Chapter Text
They made a space for Ed. For when he knew he was going to have a seizure in the office. They called it the Crisis Couch. Ed had to lay down somewhere flat and with enough space for him to move. That ruled out the corner room and closet so the couch it is.
It’s an old sofa that Mustang has kept with him no matter which office he ends up in as he climbs the ranks. You can remove the bottom cushions and store things in it. It is stocked with blankets, water, extra clothes, and such.
Before, the team had gone to the couch when they had long missions or stayed too late. Now, it was where Havoc went to cry about upcoming deadlines and Breda to complain about the newest recruits. Hence the name, Crisis Couch. The dedicated spot for Ed to go for seizures, one of them would follow him over so he didn’t choke to death on vomit or saliva or something equally stupid. Usually Al. Or Mustang.
There had never really been a problem with his absence seizures in the first place. He either caught on to what he missed or Al would speak with him. These days, he comes back into reality to patient smiles and concerned eyes.
Everything’s good.
Except for a few minor incidents.
Like Ed being scolded by a general for “not paying attention” and doing the same to Mustang for not “controlling his subordinates”.
Hawkeye shot the general her best “I’ll shoot you if you don’t stop talking right now” look and guided the two of them out of the room. One hand on Ed’s shoulder and another on Mustang’s arm.
She sat them down on the Crisis Couch. “Colonel, I’m moving your last meeting to tomorrow. Edward, your report can be delayed for another day. Take a break, the work day is almost over.”
She knew how fast the Colonel could get angry with the brass and the rest of his work wouldn’t be the best quality if he didn’t get the chance to cool down. Edward would be fine to go back to work but it would get the Colonel in a hissy fit if he was the only one put in “time-out”. Plus, seeing Ed calm and alright would soothe him faster than anything else.
She looked over as she finished up a half hour later and saw the Colonel asleep with his head in the back of the couch. Ed, also asleep, was leaning into his side.
She sat back down. Five more minutes.
With the bastard and his team adapting so well after finding out about his epilepsy, he kind of forgot he needed to tell other people he was traveling with.
People like Ling.
He’s shifted into awareness just enough to turn himself onto his side to vomit. He becomes aware of the hand on his head all too soon and quickly sits up, which makes him feel even more sick.
He sees Ling. Ling who he’s been traveling alone with looking for leads. Ling who doesn’t know he has epilepsy. Who has tears in the corners of his eyes and is holding on to Ed’s long red coat with one hand.
“I’m okay.” The prince watches him for another second before scrambling forward and pulling Ed into his arms.
That. Hm. Hugs are nice. Ling is warm. Ed feels cold. He likes the pressure.
Ed melts.
Just this once, just this once is repeating like a mantra in his head.
“You scared me! What the hell happened!” Right, explanations. Ed speaks as much as he dares before he becomes overcome with exhaustion. Ling seems to understand, or maybe Ed is too tired to read into his reactions.
For now, Ed lies back and Ling follows to lay on top of him like the brat he is. It’s kind of nice though. Not that Ed would ever admit it.
Now, don’t get him wrong, Ed loves Major General Armstrong. She is an incredibly valuable ally and doesn’t take any bullshit. Her strong will is also what got him and Al thrown in a makeshift prison. A prison he was let out of to fight a semi-immortal creature and possibly commit treason.
Cool, cool. He’s totally cool after being put back in the cell after that high stress situation. After the multiple high stress situations from the last few days.
It’s not like he can get to his meds from here anyway and he’s been having auras for a day and a half now. It was bound to happen in some unsavory circumstance but really? In a Briggs cell? With his hands in handcuffs?
He puts himself on the single bed on the side of the cell. “Al.” Al looks up at him and his eyes(?) widen as he sees what Ed’s doing. “Can you hold my hands to the side?” Usually, it is a very big no-no to restrict the movements of someone having a seizure. This is an extreme circumstance. He could break or dislocate parts of his arms or hit his head or other body parts. The risks of restraining him do not outweigh the risks of what he could do to himself, at this moment.
“Brother, don’t you think we could call the guards in here for help? It’s not like they’re super suspicious of us anymore.”
“No time.” Then the shaking started and Ed can’t keep another train of thought before he passes out.
Ed doesn’t really remember coming out of this one but he does remember gaining something that he will hold over Mustang’s head for the rest of his life. Major General Olivier Armstrong offered her apologies to Ed as they left. She wouldn’t even look at Mustang and his team (baring Hawkeye) so this was not something he was going to let get past them.
To her, he inclined her head with promises to work together again soon.
Ed doesn’t know how this happened. Everyone he spent a lot of time around knew how much he relied on his weighted blanket daily. When Al mentioned that any pressure did the same job it started.
The hugs.
Now, it’s just a regular thing to squeeze the life out of Ed for a good ten minutes after any type of seizure. Havoc claims that short people always calm down with hugs. Breda says Ed is just catching up for lost time. Falman and Fuery won’t even give him their excuses. Mustang and Hawkeye never needed excuses in the first place.
It’s real and it’s familiar. He has a support system and knows he has people in his corner to help him when he gets himself into a tough spot.