Chapter Text
It was raining when Roy Mustang got the call.
The world turned gray and silver and smoky-black by clouds and thunder, every moment ticking sluggishly on as the world was drenched in rainwater. The office reflected the grim weather—but then again, grim was all they’d been for a long, long while. For a year and two months, at least (one year, two months, twenty-three days).
His team had more reason to hate the rain than most. Beyond his inability to make use of his flame alchemy in the weather, it had been raining just like this when they’d failed. When they’d let a fourteen-year-old child disappear into mists and rain, thinking genius and skill would bring him back to them as it always had before. When he hadn’t come back, and hadn’t been seen since.
When they’d let the Fullmetal Alchemist go.
The search had been obsessive. At first, multiple squads had been dedicated to tracking down Fullmetal and bringing him back, even the higher-ups recognizing such a high-level prodigy as an asset too vital to lose. One by one, as time went on without a single lead and a thousand dead ends, they had dropped off—no, given up is more accurate. They mourned the prodigy lost to the military, declaring him M.I.A, missing or dead or a deserter (though no one was unwise enough to mention the third theory around him). That is, all but Mustang’s squad.
All but the people who needed him back the most.
It was a slow day, the papers of the now-rather-illegal search spread before him. A pile of necessary reports grew larger and larger on the corner of his desk, forgotten, some spilling onto the couch from the length of his continued denial. The frustration was pulsing, clawing at the inside of his skin. He dragged his hands through his hair with a sigh, staring at the words he’d read a thousand times as though they might now yield some magical key to his subordinate’s location.
They didn’t, of course. They never had before, and the worst part of himself was starting to wonder if they never would, if Fullmetal really was lost forever, if he’d let him and Alphonse and every damn member of his team down again. His fingers twitched with the urge to burn the ever-taunting papers, a quiet hiss of annoyance escaping as he lowered his head into his hands—only to be jerked back up as the phone rang.
Probably another call from Command, he thought, reaching for the receiver wearily and bringing it to his ear. “Colonel Mustang’s office, Roy Mustang speaking.”
And there was—a sob.
A sob, and a tiny whimper, and a little gasp of, “C-Colonel” in a voice Roy had never expected to hear so small and fragile, so… broken. But it was his voice, and he couldn’t stop to think about the details, not now, not when it came to this—
“Fullmetal—Fullmetal, is that you?” There was a small noise, like the boy’s breath hitching in his lungs, and then—and then Fullmetal began to cry, his shaking voice filtering through the receiver and plunging Roy into a new mystery, a new hell.
“Edward, where are you?” Don’t ask what happened. Don’t make demands. Just get him back.
There was more noise outside, a hand rapping at his door, questions filtering through in a dozen voices (Hawkeye Hughes Falman Havoc Breda Fuery Al), but he ignored them, clutching the receiver like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was, he thought dazedly—a lifeline to the child he’d failed. Just get him back .
“D-don’t k-know— phone b-booth—” There was a shuddering gasp, and a thump on the other end, like his legs had given out. “H-hurts— w-want Al, p-please—”
Edward Elric had just admitted to being hurt—hurt, and terrified, if the whimpering sobs were any indication. Fullmetal, who called him Colonel Bastard and had no concept of do as you’re told, who didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle and bore true agony and guilt and uncertainty better than most adults, was crying into the phone and begging for his brother. He must have been in so much pain to actually be begging for relief from it.
If Edward was openly crying from fear and pain, that meant he was in serious trouble—seriously broken, perhaps. Panic and worry began clawing their way up his throat and Roy choked them back, tightening his grip on the phone. Calm and reassuring. Calm and gentle. Calm for Ed.
He’d claimed responsibility for the kid the second he was brought into the military, had seen him soul-dead in a wheelchair, had guarded the young alchemist from the higher-ups who wanted to sink their claws into him. He’d seen him come back from every mission, burning bright and fast and fearless and hiding a soul of shadows and broken glass. He’d promised that kid he’d see his quest through all the way to the end. That he’d be there.
There was no way he could turn his back on him now.
“We’re coming, Ed, I swear.” There had to be a way to trace the phone call--something, anything to link them to where their missing piece was. “Do you see anything around you? Anything you can use to point us in the right direction?”
A wet, hacking cough and another sob, and then—“B-big s-s-statue—s’a d-dragon. A-an’—an’ a…a…” A sniffle, another sob. “C-can’t ‘member wha’ it’s c-called—”
Shit, shit, shit , this kept getting worse and worse, didn’t it? “It’s okay, Ed. Are there any signs nearby?”
“S-stop s-sign—somethin’ for a…a…r-radio…radio s-station?”
Radio station, stop sign, dragon statue, phone booth. “Stay put, Ed. We’ll find you, okay? Don’t leave that phone booth no matter what.” Calm and comforting calm and comforting calm and comforting. “Do you want me to put Al on the phone?”
At that, Fullmetal burst into tears all over again—probably a yes. Roy wasn’t going to risk having them not speak and losing him again. “Alphonse!” he shouted through the door.
The younger Elric slammed the door open almost immediately, metal footsteps clanking as the rest of his staff filed in after him despite having not been asked for. Roy couldn’t really fault them for it. Had one of them gotten the call, he wouldn’t have waited for orders either. He held the phone out to Al, the armor nearly trembling as those leather gauntlets reached for the receiver. “It’s for you.”
Al practically snatched the phone from his hand. “Brother?”
Roy turned away as Fullmetal’s wail echoed through the room, loud enough that all of them could hear it even through the phone. Six horrified gazes met his, and all he could do was offer a sharp, bitter smile. “Lieutenant Hawkeye, get me a map of East City. I need you to mark down the locations of all radio stations and phone booths in the area. We’re looking for a booth near a crossroads and a station, most likely with some kind of statue nearby. Hughes, Havoc, we’re heading out now. Breda, Falman, you stay; Fuery, when Hawkeye’s finished, you join the search.”
There was no hesitation, not even a moment to respond with a “yes, sir!”
They’d waited long enough. There was no time left to lose.
We’re coming, Edward Elric.
They nearly missed him.
Roy would admit that he’d been driving a bit like a madman, hitting every place he could possibly recall with the landmarks Ed had mentioned, but he hadn’t thought he’d nearly drive right past him—not until Havoc banged on the back of his chair and hissed something about blonde hair, which had resulted in the fastest U-turn he’d ever attempted and a rather terrible parking job in the middle of the street. Sure enough, there was a slumped figure in the dimly-lit telephone booth across the street, the phone dangling off its hook. It wasn’t clear enough to make out much beyond a yellow blur, but--
The figure lifted its head, and something in Roy froze solid at the sight of hollow golden eyes, dead and dull and shattered. Edward—
“Roy,” Hughes said sharply from the passenger seat, and he jolted, realizing he must have spoken out loud. His best friend looked utterly serious for once, eyes dark and jaw set with an emotion he recognized as rage. “Go. We’ll be right behind you. ” Havoc nodded, his usual grin gone and replaced with the same furious protectiveness, and, well, Roy didn’t exactly need much more encouragement than that.
In a heartbeat, he was out of the car and sprinting for the phone booth, ignoring the raindrops that pelted him as he ran for that tiny bit of shelter and the child within. He skidded to a halt just in front of the door as the quiet, incomprehensible babbling became clear, no sign of Al’s voice on the other end—had the booth run out of time, then? Fullmetal probably hadn’t had more than the bare minimum cenz to make the call to his office; he must’ve panicked when it cut off—was still panicking, from the sound of it. He couldn’t see him all that well through the condensation covering the door’s glass panes, not much besides blurs and silhouettes, but it was enough.
Gently, he knocked on the door. The wounded, soft cries abruptly cut off. “Fullmetal? It’s me, Roy.” He hesitated, before adding, “Colonel Bastard, remember? Can I come in?”
Nothing. Then, suddenly—“M-Mustang,” and then Ed was crying, he could hear it, and there was no possible way he could sit here and watch and wait any longer, not with Fullmetal shattering in that stupid phone booth. He wrenched the door open, slipped inside and closed it behind him, instinctively shuffling into the corner to give Edward as much space as possible.
Then his eyes landed on Ed, and something in him turned to ice.
Fullmetal looked smaller than ever, curled in the opposite corner with the phone dangling from the cord a few inches in front of him. A massive coat draped over his otherwise bare frame dwarfed him, made him appear even tinier —and God, he was so frail, small and too-thin and shivering like a leaf in a hurricane.
Red welts dotted his (visibly showing against his skin, when was the last time he ate?) ribs, that fragile body dotted with scrapes and bruises and scars. One tiny fist scrubbed childishly at his eyes as he cried and cried, blonde bangs twice as long as when Roy had last seen him, effectively hiding his face. The other…his other arm was gone.
More than the arm is gone, Roy thought distantly, the words echoing through the icy shock and fiery rage starting to chase each other through his veins. So much more than just that damn arm.
“Fullmetal,” he tried gently, kneeling before the shivering, sobbing child; Ed flinched back, but lowered that small, quivering hand slightly, peering up at him with a whimper. Roy tried for a smile, reaching out, ignoring the pulse of anger that repeated this is wrong all wrong he should be shouting and cursing and telling me not to coddle him, not—not this, never this.
But this was happening. This was Edward Elric, up-close-and-personal, broken and afraid and desperate.
…This was a child in need of help, just like that hollow little eleven-year-old boy from all those years ago.
Slowly, hesitantly, Roy pulled off his glove and held out his hand—disarmed, safe, welcoming. Don’t spook him. Don’t you dare risk losing him. Not again.
Ed made another small, pitiful noise, tears streaking down his cheeks, and tucked the big coat more tightly around his small body. Something about the little movement made Roy’s heart ache and tear and hurt in his chest, and he swallowed thickly, barely keeping his wavering smile in place.
“I bet you’re cold, Ed,” he started, not quite sure where he was going with this, just that he needed to say something . “Havoc and Hughes are waiting just outside with the car—you remember them, right? It’ll be warmer in there, and then we can go see Al and get you something to eat.”
Ed just pulled the hood of the too-big coat over his face, huddled in the nest of thick wool, hand pulled out of the sleeve and wrapped around his quivering body instead. He wasn’t sniffling or crying audibly anymore, but Roy could still see tears falling, see that too-small hand swipe at them uselessly before giving up and dropping to his side again. Something in him cracked at the sight, and a suspicious burning sensation behind his eyes made itself known. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t you dare scare him away. “C-can’t w-walk.”
Fullmetal’s voice—that was definitely his voice, but it sounded so hurt and weak and unsteady . Sliding over the words as if he didn’t quite know how they were supposed to sound, stumbling over sounds and syllables, nothing like the vicious, shockingly eloquent teen he remembered. Roy swallowed back the urge to set the world aflame for breaking Edward Elric down to this, choked it back and took off his other glove, holding out his other hand. “I can carry you.”
Please let me carry you. Please let me help you.
Slowly, oh-so slowly, Ed lifted his head, enough for huge, sad golden eyes to peek out from behind overgrown bangs. “G-gonna see A-Al?”
Oh, god… “Yeah, Fullmetal, we’re going to see Al.”
Ed sniffled, lower lip wobbling. “M-miss him.” Tears were welling up in those shining, aureate eyes once more. “S’all my f-faul’—h-hurt ‘im—w-wanna go h-home—”
Home—Risembool, or to Al? “Can I give you something, Fullmetal?”
Ed blinked at him through the sheen of tears, brow barely furrowing, before nodding ever-so-slightly. And Roy—
Roy inched forward and wrapped his arms around the shivering child, combing one hand through his hair as he pulled him into a hug. He felt light, even with the automail, too light and too thin and shaking too much to not have gotten a cold or something of the like. Ed stiffened, whimpered, and Roy’s heart stopped in his chest, wondering if he’d gone too far, if he’d hurt Fullmetal, ruined everything—
Edward curled into the embrace, buried his head in his shoulder, and burst into tears.