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Two Good Legs

Summary:

“That was a nice thing you did today,” Hawkeye said abruptly. Ed shrugged. “I know you don’t like to share personal stories often.”

“It was nothing,” Ed dismissed without looking at her. “Havoc just needed someone to tell him it’d be alright even if he did lose his legs.”

----

Ed has some experience getting used to a new disability.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

“So hey,” Ed said, and made up for not kicking the door open by slamming it closed with his elbow. He glanced over and found Havoc in his bed, halfheartedly playing cards, and grinned. Strode over. Plopped himself into a nearby chair with his left leg up on his lap. “You gotten a chance to talk to someone who actually uses a wheelchair yet?”

Predictably, Breda and Fuery both cringed behind their cards, looking at Havoc for his reaction. Havoc just frowned at Ed, looking weary and annoyed.

“No,” he said shortly.

“Good, ‘cause that was gonna be a real dumb opener if you had,” Ed said, not missing a beat. That was the tricky part of this, was not being more fucked up about it than Havoc was. “Do you wanna start on the funny end of the scale or the useful one? ‘Cause there’s a whole lot of ways to fall out of a wheelchair, and I’m pretty sure I found all of them.”

Havoc frowned more, but he looked interested now too. He glanced down at Ed’s leg. “That’s right. You must’ve used one too, for a while. How long?”

“Eight months on and off,” Ed informed him, which wasn’t something he usually told anybody. “But only about two, two and a half full time, so like, you should still talk to someone who actually uses a wheelchair. I figured something was better than nothing though.”

Some of the tension eased out of Havoc, making him look less defensive. Slow realization was dawning on the faces of some of the others in the room too; looked like Mustang’s whole team was here. Obviously – they looked after their own.

“Pull one out of a hat,” Havoc said at last, leaning back wryly onto the pillows. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Ed snorted, sat back, and considered for a moment. “You know how the nurses tell you to lock the wheels before you reach for anything?” he said at last. Havoc grunted. “And you figure it’s them being overprotective so you don’t do it?” Snort. “Yeah, turns out you actually have to do it. Damn thing takes any excuse to dump you out, I swear to God.”

“That’s because you squirm more than a newborn kitten, brother,” Al chided, quietly closing the door behind him. “Good morning, Havoc. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Havoc said, but he looked more amused than anything now. He pushed himself further up the bed, bringing himself fully upright. “They’ve only actually put me in a chair once or twice, I haven’t exactly experimented yet. Really? You fell out of it?”

“Constantly,” Ed said emphatically.

“It’s because he kept reaching for things on the floor next to his wheelchair,” Al said, with an exaggerated tone of long-suffering. “Or racing down the hill with it. Or trying to crawl up the back.” Havoc looked at him. Al gestured. “Picture my brother as an eleven year old. Now make him sit in a chair all the time. Now make him extra impatient.”

Havoc laughed out loud. Success.

“So don’t do any of those things, that should be easy enough,” he said, and he looked almost cheerful now. Then, more seriously, “You think this is it then? This is how I’m gonna move?”

Ed shrugged, frowning. “It’s hard to say for sure,” he said after a moment. “There’s a chance for anything. But it doesn’t take long to learn how to use a wheelchair, and if you do get your legs back, it’s not gonna be in the next couple of days.” He grinned. “Give it a couple weeks, and I’ll bet you can do a wheelie.”

Havoc snorted, and something about the tension in the room seemed to release. Breda tossed Ed a hand of cards, and Ed grabbed it without looking.

“I didn’t realize you used a wheelchair for that long,” Mustang commented, frowning at Ed. “Weren’t you aiming to get your rehabilitation done in a year? You would’ve still been using it when you were nearly done that way.”

“My stupid brother was working himself half to death, so a lot of times he’d do physical therapy for the first half of the day and then use a wheelchair for the second half,” Al explained, the traitor. “And then he’d get up in the middle of the night and do extra physical therapy, like an idiot.”

“You find time when you can,” Ed said breezily, grinning. It had sucked at the time, but looking back, it was kinda funny just how many times he’d fallen and gotten stuck somewhere in the middle of the night.

“You only think it’s funny because you hit your head so many times falling down the stairs,” Al told him, like a mind-reader. “If I hadn’t been awake all night to come find you, then what would you have done? You would have been stuck in the yard until morning!”

Havoc snickered. “What were you trying to do in the yard? In the middle of the night?”

“Getting mud in his prosthetics,” Al muttered.

“Eating shit, mostly,” Ed admitted. “But usually I went out front ‘cause I wanted to practice using the ramp. Incline practice.”

“I believe the Rockbell home has stairs,” Mustang said dryly.

“Stairs were too hard,” Ed said dismissively, and on a usual day that was hard to say, too, but today was for not-so-subtly telling Havoc it wasn’t the end of the world to relearn basic skills. “The ramp Granny puts out front is for wheelchair users and people with new prosthetics, and hey, I was both of those things.”

Hawkeye had definitely figured out what Ed and Al were doing; there was something soft in her eyes as she turned to face them. “It didn’t occur to me that you might use your wheelchair past your surgery,” she said. “But you must’ve even gone around town with it.”

“I tried to herd sheep a couple of times,” Ed said. “Pastures are pretty bumpy though, and I didn’t have the patience to look for offroad tires.”

“Offroad tires?” Havoc asked with interest. Ed nodded, gesturing with the hand full of cards.

“Yeah! I mean, I don’t know so much about different wheelchairs – the Rockbells are automail mechanics, not wheelchair engineers. But a nurse’ll probably be in to explain different types you can get. Some of ‘em are made for sports.”

Havoc grinned. “Sounds like fun. Hey, there is one thing I’ve been wanting to ask, but I don’t think any of the nurses will tell me.” Ed cocked an eyebrow. “Can you like... ram people? With a wheelchair?”

Startled, Ed laughed. Havoc was gonna be just fine.

“Hell yeah, you can,” he said. “I mean, that’s one of the things that can make you fall out of your chair, but it’s totally worth it.”

“God, you must have been a menace,” Mustang said, but now even he was smiling.

“That’s what he does best!” Breda agreed, and stole back all of the cards, since none of them were playing; Ed hadn’t even actually noticed what the game was.

“Did you learn all this stuff when you lost your leg?” Havoc asked, reaching out to tug his legs in a more comfortable position with a bit of a wince. Ed shook his head.

“Some of it,” he said. “But I mean, Al and I have known the Rockbells our whole lives, and they’ve always been automail engineers. So I knew damn near as much as any doctor’s kid.” Ed considered. “Except Winry. She read her parents’ medical books like Al and I did alchemy.”

“So you must’ve grown up around amputees,” Fuery mused.

“Yeah,” Ed agreed readily. “There were a couple regulars in and out every couple of months, and... Twice, Al?” Al nodded. “Twice someone got their automail surgery from Granny and had to stay a couple of years for rehab. Mom-”

He cut himself off, stunned. He never talked about Mom. Talking so casually about his rehab must’ve put him in a weird mood. Even Al had gone dead still, and most of the soldiers were avoiding looking at him.

After a moment of awkward silence, he cleared his throat. “Mom would bring us over about twice a week when they had a patient, and she’d help around the house. Cook dinner and stuff.”

“That was very kind of her,” Hawkeye said quietly. “I expect the Rockbells were grateful.”

Ed swallowed hard and looked away, nodding stiffly.

“Yeah,” he managed, almost in a whisper, and then forced the grief off his shoulders. “Al usually did it while I was doing mine. Heh, got real good at it too, after a while, even though we usually kind of slacked on housework as kids.”

“I had to do something,” Al defended. “I was losing my mind from boredom! I can only sit and watch you drop cards for so long, brother.”

“Ah, come on, Al,” Ed said, not quite able to resist a grin. He stole the deck from Breda, split it in two, and riffled the stacks together flawlessly. “I don’t drop cards anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” Al muttered, like a traitor. Ed rolled his eyes and passed the deck back. Breda looked thoughtful.

“When did you do this, anyway?” Havoc asked suddenly. Ed blinked.

“I really didn’t tell you?” he asked, surprised. A few negative grunts gave him his answer. “Huh. It was right before I joined the military, like, right before. The two benchmarks Winry made me meet were doing a cartwheel and writing my name, so as soon as I could do that, I was on a train to Central.”

“I can’t do a cartwheel,” Falman muttered with consternation. Ed snickered. “I didn’t know you were right out of therapy when you joined. Was that why your handwriting was...”

Ed snorted. “Yeah. I’m right-handed. Still haven’t exactly gotten the hang of it again, and I write a lot.” Mustang eyed him skeptically. “I have research notes, bastard.”

“What d’you think they’ll make me learn before I get out of here?” Havoc asked, and he tried to make it sound casual, but some of his anxiety still slipped through. Ed pretended not to notice.

“In a city like this?” he said thoughtfully. “You’ll need to go up and down hills, obviously, and let me tell you, declines are a pain in the ass. You’ll want gloves for that, leather or something, or you’ll have blisters on your hands in no time. Uh, I was kidding around earlier, but you’ll need to be able to do a wheelie, cause that’s how you get up onto curbs and shit.” He frowned, casting his mind back. “Turning takes some getting used to, I guess – if you’re real good at it you can do a 180 in one go, but I sure as hell couldn’t.”

“Transferring, brother,” Al reminded him.

“Aw, fuck,” Ed complained. “Yeah, getting from the wheelchair to a bed and back. I never did get the hang of that.”

“That’s because you never stopped flopping around like a fish. A fish with one arm and one leg.”

“I have such a loving brother,” Ed muttered.

“Baby Ed sounds like a riot,” Havoc said, shooting the brothers an honest grin. “None of that sounds too bad either. I’ll be out in a jiff.”

Ed gave him a quick grin back. “Course you will. You got shit to do.”

Eventually they did actually get around to playing Rummy, but Ed spent most of the next hour telling more stories about recovering in Resembool. It was surprisingly fun to get to share some of the shit he got up to during rehab; it wasn’t something he often talked about.

Occasionally, Havoc slipped in a question. Did he ever get stuck? Did someone need to come with him all the time when he went anywhere? Could he reach stuff without falling? Ed did his best to answer in the same tone he did everything else. He was pretty sure he succeeded. At the end of the visit, Havoc was joking around with his teammates like nothing had changed at all, so Ed was pretty pleased with himself regardless.

Hawkeye escorted Ed and Al on their way back out.

“That was a nice thing you did today,” she said abruptly, tone soft. Ed shrugged uncomfortably. “I know you don’t like to share personal stories often.”

“It was nothing,” Ed dismissed without looking at her. “Havoc just needed someone to tell him it’d be alright even if he did lose his legs.” Pause. “I put a name in Mustang’s pocket though. You should check it out.”

“We will,” Hawkeye promised. “But still. Thank you.”

“Course,” Ed said, and waved to Hawkeye on his way out, automail gleaming in the sun.

Notes:

Y'all, I've done so much fucking research on wheelchairs and prosthetics in the last week or two. And physical therapy. SO MUCH. And also, nearly all of the advice I found about how to use a wheelchair was about how to not fall out of one, and it was like. Don't lean forward. Don't lean backward. Don't reach for stuff without locking the wheels. Don't go too fast. So of course, I started imagining what Ed must have been like while he was in a wheelchair, and then I couldn't stop laughing.