So this is... an odd one. Long story short, I had a dream similar to Ed's and when I woke up, I needed to calm myself down, so I made myself write this. Slammed through it in four hours straight (minus the relatively happy ending, because when I first wrote it I just wasn't capable of doing happy, except it still sucks, because I can not write endings FOR SHIT). Next morning I closed the document immediately because I just did not want to think about it; that was weeks ago. Finally made myself open it up again. This won't be similar to anything else I post because I was in such a state when I wrote it, but I decided it was worthy of posting.

Important setting info that someone didn't make it in to the oneshot- Ed and Roy are doing some mission and have been put up in a hotel or apartment or whatever together for the duration. That's why they're staying together in the same bedroom.

When Roy entered the small, shared bedroom, fully prepared to toss his exhausted self down, bury his face in the sheets, and scream at the absolutely rotten day he'd had, the sight waiting for him brought him straight to a halt.

Ed had beaten him back, apparently by at least an hour, by the way he was sprawled across his bed like a cat. His long hair was loose and fanning out over his back, face squashed against a pillow and arms wrapped tightly around another one- one that had been filched from his bed, Roy noted absently. It was really quite an irritating sight, to see him so blissfully asleep- Roy found himself wondering if the kid had even put in any work today or just left all the bullshit for him to handle- and for a moment, he considered 'accidentally' slamming the door, just to wake him up so he'd have someone to complain to.

He changed his mind when he caught sight of Ed's face.

The kid was... smiling.

Not the Malicious Smirk of Put-a-Thumbtack-in-Your-Chair. Not the Fuck-You glower. Not the Oh-food! grin of excitement. Not the jaded, gritting his teeth sort of I'll-Smile-Because-I-Have-To-But-Secretly-Hate-Your-Guts that was perfected in all military officers.

No... actually smiling.

Roy took a moment to stare at the expression, bewildered by it. He didn't think he'd ever seen Ed actually smile before- not like that, at least, and it struck him then how sad that really was, because that smile looked so easily, perfectly normal on his face, like the most natural thing in the world. It looked so right, and also, somehow, so wrong that Roy had to stop himself from checking the automail to make sure it was really him. Because Ed didn't smile like that. Someone who had suffered as much as he had did not just smile so easily, so naturally.

It made him look like the child he was, the thirteen year old boy that Roy loved to tease instead of the cynical adult he tried to be.

Ed sighed in his sleep, his breath making his long hair blow out in front of his face, and then he hugged the stolen pillow even tighter, squeezing it to his chest like he never wanted to let go. "Al..." he breathed out tiredly, and the strange smile beamed even brighter. "Al..."

Slowly, Roy glanced at his own, now pillow-less bed, looked back to Ed's smile, and quietly withdrew.

The only thing he'd wanted to do, upon finally coming back to the apartment, was bury his face in bed and sleep for the next century. But right now, all Roy had the heart to do was just smile and quietly back out of the room. Ed had ears like a hawk and instincts like a spooked cat; Roy didn't trust his ability to get into his own bed without waking him up.

And the last thing he wanted to do now was wake him up.

Let him take this night, this one night, and just be a kid.

"Night, Edward," Roy murmured, withdrew fully from the bedroom, and shut the door behind him.

It was but ten minutes later when Roy heard the water running.

He glanced up from the files he'd been pursuing, frowning mildly at the sound of the sink, and sighed. Well. It seemed the shortest of them needed only the shortest of naps, he thought unhappily, still listening to the water. He leaned back against the couch for a moment, rubbing his temples, then just sighed again. He'd wait for Ed to come out here, presumably on his never ending hunt for food, to start getting on his nerves- the shortest of naps for the shortest of persons comment was definitely going to come into play, that was for sure- but that could wait until Ed showed himself. For now, he'd just let the kid focus on making himself not look like he'd slept straight through the evening's work.

The sink eventually stopped, but Ed didn't show.

Five minutes later, Roy was beginning to wonder what he was even doing in there. Were the rumors true? Did he actually spend hours in front of a mirror fussing over his hair? Somehow, Roy doubted it; he couldn't imagine Ed spending more than the absolute minimum on his appearance- but what else could he even be doing?

Ten minutes later, Roy's best guess was that Ed had tripped in the shower and knocked himself unconscious.

Fifteen minutes later, he was starting to think the kid had just gone back to bed all together.

A whopping twenty damn minutes later, Roy decided he had had enough. No way had Ed just gone straight back to sleep; he knew full well he hadn't eaten dinner yet and that food was the only thing that ranked higher on his priority list than sleep- discounting Al- and besides, now it was his turn to lie down, damn it. He tossed the file aside like it had said something deeply offensive to him and dragged himself upright, stretching out the sore muscles in his back, then headed back towards their shared bedroom. Roy paused just as he reached the door, pressing his ear against it in case the brat really was still sleeping.

What he heard inside stopped him dead.

Ed was crying.

The noise was quiet, muffled enough that he hadn't been able to hear it until before, but now with his ear pressed against the door he could just make the sounds out, and they were unmistakable. He was crying- no, sobbing. Gasping out his grief in the basest, most desperate display that he could, shaken and torn apart and reduced to being capable of nothing except for tears that sounded as violent as the end of the world.

Roy froze in his tracks, his heart plummeting somewhere down to his stomach.

If the smile from before had thrown him, this left him entirely off balance. Ed did not cry. Was he hurt? Was he sick, injured? That was surely the only explanation- but how could he have been?! He'd been fine less than an hour ago, and since then, Roy had been listening the whole time- no sounds of a fight or struggle, and Ed would not be taken down to this state without a fight.

But, then... what could have happened?

Roy remained paralyzed, torn with indecision. He knew if their positions were switched then he would want anything but company, a witness to a breakdown, but he just couldn't silence the voice inside him that said that something was wrong. He had never once heard Ed like this before. Not once had he heard pain like this from that boy, not even when he'd been a crippled child that stared at him from his wheelchair with eyes like one dead. Something had to be very, very wrong, and he couldn't stop the terrified visions of Ed collapsed or bleeding in there, alone and helpless. What if he was badly hurt, that vaguely paternal instinct in his head fretted? What if he was terribly sick? For god's sakes, he couldn't just leave him there!

I'll just... look, he decided at last, then shut his eyes when the sobs grew even louder, the sound like a punch to the gut. If he was okay, then he'd leave him alone. He just needed to make sure he was okay.

Do you really think he'd be sounding like that if he was okay?

Do you really think he's OKAY right now, Roy?

There it was again. That strange paternal voice that he'd inherited from Hughes and wasn't supposed to have any place anywhere except with Elicia, except now, here it was, and he didn't have the heart to turn it off.

Swallowing the mournful tightness in his throat, and trying not to embrace panic, Roy opened the door.

His worst fears of critical injury or illness were immediately put to rest. There was no blood, no fight, no wounds, no body on the floor. There was just Ed.

But there was still no relief, because he very plainly was not okay.

He was not okay at all.

Ed was sitting on the floor, pressed back against the wall and knees pulled up. He was trembling, hard, so hard it was as if he just might shake until he fell apart. The pillow he'd stolen from Roy's bed was squashed against his knees now and his face was buried in it, the kid clutching it as tightly as a lifeline as he cried into it, sobbing out sorrow and gasping so hard he was barely breathing at all.

He was trying to muffle the sounds of his grief, Roy realized- muffle them so he wouldn't hear.

Very, very briefly, the thought came that he should back out now and let Ed be alone, because the kid very clearly did not want a witness to this, whatever it was. Ed hadn't heard him come in, and here was his one chance to turn retreat, let him cling to solitude, and let him try and work this out by himself- let him cling to his dignity and composure, at least; let him get out of this without knowing someone had sat there and watched him in his moment of weakness and deepest vulnerability.

Ed sobbed again, this one, so heart-wrenchingly loud that, somewhere deep in his chest, it hurt.

Very, very quickly, that thought died.

"Edward." The name came out before he'd even made a conscious decision, gasped in desperation, and then he found himself on his knees, reaching out a shaking hand with no plan at all. "Edward-"

The boy wrenched away with a gasp, pressing himself even harder against the wall as if trying to get away. The tear-strained face wrenched up and wide, wet eyes stared at him in breathless shock. Ed clearly hadn't heard him come in and now that he was here, he didn't know how to react to him. After a terrible moment when Ed just looked at him, tears still welling to streak down his cheeks and small body still heaving with the force of each gasped breath, the boy jerked away so hard and fast it was almost frightening. He turned his head away and held the pillow even tighter to his chest, squeezing onto it like if he let go he wouldn't be able to make it.

"Get out."

Roy stiffened at the rasp, his heart somewhere in his throat. "Ed..."

"Get out!"

He swallowed, nearly choking on the determination he tried to wrench up that became grief halfway there. "Ed, no. I'm not going to leave. Something's wrong." He reached out again, moving with zero plan but still dancing to the beat of that paternal mutter in his head. "Ed, what happened? What's wrong?!"

Ed just shook his head desperately, still not looking at him. "'M fine," he gasped out, trembling with the force of a suppressed sob. "I'm f-f-fine, so just get the hell out and-"

"Ed, you are not fine!"

The boy jerked again at the near shout, shutting his eyes and nearly choking. His fingers dug into the pillow again and he took in a deep, shuddering breath, tears still streaming down his cheeks, before he twisted back to face him, and the sudden, brunt force of vulnerability there nearly took his breath away. "I h-had a bad dream. That's fucking it, Mustang. And I already fucking know what you're going to say, but say it tomorrow. Fucking rag on me tomorrow for crying like baby; right now just get the hell out!"

.Roy flinched back at the scream, dropping numbly onto his heels and staring at the boy in disbelief. Ed thought he was going to tease him? For something like this? "Ed... Ed, I'm not... god. I would never-"

"GET OUT!"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, still sitting weakly back on his heels. "Ed, I can't just leave you like this," he whispered, but even as the words let his mouth he realized how lame and pathetic they truly were. And what help, exactly, was he going to be? It was already clear Ed didn't want him in here, and knowing the boy had actually thought this was something he'd then take and turn into an insult- maybe it would be better for both of them if he would just leave.

But the idea of turning his back now was unbearable, and he found himself just sitting there and staring, each sharp sob that punctuated the silence hitting him like a slap to the face. This was not just a bad dream; Roy knew that for certain. Ed would be no stranger to nightmares, and had certainly seen his own show of horrors; for just a dream to have reduced him to this, this sobbing, crying, screaming for- god, at least twenty minutes straight, now- it had to have been bad.

And he looked so happy when I saw him earlier...

What the hell happened?!

Ed gave another thin wail of suffering, and his fists clenched even tighter in the pillow now. "Just get out already, Mustang!" he shouted, and in his voice it was clearly just how brittle his resistance really was; just how close he was to the edge of breaking.

"No," he said firmly, and reached for him again.

Ed shattered before he could touch him.

The boy buried his head in the pillow again, trembling badly and sobbing so hard he surely couldn't even breathe. "It was Al," he cried, over and over again, "it was Al, it was Al, it was Al... it was him... oh my god, it was him..."

God, what he would give to have Al here right now.

But Al wasn't there, and Roy inched himself a little close, shifting just enough so he could reach out and touch him now. When Ed didn't pull away, he very cautiously reached to put his hand gently on his knee, his own fingers brushing against the pillow. "Al was what?" he whispered, his own voice trembling.

"He was fine! He was FINE!"

Roy slowed, his heart pounding.

"...He was...?"

"He was fine," Ed sobbed out again, and the gold head buried even deeper into the pillow, body wracked with tremors once more. "He was fine, and I was fine. No automail, no fucking armor, nothing. He was so fucking fine it was perfect... he was s-so happy... and so was I... he was s-s-so happy..."

So, that explained the smile, earlier.

It still didn't explain this.

"Ed..." Roy ventured cautiously. "Ed, it's okay... you're looking for the stone, and you'll find it some day, I honestly, truly believe you will. You'll get him his body back, and yours, you just-"

"No, you fucking idiot!" Ed brought his head back only to slam it against the pillow again, gasping out his tears again as if he couldn't even breathe. "No! This wasn't our future! This... th-this wasn't..."

The words became another sob of agony, and Roy remained frozen beside him, hand trembling on his knee, feeling rather as if there was a cruel hand inside his chest that was now taking great pleasure in squeezing his heart until it popped. Ed was borderline hysterical, barely able to even explain what he'd seen, never mind why it had hurt him so greatly, and it scared him. He had never once seen Ed like this before, never once seen him break down so absolutely, so agonizingly, and he just didn't know what to do.

"Ed," he whispered again, voice breaking. Ed, please, talk to me, tell me what to do, something... at this point I'll do anything you need, but you have to tell me because I'm really, really not good at this but I can not just sit here and watch you suffer like this.

"Ed..."

At last, Ed calmed himself enough to go on.

"It was what would've happened if we'd never done it. Never... never done... that." His voice was listless, tuneless, and he broke off for a moment, breaths shuddering down his spine as broken grief once more. "...If I had never said those fucking stupid words... if I... if I'd..." Again there were tears, and his voice trembled with them, stony facade breaking as quickly as it had been made. "...If I'd never made him try and revive our mom."

Then he was sobbing again. Sobbing as violently as if the world had ended, and his brother had gone with it.

"We were both so h-h-happy... so happy... I've never seen him that happy... and I took that from him! We'll n-never have that, Mustang, we'll never have that, even if I get his body back he's already suffered so much, he'll never be able to look like that! Never! I took it from him... oh god, Al, I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry..."

Ed curled over in on himself, burying his face in the pillow and gasping until he couldn't breathe, crying until there was nothing left and even then he still sobbed, choking out misery and breathless, heartbroken apology after breathless, heartbroken apology, and through it all, Roy could do nothing except sit there and bear it with him.

Because what words could he give?

It wasn't Ed's fault, what had happened, but Roy had no doubt he would not be the first to tell him that. He knew from his own experience just how worthless the words it's not your fault were from anyone and everyone until you were ready to accept them yourself (Riza's back, burning, his hands, singing with fire). And even if he could bring some balm to the guilt, would it matter?

Ed was right.

That future, of him and Al both blissfully happy and at peace, was permanently closed off to them. It had been gone ever since the day they had committed taboo.

Because even when- when, not if, he stubbornly told himself- Ed got their bodies back, their pasts would still be automail and scars, armor and a lack of a body. Their pasts would still be pain and suffering, and pasts like that were not ones that could just be forgotten. What they had gone through was enough to break any adult. For two kids, it had shaped and changed them so irrecoverably that that future of two whole-bodied, smiling men who had never seen suffering in its deepest form was simply not possible.

And Ed knew that.

All Roy could do was sit there next to him, hand on his knee, and listen to him mourn for the futures of two innocent children who had died years ago.

When his own eyes stung, he wondered just when this loud-mouthed, brash, annoying, brat had gotten the ability to take his heart and stomp on it, then decided it didn't matter.

There wasn't a clock in the room, so all Roy had to tell the passing time was the fading light out the window. It had been sunset, when he'd first burst in here, and was completely dark by the time sobs had faded to sniffles, and tears had run dry to become choked whimpers, instead. Ed still sat against the wall, head now resting against the pillow instead of buried in it, turned firmly away from him. His shoulders would tremble every now and again, and his breaths would hitch with them.

But, he was getting better.

Ed still wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say anything, and Roy hesitated for a moment, swallowing. The kid looked exhausted even from this vantage point, and after at least an hour of barely hanging on the edge, he couldn't blame him. He opened his mouth uncertainly, unsure, then pushed back his hesitancy and spoke, voice dry and whisper hoarse. "You're tired, Ed. You should try and get some sleep."

The boy stiffened as if his words alone were a strike to the face. "N-no," he stammered, then whipped his head up and jerked around to face him again. "No, I can't, I- no more sleep. I don't want to sleep." His eyes were red and wide, tear marks still glaring on flushed cheeks, and he rubbed at them with a shaking hand, desperation shining through exhaustion. "No, I can't sleep, I- I'm fine, I'll work- I'll help you work, just give me one of the files, I'll-"

"Edward." Roy pushed slightly at his knee, keeping him down on the floor with nothing more when he tried to rise. "Ed, you can't work like this. You need to sleep. You'll... you'll feel better in the morning..."

It felt like a pathetically lame assurance, at best, and he was unsurprised when Ed shook his head again, suddenly trembling once more, desperation glimmering on beneath terror. "I can't, Mustang. I can't. I'll see it again, and I don't fucking want to, so just give me a goddamn file and I'll be fine. Just give me a damn file!"

Roy's heart shuddered and he said nothing for a moment, just looking at him and trying not to let the pity show on his face. So, what, your masterplan is to just never sleep again? hovered at the forefront of his mind, but he didn't say it. Now was just not the time.

At last, clearing his throat, he squeezed Ed's knee and rose to his feet in the same motion, ignoring the screams of protesting muscles. "Wait here," he said quietly, and crossed to his bag on the other side of the room. He dug through his spare uniforms, going for the prescription bottle hidden underneath three jackets and an extra set of boots, stashed away where he'd been hoping to ignore it the entire trip. After a moment of thought, he emptied one out into his palm and tossed the bottle back. Two was how many he'd been told to take, but with medication this strong, he wasn't about to risk the full dose on someone Ed's size.

Once again, just not something he should say now.

Roy returned to where Ed continued to sit against the wall, trembling faintly again and watching his every move. When he held out his hand, the boy stared at it incredulously, then wiped at his cheeks again and snarled, "I'm not taking sleeping pills, you fucking idiot. I already told you-"

"It's not a sleeping pill, Ed." He gave a weary sigh, swallowing the reluctance in his throat and reminding himself that this was necessary. "This will knock you out for eight hours. Literally. You won't have any dreams at all."

Bloodshot eyes lifted to meet his again, dark and unsure. Roy sighed and averted his gaze, looking down somewhere towards the corner of the room rather than at Ed. "...I have some troubles with post-traumtic stress," he muttered, and shook his hand a little, letting the pill roll around his palm. "Like you said. Sleeping pills don't help. This does."

He waited for a few more seconds, still staring hard at the wall.

At last, Ed's trembling, warm, flesh hand touched his own, and then the pill was gone.

Roy breathed a silent sigh of relief, lowering his arm and finally looking back towards Ed. The kid was staring at his own feet, arms wrapped loosely around himself, shoulders still shaking, and for a moment, Roy was struck by how damn lonely and small he looked down there. He shook his head at himself; pity was not what Ed wanted and certainly not what he needed, but damn it, he looked barely thirteen down there, just a kid who'd had a bad dream who deserved to be able to run to his parent's bed and crawl in between them for the night, not someone who'd lost that possibility so long ago it was painful, and...

Roy told himself to stop thinking and swallowed the lump in his throat again. "It'll start working in a few minutes," he murmured, his voice hushed in the quiet. Then, he hesitated, unsure of what else to say, or if he should go on at all.

Ed remained quiet as well, clearly reluctant to speak or meet his eyes. The outburst of an explanation earlier had clearly only come from because he was distraught and exhausted; he'd needed to say it, and Roy had only witnessed it because he'd just happened to be there. It was still abundantly clear that Ed hadn't wanted him here... that he probably still didn't want him here...

Roy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'll... I'm going to go finish up on some paperwork." Unspoken was the I'll let you be alone, for now.

Unspoken, was the please, stop looking at me like that, because that really fucking hurts and even though I've done everything that I can for you I still feel as if I've done nothing at all.

Please, just stop looking at me like that.

Before Roy could make it out of the room, though, Ed stopped him.

"Wait."

His voice was small, hoarse, and too much like a child's to bear.

Roy stood stock still in the doorway, his heart hammering in his chest.

He heard footsteps behind him, then the sound of Ed crawling into his bed again, already a little uneven and shaky after the pill. There was another moment of silence, and then, even smaller and more hesitant than before: "Stay. ...Just until I fall asleep."

Muted surprise rumbled underneath the needling desire to just get the hell out of that room, and get the hell away from eyes that stared so deeply it ached.

"...Just keep talking, Mustang. It distracts me. I don't... I don't care about what, but... please. ...Just keep talking to me."

It was surely the drugs talking. The drugs. The exhaustion. The nightmare. The sorrow. The request was, simply put, everything that Ed was not.

And yet, there was that paternal voice in his head again, that voice that he did not understand, still telling him, stay. help. comfort. protect.

That voice that sounded like Hughes, felt like home, and made him see Ed.

His feet carried him back around of their own accord, and he stumbled to sit down on the edge of the bed in the same trembling, hurt way. "Okay," he whispered. "...Okay."

Ed turned onto his other side with that, head pillowed in his arm and facing away from him, and Roy just looked at him for a moment, watching his shoulders still tremble, his hands still shake, his breaths still hitch. He reached out, hand moving for his back, then found himself pausing halfway there, unsure.

In the end, he left his hand resting uncertainly on the bedspread, an inch away from the kid still shaking so very hard. And he did start talking.

Roy wasn't sure what he said. When he tried to remember later, all he could recount was a senseless stream of unconnected, meaningless nothingness: he did complain about his day, after all, muttering in annoyance about bureaucracy and paperwork and idiots. He complained about the too weak coffee and too bitter women. He talked about Hawkeye threatening to shoot him all the way from Central if he didn't make it to tomorrow's meeting on time, and his belief that she'd actually manage it. He talked about the souvenir he'd promised Hughes he'd pick up for Elicia, how all the overpriced crap he'd come across in the city were just knockoffs from Central anyway and he was going to need help finding anything halfway decent in this rathole.

The medication took effect swiftly; Roy knew that from experience. It knocked him out in fifteen minutes at the most, and he was somewhat used to the powerful drug's effects. Ed had no chance at lasting longer than five minutes. It would've been perfectly acceptable for him to stand up and leave then, drag himself back out to the couch, cram his head full of paperwork, and try to forget this had ever happened.

For some reason, he didn't.

He just kept talking.

And at some point when his voice gave up on him, taking its revenge for hours straight of senseless, baseless, worthless speech, he just leaned closer, dropping a hand down onto the automail shoulder for support to lie propped up now, mouth close enough to his ear that he could keep on talking in a hoarse whisper and still be heard.

The infernal, paternal voice muttered in the back of his mind that right now, they could very easily pass for father and son.

He promptly told it to shut up and didn't stop talking.

Roy didn't remember choosing to fall asleep like that, lying in Ed's bed, automail shoulder serving as the most uncomfortable pillow in the history of mankind. But he must have, because when he woke up the next morning, he was curled awkwardly on his side in a bed that smelled faintly of oil, still in uniform, and about ready to die from the stiff pain in his neck.

Ed wasn't there, and it took him a few seconds to remember why that should worry him.

He pushed himself upright, mumbling obscenities under his breath at the soreness that decided to try and murder him. Groaning, he twisted, stretching even as he struggled to worm himself to his feet, mind racing. What time was it? How long had he been asleep? How long had Ed been gone? How the hell had Ed managed to get out without waking him up? Was he okay? Where was he? Was he-

Ah.

Standing in the doorway to the bedroom. That was his answer.

Roy stumbled blearily, blinking the sleep out of his eyes to stare. Ed stood slouched against the door frame, looking as if he'd just purposefully knocked on it to wake him up. He was back in his signature red coat, his hair already loosely braided again- it looked as if he'd already been up for a while... but his eyes were bloodshot and exhausted, and he looked pale and drawn, not well at all...

But, the medicated sleep had done him some good, because he looked like Ed again.

Not the anguished, sobbing child he'd met last night.

Ed.

"I'm going out to gather some info," Ed grunted at him in lieu of a simple good morning, his voice hoarse. "Breakfast's on the table, bastard. Help yourself, I don't want any; food here sucks." And with that said, he pushed himself off the wall and turned his back, exiting the bedroom in a tired yet determined stride that Roy wasn't sure what to make of.

He stopped before he'd made it five steps.

"...I'll be fine, Mustang. So, don't worry about me. And... thanks."

Then he started walking again, and this time, he didn't stop until he was out of the apartment entirely.

The empty hallway made his chest feel tight, somehow, and in the back of his mind, he could still hear him crying.

At last, Roy shook himself, trying to cast off the shadow of grief that still persisted, to smile past the lump in his throat, and trudged forward into the hall. "No problem, shrimp," he muttered under his breath, and went for the food Ed had purposefully left for him. "...No problem."