Chapter Text
Ed panted, fumbling with his blanket trying to regulate his temperature by sticking his flesh limbs out of the oven his fever racked body was creating under thin flannel sheets and sweat soaked pajamas. He was hot and cold, so hot he could feel the heat radiating off his exposed limbs, but the slick sweat left him shivering. He tried to remember the night he had started to get sick, feeling out of sorts as he tumbled into his dorm bed after a long night of cleaning up after Lusts death and the resulting chaos.
He had been so relieved when he had seen the stupid bastards face after thinking him dead, he had crumpled, knees completely giving out on him. He should have known better really. The last time he had gotten sick was because he didn’t sweep the floor of his dingy basement and then bled all over the place. Open wounds grabbing every germ around him.
His knee of course was scraped, pants torn, he swears the next time he goes into some shitty ass cavern he’s wearing his stupid fucking leather pants and no one is going to stop him. He had also stripped off his torn and bloody, soaked gloves sometime in that one hallway when he realized that dirty, ripped gloves weren’t going to protect his cuts any better then just not wearing them at all. Right as he hit the ground he knew it. Knew he was going to sick. Too much stress, not enough healthy food, too many sleepless nights worrying over stupid shit that he didn’t have any direct control over. Now his scrapped up knee was in a pile of he didn’t even want to know what, some kind of shitty ash? His hand splashing right into a puddle of red water. Please don’t be blood. That would just be the icing on the cake.
His hand pricked and when he examined it he found a sliver of red glass? Whatever. He pulled it out and forced himself to his feet in exhaustion and irritation. Didn’t villains ever clean their shitty lairs? Jesus. Who knew what he could pick up in a place like this.
Well now he knew. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near the disgusting ground anyway, but after the day he had he allowed a moment of weakness.
He couldn’t regret it more in retrospect. Open wounds and whatever shit. Anything in that puddle would have gone straight to blood. Just perfect.
It had started slow that night. A tickle in the back of his throat, stuffy nose, headache. His auto mail ports ached and it felt like a weight was compressing right in the center of his chest. He figured it was a cold or some shit combined with the crap weather central was getting all week.
Dr. Knox and Colonel Bastard said it was stress combined with not taking care of himself. No shit, he spent every waking moment trying to help his brother or keeping everyone around him alive. Greeling said he was weak, which just made him what to punch the stupid Homunculus in his stupid face. Al at least was concerned.
After five days of only getting worse it was labeled the flu and the shit doctor (did a Coroner even qualify to diagnose someone not dead?) put him on quarters. Cant have him contaminating everyone else after all. Al thankfully, had finally left after hovering around making distressed signs and being impossible to block out to get some actual sleep, had gone on a soup and cracker run and to inform their team that no Ed was not coming into fucking work today they could all go fuck themselves. He figured Al would edit those bits out.
He should be up! Doing something productive. Research, or coding out his new ideas, or research, or figuring out how to adjust that one stubborn array, or research. God its not like the philosopher’s stone was just going to drop in their laps. He couldn’t even function long enough to get a few paragraphs into that new book. The words started swimming along the page and the harder he tried to right them the worse his headache got. The Idiot Doctor said something about a possible concussion and if that was the case he shouldn’t be reading anyway. He insisted he didn’t remember hitting his head on anything, but the large knot on the side of his insisted otherwise.
The worse part of the whole mess through was the constant nausea. So maybe the Doctor had a point, a concussion sounded like it was possible. He couldn’t even think past the shitty pain or the flipping of his stomach. He was so hungry too. Nothing even looked or smelled appetizing though and the moment he didn’t manage to force something down it came right back up. Knox had threatened to hook him up to a drip if he didn’t keep something down, as if he had any actual control over the rebellious organ.
The pounding in his head reached a new level of awful until he realized it was someone pounding on the door and not his skull. Fuck. Didn’t these assholes know he was sick?
“It’s open” He barely managed to rasp out, praying that whoever it was could hear him over all the noise they were making.
The door opened and in waltzed Greed or Ling or whoever the fuck he was today he couldn’t tell.
“The fuck you want?”
Greeling set a bag of what could only assume was full of cans by the dull clanking on the desk and flopped down onto the chair pulled out in front of it “Your brother had me bring those. Some guy with glasses and the hot blonde needed his help with some shit.”
Greed then “Well you delivered them so fuck off.” He tried turning to his side to stave off the rising bile and coughing fit. He'd be damned if he tossed his cookies while Greed was here.
“Still sick huh?” he slouched down in the chair and eyed Ed “You look like shit.”
“Thanks. I never would have known had you not told me.” He tried rolling his eyes but even they felt hot and refused to listen to him “Just leave.” Maybe being semi polite would get rid of him. He didn’t think he could hold it in much longer.
The Homunculus just rolled his stupid purple eyes and tipped his head to the side “That’s the thanks I get for- “
Ed didn’t hear the rest and he didn’t care. He bolted from the bed and rushed to the small bathroom dropping to his knees, the metal clanking against the tile and the sound bounced loudly around the space making his head throb. The bile rose so fast though he couldn’t even feel the pain he was sure was radiating through his auto mail port.
He felt Greed behind him as he expelled what little he had managed to choke down that morning “Get out.” He wanted it to be biting but it came out as a pathetic wheeze. The idiot must have switched because blessedly cool hands pulled his messy braid out of his face and soothing circles were being rubbed into his back.
He gasped for air and fumbled for the water glass on the sink edge. It was warm but he rinsed his mouth, spit and took a shaky sip. He didn’t have the strength to left his head let alone put the glass back so he just set it loudly on the floor. What could a few more germs do?
Ling being the jerk that he is, picked it up and set it back on the sink while he rested his heated forehead against the cool porcelain. He felt his hair band tugged out and fingers undo the mess “Don’t. I haven’t showered in days.” He didn’t know what the weird feeling was, if he just didn’t want to be touched by Ling in particular or if he did or if he didn’t want to inflict his gross hair on someone else.
“Its fine. This way next time there’s less chance of it being puked on.” He pulled the golden hair back into the usual braid slowly and twisted the band back in securing it, fingers brushing against his neck as he stood back up “Maybe some of the crackers your brother got will help?”
Ed didn’t even want to look at anything resembling food, let alone actually eat it “God no.” He forced his head up and flushed the sick.
“Then let’s get you back in bed yes?” Ling leaned down to help him.
“I don’t need any help.” Ed snapped as he shoved the hand away from him. He levered himself up using the sink, nearly knocking his glass over, and slowly walked back to his bed fighting the vertigo and the urge to just lie down on the floor and melt. When he made it to the bed he flopped into it coughing lightly, the tickle in his throat only getting worse.
“When Al said you were worse I didn’t think it would be this bad.” Ling was back in the chair staring at him.
“Yeah this flu shit is contagious too so scram.”
Ling laughed quietly “You do realize I can’t actually get sick right?”
Right. Homunculus. He snorted at the reminder and just closed his eyes. Maybe when he opened them the Idiot prince would be gone.
He was pleased to find that when he opens his eyes Greeling was in fact gone. Only now it was Hughes, Mustang, and Al talking quietly while Gracia placed a cool cloth on his forehead. She turned to the others when he opened his eyes and whispered “He’s awake.”
They stopped talking and crowded around the bed. It must be bad if even Mustang looked worried “What’s wrong?” He rasped, his throat felt like he had been hacking up a lung and his ports felt like they were being crushed in a vice. He nearly groaned in pain when he shifted his legs.
“You’ve been asleep for sixteen hours Fullmetal.” Mustangs tone didn’t match his expression.
“I couldn’t wake you brother so I called the Colonel. Dr. Knox will be here in an hour or so too.” Al fidgeted and looked to Hughes and Mustang.
Sixteen hours. Well that would explain the darkness out his window then “I wouldn’t wake up?” he asked, confusion fogging up his brain like a thick cloud. He went to accept the glass of water from Gracia after shuffling back a bit into a semi sitting up but not too painful position. It was enough to drink his stupid water at least. He went to reach with his metal arm but the shooting agony through his ribs and shoulder made him drop it and reach with his other. He managed one sip before the vertigo and nausea hit him like a brick wall. He wanted to just close his eyes and sleep but the concern written on their faces made him think twice.
The bile made itself known and he must have looked green because Al moved to help him “I’m fine.” He mumbled, weakly pushing the hand away from him as he stood up, the others hastily moving out of the way.
Ed made it all of three steps before the room flipped and he collapsed. Hands and knees slamming into the floor, searing pain shooting through his ports. He tried to swallow it back but a wracking cough forced everything out. He burned with shame as his stomach heaved. The bile didn’t even sear a hot trail through his throat this time, or maybe he just hurt everywhere else to much to notice.
“Oh my god.” Gracia breathed out.
He could barely hear it over the rushing in his own hears but god. How much worse could this week get?
“Gracia call Dr. Knox. Tell him to get here immediately.” Hughes practically pushed his wife from the room.
Mustang was on his knees, pushing sweat soaked hair off his flushed face “Al I need you to wait with Gracia.” His tone brooked no arguments “Call Hawkeye. Tell her to bring a car with leather seats in case we need to get him to a hospital.”
“But Colonel.”
“Go. Now.” Al shuffled from the room, his metal movements painfully loud to his abused ears.
“Maes get a few towels and a bowl of warm water.”
Maes left the room to find the dorm C.O. Was he that bad? He looked down again, bleary eyes making an effort to focus. Why was his vomit red?
“Fullmetal, I need to take off your shirt.” Mustang helped him sit back away from whatever had come out of him. His metal arm seemed to have stopped working all together, that or the shock his nerves had sustained in his collapse had shorted them out to the point of no response. Mustang mouth was moving but everything felt slow and out of touch, like being under water. The Colonel pocketed his gloves and pulled them hem of his sweat soaked tank up. He must have noticed his arm wasn’t working because once he got his left arm and head out he gently slid the colon off his right. Cool hands pressed against his forehead and he almost whimpered when they were removed.
“Shit.” Mustang rocked back on his heels “Do you think your going to be sick again?”
Ed shook his head, but started coughing. Warm, red liquid bubbled up and out before he even knew what was happening. Mustang grabbed the discarded shirt and wiped up what he distantly realized was blood.
Gold glazed eyes met black and Ed could just make out the fear behind the mask.
Hughes returned, looking worried and carrying his towels and a bowl of steaming water.
“Did Gracia get ahold of Knox?” Mustang asked as he took the towel and dunked it into the bowl and started wiping Eds chest and face off.
“He should be here soon. Rizas on her way too. Do you want me to keep Al out?”
The question must have been for him because Mustang was snapping his fingers in front of his face.
“Do you want your brother here?”
Ed didn’t know why he was even asking. What 14-year-old kid should see his brother like this. He shook his head. His head lolled to the side, too heavy to keep up. He didn’t even want Mustang to see him like this.
Mustang gave him a tight nod “You should be on the bed for Knox.” The statement was followed by strong arms lifting him up and depositing him on the bed. His auto mail hung limply and every nudge felt like a shock of pain through his frayed system to his chest where the spot of pressure pushed down relentlessly. The steady compression that made him struggle more with each passing breath. He didn’t want Mustang to let him go, didn’t want the warmth and comfort to leave him.
He would never let that on though.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but he must have fallen asleep again because now Hughes was blocking Al from the room, his flesh hand was caught in the iron grip of Mustangs and Dr. Knox was looking at him with something too close to pity, making him bristle.
“You said he vomited and then coughed up blood?” The Doctor was speaking quietly but it still felt like nails on a chalkboard.
“Yes. Al and I couldn’t wake for sixteen hours before and his fevers only gotten worse. I don’t think its broken once.” Mustangs hand clenched his as he switched the cool cloth that Maes handed him.
“Its been eight days now?” Dr. Knox was checking his eyes with that stupid light that sent pain rocketing through his head.
“Nine now. Al said he’s only gotten steadily worse.”
“His shoulder port looks infected” He prodded where the metal met inflamed skin and Ed gasped.
“The limb is unresponsive.”
“Who preformed the attachment?”
“Pinako Rockbell” Mustang let go of Eds hand to write down the number on a scrap of paper he snagged from Eds desk.
“Get her up here. He may need it removed. For now, lets take off the arm. Its dead weight and the pulling probably hurts.”
Probably? If his throat wasn’t so fucking raw he would tell Knox just how much his probably was.
Mustang handed the number off to Hughes just as Riza arrived and he put his hand back in Eds.
“Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital Colonel?” Riza asked quietly.
“And explain to military doctors working under Bradley how he got the injuries?” Hughes looked down at Ed and couldn’t help the grimace.
“I’m not sure we can risk it. He’s really ill, there’s going to be a lot of questions we won’t have concrete backing on.”
“Did Lust do any of this to him? Maybe something she did is making him this sick.” Hughes asked “Maybe Greed would know some Homunculus trick?”
Ed had had enough. The light was killing his eyes and their voices were sending his headache into levels of debilitating “If your going to talk do it outside. Just take off my arm and get out.”
Dr. Knox and Mustang shared a tense look and moved to disable his arm. God this was humiliating. Mustang removed his hand and gingerly held his shoulder down while Knox fiddled with the connections.
“Ready?”
Ed nodded and closed his eyes.
“Alright. One, two-” Right at two he flipped the connectors and the arm came off.
The pain was short and relief from the weight no longer pulling the inflamed port was a god send, tears slipped out the corners of his eyes and he let out the shaky breath he had been holding and tried to pull more into his struggling lungs. Less and less was making it past his chapped lips and he was starting to get dizzy. The relief was so great all he managed to do was close his eyes. He heard them leave and was thankful they remembered to turn off the light.
He drifted in and out for a bit before Mustang came back in with another cool cloth.
“I’m sorry Fullmetal.” Mustang was slumped in the desk chair and looked down at him.
“What?” Was there something to be sorry for?
“I should have taken your illness seriously from the get go.”
Ed just closed his eyes again and turned his face back to the ceiling. He heard mustang leaving and he wished he was still there. A hand would be a comfort. Or even just knowing someone was watching him just in case.
His arm was starting to burn and he was truly struggling for air now. He wished he hadn’t made Al leave. Or that the Bastard had stayed. Or that he could find the breath to even call for someone.
Spots danced across his vision and the room was spinning in and out of focus. He tried to hit the wall with his fist but missed and his arm landed limply by his side. Tears sprung to his eyes and he couldn’t help the morbid thoughts that came. Al would be stuck in that armor forever. Would his mom be pissed? He still hadn’t found his bastard father, maybe he would help Al get his body back.
His heartbeat was loud and fast, if someone did come in he didn’t think he would hear them, he could barely hear his own thoughts.
The shot of adrenalin that pulsed through him at the knowledge of what was happening gave him a moment of lucid clarity. He should have made Al stay with him. He should have made sure Winry went and found someone who wouldn’t leave her. He should have told Roy how he felt.
His fingertips were numb as the world started turning black. He fought for one last futile breath before everything stopped.
His body relaxed, fingers twitching one last time.
The pain was gone, leaving him in one cresting wave.
The world was finally silent as his heartbeat stuttered out.
The peace was all encompassing and his last feeling was relief.
Violently purple eyes snapped open with a smirk. She couldn’t believe she had pulled it off.