Look who's finally gotten around to posting something besides those drabbles! I wrote this over the course of a few weeks, finished it at camp, and finally got it typed and edited, so here ya go!
Timeline: mid-series, sometime after episode 19 of Brotherhood
Warnings: Disturbing images and gore. Oh geez, did I really write all of this?
Mother.
It's always her first. Her, as he remembers, with soft chestnut hair and warm green eyes, her soft embrace and light, loving voice. Mom. Perfect, sweet Mom.
"Mom!" he feels his child's face split into a grin as she turns towards him, a small smile gracing her beautiful face. "Look what I did!" proudly, he holds out his cupped hands. In them rests an intricately carved maple wood bird, with small gold-painted eyes and feathers highlighted with red and black.
"That's wonderful!" she exclaims, kneeling down to take her son's wrists in her soft hands. "You're going to be a great alchemist, just like your father, my little genius!" he giggles at her praise, reveling in the warmth spreading through him with every word. "But..." her voice trails off then, going strangely quiet.
When did it get so dark? Suddenly, he notices the ominous purple clouds blanketing the once-blue skies overhead, filling the air with a metallic, staticky scent that raises the hair on the back of his neck.
"Mom?" he asks uncertainly.
"You couldn't bring me back right." he looks up at the rasping, gasping voice, still expecting to see his mother's smiling face {you fool}.
He screams.
A mass of twisted flesh and pulsing, bloody organs, stabbed through with bones that stick out at angles that are so wrong. Her heart, he can see it, speared on a rib and emptily beating in a desperate attempt at life. A single twisted, blood-streaked arm, bony and upside down, oh God, it's attached the wrong way, reaches out towards the child, and he can feel it, feel the oozy blood and sticky matter as the ragged nails and spidery fingers stroke his cheek in a gruesome parody of affection.
"Why couldn't you do it, Edward? Why weren't you strong enough?" her voice, just as twisted and sickening as her body, rasps in his ear as she leans close, chapped lips breathing cold air down his neck. She smells of rotting flesh and death, and Edward can't help but gag.
"I-I'm sorry!" he screams- he'll say it again and again, say whatever he has to, just please, make it stop! "I tried! I didn't want-"
"You didn't want me." she- it sounds almost sorrowful now. "You didn't want me, so you left me. You left me in the basement, alone." a keening moan sounded from the bottom of its half-exposed lungs. "It was so dark, Edward, you LEFT ME, you left me in the DARK!"
"I'm sorry! Please, forgive me, I'm sorry!" he's no longer a child; he's fifteen again, and suddenly he fully understands everything, because he knows everything. He knows the Truth.
"What are you here for, Young Al-che-mist?" the Truth grins, little more than a blurry outline surrounding nothingness, with a Cheshire grin filled with teeth that look almost to big for its mouth. "Or, more importantly, what are you going to pay?" a strange tingling sensation spreads through Edward's body, chilling him to the core for some inexplicable reason. "An arm, perhaps?" the feeling moves then, concentrating its strange energy on his right arm. Edward spares a cringing glance- and screams in pain as his arm rips away piece by piece. Blood pours from the gaping, empty socket, and he falls, feeling as if he's about to puke or pass out or both. "Or maybe a leg is more suitable." he feels it again; that twisting, tingling sensation that doesn't start to hurt until he looks- he doesn't want to, but he has to know- at his left leg, and sees it, too, rip away bit by bit, leaving another gaping hole.
How is he still alive? His blood is pooling in a gruesome crimson pool around him, and it just keeps bleeding, pumping out and out and out, staining the floors red, and slowly creeping outward. The stain spreads, creeping up the walls, coating even the ceiling, and dripping down, down, down, splashing coppery red on his pain-contorted face.
"Big Brother!" the childish voice seems to echo through the dark, bloody room. Slowly, thankfully, the blood starts to fade, soaking into the walls and floor, drying into reddish brown paint on the ceiling and slowly flaking down, filling Edward's hair, plastered down with sweat and the tears that have barely escaped as he lies unmoving on the ground.
"Nina?" his voice is shaky and weak, but he has to find her, has to see her. She's alive, he thinks. She's okay, I didn't fail this time, I did it right, I saved her-
A twisted corpse lays on the ground, covered in dried blood and slumped before a stone wall- a wall coated in blood and bits of grey-pink brain matter. Light blonde fur covers the whole body, but for a long mane of light cocoa brown hair going from the top of the collapsed, misshapen skull, down the broken spine, and forming a wide, sweeping tail.
A tail that wags slowly back and forth, smudging the gore on the floor. Blue-brown eyes, half-lidded and dulled with an animal's intelligence, but still holding touches of that sweet, innocent child that it- she once was.
"Nina," he chokes before slumping down. His automail suddenly seems so heavy, dragging him down as he collapses, hearing only the plaintive whimpers of the chimera girl.
"Play with me, Big Brother, come play."
"Come on Brother, let's play!" Ed grins at his little brother before chasing him down the hill.
"I'm gonna get you, Al!" laughing, the two run through the fields; it's amazing, this freedom. How could he think anything was wrong, when he was here- wherever here was; it was nice. Sunny, and open- with his flesh and blood brother.
"Flesh and blood." he turns, and sees a looming shadow, huge and intimidating. In an instant, he recognize it. A huge suit of armour, so familiar, yet suddenly so strange.
"A- Al?" he whispers brokenly. But- Al was right over there. He had just seen him. He was happy, he was human.
"You trapped me here. You trapped me in a body that can't eat, or sleep, or feel." every word feels like a slap, a punch to the gut. Every word, everything that echoed from the armour that Edward knew was empty- his fault, his fault, HIS FAULT- was painful, and so terribly, unarguably true.
"I- I'm sorry. I'll get your body back, I promise, just please don't-"
"Don't what?" the tone is mocking and cruel, a harsh rendition of the soft, kind manner in which Alphonse usually spoke. "Don't hate you? Why shouldn't I? This is your fault, all your fault. you wanted to bring Mom back, you trapped me in this- this thing." he laughs mirthlessly. "Why shouldn't I hate you? It's your fault, all your fault." he's right, oh God he's right. It's all Edward can think, that Alphonse hates him and that it's ALL HIS FAULT. Every one of his deepest fears has been realized, and Edward can feel himself sinking down, down, down, because Alphonse was his support, his crutch, and without his support, how can he stand?
"Al..." he whispers brokenly. How has it come to this? "I'm trying, I swear, please don't hate me, I'll fix you, I promise!" he's almost desperate, reaching for Al even as he falls, falls into that black nothingness, and he can see the glowing purple eyes of the Homunculi surrounding him, and still he can still hear his brother- Al, dear, sweet Al, how can I make amends when you hate me, how can I live?
He feels his enemy's kicks as they beat him, and he lies there, helpless because he's lost everything, so what does he have to fight for?
Envy leers over him, a sadistic grin stretching across his pale face- a face that morphs again and again, almost faster then Ed can tell.
Mom, Alphonse, Nina, Hughes. Doctor Marcoh, Havoc ('Hey, Chief,' he says, then suddenly his face is a mask of pain, and he screams as he slowly falls, legs useless as he bleeds), Hawkeye, Winry (she's crying, why is she crying, I promised she wouldn't!) and-
"Colonel!" a burst of flame had cut Envy off before he finished that last change.
The Homunculi flee, and Ed struggles his way up. Maybe- can the Colonel help? He can't stop the faint touch of hope from blooming in his chest. The Colonel, yes, Mustang will help, he has to. Throughout everything, the man has been there, helping. Edward can't believe he's thinking this, but in the moment he needs something to hold onto, something solid and seaworthy.
"Fullmetal," he, at least, seems normal. He grabs Edward's shoulder and helps him sit up, careful of his bruised ribs and stomach. "We need to get out of here, now." Ed nods, and- clutching the Colonel's sleeve like a demon, needing to be assured that at least he won't leave him.
"Where- How did you-" he can't finish the sentence, it hurts to much to breathe, let alone speak.
"Shut up and walk," is the only response he gets, anyways. "I'll explain once we're out." leaning on Mustang more than he cares to admit, Edward stumbles along, trying to keep pace with the older man's quick, long stride.
He can see the door, at the end of the long stone hallway- it comes into focus sharply then, just as Edward starts to wonder where he is- a faint outline of glorious light. Almost there, almost free.
Until a sadistic laugh echoes through the hall, accompanied by other, quieter chuckles and giggles. A sound like the daggers flying through the air, a whistling buzz, fills the air, only to stop with a horrifying *thunk*, wet and solid. Mustang sags against Edward suddenly, and the boy can feel the warm, sticky blood drip down his arms as he tries to support the older alchemist, laying him down gently with shaking arms.
"No! No, please, oh God no!" he's babbling, screaming at Mustang to 'STAY AWAKE, DAMMIT!', but it isn't working, and the man's uniform is slowly being stained dark red, almost black. Two long nails still hung in place above them, far from the hands they attach to (but they're getting closer, they're coming, oh God) dripping the coppery substance down onto Edward's head as he frantically tries to stop the bleeding, and all he can think is that it's his fault, everyone's dead or gone or hates him because he failed.
"Fullmetal..." thank God, he's alive, I can save him. I can- "Leave me." he feels himself go cold. No. No, he can't leave. He has to help him, has to get him out, the Homunculi are coming, waiting in the shadows, and he won't let this man die, dammit!
"No, I'll get us out, just- just hold on!"
"Edwa-" Mustang is cut off by a vicious gush of blood, and he chokes as the red liquid bubbles up in the back of his throat, slipping out of his mouth and trickling down his chin.
Edward can't stop the tears now. He weeps openly, bent over his last hope, the last person he had left in the world as he slowly bleeds out in front of him.
"Please don't die, don't leave me, please don't-" he begs the man, even as he slowly goes still, his chest stopping its desperate heaving and his hand going cold as it lies limp in Edward's grip. The body begins to stiffen, and Edward lets out one last piercing cry, filled with all his loss and sorrow and anger, anger at those Homunculi, at the world, and most of all at himself.
{It's your fault, all your fault} he can hear them whisper, his ghosts and demons. {you did this, you killed them, you destroyed them, you trapped and hurt and ruined them}
"Please no, please! I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, please forgive me!" Mom, Alphonse, and Nina. He killed them, as good as if he struck the blow himself. Not Alphonse, completely, but what kind of life is it, trapped in an unfeeling suit of armour, by your own brother?
Mustang, who lies in front of him dead, because he can't fight these monsters. Havoc, paralyzed because he hadn't killed those soulless creatures yet. Hughes, killed because he tried to help, and dug too deep. Lior, the city he thought he had saved, only to find out that he had sent the entire city spiraling into brutal civil war-
Why did he destroy everything? Why, why, why?
Why did he still live? Wouldn't it just be better for everyone if he was gone? No one else would die because of him. No one else would get hurt.
The Homunculi close in, and once again he is lost in that haze of pain and blood.
Edward wakes in a cold sweat. Looking around, he doesn't recognize the room. He feels panic grip him once more, and he tries to sit up, only to be pushed down by firm hands. He can hear a voice, but the words blur together meaninglessly, and he just has to escape.
"fullmetal... Oh c'mon... Edward!" he hears his name, and suddenly he snaps back to reality. These hands.. They aren't the Gate children, ripping him apart piece by piece. This isn't Envy, mocking him as he takes the form of everyone Ed cares about.
The room comes into focus; the lights are out, but a lamp is lit on the bedside table, casting a warm yellow glow across the room. The walls are a pale sky blue, and everything else is a clean, sterile white. A hospital, Ed decides as reason returns.
"W- Where-" the voice cuts him off. Reality has not yet completely set in, and while Edward swears he knows the voice, he can't focus on a single thought long enough to place it.
"Central Military Hospital. You took quite a beating. You've been unconscious for a day and a half." unconscious... He was in a fight? Why doesn't he remember this?
He feels his trembling lessen, though it doesn't stop altogether, and the person steps back. It is now that Edward can place him.
Roy Mustang stands in front of him, normally spotless uniform rumpled and looking like he's slept in it. Judging by the chair pulled up by the bed, with his jacket slung over the back, Ed thinks that he has. But why is he here?
{You killed him, it's your fault}. He shivers again and wraps his arms around himself- only to discover that he only has one. Where the hell is his automail?
"The arm was totaled. They had to scrap the whole thing." Mustang says, reading Ed's mind. He looks at Ed with a strange expression on his face.
"But- I don't- what happened?" he can't seem to shake that nightmare.
"You acted like an idiot again, and ended up fighting seven men alone miles away from the city and any backup." he shakes his head and sits back. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You took a pretty nasty blow to the head. You're lucky that Alphonse thought to call me, otherwise we probably would've come too late." Ed nods slightly, then winces as a bolt of pain shoots through his skull. He vaguely remembers a gang of seven sneaking up on him while he was investigating a warehouse just outside Central. But what had compelled him to leave Al behind? His brow furrows as he thinks, but everything is too hazy to make much sense.
He starts slightly when the Colonel touches his shoulder- he can hardly feel the touch through the bandages wrapped around his upper torso and shoulder. Damn, he's really messed himself up this time.
"You were crying out in your sleep; you're lucky you didn't wake up everyone on this floor." the tone is reprimanding, but the unspoken message is one of concern.
"Sorry," he whispers as he draws his flesh leg up to his chest, ignoring the twinge of pain the action brings. But Mustang's hand stops the movement, pushing the leg back down gently.
"You cracked a few ribs, broke two. That isn't the smartest idea." nodding he lets himself slowly relax, but he can't close his eyes; the moment he does the nightmares will be back, he knows. He can hear the screams still, can feel the horrors lying in wait at the edge of his consciousness even now, waiting to swallow him up. "Relax, Fullmetal." the Colonel orders softly. "The nightmares can't hurt you." Ed swears he can see a faint smirk ghosting across the man's face {blood covered, still, pale white, you KILLED HIM} and shoots him a- rather weak- glare. He isn't a child, and he won't be treated like one. But that doesn't change the fact that the older man's words are some kind of comfort. Just a nightmare, that's all it was. Not real.
Or, that's what he can almost convince himself of, until he sees a peek of stark white bandages on the Colonel's neck, peeking through his skewed blue shirt.
"You're hurt." Suddenly the nightmares are back full-force, and all he can see is the Colonel bleeding out in the cold stone floor {he's dead, oh god, he's dead, you killed him}.
"It's nothing. Took an awkward hit from a metal pipe. Bastard had some strength left in him, even after you beat the crap out of him." he winces and moves the injured shoulder awkwardly. Ed ducks his head shamefully; again, someone had gotten hurt because of him.
A warm hand presses against his back lightly.
"Get some sleep, Fullmetal." slowly, he allows himself to relax, and he's soon lying back against the hospital pillows. His eyes feel so heavy, but he still can see the Homunculi and that thing he made years before.
"But-" he's tired, without the energy to protest to much, but he fights valiantly, if only to escape the horrors for a little while longer. He knows from experience, though, that it will only be a brief reprieve, before exhaustion takes over.
Then, in a strange show of almost tenderness, Mustang settles the skewed blanket down around him and brushes the sweat-dampened hair from his face.
"I can't." Edward whispers drowsily, without much conviction.
"It's okay," the Colonel's tone is warm, soothing. "You're safe here." Ed gives in then, giving one last slow nod before finally drifting off.
Roy's expression is strangely soft, a small true smile spreading as the kid relaxes into sleep, before he leans back and touches his injured shoulder with a wince. Edward looks shaken up enough as it is; he doesn't need to know that Roy had been shot saving him.
*gawks* I love getting into a character's psyche as much as the next guy, but this is kind of... disturbing? I DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO BE THIS CREEPY I SWEAR. It was supposed a stupid, pointless hurt/comfort fic to satisfy my need for parental fluff, and it just kind of... exploded? Oh, well, can't be helped sometimes. I do hope you enjoyed!
Note: I absolutely appreciate every review I get, but I tend to not reply if they're for a oneshot. But know that I read every single one and take it to heart, so why not drop a bit of feedback while you're here?