Edward dreams of blood and sunshine.

His mother's smiling face fades into gore-splattered alleyways. His brother's shining eyes are wiped away with tiny, grasping hands. The green hills of Rizenbul are shattered with desperate screams.

Roy listens to each of these nightmares; he strokes blond bangs back from Edward's sweaty forehead as he struggles to the rhythm of these tragedies, and he holds the trembling figure close as he listens to the tales of memories. He aches, knowing that he can do nothing to make his young lover's sleep dreamless, and he mourns for the light and life that has slowly retreated from Edward's golden eyes.

Roy wants to comfort him like he would comfort any other child. He wants to tuck him in and reassure him that there aren't any monsters here, but he can't.

Roy has monsters of his own making, that flare up now and again, but he can wish and reason them away. Edward's monsters are real, flesh things, and Edward isn't like any other child. He's not foolish or lucky enough to believe that the monsters cannot get him here.

All Roy can do is kiss away the tears and choked sobs, and hope that his adoration can push away the fear until morning when Alphonse comes to heal him with his gentle soul. All Roy can do is soothe the trembling in Ed's arms and legs with tongue and teeth and calming fingers. All Roy can do is love him, and wish the monsters were all slain.

When Edward is asleep again, Roy watches those rare moments when the boy's face is relaxed and calm. Roy doesn't believe in God, but, if he did, he would pray for the end of Ed's struggle and Ed's nightmares so that this untroubled slumber would not be so fleeting. He would pray to take away all the awful things that ever happened to the boy.

If anyone deserved to be whole and happy, it was Edward Elric.