I don't know, I feel angsty.
This has been disclaimed.
Now we can begin a tale of woe.
When you start something, you usually intend to finish it.
Edward Elric certainly did. He set out to get his brother's body back, and he intended to finish that job.
Now, though, it wasn't looking promising.
Ed groaned from where he lay on the cold warehouse floor. Far above him, something dripped. The liquid made quiet plat noises as it landed on the ground, occasionally forgoing this to land on warm flesh. It burned, cold and jarring against feverish skin. It made its way into his mouth, proving itself to be water. The dihydrogen monoxide cleared small trails on his face, washing away the dirt and blood of the past few hours.
He had been fighting for so long. He didn't know how long those annoying people had been attacking him, but he'd arrived in the early hours of morning. It had to be at least afternoon, if not later. Fatigue gripped his limbs, and it was a struggle to lift his automail.
He didn't even know what they had wanted, and he didn't care. He had just wanted the fight to end. Al had to be wondering where he was. He couldn't let his little brother worry.
Ed tried to push himself off of the floor, but his body felt so weak. He couldn't remember when he last felt this weak. . . wait, yes he could. When he fought Scar, he felt hopeless. At least now he still had his arm.
He grinned weakly. He still had both arms, which meant. . .
Ed clapped and pressed his hands to the floor. Immediately, the floor curved upwards, pushing him to his feet.
. . . he could still transmute quickly.
Ed took a step forward, stumbling slightly. Then another.
His attackers had disappeared, thinking him down for the count. Their mistake, Ed thought with a morbid grin. You never leave your enemy just because you THINK he might be down. It's just stupidity in action.
The warehouse was large, but Ed could make it out. He would. He had to. He had to get back to Al. . .
He could feel something warm dripping down his arm. He glanced at it, not surprised to see ripped flesh and blood dripping out, faster than it usually would. It made him dizzy, feeling the oxygen-carrying red cells, disease-fighting white cells, platelets, and plasma flow out of him like that. Still, it was nothing he couldn't deal with.
Another step, and he could feel more cuts the further he walked, like walking countered the numbness he'd been feeling. Some were small, like the little slit above his eye that was making it hard to see through a wet, slick veil of red. Others, like the gashes in his right leg, were harder to ignore, seeing as they sent rather painful signals to his brain every time he moved.
His mind was yelling at him to stop moving, to stop losing blood so fast, to STOP, but Ed had somewhere to go. He had to let them know where he was. He couldn't die, not yet, he wasn't ready. A few cuts, a little blood loss, wasn't going to stop the Fullmetal Alchemist!
But he was so. . . tired. . .
Ed tripped.
He fell.
He tried to push himself up, put his hands were pinned beneath his hips. With horror, Ed realized that this not only stopped him from pushing himself to his feet, but it stopped him from being able to transmute. If he couldn't free his hands. . . if he was too weak to do even that. . .
The Fullmetal Alchemist had fallen, and he could not get up this time.
I guess I'm stuck for a while, he thought in dazed frustration.
The blood would not stop flowing.
Ed could feel his consciousness leaving him as his life bled out.
This. . . isn't. . . good. . .
Roy Mustang sat at his desk, glaring at the phone. Fullmetal was supposed to have reported by then. Why hadn't he called? That boy was so lazy, and it was pissing Roy off.
After what seemed like hours to the bored Flame Alchemist, the phone rang.
Finally, Roy thought exasperatedly, picking up the receiver.
"Fullmetal?" he drawled into the mouthpiece.
"Colonel?" Roy frowned. That wasn't Ed. "It's Alphonse, sir."
Roy leaned back into his chair, holding the phone to his ear in a gesture that seemed almost lazy. Only those who knew him well could see how hard he was gripping it. "Alphonse? Well, this is a surprise. I was expecting your brother to call."
"Actually, I'm calling about him, sir."
Roy felt his grip on the phone tighten. "Why? What happened?" He let out a long-suffering sigh, loosening his grip as a though occurred to him. "Is Ed hiding under the bed again because he doesn't want to report?"
"No. . ." Al replied softly. "Actually, I don't know where Ed is. That's why I called you, but I take it you don't know where he is either."
Roy had frozen at the second line. Alphonse doesn't know where his brother is. . . There was something fundamentally wrong with that notion. The Elric brothers seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the other's whereabouts. The very thought of Alphonse not knowing where Edward was disturbed Roy. . . and worried him.
"When did you last see your brother, Alphonse?" Roy asked tersely.
"Last night, sir. When I got back from my morning walk, he was gone. He left a note saying he'd be back after he took a quick run, but Brother sometimes loses track of time while he's running. I thought he'd be back by now, but when he didn't come, I assumed he'd gone to give you a report in person." Roy could hear the creaking sounds as Alphonse slumped. "I guess I was wrong about that."
Roy nodded at this information, despite the fact that he knew Alphonse couldn't see him. "Don't worry, Alphonse," Roy assured the young alchemist. "I promise, we will find your brother."
There was a pause before Alphonse choked out a quick, "Thank you, Colonel." Just before the phone was hung up, Roy thought he heard a metallic sob.
Roy could feel the fire building in his chest: that dark, hateful feeling reserved for those who hurt people he cared about. It was the fire of rage that fueled his vengeful desires against Hughes's murderer, and now it was being directed at anyone who could have hurt Fullmetal. Roy would never admit to anyone, but he cared for Ed as if the boy were his own son.
"Hawkeye!" he barked at his faithful Lieutenant.
The women sprung into a salute. "Sir!"
"Organize a search party for the Fullmetal Alchemist."
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."
Havoc looked up in worry. "Chief's missing?"
Roy nodded grimly. "It appears so, Havoc."
Fuery stood up, nervous but firm. "I- I would like to help find him, sir!"
Breda nodded, also getting to his feet. "Sir, I'm with Fuery."
Falman jumped up. "Me as well, sir."
Havoc joined the men standing with a firm nod. "We wanna help the Chief, Colonel."
Roy sighed, then showed a tired smirk. "Well, the more people, the better the chances of finding him quickly, right?"
Roy's subordinates responded with a mixture of laughs, salutes, smirks, high-fives, and pleased expressions.
Roy's smirk became a soft smile. We are also Ed's family, I suppose. Al will always be his brother, but we're like. . . the uncles, aunts, and cousins.
Hawkeye returned and said, "The search party has been formed, sir."
Roy turned to her, a glint in his eyes. "All right then," he decreed. "Move out!"
"Sir!" came the unified reply as the men surged towards the door.
Hawkeye made as if to follow, then turned and offered a hand to Roy. Surprised, Roy took it, allowing his Lieutenant to pull him out of the office and towards the gathering officers who were preparing for the search.
It hurts. . . It really hurts. . . I don't know where I am. It's too dark. I can feel all my cuts, skin open, blood pouring out, but I can't see it. I can't see anything. I don't like it. I don't trust the dark. There's always enemies in the dark. There's always something trying to hurt you in the dark.
"Edward. . ." a voice warbles. I freeze. I know that voice. My pain is nothing compared to what I feel when I hear this voice.
I turn slowly, and I am face to face with my mother.
She is smiling, perfect, beautiful. Suddenly I am smaller, and she leans down, patting my cheek. She opens her mouth, looking happy and wonderful, but her voice is distorted and wrong as she says, "You failed, little man." The pet name sounds cruel and malicious when it's said in this tone, in this voice. She is still smiling. "You couldn't make Mommy better, could you?" The sweet smile morphs into a disgusted scowl and the hand on my head fists my hair, pulling it painfully. "Some genius you are. If you were a genius, I would be fine, and so would Alphonse!"
Her hand, tugging at my thick strands of hair, hurts, but not as much as her words. She's. . . right. Mothers always are. I'm at fault. Some genius I am, some prodigy. I couldn't do it.
Then her hand disappears, and I am taller again, and a new voice whispers, "Big Brother?"
Not this, not this, not this. . .
"Big Brother," she says again, firmer, and I turn to see her, petting Alexander. A soft, forgotten smile lies on her innocent face. I don't want to look, but I cannot turn away. She is here, in front of me, and I know what is coming, I know what this is.
"You could have saved me, right?" she asks. "You could have found a way, but you couldn't. You were too late. He got there first, and now I'm dead, and it's your fault." Her smile is vicious now, too big and too sharp for her round face. "It's always your fault."
"Ed," Hughes says.
No, I can't, I can't. . .
I can still feel my pain, but I'm slowly numbing. Now, all the pain I feel is in my heart. Hughes doesn't have to say a thing. He just stands there, smiling in the way that only a true father can smile, and I feel myself breaking. If it weren't for me and my stupid quest to fix my own stupid mistakes, he would still be alive, and Gracia wouldn't be a widow, and Elysia would still have a father.
"Brother."
I won't turn around.
I don't have to.
I know what I will see.
Armor.
No flesh.
No body.
Empty.
All
My
Fault
Because it's always my fault. My decisions, my discoveries, my choices. . . they took my limbs. That's all. But they took Al's body, my mother's peace, Nina, Elysia's father, Gracia's husband, Hughes' life. . . I have paid the least. I should be the one suffering, not them. If I had just died that night. . . if I had paid with my own body, and Al hadn't lost a thing. . . we'd be better off. Everyone would be.
It's all my fault.
Ed can feel it, like poison racing through his body. His fears. They outweigh the pain. All he feels is his fear.
It's all my fault.
They're venomous, evil ideas, but he accepts them as true, because he knows he's at fault, he knows he should have been able to do something-
It's all my fault.
Poisonous, venomous, evil, and true, true, true, true, true, true, true. . .
It's
always
my
fault.
a
l
w
a
y
s
.
"ED!"
He hears it, but it does not register.
"FULLMETAL!"
These names do not belong to him. He does not deserve them.
"EDWARD!"
No, don't say it, stop calling, I bring nothing but pain to people-
"BROTHER! BROTHER!"
Ed moves. A spasm passes through him.
Brother is not a name. Brother is something you are. It is all I will ever be. I may not deserve it, just as I do not deserve the names they call me by, but being Al's brother is something I cannot change.
"A-Al?" Ed whispers weakly. He cannot do more than twitch on the ground, in the growing pool of blood that is forming. "A-Alphonse. . ."
"BROTHER!"
"Alphonse!" Ed shouts, as loud as he can. It is the volume of a normal speaking voice. Not loud enough.
"I thought I heard something!"
"You're sure?"
"Yes, this way!"
Or perhaps it is enough this time.
"I see something!"
"Is that. . ."
"Someone call a medic, we have an injured person!"
"This is where they said they saw Brother? You're sure?"
"Alphonse. . . Look at the person they found. . ."
Ed is being lifted, and as he does, he opens an eye.
Blood drenched hair obscures his vision, dark and red and opaque. It is unsurprising that Al can't recognize him. He vaguely recalls going out in a white, long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans today, just for a little variety. No doubt his entire outfit, his entire visage, is red by now.
Still, he can tell by the way Al gasps that Ed has seen the automail and knows who this pitiful, mutilated person is.
"E-Ed. . . ?"
Not Ed. I am not Ed.
"Brother. . ." Ed responds softly.
His eyes close, and he hears no more.
Al shoots up, eyes wide and frantic, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto. He is panting. He can still see those eyes- those damn, helpless eyes- as Ed, his big brother, is carried into the ambulance.
Eventually, Al calms down. He grips at his hair, his arms, feeling the flesh that is definitely, definitely there. He knows he has his body. He knows.
But this dream. . . he hates it.
In his dream, he has lost his brother. When Ed is found, he is injured, badly. He is rushed off to the hospital.
He dies.
This is Al's worst fear: his brother's death. And even though he knows Ed is still alive, he can't shake that feeling. . .
Al gets up shakily, then heads over to his dresser.
He wants to visit his brother.
Roy is there again. He can't stop coming back. It's impossible to stop coming back.
He lies there, head on the pillow, blonde hair gleaming and bright, free of the macabre prison that had entrapped it before. Skin pale due to months, heading towards years, trapped indoors on that very bed, but smooth and clean, despite being ridged by scars.
His eyes are closed. Who knows if they will ever open again? Who knows what would be seen if he did?
Roy almost doesn't want to see him wake up. He will be different. Roy knows he will be different. Those bastards who attacked him hit him with a powerful, fear-inducing drug. The experience and the blood loss led him to slip into a coma. No one knew if he would ever wake up again.
Roy wants the boy to awaken and be normal again, or he wants the boy to stay asleep if he isn't the same. He can't make up his mind.
He's not the only one. He knows Riza is conflicted, as well as some other members of his team. Winry Rockbell, however, has no such doubts. Whenever she visits, it's clear that all she wants is for him to wake up. Even as she makes minor adjustments to the automail on his unconscious form, her eyes are soft and wet. Al shares Winry's view.
Just then, Al enters the room. He looks exhausted, but as soon as he sees the figure on the bed, he relaxes.
"Another rough night?" Roy asks softly.
Al nods, sliding into the chair beside the bed. He has his body back. Roy knows that he still isn't sure how it happened. All he knows is that a year ago, he woke up in his body. Weak, helpless, but feeling once again.
Al knows his brother had to have been responsible, but he can't thank him if he won't wake up. Roy knows how much Al wants to thank his brother.
Roy glares at the golden-haired alchemist on the bed.
"Ed. . ." Al murmurs softly, eyes focused on his brother.
A thought occurs to Roy.
"Alphonse?" he whispers.
Al looks up with empty eyes.
"Why not call him brother?"
Roy could have sworn he saw a finger twitch, but that might have just been his imagination.
Al frowns. "Well. . . I thought he'd be more comforted by hearing his name," the boy replies hesitantly.
Roy nods. "Try calling him brother."
Again, there was that twitch. Roy knows he can't have imagined it.
Al looks conflicted, but he nods.
He leans close to his brother's ear and whispers that one word.
"Brother."
There is a sharp intake of breath from the boy, and his eyes open.
Al lets out a surprised cry, filled with relief, and tries to lunge at Ed, but Roy stops him, eyes narrowed.
"Hold on just a moment, Alphonse," he mutters. "Something's off."
Ed is sitting up. He is looking around the room in confusion.
"Where the hell am I?" he mutters, disgruntled.
His eyes meet Roy's.
They are ignited, and Roy can almost feel himself melting, grateful for their heat. They are alive. Living eyes, truly living.
Roy smirks at the annoyed alchemist. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Fullmetal."
Ed scowls. "Colonel Bas-" Ed freezes. He can't move. His eyes are locked on a point behind Roy. At first, Roy doesn't understand what has him like this, until he remembers.
Ed was in the coma when Al got his body back.
Al is staring and his brother in wonder, but it is nothing compared to Ed's amazed, awed, and incredulous gaze.
"Al?" he whispers, his voice cracking.
Al nods nervously. "It's me, Brother," he replies.
Ed's eyes widen, and suddenly he is upon Al, screaming praises to Truth (whatever that is) and examining Al's arms, his neck, his face. Examining his baby brother.
Roy leaves the room. This is a special moment and he knows he should not interrupt.
Instead, Roy goes to the nearest phone to place a couple of calls. The first, to his office. The second, to Resembool, and the third to Rush Valley. His team, or the aunts and uncles and cousins. The grandmother. And, of course, the love interest.
Ed has a family that needs to know that he's back.
End
. . . I liked it, but I didn't like it.
*shrug* Oh well. IF I post this (which I don't know if I will, but if you're reading this, I guess I have), please tell me what you think! I thought of making the ending all sad, with Ed being. . . different, which would warrant more chapters, but I decided against it. (read: I'm a lazy bitch, folks.)
So, yeah. RFF so that I know whether you liked it or not! Also, if you want me to continue, please say so! If you want me to continue, however, I suggest you have a good idea of where I could go with this! Or I could use my own shitty ideas. Your choice.
The word of the day is EX CATHEDRA! LOL, that's two words. . . but whatever! I can see Mustang being like this. . . so basically, lording his power over people because he's in charge. Well, sort of. I don't really know how to explain it, so if you're curious, look it up!
Love ya! lulu