Okay, just a warning. This chapter has a little bit of gore, blood, and the like, so if that isn't your cup of tea, you might want to skip over some parts. Besides that, hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading and reviewing!


Mustang had been watching the stars until a mere hour or so before sunrise when several massive blasts had broken out in the distance, each one leaving behind a waving tail of smoke in the dark sky. He was alerted to his feet moments before the alarms shrieked and howled, moments before the sentries were splitting up and calling insistent cries to wake up and prepare for battle into the scattered tents. Trained professional that he was, he didn't stand around and gawk as the young soldiers did. The alchemical gloves were already covering his rough hands; he never dared to take them off near the battlefield, an old habit he had developed back in Ishval. Instinctively, he reached out and snatched the nearest sentry's shoulder, forcing the young man to look at the colonel.

"What happened? What flank was attacked?" Roy demanded.

The sentry stuttered momentarily-"Likely another rookie", the colonel thought to himself-before instantly spilling his guts out at the superior officer. "E-East sector, sir. Three base camps were bombed all at once before the Cretan soldiers moved in."

Roy scowled, making the sentry flinch. Fullmetal had been stationed in the eastern sector, of that he was certain. There were about… eighteen base camps in the eastern sector. His lips pressed together tightly as his face almost notably paled; Fullmetal had a one in six chance of being in one of those camps. And knowing the kid's rotten luck…

"Thank you. Now hurry and arm yourself." He released the sentry before he had the chance to tighten his grip on the poor man's shoulder and show his worry. The last thing he needed was to lose his cool here, of all places. For now, he needed to steady his aim… And be ready to kill once more.

-FMA-

He hurt.

He hurt all over.

His back felt like it was on fire, his automail ports creaked and protested against his every movement, and his chest kept sending panicked messages of sheer pain to his already pounding skull.

"Where… Am I…? Ugh… Hard to move… Or think…"

He was running on almost pure instinct now, but thankfully, his instincts had been trained to assess damage before all else.

Bruised rib, possibly fractured… No. Wait. Only bruised… good. Possible concussion, though it wasn't too severe. Automail mildly damaged; it felt like a few fragments of his prosthetics had broken off, but other than that, they would still work fairly well.

But his back… This wasn't a kind of pain he had familiarized himself with. It felt like ages before his brain could possibly process a reasonable explanation. The skin on his back must be torn open, burned, or both. He felt the sensation of seared flesh all right, as well as the fiery-hot blood trickling down his spine and agitating his wounds further.

With the self-evaluation complete, his mind began to sift through the many files of memories and knowledge that it contained. He was sitting and watching the stars. Aching stump. Deafening noise and searing pain. Unconsciousness.

"Damn it," he croaked, struggling to readjust and force himself up and back onto his feet. Stabs of pain attempted to keep him down, but he eventually made it… And was instantly horrified by what he saw. Blast burns scorched and pocked the earth around him, and the camp was in shambles. The tent where his bunk had been, as well as several others, was completely annihilated. He broke into a run, desperately forcing his aching limbs to take him into the midst of the rubble. A slight breeze dusted away some of the ashes, and he squinted to make out the pale-peach color of skin.

He clapped his hands together before clearing more and more away, revealing a hand reaching out from the ground. His left hand immediately gripped the large, calloused fingers in his own before tugging hard to pull out the soldier trapped below. Ed fell over backwards from the lack of weight, surprising him. How was the soldier so light…?

It quickly dawned on him then. He hadn't pulled out a soldier.

In his hand was the severed, pale arm of one of his comrades.

A strangled cry ripped from his throat as he quickly dropped the arm, legs frantically scooting him backwards and away from the bloodied limb. Yes, this had certainly belonged to one of his comrades. A few ragged, stained scraps of the once-aqua uniform still clung feebly to the arm, glued there with dried blood. The sickly-sweet stench was everywhere. The bodies were scattered all throughout the ruins; some had died from the explosion, others from gunshot wounds.

"H-how long?! How long was I out?!" Ed thought in petrified confusion. His men… His squadron… None of them were to be seen. His gaze trailed back to the severed arm in fascinated horror. It had been ripped off by the explosion, judging from the burns. And suddenly, his right arm's stump began to ache. He knew it must have hurt. He knew the agony of having your limbs torn from your body, the searing agony…

Before he knew it, he was collapsed on the ground and retching. His stomach wildly flipped and clenched until he was throwing up bile, but it just wouldn't stop. The nausea brought about by the reek of drying, rotting blood, the masses of corpses, and the pain were all too much.

"My squadron is dead." A convulsion racked his light frame, causing more bile to come up.

"I'm alone." Another convulsion. His head was tearing itself apart in agony.

"They're dead. They're all dead." He convulsed again, and a broken sob clawed out of his throat along with another spray of bile.

"I could have saved them. They died because of me!" The pain and grief caused his body to sway back and forth as he wailed, every sob wracking his body. The hot tears began to flow freely down his face.

"God help me…" he cried weakly, not even caring if the concept of an omnipotent god was ridiculous.

"I thought… you said… you didn't believe…"

The familiar voice caused his head to turn sharply, his sharp eyes immediately catching sight of Sergeant Rouse, the naïve, young soldier, slowly crawling towards him. "They… left you for dead, too, huh…?" The man coughed before crumpling on the ground.

"Rouse!" Ed choked before stumbling over to his squadron member. The man looked worn and ragged, his hand delicately clasped over his lower chest. Edward kneeled beside the sergeant and helped drag him into a sitting position, leaning against Ed's body.

Rouse gave him a feeble smile. "I'm glad… you're alive, little buddy…"

"Not small," the young alchemist muttered half-heartedly, inspecting his comrade for wounds. "What happened here…?"

The sergeant closed his eyes briefly, attempting to steady his wheezing breaths, before looking back at Ed. "The Cretan soldiers… They must have set up bombs around here. The detonations caught all of us off-guard… A few of us managed to survive the blasts, but then the Cretans came pouring in, and…" He stopped to shudder and cough, specks of blood flecking his pale lips.

Edward's eyes widened in alarm. "Rouse, hold on-"

Rouse coughed again before shaking his head. "Sorry… Rude of me…" He finally smiled in self-satisfaction. "I managed to help some others get to safety before the enemy charged. But apparently that pissed the Cretans off, so they gave me this…" He briefly lifted his hand away from his chest, enough for Ed to see the gaping bullet wounds.

"No… Rouse, I…"

The man gave a pained smirk. "Idiot… I know the look on your face. You think this was your fault, don't you? Well, it wasn't, y'know… I decided to help those men out and completely forgot about the enemy soldiers…"

Ed bit his lip. "I might be able to heal it with alchemy…"

Rouse shook his head. "Nah, kid… If there's one law of alchemy that I do understand, it's… That you can't save a dead man…" With that, his breath hitched, and he closed his weary eyes.

"No… No! Come on, stay with me…!" Ed shifted Rouse hurriedly before clapping his hands together and putting them onto the bullet wounds. Even with his limited knowledge of medical alchemy, he was able to fix the bloody holes temporarily. "Rouse… Please, you can't…"

The man coughed weakly before opening his eyes, his crystal-blue gaze shifting to peer down at his chest in confusion. "Thought… You couldn't heal…?"

Edward shook his head slightly before hooking his left arm around Rouse, not wanting to accidentally squeeze too hard with his unfeeling automail, before hoisting them both to their feet. "Not really… I only managed to stop the bleeding. We need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible."

Rouse staggered and leaned heavily against Ed's smaller frame. "Kid… If I don't live, I want you to tell my family-"

"Shut up!" Edward snapped, infuriated. "Make it home and tell them yourself. You might be called a hero if you die all noble and some crap here today, but think of how much pain you'll cause them, stupid bastard. You can't comfort them if you're a cold body in the ground, even if you have a bunch of stupid shiny medals and pretty ribbons on your uniform."

Rouse's eyes widened before slowly nodding, just barely managing to keep his head up. Taking that as a yes, Ed grit his teeth in determined, grim satisfaction before shouldering as much of Rouse's weight as he could manage. The two of them slowly, but surely, began to hobble away from the ashen grave of their comrades.