked up reading as a hobby– sure, Al read all the time, everyday in fact, but now he was reading something that wasn’t directly connected to the Philosophers stone and his predicament. He often would report to Ed in the morning about the different fiction books he’d started reading.
He thought that at first Al might have been a bit hurt when Ed began convincing him to keep out of the barracks. Ed doesn’t want that, of course– really, he’d have preferred for Al to be by his side, in most circumstances. The occasional clink of metal and the odd light hum had grown so normal over the last three years since he’d become a state alchemist. It made him feel more at ease, knowing Al was there and would have his back if necessary.
Still, he figured it selfish to always have Al at his side. It probably wasn’t healthy for either of them– and while Ed wasn’t one to care about his own personal health very much, it was an entirely different story when it came to Al. Keeping him cooped up in a small room with nothing but his own thoughts was a bad idea, and despite Al (admittedly) being the more levelheaded of the two, Ed still knew that he could often fall into his own head.
He knew for a fact how rough that could be. He’s seen it happen before to Al, specifically with Barry. It happened to Ed all the time as well– way too often, in his opinion.
(Sometimes, he wondered if that made him weak. But then he thinks about Al and how he's the strongest person he's ever met– and he knows it doesn't. Because he would never in a million years call Al weak.)
One deep breath– he feels his lungs expand as he takes in the cool, humid air. Then an exhale, pushed through gritted teeth. The air feels chilly on his teeth, but that was hardly a real concern for him right now. Relaxing his breathing would help to stave off the pain, to control his body and allow rigid muscles to untense.
Laying there like that, just breathing… it wouldn’t be enough tonight, it seems. He doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep with the pain tugging at his body, making his muscles want to cramp up, to curl up into a ball and wither away in his misery. It’d suck, and Ed had to do something about it. Especially since the next morning is going to be a busy one.
Ed groans and sits upright in bed, hugging his automail leg to his chest. Gingerly, he rubs at the scarring around the port, but it did little to sooth the throbbing pain. His shoulder isn’t faring any better.
With a long, suffering sigh, Ed lets go of his thigh and rolls onto his stomach. Reaching around blindly, he feels around his coat. He has some painkillers stuffed into one of his pockets for occasions just like this, and if he's hoping for even a wink of sleep tonight he ought to take some. When he finally gets ahold of the stupid garment hes half hanging off the bed, contemplating whether it was all far more work than it was really worth. He tugs the jacket onto the bed and shoves his flesh hand into the pockets, feeling around for the baggy. Thankfully, it was stuffed in the second inner pocket, and he wastes no time dry swallowing two pills. He bites back a gag when he manages to get a taste of the bitter, chalky medication, but quickly shakes it off.
Eyes still blurry with sleep, Ed pushes the curtains aside, looking down at the streets of Central. They're quiet, only the odd automobile passing by. Water dews along the window sill, and Ed doesn’t bother to push back the grimace that creeps onto his face. Of course he’d manage to get an improperly insulated room– he’d have asked if a higher power hated him, but he already knows the answer to that question. It would be redundant to reiterate it.
Even with the painkillers, the aches in his ports won't fully subside. He knows that– prior experience dictated such. It will remain, but reduced to something more distant, throbbing in the back of his mind as he goes about his day. But Ed could live with that. He can deal with it. He always has, and he hardly intends to buckle that night over something so simple.
Ed lets out a shaky breath as he pulls the blanket up to his chin, allowing himself to relax into the pillow. As much as he hates the rain, at least it serves as some sort of white noise. Maybe it will help lull him to sleep.
Ed's eyes fall shut, the throbbing pain still remaining as he settles in for the night once more. He's glad Al isn't there to worry about him, to watch him fumble pitifully for sleep. The less Al has to worry, the better. After all, his little brother has far more pressing issues more worthy of his attention, especially when compared to simple aches and pains.
Ed will get over it. He always does.