Summary: Images flashed over and over again. Roy didn't understand, what was going on? Who were these people, dressed to the nine in blue, and why were they laughing? It hurt, oh god, it hurt. The images continued to flash. Why wouldn't they stop? One-shot
Pairing: RoyEd
AN: This is rather vague and confusing, so let me explain. Roy has been kidnapped by someone (may it be Drachma, terrorists, the homunculi – you decide) and they are torturing him and using some sort of new drug to make him not only see past memories, but to make him believe some of those memories (and people in them) are against him. Because of what has happened to him he doesn't know what's real and what's not.
Yes, HG fans, this is Mockingjay inspired. I love Peeta to bits and he broke my heart so much in that final book
Roy's POV. The story is in second POV, but the man in here is Roy Mustang. I don't state it, so I have to tell you here.
Music to match the writing: watch?v=RzhAS_GnJIc I really encourage you to listen to this as you read, it's a truly beautiful song.
I remember tears streaming down your face
When I said, I'll never let you go
When all those shadows almost killed your light
I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight
How… did this happen?
Around him, colours dimmed and sharpened, pulling his mind and focus in different directions. Images danced across his eyes and he began too remember old smells and sounds, people and faces, places and things. Everything was fuzzy and clouded and yet he experienced them as though they were real… were they real? They held such burning emotion, how could they not be?
He wondered where he was. He wondered who he was. He wondered who the people around him were. They were hurting him. Why were they hurting him?
The images continued to flash.
Giant ebony eyes hidden behind bigger glasses. The smell of smoke wafting through a large mahogany door. A wagging tail and a lolling tongue, fur covering the creature's ever inch (a dog, some part of his mind whispered, that is a dog.)
A man with greying hair mechanically listed off facts. In the background a red-haired man rolled his eyes. Beside his desk (desk? He was tied to a blood-soaked chair just minutes ago… why is there a desk?) sharpened eyes watched the whole thing with thinly veiled humour.
The pain continued relentlessly. It hurt. Why did it hurt? Why wouldn't the sudden swarm of images (memories?) stop?
Inside his head, people laughed happily and a warm, fond feeling filled him. He didn't understand. Why were the people laughing? It hurt, it hurt. Why wouldn't the people stop laughing? Why did he not want them to stop?
Logic he needed logic here. Logic- And, oh god, why wouldn't the images stop?
Shapes interlocked with each other. Triangles, squares and circles. Always circles. Why were there circles? Men (a single blonde woman among them) marched in neat, orderly lines, all dressed immaculately in blue. A towering suite of armor bowed at him politely, informing of something in a disembodied childish voice.
A large masculine man struck a dramatic pose. The top of his head was completely bold except for one lone bleach blonde curl near the front of his forehead. He seemed to almost sparkle as he laughed and shouted something in a booming voice. Something about… generations? Next to the towering man, a beautiful blonde woman scowled at him, a sword dangling from her hip. Despite her dark expression, the woman's blue eyes held no malice.
Then, all of a sudden, everything changed. Pain – it was a different kind of pain. Not inside his mind but not nearly as extreme as anything that had been physically inflicted to him before. It was a sharp, concentrated pain; small but still noticeable – bloomed in his right shoulder. Seconds later, the images froze.
He watched as a bespectacled man clutching pictures of a pigtailed girl (that was a happy image, he thought ruefully, why did it have to stop being happy?) laughed loudly. Suddenly, without warning, the man dropped to the floor of an abandoned street, coughing deep from within his lungs and bleeding out from a deep hole in his chest. With one last shuddering breath, the man lay still.
A dark-haired woman, dressed scantly in a black dress, screamed over and over again as fire whipped around her, burning and scarring her flawless skin. Muscle sizzled and melted away, leaving only bone and then, once that had gone, only ash. A flash of red light and a crackling sound echoed through his mind and the women somehow managed to- to regrow herself until she was standing before him, once again whole and flawless. The fire returned and she was ash once more. The light glowed. The fire returned again and woman burned. More light. More fire. More ash. The process continued over and over, until he felt as though he was going to join the women screaming in agony on the ground.
Flames flickered along plains of sand. Buildings exploded all around him, the impact making his heart leap and his eyes swim. People (men, women, children) with blood-red eyes were screaming, begging desperately for mercy. Mercy did not come and gunshots rang through the air, their targets painting the sand a deep shameful red.
(Where did the happy images go? Please, some part of his mind begged, let the happy images return).
Screaming, blood and fire. So much screaming. So much fire. So much blood. But through all of it, something else broke through the onslaught of hell.
A gentle sunbeam reflected off molten gold. The smell of oil and dirt, streaked together to form something… beautiful, something unique. The sound of palms forced together. Insults, harsh stinging words spoken with such depth and meaning that it made his heart ache.
Pain returned to his arm
The image took on a silvery quality and when he saw the blonde's face once more, he clenched his teeth tightly.
Mutt, something screamed at him, that person, no, that thing was a mutt.
Was blonde boy a mutt? He seemed… nice. The boy seemed nice. Roy decided he liked him, no matter what that distance voice told him.
The pain in his arm blossomed for the third time and any doubt that he had disappeared. Yes, that boy was a mutt. The warm, desperate emotion for the blonde left and a primitive, angry one took its place.
A wide, blinding smile. Bright golden eyes. Pure white gloves and tight leather pants. The swish of red coat around the corner.
Mutt. Mutt, mutt, mutt, mutt.
Smooth, sun-kissed skin. Mutt. A black jacket sleeve pulled back to reveal dented automail. Mutt. Heavy, chunky footfalls made by even heavier and chunkier boots. Mutt. An untouched glass of milk pushed away in disgust. Mutt.
And that was the last sane thought he had before the pain overwhelmed him and he lost himself in the sound of his own screams.
Edward Elric was a mutt.
Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
The morning sun was just rising above the distance hills of Drachma when Ed submerged from his tent. His division would be making their way over the border some time today and he wanted to be fully awake when his soldiers got started. Ed glanced around the makeshift campsite and realised with pride that everything seemed as if it was in order.
Everything but Mustang.
Ever since his kidnapping six months ago and then return five months later, the man had become an enigma; Ed couldn't figure him out.
He knew Roy had been tortured. He knew he had been brainwashed and thoroughly confused, forced into doubting his entire life and convinced into thinking Ed was some sort monster. He knew that the dark-haired Colonel was no longer his Roy. But for all his knowledge and understanding he still couldn't figure out what to do with him.
"You can sit down, you know," Roy said softly from his right.
"I-I hadn't realised you were still out here," Ed said, attempting to look collected despite the sudden racing of his heart. Turning towards the voice, he saw Mustang slumped against the tent closest to him. The man's eyes were dulled and lifeless, staring out into the distance.
"Alone," he added when no guard appeared.
"The guards seemed to think I was doing fine so they went to bed at about midnight."
"…oh."
There was an uncomfortable tension between them, one that Ed hated. Everything about this, everything about Roy just screamed twisted and wrong.
"I'm not going to kill you," Roy whispered, finally breaking the damned silence, "I've…" here he faltered slightly, looking down at his hands as though he was ashamed. He probably was. "I've gotten a little better. I know your not a… a…"
"A mutt? A spawn of the devil himself? The representation of everything evil? A bloody bastard that doesn't deserve to have even been born?"
Roy looked at him blankly.
"You've called me each… and you honestly believed every single one." There was no question in his voice, only a subdued sincerity.
When he spoke next, Roy's voice was even more hesitant than usual. "P-Past tense?"
"…Perhaps."
"I-I know you hate me right now," the ex-colonel murmured, "but I just… I don't… I-I don't," his voice lowered even further, "I don't know who I am any more."
Ed blinked and, for the first time in what felt like years, crouched down beside the taller man. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Everything I know right now - about the military, about Amestris, about you, about me - someone has had to tell me and even then I don't know if I can trust that," Roy confessed. "What is real?"
Ed's heart clenched. This was Roy Mustang, he reminded himself, and the real him was still there. But Ed knew what the doctor's orders had been and he couldn't break them. "I can't tell you that," he said softly, "I'm sorry."
"Please," in an act of wild desperation, Roy reached out and snatched the side of Ed's red coat and tugged him closer. For a moment, Ed thought he had regressed to the savage blood lusting state he had been in mere weeks ago, "Help me!"
The expression on Roy's face was so heartbreaking that Ed couldn't stop the words from tumbling from his mouth until he had finished, "Your favourite colour is blue - light, like the sky. You used to drink your coffee with more milk than water but when you met me you started drinking it bitter. You love the smell of bacon but can't stand it when it's cooking. Your middle name is Brian and when you explode or lash out at someone you can't look them in the eye for the rest of the month."
Before Roy could form a coherent sentence or see the tears beginning to brim in his eyes, Ed leapt to his feet and took off back towards his tent.
What had they done? Ed wondered bitterly as he ran. What had those bastards done to his Roy?
Feedback about his would be greatly appreciated, I was rather apprehensive about uploading this. Its something different so I hope I didn't stuff it up too badly.