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It was a very common thing, scars. Military personnel especially. Whether they be from Ishival, battles, accidents, attacks. Children playing too hard, or just straight out clumsiness. Everyone had scars. Emotional, mental, physical. Edward himself never really had any feelings towards them.
Slowly overtime he found himself covered in them. New to old. Like the small scratch on his knee from running in the fields with Al when they were young. His large gruesome scars from automail surgery. To the bullet hole in his left shoulder from saving a child in the line of fire.
Scars became a normality. At 6 years old, he'd been playing in the creek with Al. And in a sudden moment, he lost his footing and slid down the mud. Ed, being the good big brother , grabbed him before the water and lightened the blow. In return, his knee was busted. At 6 years old, he lay with his head on his newly scarred knee, deeply upset with the never disappearing mark. His mother had said just a few words as she stroked his short golden hair. He'd continue to remember them with every passing day:
‘The scars are what make you human. They carry the past in a memorable way so you can overcome it and grow stronger than before.’
He still remembered his mother's kiss on his knee. He tried not to cry when he lost the scar. Well, in a more literal sense, the scar was replaced by an even bigger one. A deeper one. One that carried a horrible memory he didn't want to cherish in that sentimental, serene sense. He'd never see that mark again. Could never look back on the scar and remember his mothers embrace. No, he'd remember his failure as a brother, as a son. Not his mothers wise words. He wasn't attached to the scar, he was attached to the lesson, the memory that came with it. It was what made him human.
He was never proud of them. He simply accepted them. The old, the new, even the replaced. He didn't have to like them or hate them. He just simply existed in a neutral way.
He didn't realise how, slowly, over time it began to affect him how others viewed him. He wasn't self conscious per say, but it gets to a point sometimes. When your shortness is commented on all of the time. He never knew the exact reason why he hated being. . . the way that he is.
Over time he found himself wearing platform shoes, avoiding eye contact because looking up for too long gave him a crick in his neck. Or how he stopped wearing tank tops as often, and opted for long sleeves. He always wore his hair up because people thought of him as a girl at first glance. He sometimes worked out too much to gain muscle. And hope that maybe he would magically grow 5 inches.
Then came the scars. When he first got his automail, he found himself covering up all of the time, it brought him too much pain to see. Slowly over time he found himself caring less about everything. Focusing more on getting Al back. Alphonse always liked to add on getting Ed's limbs back, but he'd come to terms with it. The unspoken acceptance of remaining with it for the rest of his life weighed heavy over their heads. Al wanted the best for him, Ed just wanted his little brother back. They'd disagreed on many accounts, but neither had the strength to finalize the possibilities.
He'd felt the gazes, the stares. Heard the comments and questions. Felt the pain of bearing his ruined body.
“Hey, Ed. Are you okay?” It was Alohonse, who'd just gotten back from the store having run out while Ed continued to research. “Of course Al. Why?” He heard him shift uncomfortably and muttered softly, "I'm worried about you.” Edward couldn't help the flinch that escaped him. Him? He can't believe he'd let his little brother worry about him. There were plenty of other perfectly reasonable things that were much more important to do than worry about Edward. He was fine. He had to be. He couldn't afford to crash and burn beholder Alphonse had a living, warm and breathing body.
He paused, and continued to flip pages, eyes scanning but never reading. “Why?” Alphonse set the bags on the counter and made his way over to Ed's crouched form on the desk. “Your hurt brother. I can see it.” And what kind of hurt was that? He wanted to ask. Sure, his automail ached like hell sometimes, his scars burned an awful reminder of the things that happened. The things that made him human. His joints were stiff and made it hard for him to even get out of bed on some days.
“Well, you don't need to worry, okay?” He put on a toothy grin, “Im Alright!”. A heavy metal hand settled itself on his flesh shoulder. It was trembling, how that was possible, he didn't know. “Please talk to me, Ed.” His lip wobbled. He abruptly stood, form visibly quaking. “Im fine Al. Imma go ‘n take a shower. Be back in a few.” And slipped out from under his hollow hand. He could feel his younger brother's heavy stare on his back. He didn't have time to feel like this.
—--------------------------------------------------------
It had been a steady occurrence, Al remarked. He watched how Ed had to be covered or else he would be anxious, on edge all of the time. His temper would be shorter, he'd flinch more. Al made a good habit of cleaning his brother's clothes. Not being able to sleep made him get more hobbies. He'd clean the house, sweep mop, research, do laundry, etc. Al had never wanted to throw someone more in his life when they commented on Ed's automail.
Al always held his brother in high respect. Sure, he had a temper. But Ed was an excellent person and Al would stand by that fact until the day he died. He had so many qualities he could talk about on end. His smarts, his confidence, his empathy, his heroines, kindness. Despite the odd forms it took, it was all just so undeniably, well, Ed.
He used to be very confident, Edward. Not in the high and mighty regard as everyone would expect from him, but in a healthy enough manner that it didn't corrupt his everyday life. But now, Al watched as Ed would spend more time in showers, in the mirror, studying his automail, glaring at scars. He became less open, more anxious. It greatly unsettled Al to see how well he hid his unease. To see his beloved older brother act so unlike himself.
He'd been fine for a while, walking around town in his tanktops, in the office for a short while. Until people asked questions. They always asked about it. Children gasped in awe. He covered up more often. Even on missions, if his clothing got torn, Ed would find himself wrapped in his coat.
So yes, when people commented on any factor of Ed's appearance he wanted to throw them into the woods. Respectfully.
Seeing people ogle at his brother was nothing new. At least that's what Ed had said. He was a very observant person, of course he'd notice. Apparently it had happened more often when Al wasn't there. Which was very understandable considering Al was a 7 foot tall suit of armor. Not that he could help it.
Anyone with a brain wouldn't interact with Ed, if he was there. And as Ed likes to say; ‘Anyone with a brain would know they're wasting their life not knowing someone like you Al.’ It was sort of entertaining to see how frustrated he got when people judged Al on his looks. Ed himself spoke for ages about his brother's amazingness.
It had been hilarious to Al when he'd watch a girl make accidental eye contact with Ed before walking face first into a pole. Yes, they had good genes, Al could confirm. He couldn't help the jealousy at the fact he still had a face to begin with.
Ed had the more unique features Al had decided one day. He had pale blonde hair and slightly golden hazel eyes, while Ed had golden hair and eyes. Not that far off but when they see each other so much, it had become more noticeable. Before he spoke, Edward carried a very. . . well he'd probably sock him if he said this aloud. But Ed was considered very handsome. With charisma and confidence wherever he carried himself. Well, used to at least.
Al had once spoken to Ed about romance, thinking he stayed away from it simply because Al couldn't participate, trapped in his metal body. So when he watched his brother fold in on himself and answer in more clipped responses, it shook Al to his armor. His brother, insecure about his looks?
They had been on the way to the library to conduct more research. Ed had only been wearing a tanktop, his brown belt, and black leather bootleg pants at the time because he ripped his over jacket and hadn't gotten around to sewing it. Automail was fairly common back home in Resembool, so watching people freak out and gasp at Ed's metal arm made Al fume. Some kids thought his arm was amazing, others were terrified for some reason. It was just a metal arm; that didn't automatically permit people to stare at him. Like he wasn't human.
After the library, they'd stopped by a stand to get Popsicles and headed to a nearby park to read their newly collected books in peace. Under the trees shades, and on the green grass. That peace was quickly disturbed however.
“Mama, why's that kid all ruined?” It was a young little girl. With a pink sundress and short curled brown hair topped with a daisy hair clip. She was practically the embodiment of youth, holding the comically large lollipop as she was.
At the moment, Ed didn't have the energy to do his usual freak out. Even though it was a kid. On some days he'd restrain himself and explain, as calmly as possible, that he wasn't a kid, or small. Which Al strongly disagreed with. So, what had happened instead was just resignation. His brother was Edward Elric. He was stubborn and didn't know when to quit. Resignation wasn't his style.
“Seems like a terrible accident honey, don't worry about it.”
A comment from a bystander, a child at that, who didn't know what she was talking about or the story behind his arm, to affect him like this? To see the visible crumble of his face and dampened mood?
They'd walked back home quietly. In a comfortable silence. Al betrayed himself for being so cowardly, for not asking if he was okay. Or what was going on in his head. He pretended not to notice when his shower stretched longer than usual. It wasn't like his big brother. And Al didn't know what to do with that.
—----------------------------------------------------------
Roy had been in the office all day, laid back posture and all. Eyes droopy and exhausted from his all nighters trying to finish paperwork. All he wanted was a nice, large gallon of black coffee or, to crash into his bed. Either would work. Seriously, he would take anything at this point.
A slam sounded from just outside his office. And of course, neither of which would happen. People just have immaculate timing to make everything just, so perfect. However, there was only one said person that liked to kick open his door like that. The slow drag of one heavy and one light foot confirmed his suspicions; Fullmetal. And, if he didn't just light up at that. Who wouldn't want a small, angry ball of compressed emotions to keep them company on a terrible day?
"Ay, you doin' alright chief?" Jean's muffled voice still rumbled as concerned through the confines of his office.
"Fan-fucking-tastic." Edward's voice sounded painfully strained. Odd. In a matter of seconds his own office door was kicked open, as per usual. But, Alphonse wasn't present. Which meant no one could keep him in check. If he went dangerously far, then Riza, lovely as she was, would load her gun. Purely for threatening tactics, he liked to tell himself.
He sighed, signing another document he totally read in full length."You have got to learn how to use a door, Fullmetal. If you break it, you're paying for it." The kid said nothing in response and slammed his terribly written report on his desk, successfully smearing the ink he was writing in. The disrespect was unfathomable.
He then turned around in smooth succession, marching right out where he came. He picked up the crinkled papers and squinted his eyes. "Fullmetal I can't even read this. You're going to have to rewrite it or give me the verbal rundown." He groaned, rubbing his temple. Riza's form next to him straightened. Glancing over he saw her normally stoic face now trained on Fullmetals posture, gripping his torso. A cramp? Stomach ache? Was he sick? He trusted Riza's judgment over all else, especially when it came to fullmetal.
He paused, struggling to hide his limping gait. Roy couldn't help the winced at the terrible ploy. "Me 'n Al found the dude. I followed him to an alleyway, saw him making a drug deal, I jumped him, he sliced me, and we turned him in. Dunzo. 'Kay i’ll be leaving now."
"Edward, are you sure you're alright?" Riza herself had been inching towards him. Now he was concerned. "Just fine, miss." He waved. And oh. There was blood on his gloved hands. "Fullmetal your wounded, let me help." Roy found himself grabbing the kid's arm. His own impulsiveness startled him.
"I'll be just fine, just need ta stitch it up when I'm back at the dorms. Let me go." Jeez. Can't the kid learn to take care of himself? The answer was no. The kid would rather die, clearly, than take care of himself. And if that didn't scare him more than anything.
Impossible the child was. "Just sit down on the couch, and let me look at it.” He was on the verge of begging. The answer he got in response didn't surprise him though. Disappoint him? Yes. “Piss of Mustang, I'm fine.”
“Edward.” And he sat. Roy swore he needed Riza to teach him how to do that. She could work miracles when needed. Everything about her was effortless. Wow, have her eyes always looked like that? Roy neared the couch Fullmetal was sitting at, still clutching his stomach. The way he curled in on himself and panted lightly was everything to go on. They paused. “Kid, you need to take off your shirt. I can't exactly see the wound from here.” Roy sighed at Riza's penetrating glare. Fullmetal then shrugged off his cloak, laying it in his lap with more care than Roy thought was possible. Personally he believed that the cloak was a bit much to wear on a daily basis, but It suited the kid.
The kid hesitated, “Fine.” Roy couldn't help the slight flinch he let out at the sight of the kids torso. The bullet scar in his left shoulder, the large scratch in his stomach, the layers of cuts in his upper arm. The near chunks of skin missing from his side in claw like formations. “Stop fucking staring.” He was ashamed to admit he didn't fully recognize the clearly bleeding wound until now. A stab wound at that, which was highly dangerous if not treated immediately. And Fullmetal decided to take that into consideration and go run a marathon it seemed. “Yeah, right, sorry.” A kid his age shouldn't have those scars. Never. Especially in the circumstances he received them in. Roy couldn't help the grief that was shown in his eyes. And with how this was looking, it would most definitely scar.
“Kid, you're going to need a hospital.” He was on his feet immediately, “Edward sit. Now. At the stage your wound is at you could get infected, at least let us take care of it here?” Fullmetal seemed to take this into consideration. Seriously, he needed to know how she did that.
“I don't know why you care so much.” Fullmetal muttered, as he sat back down again. Roy shared a glance with Riza. Did the kid genuinely not believe they cared for him? Sure, Roy wasn't the most affectionate character in the world, but he figured he showed it enough. He began to gently clean the injury.
“Of course we care, Ed. Especially when you're injured.” He turned his head away bashfully. Roy found himself startled as Fullmetal deliberately didn't flinch when He began stitching through his flesh. His pain tolerance was slightly concerning. Then again, understandable considering he went through automail surgery twice at age 11. And reduced the full recovery time by three-fourths. The surgery and reduced time clearly took a toll on his body, his scars were much larger, he seemed to be permanently hiding a terrible limp. It didn't comfort him in any way. The fact he even had to get automail surgery was heartbreaking enough.
He continued to watch Ed’s face as he wrapped the gauze around his torso. Unaffected. It bothered Roy. No child his age should be as used to pain as he was. Nor, scarred that gruesomely. The type of gruesomeness that made it look like every deep rattling breath would make him fall apart on the bad days. Or just a harsh blow of wind to send him spiraling down a deep murky rabbit hole of his sorrows. Roy could tell, if Edward kept this up he would fall hard and fast.
—----------------------------------------------------------
Riza considered herself to be a very reliable and loyal person. She lived for two things: Black Hayate, and Roy Mustang. Nothing less and nothing more. Or so she thought, until one fateful day when a short statured, red cloaked, golden haired child stepped into her office.
Of course she remembered, just over a year ago traveling to the eastern area known as Resembool. She and Roy had gone there with reported suspicions. She hadn't been prepared to find a young frail person, with empty eyes. And a tall hulking suit of armor, lurking over their soldier. They'd cut through the introductions and made their way to the basement. There lied an elongated body burnt to a crisp, the floor was marked with a transmutation circle. Of what, she didn't know. Blood splattered across the room, filling it with a terribly thick stench of iron.
Seeing the same child here now, lively than ever, with automail broke something in her heart. In just a year. That couldn't have come without some serious repercussions. She hadn't liked the idea of a young child, a 12 year old working in the military. Soon enough he'd be used just like the rest of the alchemists here. Worked hard and beaten like a dog. It would change him, but she could tell in his eyes, change had already happened. She hadn't seen the flame burning in his eyes like Roy remarked. She saw a grieving child, filled with guilt and pain. She'd secretly wished the child wouldn't accept the offer.
Yet here she stands, across from said child who had a gun to his head. Havoc practically growled from beside her. Ed was tugged against a tall burly man who was practically engulfing the kid. He was on his tip toes, and the man's arm was hugged across his neck, choking him. Edward had blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, sluggishly dripping onto the concrete.
They had one simple mission, to bust a drug ring and be on their way. Riza made a mistake, she counted her bullets wrong. She never made mistakes and yet now, when she needed it most she messed up. And Edward had to suffer because of it. He got hacked across the head with a crowbar, and held against the ground as his automail arm was brutally ripped off. There was no doubt he was in shock right now with a concussion as well. He's unable to fight at all. Which means they had two options; negotiate, or wait for reinforcements. Her and Havoc couldn't do much in a hostage situation. The latter might not even be available either, considering the circumstances. He had a gun to his head for God's sake.
“Put your weapons down now! I won't ask again.” He seemed desperate. That, she could work with. It was only one man. They just had to buy time. She slowly set her gun down, and watched as Ed uselessly struggled. “Quit moving ya damn rat.” He cocked the gun against his already dripping wound. Ed choked off a grunt at the impact, eyes blinking slowly. “What do you want?” She kept her voice steady, brows burrowing at his pain.
“Money. I want 5 million cens.” Edward surprisingly laughed at this. “You really think the military would give you that much money for me?” His smirk was strained as he wanted heavily. Did Edward not know how much he was worth? At this moment, Riza noticed his remaining arm slowly inching to the captors blade on his hip. How was he even moving?
“You're the Fullmetal Alchemist are you not?” It was almost humorous how stressed he got from that question. Edward laughed again, “N-”
“Yes, He is the Fullmetal Alchemist. I'll need to call in to get your money.” Havoc got the idea it seemed. Edward being the Fullmetal alchemist was the only thing keeping him alive right now. He slipped the blade from his pocket. In a flash, he jabbed the blade into his leg. The captor cried out and loosened his grip. That's all he needed to kick his knees out, Edward lifted his leg to deal the final blow when a gun went off. Her stomach dropped. “Edward!” She shot the captor in his shoulder and he fell down slamming into the iron plank behind him. He was effectively knocked out. Riza and Havoc scaled the open running to Edwards side. He crumbled and Riza swiftly crouched near him. He coughed out flecks of blood going everywhere. His shirt was already drenched in a cold sweat.
“I need you to stay awake Edward.” She tried to remain calm, putting pressure on the shot. It went right through his gut, it could've nicked his lungs or his spine. “Havoc how much longer?” He startled, looking away from the kid and grabbed the radio on his hip. “They said it'd be at least another 8 minutes.” He trailed off. She didn't think Edward had that long. Now with the adrenaline wearing off, he panted harder, and his eyes grew foggy. He was so young. “We don't have any bandages? Meds? Anything at all?” She didn't care how desperate she sounded. He scored his pockets and solemnly shook his head.
“Lieutenant!” She knew that voice. She whipped her head around. Gosh, she's never felt more relieved to see that face than now. “Colonel, he's been shot in the gut lower left side, his automail was ripped off, he's got a bad gash in his head. He has a concussion and is in shock I believe. Colonel he's lost too much blood.” His brow furrowed at Edward's bloody form. “Colonel, where are the others?” Havoc asked, beating her to the chase. She blinked in confusion. Did he run here? Why is he alone? “I, there was an accident. We got intercepted by some thieves. A tire popped- it doesn't matter. An ambulance won't be much longer. It was taking too long so I ran here.”
“How much longer until I bleed out.” Edward's voice was raspy beside them. He gagged out more blood, and went cross eyed. He was getting worse. They didn't have time. He was going to die and it would be her fault. “Sir, you have to cauterize the wound.” He turned to her in a blink. “I can't- I'm not doing that again-”
“Would you rather he die?” He gaped at her. Edwards body writhed again, his arm socket sparked at the open wires. If she had just been more competent, and knew how to accurately count things everything would've been fine. Edward didn't deserve this. She continued to stare at him. Unwavering eye contact, she watched the Colonel look back at the golden child and nod. “Lift his shirt.”
Peeling back his clothes, Riza's eyes only softened more. He was already so scarred. Edward tried to move away uselessly, in clear pain. “You're going to be okay sweetheart, hold tight.” Roy looked baffled at her newfound softness. She couldn't find it in her to care. Roy carefully lifted his hands. “Now.”
***
Riza sat next to Edward’s bed, Alphonse had just left a moment ago, wanting a change of scenery. She couldn't blame him, he'd been sitting here for a week straight. She hated hospitals. Nothing good ever came out of a place like this. Almost everything was white, sterile, quiet. Edward was so pale on his bed, golden hair spilled across the pillows. She could see his scarred shoulders and wrapped torso. The steady rise and fall of his chest was Riza's only comfort here. He'd lost so much blood, if Roy hadn't burned him shut he would've died. He was already low on blood to begin with two missing limbs and his size. He had yet to wake up in the past week he's been here. The doctor watching over him had said he could wake up any day now, and that alone could make Riza happy enough. Today had been one of the few days she'd requested to leave early. The amount of paid time off and overtime hours she had could compare to no else. Her heart jumped as the heavy silence was broken by Edward’s groan.
“Edward, Can you hear me? You're in the hospital.” She stood from her seat, braced on the edge of his bed. He blinked his bleary eyes awake. In an achingly slow movement he turned his head to her. “Miss Riza?” His voice dragged against his throat, and he broke out into hacking coughs. He pointed at his lips slowly. He probably wanted a drink. She then made her hand movements visible as she helped him sit up, the blanket falling down his chest to reveal the heavy bandaged wound. She then grabbed the cup from the counter just beside her. She originally got it for herself instead of coffee, having decided she had enough of that. But she ended up not drinking it. Seems like that was the proper choice. He gulped down the water, some spilling out of his mouth. She gently dabbed his mouth with the blanket, since nothing else was nearby.
She hesitantly spoke,“How are you feeling?” He set his left arm across his torso, his injury and took a few deep breaths. Riza for once in her life didn't know what to do. If she should remove her arm and leave entirely, or continue staying here. If he enjoyed her company or wanted her gone. “Alright. Did you get hurt at all?” He answered after a few moments. “Just a few scratches is all.” She smiled lightly, and began rubbing his back in circular motions when he began to cough again. “So, what all happened again?” He anxiously smiled, unexpectedly still leaning against her gentle, calloused hands. She flinched lightly, eyes shifting.
“I miscalculated. They got the drop on us, hit you with a crowbar and ripped off your automail. He had a gun to your head, you got a hit on him and he shot you. You were losing too much blood so I had Roy burn your wound shut. You probably would've bled out any other way.” She swallowed dryly. There was no point lying to him. “You? I find that hard to believe.” He chuckled. Riza doesn't think he intended for it to come off as back handed, but she still ached. He straightened out a bit, seemingly realising his mistake. “Oh, I um. Didn't mean it like that, I just meant that you have like unnaturally good instincts and observational skills that you of all people messing up just seems completely bizarre to m-” She laughed airly, and smiled, cutting him off. “It's okay Edward. I'll make sure to live up to your expectations and won't make the same mistake.” He couldn't help but smile himself, looking to the side and twirling his hair. It was all so terribly endearing, RIza decided. To see him act so anxious, and not wanting to hurt her feelings. He was sweet when he wanted to be, it almost reminded her of a certain someone.
“Ill hold you to that then.” The smile he gave her then grew all toothy. In just that moment, he looked entirely like a child, grinning wide at her statement. Before she knew it, she was petting his hair down. He seemed to freeze at this, catching her eye. She immediately began to pull away at the look of discomfort but Edward caught her wrist. “You-you can uh.” He trailed off, ears burning red and brows furrowing. She wordlessly continued. She could get used to this side of Edward.
—----------------------------------------------------------
Ling hadn't known Edward for very long, but it felt as though they'd known each other for years. Despite their opposing personalities, they held some of the same values. They cared deeply about their loved ones, fought passionately, and held their own centered subjects of interest. Sure, they bantered a lot but it was all harmless! At least he thought. Edward was a very peculiar individual. He could never get a certain read on him, he tended to contradict himself in many ways and it kept leading Ling around in circles. Even now, on the run with Greed now occupying his body and mind, Ling tried to learn more.
He enjoyed picking apart every little thing Ed did. In the most non predatory way possible, of course. He noticed that when no one was around, he'd get quiet, and his face would fill with a calm serenity. He noticed that sometimes, after battles, he'd zone out and stare at his automail. He noticed how Edward ran cold, and liked to be covered up when standing or sitting still. He noticed how Edward still deliberately picked out the numerous vegetables from the limited canned food they'd had, and shoveled them onto Ling's plate. Not that he was complaining, he wanted the extra food.
Ling, being in the situation that he was, had much time to think to himself. As long as he didn't drag attention to himself while in deep thought, he could go uninterrupted for hours. He spent his time worried about Lan Fan's recovery, Mei Chang's possible attempt to murder him, how to overturn Greed's control, and Edward. He observed. He muddled. He learned.
It had been a very calm night. They'd traveled long and far into the dark woods. No city smog or chatting could be heard from there. It was pleasant, Ling decided. Even Moreso because he had his body to himself, Greed has decided he wanted a nap. It felt weird at first, being thrown back into pilot mode after being a passenger princess for weeks now. He took a moment to gain his bearings, clenching and unclenching his hands, and just breathing.
For dinner Heinkel and Darius had simply fried some fish, from the lake just down the bend. Edward with his wide knowledge of plants had seasoned them, and made stew as a side. It was the first large meal in a while. He'd attempted to make small talk with Ed, questioning his cooking skills. He was heavily disappointed when he simply grunted and continued eating his food. His walls were tough to crack, that's for sure.
Ling liked being aware of everything. He had to be, with all of the assassination attacks. No one could be trusted. He learned to see through fake smiles and pleasantries, and to glare at their dark deluded intent.
Shortly after dinner, Ling watched in curiosity as Ed made his way down to the river. Deciding he had nothing better to do, he followed. Now, everyone who knew Ling knew he hated shirts, due to their ‘restriction’. He was used to the nudity, and it was a common style back in Xing. Ed had always been a bit unsteady, so to speak about this fact. He liked coverage. He'd always worn long sleeves and pants, higher necked clothing with jackets on top. So when Ling saw Ed's naked back and torso, a part of him died. In a good or bad way, that was for others to decide.
His back was rippled with muscles and mangled looking scars, a large circular wound that looked concerningly like he was impaled in his side, a bullet wound, and many large gashes. He still had his white shorts on, but from what he could see his legs were in no better shape. He'd just taken down his hair, the first time Ling has ever seen it, and opted to sit in the sand near the shallower side. He pulled his flesh leg to his chest and began combing his hands through his long golden hair. His eyes and hair were illuminated in the moonlight, his face of undisturbed serenity made him look akin to an angel.
Ling watched from afar. It made him feel a sort of. . . happiness to see Ed not care so much. To just let himself unwind from the stress and relax. To not fume at every word spoken and toe out of line.
Ling himself had scars, similar to Ed. Being the 12th son of the emperor meant a countless amount of people wanted him dead. From the thin like on his neck to the jagged strike on his forearm. He understood.
“You know I can see you, right? Know, for a ninja and all your not very subtle.” Ling found himself at a loss of words, startled by the sudden interaction. He gaped like a fish. His jaw was lined by the light, water dripping down the side of his face, and eyes slightly droopy from the tiring day. He wondered if Edward knew how beautiful he was. Ed turned around. “Sorry, I hadn't meant to intrude.” He patted the space next to him. Was he asking him to join?
He hesitantly made his way to Edward, still working in soap to his hair. He sat down crisscrossed and glanced at him. Ling was surprised Ed was letting him see him like this. So. . . vulnerable. Laid back, practically nude as he was weaponless. Well, as weaponless as he could be with his over 50 pound automail. They sat in a comfortable silence, and he was handed the soap.
He looked at it in slight confusion. He felt Ed's gaze on him. “It's soap. I guess that explains your stench.” he snickered. He dramatized a gasp, “Excuse me! I smell extravagant.” Edward lightly laughed as he squeezed out his hair. Ling felt a smile take over his face. He gently dampened his hair and slathered it in soap. He heard a cut of wince as Ed tried to gather his hair together, most likely to put it into his signature braid. “Are you alright Edward?” his brow furrowed in concern.
“Yeah, ‘m fine. Just. Automail.” Automail. Obviously. Edward had significantly grown for the months they'd been out here. Especially since his last automail repair. He's gone through a lot since then. And while Ling hasn't actually seen Edward's visible struggle or clear pain, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. From what he's heard automail hangs off of scar tissue, and requires constant maintenance in exchange for a fully nerve connected limb. As Edward liked to say: Equivalent exchange. With his growth, the size of the automail is probably off by a bit he presumes.
From what Ling could tell, Edward couldn't lift his arm at the moment. It probably hurt. “Do you. . need help?” He looked startled at the idea, a hair band still around his flesh wrist. He looked away and slowly handed him the tie. He shuffled behind his scarred back and gently gathered his hair. “You know how to braid right?” he asked softly. Ling smirked, “I know how to do way better than a braid.”
“Personally, I don't think anything better than a braid exists, but sure. I'll hold you to that.” Edward chuckled. Ling gently caressed his fingers through his hair and set to work. His hair was heavy in his hands, so smooth and surprisingly in well condition. He'd expected Ed's hair to be rough since he didn't really take care of himself like that. He combed his fingers through, untangling it. After a few controlled moments, Edward's hair was in a French braid, two smaller ones coming to join the main one. “Thanks” it was whispered so quietly, if the forest wasn't empty he would've missed it. “Of course.”
Ling continued to sit behind Ed and traced his scars with his eyes. “Can I. . .” His voice trailed off, and he licked his dry lips. He saw Edwards form stiffen, suddenly regretting he ever asked Ling began to back up. Then he nodded. Okay. He was still in the safe zone he figured. He lifted his hands slowly and began to trace the jagged scar on his left side. The one he'd been penetrated through. Ed flinched, and Ling hesitantly continued. “Where is this from?” He swallowed.
“Down in Briggs. Crimson alchemist blew up the place we were battling in all because I hesitated. Got impaled on a thick ass rebar.” His voice trembled lightly. Impaled. This large circular shaped scar that nearly covered half his waist was from an iron rebar. How'd he even survive something like that? He didn't let himself pry more. This was one of those times when he should reign in his curiosity right Lan Fan?
He traced the long gash going across his shoulder blades, “This one?” He could feel the warmth of Ed's body. They'd never been this close before, in a manner like this. “Fell back hard on some debris while fighting Scar.” He replied. “This?” The bullet wound in his left shoulder. “Saved a kid from the line of fire.” He was a truly admirable character, Edward. He continued to ask about the numerous scars that stretched across his skin. His hands found his right shoulder and neck, he prodded tentatively wondering if this was too far. Surprisingly he melted to his touch, and sighed deeply. His face burned red.
“Hey Ling?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you doing this?” He paused his massaging. Watching as Ed's shoulders shook. “You needed it.” He kept his answer vague. “What made you think that?” The snort that followed felt painfully forced. Did Ed not believe that some things can be done without a particular intent? That not every fundamental factor in human lives revolved around equivalent exchange?
He let his thoughts speak for him, uncaring of the repercussions in the moment. “You're tired, Ed. I can tell you're hurting. And I don't know why you refuse to seek help. I'm here for you and it's okay to cry.” His shoulders trembled more. Ling's arms settled on his shoulders. “You-” Ed cut himself off. In seconds, Edward was digging his face into Ling's chest.
His sobs were surprisingly quiet. Everything Ed did was loud, he would have expected his cries to be the same way. His stomps, the way he slams open doors, he shouts when he's angry. His gut wrenching sobs were just small gasps, sniffles, and whimpers. “You're going to be okay Ed.” Hands clutched at his shirt desperately clawing for something. HIs shirt was wet with tears. His head writhed back and forth under his arms, hot and heavy puffs of breath trickled down his abdomen unsteadily. It sent waves of goosebumps down his spine.
When was the last time someone held Edward? Just rock Ed him back and forth and comfort him, telling him it was going to be okay? A while it would seem. A very long grueling while of nothing but pain and emptiness for him. “Breathe Ed.” He instructed carefully, tapping a steady best on his back. His form was scarily small under his own. Edward Shaking and sniveling pained him more than he could comprehend. Slowly over time he stopped shaking, his sniffles lessened. His hands still clutched around his torso, head was still buried deep in his abdomen. “Thank you Ling. I mean it.” He sighed, voice still thick with tears. Watering, red rimmed and still beautifully golden eyes met his own.
“Anytime Ed.” He smiled warmly, hand cupping his scarred cheek.
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Edward had once been neutral about his scars. Then he grew to hate them, resenting them for ruining his once perfect soft skin. Then he loved them, they made him who he was. And now, he accepted them. Let them be, to remain in his skin and mark him forever. He could live with it. It showed everything he's been through, all he's survived, how strong he was in all the times of fighting. Here, with two arms intact, and his entire brother. Life couldn't be any better. No, the scars wouldn't disappear. They'd always be there, probably haunt him from time to time in the future. It was inevitable but Ed couldn't grow to absolutely hate that idea. Because with the pain came the comfort. From Alphonse's sweet and kind acts, to Roy's steady figure, Riza's nostalgic serene kindness, and Ling's honest unwavering figure. He was who he was because of the scars. He was fully, human because of them. Edward wouldn't have it any other way.