fic (fullmetal alchemist)
title: not the needle, nor the thread (ties that bind)
fandom: fullmetal alchemist
character/pairing: Edward Elric, Winry Rockbell, Alphonse Elric
rating: K
wordcount: 1930 (I know!)
summary: There’s a certain amount of rehabilitation Ed has to get through before he can undergo surgery. Winry is so involved in the process that Ed occasionally wishes she’d do the exercises for him.
notes: Gen. Set pre-canon, after Mustang’s visit and before Ed’s surgery.
Title from Bon Iver’s “Holocene.”
It takes…a long time for his stumps to heal. Between his convalescence and the visit from the military asshole, Ed has time to shove as much depression and self-pity as he can out of mind; it helps if he doesn’t make eye-contact with Al, but since that’s clearly not an option, Ed decides he can function with the guilt. Physical therapy is another thing entirely.
Before they can start fitting him for automail ports, Granny and Winry push (what’s left of) Ed’s body through a series of painful hoops. One of the latest exercises is also his least favorite: Winry sits on the edge of his bed and pushes at his good leg until Ed bends his knee the way she wants, and then she circles her arms around his bent leg and the stump of his thigh.
“On my count,” she says, “I want you to push against my arms. But I’ll push back, so you’re going to have to push as hard as you can, got it?”
Ed feels irate and uncomfortable with her proximity, but he nods and grits his teeth.
Pushing against her arms is tougher than he expected, especially because the longer she counts, the harder she squeezes his legs against her own ribs. Ed doesn’t want to hurt her-he can feel her side against his abbreviated thigh and he doesn’t want to bruise her-but Winry doesn’t seem to extend the same concern towards him, so he tries to brace himself and dig in. At the eight-count, his hips make a loud and echo-y grinding noise, and he can hear and feel them pop and resettle in the sockets. It hurts-not badly, but in a deep, lingering kind of way. He yelps angrily at the same time Winry lets out a whoop of satisfaction.
“What the hell-!”
“Almost there!” Winry says. “I wanna adjust your pelvis again to be sure-you sit around too much, you know-but this will help keep you from limping when you get back on two legs. I’ll show you how to do this move yourself when you get the automail.” Her cheeks are pink with delight. She wraps one arm around his stump and reaches the other across him, pressing her hand against his knee; “This time I’m gonna pull your legs out and you’ll push in, against the pressure.”
The resulting crack is smaller this time, but no less exhausting. Winry looks at him for a long minute, her arms, still twined about his legs; Ed struggles to read her face but can’t quite manage, though he’s at least sure there’s no pity there whatsoever. She slips away from the foot of the bed and moves to the head of it, clambering in and sitting awkwardly behind his shoulders. She slides her fingers into the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck and Ed leans back into her hands despite himself; she’s cool to the touch and he’s warm with the effort of pushing against her.
Winry scratches at his scalp a little.
“Want me to get Al?” She asks. “If you’re up for him carrying you, you can have a real bath.”
“You saying I stink?” Ed grumbles. He’s not really mad. Winry has inherited her grandmother’s gift for unvarnished conversation, and she talks about his limitations as though they’re a minor inconvenience; with anyone else, he’d feel like a cripple.
“You’re a little ripe,” she concedes. “But I was thinking the water’d feel good on that leg, and you can work the muscles without getting so wiped out.”
“Is that all you think about? My muscles?”
“’s all you think about,” she retorts, but she keeps rubbing at his scalp. “You do need someone in the tub with you, though, so do you want me or Granny?”
He’s shared a couple thousand baths with Winry over the course of their lives; one more isn’t a big deal. “Doesn’t matter so long as I don’t drown,” he tells her.
She stops rubbing his head and slips out from behind him, making sure his back touches the pillows before she lets go. “Me, then. It hurts Granny’s knees, and she’s got customers besides.” Winry squares her hips and leans back into what looks like a good stretch, and Ed squashes down a flash of envy at her balance. “Lemme go get Al.”
As soon as she’s out of the room, Ed slumps unevenly against the pillow. He’s tired all the time now that his shoulder and thigh have grown a few layers of pink, tender skin, and the therapy only emphasizes it. By the time Al comes to get him, Ed’s fallen into a light doze that lingers as his little brother carries him down the hallway to the bathroom. Winry’s kneeling by the tub, dressed in the same kind of compression shorts Ed’s wearing and what looks suspiciously like one of Al’s old shirts, from the way the sleeves are cut out. Her arm is in the water up to the elbow, gauging the temperature.
“Brother,” Al says in that watery voice Ed never wants to get used to, “are you awake?”
Ed taps against the hollow armor with one knuckle. “Yeah, I’m up. Thanks for the lift.” He’s pretty sure Al would shrug his thanks off, except he doesn’t want to jostle Ed; he can feel the intent of the gesture anyway.
Winry straightens up. “I’ll get in first,” she tells Al, and Ed feels painfully grateful for how brisk she is. “Can you set him in so he leans against me?”
“Yes.”
She nods, and Ed watches her step into the tub and breathes out gustily; the water’s probably hot. Al carried him a step closer, and as soon as Winry settles back and makes a chair out of her body, Al creaks down toward her. Ed hates the slow lowering feeling he gets in his gut as Al lets go, and he grits his teeth as he feels himself start to slip out of his little brother’s clumsy, gentle hold; Winry reaches up and steadies him.
“Your shirt,” she says, and between her and Al helping him, Ed manages to get it off. Then he’s in, slipping against the enamel tub until Winry’s arms and knees catch him. He’s flushed with the heat of the water and the effort of sitting up, even with the support, and it takes a few deep inhalations to settle all the way back, trusting her not to let him slip. Al clanks into a sitting position next to the tub and passes Winry a washcloth.
Ed watches Al through half-lidded eyes as Winry cleans stale sweat from his body (she’s right: he does smell a little sour, and the water feels good). Al looks back at him, but doesn’t say anything until Ed, with some effort, raises his arm and flicks bathwater at Al’s breastplate.
“Hey!”
“Quit staring,” Ed says, sounding lazy despite himself. “You keep thinking like that and you’ll hurt yourself.”
Al scoffs, sounding at once like his old self. “You’re confusing your own limitations with mine, Brother.”
Ed grins and tries to rear up and maybe write on Al’s chest with the soap, but Winry holds him back with a firm hand on his neck; he knocks her gut with his elbow by accident as he settles back down and she grunts, but doesn’t move away.
“Quit it, you morons. Ed, lean back against me a little. Al, hand me that glass; I wanna wash his hair.”
He closes his eyes against the water, though he doesn’t need to; Winry swipes his bangs back from his face and pours the contents of the glass carefully along his hairline. Even with his eyes closed, Ed can still tell when Al leans across them and hands Winry the shampoo; his new body blocks the light.
Ed falls asleep again as Winry works the soap into his hair, too tired to complain about the clean lavender smell of it; she must be using her own. As he dozes, he can hear Al and Winry talking back and forth about Ed’s therapy and Winry’s upcoming birthday. Winry’s limbs are a safe cage around him, but even so, Ed can feel the strain in her arms as she continues to hold him up. Even without the weight of his arm and leg, Ed’s still heavy and awkward, and Winry’s not much bigger than him.
“Is Brother asleep again?” Al asks, and Ed is only just awake enough to hear him.
“Mmm. If not now, soon,” Winry says. She pours another container of rinse water over his head, combing the last of the soap out of his hair with one hand. Her knees squeeze tighter around his hips and the pressure wakes him up a little, snorting. The bathwater has lost its heat.
“Watch it!” Ed protests, pushing at her knee with his hand. Winry, much to her credit, ignores his flailing and wraps one arm around Ed’s waist again, pushing him up a little until Al can lean over and wrap a towel around him and pick him up. With Al bracing him, Ed manages to peel his shorts off one-handed and re-adjust his towel. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s aware of Winry stripping down as well, toweling off, and pulling a dress over her head. She’s finished before he is.
Al carries him back, and Ed’s so tired that Winry throws a clean sheet at him and he kind of swaddles himself in it; the thought of pulling on clean clothes is a little repellant. Once he’s in bed, Winry wraps cold packs on his stumps and climbs in beside him again; Al sits on the floor.
She’s been measuring his remaining limbs for days, using twine and tracing outlines on rolls of butcher paper. Al passes pencils and calipers up to her when she needs them, and holds the ball of twine loosely so all Winry has to do is tug to get more length. Ed’s gotten pretty good at math and biology over the years, and even he’s impressed with all the calculations Winry keeps jotting down. Then he remembers that she used to fall asleep in school even before he and Al did; Winry’s always had her own projects.
He lies still and lets her wrap twine around each of his fingers; usually he would complain insincerely about the way she trusses him up to get the measurements, but he’s been keeping an eye on her calculations and thinks they might almost be complete.
“Winry,” Al says from the floor, “How long until you can build Brother another arm and leg?”
Winry doesn’t turn her bright head from her scribbling. “We can install his ports pretty soon, maybe next week,” she says, absently. “Then I’ll wire him for the arm and leg.” She looks up from her calculations and catches Ed’s half-lidded eyes. “You’re still up for it, right?”
“One year,” he reminds her.
Winry laughs, and there’s no humor in the sound; “I know.”
Ed knows, too; as much as he’s hated all the preliminary physical therapy, he’s grateful for the breathing room it’s given him, breathing room he’s not going to have any more. If he thinks too hard about the upcoming surgery, Ed knows he’ll lose some of his nerve.
It’s better for him to leave the minutia of his recovery to the experts; Ed’s always been better with long-term goals.
“You hear that?” Ed grins at Al, showing all his teeth. “We’re gonna get this show on the road.”
fandom: fullmetal alchemist
character/pairing: Edward Elric, Winry Rockbell, Alphonse Elric
rating: K
wordcount: 1930 (I know!)
summary: There’s a certain amount of rehabilitation Ed has to get through before he can undergo surgery. Winry is so involved in the process that Ed occasionally wishes she’d do the exercises for him.
notes: Gen. Set pre-canon, after Mustang’s visit and before Ed’s surgery.
Title from Bon Iver’s “Holocene.”
It takes…a long time for his stumps to heal. Between his convalescence and the visit from the military asshole, Ed has time to shove as much depression and self-pity as he can out of mind; it helps if he doesn’t make eye-contact with Al, but since that’s clearly not an option, Ed decides he can function with the guilt. Physical therapy is another thing entirely.
Before they can start fitting him for automail ports, Granny and Winry push (what’s left of) Ed’s body through a series of painful hoops. One of the latest exercises is also his least favorite: Winry sits on the edge of his bed and pushes at his good leg until Ed bends his knee the way she wants, and then she circles her arms around his bent leg and the stump of his thigh.
“On my count,” she says, “I want you to push against my arms. But I’ll push back, so you’re going to have to push as hard as you can, got it?”
Ed feels irate and uncomfortable with her proximity, but he nods and grits his teeth.
Pushing against her arms is tougher than he expected, especially because the longer she counts, the harder she squeezes his legs against her own ribs. Ed doesn’t want to hurt her-he can feel her side against his abbreviated thigh and he doesn’t want to bruise her-but Winry doesn’t seem to extend the same concern towards him, so he tries to brace himself and dig in. At the eight-count, his hips make a loud and echo-y grinding noise, and he can hear and feel them pop and resettle in the sockets. It hurts-not badly, but in a deep, lingering kind of way. He yelps angrily at the same time Winry lets out a whoop of satisfaction.
“What the hell-!”
“Almost there!” Winry says. “I wanna adjust your pelvis again to be sure-you sit around too much, you know-but this will help keep you from limping when you get back on two legs. I’ll show you how to do this move yourself when you get the automail.” Her cheeks are pink with delight. She wraps one arm around his stump and reaches the other across him, pressing her hand against his knee; “This time I’m gonna pull your legs out and you’ll push in, against the pressure.”
The resulting crack is smaller this time, but no less exhausting. Winry looks at him for a long minute, her arms, still twined about his legs; Ed struggles to read her face but can’t quite manage, though he’s at least sure there’s no pity there whatsoever. She slips away from the foot of the bed and moves to the head of it, clambering in and sitting awkwardly behind his shoulders. She slides her fingers into the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck and Ed leans back into her hands despite himself; she’s cool to the touch and he’s warm with the effort of pushing against her.
Winry scratches at his scalp a little.
“Want me to get Al?” She asks. “If you’re up for him carrying you, you can have a real bath.”
“You saying I stink?” Ed grumbles. He’s not really mad. Winry has inherited her grandmother’s gift for unvarnished conversation, and she talks about his limitations as though they’re a minor inconvenience; with anyone else, he’d feel like a cripple.
“You’re a little ripe,” she concedes. “But I was thinking the water’d feel good on that leg, and you can work the muscles without getting so wiped out.”
“Is that all you think about? My muscles?”
“’s all you think about,” she retorts, but she keeps rubbing at his scalp. “You do need someone in the tub with you, though, so do you want me or Granny?”
He’s shared a couple thousand baths with Winry over the course of their lives; one more isn’t a big deal. “Doesn’t matter so long as I don’t drown,” he tells her.
She stops rubbing his head and slips out from behind him, making sure his back touches the pillows before she lets go. “Me, then. It hurts Granny’s knees, and she’s got customers besides.” Winry squares her hips and leans back into what looks like a good stretch, and Ed squashes down a flash of envy at her balance. “Lemme go get Al.”
As soon as she’s out of the room, Ed slumps unevenly against the pillow. He’s tired all the time now that his shoulder and thigh have grown a few layers of pink, tender skin, and the therapy only emphasizes it. By the time Al comes to get him, Ed’s fallen into a light doze that lingers as his little brother carries him down the hallway to the bathroom. Winry’s kneeling by the tub, dressed in the same kind of compression shorts Ed’s wearing and what looks suspiciously like one of Al’s old shirts, from the way the sleeves are cut out. Her arm is in the water up to the elbow, gauging the temperature.
“Brother,” Al says in that watery voice Ed never wants to get used to, “are you awake?”
Ed taps against the hollow armor with one knuckle. “Yeah, I’m up. Thanks for the lift.” He’s pretty sure Al would shrug his thanks off, except he doesn’t want to jostle Ed; he can feel the intent of the gesture anyway.
Winry straightens up. “I’ll get in first,” she tells Al, and Ed feels painfully grateful for how brisk she is. “Can you set him in so he leans against me?”
“Yes.”
She nods, and Ed watches her step into the tub and breathes out gustily; the water’s probably hot. Al carried him a step closer, and as soon as Winry settles back and makes a chair out of her body, Al creaks down toward her. Ed hates the slow lowering feeling he gets in his gut as Al lets go, and he grits his teeth as he feels himself start to slip out of his little brother’s clumsy, gentle hold; Winry reaches up and steadies him.
“Your shirt,” she says, and between her and Al helping him, Ed manages to get it off. Then he’s in, slipping against the enamel tub until Winry’s arms and knees catch him. He’s flushed with the heat of the water and the effort of sitting up, even with the support, and it takes a few deep inhalations to settle all the way back, trusting her not to let him slip. Al clanks into a sitting position next to the tub and passes Winry a washcloth.
Ed watches Al through half-lidded eyes as Winry cleans stale sweat from his body (she’s right: he does smell a little sour, and the water feels good). Al looks back at him, but doesn’t say anything until Ed, with some effort, raises his arm and flicks bathwater at Al’s breastplate.
“Hey!”
“Quit staring,” Ed says, sounding lazy despite himself. “You keep thinking like that and you’ll hurt yourself.”
Al scoffs, sounding at once like his old self. “You’re confusing your own limitations with mine, Brother.”
Ed grins and tries to rear up and maybe write on Al’s chest with the soap, but Winry holds him back with a firm hand on his neck; he knocks her gut with his elbow by accident as he settles back down and she grunts, but doesn’t move away.
“Quit it, you morons. Ed, lean back against me a little. Al, hand me that glass; I wanna wash his hair.”
He closes his eyes against the water, though he doesn’t need to; Winry swipes his bangs back from his face and pours the contents of the glass carefully along his hairline. Even with his eyes closed, Ed can still tell when Al leans across them and hands Winry the shampoo; his new body blocks the light.
Ed falls asleep again as Winry works the soap into his hair, too tired to complain about the clean lavender smell of it; she must be using her own. As he dozes, he can hear Al and Winry talking back and forth about Ed’s therapy and Winry’s upcoming birthday. Winry’s limbs are a safe cage around him, but even so, Ed can feel the strain in her arms as she continues to hold him up. Even without the weight of his arm and leg, Ed’s still heavy and awkward, and Winry’s not much bigger than him.
“Is Brother asleep again?” Al asks, and Ed is only just awake enough to hear him.
“Mmm. If not now, soon,” Winry says. She pours another container of rinse water over his head, combing the last of the soap out of his hair with one hand. Her knees squeeze tighter around his hips and the pressure wakes him up a little, snorting. The bathwater has lost its heat.
“Watch it!” Ed protests, pushing at her knee with his hand. Winry, much to her credit, ignores his flailing and wraps one arm around Ed’s waist again, pushing him up a little until Al can lean over and wrap a towel around him and pick him up. With Al bracing him, Ed manages to peel his shorts off one-handed and re-adjust his towel. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s aware of Winry stripping down as well, toweling off, and pulling a dress over her head. She’s finished before he is.
Al carries him back, and Ed’s so tired that Winry throws a clean sheet at him and he kind of swaddles himself in it; the thought of pulling on clean clothes is a little repellant. Once he’s in bed, Winry wraps cold packs on his stumps and climbs in beside him again; Al sits on the floor.
She’s been measuring his remaining limbs for days, using twine and tracing outlines on rolls of butcher paper. Al passes pencils and calipers up to her when she needs them, and holds the ball of twine loosely so all Winry has to do is tug to get more length. Ed’s gotten pretty good at math and biology over the years, and even he’s impressed with all the calculations Winry keeps jotting down. Then he remembers that she used to fall asleep in school even before he and Al did; Winry’s always had her own projects.
He lies still and lets her wrap twine around each of his fingers; usually he would complain insincerely about the way she trusses him up to get the measurements, but he’s been keeping an eye on her calculations and thinks they might almost be complete.
“Winry,” Al says from the floor, “How long until you can build Brother another arm and leg?”
Winry doesn’t turn her bright head from her scribbling. “We can install his ports pretty soon, maybe next week,” she says, absently. “Then I’ll wire him for the arm and leg.” She looks up from her calculations and catches Ed’s half-lidded eyes. “You’re still up for it, right?”
“One year,” he reminds her.
Winry laughs, and there’s no humor in the sound; “I know.”
Ed knows, too; as much as he’s hated all the preliminary physical therapy, he’s grateful for the breathing room it’s given him, breathing room he’s not going to have any more. If he thinks too hard about the upcoming surgery, Ed knows he’ll lose some of his nerve.
It’s better for him to leave the minutia of his recovery to the experts; Ed’s always been better with long-term goals.
“You hear that?” Ed grins at Al, showing all his teeth. “We’re gonna get this show on the road.”