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Ed's hand shot out to cover the faucet handle. How was it that both he and his old man were both so incompetent that neither of them could ever keep the damned thing from spraying water for more than a few days? Now the problem remained: what to do since his one and only hand was occupied? Balancing himself on the stronger of the two legs, Ed's eyes shot around the kitchen, searching for something to aid him. Catching sight of the dishtowel bundled up on the table, Ed quickly darted from the fountain of water, snatched the towel from the table, and ran back to the task at hand. His outstretched arm never reached the faucet again. Ed bounced back from the sink, the top of his forehead colliding with the bottom of the cupboard doors. Dropping to the ground with a violently cursed holler, all concern for the spraying water was now lost.
Ed's cursing did not relent, his forehead stung and the pain was incredible - he'd hit the cupboard's edge at full force.
"Edward!"
He cursed again; now his father had to see him withering around in more pain than what was already bothering him.
Wrapping the dishtowel around the tap to stop it from continually spraying water across the countertop and over the floor, Hohenheim finally reached down and hauled Edward to his feet.
"What did you do?"
"I put my forehead into cupboard," Ed grumbled miserably while he quickly examined the mess the gash had left in his hand.
"Get a bandage for it," with a push at the small of his back, Hohenheim ushered Ed out of the kitchen, "I'll clean the mess up."
With his hand to his forehead, Ed muttered annoyances his entire trek up to the washroom's medicine cabinet. Snatching a tissue to wipe his hand and forehead with, Ed tossed the soiled thing into the garbage and glared with all his discontent into the cabinet mirror before his fingers latched onto the corners and ripped it open.
Ed closed it again.
Abruptly.
Instantly.
Ed's fingers rested at the corner of the mirrored medicine cabinet; he stared into his reflection and examined the cut that bled at his hairline.
Suddenly it didn't hurt. Not a bit.
Ed's fingers skimmed along the bottom of the mirrors edge, eyes wide in a growing awe. He straightened his sore hips that were not in alignment and transferred his weight from the left side to the right. The back of his left hand came up to wipe away the trickle of blood he was developing, before he tore out of the bathroom and flew back down the stairs.
Hohenheim paid no mind to the son who blew by him as he moved the magazines from the counter's edge, "Maybe I should simply give in and buy a new faucet. Screws and washers aren't solving any of the problems we're having with this one," he turned over his shoulder to encourage his son's involvement in the train of thought, "Edward?"
Ed had not heard a single word from the old man's mouth. Standing before the sink once again, Ed's hand covered the spot on the cupboard door where he'd smacked his head minutes ago.
"… Edward? Did you put a bandage on it?"
There was no provocation, Ed just started to laugh and the sound set off alarm bells in Hohenheim, wondering if perhaps his son had hit his head harder than he'd first thought.
It was a mad man's cackle that filled the room with wild ecstasy and the more Ed laughed, the more pleasing the annoyance of pain felt.
Coming to stand next to his son wrapped in lunacy, Hohenheim collected a towel in his hand and put it over the mess forming on Edward's forehead.
The hand was instantly swatted away. Ed didn't want this cleaned up – there was nothing wrong with it. This gash in Ed's forehead was a prize and he wasn't going to tarnish it.
Edward had never been tall enough to hit his head on the cupboard doors before.
- FIN