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 Roy's POV only. Bolded words are written.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3, Roy
Chapter 3, Winry

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


Armstrong takes the chalk. Wipe. I am sorry for leaving you there, General.


You got me out. You got me out. He trembles so much that his own chalk falls from his grasp.


Pinako picks it up and wipes the board. Roy, you're safe here. Nothing here will harm you. Just calm down.


Armstrong pats his arm and walks out.


The world takes on an unreal quality. Babbling around him, but somehow it doesn't matter.


The young woman writes on the board. Just hold on. It'll be okay in a moment.


But nothing feels wrong.


He tries to place her and can't. He tries to place the old woman and can't. He tries to remember who he is and can't.


Somehow it all doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all.


We're going to flip you over, okay? You're going to be okay.


Babbling around him as faintly warm hands hold him for a moment and the ceiling switches places with the pillow.


He blinks, still staring at the board. But I already feel okay.


After a while—it could be seconds or hours—the old woman wipes the slate clean. I will be back soon. Winry is going to stay here with you.




A little girl, smiling, with a dog. A puppy, really.




A girl half-grown, scared but defiant, impressions from chains circling her slim wrists.




A young woman, made of steel as strong as the wrench she carried.


Winry. Winry... Rockbell...


It all comes rushing back.


I forgot! I forgot! How could I ever forget!


They are holding him down, now.


Oh gods, I forgot!


The world goes away for a little while.


Pinako's full weight on his shoulders, holding him down.


Winry is curled up against the headboard, tears on her cheeks. Bruises are already forming on her bare arms.


I hurt her again.


The world spins.


I hurt her again.


Acid in his mouth and his stomach is heaving.


Roy, calm down. Winry's hand moves so fast he can barely see it. You lost track of the world for a moment. It's okay.


Pinako is rubbing his back now.


I forgot they ever existed.


Winry wipes the board. It's okay. I just got a little tossed. It's okay. She gives him a very weak smile and he can see the pain in it.


No it is not okay! I hurt their daughter! I forgot them!


Just calm down!


He reaches for the chalk and it crumbles in his grasp. He writes with a dusty fingertip, I'm sorry.


Wipe. Roy, I am fine. I was in the wrong place and got thrown. The bruises will be gone in a few days. No harm.


You don't understand. His hand is shaking. I forgot. His hand slips at the end, leaving long blank streaks down to the sheets.


The world turns to water fuzz. The gauze falls from his mouth and he can taste blood.


Warm hands in his hair and holding his hands.


When the world clears again, the board is in front of his face, covered in Pinako's small clear formal script. Roy, you were, under the definitions of Healer Law, medically tortured. You were just in a dissociative state. Right now, for you, that is normal. It is a sane response to insane things. Urey was a mindhealer and Sara met all his patients. They would have understood.


The world goes blurry again. A hand at the side of his mouth, easing the gauze back in.


A moment later he is blinking away the tail end of tears, staring at the blood trail on the pillow.


What is happening to me?


He points with a finger at the phrase 'dissociative state'.


Pinako pats his shoulder. Wipe. You momentarily dissociate from what is happening to you. It's a survival strategy, given how long you were bound and unable to communicate. The emotional outbursts are probably from the same source.


He nods. She leaves. Winry grabs the board and chalk. Wipe. Roy, please understand one thing: under our Law, what happened to you is worse than what happened to my parents.


The Hell!?


Someone broke Healer Law in doing this to you. Until that person is identified and punished, the protective status of Healers goes away. Which means I am really really scared right now.


She is shaking and he can see dampness on her face.


She sniffles a moment.


He reaches out, pulling her close, rolling onto his side and letting her cry into his shoulder.


He has seen her bend before, but now she is breaking.


His shoulder is getting wet.


She cries without sound, but with the jaw motions that should produce it. She's taught herself to cry silently.


Oh Winry...


Her knees have come up, arms wrapped around her legs and hands clutching at his shirt. He manages to get a blanket around her and just holds her.


I'm sorry, Winry. I'm sorry you're so scared. I'm sorry all this has happened on my account. I'm sorry you're so alone. I'm sorry you're an orphan. I'm sorry I've done the things I've done. I'm sorry I took them away. I'm sorry I didn't shoot Gran instead. Hell, I'm sorry I didn't shoot me instead. I'm sorry I was there. I'm sorry they were there. I'm sorry the military was there. I'm sorry Amestrian alchemists ever set foot in Ishbal.


I'm sorry the world is so cruel.


I'm sorry.


I'm sorry.


I'm sorry.


He tastes blood and realizes he's spit out the gauze again.


He was babbling.


He feels himself blush as Winry's head raises. He grabs the board and wipes it as she untangles herself again. I sounded like an idiot, didn't I?


She grabs the fragment of chalk from him. The syllables were nonsense. The emotions were more than detectable. And appreciated. That was an apology, wasn't it?


He nods.


Wipe. Being kept there was not your fault. Not being able to talk coherently is not your fault. And you did not sound like an idiot.


He wipes away the words with a shaking hand, then searches for a shard of the chalk. Yes I did. I sound like an idiot.


The blood taste is fading.


She blurts out something short and loud that might be his name, then mutters something else, patting his shoulder. You did not sound like an idiot, Roy. There is something in her eyes that he can't place. You sound like an intelligent speaker of a rather odd foreign language. The emotion is still there and clear. And appreciated.


But not accepted.


He buries his face in the sheets and forcibly shrugs her off when she puts a hand on his shoulder.


I don't deserve her help.


He hears Pinako come in. Something cold on his face where the tooth had been. He can smell something like stew.


A small hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off.


Babbling. He can hear worry, stress.


Is this what I sound like to them?


A scratching noise. He raises his head.


Roy, for as long as you are depending on us for food, water, shelter, or care as our patient, we cannot accept or reject any apology from you for anything. Please understand this.


He blinks. They can't?


Pinako puts a hand on his shoulder and he does not shrug it off.


Winry wipes the slate clean. Hungry?


He nods.


The rest of the day is spent sleeping, lying still with ice on his cheek, or eating to his heart's content.


As Pinako throws another blanket over him that night, he scrawls, Thank you.


She smiles. That we can accept.


He scratches at his jaw for a moment.




He nods.


Would a few minutes with a straight blade help?


Shaky hands.


Mine aren't.


Too. Much. Trouble.


Wipe. Roy, it is not too much trouble. I've devoted my life to helping people with missing limbs. Shaving is one of those things that sometimes needs to be done. Beyond that, you are going to be here for a while. She pauses.




Wipe. Roy, the people who did this to you are still out there. Winry has reason to believe the nurse who was there when she found you knew you were aware.


He feels his blood chill.


Wipe. They are probably looking for you quietly. Once anyone else discovers you are gone, they will be searching loud and publicly. And they will be finding ways to make the people of Amestris help them.


His pulse races.


Wipe. We won't let them find you. She rubs his back between his shoulders. Which means making your presence as undetectable as possible. Accept the small comforts, because there won't be many big ones.


A few moments later, he is clean-shaven with a still-full stomach in him and warm blankets on him.


Wipe. Anything hurting? She offers him the chalk.


Mouth, a little. Various aches otherwise.


Need a painkiller?


He nods.


A pill. A cup of tea.

She pats his shoulder, turns out the light, and pulls the door nearly closed.

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