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Damn this storm.
Damn the rain too.
And damn his cursed stumps while he is at it. The is not a single reason for them to hurt like that when the wounds have been closed for six years.
A child outside his window, on the street, shrieks in joy, it‘s mother reprimanding it to not jump in the puddles, and Edward, at the ripe old age of sixteen, is curled up on the stupid couch in his stupid hotel room, clawing the port of his leg. He chews on a pillow to muffle his moans, both immensely thankful that Al isn’t here and miserable without him.
Arguably, Winry‘s in the room right next to him and any company would be nice, but he’s been burdening her enough with all the shit they get into and the constant repairs she is forced to do. She shouldn’t be here at all, therefore: There‘s a reason he’s chewing on the pillow
A wave of pain shoots lighting into his limbs, unraveling him to his core. His arm cramps, his metal fingers twitching uselessly in a reminder of the flesh they used to be.
Oh fuck.
Ed tumbles to the floor; the cold sweat on his forehead and the sour taste in mouth are all the warning he gets to get ahold of anything even remotely bucket-shaped. Mouth clenched shut, biting his lip until it bleeds, he drags himself forward on one arm to the paper bin just in time to retch half his stomach into it.
It’s pathetic, really really pathetic, and Ed is acutely aware of it. Laying crumpled on the floor like some sort of dying worm, tipping the basket just enough to spill his guts into it. Every bone in his body itches to scream and he’d obey if he wasn’t busy spitting chunks onto the paper.
The price to pay for his sins. All Ed can do is push through it, like he always does. Not like this day could get any worse.
Suddenly, there is a knock on the door.
Oh fuck. Again.
„Ed, are you okay? Can I come in?“
Of course, he can’t just suffer alone, in silence. It’s his own damn fault he is like this, bothering his loved ones other people with it defeats the whole purpose.
Ed coughs weakly. „I‘m fine, Win.“
„I heard a loud thump, and I can hear you vomiting. Doesn’t sound fine to me, if you ask me.“
„Well, I didn’t ask you. So you can leave now.“ He spits.
„Don’t care, I‘m coming in now.“
Damn her stubbornness too.
There’s no way to position himself in any way that protects his dignity, especially not when pain takes hold of him, leaving him a trembling mess on the floor. Fire burns in his nerves and he can feel the tiny hands of the gate grab his flesh and tear it apart. Stars flash before his eyes, darkness threatens to pull him under. Ed gasps for air but his lungs seize up, too tired of keeping him alive.
Suddenly, there is a hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on his back. When he opens his eyes again, the darkness receding, Winry kneels beside him, concern written all over his face. For him. It nearly makes him retch again.
„Take a deep breath in, okay. Hold it, then release.“
Ed wants to snap at her, to tell her it’s not his damn fault his lungs have quit their job. But Winry‘s hold on his shoulder is unrelenting and she stares at him with determination and one thing definitely more pathetic than floundering the way he is right now is passing out right in front of her.
It takes multiple gasping breaths for oxygen to settle in his body again. Ed is loath to admit it, but Winry‘s presence grounds him.
„Do you think you can sit up?“ She asks
Oh right, he‘s still crumpled on the floor. Maybe passing out isn’t a bad course of action after all.
„'m fine, Win. Go back to bed.“
„Like hell I‘m gonna do that. Ed, would have killed you to maybe, I don’t know, tell me before you puke your guts out?“
Still, she eases him into a sitting position and Ed only nearly retches once, which is commendable considering his limbs seem to be getting ripped apart atom by atom. But there is no need to bother her with that.
Winry‘s hand touches his forehead before Ed can even begin to formulate an excuse to get her to finally leave, slowed and stupid through the haze of pain. She’s so close, close enough that he can feel her breath tingle against his bangs and- no, nope. No.
„You’re not getting sick, are you? You don’t have a fever, I think? Are your stumps giving you trouble then?“
Ed‘s stuck between don’t call my limbs that, it makes me sound even more pitiful and oh my god, she’s so close. He only gets halfway through grabbing her hand, mouth open to deny anything and everything when his genius body betrays him for nth time again and he cramps up in pain, hissing through his teeth. Can‘t fate be on his side just once, please oh please.
„It‘s just the storm, nothing else. So what if it hurts a bit, don‘t act like this is news to anyone.“
„You were vomiting! That’s not just ‚a bit‘“ Winry mimes the quotation marks and Ed briefly wonders if he can explode her out of his room. „You could have called me, I would have been there for you, I could have helped!“
„Helped?“ Ed is not proud of the octave his voice reaches. „This isn’t something your stupid automail can fix.“
Winry bristles but doesn’t fire back that it’s his alchemy that’s stupid, which tells him he looks even more lame than he thought. Hell, Winry would be more than justified to remind him that it’s his own damn fault he needs her automail in the first place.
„Nothing can help! Nothing short of transmuting my limbs back, which you cannot do, for the record. Unless you happen to have mastered human transmutation, which I doubt.“
Winry drags a hand over her face, a confusing mix of exasperation and concern swiveling before his eyes. „God, Ed, you think you’re the only person in this whole county to experience pain when it storms?“
Matter of fact, yes. Though now that Winry has said it like that, it suddenly sounds a whole lot dumber. Ed is certainly the only person to feel this pain because of his own sins. It only makes sense that this level of agony is reserved for scum like him.
When he doesn’t respond, Winry sighs deeply. „It might surprise you smartass, but in Rush Valley there‘s probably more amputees than able-bodied people. Half the city loathes thunderstorms. It’s a whole medical field too, outside of automail. What I‘m trying to get at is that you don’t have to be so goddamn stubborn all the time. You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I want to help, I can help, if you‘d just let me!“
Ed wants to say no, wants to tell her to leave him alone with this. It’s a very deserved punishment. It’s no one’s business but his own. Yet, above or maybe beneath it all, he’s so, so exhausted of his limbs being grabbed and ripped and torn apart over and over and over again. He’s tired of the cramps, of the nausea settling in his stomach, of the resignation in his bones.
But asking for relief is a different hell on its own. Ed opens his mouth but absolutely nothing comes out, he might as well try speaking a completely different language. His tongue has simply forgotten how to form the words. Maybe it’s his own pride that’s stopping any sounds. Because Hell, this is already embarrassing enough.
Blessedly though, Winry seems to be able to read every thing he can’t say from his face. The realisation sends a warm shiver down his spine, which could mean nothing.
„Let’s try to get you back on the couch. I have some stuff in my bag that can help.“
„You don’t have to go out of your way for me.“ Ed adds, apparently quite unhelpfully, because it’s his duty.
„Excuse you,“ Winry exclaims while hoisting him up, „I carry these with me for all my patients. You’re not special.“
Ed ducks his head. „Okay, okay. You’ve made your point.“ He tries his best to get his legs to cooperate, despite the bone-breaking pain, but ends up hanging rather limply while Winry lifts him. He can feel her muscles working against his skin and wow when did she get so jacked. Maybe he‘s already delirious from pain, because his mind wanders into a universe where Winry‘s strong arms wrap around him and- NO. No he doesn’t, his mind doesn’t wander, especially not when his mechanic is touching him, thank you very much.
„Don’t move!“ Winry instructs him, as if he planned on moving at all under these conditions, then she hurries out of his room.
Just one minute alone feels like a dark sea threatening to swallow him. Ed didn’t notice just how much her presence pushes the pain back, until she is gone and the pain comes back with renewed fervor.
Learning his head back, he sinks into the couch. The minute without Winry stretches into hours, until he can hear her open the door again. The couch dips down where she sits, close to his legs, turned towards him. She rests a small bag on her lap.
„I have pain meds, if you want to. I‘m not gonna fight about it.“
Through the flesh arm he‘s draped over his face, Ed sighs. „Win, you know meds don‘t work.“ He meant it to come out snarky but instead he just sounds dejected.
„We haven’t tried these yet, though! Plus, they’re a special formulation from Rush Valley specifically for Amputees. They‘re supposed to help with nerve pain.“
It’s his own damn fault. He has to carry the consequences. „If you say so, I’ll try.“
Winry stares at him like he has grown two heads.
Irritated, Ed grunts. „What?“
Winry lifts her hands appeasingly, a smile on her lips but brows furrowed in concern. „Nothing, nothing. It’s just… you never agree to take pills, it’s been driving Granny insane, and so… whatever, I‘m not testing my luck.“
She plucks out a small pill. Before she can get up for a glass of water, Ed grabs the pill from her hand and swallows it dry.
„Freak.“ Winry points out, equally unhelpfully and honestly kind of aghast.
„You too. What now?“ The pill leaves a disgustingly bitter taste on his tongue but Ed would rather strip naked than admit that.
Rummaging through her bag, Winry pulls out a bottle of… something?
„While we wait for the meds to kick in, a massage can be really helpful with relaxing your cramping muscles and releasing tension. I’ve gotten quite good at giving them too, Paninya has started asking daily, even though she definitely doesn’t need them that often.“
A- a massage??
Ed can feel all his blood rush to his head specifically to create the most situationally inappropriate blush.
Winry‘s strong hands kneading his muscles, feeling her calloused fingers on his skin, heart breath on his- Ed would have thrown himself off the couch if he wasn’t still shackled by relentless pain.
She was saying it so innocently too, not a hint of embarrassment in her tone. It’s like she has no idea what the mere thought is doing to him, running rampant through his body.
Of course. Why would she even think of him like that.
„I- if you say so.“ Ed stutters, failing quite badly at keeping his voice unsuspiciously stable.
„Don’t make this weird, Ed.“
„I‘m not making anything weird. It’s you who’s weird for saying that!“
Winry pouts. „Be grateful I don’t hit patients in pain.“
Whuh! „That’s blatantly untrue, gearhead! Not once have you asked if I was unharmed before throwing your stupid wrench at me! Not once!“
„Anyway,“ Winry gets up, grabs a towel and holds it under the sink. „Can you get your shirt off on your own?“
Ed bristles and immediately starts tugging at his shirt with his flesh arm. The metal one still hangs uselessly and he‘d rather forget it’s there in the first place. „Who are you calling an invalid that can’t even dress himself?!“
„Not what I said at all! Dumbass!“
She returns with a moist towel and wordlessly watches him wiggle out of his shirt like a fish on land. Arguably, with her help it would go much easier and with less pain, but he has committed and he’d rather go big than go home.
„Do you want me to take the arm or the leg off? Would that help lessen the strain on your nerves?“
Ed shakes his head. „Nah, the pain’s nonsensical anyway, I‘d rather keep all my limbs.“
Winry nods, then motions him to lay down on his back. „What‘s bothering you more, your arm or your leg?“
The objectively correct answer is his leg. But that would mean Winry would massage near his- yeah no.
„My arm. Hurts like a bastard and keeps twitching.“
„Turn on your stomach then, I‘ll massage your back muscles. That should do the trick.“
Maneuvering himself hurts more than Ed cares to admit. Once he gets himself situated, Winry places the damp towel on the spot where the metal of his automail meets skin and softly presses down. The warmth alone draws a sigh from Ed. Distantly, he can hear Winry unscrew the bottle, followed by the sound of her rubbing her hands with the cream.
“I’m gonna start now, okay?”
Ed scoffs, though the seeping warmth of the towel has taken all bite from his voice. “You never ask for permission, not even when you reattach my nerves!”
”That’s because when I have to reattach your nerves, you were being stupid and broke your automail! Now stop complaining before I change my mind.”
Ed does stop complaining, if only because everything hurts and he doesn’t want to risk pissing Winry off for real and losing his chance at maybe lessening the pain.
Winry places both her hands near his neck where his automail ends and starts massaging his skin with rolling motions from his shoulderblade to his neck. It hurts at first and Ed doesn’t bother swallowing the hiss of pain but Winry’s hands are strong and determined and yet somehow gentle. The repeating movements somehow find all the knots he didn’t even know were there.
Then, he can feel Winry form a half circle with her open palms. She places them on his spine and pushes forward towards the metal of his shoulder blade and oh,
Oh.
A content moan escapes Ed’s traitorous mouth before he even knows what’s happening. Her hands nearly cover the upper half of his back, warming his skin, soft despite the callouses from hours upon hours of work. His automail arm twitches again and not for the first time Ed wishes it was flesh again so he could feel her touch.
Storms always mean pain that doesn’t relent, pain that tugs at his very core threatening to unravel him. Pain that is irrevocable until they get their bodies back. He’s spent long enough trying to find anything that promises even a hint of release and came up empty handed often enough that he’s stopped trying. And here comes Winry, who has already given a leg to stand on, an arm to move forward with, always making sure he can continue on, despite him fucking up again and again. Winry, who keeps finding new ways of surprising him, of bringing him relief despite it all.
Ed has resigned himself to pain being a rightful part of his life and yet, under Winry’s strong hands, the hands of the gate stop ripping at his flesh, his nerves stop burning through him like electricity.
Winry hums, and positions herself to hold his metal shoulder with one hand and cups his shoulder blade with the other. The length of her arm bears the weight of his metal one and she moves his shoulder in a circular motion. At first, the rigid metal struggles to budge but slowly and surely the joint gives way, freed from the deep cramp holding it tight.
It’s like magic. More than any alchemy could ever hope to accomplish, like something only found in stories and fairytales. And Ed hopes that just this once fate is kind to him, so that Winry won’t see the tears of relief gathering in his eyes. He tries to wipe them in the fabric of the couch but they return with each dimmed wave of pain, slowly receding like the sea.
Winry makes a satisfied sort of noise and changes position again, placing both hands on his shoulder blades towards his legs and pushing them down the length of his back, her thumbs following the ups and downs of his spine. She releases tension Ed didn’t even know he was holding, just like that.
The gentle but steady movements like waves down his back lull him under. Usually, storms mean sleepless nights until they pass and then some, but now he finds himself already half asleep, fatigue clouding his mind like cotton.
Does Winry know how grateful he is, how grateful he has always been for her? Maybe not. The words are too heavy on his tongue to have ever spoken them. It’s simply embarrassing, but if Ed is really honest with himself, half awake, half in pain, all thankful, there is a different reason. Because what good is his gratitude if he still turns around each time and leaves her, only to return when he breaks his automail again. No, he has to be worthy of it first, he has to make true his promise to stay safe. And he can’t give her that, not yet.
Her hands are made for healing, unlike his. And she has no idea of her importance to him; A thought only made possible by the bone deep exhaustion releasing from his bones.
Oh, he will thank her, in any way he knows how to, when he and Al return, their bodies intact again. He swears it to whoever will listen, just not to Winry, with his last spark of energy before sleep takes him.