DISREPAIR
Title: Disrepair
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,720
Characters: Ed, Al
Warnings: Post-FILM speculation
Summary: In a world where automail isn't supposed to exist, Ed's arm breaks down, and Al has no idea where to go from there.
A/N: Thank you [info]pandora_culpa for kind words, always!
“Brother!”
“It’s fine, Al,” even though he sounds anything but fine. “Just my arm-”
“What can I do? Does it hurt?”
“Yes. I mean no, it just feels like it should.” He is clutching his shoulder with his left hand, his automail arm hanging limp at his side. “I don’t know.”
--
Al doesn’t have the mind of a mechanic. Neither patient nor passionate, not even interested, always knowing that Winry was always just a train ride away if Ed ever needed her, he had never even thought to pick up an automail book, let alone consider that it might have been wise to learn about it. He never imagined that there would one day be a time when they couldn’t run back to Winry anymore. Then again, how could he have known that he and Ed would come to be stranded in a world where automail wasn’t even supposed to exist?
He figures that after all the time spent with Winry, some knowledge should have rubbed off on him. But it didn’t, and Al wishes that he had paid more attention whenever she had to fix Ed’s automail, or that he had ever picked up a book on even basic mechanics, since the Rockbell house was full of them. He knew about maintenance, from helping Ed in those long months following his surgery and then when they couldn’t get to Winry right away, but he knew nothing about how the actual machinery worked. Whatever went on underneath the outer casing of Ed’s arm and leg were a mystery, as was what to do if anything under there went wrong.
Al can’t figure out how Ed’s automail works.
Ed fusses with his leg sometimes, pulling off parts and playing with the wires underneath, which Al warns him not to do because it makes him so nervous, even though he watches intently, trying desperately to learn. But he never goes as far as to touch the machinery himself; it looks so very complicated, stronger than flesh and yet all the more fragile.
The extent of Al’s automail engineering experience was getting to hold a part or wire in place (or sometimes just holding on to his brother) to make things easier for Winry, but that hardly made him an expert. He took direction without ever knowing the reason or the meaning behind the parts. Which was fine at the time. As long as Winry knew perfectly well what she was doing, Al didn’t have to worry about anything at all.
But now Winry is a world away, never to be seen again, and with Edward’s automail arm hanging at his side like a dead thing, Alphonse has reason to worry.
They are in London, where it remains unspoken that they are searching for their father, despite Edward’s constant denial of this. But at least the books there are in a language Al can understand. He reads about mechanics, studies this world’s technology, hoping to one day find some part of the gibberish that makes sense; because although the books are written in his own language, what they actually say is another language entirely. Al persists. He has to, for his brother’s sake.
For what seems to be the first time in his life, Ed is holding himself back and is careful, practicing caution and restraint that Al never thought he had in him. He is being truly careful, never throwing himself headfirst into anything. Al knows that it’s because his brother is terrified, knowing full well that if something were to happen to his automail, there would be no way to do anything about it. Still, he loves to tease Ed about his newfound restraint, tentativeness, if only to keep from worrying. Ed jokes as well, though he remains quiet and careful.
But England is at war, and careful can only get him so far.
--
Al has no trouble understanding Ed’s cry of pain as he drags him to his feet, having spent time enough out of his own body to understand how much it can hurt not to feel. Though Ed’s legs are fine, the dead weight of his automail arm throws off his already shaky balance, so that Al is doing most of the work as they make their way into the cellar.
Ed hasn’t let go of his automail. “Something’s jammed,” he gasps when Al has finally helped him back down to the floor. Al knows that his brother’s been trying to use his arm the entire time, never being one to just let things be. “I can’t feel where, but I can fix it, I just have to open it, then I’ll be able to see the problem.”
“Brother, you’re shaking,” Al warns him as he is about to do something possibly regrettable and definitely stupid. “Let me look at it.”
“It can’t be broken. This can’t-”
“It’s not. Shut up,” comes Al’s lighthearted reply, even though the situation is far more serious. He knows that something has to be done, that automail won’t just fix itself, but he has no idea what he could possibly do. “Let me just see...”
Without any warning, surprising even himself with his boldness, Al pulls off the casing and is overwhelmed by the mass of gears and wires he uncovers. He suddenly feels like he’s in the armor again, too large and clumsy for the task at hand.
Ed doesn’t watch. His stares ahead; Probably worrying about living the rest of his life with only one arm, Al figures. As careful as Edward had become, he was still quick to anger and even quicker to panic, having little sense to work on calming down when he could so easily dwell in fear and anxiety.
Then his mind drifts to Winry. He imagines how angry she would be if she ever knew that Al was messing with the precious arm she had slaved over. She would be furious, and probably take to throwing blunt objects after him. It’s been three years since Al has seen her, and he finds himself yearning for her to throw blunt objects at him, because then he would be back home with the people he loves, and not stuck in a backwards world with his brother whom he swore to follow.
But as he stares at the wires and gears and things lying below the surface of Ed’s arm, Al reigns in his wandering mind with a deep, steady breath, and focuses on trying to find the problem. He becomes so deep in concentration that he doesn’t notice when Ed’s left hand comes up to touch his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” Ed explains, and presses his palm flat against his new point of focus.
Al nods in acknowledgement, having been too worried about his brother’s injury to notice his own, and offers a quick smile before he turns his focus back the automail. “I’m fine.”
“Did anyone follow us?” Ed asks.
“I don’t think so,” Al says, although he glances up at the cellar door just to be sure that the soldiers weren’t coming in. That, too, had slipped his mind. All he is currently concerned with are wires, blues and greens and reds, and tiny metal parts all fitting together like an impossible puzzle. He keeps looking, hoping that whatever the problem is will manifest itself in a way he will actually be able to see.
He taps at a larger piece of metal closer to Ed’s shoulder. “Can this part come off?”
Ed nods, and then sinks even further down the wall, slumping in preemptive defeat. He is still holding his hand to what Al figures must be a cut on his forehead, for which he is grateful. Al unscrews the part and is very careful in removing it, studying exactly where it was attached so that he would remember how to put it back on after.
He finds the problem right away. A small gear looks like it was thrown out of place, unplugging and jamming wires in its wake and looking wrong enough that it has to be what’s causing the trouble. Al says, “Here. I found it,” even before he knows for sure, to try and set his brother’s anxiety at ease.
Ed’s eyes flare up with a kind of desperation that Al isn’t used to seeing. “Can you fix it?”
Alfons nods, having no idea if he can. But finding the problem has given him a bit of confidence. He was no mechanic, but he finally believes that he could fix this.
With careful scrutiny, he finds a spot that looks like where the gear was supposed to fit, and puts it back in place. The wires that were knocked aside are easily fitted and tightened back into place as well. The last wire, a thin yellow one, was unplugged, but Al finds where it should belong, and plugs it in.
It’s as if Ed is electrocuted, screaming and flailing his legs and both his arms from the initial shock before clenching his whole body tight against a pain that Al can’t even begin to imagine. His face is red and he is shaking from the tension, but when Ed is finally able to breathe again, his first breath comes out as a laugh. “You did it.”
Al doesn’t have time to be incredulous, as his brother is about to fall over, so he helps him to the ground. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, “I can’t believe you actually did it.” His breathing eventually gives way to a steady rhythm, indicating that he’s passed out. Al is glad for this, glad that he isn’t going to have to hear his brother thank him. Being thanked doesn’t sit well with him.
To his knowledge, there isn’t anything he’s done that is deserving of thanks. It’s his fault that so many people were killed when he opened the portal between worlds, and it’s his fault for getting both of them stuck in this alternate world after Ed had already made it back home. The guilt still weighs as heavy on him as it did three years ago.
But then, fixing Ed’s arm might have been the first thing Al has done right by his brother in years. He hopes, as he gets started putting Ed’s arm back together, that it it won’t be the last.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,720
Characters: Ed, Al
Warnings: Post-FILM speculation
Summary: In a world where automail isn't supposed to exist, Ed's arm breaks down, and Al has no idea where to go from there.
A/N: Thank you [info]pandora_culpa for kind words, always!
“Brother!”
“It’s fine, Al,” even though he sounds anything but fine. “Just my arm-”
“What can I do? Does it hurt?”
“Yes. I mean no, it just feels like it should.” He is clutching his shoulder with his left hand, his automail arm hanging limp at his side. “I don’t know.”
--
Al doesn’t have the mind of a mechanic. Neither patient nor passionate, not even interested, always knowing that Winry was always just a train ride away if Ed ever needed her, he had never even thought to pick up an automail book, let alone consider that it might have been wise to learn about it. He never imagined that there would one day be a time when they couldn’t run back to Winry anymore. Then again, how could he have known that he and Ed would come to be stranded in a world where automail wasn’t even supposed to exist?
He figures that after all the time spent with Winry, some knowledge should have rubbed off on him. But it didn’t, and Al wishes that he had paid more attention whenever she had to fix Ed’s automail, or that he had ever picked up a book on even basic mechanics, since the Rockbell house was full of them. He knew about maintenance, from helping Ed in those long months following his surgery and then when they couldn’t get to Winry right away, but he knew nothing about how the actual machinery worked. Whatever went on underneath the outer casing of Ed’s arm and leg were a mystery, as was what to do if anything under there went wrong.
Al can’t figure out how Ed’s automail works.
Ed fusses with his leg sometimes, pulling off parts and playing with the wires underneath, which Al warns him not to do because it makes him so nervous, even though he watches intently, trying desperately to learn. But he never goes as far as to touch the machinery himself; it looks so very complicated, stronger than flesh and yet all the more fragile.
The extent of Al’s automail engineering experience was getting to hold a part or wire in place (or sometimes just holding on to his brother) to make things easier for Winry, but that hardly made him an expert. He took direction without ever knowing the reason or the meaning behind the parts. Which was fine at the time. As long as Winry knew perfectly well what she was doing, Al didn’t have to worry about anything at all.
But now Winry is a world away, never to be seen again, and with Edward’s automail arm hanging at his side like a dead thing, Alphonse has reason to worry.
They are in London, where it remains unspoken that they are searching for their father, despite Edward’s constant denial of this. But at least the books there are in a language Al can understand. He reads about mechanics, studies this world’s technology, hoping to one day find some part of the gibberish that makes sense; because although the books are written in his own language, what they actually say is another language entirely. Al persists. He has to, for his brother’s sake.
For what seems to be the first time in his life, Ed is holding himself back and is careful, practicing caution and restraint that Al never thought he had in him. He is being truly careful, never throwing himself headfirst into anything. Al knows that it’s because his brother is terrified, knowing full well that if something were to happen to his automail, there would be no way to do anything about it. Still, he loves to tease Ed about his newfound restraint, tentativeness, if only to keep from worrying. Ed jokes as well, though he remains quiet and careful.
But England is at war, and careful can only get him so far.
--
Al has no trouble understanding Ed’s cry of pain as he drags him to his feet, having spent time enough out of his own body to understand how much it can hurt not to feel. Though Ed’s legs are fine, the dead weight of his automail arm throws off his already shaky balance, so that Al is doing most of the work as they make their way into the cellar.
Ed hasn’t let go of his automail. “Something’s jammed,” he gasps when Al has finally helped him back down to the floor. Al knows that his brother’s been trying to use his arm the entire time, never being one to just let things be. “I can’t feel where, but I can fix it, I just have to open it, then I’ll be able to see the problem.”
“Brother, you’re shaking,” Al warns him as he is about to do something possibly regrettable and definitely stupid. “Let me look at it.”
“It can’t be broken. This can’t-”
“It’s not. Shut up,” comes Al’s lighthearted reply, even though the situation is far more serious. He knows that something has to be done, that automail won’t just fix itself, but he has no idea what he could possibly do. “Let me just see...”
Without any warning, surprising even himself with his boldness, Al pulls off the casing and is overwhelmed by the mass of gears and wires he uncovers. He suddenly feels like he’s in the armor again, too large and clumsy for the task at hand.
Ed doesn’t watch. His stares ahead; Probably worrying about living the rest of his life with only one arm, Al figures. As careful as Edward had become, he was still quick to anger and even quicker to panic, having little sense to work on calming down when he could so easily dwell in fear and anxiety.
Then his mind drifts to Winry. He imagines how angry she would be if she ever knew that Al was messing with the precious arm she had slaved over. She would be furious, and probably take to throwing blunt objects after him. It’s been three years since Al has seen her, and he finds himself yearning for her to throw blunt objects at him, because then he would be back home with the people he loves, and not stuck in a backwards world with his brother whom he swore to follow.
But as he stares at the wires and gears and things lying below the surface of Ed’s arm, Al reigns in his wandering mind with a deep, steady breath, and focuses on trying to find the problem. He becomes so deep in concentration that he doesn’t notice when Ed’s left hand comes up to touch his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” Ed explains, and presses his palm flat against his new point of focus.
Al nods in acknowledgement, having been too worried about his brother’s injury to notice his own, and offers a quick smile before he turns his focus back the automail. “I’m fine.”
“Did anyone follow us?” Ed asks.
“I don’t think so,” Al says, although he glances up at the cellar door just to be sure that the soldiers weren’t coming in. That, too, had slipped his mind. All he is currently concerned with are wires, blues and greens and reds, and tiny metal parts all fitting together like an impossible puzzle. He keeps looking, hoping that whatever the problem is will manifest itself in a way he will actually be able to see.
He taps at a larger piece of metal closer to Ed’s shoulder. “Can this part come off?”
Ed nods, and then sinks even further down the wall, slumping in preemptive defeat. He is still holding his hand to what Al figures must be a cut on his forehead, for which he is grateful. Al unscrews the part and is very careful in removing it, studying exactly where it was attached so that he would remember how to put it back on after.
He finds the problem right away. A small gear looks like it was thrown out of place, unplugging and jamming wires in its wake and looking wrong enough that it has to be what’s causing the trouble. Al says, “Here. I found it,” even before he knows for sure, to try and set his brother’s anxiety at ease.
Ed’s eyes flare up with a kind of desperation that Al isn’t used to seeing. “Can you fix it?”
Alfons nods, having no idea if he can. But finding the problem has given him a bit of confidence. He was no mechanic, but he finally believes that he could fix this.
With careful scrutiny, he finds a spot that looks like where the gear was supposed to fit, and puts it back in place. The wires that were knocked aside are easily fitted and tightened back into place as well. The last wire, a thin yellow one, was unplugged, but Al finds where it should belong, and plugs it in.
It’s as if Ed is electrocuted, screaming and flailing his legs and both his arms from the initial shock before clenching his whole body tight against a pain that Al can’t even begin to imagine. His face is red and he is shaking from the tension, but when Ed is finally able to breathe again, his first breath comes out as a laugh. “You did it.”
Al doesn’t have time to be incredulous, as his brother is about to fall over, so he helps him to the ground. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, “I can’t believe you actually did it.” His breathing eventually gives way to a steady rhythm, indicating that he’s passed out. Al is glad for this, glad that he isn’t going to have to hear his brother thank him. Being thanked doesn’t sit well with him.
To his knowledge, there isn’t anything he’s done that is deserving of thanks. It’s his fault that so many people were killed when he opened the portal between worlds, and it’s his fault for getting both of them stuck in this alternate world after Ed had already made it back home. The guilt still weighs as heavy on him as it did three years ago.
But then, fixing Ed’s arm might have been the first thing Al has done right by his brother in years. He hopes, as he gets started putting Ed’s arm back together, that it it won’t be the last.