Happy first day of Parental RoyEd week, everyone! I don't really have much to say about this one other than: enjoy, drop a review if you desire, and favorite/follow if you like it and want me to continue. Even if you think it's garbage, please review so that I may know how to fix the garbage. Thank you!

Even though life had been rough, hectic, and at times just downright absurd, at least it had some semblance of reason. Someone would act out of line; they would upset the populace, steal, swindle, or kill. He would be sent out to capture them. The MP's would deal with the unconscious, often tightly bound, aftermath. Then he would resume his readings and travels, of course. Even if he didn't have a little brother who needed his help, he would be doing this anyways. He couldn't stand to be bound to any confined area for much longer than a week, two at best. Even though he hated routines, he had somehow fallen into a nice routine himself, even if it did involve dealing with criminals and getting himself into ever the more reckless situations.

But that single order alone had changed everything, and for the fourth time in his relatively short amount of years, his life had been flipped upside-down.

First his father had abandoned their family.

His mother had died not long after.

They had tried-and failed- to bring their mother back.

And now…

Now he was being ordered to kill.

-FMA-

He should have known better, really. After all, it was quite clear that Amestris was a very war-like country, and it definitely wasn't unheard of for alchemists to be called to the front lines in order to fight off tough opponents. Or, in the Ishvalan War of Extermination's case, called in to completely eradicate the opposing enemies of the nation as a sort of tiebreaker in that massive "game" that was the war. He went into the military and became its dog, knowing fully that he was to be on a leash… Ready to be called out to fight whenever necessary.

So why had he been so extraordinarily shocked?

Why had his little brother been in such surprise and denial?

Surely they couldn't be… So ignorant…

All these disbelieving thoughts and more fluttered about behind the dull, golden eyes that stared straight ahead, and yet at nothing, in shock. The eyes seemed to betray no emotion, but to someone who had known the brash teenager for such a long time, as the raven-haired man beside him certainly had, the molten orbs betrayed feelings that were never spoken aloud; it could be compared to gazing into clear, golden lava and being able to see the jagged, pitch-black obsidian lazily sprouting just beneath the boiling hot, uninviting surface.

They were being jostled about as the car ferried the two alchemists and more soldiers to the base far to the west, towards the border of Creta, where they would be forced to fight in order to simply stay alive. Others who hadn't been brought into the war, or those lucky few who didn't see the mass carnage, would call that desperate struggle to survive "noble". They would go on about the "bravery" and "heroism" of those that had bloodied their hands the most, claiming that they had been defending their country with the greatest of self-sacrifice. And as the raven-haired man trained his eyes on his young subordinate, his heart sank so much further. The kid had to keep living, they both knew that. He would never abandon his little brother over something so sidetracking as death. And just as the raven-haired man had become the "Hero of Ishval," this boy… No, this innocent child would become another "Hero" like him.

And as everyone knows, a rose by any other name is just as sweet… And a murderer by any other name is just as filthy with the blood of the ones they slaughter.

"Fullmetal," he began quietly, breaking the unnatural stillness; despite the loud chattering of the other soldiers around them, it was as if a tight bubble had the two wrapped in its muffling embrace. He wasn't expecting to be answered, but those shimmering eyes slowly crept to regard him with a mild gaze.

"What do you want, bastard?" He snapped half-heartedly

The colonel faltered, deciding to choose his words very carefully. "I was just… wondering how you were holding up, Fullmetal." It was a stupid question, he knew. Even before the war with Ishval, he himself had been locked up and paralyzed with dread. It was a bit of a common reaction amongst soldiers like themselves, although the more common reaction was to nervously chatter with others. But the hardened veteran soldiers- which, Mustang took notice of, there were very few of in this car- were merely silent. They couldn't feel anything; not dread, fear, nor even sorrow, just a familiar, aching numbness that thoughtfully nibbled on one's heartstrings.

"Just peachy," Ed muttered, his voice carrying a sudden thickness, that kind of slur that indicated that bile and other stomach contents would soon be splattered on the floor. But he wasn't going to throw up; not here. Not now, at least. "When're we gonna be there?"

Mustang closed his eyes. Yes, it was the reaction he expected. "We should be there any minute now. After we get out of the truck, we need to hurry up and go to our posts for briefing." To tell the truth, he knew it was likely that he and the kid would part ways as soon as they got to the base. There was only one State Alchemist per squadron… Not necessarily a written rule, but definitely a good strategic rule of thumb. Unless there was some kind of emergency, or if they were leading a full-on frontal charge to crush the ranks before them, he very, very likely wouldn't see his subordinate again until after the war.

"If either of you can even make it that long," a tiny, sadistic voice drawled in the back of his mind. He coldly brushed it away, even though prior experience dutifully informed him that the voice would return in full force sooner or later. Hopefully it would only strike when he could allow himself to take a night to drink his suffering, non-stop mind to sleep.

And Edward knew they would be split up, as well. He knew that he would be left alone without any allies he knew on a personal basis. He honestly wasn't sure what was worse: his friends watching him turn into a murderer, or having complete and utter strangers watch him turn into a murderer. But then he decided that it was the former.

"If Al saw me kill someone…" he thought guiltily as a sting shot through his heart.

"He would hate you. He would fear the monster you've become."

He stifled a groan as his own inner demon began to torment him. Despite not being a war veteran like his raven-haired companion, he knew that the voice would come back to haunt him as well. Only problem was that he couldn't simply drink the night away like the older man, even if he flashed the bartender his pocket watch. Normally he might be able to, but when he first became a State Alchemist, Mustang had put restrictions on his authority that everyone running a business in the areas of East and Central City knew quite well. He really had never wanted to even buy M-rated books or magazines, or even take a sip of alcohol before those privileges were denied to him. Now he only wanted to buy liquor or those books just to spite his commanding officer.

"And leave them all over his office. And then he would have to explain why they was all there." The mere thought caused the corner of his lip to turn up in the faintest beginnings of an evil smirk. But then he took a look around, which caused him to sober. Still here. Still not waking up from this nightmare.

And then the car did exactly what he had been dreading for the past two hour drive.

It stopped.

The soldiers around him slowly got to their feet, complaining about the stiffness in their legs, before shuffling out of the back of the truck in a small, tumultuous herd. He and Mustang would be last.

The colonel forced himself to his feet, not minding the stiffness so much as the dreadful feelings of how horribly similar this was to the first time he was shipped off to war. Beside him, Edward also was forcing himself to stand, just barely commanding his legs not to tremble and collapse. Wordlessly, they brushed against each other, shoulder-to-shoulder (though in Ed's case, more like shoulder-to-upper-arm, even though he would refuse to admit it) as they finally pushed out of the covered back of the truck and into the summer Cretan sunshine that overlooked the vast, sprawling plains and the few hazy mountains that littered the horizon. The two glanced about at the relatively large base camp that teemed with bustling soldiers, indicating that this wasn't too near the warzone. This was the checkpoint in which soldiers would be ordered into their respective locations, branching out into the border of Creta in various scattered groups.

Finally, they slowly turned to face each other. For the first time in years, Edward finally pulled his hand up into a proper salute towards his commanding officer. And for the first time ever, the colonel saluted back. The rare moment seemed to last for hours, even days. The teenage alchemist was almost certain that moss would begin to grow from both of their arms and legs and that snow would blanket them as the seasons passed. But eventually, their eyes met for another agonizingly slow moment before they split apart towards their separate groups.

Roy, once amongst the chattering men, closed his eyes. He pulled up every moment of seeing those fiery, pure, molten-gold eyes that he could find, stubbornly reaching into even the tiniest nooks and crannies of his memories. He would cling to those images as tightly as possible, for he knew that the next time they met, those eyes would be cold, much like his own frozen shards of obsidian.