Work Text:
Winry arranges all of her tools on her work table, blowing the dust off of them one by one. Her old tools feel unfamiliar in her hands, now used to the different (better) grips of the ones back at Garfiel's. The bed creaks as Ed lays on it, stretching his automail out towards her. "What am I tuning up? What's been giving you trouble?"
"Something in the wrist. I cant rotate it fully. And the leg isn't responding as quickly as it should. Makes it hard to walk."
"Alright, let's st-" she freezes as she turns to him and sees the new, enormous scar on his torso. "What did you do?" she asked in horror, trailing her fingers lightly over the several inch long patch of angry red raised skin. He grabs her wrist with his left hand and she met his eyes.
"It's fine. I'm better. Can you fix my arm already? We're on a bit of a time crunch here."
"I... alright," Winry replied, caught off guard. She grabs a wrench and starts removing the outer plates of Ed's wrist. "I just worry about you and Al. You keep ending up in fights that you come out of with broken automail. I built this, I know how much it can handle. For it to need repairs this often..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm sorry for not taking care of your automail." Ed stares resolutely at the wall over his left shoulder.
"No, I-" she falters. "Nevermind." She works in silence for a few minutes, removing deeper layers until- "There it is. Somehow you cracked a gear in here. You must have hit it hard. Very hard."
Ed huffs a breath. "Yeah, you could say that." No elaboration. Winry bites her lip and works in silence for a few minutes, replacing the gear and oiling the surrounding pieces. She starts replacing the pieces she removed, tightening screws, building back out layer by layer. Not for the first time, she remembers watching her parents sew a patient back together; organ, then muscles, then tissue, then skin.
She moves up to his shoulder, checking the port connections. From looking at his arm, the wrist and hand would seem like the most complicated part. And they were complicated; it was no small feat of engineering to give someone full control of fingers made of metal. But that control wouldn't be possible without the nerve connections in the shoulder. A damaged hand was unfortunate, but a damaged shoulder meant the entire 50 pound arm was unmovable. She ran the usual diagnostics, ignoring Ed's grumbling as she prods at the connections.
"Alright. Flip," she orders, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He rolls onto his stomach and stretches his arm back out. Winry rolls her chair to his other side, then freezes again at the sight of the new scar on his back. The same size as the one on his stomach. In the same place.
"Edward Elric, does this go all the way through?" Her voice, louder than she expected, breaks, which she'd normally be embarassed about, but-
"Yeah, what about it?" Ed huffs. "I told you, it's fine."
"This is not fine! You got impaled! It's huge! How did you survive this?" There were so many organs crammed into the torso. On his left side; that's his stomach, his intestines, spleen, a kidney, pancreas, any higher and a lung, not to mention veins and arteries and, and, and. Automail was complicated, but it was nothing compared to a human body.
"You have to be more careful! You-"
"I don't have a choice!" Ed snaps, sitting up and whipping around to face her. "It's not like I wanted to get dropped down a mineshaft and skewered! But if I don't do anything, these people are going to sacrifice every single person in Amestris. And after that they'll probably set their sights on the whole world!”
"You can't keep going into things alone! At least take backup!"
"I don't have the luxury of picking fights. I can't control who or where or when I fight. This whole time fights just keep happening and all I can do is respond. I would love to not lose every damn fight I get into. But apparently I'm too soft for that. Apparently the answer to winning is going for the kill every time. I could have killed Kimblee before this happened. And I would've been better off. But my stupid conscience keeps getting in my way.
"Did you know I could've taken a philosopher's stone? Way back, when my arm completely shattered. I could have taken it and Al and I would've already had our bodies back. But I couldn't bring myself to, because it would've deprived a tiny town of their doctor. And that was before I knew people were killed to make the damn things. Even if I do get my hands on one, I can't bring myself to use it. Envy was right, the souls inside the stone are already dead. Just energy. It would be so much easier to not care about that. But I can't. I..."
The wind goes out of his sails suddenly as he drops his head into his hands. "I can't do it, Winry. I can't take the killing shot, even to protect myself, and I suffer for it. I can't use a philosopher's stone, and Al and I both suffer for it. It would be so much easier if I gave in. We're already handicapped by not knowing what their plans are. Every time we think we understand, some new layer is revealed. Another truth within the truth. And then I tie my own hands behind my back. Miles was right. My soft heart is going to get me killed. Going to get this entire damn country killed. And there's nothing I can do about it."
Silence.
Winry fiddles with the pliers in her hand anxiously as she digests his words. She puts them down, reaches out for Ed's face. He lets her take it, not lifting his eyes to hers, and she pulls it into her chest. He freezes, then wraps his arms around her and turns his face into her neck.
"It hurt," he said quietly.
"I'm sure," she said, matching his volume.
"I was scared."
"I'm sure."
"I miss Al." She runs a hand through his hair, unused to the ponytail.
"I'm sure."
He gives himself five minutes, and she lets him take it. Would have given him more, but Winry knows that even five was too long for him. Knows he'll insist on moving forward, even if he runs himself into the ground doing it.
"You are soft," Winry says eventually. "And that's why I love you. That's why so many people want you and Al to succeed. You were the one who stopped me from shooting Scar. You said my hands were meant to give life, not take it. And your hands are too. Killing a killer doesn't break the cycle of violence, no matter how easy or good it may seem. It takes strength to be soft, and despite the act you put on, you, Edward Elric, are one of the softest people I know."
"Except Al," he mutters.
She laughs. "Yeah, you two are too much alike. Are we sure you're not twins?"
He sighs. "I really hoped he'd be here."
"I'm sorry."
A deep breath, then he pulls himself back. Winry wishes he'd let himself cry, but his eyes are dry even now. Ed lays back down and stretches his arm out again. "Let's get this over with."
She picks up her screw driver and starts removing outer plates again to get to the cables inside. Ed has, of course, allowed it to start to rust, but she decides to spare him the lecture this time. She scrubs at it gently with a wire brush.
"Do you want to keep the northern model?"
"Yeah," he says, seeming grateful for the switch back to business. "I like the speed. Can you change the outer material a bit, though? Don't tell him I said this, but Greed is onto something with his carbon-based armor."
Winry nods. "Give me a day or two, I'll figure something out."
"Thank you."
"Just doing my job," Winry says.
"No, thank you for... well. Everything else."
"Oh," she replies. "Just doing my job." The interior of his arm cleaned and realigned, she puts the arm back together, inside to out.