Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ More Than A Dream... ❯ More Than... ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, I'd be rich.

 

Author's Note: This is a post-series one-shot. There are slight spoilers, so beware. Readers who haven't seen the ending will be confused. There is very slight fluff, but mostly angst. Otherwise, enjoy and R/R!

 

More Than A Dream…

By: LadyRiona

One-shot

 

 

Winry sighed as she rolled over on her bed. She encountered damp material over her pillow. How frustrating. The young girl turned onto her back again and stared up at the ceiling. She draped her arm over her forehead slowly, wary of the raging headache behind her eyes. Even the faintest amount of pressure and smallest level of noise worsened the throbbing in her head. If only she could get to sleep, then the pain would be gone until the next night. She figured she would be used to it by now after feeling such pain repetitively for so long. But it seemed this was a pain she could never accustom herself to.

 

All day, she'd studied automail guides to improve her skill. Winry was a supreme mechanic, yes, but she wasn't the best there could be, in her own opinion. There was still a lot more for her to learn about her trade, and it would take her a while to acquire all of the knowledge. But that was time she was more than willing to spend. She'd promised Al that she would become the best automail mechanic in the world. She had to keep that promise, no matter what. She had to, for him.

 

Winry blinked rapidly a few times, not willing to succumb to more tears. That's what had given her such a bad headache in the first place. There was no use making it worse. But still, the tears came, despite her futile attempt to step them. Memories of him were just so painful still.

 

In hopes of diverting her thoughts from him, Winry sat up and looked around her room. Books were scattered everywhere. It rivaled Scieska-san's apartment in Central because of all the piles. There were papers covering every available surface, containing details and sketches on new types of automail. Her clothes were strewn over the floor since she'd been too busy to wash them during the day. Then her eyes fell upon that shelf that was eye level to her when she was standing in front of it.

 

On the shelf were many objects, but the things that stood out the most were two metal sculptures and a doll. Those three items, plus the rest of the shelf's contents, were all of the alchemic productions Ed and Al had given to her over the years. The memories of when she'd obtained them all assailed her memory. Her mind was so preoccupied; Winry had no clue how she'd ended up standing before the shelf, cradling the doll in her arms and weeping bitterly.

 

The doll was something Ed and Al had created for her, something he had touched. Winry hoped to catch a faint scent of him on the doll. When the feeling of him being so distant became too much, Winry turned around, the doll still in her arms, and strode to a corner of her room. She knelt before a little trunk and set the doll down on the floor gently. With trembling hands, the girl lifted the lid from the trunk and peered inside. She pulled out a red garment with a black seal on the back and buried her face in the soft material. She breathed in the familiar scent of a lost friend.

 

Was she so desperate for him to come back that she had come to this? Winry folded the jacket again, feeling ht slightest bit foolish, and stood. With a glance down at the doll, she debated inwardly on whether to leave it there and move on, replace it on the shelf for next time, or to take it with her. The girl sniffled as she picked up the doll. She wasn't ready to move on, not yet. As she smoothed her hand along the cloth of the doll, Winry started back to her bed.

 

It had been two months since that day, the day Al had appeared as a ten-year-old boy with no sign of him. Winry refused to think of Ed as dead. If he were dead, then how could she explain the feeling deep inside her that he was alive somewhere? No, he wasn't dead, just a little lost, that's all. Just lost…

 

Winry was about to climb into her bed when she felt another presence in her room. She turned slowly, not knowing what to expect. But what she saw almost made her faint in shock.

 

“Edward?” she breathed, holding out her hand to him.

 

There he was, Edward Elric, standing two feet in front of her. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he was dressed in a white button-up shirt and brown slacks. There was a slight smile on his face as he looked at her. For some reason, he looked more mature and more handsome that the last time she'd seen him.

 

“Winry,” he said calmly. He lifted his hand as well.

 

She stepped forward and reached for him. “Edward, where have you been? How did you—” She stopped short when her hand met nothing and went straight through him. “What is this?”

 

“I miss you, Winry,” Ed told her quietly. “I miss Al, too. But mostly you.”

 

She couldn't find any words to say anymore. What was happening? Why could she touch Edward? How was he in her room? “Ed….” Tears spilled over her cheeks.

 

“Please don't cry, Winry.” He looked deeply pained to see her crying. “I'll come back as soon as I can, I promise.”

 

Winry's hands were shaking as she reached for him. He was fading, fading away into the darkness of her room. “Edward, don't leave me!” she pleaded.

 

“Wait for me, Winry. I'll come back,” he said as his form disappeared. “I promise.”

 

And Winry was left alone with that disembodied whisper hanging in the air and echoing in her mind. He was gone again.

 

The floor was hard as Winry collapsed into unconsciousness. What had happened?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ed sat straighter in his seat. The sounds of the train greeted him. He was on his way to Transylvania to meet this `Oberth,' and to see just how crazy the man was. One step closer to being home.

 

He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream had come back again. He had dreamt about going back to Rizenbul to tell Winry to wait for him. How many time had he dreamt it in the past? How many times would he dream it still?

 

But for some reason, this time it felt like it'd been more than a dream…