Stairway to Paradise- Ch9- FMA Fan Fiction

Roy was pleased to see his house was still standing when he came home from work.

He quickly transitioned from his car to the house, ducking inside out of the cold winter air. Weather reports said it was due to snow during the week and he was not looking forward to it at all.

"Boys?" he called, depositing a bag of library books on the floor before bolting the door and hanging his coat on the rack beside him.

"In here," Al answered from the kitchen.

Ditching his shoes and keys, Roy unbuttoned his military jacket and made his way to the kitchen. His nose suddenly caught the scent of tomatoes and garlic, making his stomach rumble hopefully as he stepped into the warm kitchen.

Alphonse was bent over the counter, slicing up onions while Ed was perched on the cabinet by the stove, his only arm absently stirring a pot of something over the burner beside him. Despite the two moving beings present though, there was a sort of stillness to everything. The air was permeated by the rich, nostalgic scent of home cooking. Steam swirled above their heads, illuminated by the soft overhead lighting and giving everything an almost surreal feel. Roy didn't normally pay attention to such things, but something about the whole scene gave him pause.

It was so . . . normal.

Roy couldn't help but stop just admire it. If he tried hard enough, Ed looked almost content, as if his sight wasn't gone and he had been good and well the past few months, and Al looked at peace there beside his brother, as if he hadn't spent weeks out trekking through the wilderness searching for him.

But the nostalgic image evaporated when Ed suddenly let out a hiss and jerked his hand back, dropping the wooden spoon into the pot. His eyes went wide as if being thrown into a flash back and everything stopped.

Roy's breath caught in his throat.

Al froze, soul fire eyes glued on his brother.

Then Ed shook his head, taking a shuddering breath and bringing his injured finger to his lips, eyes falling shut in what Roy now recognized as a sign he was trying to center himself.

"I told you to be careful, Ed," Al said lightly, but his own voice was shaky, as if he were trying too hard to react as he normally would to Ed before he was like this.

Roy had no such inhibitions. "Fullmetal, get down from there," he ordered, coming around the bar to help him down. "You shouldn't be around the stove."

Ed scowled as he neared. "If you touch me, I will plant my automail foot in your face," he promised, his hand carefully reaching beside him to find the wooden spoon.

He was going to burn himself again, and what would happen if he had a full-blown flashback and fell onto the heating element? If he got seriously hurt, there was no telling what it would do to his fragile mind . . .

Roy snatched the spoon and batted Ed's hand away. "There's a difference between being independent and being stupid. Remember what we talked about this morning?"

Ed's scowl darkened. "That was for my brother, not for you," he said.

Roy's temper started to simmer more than the pot before him. It had been a long, trying day at the office, full of dead ends and Generals breathing down his neck and he was not in the mood to deal with this. "Fullmetal, I am ordering you to get off that counter!"

"I'm not your military dog anymore! I don't have to listen to you!"

"It's my counter!"

"I'm making you food, ungrateful jerk!"

Roy paused and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to rein his anger in. Yelling at Ed only made him yell back. It might have been an effective tactic for dealing with disobedient soldiers, but it was completely useless when arguing with the small blond alchemist.

If he was going to share his home with the boy, it was probably time he learned that lesson.

"Brother, why don't you let the Colonel see about your stitches?" Al suggested tentatively.

Roy turned to glance at the suit of armor, then back to Ed. "You mean you didn't get them taken care of?" He didn't mean to sound so accusing, but both Ed and Al flinched regardless.

Al looked back down at the onions. "Um, well—"

"It's not his fault, it's mine," Ed muttered, hand curling to cover his side. "So don't blame him for it."

"I'm not blaming anyone," he assured the blond, doing his best to make his voice quiet and even. "Let me help you down, then I'll wash and we can look at it, okay?"

Ed looked like he was going to protest.

"Please, Brother?" Al asked.

The retort Ed was preparing was released in a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping and he nodded. "Fine. Al, stay here, okay?"

Roy frowned. It was odd that Ed wouldn't want his brother around, unless he was expecting something bad to happen. In that case, it would be stupid to not have Al there, but maybe that was another one of his attempts to protect Al from himself . . .

"Okay, Brother," Al said, looking a bit dejected, but it seemed like he had expected as much.

Ed only flinched a little as Roy took his elbow and helped him slid off the counter. The damaged automail leg gave underneath him, though, and Roy had to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Ed!" Alphonse yelped, jumping to come to his aide.

Ed waved him and Roy off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. You people freak out about everything," he grumbled, righting himself and finding his blanket that had fallen on the floor. Roy helped him drape it around himself, much to Ed's obvious discomfort, and watched as he ran his hand along the counter and limped out of the kitchen, almost tripping on a chair on his way by.

Al sighed as he left. "He's so stubborn."

"I can still hear you!" Ed called.

"He's also an annoying pipsqueak," Roy pointed out.

Ed made a strangled sound.

Roy smirked and ignored him. "How has he been today?"

"Just fine!" Ed snapped from the living room.

"I wasn't talking to you," Roy responded. "I wanted an accurate account."

Ed muttered something Roy couldn't make out, and Roy's smirk broadened. It was nice that some things didn't change.

Al dropped his voice to a low murmur and told him that apart from that morning and when he had tried to tend to his injuries, he had had a pretty good day. There was only one really bad flashback, but it seemed he was doing even better in Roy's house than at the dorms.

"It's like he's more comfortable here for some reason," Al mused, adding his onions to the simmering pot. "Maybe it's because you're here."

Roy blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

Al turned away sheepishly. If he had been in flesh and blood, Roy was sure he would have blushed. "I mean, he's always been more at ease when you're around. Like he doesn't have to be the adult for a little while, you know?"

"Yelling constitutes 'more at ease'?" Roy retorted, turning to wash his hands in the sink.

Al picked up a pepper and put the knife to it. "You know Brother. He can't express himself with words. But we talked today and I think I realized . . . I think he's trying to push us away and be so independent because he doesn't disappoint us. He doesn't want you to think less of him because he can't do what he used to be able to."

Roy frowned, wiping his hands on a cup towel. "Why would he believe I would think less of him? After what he's been through, it's only natural—"

"Maybe you should tell him."

"Tell him?" Roy demanded incredulously. "Tell him what?!"

"Just talk to him, Colonel. He needs to hear that it's okay for him to not be the same just yet. And he needs to hear it from someone that's not me."

Roy leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. He was fully aware that it made him look like a petulant child. "And why's that?"

"Sir, he trusts you to take care of him physically, but he's scared you expect him to be someone he can't be right now and that . . . that you won't accept him anymore. He knows that I'll love him no matter what, because he's my brother, but you walked into our lives, and really, it wouldn't be hard to imagine you walking back out now that Ed's not military anymore."

Roy felt his chest tighten, like something cold and heavy just sat on him. Was that really how they felt? That he would abandon them the moment it became too much of an inconvenience?

"Walk out? Alphonse, I'm not going to just ditch you two!"

He knew that the boys had trust issues. Their father had abandoned them when they were barely more than toddlers, and they had seen their fair share of the darker side of humanity since then. When Roy thought about it, from their perspective Roy was just another person with an ulterior motive, and he had admittedly done little to dissuade that image over the past few years.

And then after Roy's last mistake, sending Ed up North . . .

Really, it was no wonder they wouldn't trust him.

Roy almost cringed when he saw the boy's broad shoulders slump with relief, as if he had been looking for some kind of confirmation all along. "That's . . . that's good to hear." He was still for a minute, then straightened. "You should tell him."

Roy's mouth moved up and down wordlessly. Tell him? What was he supposed to say?! What words could possibly make up for any of it? "Alphonse—"

Al turned to face him, crimson eyes pleading. "Please? He needs it."

All of his protests died on his lips. He let out a weary sigh, bringing a hand to massage his forehead. "I'll try," he promised.

He was supposed to just waltz in and tell Ed not to worry, that he didn't think he was weak or pathetic and Roy wouldn't dump him on the side of the road like a puppy that outgrew the house.

Was there a way to say it without getting an automail foot in his face? Roy didn't think so.

Ed was curled up on the couch, unaware of the dark that was starting to creep in with the waning light outside. He was almost completely hidden under the blanket, like a child hiding from a nightmare.

Roy found himself wishing that it was from something as trivial as that.

Something that wasn't his fault.

He stepped around the sofa and turned on the table lamp, setting the hospital bag on the coffee table behind him. "Al says you had a good day," Roy commented, perching himself on the edge of the table and unpacking the necessary supplies.

He could practically hear Ed scowl. "A good day," he scoffed. "I'm not some kid in preschool, Mustang."

Five seconds into the conversation and Roy had already blown it. Wonderful. "That's not what I meant."

"Fine, then. Yes, I had a good day. The best part was when you walked out the door this morning."

Roy smirked. "You're in a fine mood tonight, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, the good day ended when you came back."

"I can't help you with the stitches with the blanket and shirt in the way."

Slowly, the blanket came back to reveal Ed's sullen face. "Do we have to do this?" he asked. "It can't be that bad."

Roy grabbed a bottle of disinfectant. "If it's torn open, there's a chance for infection. You know that."

His response didn't seem to satisfy the blond, but he raised his hand and slowly pulled his shirt up, exposing his gaunt torso riddled with stitches, bandages and old scars, all covering his pale skin like grotesque graffiti.

Roy winced upon seeing it in the better light. Why did this have to happen to Ed?

"Hurry."

The request wasn't so much impatient as it was fearful, and that made Roy's heart clench.

He leaned forward and quickly got to work, removing the rest of the bandages and examining the torn flesh. The worst of it was his lower side, where one of the dog bites had been. It was a grisly wound that wouldn't heal prettily no matter what ministrations were given it.

Ed was a bundle of tension, with his jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps, and Roy was afraid he would pass out. Maybe conversation would make him feel more at ease? "The crew wanted me to tell you hello," he said.

Ed grunted a response, but said nothing.

So much for that, then.

Roy sprayed disinfectant on a sterile cloth. "This is going to sting."

Ed gritted his teeth and hissed as the fluid made contact with his open wounds. Roy did his best to cleanse the area and mop up the remaining blood quickly, but before he could finish, the boy gasped, pulling his hand up to his throat and making a chocking sound.

Roy immediately pulled his hands back. "Ed?"

One shaky, ragged breath later, "It's nothing," he whispered. "Just hurry."

Roy dabbed a numbing agent over the area. "So, how are you liking it here?" he tried again, hoping the conversation would take some of the edge off, or at least distract him a bit. At this point, he would have given anything for tranquilizers to give the kid. He hated seeing him this way. It wasn't fair and it wasn't Ed.

"I like it fine," Ed replied. "Especially when you're not here."

"And here I was, thinking you were just accepting my offer to be closer to me. I understand I am something of an idol for you, so it would be understandable."

He snorted derisively. "As if I would want to become a lazy, worthless, ego-tripping idiot." He didn't seem to notice Roy had started sewing the wound shut.

Roy was suddenly, overwhelmingly curious. "So why did you accept the offer, then?" he asked, all hint of teasing gone. Ed made it plain as day that he didn't particularly like Roy at all. So why had he agreed to stay? It wasn't as if Roy would have let him turn down the offer, but he didn't even put up much of a fight. Now that Roy stopped to question it, it didn't make any sense.

Maybe the kid didn't hate him as much as he let on. It would make saying what needed to be said that much easier if he knew it would be accepted and not hurled back in his face via Ed's fist.

Another snort, but it wasn't quite as easy as the first had been. He twitched as Roy tugged the needle through a ragged flap of skin. "Al wanted to stay. Besides, it's easier to bum off of you."

Of course it was Al. Roy couldn't say he was surprised, but he had hoped that maybe there was something else there, that maybe Ed didn't completely hate him for what happened. Al wasn't usually wrong about his brother, but he must have been off this time. There was no way Ed could possibly trust Roy, or would even want to trust him.

And yet . . .

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."

Ed blinked as if surprised. "What?"

"I said," Roy drawled, "that I'm glad you're here. Now it's more convenient than ever for me to make fun of you."

Ed scowled. "That's what I thought, smug jerk."

"And makes it easier for me to look out for you."

Ed opened his mouth the let out another insult, then shut it as he processed what Roy just said. "Mustang . . ." he began uncertainly, twisting a bit where he lay as if completely uncomfortable with the sudden turn in the conversation.

"Don't move so much, Fullmetal. You'll make me stitch outside of the lines."

He scowled, but there was an ease to it, a relief that the conversation had returned to familiar territory. "That's what I get for letting an incompetent moron do it."

Roy finished tying off the last of the stitches. "Well, I'm already finished, so I can't be that incompetent."

Ed blinked, hand moving to feel his side. "Already?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I've stitched you up plenty of times, remember?"

He quickly pulled his shirt down and wrapped the blanket around himself. Roy watched the boy try to get up with one arm for a moment before gently taking his elbow and helping him to his feet. "I can stand up myself, Mustang," Ed groused, but didn't shake him away as he led him around the sofa and back into the kitchen.

"You can also trip all by yourself. That's very impressive."

"Almost as impressive as your incompetence," Ed muttered.

"And yet, nowhere near as impressive as your midget-like stature."

"I'm not short, you oversized freak!"

"Are you guys arguing again?" Al sighed as Roy guided the blond into a chair.

"No," they both said.

Al looked back and forth in between them with something between affection and irritation before setting two plates full of pasta on the set table. "If you guys think you can sit here alone and not kill each other, I'm going to go check out those books you brought back."

"No promises," Ed muttered, reaching out in front of him and feeling for a fork.

"We'll be fine," Roy assured him, taking his own seat. "Thank you both for the meal. It's nice to come home to real food."

"I'll bet," Ed said, shoveling too much food into his mouth and rendering his next comment about Roy's lacking food stores all but unintelligible.

"I was stocking for one, not one and a teenager with the appetite of a grasshopper."

"Who are you calling small?!" he demanded around his food.

"Sir," Al said exasperatedly. "He's going to choke."

Ed finally swallowed. "More like I'm going to choke him," he said, shoving in the next forkful.

Roy tried to keep his teasing about the boy's appetite to a minimum, generally. The first time he had eaten real food since his rescue, he almost decked a nurse that got too close to him. Even now as Roy watched, he was hunched over his meal protectively, as if afraid someone would get too close and snatch it away from him. If Roy had to guess, that was probably what had happened to him in that basement, and it made Roy's blood boil to just think about it.

But sometimes, Roy thought the teasing helped the kid. It was an old habit, a favorite routine that was as long-standing as their relationship. There was something blissfully natural about Ed's responses, as if it were as easy as breathing, and at times, it almost seemed like the boy's irritation was a front, a barrier to hide how relieved he was that something in his life was consistent.

Roy couldn't be sure, though . . .

The phone in the living room let out a shrill ring.

"I'll get it," Al said, rushing out of the room, his metal footsteps clanking down the hall.

Roy stared after the boy before settling back in his chair. He could hear Alphonse picking up the phone in the hall on the third ring and murmur a polite greeting, but the rest of the conversation was lost to him.

Beside him, Ed suddenly froze. The fork slipped from his hand, clattering noisily against the plate and bouncing off to hit the table. His face became as pale as death.

Roy frowned. He would have assumed it was a flashback, but he didn't have the same glazed look he usually got when he was trapped in a memory. "Ed?"

He worked his jaw up and down a moment before sound came out. "She's . . . tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . ."

"Who? What are you—?"

Alphonse suddenly flew around the corner, soul-fire eyes wide with panic. "Winry's coming tomorrow!"