Sensorial

You finally have what we spent so many years trying to obtain… and yet, you're still a prisoner in your own body.

A.N. Trying to write something on the iPad instead of on a computer. Sorry if the formatting is off. This is something I've had in my head for awhile now. There are a few other scenes I've plotted out which I will probably write in the future but don't expect them anytime soon. Consider this a one-shot for now. Also, I'll get back to ABNE soon. I promise.

Disclaimer: Ed, Al, and all of their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I do not own them but am grateful to be able to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

Rating: This story is rated K+

"What did you do?" Ed screamed, grasping the old man's collar in his left fist and forcing him back. "What did you do to him?"

Hohenheim made no motion or sound to protest his son's harsh treatment and, somehow, that only managed to anger the teen even more. "Calm yourself, Edward," the man commanded in a soft, yet stern tone.

"Shut up! And tell me what you did!" Ed yelled all the louder. The soldiers and friends surrounding them stood back, uncertain as to how they should respond in this situation. Should the step in and try to break up the impending fight between father and son? Should they bother informing the young alchemist that he'd just contradicted himself? Should they simply ignore the two elder Elrics and focus, instead, on the younger who also happened to be the subject of this particular argument?

"Be calm," Hohenhiem repeated. "He is simply sleeping."

Alphonse lied behind them now, motionless but for the shuddering breaths and sharp spasms which continued to wrack his slight, malnourished frame. The newly restored teenager gave fresh meaning to the phrase "skin and bones." In the brief moments before Al woke up, Ed had started counting his brother's ribs and wondering how much beef stew and apple pie it was going to take to fill out those sunken cheeks and withered arms.

He'd scarcely had time to begin computing the number, however, before Alphonse had stirred for the first time. Ed had held his breath, both anxious and excited at the prospect of looking into his brother's eyes for the first time in so long.

Al's eyelids had fluttered a first… then they'd clenched tight and his features contorted, shifting and shaking into something like a pained expression, though the muscles seemed to have difficulty holding even that for more than a split second. Ed had responded immediately, scanning Al's body with his eyes, pressing various points with his hands, searching for whatever it was that causing his brother such pain, all the while calling out to him, asking what was wrong.

The only vocal response he'd received was a low, keening whine which broke through intermittently while Al worked his jaw open and shut without words. His body, meanwhile, responded to Ed's touch by first shivering, then shaking, then spasming in something like a seizure to the point that Ed had pulled his hands away and sat back, terrified and helpless.

Other hands had appeared along with other voices, each talking over the others, trying to recommend what to do. The cacophony was joined by the near-wail which continued to issue from Alphonse's throat as he thrashed his head back and forth.

And then, one old hand, Hohenhiem's hand, had reached out and touched the boy's forehead. Red light had spread from his fingers for only and instant and, just as suddenly as he had begun to move, Al stopped and the world became silent.

It was then that Edward had turned on their father, certain that the man had somehow made things worse than they already were. It was a hard thing to think, considering all they had been through in the past few hours alone. They'd overthrown the government. They'd fought homunculi and countless manikins. They'd defeated the one who called himself "Father." And Ed had traded his gate, his ability to use alchemy, to restore his brother's body and finally set things right. So why… why were things going wrong now.

"Sleeping?" Ed repeated. He loosened his grip and stepped back, worry still tight in his chest.

Hohenhiem nodded but, wisely, did not approach his younger son again. Edward was still on edge, scared, and fiercely protective. "It's better for him to sleep now, until we discover what is wrong and find a way to help him."

Ed nodded slowly and breathed deeply, willing his heart to stop racing and his brain to think rationally. He grabbed his right arm near the shoulder where his port had been before… before Al gave himself up so that Ed could keep fighting. His hand twitched and he clenched his fingers to keep them still.

Moving back to Al's side, Ed knelt down. He hovered over his brother for several long moments, too terrified to touch the boy and risk causing more pain as he had before. Around them, voices murmured. Peripherally, Ed noticed his teacher and Sig drawing near. The Colonel was there as well, with Lieutenant Hawkeye whispering quickly in his ear, likely explaining what was going on since he could no longer see for himself. Mei was hovering nearby and Ling and Lan Fan were also close. Mustang's team, Major Armstrong, and many other soldiers stood about, looking on. Yet no one seemed to know what to do next.

"What's wrong with him?" Ed finally asked, more to himself and to break the silence then because he expected an answer. Most of the people there didn't have a clue what was going on or why this malnourished boy had suddenly appeared, let alone what was wrong with him. "It should have worked. He said I got the right answer."

"What did you trade, Son?"

For once, Ed didn't feel up to arguing the term of endearment from his rotten excuse for a father. He just wanted answers. He rubbed his arm absently. "My Gate. I traded my Gate. He said that was right. It was supposed to work. I don't understand. What went wrong?" He reached out slowly, gently, to brush his fingers against his little brother's hollowed cheeks but pulled back quickly when Al flinched.

"Al…" He choked back a sob. His hand shook. Now wasn't the time for tears. He needed to think. He needed to figure this out.

"How does your arm feel?"

"What?" Ed looked up, confused by Hohenhiem's sudden change of subject.

"Your arm. Does it hurt?"

Ed glared. Of all the times for the man to start caring about his health. Sure, Ed's arm was pretty beat up. It had been impaled with rebar not so long ago and there were probably a hundred other injuries on his person which someone would probably insist upon attending to eventually. But none of that was important at the moment. "Why would you even ask that? I'm fine. Al's the one who needs help right now."

There was a moment of silence. Ed clench his hand tightly. Then, "Your arm, Edward."

Damn, he was persistent. "Would you shut up about my arm?! It's fine!" He held his left arm up for the old man to see, as though a clear look at the still bleeding wounds would somehow convince him to stop caring. "See! This is nothing. I've had way worse. Now stop worrying about me and focus on Al. Alright? We've gotta figure out what's wrong."

Hohenhiem frowned and shut his eyes for a moment. "That is precisely what I am attempting to do," he said and then he reached out and grasped Ed's right hand in his own.

Ed's eyes flew open wide and he jumped back, snatching his hand away as though he been bit by a snake. "What the hell?! Are your hands made out of sandpaper or something?" He shook his hand out to relieve the pain but, if anything, the motion only made it worse, so he stopped.

"Hardly." Hohenhiem replied calmly. "Now tell me how your right arm feels."

Ed glared. "It hurts! You did something to it."

The old man shook his head. "I did nothing more than make you aware of the pain you have subconsciously been responding to since you returned from the Gate." He nodded pointedly to where Ed's left hand was once more curled around his right shoulder. "Your arm has, for the past several years, been trapped within Truth's Realm, as your brother's body was. It may give us a clue and to what is happening to Alphonse's body now."

Ed blinked, realizing that what the old man was saying was true. His arm… how had he not noticed it before? Some part of him had apparently, because he was holding it apart from his torso so as to avoid touching it against anything. It spasmed intermittently much as Al's body continued to do even in his sleep. And now that he was paying attention, the pain… the pain was terrible. He grit his teeth against it.

He was used to pain, he supposed. Used to ignoring it, used to plowing through and pretending he was fine when he clearly wasn't because there were far more important things to worry about. Even now, he wanted to push it aside and forget about it so that they could take care of Al. Except that his father was right. The pain in his arm might tell them exactly what was going on with his little brother.

"How does it feel?" Hohenhiem prompted again.

"It hurts," Ed repeated in a calmer voice than before.

"Describe the feeling."

Ed focused on his arm, despite the instincts telling him to shove the pain into the back of his mind. If it could help Al… He bit the inside of his cheek and sucked in a sharp breath as another spasm tore through his arm. "It's pretty bad - almost as bad as automail surgery." The realization made him wonder again how he'd managed to block out the pain for so long. Adrenaline, he supposed. During the fight, he hadn't felt any pain at all. Adrenaline and sheer determination had kept him going. But it was wearing off now, and far too quickly for his liking.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's like… like pins and needles. Like when you sit on your leg for too long and it falls asleep? Only a billion times worse."

"When I touched you," Hohenhiem asked further. "You said it felt like sandpaper?"

Ed nodded and then frowned and reach across his body to touch his right hand with his left. He barely brushed his fingertips against the back of his hand, just the merest touch, and yet, just as before, it felt like sandpaper scraping against his flesh.

The answer must have shown on his face because Hohenhiem continued without further prompting on that question. The old man seemed to be putting all of the details together in his head to form some sort of conclusion. "How's your motor control."

Ed thought back to the fight. He'd used his arm plenty then although he noticed a certain lack a strength and coordination which he'd had to compensate for. Now though, without the adrenaline to fuel his motions, he found himself unable to move his arm in a sort of controlled direction. Beyond that, any sort of motion sent bolts of pain running from his shoulder to his fingertips. "Not… not good."

"As I thought." Hohenheim turned his attention back to Alphonse and started eyeing the frail boy critically while Ed focused on pushing his own pain back into the furthest recesses of his awareness.

Once he could think clearly again, he started putting together the details Hohenheim had gathered from his arm. Pain like pins and needles, hypersensitivity to touch, lack of motor control - it all all made sense when he thought about the atrophied state his arm was in. Separated from his body, it hadn't had any blood flowing through it. The nerves had been left unstimulated. The muscles had become tight and brittle from disuse. It was a wondered he'd managed to use the arm in his fight at all.

But… it was just his arm. He spent a year learning how to use his automail. If it took another year to relearn how to use a real arm then so be it. He could deal with the pain too. He'd dealt with worse.

But Al…

"You're saying Al's whole body is like my arm?" Ed's eyes widened as he spoke the realization out loud. Hohenheim nodded. Nearby, he heard gasps from a few of their friends.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Al had waited for so long to get his body back only to come back in pain? And so much pain… Ed could ignore it, push it aside. He was used to pain. He'd dealt with so much of it over the years. But Al… Al hadn't felt any pain in years. He hadn't felt anything in years. His nerves had been deprived of any and all simulation. His muscles hadn't moved. His blood hadn't flown through his veins. Everything, every part of him had been frozen in some sort of stasis. For his body to awaken now, all at once… It would be too much, far too much.

"He can't move. He can't touch anything." Ed shook his head slowly as guilt and sorrow settled over him like a thick, smothering blanket. "It'll only hurt him more."

"I'm afraid this may go beyond movement and his ability to touch." Ed looked up at Hohenheim's words. "He refused to opened his eyes before. And he became more agitated as everyone began to speak around him. His vision and hearing, perhaps even his sense of smell, have long been deprived of stimulation. These, in addition to the pain of nerves and blood flow reawakening have proved too great for him to consciously endure all at once. He has gone from a state of sensory deprivation to one of sensory overload in a single instant. It will take some time for his body to adjust."

Time… Time… Ed clung to the word like a lifeline. It would take time, yes. But that still meant… "He'll get better, then?"

Hohenheim nodded. "He will. As your arm recovers, so will your brother. But he needs to be moved to a safe, controlled environment. He is much like an infant, born premature. He will require limited exposure and careful monitoring until he is strong enough to care for himself."

Ed nodded firmly, a new determination set afire within his eyes. Their journey was not over yet. "I'll take care of him."

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

He swam in an unending sea of pain, unable to break free.

He couldn't think. He couldn't focus. He didn't know where he was or what was going on or why everything hurt so much.

Then, ever so slowly, the pain began to fade. Or maybe it was simply that he was becoming numb to it. Perhaps that was it. Either way, through the fog, he managed to find his own thoughts and to recall that there was a time when he hadn't been in pain. In fact, there was a time when he hadn't felt anything at all. And this… this pain, it was new and, somehow, terribly fascinating.

He knew he felt some pain before. It was so long ago though, a far distant memory. And, certainly, it had never been this much before. He wondered if this was how his brother felt during automail surgery. It was supposed to be the worst kind of pain. This was pretty bad, but it couldn't be as bad as that. After awhile… it was almost tolerable, really.

The pain could only hold his fascination for so long. If he could feel pain, when he certainly hadn't been able to before, then… he must have his body back. And that meant, he could feel other things now too. Good things. He could hug his brother. He could feel the grass or a kitten's fur. And… Oh! He could taste now too! Taste and smell so many good foods. He couldn't wait. The world was waiting for him to experience it anew. This pain was nothing. He could ignore it. He could push it away. He wasn't about to let it stop him from enjoying this great, big, beautiful world.

But all of the excitement and determination he built up wasn't enough to move his body from the bed in the dark room he found himself in when he finally managed to pry his eyelids open. The pain was still there and somehow worse now that he was fully conscious. It rushed over him like a wave which threatened to send him spiralling back into that blissful state of unconsciousness.

No. He fought it. Oh, but it hurt. His whole body felt like… He didn't know what it felt like. He didn't have anything to compare it to, nothing that he could think of anyway. And he was so tired. So very tired.

He shut his eyes against the faint light peeking in from the small window in the door. That hurt too. Why? Why did the light hurt? He wanted to see. He wanted to find out where he was. He wanted to see someone. He wanted to see his brother. He didn't want to be alone.

He opened his mouth. He tried to anyway. But he didn't think it moved very much. He drew in a breath and felt his chest constrict painfully around his lungs. He tried to speak, but his throat clenched around his vocal cords and the only sound to emerge was a small, pitched hiss.

No. No! Please. Please work. Someone. Brother. Where are you, Brother?

Fear threatened to overwhelm him suddenly as the pain intensified throughout his body. He couldn't breathe. He was so scared. Everything hurt. He didn't know where he was. He was all alone.

A sudden click pierced the silence of the room, sounding far too loud in his ears. Then a slight creak, overpowered that sound and a beam of bright light fell across his legs. He clenched his eyes shut and felt his face spasm at the sudden movement. But the light hurt. It was too much. Far too much.

He felt something burn in his throat and heard a sound which might have been his own voice whining. But how could it hurt his ears so much.

"Al?"

The word was breathy, like a whisper, but still seemed to echo near his eardrums like a whisper in a cave. But the voice was so familiar. He wanted nothing more than to open his eyes and see the one who had spoken. If only the light weren't so bright. Another creak and a click and the light vanished. He peered beneath his eyelids just to be sure. The room was dark again.

A sound like footsteps, one light and careful, the other like someone trying to place a heavy object gently, but both somehow too loud, made its way across the room.

"Al?" the voice called again on a breath.

Prying his lids open slowly, carefully, still hurt his face greatly. But it was worth it - so, so worth it.

Ed was looking down at him. He was barely a dark blob in the shadows of the room, but Al would know that dark blob anywhere. Gradually, his eyes adjusted, and various features made themselves known - the worried crease between his brow, the gentle glow in his golden eyes, the slight frown which softened into a relieved and happy smile upon realizing that his little brother was awake.

"Oh, Al." He breathed. "Thank goodness. I was so worried about you." The bed shifted as Ed sat down beside him, close but not touching.

Al tried to open his mouth. He tried to reply. He wanted to say so many things. But… just like before, no sound came out.

"Don't." Ed shook his head. "Don't try to talk. You shouldn't try to do much right now. In fact… I'm not too loud, am I? Are the lights too bright? I'm not sure if we can make it any darker." Ed didn't give him a chance to even try to reply. "We've mostly just been guessing. We wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. We figured out that you're in a lot of pain. If it's anything like my arm, you must be hurting all over. I asked the doctors if there was any medicine they could give you but they don't want to give you anything more than saline and water until they're sure that your metabolism can handle it. Guess we'll have to hold off on that apple pie, right?" Ed chuckled under his breath and then shook his head. "Sorry. Dumb joke."

He trailed off and Al used the silence to process everything his brother had just told him. They knew he was hurting because Ed's right arm hurt too. That made sense. It also explained why he was hurting. This was because he'd been at the gate for so long. His body just wasn't used to being alive anymore.

He was at a hospital, he concluded. Ed had mentioned doctors. They were taking care of him. He was safe. Brother was safe. They must have defeated the homunculus. That was good. Now all that was left was for them to recover. That might take awhile.

"The sheets aren't too rough are they?" Ed continued suddenly. "I told Fuery to get the softest sheets he could find. Then I made him take them back because they were too coarse for my right hand so I knew you wouldn't like them. These are one hundred percent Aerugonian cotton. My left hand says they're soft, but my right still says it feels like cardboard."

Al tried to consider the sheets he was laying on but found that he couldn't really distinguish them in the haze of pain which seemed to encompass his whole body. Not that he could tell his brother that, anyway.

Ed frowned and looked away from him suddenly. "I'm so sorry, Al." He continued in the softest voice. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were supposed to get your body back and be fine. I never imagined that this would cause you so much pain. I never wanted to hurt you. You finally have what we spent so many years trying to obtain… and yet, you're still a prisoner in your own body. This is all my fault."

Al wanted to stop his brother. He wanted to smack him upside the head and tell him to quit apologizing because he was being an idiot. This wasn't his fault. This was just how things were. And it was about time he got to actually feel even a fraction of the pain he'd watched Ed endure over the years. Besides, he had his body back. That was a good thing. It was something to be celebrated. Maybe not just yet, but really soon. As soon as he could eat cake. They couldn't have a party without cake. But when he did eat cake, he'd be sure to thank his brother for it. His brother who had worked so hard, who'd sold himself to the military and slaved over hours of paperwork, who'd endangered himself time and again, who'd sacrificed his ability to use alchemy, who'd never never given up. His brother. Ed, who'd saved him.

But he couldn't say any of that.

Ed was still frowning, still blaming himself. The idiot.

Al lifted his hand. Well… he tried to. He told his arm to move. His muscles twitched and spasmed and it hurt. It hurt far more than lying still ever had. Still, he kept trying. He had to knock his brother out of this guilt party somehow.

His arm shook and he gritted his teeth against the pain of trying to move. Ed must have noticed the look on his face because he stood up suddenly and searched with his eyes before locating the problem in Al's arm.

"Al? What is it? You're not trying to move, are you?"

That's exactly what I'm going to do. Al thought at his brother.

"Don't." Ed replied as though he'd heard him. "You shouldn't try, Al. You need to rest. It's too much right now. You're just hurting yourself."

Al ignored his brother and focused on willing his arm to move. It would. He could do this. He wasn't going to let a little thing like pain stop him from reprimanding his brother. If Ed could endure automail surgery then Al could certainly manage this much.

His arm shook. Then it shifted. Then it started to slide along the too coarse, one hundred percent Aerogonian cotton bedsheets. He kept moving, even as the fabric scraped at his skin like shards of glass, until his hand hung limply over the edge of the bed.

It wasn't much but he'd done it himself. What he really wanted was to slug his brother a good one. At the very least, he would have like to hold his hand out in a more threatening manner. A good fist would have done the trick. But his energy was spent and he figured that was all he was getting from his poor arm for the moment. He settled with glaring at his brother instead. At least… he hoped it was a glared. He couldn't really tell what his face muscles were actually doing.

Meanwhile, Ed stood back and watched, his face somehow displaying both worry and amazement simultaneously. When Al stopped trying to move and settled him with a hard look, Ed just shook his head. "Al… I can't. I can't touch you. It'll hurt you too much." A pained look overtook Ed's face as he misinterpreted Al's gesture.

But, as soon as the words were whispered, Al forgot all about his earlier desire to punch his brother and realized that, yes, more than anything, all he really wanted to do was… touch. He wanted to touch his brother. He wanted to hug him, to hold him, as he hadn't since they were small boys. But Ed was saying… they couldn't?

Why? Why? Because of pain? No. No, that wasn't right at all. Pain couldn't keep them apart. Not after all they'd been through. Not after all they'd done. They were supposed to be together. And they would be.

Al tried to make his expression more insistent and willed his hand to move one more time. He had to breathe heavily to force it through the pain. He lifted his hand the slightest bit and held it there. He wouldn't let it drop. Not yet. Not until he touched his brother.

Ed shook his head again. He closed his eyes. For a moment, Al thought his brother was really going to refuse him. The Ed sighed and a soft smile touched his lips.

"Alright, Al. You win." He opened his eyes and approached him slowly. "But… I'm going to use my right hand. We're in this together, Little Brother."

Al was going to owe him brother an all out brawl when he got better. He'd beat him too. He didn't need the armor to manage that.

Ed sat beside him gently again. Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out with his right hand and brushed his fingertips along the back of Al's hand.

Ed was right. It hurt. Al couldn't help his body's jerk reaction to wince and pull away. If the slight grimace on his brother's face was any indication, it couldn't have been pleasant for him either. But… He'd touched his brother. For the first time in over four years, he'd known the touch of another human being - not just any human being, it the one who was the most precious and dear to him.

Yes, it hurt. But it was also the most wonderful feeling into the world - warm and real and alive.

Al closed his eyes and smiled. Well… he tried to anyway. He wasn't really sure it worked.

Ed chuckled softly. "Go to sleep, Al." He whispered. "I'll be here when you wake up."

With that assurance, Al allowed himself to descend back into the realm of painless unconsciousness.