jlady_fics: (Time For Healing)
[personal profile] jlady_fics
Title: A Time For Healing

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Episode 51

Characters: Roy, Winry, Pinako, Armstrong. Others to appear later.

Summary: Things start going rather badly for Roy after the series. Can he come to terms with the reality of his new situation? Will he even have a chance to?

Author's Note: This post is Winry's POV only. Roy's POV was posted earlier. If anyone has any issues with the font I've selected to use for something this chapter (you'll know it when you see it), please tell me and I'll keep experimenting.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2


Disclaimer: I own not anything involving Full Metal Alchemist. It belongs to Arakawa Hiromu.

She can't sleep. She watches the hands move on her alarm clock, lets her eyes drift over the small doll and small metal animal it is nestled between.
 
It all seems so long ago.
 
She gets up, touches Molly-Dolly's hair, remembers.
 
"Alchemy is meant to help people, Winlet. They just wanted to make you a pretty new doll for your birthday. Their father did the same thing to fix our well just before he left."
 
Warm arms and warm breath, her father holding her close enough that she could feel his heartbeat.
 
"Alchemy can help or hurt just the same as healercraft, Winry." Her mother's calm voice with its balance of submissiveness and toughness. Slender hands in her hair. "Medicines can kill as well as heal. Mindhealers can warp minds as easily as fix them. Your grandmother could use that wrench of hers to leave someone in mortal anguish for years. But we don't and she doesn't. The Elrics will have the same choice to make someday. They have good hearts. They will choose correctly."
 
"You were right, Mama," she whispers. "You were right."
 
The clock downstairs chimes two.
 
She flops back on the bed. "But it's so much more complicated than that. Like you were really going to explain the intricacies of adult moral and ethical systems to me when I was five. That someone can lie about what is good and what isn't. That a good person can do bad things because of bad counsel. That a death threat can make people do things they would never do willingly.
 
"I wish you could have told me."
 
But they did. Just not in words. Mom couldn't have done much, but Dad could have broken his mind worse than it was. Even worse than it is now.
 
What happened that day? He said he was ordered that morning and shot them that night. I know Gran was the order-giver from the digging Sheska did in the military records. What went on that day?
 
She ponders, staring up at the familiar ceiling.
 
There is a noise in the next room, a mix between moaning and whimpering.
 
That tea we gave him last night had a mild sedative in it. He shouldn't be awake.
 
Unless something is wrong.
 
The clock strikes four.
 
Another moan.
 
He won't forgive himself if he thinks he woke me. He's got more than enough guilt on his soul.
 
She blinks for a moment.
 
Roy has entirely too much guilt on his soul. He's given years and an eye trying to fix things. He's gone through all this, become a human wreck, and he still can't look me in the eye for more than a second.
 
Near silence for a long while. She closes her eyes, listening to the wind outside.
 
The sound of human limbs struggling against sheets. Little desperate noises from across the wall.
 
How long until I do less damage by going in there than by staying here?
 
He seems to calm after a few long moments.
 
The clock strikes five.
 
Footsteps outside and a soft knock on the door. She sticks her head out into the hallway as Pinako walks down the hall and goes downstairs.
 
The noise in Roy's room resumes.
 
That's it. Leaving him alone and distressed is not something I want to do, no matter what he's done to me. If I'd wanted to do that, I would have left him in Central.
 
She knows she would never have left him there with the breakers of the Law, but the thought makes her feel better about what she is doing. It is her will, not Law, that guides her hands.
 
She walks to the door, only a few feet from her own, and slowly opens it. She slips inside and closes it just as carefully.
 
There is a chair to the left of the bed and a small 1-drawer table to the right. The closet is on the same side as the chair. A large dresser is pushed against the wall where the closet door ends. The faint light barely shows the thin yellow stripes on the blue walls. The wood slats of the floor are cool against her feet.
 
He lies there, bedclothes thrown about and one blanket practically falling off onto the floor. His hair faintly glistens with sweat. An uneven coating of something that might have once been called 'stubble' covers most of his chin. He is still for the moment, but she can almost see his muscles tensing.
 
Has he been like this the entire time and I just slept through it? No wonder he sleeps so much during the day.
 
He whimpers in his sleep, right leg twitching. The blanket finally hits the floor and she can see his foot has gotten tangled in a sheet.
 
How did he manage to do that? He's been sleeping on his back and staying there, as far as we knew... and he was sleeping on his back all those months. We should have gotten him on his side; this can't be helping.
 
A moan and he starts struggling again.
 
She sighs, moves close, and grabs the foot with one hand. While he freaks out, practically wailing, she uses her other hand to free the foot. She puts the foot down and looks up.
 
How did he manage to sleep through that, even with the sedative? He probably slept through injections, blood-drawing, bandage-changing. If the pain was constant and there was no way to escape even if he was awake... Oh, Roy.
 
She pulls the sheet back over him properly, then spreads the blanket properly from his toes to his rather furry chin.
 
She can hear the familiar voices of Aunt Theresa and Uncle Fred downstairs as she whispers, "You aren't there anymore," to Roy. It doesn't matter that he can't understand it; she says it anyway.
 
She needs to say it, for her as much as for him.
 
She sits down in the chair and waits for the sun to rise.
 
He wakes just after the sunlight starts coming in.
 
"Shh. It's all okay. You are safe here."
 
His eye opens and he tenses.
 
She can hear Theresa downstairs, the sound of one of her father's old medical books being flipped through and the mindhealer's voice echoing up about approaches and damage and healing.
 
It is a normal sound, soothing, the work of her family.
 
Roy tenses further and so she rests a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. They're here to help you. I promise we won't let them damage you."
 
He starts looking extremely uncomfortable. She can see his chest start heaving. She helps him sit, just a little, his back cradled against one of her arms. "Shh. I'm right here. No one gets to hurt you. We only want to help you get better, okay? The people downstairs are safe. They're safe." She pats his arm.

He whimpers, eye wide. She can feel his heart pounding. He suddenly swoons, collapsing against her as his eye closes.

Well, that's one way to calm down...

The clock strikes six, then seven, then eight. She can hear dishes clinking downstairs. There's no way I'm leaving him alone like this.

She holds him like that as he starts stirring. "It's okay. Fainting is just fine and normal." She pats his arm again.

His face turns reddish. He flinches in pain, struggling, and she helps him down to the security of the pillow again.

His hand rises slowly, presses against his cheek just beside the bit. She can see him start breathing too fast again and pats his shoulder. Checking out once a morning is plenty, Roy. She reaches for a cup of water and the liquid painkiller they've been giving him and then gives him a dose. He seems to calm a bit as it takes effect.

She looks up as his gaze drifts towards the door. Her grandmother and the others are there. Pinako and Armstrong come closer, but his eye is fixed on the door.

Roy Mustang freaks, thrashing so fast that Winry has no hope of trying to hold him still.

He knocks himself out on the headboard less than a minute later, resultant crack making Winry's own mouth ache. His scream is pitiful, agonizing.

She stands up and Armstrong sits in her place, pinning Roy against him. Pinako climbs up next to the pillow and Winry sits next to the injured man.

Roy stirs.

Theresa is in the doorway, holding a piece of chalk and a slab of blackboard from when Winry was learning to... oh no. We never checked to see if he could read. Roy tries to struggle as she approaches, everyone doing all they can to keep him from doing any more damage to himself.

Can you read this? 

Winry sees Roy's eye widen as the words come into view. He nods. He's still there, he just can't talk. We could have been communicating all week; how could I possibly be so stupid...

Wipe. My name is Theresa. Do you remember your name? Another nod. Theresa wipes the board again. Can you write it? It's okay if you can't. 

Theresa holds the chalk so that Roy can grab it easily; he does.

Winry sees the struggle, but he manages well enough for someone with a bad case of muscle disuse. Roy Mustang.

She pays more attention to Roy than the board for the rest of the ordeal, only really noticing when Fredrick approaches. She talks softly, she rubs and pats, and she does her best to stay calm even when Fredrick slips the jaw brace in Roy's mouth, even when Fredrick brings out the Novocaine needle, nothing but a thin human eyelid between Roy and a bad struggle.

She is there when his eye opens a moment too soon, helping hold him still.

She wants to celebrate when the bit comes out, but anything beyond letting Roy scrawl his thanks is unreasonable. There is still a tooth to pull.

He closes his eye and Winry pats his arm, somehow remaining calm even when Fredrick takes the tooth out in two natural pieces, split from chewing surface to root base.

They ease him down as soon as the gauze is in his mouth, the brace removed at the first safe instant.

Winry keeps a hand on his arm and the other on his shoulder as he starts shaking. Stress withdrawal. Just relax and let yourself readjust.

Winry honestly can't remember Pinako grabbing the board.

He keeps trembling.

Theresa grabs the chalk back and wipes the board. Fred and I are going downstairs so you can be alone with people you know right now. They leave the room as soon as Theresa presses her piece of chalk back into Roy's open palm.
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