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"What'd you want to be when you were small?"
He almost missed the question over the annoying drone of the AC unit—it sounded busted; looked close to flames. He could fix it. But attempting to figure out the chemical composition of something that should've been thrown in dump a long time ago was the least of Edward's problems.
"Winry, don't waste your strength," Edward chided, lifting himself out of the shabbily upholstered chair that sat across the room from where Winry laid—He was surprised it didn't break under his weight, considering that it was held together by duct tape and glue.
The worn-in mattress groaned under Winry's weight as she slumped over to face Edward—hissing in pain as the poorly done stitches in her side were jostled, "Y'know, your worse than Granny, Ed."
"Quit movin', you’re gonna undo your stitches," The stitches were at best shoddy; they would make a nurse cringe. But they'd hold long enough for Winry not to bleed out—if she quit moving.
"How about this?" Winry said, she looked pale; sheen with a layer of sweat and a feverish determination in her eyes, "I'll quit talkin' if you answer my question."
Edward sighed. It's clear she wouldn't give up until he played along.
"Fine." Edward muttered, anything to get her to stop trying to paint the room red.
It wasn't a hard question to answer by any means; it was obvious, Winry should've been able to guess, "Wan'ed to be an Alchemist."
Winry scowled at that, booing rather loudly. Ed stiffened, a flush of heat rushing through his cheeks.
"What?!" He snapped.
"You’re borin'!" She complained, like a whiny brat. "Come on, you couldn't’ve always wan'ed to be an Alchemist."
"Well, what if I did?"
"Then, you’re sad." She drawled.
There was nothing wrong with wanting to be an alchemist! At least, Ed thought so. He and his brother had always shared that dream and Mom never hesitated to support them. Besides, Edward couldn't think of any other dreams he may have had.
Wait.
Maybe, there was another. A stupid, childish one.
"You can't laugh," Edward started. Winry grinned; her excitement only served to make Edward regret his choices. He pressed, "Promise! Promise, you won't laugh."
Winry nodded, growing more eager by the second, "I promise with all my heart to not laugh at you." She said it mirthfully, but her promise was earnest—Ed knew that.
"...A singer." Edward muttered, avoiding Winry's gaze, "I-I wanted to be a singer."
The silence was horrific, Edward passed the time by staring very intensely at the muddy sludge that clung heavily to his boots—he should've taken them off, but, If the state of the carpet was anything to go by, a bit of mud isn't the worst thing that’s been dragged through it.
"I’ve never heard you sing," Winry finally said, breaking the silence.
Edward floundered, "Well– I only really sang around Al, and y-ya know… Mom."
Edward really wished in that moment that the AC would burst into flames. She was gonna laugh, it was evident—a singer? It was a silly dream. She had the right to laugh, who wouldn't? He shouldn't have said anything, should've just said he only wanted to be an alchemist. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
"Can you sing for me?"
Edward froze, "What?"
"Can you sing for me?" Winry repeated.
Edward hadn't sung in years. The last he sang was when Mom got sick. It was hard for him to remember any songs, let alone sing them.
"Please?" She looked so feverish, sweat pouring off her. She needed to rest.
Edward sighed. He stepped across the hideous, yellowing carpet, dragging mud along with him. He kicked off his boots before pulling himself up onto the mattress—it groaned under the added weight.
"’Course, Winry," Edward breathed. He tried to think about what he could sing, it was hard to remember anything. There was one song—he remembered Mom singing it for him when he was sick. That's a good one.
“Hush, My little Child
And drift into your dream
A place where you can leisurely play
Our paradise
Hush, My little Child
It's time to go to sleep
And in this moment
There's only a sad moon
Icy gaze yet so silent
Falls upon our soul like a fragile fire
Trembling in the storm
The gentle wind
Writing its symphony
The morning comes
Unshaken and so certain
Without a word
You will embrace
The endless sea that sings”
Edward felt his hands shake, a hesitant breath escaping his lips—he wouldn't cry, not over a dumb song. The soft breaths from Winry were peaceful; she had fallen asleep. Good, she needed the rest.
"I missed your singing," Alphonse whispered, like if he was any louder, he'd risk waking up Winry. He wouldn't, Winry couldn't hear or see him. No one could, no one but Edward.
Edward glanced up towards the Avatar that Alphonse enjoyed presenting as, a dashing Knight with shining armour. He was crouched before Ed's feet, looking up at his brother.
Edward snorted, wiping away tears that dared to well up in his eyes, "Well, maybe when I get you back your body, I'll sing a song just for you."
"Promise?" Alphonse asked, his avatar flicking with his excitement.
"Promise."