It was the strangest thing. He hadn't felt a thing. One minute he was sick to his stomach with nerves and guilt. One moment he was riding in the car on his way to the train station. One second he was preoccupied with his mission, and the actions it entailed. One minute he exposed weakness; one minute he was thinking about how he didn't want to kill anyone for this pointless war.

The next moment, he was still thinking about the innocents he would have to refuse to kill, even though the car had crashed. That was the wonder of shock. He'd hardly noticed anything had happened. When he saw the blood, however, his mind reeled and it all caught up with him. He didn't know exactly how they'd crashed because he hadn't been paying attention. His legs were crushed and blood was dripping onto his limp hands. His shirt was also stained in blood. Then the pain came into focus. His collarbone in particular was in a lot of pain. A few small stinging cuts covered his arms and face. His legs... he couldn't feel them.

Eyes wide, he tried to lift his head to look up at the driver, but it hurt too much. Tears sprang up in his eyes. What happened? How had they crashed? Why did this happen to him? His breath hitched, and he realized how warm his blood was against his skin.

"Fullmetal?" the driver croaked. Ed swallowed. It sounded like Mustang was alright, but he couldn't look up to check. "Ed, can you move? Talk to me," Mustang demanded.

"I'm..." Ed whispered, "I can't..." Mustang sat up ever so slowly and hesitantly while Ed spoke. He could move his back and head and arms. His legs were pinned, but he didn't feel any pain. He turned to look at Ed and his eyes widened in alarm. Ed took a deep breath, winced, and whispered, "I can't kill anyone for this war. Its not right."

Mustang wasn't quite sure what to do, so he went on with the conversation to distract Ed and said, "You're a dog of the military. You have to." Meanwhile, he desperately tried to think of what to do. Ed's collarbone was literally sticking out of his chest. He was bleeding from a head injury, and his hair was matted with red liquid, and dripping onto his hands. He could see Ed's broken leg and the completely crushed automail leg.

Ed took a shuddering breath and replied, "I can't do it. I wouldn't forgive myself. I'd rather die." Mustang's breath caught at the word. Did Ed realize how badly injured he was? Was he thinking about dying? There was no way Mustang was going to let Ed die. He reached for his door, and it swung open easily.

"I won't let that happen," Mustang answered, "Tell you what? I'll let you go back and give everyone a piece of your mind. And then we'll see what happens, right?" He tried to maneuver his legs from where they were. His pants ripped, but he got his legs out with only a shallow gash.

Ed replied breathlessly, "You're lying." Mustang chuckled at Ed's perceptiveness, although the noise held no mirth. He looked at Ed and wondered what the hell to do about the kid. Would it be safe to remove the seat belt that held him against the seat? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't just leave Edward like that. He had to do something.

"Okay, so I'm lying," he replied, "Then let's go to the war site and stop the war. Y'know, talk some sense to everyone." As he said this, he removed Ed's seat belt. Ed leaned forward with a gasp of pain, but was able to stop from falling completely. He lifted his head and leaned back against the seat, tears of pain welling in his eyes. He closed them, and his tears spilled over his cheeks.

"It won't work," Ed replied, despite the obvious pain. Mustang steeled his determination. Ed was going to survive, even if it cost Mustang his life. He wouldn't let Ed die. Not when Ed was so young, innocent, and bright. Ed was too precious to die. He had an entire life ahead of him. Mustang looked outside and realized there were people starting to form a crowd. Authorities were probably already alarmed. Help was probably on the way.

Probably.

And if they were, would they be fast enough? Ed was losing so much blood...

"Of course it'll work," Mustang replied through gritted teeth, "We all know your powers of persuasion are impeccable." Ed chuckled breathlessly, but otherwise didn't respond. Mustang panicked and hissed, "Ed, say something! You need to stay awake for me!"

"I'm awake," Ed replied, his voice gurgling with some liquid in the back of his throat. "You suck at distracting me. I'm about to die; make it pleasant for me, you bastard." He said this all with a painful, weak smile. He opened his eyes blearily and looked at Mustang. Mustang seemed unharmed for the most part. His forehead had a huge lump, and he was bleeding from here and there, but generally looked fine.

"I don't know what you mean," Mustang whispered, "You're not dying; you're in the hospital after the crash. Al just left, and now I'm antagonizing you. Just like usual, right?" Ed exhaled loudly, and looked away from Mustang. Mustang tried his hardest to keep his cool, but what could he do? Ed was pinned, and he wasn't about to leave the boy alone.

"You're an awful liar," Ed commented dryly, "Take some lessons from Al. He's amazing at lying when he wants to be." He started to cough, and Mustang couldn't do anything. He just watched Ed cough and bleed. He coughed out blood, and it dribbled on his chin and stained his shirt.

Mustang ordered him firmly, "Stop talking, I was in the middle of saying something." Ed peered over at Mustang and closed his eyes again silently. "First and foremost, you are not dying. Second, we are leaving right now to stop that war. No one believes in it. Its not worth it. But its in motion already, so we have to work hard to stop it from escalating. Will you do that for all the innocents you can save?" He paused, but when Ed didn't respond, he said, "Of course you will. Because that's who you are, Ed. Always with a goal, always on the move, and always doing what you believe is right, no matter how impossible it seems."

"Damn straight," Ed interrupted shakily. Mustang smiled weakly.

"Feel that warmth in your hands?" Mustang asked, referring to the blood pooling around and on them. Ed was surprised to find Mustang was right. His hands felt so cold compared to the warm whatever it was around them. "That's all the hopes and dreams in the world. They're in your hands. You're going to give children the ability to follow their dreams by avoiding warfare, right? Of course you will." He glanced outside and saw no one going to help.

"Roy," Ed gurgled. Mustang turned his head to Ed and met tear filled eyes. Mustang instinctively took Ed's hand in his own. Ed held on weakly. "You're... a better father... than Hohenheim. I'll give you that much." He coughed a little, and Mustang's eyes widened, but he let Ed continue. "Al looks up to you. I do, too... I love you," he whispered, "even though I yell at you. I was always happy... around you guys... Al, your team... Teacher... Mom..." He took a shaky breath and finished, "I'm so sad... because you guys made me so happy..." His eyes closed, and his head fell forward. His chin hit his chest.

Mustang couldn't even go through denial. Tears just spilled over his cheeks, and sobs soon wracked his chest. Ed's hand went limp, so he held on tighter. Then he found Hawkeye helping him out of the wrecked vehicle. She looked as serious and sad as ever.

"He's dead," Mustang whispered brokenly, "He died. Edward... I... I love you, too..." He fell to his knees. The immediate crowd around him went silent as his broken howl rang through the air: "Fuck!" He punched the ground as hard as he could. Once. Twice. A third time. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked through tear-blurred eyes at Hawkeye, and then at Al behind her, who looked crestfallen. No, he was worse than crestfallen. He was devastated. Mustang got to his feet and pulled Al into a tight embrace. Sobs wracked his chest.

Edward was gone.

He would be missed.

Perhaps just as much as Maes Hughes.

Mustang lost a son that day, and Al lost his seemingly everlasting cheerfulness.