Chapter Text
The sound of footsteps outside his room and a soft knock on his door wake Ed, pulling him from sleep at an hour that feels far too early to be allowed– especially when he feels like this. The moment he comes to consciousness, he’s hit by how overwhelmingly icky everything feels: his whole body is heavy, his face feels too hot and puffy, and his head feels like a bowling ball thanks to an awful stuffed-up nose. He just wants to curl up under his blankies and hide, and to call for Mama or Dada and wait for them to come and make everything better.
But it’s a work day, he realizes as the knocking on his door continues. And he prefers to be a Big boy on work days, when he goes to Central Command with Roy and Riza and Al. But how can he be a Big boy when he feels like this? When everything is too hot and yucky, and all he wants to do is be held?
It’s rare that Ed just wakes up Little. Usually he fights his way through every drop, puts off regressing as long as he possibly can. But today his body must have decided for him; today, there’s only the tiniest shred of Big headspace in sight.
“Brother,” Al calls through the door, sounding very firmly Big. That makes Ed pout, his face scrunching up. He hates it when Al’s Big and he isn’t. It makes him feel like he’s not doing his job as the older brother. Like he isn’t enough, and maybe never was, or will be. “You awake? We’ve got to get up if we want to go to Command with Roy and Riza to check out everything they have in the archives!”
Nooooo, he wants to whine as the knocking continues. The sound pulls him further from the soft warmth of his dreams, closer to his insecurities and the ickiness of whatever sickness he’s gotten stuck with. “Mmmh,” Ed moans, stuffing his face against his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. He fights the urge to cry out for one of his caregivers, because that’s not what Big brothers do, he thinks in his sleepy, illness-induced haze. Al’s outside the door. Al needs him to be his big brother. That’s what their mom had always said. Al…
“Brother?” Alphonse calls from behind the door again. A moment later, the wooden door creaks as Al leans forward, slowly turning the knob. “Brother, are you awake? Are you okay?”
Ed opens his eyes just as Alphonse crosses over the threshold. The moment his brother sees him– vulnerable and sick– he can’t hold back all the emotions that have been lingering just beyond his reach in his state of near-sleep. His eyes fill with tears and he bursts into heaving sobs.
Al’s golden eyes go wide and immediately he rushes towards the bed, crouching down and resting a hand on Ed’s forehead. Without his permission, a wail pulls from Edward’s chest, his Little side completely overwhelmed by the illness, his headspace, and how awful he feels having Alphonse see him like this– like a mess. “Mom!” Al yells, alarm clear in his voice. “Dad! Help!”
There’s a clatter in the hallway as the closest set of footsteps darts towards Ed’s bedroom. He should be relieved that one of his caregivers is coming, but all he can do is cry, desperate for anything to make the ickiness just a little bit better. A moment later Riza’s ducking into the room, half-dressed in her blue uniform pants and an undershirt with her hair in a messy bun. She looks around with practiced focus, immediately hunting down the problem; and then Ed sees her eyes zero in on him, and it’s all he can do not to reach for her.
“It’s Ed,” Al says anxiously. “He’s really warm. I think he woke up like this–”
“Oh, baby boy,” Riza sighs, crouching just beside Al. She reaches out and scoops Ed out of his Big boy bed and into her arms with the practiced ease that only a Caregiver could manage. “Someone is having a sick day, huh?”
Ed lets out another wail at his Mama’s touch, her hands cold against his too-hot skin. Riza begins to rock him back and forth ever so slightly, and some part of him knows that her hands feeling so cold to him is bad, but with how yucky and vulnerable he feels, he just wants to be cuddled up nice and warm, and hidden from sight.
“Mama,” he sobs, desperate for her to make everything better. He shoves his face against her shoulder and the fabric of her usual military turtleneck he finds there, clinging to her with all his might.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” Riza soothes, swaying from side to side. “Thank you for calling me, Al. Can you go and tell Roy–”
“Tell me what?” A familiar voice calls from the hallway. Ed peeks up from where he’s hidden his face, miserable, and hears his Dada’s footsteps coming towards his room. “I came as quick as I could. I had to finish taking a call from Command about today’s…” There’s anxiety lining the general’s face when he steps into the open doorway; anxiety that doesn’t ease when he sees Ed, red-faced and glassy-eyed and crying in Riza’s arms. “Oh, buddy,” Roy’s voice softens when he comes closer, immediately reaching to run a hand over Ed’s messy bed-head. “You’re not having a very good morning, are you?”’
“Nuh,” Ed whines in agreement, the tears still streaming down his face.
He is not having a good morning at all.