Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. I really love Ed and Winry so R/R and show them some love.
It's a horrible day outside. The rain comes down in sheets, the wind howling and adding to the crack and boom of the lightning and thunder. It's the type of day you know is meant for staying inside huddled in front of a warm fire with a good book. Or in my case, a nice research journal. Hey, a guy can't always find his happiness in a fantasy world.
"Brother, you think the storm will pass soon?" The voice is hollow sounding. Not really surprising since it comes from a suit of armor. I sigh as I'm once again reminded of the fact that even though my brother is still with me he's no longer quite as human.
"Dunno," I reply as I sit there on my suitcase and study the world outside, "Probably not before we miss our train, I'll bet you that." Al sighs, a weary one. Being on the road so much isn't good for him. He's still just a kid. He should be here at home where it's safe. Well, technically this is Winry's home but still.
"Hey," I tell him, "It's no big deal. We'll catch the one tomorrow. Gives us more time away from Mustang."
"You know he's not that bad," replies Al. I snort. Roy Mustang, class A jerk of the highest rank. Still though, if I have to have someone in charge of me I guess he's okay.
"Well you two aren't going out in that," assures Winry as she gestures to the storm, "Both of you will probably rust and worse yet. . .."
"Your precious automail will be ruined," I finish with a sigh. Why is she so damn obsessed with that stuff? It's all she cares about. Doesn't ever ask about me, no. I sigh again as I choke down the anger. It's not her fault and besides, this is our last day here.
"Is that all you think I care about, Edward Elric?" asks Winry, sudden indignation rising in her voice. I can see it coming. In the back of my head there's a little voice that says I shouldn't add to this. I should just lie or shut up or something other than be honest.
"Well isn't it?" I counter. Damnit, why do I have to be so honest all the time? I see the color in her face reddening. She's getting angry now. Fine, let her. She's the one who started this idiotic fight in the first place.
"What the hell do you take me for?" asks Winry, "You think I don't care about you two? Is that it?"
"Uhm, Brother," says Al meekly, "Maybe you and Winry shouldn't. . .."
"That's exactly it," I retort, "All you care about is this." I hold up my automail arm and wave it at her, "It's what you were going to say. You're always so worried about this hunk of scrap automail getting banged up."
"Hunk of scrap?" asks Winry, "I built that especially for you, Ed. That's the best automail I've ever made and you treat it like it's so damn expendable." I vaguely notice that Al has somehow slunk out of the room. He hates it when Winry and I fight. All of us hate it really. But why is it that neither of us can stop it from happening?
"And what about me?" I ask, "You're so busy worrying about my automail that you don't care about me." I'm right. I know I'm right. Every time we come here all she does is hit me over the head and complain about how careless I am. Well how the hell is she any better?
"Ed, it's not the stupid automail I worry about," says Winry suddenly. She's crying now. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe I shouldn't worry about being right all the time. Isn't that what got me stuck with this automail in the first place, thinking I was right?
"I worry about you," finishes Winry sadly, "It hurts me when you say things like that, Ed. It hurts me when you say I don't care about you because I do. Every day I look out the window and hope that you'll come home for good. I need you, Ed."
"Then why are you always so mad at me?" I ask quietly. I will never understand women. Even if I discover everything else about this world, I will never understand how a girl's mind works.
"Because you keep leaving," says Winry, "and you don't see or care that it hurts me. Every time you walk out of this house and get on a train to Central or God knows where else it's like a little piece of me leaves with you." She stubbornly tries not to cry and fails at it miserably.
"Winry, I. . .I can't help that," I explain, "This is what I have to do to help make things right."
"I know," replies Winry sadly, "But I don't like swallowing it."
"Trust me," I tell her gently as I come over to her side, "I don't like it either but, like it or not, it's what I have to do."
"Then why do you keep coming back here?" asks Winry angrily, "It's cruel to tease me like this, Ed. You keep coming back and then cutting off more pieces of me when you leave."
"Because this place is home," I tell her, "I know we tried to cut that part of ourselves off when we burned our house down but even when you amputate something you still feel after sensations."
"You still feel like you belong here?" asks Winry, "With us, with me?" She turns to look at me now. Her eyes are so blue and bright. I stare into them now and suddenly forget the world outside even exists.
"We do belong here," I tell her, "and when we've set everything right I promise we'll come back and never cut anything off of you again."
"No more amputation?" asks Winry.
"No, no more," I tell her as I hug her. I know how she feels. I know a whole lot about amputations, about forcibly cutting things off. And as I stare into her eyes, I see a huge hole inside her that I suddenly want desperately to fill. I know about amputations and I know the pain of cutting off things. I know how she feels when we leave because it's the same way I feel. Every time we have to leave, I look into her eyes and feel something inside me break. It's like losing my arm and leg all over again and then some. But I meant what I said before. When we finally get back, neither Winry nor I will ever have to feel the phantom pain from an amputation ever again.