Trisha worried.

Ed was sick, and there seemed to be nothing that anyone could do the help him. He was pale, his breath laboured, and his temperatures higher than ever. He had been quarantined to his room, and Alphonse was sleeping over at Winry's until Ed got better.

Or worse.

Shaking her head, she returned to the task of cooling his brow, placing cloths soaked in cold water and wringed out until merely damp. Cold. Exactly what she needed.

Hohemheim was down stairs, talking to the town doctor. They had inspected Ed earlier, and, because of his youth, said that there was a likely chance he would make a full recovery. But he had also said that if he got worse...he could die.

An Trisha didn't think she would be able to handle her oldest child leaving at such a young age. If he or Alphonse ever died...she would be ruined.

Ed shifted in his sleep, and her heart leaped. Perhaps he was waking? No. It was merely the subconscious shifting of a fretful sleep.

Grief welled in her chest as she removed the cloth, waving it gently to cool it again before replacing it on Ed's forehead.

A gentle hand lay itself on her shoulder. "He'll get better, I promise. He has a lot more fire in his soul than anyone I ever knew." Hohemheim said softly.

Trisha turned to look at him. She knew of his seeming immortality, and to hear those words, with such sincerity too, filled her with a slight sense of gratitude. "I know...I just worry."

"And that's what makes you the best person to be their mother." Hohemheim smiled slightly, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

Trisha smiled exasperatedly, shooing him out of the room as she worked to keep Ed's fever down.

--

His thoughts were foggy.

He couldn't...

He couldn't what?

He didn't know.

He felt warm, cold at the same time, and a shudder passed through his body.

Ed felt like he was drowning.

Ed..? He thought vaguely. Who...was Ed..?

He supposed it didn't matter.

He hurt too much...

Why was everything echoing?

His skull felt like it was splitting open.

Skull?

The word registered slowly. Aah, that's right. He was alive.

Ed..

His thoughts came in sharper clarity now, even though they were still fogged. That was his name...

He felt strangely proud of himself for remembering himself. He giggled to himself. Proud...pride...prideful...such a simply odd word.

Well, he thought through his daze, so was every word if you repeated it long enough.

Like pain, he thought suddenly.

People made such a big deal out of it.

In all reality, however, what was it? Why, nothing but the nerves firing off signals to the brain to tell it that something was going on.

Easily ignored.

He seemed to sink deeper in the blackness, the fog taking over again.

And death.

Perhaps he was dying, Ed mused.

What a relief it would be.

And yet he could not help but worry.

He did not want to die, he realized suddenly. He wanted to live.

Now all he had to do was fight past...what the hell was this..?

His blood chilled.

The blackness turned to stark white.

He realized then what had been holding him down. Hands. Thousands of them. Clutching at every inch of him and dragging him here. To the gate. Gaze level, he drew himself up to his full childish height and looked God straight in the face.

"Why am I here?" He demanded, voice steely. The Truth laughed. It was a cold, calculating sound that sent shivers up his spine.

"Surely you can figure that out, Alchemist?" It seemed to be considering him. Only then did he realize he was speaking. For the first time in years, he was fucking speaking.

His face must have given his turmoil away, as the Truth laughed that cold laugh again. "Temporary, Alchemist. It is much easier to discuss what we are going to when both sides have a voice." The grin appeared, stretching impossibly wide. In a way, the Truth was both sides. It was everything and anything. Everyone and anyone.

His eyes narrowed. "I see. What am I here to talk about, then?" His voice was weird. It was the voice of someone who's seen hell just one too many times and then was forced to see it again. And again.

And it was the voice of a five year old.

"You're dying, Alchemist." There was no mockery in its tone,.merely simple fact.

"I'm..."

"Dying, yes. The pneumonia you contracted is taking its toll in your body swiftly. However..." It seemed to consider him. "You are not destined to die. So, Alchemist, I ask you..."

They trailed off.

And continued. "Will you die now, and leave the whole of Amestris to die by the plans of the Dwarf in the Flask...or will you pass the sickness to someone else, so that they die but others live?"

Ed's blood ran like sludge through his veins; he was numb, really, and he dumbly processed the question.

"Choose, Alchemist, or I will choose your path for you. Because if you happen to die...you will accompany your brother on his journey, watching without anyone being able to see you, and once they die, you will be left alone, wandering the desecrated remains of the country."

Edward's eyes widened, and his mouth opened as if in protest before he shut it. "I...can I at least know who gets sick..?"

"No." The Truth said curtly.

"Fine...I...I choose to live."

And with that, a grin split over the Truth's face, and he was pulled into the gate. Information poured into his mind, and he embraced it, not fighting it like he had in the past.

He woke what felt to be mere moments later, blinking his eyes open and looking around in confusion as exhaustion coursed through his body. Trisha took his small hand in hers, and smiled. The doctor had been right. Her son was a survivor.

Even though he had been dead for nearly half an hour prior to him miraculously waking.

~1033 Words~
Here...also, there was a year timeskip from the last chapter to this one. Ed is now thirty three/five. Stay creepy, my nightmares.