Song Fics

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor ever will, Fullmetal Alchemist, or the characters within. "Welcome to the Black Parade" is the property of My Chemical Romance, lyrics by Gerard Way.


Welcome to the Black Parade

When I was,
a young boy,
My father, took me into the city
to see a marching band.
He said, "Son when you grow up,
will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?"
He said, "Will you defeat them, your demons, and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made?
Because one day, I'll leave you, a phantom, to lead you in the summer,
to join the black parade.

..0..

Roy Mustang always remembered that day. His father had managed to get a free day and had taken him to the large town nearby to watch the military parade. He had stared with his eyes wide and awed at the straight lines and straight backs of the resolute looking young men. Blue uniforms sharply pressed and edged with shining braid. The gleaming metal of weapons and the polished blackness of their boots. All became an indelible image in his mind.

The waving pennants and the heavy rhythmic pounding of those heavy boots had resonated in him. He had stayed silent amongst the cheering crowd clutching tight to his father's hand. His father had smiled at him, feeling the little fingers tighten as the parade went on. His son's eyes were glowing and it gave him a bittersweet sense of pride. He could see it on the boy's face. His son was going to want to join the military and while that was a worthy career choice for any young man to make, knowing that it was his son who would face the horror of war made him regret his decision to bring the boy here.

During the long walk home, he listened as Roy chattered endlessly about the soldiers and how when he grew up he was going to be one as well. His father stopped just before they walked into the small house and spoke to his son.

"Roy, you're barely ten years old and a lot can change. If you still want to be a soldier when you are older, I won't stop you but you mustn't think its just about marching and shiny boots. A soldier's life is not an easy one, my son. It requires responsibility and a willingness to serve and protect. If you can't do that, then the military is not for you."

When I was,
a young boy
My father, took me into the city
to see a marching band.
He said, "Son when you grow up, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?"

..0..

Sometimes I get the feeling, she's watching over me
and other times I feel like I should go.
And through it all, the rise and fall,
The bodies in the street.
And when you're gone we want you all to know
we'll carry on, we'll carry on.
And though you're dead and gone, believe me
your memory will carry on.

Roy Mustang never forgot Ishbal. It was here he learnt the true horrors of war and of military service. It was here that he saw blue uniforms become black with encrusted blood and mud. It was here that he finally understood why his father had been so sad when he had left to enlist. It was here that he knew he was glad that his father had not lived to see him become a State Alchemist.

Any pride he had in his skill and talent vanished as more and more people died. As he demolished building after building with spiralling flames and heat. It became an automatic reaction. See a building marked with the red cross for destruction by the scouts, snap and let the flames engulf it. He never knew what purposes the buildings had had. He never knew what happened to those who had once lived and worked there. He never knew how many stayed and died beneath his hands.

Children screamed in his nightmares, waking nightmares that had him shaking even as his fingers snapped. The smell of burning became anathema to him. Even the scent of a small campfire would send him off to find somewhere private to retch and heave. Any tears he had left in him died with the Rockbells. Even drinking himself into a stupor every chance he got could not wash away his perceived cowardice, could not unleash the tears.

Ghosts followed him everywhere. He could not forget the faces. Blue eyes, red eyes. A pleading doctor, a frightened child. He could hear them sometimes and he had no answers for them. There were no justifications that he could see.

And when you're gone we want you all to know
We'll carry on, We'll carry on
And though you're dead and gone believe me
Your memory will carry on
We'll carry on
Until my heart I can't contain it
The anthem won't explain it

..0..

A world that sends you reeling from decimated dreams,
Your misery and hate will kill us all
So paint it black and take it back
Lets shout it loud and clear
Defiant to the end we hear the call
To carry on

Roy Mustang will never forget his saviour. The one who became his conscience with a hard right hook and an apple pie. Maes Hughes bounded into his life with all the enthusiasm of a hyperactive clown. His perpetual grin and wise laughing green eyes gave him hope without an alcoholic percentage.

Red paint looked so black when it dried. It took Roy six days to scrub the circles from the walls. His jaw still ached from where Maes had hit him and his head still pounded from the beer they had drowned themselves in the night before. Despite his soul deep exhaustion he smiled as the door opened and the smell of fresh apple pie entered before his gangly friend did.

Friend, yes. For the first time in his military career, Roy had a friend, a true friend. For the first time since the rebellion had started he wished his father was alive just so he could introduce his friend to him. Roy leant against the wall and looked at Maes with a smile.

"You should do that more often, Roy."

"Do what, Maes?"

"Smile. You'll never get a girlfriend if they don't see you smile." Maes laughed and ducked the brush Roy threw at him.

"If having a girlfriend causes behaviour like yours then I never want one." Roy grinned as Maes held up the woven basket and lifted the flowered cloth.

"But look and taste the benefits, Roy. My Gracia is an absolute angel in the kitchen." And he took a deep breath of the cinnamon scented apple pie. Roy laughed as Maes crossed his eyes in exaggerated bliss and swooned into one of the chairs.

"You are a clown, Maes, a complete clown."

"Well, as I always tell you Roy; 'alchemy is a circus act for weirdos' so you need a clown at your side to keep you from becoming too weird." Maes smiled cheerfully at him, his green eyes bright and able to see further and clearer than anyone had the right to.

Maes was the bane of Roy's life and every time he threatened to incinerate Maes he knew his world was a better place simply because Maes was in it.

When Maes Hughes died, Roy found the tears again.

We'll carry on,
And though you're dead and gone believe me
Your memory will carry on
We'll carry on
And though you're broken and defeated
Your weary widow marches on
And on we carry through the fears
Oh oh oh
The disappointed faces of your peers
Oh oh oh
Take a look at me 'cause I could not care at all

..0..


Do or die
You'll never make me
Because the world will never take my (heart)
Go and try; you'll never break me
We want it all, we want to play this (part)
I won't explain, or say I'm sorry
I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my (scar)
Give a cheer, for all the broken
Listen here, because it's who we are
I'm just a man; I'm not a hero
Just a boy, whose meant to sing this (song)
I'm just a man; I'm not a hero
I
Don't
Care

Roy Mustang would never admit to the reasons why Edward Elric pissed him off so much. The short blond haired angsty brat tore his ordered life upside down and single-handedly created more paperwork than holding a census ten years in succession ever could.

Edward Elric did all the things he wished he had been able to do. He rose above every obstacle with undiminished hope. He never let sorrow keep him from his purpose. He paid the prices with a maturity that belied his years and he understood all too well the pain that comes from guilt.

Roy envied the boy sometimes. The freedom he had even with the responsibilities he selflessly shouldered along the way. The upfront bluntness that bespoke an awareness of his place in the scheme of things. The honesty that came through with every word he spoke and every gleam of those golden eyes.

Edward gave Roy someone to shout at, someone to insult and tease. Someone he could trust even if he never told him. Edward gave Roy the freedom to be as he was before Ishbal. And Edward gave Roy yet another reason why he was going to become Fuhrer. To save those who thought themselves sinners, like Edward. To save Edward from becoming just like him. He promised himself.

Edward gave Roy the strength to go on again. If a vertically challenged, tantrum enhanced blond could overcome pain and hurt and failure, then so could he.

Edward became the colour that Roy had once seen upon pennants. Colour that rose to cover the black of old nightmares and terrors.

When Edward left, Roy had a promise to keep.

We'll carry on
We'll carry on
And though you're dead and gone believe me
Your memory will carry on

We'll carry on
And though you're broken and defeated
Your weary widow marches on

Roy Mustang never wants to remember the cold of that little outpost where he went with his pain and his sorrow and his disillusionment. But he does and it shames him. All his promises and all his fine words are thrown back in his face when he remembers it.

He knows what Maes and Edward would say if they had seen him there. He knows how angry they would have been. He wishes they could have seen him there. He misses them more than he will ever admit. He would go back there in a heartbeat if there was the smallest chance they would be there.

He looks out over the wide boulevards and marbled edifices of Central Headquarters and knows that yes he would trade it all for one more slice of apple pie shared with Maes and one more screaming match with Edward.

He stands upon the highest row of steps leading into the grandiose building behind him and watches as the new recruits march out; bright blue pressed uniforms and golden braid and heavy shiny boots.

For a fleeting second of time his dark eye catches sight of a young boy in the crowd who is watching the parade with the awed eyes that he once had.

Do or die
You'll never make me
Because the world will never take my (heart)
Go and try; you'll never break me
We want it all, we want to play this (part)
I won't explain, or say I'm sorry
I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my (scar)
Give a cheer, for all the broken
Listen here, because it's who we are
I'm just a man; I'm not a hero
Just a boy, who had to sing this (song)
I'm just a man; I'm not a hero)
We'll carry on
We'll carry on
We'll carry on
We'll carry on
We'll carry on


Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a song-fic and I didn't realise how much work and how much fun they could be.

I love this song very much, and I have been wanting to write this for some time. I hope you enjoy it.

silken :)