Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long until people came rolling in.

Trucks and cars tore down the road, spitting up a cloud of dust and grinding to a halt beside the train station. Good thing, too, because Ed was sure those loose bolts would rattle right out of place if an engine dared to come within a mile.

Soon enough the area became swarmed with MPs. Real ones, with professional attitudes and strict adherence to policy, making a direct line for the two alchemists. Mustang got dragged into some bureaucratic nonsense and was led away peacefully to deal with the fallout.

Ed was pitifully relieved.

The Colonel sent glances back to Ed as the MPs tried to discuss him giving a proper statement, information, and an official account for the record. Ed didn’t return the favour.

He let himself be whisked away to the back of a medical truck, resting amongst the dozen and a half of military issued vehicles. It appeared as though they were setting up the train station as a temporary base of operations. 

The young alchemist didn’t even have the energy to protest when two young officers helped him up from the bench and each locked an arm around his middle. The way his legs were shaking from chills and plain old sleeplessness made him refrain from snide comments, though he came close to snapping when one asked if he’d prefer they carry him.

They didn’t say much after that, just warned him every now and again to watch his step and took note of the missing arm. There was pity in their eyes, written in the lines of their faces, thick as ancient text and grating on Ed’s nerves. But again, his energy was firmly washed down a gutter and he just wanted this to be over. His pride would damn well hold up at the back of his throat; it wasn't worth fighting.

He was tired.

As they deposited Ed into the hands of a bright looking woman, clad in a uniform like theirs with a badge sewn onto the lapels. “Hey, wait,” Ed called to them before they could scurry off. 

The two paused, looking back at him curiously. “Yes?”

“Could you keep an eye out for my arm? The metal one, I mean.” Smooth. Impeccable. Idiot. “It’s not broken. Or, it shouldn’t be.” Ed winced at his own rambling. “The walls are hollow, it might’ve been left there.”

“The walls—oh. Right. Of course.” They gave him a mild, somewhat sympathetic salut before vanishing into the stream of military personnel, swallowed into the humble buzzing of voices. It was a mix of young and old, practiced captains woven into their respective packs of officers and moving in a dizzying, blizzard-like pattern. Commands blared out over the station, directing squadrons to certain places, detailing to processes of arrest they should follow.

It didn't do the pounding in his head any favours, that was for certain. He supposed it would be pointless to flip them off for the transgressions, and besides in light of everything else, Ed didn't care.

“Let’s get a look at you, hum?” The woman said. She helped him climb into the back of the truck, covered by a tarp with the back open. It was stacked with boxes, bags of saline and blood hanging from hooks on the walls and ready for emergency use. Bandages were swathed into rolls, stacked in cases alongside secured trays of little metal tools. 

Ed leaned against one wall. The truck was, to his shock, pretty damn clean. He supposed it should be expected though, seeing as its express and exclusive purpose was to treat the wounded.

Which was him, apparently. Yay.

Ed sighed, sank back against the wall and carefully situating his leg out in front of him while the woman slipped on rubber gloves and picked through a layer of first aid kits, varied in size and content. Ed tuned in out, staring out at the expanse of open land, right up to the wall that peaked over the hills where a line of soldiers marched.

He found himself stealing glimpses to the station where Mustang had disappeared into, both dreading and… no, just dreading, for the moment when he reemerged. 

Ed didn’t want to see or talk to or be around the Colonel. His head was still fuzzy, the rest of him worse for wear. 

“Hey, what’s your name?” His attention was brought back to the woman. She knelt beside him with a small array of bottles and, sadly, a suture kit. She was eyeing the cut on his forehead and Ed cringed. 

Her hand waved in front of his face briefly. “You with me?”

Ed blinked. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Are you feeling lightheaded?” She asked.

“A little.” He admitted. Talking was a chore, but it beat awkward silence. The woman nodded in a business-like matter, busying herself with some preparative task. It was a relief that he couldn’t find any patronizing sympathy or looks of remorse. She was kind and clinical. 

“Alright, let me know if you think you’re going to pass out. Can you answer my first question?”

“Huh?”

“Your name.” Her hands flew across the supplies effortlessly, barely breaking eye contact to douse a cottony swap in strong smelling disinfectant. Maybe Ed was more out of it than he’d thought. Or maybe she was just talking a little fast. Who knows.

“It’s Ed,” He supplied.

She smiled lightly, a hand reaching to brush back his hair, looking at the gash critically. Her voice remained level and conversational. “Nice to meet you, Ed. I’m Sonia. Think you can answer a few more things for me?”

“I guess.”

“Cool. You might wanna close your eyes for a minute while I clean this up.” Ed obliged, feeling the sting of medicinal alcohol, scrubbing away both dried and still trickling blood. He breathed through his nose.

“So,” Sonia started lightly. Ed braced for an influx of invasive, medical jargon loaded questions. “What’re you worrying about?”

He looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Eyes closed.” She reminded him sternly. He frowned, but returned to staring at the back of his eyelids. “You seem a bit antsy. Thought it would help if you got it off your chest.” Her hand pulled away, taking the chilled sting antiseptic with it.

Ed cracked his eyes open to find her stringing up a hooked needle. No anaesthetic for him. Goddamn.

One gloved hand pinched the skin carefully. Ed successfully managed to not flinch when he felt the sharp point cleanly dip beneath his skin, but failed to repress the shudder when it was pulled through, the thread running itself between the open cut. “Just tired is all.” Ed replied in a hiss.

Sonia didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. “Alright. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

He swallowed back another yelp as she tied off another stitch. “My ankle is broken.”

“Ouch. You been keeping off of it?”

“Ah, no. Not really.” A small stream of blood branched down to his nose. She brushed it away before it could colour the rest of his face with a knowing huff.

“Figures. Anything else?”

The needle pinched through his flesh again, pulled taut and left in a firm knot. Sonia’s mouth pressed into a line as she worked. How she managed to uphold their conversation, Ed had no idea. He lifted a shoulder in a weak shrug. “My arm is a little burned.”

“Burned?” She repeated incredulously. An engine revved off to the side, just beyond view. He heard a few shouts of argument and the pounding of steel-toed boots. “It...It wasn’t that Flame Alchemist, was it?”

Ed’s hand flicked at nothing, digging into the small crevices between the metal floor where the panels lifted and nails made little bumps, hiccuping their way across the surface in a line. Sonia frowned, finishing the fifth and, presumably, final suture with nothing more than the sharp metallic clip of scissors against the string. 

His head pounded viciously, beating in opposition to his heart that has such a slow rhythm it might as well have been a lullaby. He was really fucking tired. He didn’t really register Sonia packing up the kit splayed out beside her, casting him a quizzical glance. “Ed? You spacing out?”

“Migraine.” He said wearily. 

“I’ll get you some painkillers when I’m finished, alright?”

“Damn, okay I guess.” He grumbled. “Why not now?”

She waved dismissively. “Wouldn’t want you throwing them up.” He slumped back against the wall, bringing his hand up to gingerly prod at the line of threads. It stung a little, feeling tight against his skin and still damp with alcohol. Sonia swatted his hand away. “You stop that.” She snapped. “Your hand’s filthy.”

Ed breathed out a brittle laugh. “You’d be a great nurse.”

“I’m aiming for radiologist, actually.”

Her attention moved to his arm, gaze sweeping over the damage steadily in a way that screamed out familiarity; she’d probably dealt with this before. He felt a little bit of the tension that had furled up between his shoulder blades dissipate. Ed hadn’t even realized how coiled up he’d been. When the muscles finally relaxed, he let out an audible sigh, a few pops singing out from his spine.

The horror slowly washed itself clean in time with the medic’s work, her hands practiced in each motion. Even through the prodding and icy pain that came with her curtaining his arm in a damp cloth, he started to unwind. At some point, his eyes fell shut, mindlessly content with the greenish patterns that drew square-steps across his eyes and spiralled endlessly.

His thoughts were dragged right along with it, falling off the cliff face of sensibility to the craggily, clustered rocks of bitterness below. He heard a muffled voice somewhere off in the distance, but didn’t give it more than a passing glance. His thoughts were firmly trained on… that.

Mustang killed Teller. The act itself wasn’t particularly shocking, he was a solider, after all, and had been dragged by the heels into one of the bloodiest conflicts in Amestrian history. The Colonel wasn’t divorced from violence, nor did Ed think he was.

Death lived in the seams of every military uniform.

That’s how it works.

But still is had been cruel. Needless. They’d done terrible things, Ed understood the gravity of it better than most people could ever hope to but fuck—the screaming. It made every inch of him feel sick with panic and even now, with the cool breath of a fan beating down from overhead, Ed felt unbearably hot. Like he had been plunged right into an inferno and left to writhe. It almost did happen.

Even if he could look past the manic, crazed horror of watching Mustang—someone he had been fighting with himself to trust since Marcel took a verbal firing squad to his faith—torch people, he couldn't see farther than the fact that he had done it for no other reason than he could as their pleas fell in garbled piles alongside melted flesh. 

“Did you hear me?” Sonia tapped his cheek. He blinked at her.

The adrenaline had well and fully been eaten up, leaving him feeling sluggish and more venerable than he was comfortable with. Ed shook his head. “No, sorry. Kinda out of it.”

“You didn’t tell me how you got the burn.” She said. “It looks pretty… deliberate.” She picked the phrasing carefully. The use of kid gloves became readily apparent and Ed wanted to bark out some mean comment to make her back off, but that wouldn’t really be fair to his raging headache.

Or fair to her. She was trying to help. This was the safest he'd felt in ages.

Ed sincerely wasn’t in the mood for an argument and, judging by her expression that was carved in layers of  dubiousness and analyzing, she wasn’t looking for one.

Sonia didn’t budge in her stance, crosslegged and arms folded over her chest, waiting patiently for an answer. When he stayed silent, she deflated a little, hands dropping, returning to some task he didn't have the wherewithal to register. “I noticed you flinched earlier, sitting with the Flame Alchemist. Back when we all first got here.” The rubber of her gloved hand brushed his face, combing back his still bloodstained hair and taping a strip of thin gauze over the set of stitches. “I’m not going to get you or him in trouble, but whatever happened is weighing on you.”

“It wasn’t him.”

“So what’s got you all jumpy?”

“I don’t know…” He faltered. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Sonia smoothed the last papery line of tape in place, shuffling back to where his foot lay. It was propped up on a rumpled blanket. When had that happened?

She sat back on her heels with a small smile. “Sure it does! Who am I gonna tell anyways? I’m the perfect confidant.”

Ed sagged against the wall, feeling the peeling paint catch strands of his hair and tug them loose from his already ruined, tangled braid. He should ask for a comb or something because the mats it had started to tie into was going to drive him absolutely nuts and maybe, if he was lucky, someone would have an elastic on hand—

Focus! 

Ed shook his head. It made a few starry constellations dance to life, skipping across his line of sight like a personal meteor shower “You’re awfully pushy, you know.”

Sonia shrugged. “My girlfriend tells me that a lot too.” She started to unwrap the knotted lines of fabric that kept his ankle from fully rolling into the land of no return. He could barley feel her touch as the muddied linen was peeled away. “So?” She prompted.

His face was shadowed over by his hair, the golden looking rather vibrant in an unearthly way against his skin. It had grown pale as exhaustion sunk its hooks in and strength was leached out, sucked into the metal and chewed up by the shots of pain that ricocheted through his skull. His brow furrowed stubbornly. “It doesn’t matter.” Ed repeated.

Sonia cast the old, makeshift bandages aside and lining up a curved set of metal wedges, flattened to accommodate the shape of an arm or leg. She concentrated, leaving him to stew in the subpart answer for a long while.

As it so happens, Sonia was a godsend and knew what she was doing; it only hurt as much as a bruise. 

Oh, right. He’d forgotten to mention the whole getting strangled thing earlier. That was probably why talking hurt like drinking chlorine and his voice was ragged, come to think of it. Eh, it’s not that important. 

In a blink, she’d finished re-wrapping the break, settling back on her heels with a sigh. “You should talk about it, you know. With the Flame Alchemist, I mean.” She made a vague gesture to, well, all of him. “It’s already eating you up. If you ask, I’m sure you’ll get an answer.”

The outside had fallen silent, a hard sheen glaring down from the cloudless sky and lighting up the internal part of the truck. Ed offer a stiff nod.

The sound of footsteps against the well-trodden dirt registered slowly, along with a muted metal rattling. A voice called. “Major Elric!”

Sonia turned towards the noise curiously as she discarded her gloves, tucked into a back pocket. Her eyebrows raised, legs swinging over the back of the truck and leaning forward to watch as the same two MPs from before came barreling into view. They ground to a halt, both winded and half hunched forward.

“Major Elric,” One huffed with a sunny look about him. Victorious, one might call it. Ed was close to informing him of how inappropriate and disrespectful the expression was, considering the fact that he felt like a bird that had been knocked to the ground by a tennis racket and given a light singe, but he held his tongue. Better to let the man keep his dignity.

Sonia turned to him with a wild look, sputtering. “Major?!”

Ed looked at the two expectantly. They straightened. “You were right. We found an automail arm in the wall.”

“Hooray.” He deadpanned the cheer, waving a hand to them. The officer moved forward, sliding the limb across the ground and into Ed’s grasp. Hefting the damn thing pulled at his burn, stinging in a way like when one outgrows their own scar tissue. 

“Are you okay to reattach it right now?”

“Yes.” Ed replied with a nod. “Oh, also I’m going to black out.”

That was the last thing he remembered. His grace was unmatched.

After having his account scrawled down on some official, black and green document, one of the Captain's (who had hauled their team in and was presently conducting investigations like a miracle worker) told Roy to go get looked over by a medic.

Most of them were busy cleaning up the mess Roy had made close to the wall. He blinked at the Captain. “I’m fine,”

He shook his head. “No, no. We can handle things from here.” He insisted. “I got a call from someone in Central saying that you should get a once over by someone.” The man ushered him down the steps of the station, through the barricade of cars and trucks that were piled around the iron-clad train tracks. 

Internally, Roy cursed Hughes out and declared him a traitor. A first class prick who Roy undoubtedly owed his life but like hell that was going to stop him from planning out a long, very strongly worded phone call once he was let off the hook.

Proverbial, of course. There were still other things that kept his tensions high. Less of a what and more of a who. He tried not to wince at the thought and returned his attention to the Captain. “This van is headed to my county’s hospital, only about an hour and a half away.”

“I don’t need a hospital, Captain.” Roy said tersely. 

He gave the alchemist a knowing look. “Exhaustion can do some nasty things. Besides that, you got a little banged up through the night. Something internal could’ve happened and you haven’t even realized it. Better safe than sorry, I say.”

Roy was led to the back of a covered truck with a courteous nod. He relented after only two seconds of the staring match, his fortitude long having whizzed away on vacation at the worst of times.

Somehow the pliancy landed him in the back of a med-truck, sitting across from a passed out Ed.

There was a young woman tidying something in the corner, down on one knee and muttering softly. She caught Roy’s eye and put a finger to her lips, nodding towards Ed.

He was half upright, his automail leg folded under him, one arm cushioned under his head, leaning against the flat of a box with his nose buried in his sleeve. His metal arm was back in place.

That was good.

And Ed was out cold.

Roy took a moment to actually look over the kid, wincing at the sight of a dark, almost black line that curled up his throat. He could make out the purple lines where the rope had been ridged. Someone—the young woman, presumably—had properly wrapped his foot and had it sat it up on a rumpled sheet. 

He was sporting a bandage over the split near his hairline and a damp cloth tied over the burn that was gripped around his wrist and forearm. A thin plastic line disappeared near his elbow, the rest of it running up towards a bag that lay nailed up against the wall before it turned to canvas.

Roy’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, squinting.

The medic moved to his side with a decidedly unimpressed, no-nonsense air about her. His eyes darted back to the IV before meeting the woman’s questioningly. She shot a glance over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Oh, he’s fine.” She told him.

“Then why the…” He waved, feeling a little dumbstruck and helpless. The medic didn’t miss a beat.

“Dehydration.” She informed with a clam smile. “Now let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”

She was impersonal about it, poking and prodding and flashing a light across his eyes. The woman glared rather harshly at his fingertips, the skin of every digit on his right hand blistered and scorched down to the knuckles.

Through shock or stupidity, he hadn’t really thought about it until now.

It started to itch and pull in a steady, agonizing way. “You’re gonna need a skin graft.” She told him. “Looks like you put your hand in a fire pit.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

She eyed him before getting back to work, smearing on a dense layer of antiseptic before loosely covering his hand in a damp sheet of gauze. Apparently there was a bruised rib making breathing a bit unpleasant. She tossed him painkillers and a flask of water, climbing out the back of the truck and landing on the dust-powdered road.

“We’re understaffed at the moment so I’m all you’ve got for a driver. The engine is a bit loud, give a shout if anything goes bad, yeah?”

Roy nodded haltingly. “Of course.”

The woman moved to leave, but hesitated. She cast him a sidelong glance, smooth and steely. “You should talk to him.” Her chin jerked towards Ed. “If he wakes up, I mean. I’m assuming you’re his CO…?” Her head tilted, waiting for an answer.

Roy swallow and nodded. The woman’s expression softened. “He was nervous about something. Talk to him.”

She disappeared around the side of the truck before Roy could even process what she said. He blinked at the empty space, bewildered and oddly impressed. A medic had just given a high ranking officer a command. It wasn’t explicit, but something about her tone made it clear.

The boldness was pretty admirable, in it’s own sort of disrespectful way.

Roy slumped down against to wall helplessly, his gaze turning to the open back end of the truck as the engine rumbled to life, coughing out a puff of smoke. The sun was singing down in a chorus of yellow light.

It was pretty.

Roy felt terribly out of place.

He watched the stone wall in the distance pull out of view as the vehicle started down the road, counting the seconds until it was out of sight.

He craned his neck, trying to catch a final glimpse of it and all it's horrors, stemming from some morbidly curious part of him, wondering if he might see a charred puddle of a body being carted out.

Of course, he didn’t catch that final glimpse, and even if he had, it was too far off to make out any details, save for the horde of soldiers that congregated around the hole he'd alchemically blasted through the stone. Roy kept his eyes trained out the back, eyeing the road as it flew out from under him, twisting and freckled with uneven patches.

The ride was a bit bumpy, but peaceful. The sky, as far as he could see, was crisp and clean, with only the occasional wispy cloud stumbling through the sun’s peripheral. He could watch its shadow trekking across the hills until it was blown apart by a stubborn breeze.

The world should know better than to appear in such a lovely way right now. It was unkind and taunting.

The metal of the truck was cool, air light and breathable in that early-morning-dampness kind of way. It sent quick chills down the back of his neck, but nothing more. It wasn’t empty of smells, mostly overtaken by a tinge of smoke and dust and, thankfully, was distinctly gasoline wrought and only managed to make his mind race once or twice.

There was so stench of blood or hissing steam sliding off of skinned forms.

Those few times where it did make his throat tighten, his eyes strayed to the kid passed out in the corner and the words of his bold young medic resurfaced with a vengeance.

That he should talk to Ed.

Hah. What a fucking joke.

He dwelled on it, internally preparing what he would say in the case that Ed managed to claw his way out of unconsciousness. Roy skimmed through lists in his head, counting out names and making note of different factors, trying to take everything into account.

He was trying to ready himself for the coming conversation that would surely end with a proverbial, but not unexpected bullet to the chest. The gun had already been fired, the round moving in slow motion and there wasn’t anything Roy could do about it. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t doge and he didn’t even dare to consider firing back.

It was coming at him calmly with the force of an earthquake, a hurricane and a bomb all wrapped into one with a sickly little bow. 

Roy was just waiting for the damn thing to hit.

It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he’d survive.

There might be broken bones (trust) and blood (hate) by the lungful, be he'd survive.

About a half hour or so into the trip, he heard Ed began to stir. Roy half hoped the kid would stay sleeping just so he could be a little better rehearsed and ready. Who was he kidding? This was going to be hard no matter how much time he had to think. No amount of planning would be enough.

Ed’s eyes cracked open into the watery daylight as he straightened up.

Roy turned away, keeping his sights locked on the horizon as best he could as though it would help the sudden seasickness that welled up in his stomach. He kept his gaze steady as well as he was able to. Which is to say, not well. They wandered without permission as Ed blinked, looking around blearily before his attention settled on Roy and his face became sharp and grim. 

Roy’s good hand curled into a fist, practically able to feel the white hot burning of those bright, angry chatoyant eyes, searing twin holes through his head. Ed shifted, righting himself and untangling his automail from the IV. He stared at Roy.

Roy stared at the sky.

The sky glared at him cruelly.

Roy took a measured inhale, still not meeting the younger alchemist’s gaze. “I know some decent officers around Eastern Command. They’re good for keeping secrets and would always welcome a new recruit to their team.” He started, willing the words to be strong and promising. 

The road took a quick turn and the truck hitched a little as it skidded over a pothole. Roy pressed on. “Transfer papers might take a while to go through.”

His head hurt. His hand hurt.

Something else hurt too but he wasn't completely sure what.

Roy's eyes lifted for a split second and Ed was completely unreadable, his expression practically vacant. 

The older man swallowed. “If you’d want to leave the east altogether, Central would be your best bet. It’s farther from your mechanic, though. Not sure if that’ll be much of an issue, but you could always get an escort when going for maintenance. Hughes could pass along leads. You would have to investigate on your own time, and whoever you’re under might be strict about Alphonse coming around.” He tried to keep himself from rambling, but Roy could feel it starting to slip. “A letter of introduction might be able to fix that, though, and I could get in touch with some of the more lenient members of senior staff. If you need a recommendation for—“

“What?” Ed breathed.

Finally, he looked to the blond and his voice died mid-sentence. The kid was wide eyed and blinking, owlishly confused and his arms both slack at his sides.

“Transfer?” He croaked. His voice sounded like he’d taken a liking to swigging battery acid. 

Roy hesitated before nodding. “You and your brother still need military resources,” He explained, managing to sound detached whilst a voice casually reminded him how severely he’d broken any trust Ed once had in him. The look on his face was proof enough—he looked shocked right down to the core. “If you’re no longer going to be in my division,”

“Wait.”

“The least I can do is find someone suitable to help you two.”

“Hold on,” Ed interjected, but Roy couldn’t bring himself to put a stop to the words that bounded outwards.

It was like some floodgates had been opened up and the cold, unwelcoming feeling was drowning him from the inside. It wasn’t something he could stop, much like the bullet that was starting its journey through his sternum and leaking conviction like a broken spout.

“I don’t doubt they’d accept in a heartbeat, putting together the paperwork—“

“Stop.” Ed’s voice raised enough to snap him out of the little speech. He shook off the glassy feeling and tried to pick apart the blond’s expression before metal and gunpowder rammed its way through his ribcage. A moments warning could help soften the blow, even if it’s just by a little.

But Ed was just watching him.

He looked to the younger alchemist, feeling taken aback. Ed’s eyebrows pinched together. “Are you transferring me?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you transferring me.” He asked again; Ed’s expression, eyes to jaw, was startled and still painfully exhausted.

“Not directly.” Roy said slowly. “But you’re well within your rights to request it.”

He silently braced for the impact, eyes shut, his head lowered by a fraction and feeling strangely peaceful, despite every voice and instinct that lived in his person wailing that he shouldn’t just let this happen. He felt resigned because, in truth, he shouldn’t have lost it like he did. Forget it feeling like a betrayal to Ed, it was a betrayal to himself.

Years ago he’d sworn to keep a lid on his temper, promising that he’d reign in the violent, drilled instincts that lingered from the cruel mundanities and casual, bloody prospects of war.

He failed and these were the consequences.

Ed recoiled, his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Why—what makes you think I’d request a transfer?” He looked stunned in an almost neutral way. But… no, he sounded hurt.

“I…” He paused for a long moment. The bullet receded and something began to pour out. Resolve? Blood, maybe? Roy raised his head to glance at Ed. His failed miserably at keeping his gaze down and ended up in a stalemate, trapped by the kid’s expression. The older took a careful breath. “I assumed that you...” He trailed off with a meek shrug. 

“That I what?” Ed snapped incredulously. There was the anger, bubbling like it was supposed to and making each word like a spearhead.

“After that, I was sure you would want to be out of East City.” 

“I don’t…” Ed looked away, his attention drawn to the rubber tube stuck to his forearm, fixated as though he’d never seen one before. “I mean, no. I’m not going to request anything.”

“Oh.” Roy said plainly. 

“I—I just... why?” Ed still didn’t look up, but both hands twisted, treading in place for not other reason than for the sake of movement itself. Twice he tried to smooth them down., but the twinges came back within moments. Unless his memory was failing sooner than Roy expected it to, it meant that Ed was entering one of those rare, quietly anxious dazes. The kid tended to bury whatever was going on behind the scenes, curtains drawn shut and throwing on a loud of enough show on a day-to-day basis that no one would bother asking questions, but these little breaks in character were like an intermission—seeing actors without their costumes or a heart sewn onto a sleeve.

“I thought you said that you didn’t want to hear it—“ He began hesitantly, thinking back to the pure measure of vitriol in Ed’s voice when he’d told Roy to please just shut up. The younger was slowly furling up, his shoulders tensed and somehow both leaning towards and away from Roy.

“I know what I said but…” Ed let out a frustrated noise. “I just don’t get it. You could’ve incapacitated them. You could’ve just injured them or knocked them out.” His head remained bowed as he hissed out the question once again. “So why?”

Roy opened his mouth to answer, but his response wavered at the back of his throat. The truth of the matter was that he should have seen it coming, the destruction and chaos that alway cried outward when fire came into the picture.

He should have expected the outburst from the very moment those dark, clinging thoughts had started to tease at the edges of his consciousness and chip away and whatever morality he had left in the rotten spot between his ribs where a spine might be. You know, buried under steel and ashes. It was already struggling, so the little darts of hate made quick work of it.

Roy should have known.

Even if there were other reasons.

(And there were.)

All the signs were there and he did exactly nothing to prevent it save for one to two moments of hesitation that had primarily been for Ed’s sake—so that he’d be able to find the kid and squish down the broken record of a voice that skipped around the walls, taunting him.

Don’t you get it? He’s already in the ground.

A scream.

 “Fire is dangerous.” He decided on after a while. “There’s a reason flame alchemy isn’t widely practiced and... and there’s a reason why I was so effective during war.” He failed in not spitting the word. It had been used too many times to describe terrible things to feel anything other than bitter.

And now the kid would be gone, right? Even if it was slow and lazy in motion, Ed would drift away, dragging with him the ends of whatever kind of respect he’d had for Roy, if there ever was any to begin with. He waited for acceptance or a question.

Instead, Ed glowered at the floor of the truck and positively snarled. “Bullshit.” Roy’s head shot up. “Fire saved my ass like four times in the past day and it didn’t kill anyone. The fire didn’t do that, you did.”

He felt numb and careless. Roy sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

“And I wanna know why. Cause okay, sure, you’re a jerk and a soldier—“ What an odd thing to point out. “—but you’re not like them, unless I really misjudged you.” The blond took a pause to breathe, levelling his tone better than Roy thought he knew how to. Hell, better than any kid should be able to do at all. “So why did you do burn them?”

“You misjudged me.”

Ed shut his eyes, wilting against the wall and once more stilling his hands for a few seconds. Their melodic movement, though still microscopic, was back before the younger alchemist even started talked again. “Colonel. Please stop avoiding the question. I’m not going to freak out I just need you to tell me.” Ed sounded alarmingly unguarded.

“They deserved it.” Roy muttered.

“That’s a terrible answer.”  Ed bit out, his voice rising inch by inch. 

“It’s the only one I have.”

“No it isn’t.” 

“It is.” He replied quietly. 

Ed’s shoulders hunched further. “You’re a bad liar.” He spat.

His own words turned against him.

Roy’s patience dwindled, his tone rising a little to match the force behind Ed’s. “Why do you want to know so much?” He demanded, gesturing to the younger alchemist with a sharp wave. “It was a shitty thing that I did without thinking. What does reasoning have to do with any of this?”

“I just want an answer.”

“I gave you an answer.” Roy snapped. The kid twitched, shrinking back against the wall. Why?

“You gave me an excuse.” Ed muttered.

Roy glowered, rising a little. It was stupid. He should try to stay calm and not let himself get out of control but the frustration was eating away at him. He didn't have anything left to loose. “It’s the same thing! What difference does it make?!”

“Shut up.”

“No, I—you can’t just do that. You’re pissed, fine, but what the hell is going on?”

“Shut up.”

“Fullmetal—“

Ed tensed. “Don’t.” He said lowly. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?!”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

The blond curled and shot the same phrase like a projectile flying from a canon. “Shut up.”

“What the hell happened?!”

“Nothing happen. Stop talking.”

He swallowed back a shout. “No.”

Roy was in the middle of making another mistake. He could feel it even as the words left mouth. He should stop talking… he should leave this alone and let Ed slog through whatever it was alone because that’s how it worked. That’s how it was supposed to work. It was a mistake but he couldn’t stand to let it go.

So he scowled and barked out the question.

“What possible reason is there—“

“I’m sick of being scared of you!” Ed cried.

Finally.

He finally… dammit.

The road became flat, turning from dirt and stone to rolled out cobblestone and mortar. The truck stopped jostling. Ed had finally looked up and was devastatingly truthful. Roy stared, wide eyed and processing the words slowly. 

“…What?“ He managed after an unbearably long, still moment of only a humming engine and the flickers of sunlight through the canvas roof.

He’s scared of you.

Fuck.

Ed blanched, seeming shocked at his own words. “Wait. No, no, no wait.” He tried to backtrack.

“Fullmetal?” Roy said slowly.

He… he flinched. Again.

“Don’t.”

Roy’s mouth snapped shut.

“I’m not…” Ed scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t—“ God, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “—I just want to rationalize this. That’s all.”

“Hey, wait a second.” Roy shifted, planning to move forward as much as the small space would allow, but aborted the idea as soon as he saw Ed’s frame jolt.

“Just forget it.”

Roy recoiled. “You can’t expect me to just—“

“Colonel,” He warned lowly, telling the older man to back off but like hell he would. 

Roy shook his head, still gapping and just mildly horrified enough to have it show on his face. “Since when are you—why—“

“I’m not!” Ed interjected. He pulled back like he’d been burned and kept his eyes downcast. “Just drop it.”

The kid scrubbed a hand over his face with an incomprehensible mumble, nearly yanking out his IV from the quick motion and Roy…

Stopped breathing.

It was only for a moment, but the air wrapped itself around his lungs, pushing and squeezing until he felt a little dizzy with a dreadful bloom of thorns circling his heart. It twisted rather violently and Roy swallowed.

“Was that why you kept flinching…?” He asked carefully. 

Because he’s not an idiot. It may have taken a while to fully catch on to the twinges and the way the blond had shied away from him all through the night thanks to a distinct lack of sleep.

But he still noticed. It had become glaringly obvious back in the library and increased tenfold when the Flame Alchemist used his damned flames. Ed didn’t answer, instead he sunk lower and looked like he wanted to disappear.

The older alchemist stiffened, his tone hitching. “You can’t just say that and think I’ll let it go.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ed hissed. “Who cares.”

Roy blinked before his face pitched into a scowl. “Who cares—I fucking care!” He almost shouted. 

Ed shot him a withering look but it didn’t deter Roy one iota. He glared with a mix of confusion, uncertainty and fear, all of it traipsing about in the open. “Just answer the question.” Ed rasped, looked away, like holding the older man’s gaze was physically painful.

Roy stared at him hard. “I panicked.” He stated plainly. “I was sick of letting them toy with the both of us so I took the easy way out. I don’t know what happened because you refuse to talk to me but they actually managed to scare you and you’ve been jumpy ever since. I didn’t want whatever it was to happen again. So I panicked.”

“Nothing happened.”

The truck felt more and more closed in, a tight space with no room to really breathe, but with a gapping distance all the same. Roy didn’t know how to navigate this. He was already being weighed down by a mountain of fully conscious, dextrous guilt that shifted to stay on top of him with every twitch.

He had a halo of horror that made everything feel a little hazy and the the pointed, needle-like shards of desperation digging a hole through his stomach. And of course, there was the bullet, patently waiting to finish running him through.

Ed was like an equation with half the variables missing and roughly ten times too much anger and hurt splayed cleanly over the surface. 

He was on a minefield.

In the midst of a precarious, reckless gamble that could cost him more than he could really afford to lose. Not that he had anything left. Roy was betting his person on this and it may very well backfire splendidly. He inhaled slowly and tried to piece together his odds, even if it would be tedious and painful as pulling teeth.

Ed’s voice cut through the steady clatter of rubber wheels over the stone.

“He copied your voice.”

Roy’s mind screeched to a halt.

“Nothing happened he just started talking and it sounded like you." Ed shrugged. "And it was dark.” 

Roy felt his stomach go cold and goosebumps began to race along his skin. It made too much sense and fucking hell he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had a sneaking suspicion for a while now but hearing Ed say it out loud was just… awful. 

Roy clenched his jaw and studied the kid as he spoke in a halting, unsure tone. “But nothing happened. I mean, he made some threats and tried to freak me out but didn’t actually do anything… not really, anyways.”

“Not really?” He breathed back, horrified and with guilt roaring through his head.

“He fired a blank.” Ed paused to blink down at his hands. “And it sounded like you.”

One wheel hit something hard. Ed grasped the box next to him to stay balanced, leaning on it as his eyebrows pressed together in an ambiguous, unsure but absolutely pained expression. “I know it wasn’t because it literally couldn’t have been but—“

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it.” Roy told him gently. 

Ed bowed his head with a miserable exhale. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Hey.” Roy tried to catch his eye. “You have every right to be upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

His expression softened a little. “Okay, fine. Then you have every right to be scared.”

Ed laughed bitterly, pulling himself from whatever troubled reverie he’d fallen into. “Scared of you. Of all people.”

“Are you still scared?” He asked cautiously.

“I…” Ed’s hair fell over his face. “I don’t know."

“That’s alright.”

“I wasn’t before.”

“I know.”

“This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be—“ He cut himself off.

Roy smoothed his expression best he could. “It’s fine. If you are, I mean.”

“Fine?” Ed repeated incredulously.

He nodded. Ed looked away.

Roy cast a quick glance around the space, then stood up. It only took a few short steps to reach Ed, who stared up at him, face stoney and pressed back against the wall.

Roy sighed and sat down, leaving a few feet between himself and the younger alchemist. Enough that the kid hopefully wouldn’t feel cornered. The blond arched an eyebrow at him, still looking pretty banged up and defeated.

“What?”

Roy held up both hands, turning them front and back. “No gloves,” He said.

Ed blinked at him, the uncharacteristically shaken up demeanour beginning to ebb away. “No glov—what? I can see that.”

“And you had asked why I was in the tunnels in the first place.”

“Oh.”

Roy gave him a wry, lopsided smile. “Equivalent exchange.”

The younger alchemist hesitated. His eyes narrowed a little. “Your hand looks really jacked.” He settled on.

It was much more in line with what Roy was used to from the kid. All the quiet, contemplative anger and discontent had made him apprehensive beyond belief. Because he really thought that Ed would already be out the door, handing in a letter of resignation and not even giving Roy the chance to rekindle what he’d reduced to ash.

But Ed was scared of him. It wasn't worth it.

“I talked to the family.” He started. “They would only refer to you in past tense.”

Ed squinted at him for another moment longer before fully realizing what Roy was trying to do: make it even.

Of course, he could never apologize in full for having lost control—that would take longer to fix. Whether it be days, weeks or months (years, a lifetime), he didn’t know. But Roy needed to make this much fair, at least. That, and he desperately wanted Ed to understand.

He hadn’t lied before in saying that he panicked, but that was only just scratching the surface. 

He’d been told the kid was dead and then watched Ed become more and more wary of him. And maybe Roy was just angry.

They’d managed to scare the boy who’d been through hell. 

Yeah, he was angry.

“Made it seem like they’d already killed you. One managed to shoot a hole through my gloves before I could use them.”

Ed nodded. “So how’d you get into the tunnels.”

“By being an idiot.”

The younger choked out a weak laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“They copied your voice too.”

“What… what did they say?”

Roy sincerely was not used to feeling this venerable, especially with someone who could normally put razors in their words and tear him to shreds without blinking. His hands had dropped back down into his lap, one subconsciously cradled by the other. “Nothing. Just a scream.”

Ed studied him with critical, overworked and far too intelligent eyes. He could almost feel himself being picked apart, reverse-engineered and the put back together. Every movement was being taken note of and he suddenly understood that expression about being dissected.

“They wanted you to think I was dead.” Ed stated calmly. He had a sympathetic look about his eyes that felt like a slap to the face.

“Scared the hell out of me doing it.” He admitted.

The younger alchemist paused for a long moment. “Do you really think a soldier wouldn’t kill you.”

Roy stared, nonplussed. “What?”

“That's what he said.” His eyes wandered up the the tarp laid across the truck ceiling in a thin stretch. Shadows passed over here and there, trees spitting overhangs across the road. They reached just far enough to make the sun blink in and out for split seconds. It was all strangely serene.

“And it sounded like you.”

It had been a fight or an endurance match that Roy had been prepared for.

Nothing this honest.

It was… a welcome surprise. A good change in pace that was suddenly hitting him like a speeding train and making his head sway a little bit. Because they weren’t dead and, even frightened and skittish, Ed wasn’t shoving him away.

There was no accusations or shouting, just truth by the lungful (not hate) and a startling amount of ease. He thought it would be way harder to talk about any of this—really, Roy didn’t think he’d admit what he had at all. Equivalent exchange was a nasty little rule but it helped to get it off his chest.

The air was thinner and lighter now. 

Ed watched him for a reaction. Roy shifted uncomfortably. He hesitantly glanced behind him at the empty space he’d previously been occupying, then back to the young alchemist who was still fitting him with a near hawkish stare, critical and anxious at the same time.

“You know I’m not going to kill you.”

“Of course I know that.” The boy’s head thumped against the wall. “Won’t really go away though.”

“You know I’m not going to kill you.” Roy said again, more forcefully. 

Ed scoffed under his breath. “You already said that.”

The Colonel tensed and, after a moment of deliberation, reached out. With his injured hand, specifically. Not to do anything in particular, just a feeble mockery of an olive branch, trying to wordless show in what arbitrarily complicated way he knew how that... that he wasn’t going to hurt the kid. 

And Ed recoiled.

You did this, one snarled.

It wasn’t your fault, another wailed.

The rest of him softly conceded that it wasn’t that simple. There are no binaries in the field of emotions—it’s a greyscale at best. It’s not an alchemic equation or a battle strategy. It doesn’t always make sense.

It only adds up when it wants to and right now it was pulling against his merger hold like a hurricane against a kite. His hand dropped and Roy did all he could to hide the guilt.

“There’s probably a second seat up front.” He said, nodding towards the far wall that was closed off and plastered in metal. “I can leave, if you want.”

Ed opened and shut his mouth, frowning at nothing while aimlessly fiddling with the line running into his veins. 

“No, it’s fine.” He settled on.

Roy nodded and, with all the grace of the socially inept, paranoid over-thinker that he was, and leaned back, his good arm braced behind him.

It wasn’t fair to expect this to resolve so quickly. Take away the fact that some twisted jerk had dealt Ed some substantial phycological blows, he’d still stood by and watched as the older reduced living, breathing people to almost nothing. They’d screamed and begged and Ed saw all the destruction flying from his fingertips with ease. 

Of course this wasn’t going to fade into obscurity. He can’t just expect trust without having earned it, and god, it had been hard enough the first time around when Ed was only twelve and cagey beyond belief.

He would take everything like a threat and suspected ulterior motives from even the kindest of people, especially around Alphonse. Roy remembered all the times Hawkeye had offered the brothers a ride to the train station and only after a full year of declining did they accept. But still, it was a thing that had to be earned.

That’s how it works.

“Would you stop that?” Ed snapped.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’ve got that look.” He gestured to Roy. “Like... like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Well could you cut it out? It’s weird.” The younger grumbled. 

Roy damn near started laughing at the childish, stagnate look on Ed’s face. He managed to appreciate how poorly received that would be and sat up a little straighter.

“In my defence, I am waiting for a bomb to go off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If I say something, are you going to blow up?”

Ed pressed himself back against the wall, his eyebrows raising. “I don’t know. Maybe. Fifty-fifty chance, I guess.” He shrugged.

He hardly even noticed when they stopped moving, only realizing it when there came a quick thump on the side of the truck. The medic poked her head around the corner. 

“You both conscious?”

Roy almost laughed at how flippantly she said it. “Yeah.”

“Great.”

She stepped inside, the vehicle moving with her weight. Face stern, hands twitching she eased the IV out of place, a cotton ball materializing out of nowhere to press against the mark. 

“I’m going to go inside and grab the staff.” She gave Ed a pointed look, then rounded on Roy. “Don’t let him stand up.”

Again, Roy found himself just a little impressed that she had the wherewithal to be telling him what to do. Ed frowned, but didn't protest like he normally might. 

The young woman stepped off the back end of the truck and strode forward.

The older man turned away for a moment, merely to situate himself at the open end as to avoid the embarrassment  of being ferried out for a goddamn burn on his hand. He could walk perfectly fine, thanks. It was only a few seconds, but in that he heard the shuffling of cloth and a frustrated noise. 

He glanced back to find Ed propping himself up in an effort to get to his feet.

“Stay down.” Roy said, exasperated and a little bit stunned. Because really, who else was this self-destructively impatient? 

Ed didn’t spare him a glance. “Shut up.”

“She just told you not to stand up.” He replied pointedly.

The blond paused, having hauled himself to sit on the box he’d fallen asleep over. “Actually she told you not to let me stand up.”

Roy sighed to himself. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The younger merely crossed his arms, mindful of the burn but looking intently stubborn all the while. “Good.”

Ed somehow staggered his way over and sat down at the opposite end of the truck as Roy, using the wall to keep his balance.

If he had to guess, he’d say the broken bone was starting to fully sink its teeth in. Roy knew from experience that the weeks following a broken, or even fractured bone were worse than the first few days. It dragged migraines and nausea up from the trenches.

He didn’t offer a hand. It would’ve been shot down, surely. Roy just waited, taking in the bland exterior of a hospital spread out against the morning light.

Ed curled up in his residence and followed his gaze. 

“What were you going to say? Before, I mean. Waiting for a bomb to drop and whatnot.”

“Just an apology. For—“ He shrugged weakly. “—all of that."

"Huh."

"I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was a distinct lack of forgiveness. The hole made by hate's bullet was still spilling out his fortitude. Roy took it in stride and kept his mouth shut.

The kid paused, blinking at the harsh change from yellowy shadows to bold and blaring white walls of a hospital.

“Sorry.”

Roy didn’t miss a beat. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Can you just accept the apology?” He huffed.

Roy shook his head. “Not when there’s no reason for you to be apologizing.”

“I was overreacting—“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” The Colonel intervened before Ed could find a way to filch all the guilt for himself. That was Roy’s job this time. 

“You weren’t and aren’t overreacting. It takes time.”

“Time.” Ed repeated bitterly. “Time for what? It wasn’t even you.”

“That doesn’t matter. You can still be mad or upset or however you want to call it. I shouldn't have done what I did regardless.”

“It does. It should.”

The doors, stationed in the middle of a wide wall off to the left, spotted with windows, burst open. A modest swarm id technicians and nurses filed out, headed up by their own darling little medic. She was explaining something to the staff, gesturing and pointing to different parts of herself like she was a diagram for their injuries. 

Ed sighed. “I’m really fucking tired.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Colonel?”

“What is it?”

Ed’s brow creased. “This won’t be like... permanent, right? I mean, I’m not scared—“ He was. He absolutely was but was just too stubborn to really admit it a second time. He was tired and enraged and scared.  “—I just don’t want to be so freaked out over nothing."

Roy watched as the nurses started their decent, a buzz murmuring about them frantically as they caught sight of the two alchemist. He watched them, but didn’t see much beyond the white and the hum. He blinked and it was night. For a moment there was nothing but a melody and a field with grinning faces.

It melted away. Ed gave him a quizzical look that shifted to something sharper. He leaned away without even seeming to be aware of it. "Still mad." He murmured. "It would just suck if this didn't go away."

He was given a sidelong glance. "D'you think it will?"

It hit him for the millionth time that Ed was a child. A child that had just lost trust in one of the few adults in his life. A child with too much responsibility and not enough time to process all the terrible things that had been handed to him on a rusty old platter.

He sounded small and unsure and frightened. Because he was. Roy wished he could lie right about now, but he'd done that enough hadn't he. With all the unwilling truth that had been spilled out just now, what was one more thing?

Roy breathed. “I don’t know.”