Sometimes the demons win and the angels are left to cry alone at the graveside of the fallen.
…
"Get up! Damn you Mustang! Get the fuck up!" Edward screamed into the elder's ear, trying to drag the man to his feet as he fought with his own injuries. The man gasped and coughed, fumbling with his arms, making it more difficult for the still smaller alchemist to get him to his feet.
It was just supposed to be a routine inspection.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Not again. Not to him.
He didn't want to lose someone else.
The rain kept coming down, falling with the rubble that used to be East Command. Edward hadn't seen the rest of Mustang's staff for the last ten minutes, ever since the first shell had gone off. They had gotten separated at the stairs, the wall blowing inward like it was made of sugar cubes. Edward had heard the screams, but had felt the arms around his waist yanking up and back, away from the crumbling stonework.
Mustang had saved him from taking a bullet too, shoving him away from the broken wall as the sharp reports of one of the new machine guns spat against the building. A fine mist of red had burst from his blue jacket and a sharp grunt came from the Colonel right before he had fallen on top of him. He had taken it into the right shoulder, into the meaty muscle and causing the arm connected to fall dead to his side.
He couldn't die. He still had work to do.
Still had things to accomplish.
"You hear me Mustang? You can't die because you ain't fucking finished! And I'm not doing your goddamned paperwork!" Edward panted, struggling with the awkward weight of his superior.
Another artillery shell hit the grounds, sending him reeling. He dropped his human sandbag and fell onto his flesh leg, yelping as jagged rock cut through skin. The ceiling shook, more chunks of plaster and stone falling around them. Fighting to his hands and knees, he managed to shield the fallen man's head and back with his own as he fought to breath through the dust clogged air.
No more. God please, if you're real, no more. Make it stop.
His alchemy wouldn't help. Any support he took away from the rest of the building to fix the broken parts would cause a full collapse. Any earth or matter alchemy he tried would be just as bad. "Fuck bastard! I'm close range! Why aren't you the fuck awake so you can smoke the assholes?" He snarled. Rolling Mustang onto his back, he stumbled through a few 'it's oks' and 'shhs' as he tried to assess the damage that had been done as the man writhed in pain. Sweat streaked through the dirt that marred the man's pale skin, washing away the crimson blood that had splattered and leaked from his shoulder.
It was still bleeding. The bullet had torn through him without even slowing. Clapping his hands, Edward used Mustang's thick great coat and military jacket to bind the wound. Three items fell from the pockets, having been excluded unknowingly from the blonde's transmutation. A silver pocket watch and a pair of pyrotech gloves.
Could he use them? Fire alchemy had never been a strong suit for the prodigy. He understood the basics, understood the theory. But he was too volatile in his usage of alchemy to fine tune the air currents and hydrogen oxygen ratio to control the flame. He could do more harm than good if he got it wrong. He'd spent weeks studying with the bastard before he admitted that it just wasn't something he could do. The jerk had ruffled his hair and told him that if he could then no one would be safe. It was best to remain a mere mortal, Mustang had said, then to take on the task of godhood.
But if I had that power, I could save him. Save the rest. Fuck, I'm weak.
"Full…Metal." A pained gasp of his name snapped his attention to the present.
Whiplash was a mild term for the abuse to his neck. Crouching over his superior, Edward cradled one cheek with his flesh hand so that Mustang could meet his eyes without straining his shoulder or chest. "Finally! I thought I'd have to drag your ass around for the rest of the day lazy bastard."
"Funny." The sarcasm was weak, and the comeback was worse, but at least the jackass was talking. The smirk wasn't up to par, but he'd have time to work up to it. "Gloves."
"Here." Edward snatched them up, tried to pass them off. They were refused, the working hand of the Flame Alchemist shaky but still functional pushing them back.
"Can't. You do it." The words were taking their toll on the man, but without the luxury of a medic and time Edward couldn't tell if the bastard was in the actual condition to be speaking.
"But—the last time I tried I nearly blew up your office! Who's to say this won't be worse? Fucking hell, the amount of explosives could blow us all to hell before I finishing snapping!"
"Faith Edo. Like…automail. Extension." Mustang's eyes fluttered for a moment before the air that his lungs had been forcing in and out of his body caught in his throat and painful hacks rattled his frame. After several nerve racking moments in which Edward wondered if he was going to continue breathing or not. "Be a god."
Lessons flooded his mind, and Edward found himself staring at the red arrays on the gloves, the world pin pointing down on them as sound faded back. "But there is no god." The words came too late for the Flame Alchemist to respond to as he slipped into pain free oblivion, but the last clinging thought he had was that if any mortal could succeed in rectifying the youth's belief it would be Edward Elric.
…
A/N: Should I continue?