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When Al burst through the doors of the emergency room, a fair amount of people screamed. He was used to it happening from time to time, but something about the urgency of the situation made him more jumpy, and as a result, he squeezed Ed a little tighter to himself. Ed's breathing hitched at the movement. He'd already been making hiccuping gasp-y breaths, hardly responding whenever Al would try to talk to him.
Ed’s arm was gone. Well, it wasn’t gone– it was safely stored in Al’s right leg– but it may as well have been. A disastrous fight with Lust, one wrong move, and suddenly, Ed was down an arm and not getting up. Al had immediately retrieved the discarded arm and rushed Ed as fast as he could to the nearest hospital.
Al couldn't be bothered by the scared patients, and went straight for the circulation desk where a nurse looked up at him wide eyed.
"Please, miss," Al said. He was very aware of how high and tinny his voice sounded, and also how it in no way fit his body. He hoped it would help to calm her. "My brother's hurt, will you help him?"
The nurse's eyes traveled from Al's red and glowing eyes down to the small one armed bundle he had in his arms, and it was clear that she hadn't even seen Ed at first.
"Oh my!" she said, immediately springing into action and calling over a gurney. "What happened?"
"His automail was ripped off," Al explained, "I think it damaged his port really badly."
The nurse nodded before picking up the phone, "Ortho, peds, and automail to the ER," she said. She gestured to Al's left and he jumped again as he realized there was a gurney and a few frightened looking doctors stabilizing it.
"Oh!" Al said, and he gently lay Ed down on the gurney, getting a good look at his brother fully. Somewhere along the way he'd lost his red coat, and the arm of his black jacket had been ripped off with Ed's arm, exposing the port. Blood from the port edges was quickly saturating his shirt on his right side, and his left hand was also a deep red. Al could see a slice in his palm and some cuts on his fingers from when he grabbed at the jagged port.
"You're going to have to stay here," one of the doctors told Al, his eyes flickering from Al's helmet down his body, and Al looked down noticing that most of his front was spotted in blood.
"No!" Ed suddenly screamed at the mention of Al staying behind, "Al!"
For being one armed and clearly in a lot of pain, Ed held his own against the two doctor's trying to hold him down. He bucked from the gurney, trying to swing his legs over the side and pulling his arm from the doctor's grasp.
Al quickly came forward and grabbed Ed's flesh leg, holding it down. "Brother, you need to calm down," he said. Ed immediately stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. "Al," he said, his voice broken and obviously pained. It was clear that the adrenaline from the fight had worn off, and Ed was hurting.
"Alright, we need to get him to a trauma room so we can give him something for the pain. You can stay for now to keep him calm," one of the doctors said to Al.
"Okay," Al said in a small voice. He followed the doctors as they wheeled Ed to a small room down the hall with lots of equipment, holding Ed's leg the entire time. Ed had gone back to his gasp-y breaths, curled up on his side. The doctors immediately began bustling around and prepping things.
"It's Al, right?"
Al almost jumped for the third time that day when he heard the gentle voice to his right. A female doctor with purple scrubs was holding a clipboard and looking up at Al without any fear in her eyes. She hadn't been in the ER before, so Al could only assume she'd already been in the trauma room and he just hadn't seen her when they entered.
"Um yes," Al said, "I'm Ed's younger brother."
"Hi there, I’m Pauline, is there anything we need to know about Ed before we start treating him?" she asked, "like allergies or–"
"His left leg is automail," Al said suddenly, "he's fifteen, he's had his arm and leg for six years, I don't think he's allergic to anything, but he hates needles, and milk–" Al trailed off as he realized he was rambling, and Pauline nodded at him kindly.
"Okay," she said, "we have to give him some medicine for the pain, will you help us keep him distracted while we do it?"
Al realized she meant they had to put a line in his arm, and he squeezed Ed's leg, knowing his brother wasn't going to like it. He nodded and knelt down on Ed's right side so he was level with his brother's face.
"Brother," he said, "can you hear me?"
Ed's eyes were squeezed shut again and every so often he would let out a small whimper between breaths which made Al all the more scared. Ed turned his head so he was facing Al.
"Try not to think about it," Al said, knowing that's not what Ed wanted to hear, but he didn't know what else to say. Al watched as someone placed a blood pressure cuff around Ed's arm, and it caused a fresh bout of struggle in protest from Ed, especially when he tried to move his arm again only to realize it was being held down by the doctors.
"Hey!" Al exclaimed, placing his free hand on Ed's forehead. "You have to stay still!"
Ed immediately stopped moving and looked up into Al's glowing red eyes, breathing heavily.
"Al–" Ed gasped, "it's taking my arm– I'll have no arms– Winry'll kill me!"
Al stopped for a second, trying to figure out what Ed was saying. Then he realized what the squeezing of the blood pressure cuff must have felt like to his brother.
"They're not taking your arm, they're just taking your blood pressure," Al said calmly. He was worried about Ed's deliriousness, thankfully though he had practice calming Ed down after having to wake him up from nightmares.
"And Winry's not going to kill you. I'm going to call her right after I call the Colonel. She's going to be worried about you, but she's going to come and fix your arm."
"O-okay," Ed stuttered, not sounding convinced. Al sneaked a look over to where the doctors were just finishing the IV line in Ed's arm. He noticed one injecting something into it.
"It's morphine, and it should be taking effect right about now," Pauline was saying.
And sure enough, after a few seconds, Ed's breathing slowed, and his muscles relaxed. Ed blinked slowly at Al, but didn't say anything. The doctors continued their work, cutting away Ed's shirt to fully expose the port, and Al quickly looked away. No wonder Ed was delirious, his arm was practically ripped off his body. Metal pulled at already sensitive skin and bolts stuck half ripped and bloodied from where they would have been fastened the port to his shoulder..
"We have to get this X-rayed," Pauline said, "I'm sorry, Al, but you really can't be in there for that. Not even if you take off your armor."
"He can't take it off."
Both Al and the doctor looked over to Ed who'd just spoken. His eyes were half shut and slightly unfocussed.
"Yeah," Al said with a small chuckle, "so I probably shouldn't get X-rayed then, right big brother?"
"Hmm," Ed murmured.
"We'll come and get you as soon as you can see Ed again," Pauline told Al. "In the meantime, the phone is just outside the waiting room if you need to call anyone."
“Okay," Al said, “thank you.”
"This is First Lieutenant Hawkeye.”
Al was grateful at the speed with which Hawkeye answered the office phone.
"Lieutenant! Ed's been hurt, I need to speak to Colonel Mustang, it's urgent!"
"Al? What's going on? Where are you?"
"We were attacked, we're at Central hospital right now."
"Alright, I'm putting you through to the Colonel. Just hold on, I'll get us on the first train out."
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Al said as the phone clicked and he waited for Mustang.
"Al, are you alright?"
Hawkeye must have told Mustang who was on the line, as the Colonel already seemed agitated, much the opposite to his usual grumpy demeanor.
"I'm fine sir, it's Ed who–"
"Wait to tell me what happened in person, these lines could be compromised," Mustang cut into Al. "As soon as I'm off the phone with you, I'll send over Major Armstrong and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes to watch over you and Ed before I can get there. I believe Lieutenant Hawkeye is acquiring our train tickets right now."
"Okay, thank you, sir," Al said. He was a little more relaxed now that Mustang knew, and that help was on the way.
"Now tell me about Ed, is he alright– I mean have the doctors told you anything?"
"I think so," Al said. All he could think about was Ed's too fast breathing and the wreckage that used to be his arm. The pain seemed to have gone down when the doctors gave him the medicine, but Al didn't like how quickly it made him lethargic and dazed. It was very much not how his big brother was supposed to act. "His arm was ripped off, his right arm. He was hurting a lot, and they gave him some medicine that seemed to work. They're taking him to get an X-ray right now."
"Good, Al, that's good," Mustang said, "you did the right thing for him by bringing him there and calling me. Hughes and Armstrong will be there soon, and Hawkeye and I soon after that. Now is there a nurse or doctor around I can speak with briefly?"
Al looked around and spotted the nurse that he had initially spoken to, and waved for her to come over. She looked slightly nervous, but came over.
"Would you please speak with Colonel Mustang? It's about my brother," he said, offering her the phone. She seemed to deflate at his voice as she remembered that he really was just a young boy and nodded, taking the phone from him.
Al waited patiently as the nurse spoke with the Colonel and tried not to let his mind wander, but the image of Ed's destroyed automail kept appearing in front of his eyes. Not to mention the fact that Ed's arm was still safely inside his armor. He wondered if he should tell the doctors he had it, if it would be helpful, but decided against it, telling himself that if they asked he would give it, but not before.
The nurse hung up the phone then and turned to Al.
"My name is Amy," she said, "if you or the Colonel have any questions, you can come to me, and I'm going to oversee Ed's care and make sure he's taken really good care of, okay?"
"Okay," Al said, "thank you."
Amy nodded and went over to sit at the circulation desk where Al had first talked to her. Then Al turned back to the phone and sighed, preparing himself for who he had to call next.
"Rockbell automail and prosthetics, Pinako speaking."
If Al had been able to cry, he would have burst into tears just at the familiar sound of Granny's voice. The stress and anxiety had caught up to him and while it had been a relief, and some of the burden off of his shoulders to tell the colonel, just Granny's voice held a comfort that Mustang never could offer. She had known Al in his body, had (sparingly) hugged him and cared for him and Ed after their mom died. It was a warm feeling that would always be there.
"Oh Granny," Al exclaimed, "it's brother! He's hurt, and his arm– the port– it's all a mess, and I don't know what to do, and–"
"Slow down Alphonse," Granny interrupted, "tell me what happened."
Al explained what happened using as little details about the actual fight as he could, and as much detail about what he had briefly seen of Ed's arm and port as he could. Halfway through his retelling, he heard Granny yelling for Winry, and once she was listening in, he began again, slightly calmer this time.
"Have you called that Colonel of Ed's?"
"Yes," Al said, "he's sending over some officers to look after us until he gets here."
"And I don't want anyone taking any metal off of that boy until Winry is there, you got that?"
"Yes, Granny."
"Good, you did good, bean," Granny said, "now all there is left to do is wait, I'm afraid."
"I'll be there soon, Al," Winry said through the phone. Al could hear her banging things around and pictured her packing everything she would need to help Ed.
"Thanks Winry," Al said. Just talking to his family had made him feel better.
He hung up the phone and sighed. He had no idea what to do now. He wanted to be with Ed, but he didn’t want to get in the doctor’s way. He knew his body was big, and clumsy, and unsterile. Looking down at himself, he was shocked to see the rust color of dried blood still there. Ed’s blood.
He’s going to be fine, Al said to himself as he sought out a bathroom. If he was going to have any chance of being with his brother, he had to clean the blood off of his armor.
Al sighed as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. There wasn’t a lot of blood on him, but there was enough to make him look like a pretty graphic hallow’s eve costume. Al’s heart (wherever it was) clenched at the sight of the bloody handprint right where Al’s heart should have been. He brought his own hand to rest over it, hiding it completely. In a morbid way, it was almost as if they were holding hands.
Shaking himself from the idea, Al carefully removed his chest plate and set it on the ground, carefully wetting a towel he stole from a cart that wasn’t being attended. He didn’t often clean his own armor, as Ed usually insisted on doing the task himself. He wished Ed were here now, he felt vulnerable– all alone with his sigil showing
Al wiped the towel over the bloody chest plate and watched as the handprint along with the other streaks washed away. The good thing about having a metal body was that it was easy to clean.
Satisfied with his work, Al reattached his chest plate before anyone could see his hollow body, and threw the dirty rag in the trash.
They let Al sit with Ed as they were cleaning and stitching his hand. Ed had sliced his palm clean open by the port’s jagged edges after his arm had been torn off. Ed had calmed down significantly and was slightly dazed, the morphine having a larger effect on Ed than Al’d ever seen before.
“Are you in a lot of pain, brother?” Al asked. Ed was sitting up on an emergency room bed. There was gauze carefully bandaged on and around his port, and an IV line was in his flesh arm. They’re removed his torn and bloodied shirt and replaced it with a light blue hospital shirt.
“Not really,” Ed said. He was watching his hand intently. Al hadn’t “felt” in a while, but it looked painful–the stitches. The doctor doing it was a friendly young man who’d introduced himself as Brett.
“That’s good,” Brett said. He’d just washed some blood away with saline. “I know stitches are pretty uncomfortable sometimes.”
Al smirked. He thought it both funny and considerate that Brett wasn’t bringing up the fact that Ed’s arm was gone, and was probably causing more pain than a few stitches.
“Where are you guys from? Your accent sounds familiar.” Brett asked.
Al couldn’t miss the slight scowl that flashed over Ed’s face. His older brother didn’t say anything though.
“We grew up in the countryside,” Al said, “Resembool.”
“Oh wow, small world!” Brett said, “I used to live just outside of Kaumafy! We used to trade lumber for livestock with some folks in Resembool.”
Al nodded as Brett went on about countryside life, and couldn’t help but notice Ed’s eyes fluttering shut. By the time Brett was finished stitching Ed up, Ed was completely out, head slightly lolled to the side.
“I don’t think his room is ready quite yet, but you’re welcome to stay with him here while we wait, I’m just going to get him another blanket,” Brett said quietly as he was putting his things away.
“Thank you,” Al said. He was glad Ed was getting some rest. “Can you ask the nurse Amy if Lieutenant Colonel Hughes or Major Armstrong are here yet?”
“Yeah of course,” Brett said before he left.
Both Al’s and Brett’s heads turned as a commotion had suddenly broke out near the circulation desk.
“Two young boys! As beautiful as me, and with hair as gold as well!”
Major Louis Armstrong was towering over the desk, a look of panic all over his face. Amy, sitting at the desk was slightly leaning away, but holding her ground all the same.
“Major Armstrong!” Al said without waking Ed. Armstrong turned at the sound of his name, and when he saw the suit of armor, he visibly relaxed as he came over.
“Alphonse! Are you okay?”
Armstrong was flanked by two privates, and they hurried to catch up to the Strong-arm alchemists long strides.
“I’m okay,” Al said.
“Don’t worry, we’ve secured the entire building, and these two privates and myself are not leaving either of your sides until we hear from the Flame.”
“Thank you, Major,” Al said quietly. “I’m sure brother will thank you also when he wakes up.”
“How is young Edward?” Armstrong said, taking Brett’s abandoned chair.
“It was really scary,” Al said quietly, “Granny always told us that traumatic automail amputation causes a lot of stress and shock to the rest of his body. I think he was in a lot of pain after it happened.”
Al was surprised when he looked up away from Ed to see a tear falling down the Major’s cheek.
“They gave him medicine, and Winry’s on her way to fix his port and arm–”
“Mm–Al?”
At that moment, Ed shifted towards Al’s voice and almost tipped over when his right hand was not there to catch him. Al quickly righted him, trying to be wary of his broken ribs, but Ed still flinched with a small moan.
“Major Armstrong is here, brother,” Al said quietly, keeping a hand on Ed’s leg, “try to go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” Ed murmured.
“I’m going to see what’s taking so long to get that room ready,” Armstrong said with a sniff, and a dramatic wipe of his tears. He gestured to the two privates and they immediately surrounded the Elrics.
“Don’t worry, Alphonse,” Armstrong said, turning back, “the colonel will not let her get away with this.”
“Thank you, Major.”