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schrijverr · 7 months

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My Stab Wound, Not Our Stab Wound

When Ed gets stabbed on his way to work the rest of team Mustang realize just how high a pain tolerance he has.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: chronic pain, blood, injury, wound care

~~~~

Edward is having a Bad day. Yes, capital B bad. It just sucks from top to bottom from the second he wakes up.

It starts before he even opens his eyes, when the air has him groaning and 99% sure it’s going to rain later today, because there is an ache in his stumps that his automail keeps tugging at.

The groan alone would have been enough for Al to try to talk him out of going to report, but Al isn’t here right now and the sooner Ed goes to report to colonel bastard, the sooner he can go save Al from his own kindness.

The town they had followed yet another busted lead to the philosopher's stone in is in the middle of setting up for a festival and Al is very useful when it comes to lugging heavy pieces of stalls and a stage around. So, naturally the younger had stuck around.

If he’s honest, Ed would have loved to stick around as well, but alas he had been called back to eastern command instead.

Colonel bastard had kindly – read in his usual asshole-y manner – explained to Ed that he is behind on his reports and paper work. Until he is caught up, the colonel is not giving him another lead and he does have another lead. Ed can’t afford to waste those few days to catch up to help with the festival alongside Al, so he went to back to East City alone.

Of course, Al wanted to come with him. He was ready to go the second Ed told him he had to, but Ed couldn’t bring himself to ask Al to go, no matter how much he would have loved the company of his little brother.

Because the festival reminded both of them of the sheep festival back home. Of the good days of their childhood. And it was clear how badly Al wanted to stay. Ed couldn’t take that from him. Not after everything else he’d already taken.

So here he is, groaning in pain and all by himself in his dorm bed.

For a second he contemplates listening to the Al in his head and staying down for today. However, getting to command today is to save time, not add more to it. Besides, it isn’t raining right now and the pain is still manageable, who knows how bad it’ll get when the water does start to fall.

Still, he allows himself a moment of misery, before forcing himself out of bed, cursing his way through his morning routine.

He is still grumbling when he walks down the streets towards eastern command. His foul mood is radiating off him, so most people give him a wide berth, something Ed is grateful for. Because of this, it comes as a surprise as someone bumps into him harshly, sending him sprawling to the ground with a loud thud, pain radiating from his shoulder.

“Hey!” he exclaims, getting up and glaring at the guy that ran into him. “Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole.”

For some reason the guy gets very pale, looking almost stricken. And he doesn’t reply to Ed’s comment at all.

Ed follows his gaze, spotting his watch, which is now dangling from his belt instead of tucked into his pocket like normal. He shoves it back and rolls his eyes, sighing: “I’m not going to arrest you or some shit just because ran into me. I’m not a dick.”

The guy looks like he can’t believe it, but before Ed can say anything else, he has turned on his heel, running away as fast as he can.

“Weirdo,” Ed mumbles to himself, before continuing the journey.

There is still a pain in his shoulder – the left one this time – from where the guy bumped into him, which must have been harder than Ed thought. It’s another layer of shit on his already shit day, because he was planning on writing with that arm, shittier handwriting be damned. He still probably will, but it will suck ass.

Sour mood pertaining, he stomps the last leg of his journey, blessedly alone in the streets, since most are off at work at this point.

The command center itself also isn’t as busy as it usually is, most still catching up on yesterday’s work. Ed feels relieved that he doesn’t have to greet people as they pass. Al would call him rude, but sometimes he’s just not in the mood to be nice. That’s perfectly normal, in his opinion. Al can stuff his manners.

Angrily he kicks open the door the office, allowing a small sense of satisfaction at the loud bang it produces.

That satisfaction is immediately wiped away by Mustang’s smarmy voice as he says: “Ah, Fullmetal, how nice of you to ruin my door again. What did it do this time? Call you short?”

Ed glares at him, not sure if he’s even in the mood to snap back at him. He normally would be flying off the rails, but he’s sore and tired and he just wants to get today over with. It’s already shitty enough without having to deal with colonel bastard on top of it. He just wants to get through his paperwork in peace.

He knows it’s suspicious not to get mad at Mustang and he does feel annoyance coursing through his veins.

But the atmosphere looks peaceful, with most of them diligently working, except for Mustang and Havoc, since the colonel is leaning against the latter’s desk. They’d been likely chatting before Ed came in. However, maybe it was work related, since Hawkeye isn’t shooting at either of them.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, colonel bastard,” Ed settles on. “Just give me my damn paper work so I can get out of here as soon as I can.”

Now, Ed isn’t so stupid that he doesn’t see the rest of the team share a concerned look with each other at his lack of response. However, he’s also not admitting that he’s hurting because of the rain and missing his brother. That would be childish and he’s not childish. He’s not.

In his own way, it is kind of sweet that Mustang tries to get a rise out of him by saying: “Really, no more attitude? Who are you and what have you done with my subordinate? I mean, you’re shrimp-y enough, but I don’t know…”

“Like you’ve ever been thrilled to do paperwork,” Ed snaps, not in the mood for Mustang’s mind games and teases. “And I’m not shrimp-y!”

Mustang pulls a face that screams ‘fair enough’ – because it’s not like Ed is wrong – before he pushes himself of Havoc’s desk to go get his pile.

Ed goes to follow him. He doesn’t have his own desk, since he’s rarely there, so he’ll often catch up on paperwork at the colonel’s coffee table, spreading over his couch, which honestly sounds like a lovely space to drop down after the shitty morning he’s had.

However, the second he turns, Havoc lets out a loud: “Holy fucking shit, Chief!”

Immediately Ed whirls back around again, thinking it might be a cry for help. But nothing stands out, except for the white faces of the others. As if the blood as been drained out.

He is about to ask what’s wrong when Mustang exclaims: “What the fuck!” Before demanding: “You didn’t tell me you were injured, Fullmetal. What happened?”

“Injured?” Ed asks, confused, because, yeah, he’s hurting, but he’s not visibly injured as far as he’s aware. “I’m injured?”

For a moment, all he gets are shocked expressions, as if they can’t believe what he’s saying. But, luckily, there is Hawkeye, who says: “You have a knife sticking out of your shoulder, major. I believe it’s the flesh side.”

Ed has no memory of being stabbed this morning – and it must have been this morning, because he does distinctively remember laying on his back in bed and he’s sure he would have noticed a knife then.

Absentmindedly he reaches back to check as he goes through this morning, before he gasps: “That asshole!”

“What?” Mustang demands as he hovers around him, which is annoying and un-bastard-like.

“Some guy bumped into me this morning, I thought it must be a stupid accident, but he just failed to rob me or some shit. Probably stumbled instead of threateningly sliding up behind me,” Ed explains. “No wonder he was so nervous.”

“How did you not notice getting mugged?” Fuery explains, looking a little green around the gills.

“Not the point right now,” Havoc cuts in. “We need to get you to a hospital!”

Hospital seems to have been the magic word, because it seemingly catches up to all of them that Ed has a knife in his back. And that is not good.

However, the last thing Ed wants is to be stuck in a hospital, so he quickly says: “It’s not that bad you guys, no need for a hospital. I’m sure one of you knows how to stitch someone up. We can just patch me up right here.”

“You can’t seriously-” Mustang starts, before he is cut off by Hawkeye: “Havoc is the team medic, but I can do it too if you’d prefer.”

“Lieutenant!” Mustang exclaims, sounding appalled that she is even entertaining it.

“He is not going to the hospital unless it’s screaming and kicking, sir. Better to minimize the injury,” Hawkeye explains in her matter of fact tone.

“He needs to see a medical professional,” Mustang protests. “There’s a knife in his back.”

“Uhm, he is right here,” Ed pipes up with a scowl, annoyed that they’re all making a big deal out of it. “And I don’t wanna go to the hospital. Just stitch me up here and I’ll be fine. The longer you argue, the more I’m going to bleed.”

Ed isn’t sure which part of the comment wins Mustang over. He wants to claim it’s his stubbornness that colonel bastard knows he’s never going to win from, however, a small part of him can’t help but think it’s the bleeding part. That Mustang might be genuinely concerned about his well being and safety. Which is absurd and he won’t entertain the thought.

“Fine,” is what Mustang huffs in the end. “But Havoc is doing the stitching. He’s the trained professional here and we’re doing it by the book.”

Hawkeye seems to be fine with that decision and orders Ed to her chair, while she goes to get the med kit for Havoc, who is also getting his ass in gear to assess the wound.

“We don’t know how long it is, but based off the blood flow, it hasn’t hit anything vital. Just some stitches and taking it easy for a bit will probably be enough. But no cheering yet, if it’s really far, we might still take you to the hospital, chief,” Havoc says.

“I don’t wanna,” Ed whines, knowing it is a little childish, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t in the mood for a hospital – granted, he never is, but it’s worse without having Al there.

“Well, you might not get a say,” Havoc counters, luckily not sounding patronizing, but just realistic. “If it looks like it might have messed with your shoulder too much, we’ll have to. Or you’ll be out of commission for even longer.”

That gets Ed to quiet down about it and accept his fate. He can’t afford to waste time being out of commission. They have to get their bodies back. Al has to get his body back.

Hawkeye returns with the med kit and Havoc prepares the needle. Ed pointedly doesn’t look at said needle, trying not to think about it. Stitches are somehow better than shots, but they still suck and not having to see them helps.

Once that is done, Havoc gets in position, warning: “I’m about to get the knife out and your clothes off so I can see the wound. You ready? Need a count down?”

“I’m good, just pull it out,” Ed replies, bracing himself.

Havoc does just that, tugging the knife out of Ed’s body. Now, his pain receptors have admittedly been out of whack ever since he lost his limbs, so only a little stab of pain goes through Ed at the action. Not enough to flinch.

Ed helps Havoc in getting his layers off, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of warm, sticky blood sliding down his back. Ugh, it’s what he hates most about getting injured.

Under instruction of Havoc, Hawkeye puts pressure on the wound, while Havoc puts on some gloves and preps the stuff to clean the wound.

Meanwhile, Mustang is still hovering in a way that Ed isn’t thinking about. The colonel asks: “Are you doing okay? You sure you don’t need the hospital?”

“I’m fine, bastard,” Ed rolls his eyes. “Look, the knife wasn’t that big at all. Was an amateur mugging. I might even have been his first.”

“That’s not at all soothing, Fullmetal,” Mustang sighs, sounding exasperated, fond and exhausted at the same time.

“Who says I’m soothing you, asshole? I got stabbed, shouldn’t you be soothing me?” Ed shoots back.

“Do- do you want me to?” Mustang asks, sounding cautious and uncertain, but like he means it.

It makes something weird twist up inside Ed and he explodes: “Of course I don’t want that, you bastard. Don’t make it weird.”

“You came in with a knife in your back, kid. Pretty sure it’s already weird,” Breda pipes up.

“Oh shut up,” Ed says, though he’s calmed down a little again. “It was a minor stab wound.”

“How can a stab wound be minor?” Falman wonders out loud as Fuery besides him gets even paler as he watches Havoc clean Ed’s wound with alcohol, while the teen only hisses a little bit.

“Is Fuery okay?” Ed asks, once Havoc has put the wipe down again “He’s looking a little pale.”

“I’m good,” the young sargent squeaks, though he proceeds to pass out when Havoc first stabs the needle in Ed’s back.

Ed can relate, needles suck. He has seen too many in his lifetime already and he’s glad he’s not seeing this one. The sensations aren’t that bad and without the visual, it’s easier to ignore the fact that it is a needle.

Mustang watches on, looking a little horrified, but also impressed as he asks: “How are you not even responding right now?”

“It’s just a little prick,” Ed says, barely stopping himself from shrugging. “It’s not like you can really feel it.”

“Most definitely would feel this,” Havoc informs him. “I’ve seen grown men cry, because of stitches. You’re a real tough cookie, chief.”

Ed doesn’t really believe that and sends an incredulous look over his shoulder to Havoc. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not as bad as the stabbing and I thought that was either because the guy bumped into me or because it was my automail radiating through.”

“Your automail?” Hawkeye asks and if it was anyone other than her, Ed might have gotten defensive or avoidant, honestly.

Instead, he just says: “Yeah, it’s going to rain later, so my ports are reacting to the air pressure or some shit. It can radiate through from the port. Just thought it was that.”

“It gets that bad?” Mustang frowns.

“It’s not bad,” Ed snaps, defenses up again. “I can function just fine. It’s not even raining yet, so I am perfectly okay. I just gotta do my paperwork and then I’m gone again. No need to get all tied up, colonel bastard.”

Mustang doesn’t look like he believes Ed, but he also doesn’t push under the force of Ed’s glare (which pleases him intensely).

“Okay, all done,” Havoc announces from behind, applying a bandage while cutting through the tension.

“Great! Thank you, Havoc,” Ed says, getting up and putting his clothes on again. They’re a little crusty with blood, but a little alchemy fixes that right up. Then he gestures to Mustang: “You were getting my paperwork.”

“Are you sure you’re able to work?” Mustang asks.

“Yes! I am!” Ed explodes again. “It’s just a fucking stabwound, Mustang. It’s fucking nothing, you’re all being so dramatic about it. Just let me do my work so I can get the hell out of here. Not all of us have time to laze around.”

Ed can see in Mustang’s eyes that there’s a war waging inside him. He holds his breath as he waits to see how the colonel will react.

After a moment, Mustang dawns a smug look as he says: “Well, I guess it fits. A small stab wound for a small alchemist.”

That sets Ed off again, but this time, the explosion chafes less. Instead it feels familiar, a well worn melody they’ve played a hundred times. A nice way to be angry and frustrated without needing to be vulnerable. Just what Ed needs to feel like himself again after all the concern that had wafted off of the group.

He ignores how the colonel knows that about him as he follows him into his office, sprawling on the couch to catch up on paperwork.

Later, he’ll get berated by Al for not going to the hospital after he was stabbed and for not taking it easy when his ports hurt. But Ed doesn’t mind, he’ll listen to Al be worried a thousand times over as they ride off to a new lead. He really feels like this one might be it. And no time wasted in East City, the whole goal of the stunt.

And the rest of team Mustang, would never underestimate Ed after that day. They already knew the kid is a little insane, but holy shit, can Fullmetal take a hit. He probably has the highest pain tolerance in that office and all of them know and respect him for it.

Even if it hurts that Ed has already hurt so much that it doesn’t register anymore.

A/N:

I can’t remember where I saw it, but Havoc as the team medic just rings so true for me, so I had to put it in here xp

Also, if you get stabbed, go to a hospital pls and let people with actual medical knowledge look at it

#rr writing #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #jean havoc #team mustang #bamf edward elric #edward elric has chronic pain #automail #automail hurts #tw: blood #tw: injury #tw: wound care

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