Roy's eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying in, presumably, a bed in the darkness. Oh, fuck, his hands hurt. Someone had taken his coat, uniform jacket, and dress shirt off, leaving only his undershirt and trousers. He also noticed that someone had bandaged up his throbbing hands. What had he been doing, before? He knew they were fighting that doctor with the gold tooth and his puppets; then, the homunculi threatened him to open the gate, and when he refused… The lieutenant! God, where was she? Was she okay? He wouldn't be able to live with himself if the lieutenant died under his watch.

Wait. Things were slowly coming back to him. He remembered bits and pieces of information here and there, all broken and scattered. Ah, that's right. The little girl from Xing healed the lieutenant's wounds. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least Riza was alright. And then... What happened next? His head was pounding. He clutched his head, pain ringing through his ears.

Oh! The Fuhrer (or rather, Wrath) had stabbed two swords into his palms, pinned him to the ground, and forced him to open the gate. Despicable. To think that this man was leading the country twenty-four hours ago before – unbelievable. The transmutation circle beneath him activated, and he recalled being in a white, desolate place white two massive doors. There was a thing there. Or perhaps a person? They called themselves the Truth, but none of this made any sense, at all. Then after that came the darkness. He must've passed out.

Now, he was lying in a damn bed while the others were out there fighting for their lives. Roy had to be out there with them – he had to help them! He couldn't just be sitting here doing nothing. He knew he was supposed to be sent to their father, so where was he, now? He sat up, slowly, rubbing his eyes. Everything hurt. He tried to gather where he was by his surroundings, but everything was consumed in darkness. Why were the lights off? And where exactly was he?

Carefully swinging his legs out of the bed, he pushed himself up. He wasn't used to just blindly walking around in the dark. Stumbling, he groped around the walls for a doorknob; luckily, his hands, burning with pain, finally met cool, brassy metal. He stood there for a little, hands on the knob, soaking in the soothing relief. Turning the knob, he pushed the door open.

Underneath Central, Father was waiting. His children promised him a fifth sacrifice – that Flame Alchemist – so where was he? He was getting impatient. But, if his children promised, they'd bring him.

And so, the Dwarf in the Flask waited.

Roy Mustang never came.

Outside Roy's room, it was still pitch black. What kind of building has no windows? There were voices coming from below him, signifying that he must be upstairs. Shit, there were people. What would the lieutenant tell him to do in this situation? Be careful, she'd say. You don't know who these people are. He thought about it for a little bit. Screw careful. Whoever was downstairs sure as hell couldn't be more dangerous than the homunculi.

His plan was to ask the people downstairs where the hell he was and get to the battle zone as fast as possible. But first, he had to get down the stairs in total darkness. Oh, this was going to be tricky. Placing one foot in front of the other, he carefully swept the floor with his feet, feeling the ground in front of him, wary of the impending steps. As he inched forward, he finally found a cliff in the ground. Aha! Clutching the railing, he cautiously lowered himself onto the step. Thank God his team wasn't here, right now. They'd be laughing their asses off. Their fearless leader reduced to having the motor skills of a toddler. The thought even made himself chuckle a little. One by one, he slowly but surely descended down the stairs, when suddenly stepped too far and – crash.

He landed at the bottom of the stairs with a sore bottom and an intense headache. The talking he had been hearing stopped and was replaced with rushed footsteps coming closer to his location. He was surprised anyone could see in this darkness. There was panicked yelling in a language that he just couldn't place, as he felt people crowd around him. A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he was gently helped back up to his feet.

"Can anyone tell me where I am?" he asked whoever was listening.

The commotion died down as a soothing voice of a woman replied to him in the strange language. She patted his back, trying to calm him down.

"I don't know what you're saying. Do you speak Amestrian?" inquired an increasingly frustrated Roy. This was clearly going nowhere. He sighed and, after much struggle, left the crowd. If they couldn't help him, he was either going to find Central himself or ask some other people because this group was about as helpful as a fucking appendix. He ignored the shouts of alarm as he walked around the darkest building he'd ever been in, feeling his way through the blackness. Now, where was the exit to this godforsaken place?

He stumbled around the room he was in, clinging to the walls when his foot caught on a dip in the ground. Roy felt a jolt of surprise as he tripped. He collided with the ground once again, landing face down on the decrepit hardwood floor. He hated hearing those gasps of pity erupting form the crowd around him. Splinters dug into his arms as he struggled to stand up again.

"Can someone please turn on the fucking lights – "

And then it hit him.

He was blind.

He finally remembered: the Truth had taken his sight. It was so ironic he wanted to laugh out loud. The man with the vision was stripped of his sight. What a cruel world they lived in.

He dropped to his knees in despair and disbelief. How was he going to fight? He was useless, utterly useless. Maes had always told him to keep moving, to fight to the top. But how was he supposed to do that when he couldn't even see what he was fighting for?

A gentle hand took his hand in theirs as they helped him up once more.

They led him to what seemed to be the kitchen. His movements were sluggish as he dragged his feet through the darkness. How could he, the great Roy Mustang who was going to change the future of Amestris fucking become blind – goddamn it! His despair was melted by the blistering flames of frustrated rage. He didn't deserve this! He may as well just be a sack of shit, now; he couldn't do anything to help anyone. Why was the world so unfair?

No. This wasn't him. He needed to keep being optimistic, find the light at the end of the tunnel. Well, that would be easier if he could ACTUALLY FUCKING SEE LIGHT, HOLY SHIT – no, okay; he was calm. Calm. He needed to formulate a plan. He was blind and couldn't see shit, so he should ask someone to guide him, right? No, these people didn't speak Amestrian. Ugh, everything was so complicated! Whatever, we'll cross those bridges when we get to them.

His voyage to the kitchen was completely disorienting. Surrounded by darkness, he was far more aware of the textures of the people around him on his calloused fingers. The person who was guiding him was a mother. He could tell from her worn hands, much too delicate for hard labor, yet still rough from housework. Another person, a man, judging by his distance despite his willingness to help, kept only a hand on Roy's unsteady shoulder, stabilizing him over the bumps and crevices in the floor. His team would really be laughing, now.

He frowned at the thought of them. How was his team? Were they looking for him? Then came the second realization:

The Truth in front of the gate in that white expanse sent him to somewhere far away. He asked if it was Xing or, maybe, Drachma. The man smiled and laughed. If a blank face could look malicious, this was it.

"A different world," the man said.

He didn't even give Roy time to answer. Black arms pulled him into a swirling abyss bursting with too much knowledge one man could handle, and he woke up in the dark.

All hope was lost, now.

At least he was stuck with good people. The woman helping him was talking to him, helping him know she was there, which surprisingly assuaged his panic despite not understanding a single word. She sat him down on a comfortable wooden chair, walking away to get something. His sense of safety was immediately gone. He could hear the whispers of the people around him, their harsh language piercing his ears. Judging by the different voices, there were about ten people, give or take. His concentration was broken by the sound a plate being set in front of him. The woman had returned with food!

She guided his hand to a sandwich on the plate, letting him know where it was. She sat beside him, presumable making sure he was eating okay. (He was thankful she didn't choose to feed him. He was a grown-ass man who could definitely handle being blind.) He picked up the sandwich, unconsciously moving his thumb over the terrain of the fluffy bread.

Roy's first attempt was pitiful, as he missed his mouth completely, hitting his nose with some ham. Hearing the giggles coming from those around him, he scowled. How 'bout they try eating without being able to see their fucking food? He tried a second time, only to hit his cheek. On the third try, he moved much slower and finally got the damn sandwich into his mouth. And, fuck, was it delicious.

After he ate, he was led to a different room, as it was a better idea not to have a blind man continuously having to walk up and down the stairs. They placed his uniform, meticulously and neatly folded, gloves still tucked into the inside pocket, on a chair beside his bed. Only when he had felt the fabric of his gloves inside the uniform did he realize the bump in his back pocket. Ah, he'd forgotten about the gun. Even if he couldn't see, his hearing was still pretty good, and it was always good to be prepared. He hid the gun under his pillow, just in case any of the people were a threat to his security. Besides, if he just fired a warning shot, he'd probably scare them away.

Grabbing his uniform, he clumsily buttoned his shirt, careful not to miss any of them, tucked it into his pants, and slipped into his jacket. He felt the weight of his gloves pressed against his chest. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to use them. He knew some people were still suspicious of him; who knows what kind of stunts they'd pull.

Roy stumbled back into the kitchen, grabbing the walls, the shelves, anything that would keep him from falling. He felt an arm wrap around his waist; it was the woman, again. Her warmth enveloped him as he was helped to a different room. The crackle of wood and the smell of ashes – were they in the living room? Before helping him down onto the plush couch behind them, the woman straightened his rumpled jacket and fixed some of the buttons. He hated being babied like this, but he was secretly grateful for all she was doing for him. He forgot what it was like to have a normal mother who cared for him. Smiling sheepishly, he laid back on the couch and let out a long sigh.

What a day.

A/N: Hi! Pool-kun here uwu I really wanted to write this bc Roy is my child and there are very little fics here with him in them sighs If he's a little OOC, please tell me how I can change it a little to match his character I guess? Haha

Holy shit I wrote this such a long time ago oh my god

Reviews and feedback please! How can I improve?

-pool-kun out