Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Wraith ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA nor would I have time to own FMA, not to say I wouldn't MAKE time if it was a possibility. But I haven't received any offers lately, so...

 

Wraith

 

Part One

 

Four A.M.

I wake up and I'm going through the motions. Pull my clothes on. Shirt. Shorts. My socks are still on from the day before. I take them off. Down the stairs. There are twelve, it's dark so I count. To the kitchen. Flip the switch. Light filters in.

I close my eyes for a second because the light is so sudden and bright that it hurts. When I open my eyes again he's there; he's smiling, but I jump and press my hand over my mouth to cover my imminent scream. He scared me, and now I'm taking this big, deep breath to collect myself and he's giggling like a little boy.

“Ed,” I scold, “don't be dumb,”

He tries to stop himself from laughing. He succeeds only minutely, “Win, I was down here first,”

“You didn't have to scare me,” I whisper, pushing past him and moving toward the cupboard that held the glasses.

“You could have seen me,” he laughed now, albeit quietly, “not my fault. But I can apologize if I really must O' Wise Queen of All Queens Winry Rockbell, my sweet!”

I scoff, “I see your sarcasm is fully functioning at an early hour. The hell are you doing up?”
“I could ask you the same question. Except I won't, because you seem to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed,” Edward said as he reached around me and grabbed himself a cup. He meandered over to the refrigerator, opening it and scowling at its contents.

“How about hot chocolate Ed?” I suggest.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, and he's putting the kettle on, “except with water,” his tongue sticks comically out of his mouth at me, “no milk,”

I'm smiling now despite myself and despite how terrible his hot chocolate with water tastes and despite my bad mood, “Alright, whatever you say,”

I sit down at the table and shiver a little, it's cold out tonight. Wondering why I didn't put warmer clothes on I watch Ed bustle around the kitchen, getting what he'll need.

All of the sudden he's in front of me with a jacket in his hands. When did that happen? I'm obviously more tired than I thought.

“You look cold.”

I take the jacket and smile at him, nodding my thanks. It's his infamous red jacket, bold with pride and ripe with experience, and I drown in the presence of it. Pulling the collar up to my nose I inhale deeply. I'm disappointed when it doesn't smell like him. It smells like the house, like Resembool, and it should smell like adventure and worldly things and Edward. I can't remember what he smells like.

“Here we are,” he says as he places my share of the hot chocolate before me, “now, young lady, I must ask. What has you up at this hour?”

“I couldn't sleep,” I say, taking a long sip of the drink before me, sighing with satisfaction at the flood of warmth. I bury myself deeper into Ed's jacket. Ed hasn't touched his drink yet, maybe he was waiting for it to cool down some, “I had a bad dream,”

“Want to talk about it?” he sounds concerned.

“I don't remember it,” I answer honestly. He smiles at me and I smile back, already feeling better.

“Maybe that's a good thing,” he offers and I think, maybe it is.

 

***

 

Edward is yelling at a man to stop. I don't know what he's doing but Ed sounds angry so it must be bad. I'm scared, and all I can see is Ed's back. He's wearing that long sleeve black tee-shirt that I love the way he looks in, and his light brown trousers that match so well but hardly ever see the light of day. His hair is braided today, he hasn't done that in a while. Now he's taking a step forward. I can see the man in front of him now. He's holding a gun and he's yelling back at Ed now too. He shakes the barrel of the weapon in my direction and I'm screaming out. Edward pushes me further behind him with his right arm and it feels cold even through the fabric of his shirt. I'm burying my head into his shoulders - broad shoulders, when did that happen? - so that I can't see the man anymore. Ed's backing up slowly, one arm is still touching my side and I feel the other one stretch up, or out, or forward. I'm not entirely sure which one. I'm trying to make out the words so I don't feel so helplessly scared. They're talking in angry whispers now.

“I swear to the holy God and Father you military fuck, I'll shoot everyone here,” the man with the gun hissed. I wonder about what God would think about his language and his threats, if he's real. The gunman was obviously not thinking about the same thing.

“That doesn't have to happen,” Ed replies, calm Ed, strong Ed, easy Ed, “no one has to die. You don't really want to kill these people.”

“I want to kill you,” I hear him shouting and it hurts my ears and my heart, “or maybe your little girlfriend should go first.”

“Damn it,” Ed snarls, he claps his hands together, alchemy flowing through his body. I see the man react, his eyes growing wide. He knows this though, I can see it, he's prepared. He's quick.

“Ed,” I whimper in warning, “Ed!”

A shot rings out.

 

***

 

Edward's not at the table anymore, and I feel groggy and stiff because I haven't slept much at all the last few nights. He's always been up too, so at least my nights haven't been without company. The clock says that it's five in the morning and I wonder where he is. My cup is half-empty before me and I think that I don't remember it happening but I must have fallen asleep. Maybe Ed went up to bed, or out to the cemetery. He's there a lot.

“Winry? I heard you talking, are you okay?” Al's voice drifts from the next room, he sounds tired.

“I'm fine Al,” I assure him, “I just couldn't sleep,”

When he walks in he's giving me this weird, appraising look that I can't understand, then he says, “Again?”

When I nod he says, “Wanna talk about it?”

“That's alright,” I say with a smile, “I already talked about it,”

Al smiles back at me but I can tell he's still worried. He's such a worry-wart. I laugh, “Is everyone up?” I ask. I want to find Ed.

“Yeah, except Den,” he says with a laugh and looks at the dog who's fast asleep at my feet. I laugh too.

“I'm going outside,” I finally finish, “I'll be back in a little bit,”

I stand up and make my way toward the door. My fingers find the edges of my newly acquired jacket and I pull the clothing tighter around me. I forgot about the jacket, I hope Ed's not cold outside without it. I grab another so that I can wear it when I give him his back. Al looks sad so I pat his shoulder when I walk by, he's always upset about something it seems. I feel bad that he's always worrying.

Al sighs and points to the table, looking confused, “There are two cups there,” he says.

I peer over at the tale and notice the contents of the cup, “He didn't drink any of it,” I muse, before making my way out into the misty morning. I wonder why.

 

***

 

The first thing I do is scream as loud as I can. I'm not the only one. The gunshot is like a cue for pandemonium. Then there's another shot, and then two more, and now it seems as if everyone's screaming. One more and there's this stabbing pain in my leg. It's burning and burning and I just want it to stop but I'm panicky because I need to see Edward. Is he okay? Oh no, he's shot, oh no. I feel a crushing pressure against my leg and all of the sudden there's a pair of golden eyes staring down at me.

“Edward?” I gasp, but there's no doubt, no one else has eyes like that, “are you okay?”

“Winry, I'm fine,” he calls over the screaming, his hands are both on my leg, and there's blood pooling between his fingers. My blood? He's pushing hard as if he's trying desperately to put it all back in me with only his hands, that makes me want to laugh. That won't work.

“Did I get shot?” I ask, feeling strangely calm and already knowing the answer. At least Edward is okay.

“Oh no, Win, I'm so sorry, this is my fault,” he doesn't feel the need to answer because he knows I already know I got shot. The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, “I should have done something to stop him quicker, and then I started using alchemy and the first thing he does is shoot into the crowd. Like he's proving to me he can. Then I got him down and he shoot three more times! Then he looked at me for a second and then looks straight at you and shoots, Win, it's all my fault!” he's rambling. I'm feeling a little faint but that's okay. My thigh is burning like an inferno but I'm aware that this won't kill me. I'll be fine.

“Don't,” I say, “it's just a flesh wound,” and I smile.

“Shut up,” he says with a sad smile. I'm okay though, and so is he. Right now that's all that I need to know.

 

***

 

My hand reaches out and I know a fist one, two, three times against the wood and bark of the tree behind him, “Can I come in?” I ask, watching his back closely. I don't doubt that he already knew I was here. He always knows.

He didn't say anything in return.

“You never even drank your hot chocolate,” I try again, waiting for a laugh, a smile, a word, or response. Anything.

I get my wish, he turns and he smiles this small sad little thing that's constantly adorning his face, “I wasn't thirsty,”

“Yes, you were,” I say matter-of-factly, “you're the one who went looking for something to drink in the first place.”

He didn't say anything back, even though I was wrong. I was actually the one who went and opened the glass cupboard. He just turns back around with a small laugh. I look down at the red jacket bundled in my arms, that's right, I'd meant to give it back to him. He must be cold. “Hey,” I venture, tapping his shoulder and holding out the jacket, “you should probably take this back, it's chilly out here,”

He just looks at me with this odd expression on his face that I can't make out the meaning of for a few moments. I just look at his golden eyes and wait. It's like he's sizing things up, calculating the possibilities. All of the sudden I'm this strange, puzzling equation to him that needs to be scrutinized and dissected. I don't really mind, the attention from him is nice. But I wish he would take his jacket back, I feel bad. After a while he just shakes his head again and says, “Nah, that's okay, I want you to keep it,”

“But -” I protest, but he stops me.

“Really, I'm not even cold. Please?” he almost sounds like he's begging, but that's ridiculous because Ed would never beg. But I'm stunned by his tone of voice anyway so I nod my head dumbly and sit down on the grass. I pat the spot next to me and drape his jacket across the top of a nearby headstone that the name has worn off of for safe keeping. I'm signaling for him to sit as well. He does.

“Alphonse is worried about you, you know,” Ed said calmly, not looking in my direction.

“Why?” I as. I'm half-hoping that this is his way of telling me that he's worried about me.

“You've been acting odd lately. Ever since that day,” Ed said, his face cringed up at the memory and I scowled.

“I got shot,”

“But that's not all that happened,” Ed said, as if he were reminding me of something I had been silly to forget. My frown deepened.

“I haven't been acting weird,” I say, aware that I sound just a little bit defensive, “is it about the nightmares?”

“You know, he likes you,”

“What?” I ask, shocked.

“He's had a crush on you for a very long time,” he still wasn't looking at me. Why was he telling me this? Was he afraid that I was interested in Alphonse? Surely he knew that I wasn't. It had always been him. It was always him.

“So?” I reply, trying to sound uninterested in his statement.

He turned toward me so suddenly that I almost jumped back in surprise, “What?” disbelief was in his voice, “You don't like him back? Why not?”

I try to hide the hurt in my voice. Maybe, hopefully, he was just taken off guard, “because I love you.”