Golden eyes shifted open blearily at the watery dawn light shining starkly through the thin, stylish curtains. Edward blinked a few times to clear his vision, and groaned. He turned over to look at the small analog clock on the bedside table. Five thirty. Why did the sun have to be up so freaking early in the summer? He'd gotten barely enough rest to support even this much consciousness, and even so he knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to that beautiful haven of sweet, numb release that was sleep. At least, if he didn't have any dreams it would be pleasant.

The nightmares never left him.

He made a guttural sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh and lurched into a technically upright position. Toast. Yes, toast would make everything better.

He swept the hair away from his face, where it was plastered to the skin by sweat. It had gotten even longer, not that he really cared at this point. It went to the length where it didn't really make a difference whether it was long or long. His bangs, strangely, remained the same length regardless of the passage of time. He pulled it up into a lazy ponytail with a tie from the bedside table and pulled his legs over the side of the mattress. The air outside of the covers was cold from excess air conditioning and made him shiver in his official summertime sleepwear. Okay, so he just wore boxers. It counted. He sat there for a moment, not thinking about anything in particular and not wanting to.

It would be another slow day.

Edward took a deep breath and rose from the softness of the mattress. It was a sad departure that made him long for nighttime to come again. He had to mentally sever himself from the warm, reaching tendrils of remaining sleep as he stepped away. The next step in the process was to get dressed. Meh. He'd gotten used to the air enough by now. Later. He would do it later.

Toast was the goal right now. He bypassed the closet and instead confronted the door to the hallway. The hallway was darker than the bedroom, with less windows. A split second of further investigation revealed that it was colder as well. He shivered heavily. Maybe it was wrong to skip dressing. Too late. The decision had already been made. With only a thin cloth covering his crotch and upper legs, he wandered out into the shadowy hallway. It was like an adventure.

He closed the door to the bedroom and watched the strip of light that came from its opening get thinner and disappear completely. After the earlier sunlight was removed, it proved to be much more difficult to navigate the darkened hall. Finally, he found the stairs, having only bumped into two walls and the banister. One of those was a particularly hard slam to his right foot, and he had to muffle the stream of curses that exploded from his mouth. Luckily not much sound escaped. Crisis averted.

The stairs were, in Edward's opinion, too long. Who needs that many stairs? A slide would be much more efficient. On the way down. On the way up, well, that was a work in progress. Even so, a slide would be more merciful to his already damaged leg. Stairs were a difficult thing to master.

After the stairs of doom trek, he made a right turn and found the kitchen. The lights were off, but a strange white glow filled the room. He went inside. Someone had left the refrigerator door open, probably since last night. So the freaking cold ass air was not completely attributed to the unnecessarily heavy usage of air conditioning after all.

The temperature became nearly unbearable as Edward came closer to the fridge. He didn't know if it was possible to get frostbite in summer, and didn't want to find out. What if he lost his other arm and needed even more automail… He chuckled to himself. That would be awkward explaining to Winr- Ouch. A sharp pain at the back of his head shut down the thought process completely. He lifted the hand that had been traveling to close the fridge and rubbed his head with it instead. What had he been thinking? Something… He couldn't remember. Another thought lost to the void.

He shrugged and shut the refrigerator with a soft whooshing thump. It resonated a bit in the quiet two-story house. Edward turned away from the fridge and really listened for the first time since getting up. A couple mockingbirds were going off like mad in the tree out front, and the air conditioner and the refrigerator provided quiet and constant background noise. Otherwise, the place was perfectly silent.

No one was awake, which was odd. Usually someone around the house got up early to do something important. Important things. He used to do those. For now, though, his mission plan consisted entirely of toast and, now that he thought about it, a restroom. He grabbed bread and placed butter and a knife neatly beside the toaster before putting it in. One slice would do. He groped around for a second and turned the light on to the lowest setting, too late in the process to actually make a difference.

Without anything more to do, he stood there lamely, tapping his fingers on the countertop. The cold didn't really bother him that much anymore, although he still missed his bed dearly. He remembered that it was still unmade but dismissed the thought. The constant whir of the air conditioning was soothing the sudden headache and calming to his ears. His breathing slowed, and he got into a more comfortable position leaning against the counter. If he shut his eyes for a while, it wouldn't really matter. They closed. He felt his head slowly dropping and resisted at first, but gave in to it after a few attempts.

His mind wandered to places he wasn't keeping track of, and soon went blank.

Pain. So much pain. He couldn't endure much more of it. None of it mattered. Al. That name. He was crying suffering dead numb help, no, no no no no…

Sproing. Edward's eyes flew open simultaneously as his muscles flew into action. He wouldn't be hurt any more. His fist flew out blindly toward the enemy, followed by a sound kick to a lower area. He found purchase on something hard that collapsed as his foot left it. Good. He could take anything, as long as he could fight-

Oh. He looked around. He had attacked the oven, the toast and the butter dish on the floor, both in pieces. The butter had landed contents first, of course, and- Oh. There they were, in the entrance to the kitchen.

Roy. Riza. Both with looks of mingled shock, concern, and, below that, tired annoyance. He messed up. Again.

"Uh. Hey, Mustang," he tried sheepishly. The annoyance was more prominent now that they knew he was out of the delusion and uninjured. Edward didn't blame them. These things happened far too often for his patience, as well.

"Edward," Riza started toward him with unending sympathy and tolerance. He still hated it when she got all motherly after an incident. He'd been the one to wake them up; they should have been yelling or something.

Looking at Roy, it seemed as though he might get his wish.

Roy, predictably, didn't yell, but communicated his feelings through a silent glare. Edward got it immediately. Neither of them wanted to wake Isaac.

Edward had been living at the Mustang residence for four years. He understood how things worked, at least, to the best of his mind's ability. The first rule was that Isaac should never be deprived of sleep. Ever.

Riza was rubbing his back in a calming motion as he stood stock still in the kitchen, trying to return Mustang's glare with his own. Just because everything was technically his fault did not mean that he would let Roy win. It didn't happen. Roy rolled his eyes and was about to leave when Edward's head exploded. It was one of these.

He crumpled to the ground, cradling his head. It felt as though a boulder backed by the brute force of Armstrong was coming down on his skull. Which was splitting into a thousand pieces and cutting into his exposed brain. He vaguely registered Riza shouting his name or Roy rushing in to his side. He also realized that he was screaming. And crying. And then he passed out.

Edward woke up back in the bed he never bothered to make. His head was nestled safely in the pillows, remnants of the attack still echoing around in his skull. He was glad it was over, even if he couldn't remember what had started it. He never remembered what happened before they started. Only that it was painful.

A warmth was coming from his side. Nestled there was Isaac, still wearing the footy pajamas with the trains from the night before. He must have climbed in after Edward was put there. Edward took the quiet moment to look at the young boy's face. His hair was black and straight, but his face had the soft lines and large sherry eyes of Riza. He had Roy's nose. A perfect mix of the two. There was something about him, though, that was so very Isaac. It was in the open innocence of his face, the soft smile that came even in sleep. Something his parents seemed incapable of, certainly.

Edward smiled at the boy. He'd known him from the time he was born, seen his face grow and change. It was contenting and nostalgic somehow.

Isaac's little brow furrowed and a small pout formed on his lower lip.

"Shh, shh. It's alright, little guy. It's just dreams. I get them too, don't worry. Shh," Edward whispered nearly silently to the small bundle next to him. He reached out and rubbed a finger against the small ear. The lines smoothed and the toddler fell back into peaceful sleep, smiling even more largely than before.

Edward sighed. It was his job to make sure that Isaac was safe. A self-appointed job, sure, but a job nonetheless. And that included nightmares.

-philos