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Tired.
Edward was tired.
It wasn’t the physical kind, where a good night of sleep, a nice meal, or just some time to relax could take care of. No, it was the kind that went bone deep, leaving you without the energy to even get out of bed.
Ed had days like this. Days where he couldn’t find the will to shift from his spot on the bed, to drag his body to the toilet in order to get dressed. Days where all he wanted was to rot in the dark room of wherever he was staying at the moment.
He knew he was slowly losing motivation. Getting burnt out from doing continuous research whenever he was free, even if that meant he gave up his meal or rest times.
After all, there were only so many setbacks, so many dead ends a person could hit before they eventually get tired of a path. Especially when the path in question was an impossible one where there were no real evidence, only vague hints that eventually led to nowhere.
Edward knew he couldn’t give up though. He had a goal in mind, and he would stop at nothing to achieve it. He knew as long as he was alive, as long as he could still move, still fight, he wouldn’t give up.
He can’t.
Not when his brother, the only one he has left, was still trapped in that cold, metal prison. Not when Alphonse was still unable to feel, to eat, to sleep, to cry.
Ed couldn’t do that, not to Al. Not when he had been the one to drag them into this mess, the one who had robbed Al of a proper childhood. He would do whatever it takes to repent, even if it meant giving up his remaining limbs to get Al’s body back.
It was only this will, this final goal that kept him going. That stopped him from giving up. That somehow gave him enough strength to get up and drag himself through the day.
But there were days when even that will doesn’t work.
Ed would become useless on those days, staying in his room with the binds drawn shut. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t sleep. He didn’t allow himself to, punishing himself with just even a fraction of the pain Al was in.
He deserved it.
And when he finally emerged from the room days later, no one commented on it. Not Al, nor his Commanding Officer or his team, though they would often shoot him concerned looks and he would be assigned easier missions after.
Ed was barely holding it together, and everyone could see that.
—————
It was pouring outside.
Edward hated rainy days.
When he was younger and Mom had still been with them, he hated the rain because his mom wouldn’t allow him out to play. ‘You’ll catch a cold!’ She would say, before ushering him back into the house.
It was raining the day she passed.
Since then, Ed has had an aversion to rainy days. He would stay inside, often becoming unresponsive, too lost in his own thoughts on those days.
He was pulled out of it by Teacher. She had slapped him out of it, literally, and told him that if he had time to mope around, he had time to train more.
‘Let the past be the past, there’s nothing you can do to change it. Look to the future instead, and shape it with your own two hands.’
Ed had loved Teacher, she was like a mother to him, even if her training methods were… less than sane. She was the one who taught him and Al, trained them, scolded them when they were wrong, she cared for them.
But she wouldn’t now, not after what you did.
Edward hated rainy days.
Rainy days signaled pain, it brought on a sense of uncertainty, a fear that something was about to go wrong. Rain brought on the aching in his automail ports, causing his chronic pain to flare up.
Ed was useless when it rained. Even more useless than usual, that is.
The pain had left him unable to get out of bed. It trapped him, and dragged him down as much as the constant exhaustion had. It was on these days that he was made aware of just how vulnerable he was, and he hated it.
He hated the feeling of not being able to do anything, his own body betraying him with the feeling of muscles being shredded and nerves being set on fire. He hated how he physically couldn’t get up without his lag collapsing under him.
Ed hated being reminded that he was powerless, weak, a failure.
He hated how the team noticed, even when the rain had stopped and the pain levels had become more manageable. He hated the pitying looks he got in the office when he had a slight limp while walking, or when he had to take a break when his leg shook too hard to support his weight.
Edward hated rainy days.
The rain always comes along with the cold. It leaves Ed freezing, shivering in the blankets despite his automail already sucking out most of his body heat. The cold was harsh and merciless, taking away the comfort of warmth.
The rain washes away all the colours, leaving the world in shades monotone. It was hard to add cheer, to add any life into this colourless world that the rain revealed.
Because this was the Truth of the world, a cold, wet, and blank place where only the strong survived while the weak were pushed down. And Ed certainly wasn’t strong.
Edward hated rainy days.
—————
Sometimes, when Ed was truly alone, he would wonder if it would be better if he had just ended it.
He could try, trade his body back for Al’s, his life for his brother’s. He wonders if he is even worthy enough, if his broken and battered self could even measure up to a fraction of Al’s wonder.
He doesn’t try. Al and Winry would cry if he did. He’s a coward, he’s scared of what would happen. Ed doesn’t want to make them cry any more than he already has.
He counts them. A line of red on his left arm for every tear they have shed. A permanent reminder of his failure, of his weakness. He knew it could never make up for what he had done, he’ll never be enough.
Ed ignores how his left arm has turned into a canvas of straight lines, crisscrossing each other in a way that was painfully beautiful.
His red coat was never only good for hiding his automail arm.
Ed knew how to hide the marks. He knew the others would only overreact and tell him to stop, it’s not as if he was doing anything too dangerous.
He doesn’t tell anyone about it.
—————
Did you know?
Every human has three demons.
Shame, who sits on your left shoulder.
Who tells you that you're a freak, that those thoughts you have are not normal, that you will never fit in.
Shame was the one who whispered into your ear when your mother found you playing with yourself as a child. Who told you that she would start to think of you just like everyone else.
Shame is the one who makes you hate yourself. Making you see yourself as nothing but a wreck and a failure, a mess of shattered pieces too broken to fix.
Shame was the one who shows you who you truly are.
Fear, who sits on your right shoulder.
Fear, who is as old as life itself. It was there even before the birth of humanity, before anything else had the chance to exist.
It fills every dark corner with monsters, turns every stranger on a dark street into a murderer.
Fear tells you it is better not to try than let people see you fail, makes you build your own prison.
Fear makes you tear yourself apart from the inside.
But the worst demon of all was never seen as one.
You see them as a friend. You turn to them when you have nothing else, when you're all alone.
It lives in your heart. It was the one who forces you to endure. The one who prolongs your torment, by convincing you to hold on.
Because the most dangerous one was never Shame nor Fear.
It was Hope.
Indeed, Hope was a dangerous thing.