Be Brave, Little One.
This popped into my head out of nowhere so I decided to write it. Be warned; it's kinda sad.
Okay, it's very fucking sad. Poor Roy.
Listen to some sad music, it improves the effect.
Enjoy..
A/N: Its not a perfect world, so I don't own FMA or its characters.
Piercing shrieks filled the air- Amestrian and Ishbalan alike- as soldiers, clad in blue, stormed the makeshift hospital stationed on the fringe of a bloody battlefield.
Roy kicked down the door, only to be startled by what he saw. The troop had been dispatched to destroy tratiors, not doctors!
Sick soldiers and ill Ishbalans struggled to flee. The smashing of glass echoed throughout the hut as someone broke a window; resisting the military would be futile. The only option was escape, though that would prove as useless as surrender. No one could escape the Amestrian army.
Especially not with the feared and hated Major Mustang, practicer of the lucrative flame alchemy, hero of the Ishbalan war, on the front lines.
"Maria! Maria! Come on, there's not time! You've got to get out of bed!" The anguished cry distracted Roy's attention from the matter at hand as he swiveled his head to try and determine what person could sound so sad, yet so strong at the same time.
A little Ishbalan child lay in a makeshift gurney, drowning in her own blood. The complete left side of her face was burned beyond classification; upon inspection, Roy wouldn't even call it flesh anymore. The eye was gone too, and the girl's left arm. Completely burned.
As soon as it dawned on Roy what the injury was caused by, surges of guilt overcame him, rooting him to the spot. How could he kill these people when he had already left them clinging to such fragile bits of lives? Especially just a girl, no older than 6?
The squad behind Roy began to whisper amongst themselves, impatient. Why haven't they launched the attack? Why was the all-powerful Roy Mustang frozen as if experiencing culture shock? The scene was gruesome, but they were soliders. Soliders were never dispacted to deal with picking daises.
After a few more wasted seconds, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stepped forward, mentally apologizing to her superior for this defiance.
"We need to speak to Mr. and Ms. Doctor Rockbell," she stated, drawing the gun out of its holster in case they were armed as well. Roy didn't say anything regarding his cherished Lieutenant's actions, only stared at the little girl being ripped from the gurney by a woman who was scheduled to die by some higher up in the military who deemed her traitorous.
"Major Mustang," Fuhrer King Bradley began, a fake smile already in place. "How nice of you to come."
"Yes, sir!" Roy retorted, saluting and submissive. It wasn't every day you got called back to Central from the battlefield to speak with none other than the Fuhrer himself.
"At ease, Major." Bradley commanded, smiling wider. "So I hear you've gained quite the respect out in the desert,"
Mustang shifted his weight to his right foot, trying desperately not to show his nervousness and failing. He wracked his brains trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't be boastful, but wouldn't be degrading either.
Upon noticing the worried expression on Major Mustang's pale face, The Fuhrer chuckled. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I know the truth." Evaluating the solider whom he had heard so much about before for a moment, he slowly added,"I have a mission that only a State Alchemist of your caliber and skill could do correctly. Do you accept, Major?"
Trying not to betray his prized mask for his enflated ego at the praise, Roy snapped a salute. "Yes, sir!" He replied, confident. Roy Mustang could do anything, after all.
The Fuhrer chuckled darkly. "At ease, Major," He replied before dismissing him. "I'll see you tomorrow for briefing on the mission."
Suddenly, the girl Maria sprung to her feet in response to something the blonde woman whispered, effectively snapping Roy back to reality.
The little girl stumbled half-blindly about, calling for a person named Joseph, voice shaking in trepidation. The Amestrian woman kept a hand on her back, guiding her until the little girl was engulfed by a muscular Ishbalan man's embrace.
The woman crouched down to Maria's ear, moving a patch of bloodmatted black hair in a motherly manner and whispered four words that would haunt Roy for the rest of his godforsaken life.
"Be brave, little one."
Weren't those the exact words Madame Christmas told him before he marched off, expecting to fend off some uprising Ishbalans, but nothing more? Before he became a partaker in genocide, wiping out villages full of innocent Amestrian citizens without batting an eyelash, citizens distinguished only from Madame Christmas or King Bradley by trademark dark skin and red eyes?
Before Roy Mustang became a cold blooded killer?
Raising her gun and her voice, Hawkeye growled. It was a low, guttral sound that effectively silenced the chaos around them.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dr. Rockbell, please step forward," she repeated, not bothering to mask the underlying threat as friendliness as she had before.
Mrs. Dr. Rockbell stood and walked toward a cluttered desk made from two wooden boards propped up on wooden crates marked MEDICINE, the word stamped on in red, oddly akin to the color of blood. She glanced back to give Maria and Joseph a sad smile, and then a minute nod of determination. Upon reaching the desk, she grabbed something that the setting sun streaming in from the window allowed Roy to register as grey metal.
Mustang readied himself to snap if she even TRIED shooting at Riza. Himself, well that was another matter.
Mr. Dr. Rockbell appeared in Roy's sight for the first time since his foot met the door. Mr. Rockbell was blonde as well, favoring his wife, and his bearded face was composed evenly. Roy , however, saw defeat break through the carefully composed mask as he joined his wife beside the makeshift desk. Wrapping an arm around her waist, they walked abashedly with heads down to stand in front of Roy and Hawkeye.
Upon closer inspection, Roy realized that Mrs. Rockbell was astonishingly beautiful. Had the situation been different, (and had she not been a Mrs.), Roy would've definately pursued the beautiful woman.
Also upon further inspection, he realized the grey thing the Rockbell woman cradled so lovingly in her arms was infact not a gun. The item she held to her person was a picture frame, containing a picture of a little blonde girl grinning, grasping a black puppy in one arm and a wrench in the other. In the background a shorter, elderly looking woman smiled at the child, love in her eyes.
Rockbell's hands were clasped together in a manner that led Mustang to believe he was saying his final prayers.
Mrs. Rockbell glanced up, tears streaming freely down her face and onto her bloodstreaked smock. She looked at Roy, then at Riza, her husband, and back at the picture of the girl. "We're sorry," she rasped, looking straight through Roy as if she could see down to his soul, and didn't like what she saw."So sorry."
Roy glanced into the huge, blue eyes, looking for an excuse and finding none. She was not afraid to die. She smiled at Roy once, a smile mixed with pity and fear, almost as if she really did glimpse his soul. Or lack thereof.
At the last second, she chunked the silver picture frame across the room and letting it smack against the wooden walls with a ding.
The noise jolted Roy out of his reverie. He held a white gloved hand out to the woman, as if to make peace.
And then he snapped his fingers.
Roy turned to evaluate his troops, feeling heat on his spine and ice in his soul as Mr. Rockbell screamed "WINRY!" in a low, pain-filled voice. His eyes grazed over the faces of friends, and frieniemes. His eyes rested on Fuery the longest, who appeared to be crying.
"Troops dismissed," Roy announced evenly. His expression must've made up for the emotion his voice lacked because no solider wasted time in getting the hell out of there.
Execpt for Riza Hawkeye.
"Roy, you don't need to stay-" Mustang cut her off.
"Troops dismissed, Lieutenant," he growled brusquely. Riza nodded, and with a worried glance back at Roy, saluted and walked out the door to fall in behind the rest of the soliders.
Once he was sure she was gone, Roy surveyed the area. It appeared all the Ishbalans had left were traces of smeared blood and crumpled hospital beds. All the soliders had left were bits of blue miltary uniforms and one star off a lapel lay haphazerdly on the floor.
None of the patients that the Rockbells burned for stayed behind to help the doctors who saved them. Whether that was of their own conviction, or if the patients simply didn't care, Roy couldn't fathom. He just wanted to find every single one of them and strangle them with his two bare hands.
A/N: Put on the song "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan.
If only they had stayed, maybe one could have shot him, and freed him from this self-loathing, miserable excuse for a life.
As fate would have it, the dying light from the fire glinted off a pistol that peeked out from an overturned barrel of supplies that must've been knocked over in the confusion. A gun the Rockbell's could've grabedand defended themselves with. But instead they chose to surrender peacefully and apologize.
And Roy still killed them.
He advanced to the pistol, his footfalls the only sound beside the crackling of the fire. Roy examined it, running his fingers over it almost as if in a daze. He registered that there were three bullets inside the chamber and stuck the gun into his mouth.
He couldn't pull the trigger.
Whether it be cowardness or common sense, it didn't matter because Roy wanted to die and die right there.
He still couldn't make his finger move.
Sighing, the threw the gun to the floor in a fit on anger. Why couldn't he just get it over with! Upon contact, it echoed with another DING, making Roy remember the photograph.
It caught his eye by glinting in the moonlight that came in around the pieces of shattered glass that was once a window. Apathetically he made his way over to it, and held it in his hands as if his evilness might destroy the brittle paper by any movement.
He studied the child. Her grin stretched from ear to ear, as did the dog's lopsided puppy one. She held the wrench above her head, her hand titled in a way he believed she was waving goodbye, but wasn't sad because they would return save and sound. She would've been friends with the little Ishbalan had they ever met, Roy assumed.
If he hadn't taken her arm and her eye.
Cloaked in bitter self-revulsion, Mustang gingerly set the photo back on the ground only to have a note catch his attention on the back.
Winry,
We love you and we're sorry we couldn't come back home. You're the best little girl ever and we hope you'll never forget us.
Love,
Mommy and Daddy.
Roy stared at the note for awhile. A minute? An hour? A year? He didn't know, because before too long he felt a forgein lump in his throat, and he began to cry.
Roy fucking Mustang, the revered Flame Alchemist, sat on the floor with his head on his knees and cried.
Suddenly he stood up, inspired, and wiped the salty tears from his eyes to regain sight for a few seconds.
"I'm sorry too, Mrs. Rockbell," he whispered.
Then he looked down at his feet, and snapped a gloved finger.
Suddenly he was ablaze.
The fire slowly melted his boots until it got purchase to the skin of his feet. When it finally made contact with his flesh, he screamed in agony.
So this is how it feels.
So this is how all those Ishbalans died.
This is how the Rockbells felt when I burned them alive for saving injured women and children, soliders and Ishbalans alike.
This is how it feels to die.
I've always wanted to know.
With that thought, the pain became too much for Major Roy Mustang, and he hit the floor with a thud, waiting to die.
Roy blinked. The ground had become a white, endless void.
Where's the pain? He thought, blinking again. Is this death?
He pushed himself off the ground and let his surroundings sink in for a minute. He was completely surrounded by this eerily calming white light on all sides. He turned in endless circles as if chasing his tail, until a voice cut through his utter confusion.
"Ah, so you've come to," The Voice said.
Roy whipped around to the direction the voice came from. The Voice was pure white, nearly undistinguishable from the vast white expanse that surrounded them. Its outline was body similar of Roy's, and he sported an insane chesire cat-like smile.
"Who..who are you? Is this Hell?" Roy questioned when he found his voice. After all, he was sure of his destination.
The Voice laughed. "No. I am what some may call God, The World, or maybe the Universe. Some call me God. I am All, and I am You."
Roy stared incredulously at the Truth's shadowy outline, and at the Gate he sat before. "So what is my punishment?"
It was the Truth's turn to stare. "Punishment? Ah, my dear Roy, this is it."
"What is?"
Suddenly the Gate swung open, revealing long black shadow arms which came and grasped Roy tightly and began to pull him in.
The Truth was startled. "Why aren't you struggling, Mustang?"
"Because all I wanted was to die." And with that, the hands pulled him through the Gate and it swung closed with an echo.
The Truth shook its incorperal head. Suddenly some human emotion leaked through. If he had a heart, it just might break at how much that man had to suffer in his life.
"Be brave, little one," The Truth whispered, before turning its back on the Gate to await its next arrival.
Well as you can tell that was depressing...so yeah.
Read, review, and grab yourself a tissue.
~FullMetalCrayon, signing out~