Story Title: Pieces of a Dream.
Chapter Title: Like the Wings of a Butterfly.
Pairing(s): Edward Elric/Envy; nods to Roy Mustang/Alphonse Elric and Edward Elric/Alfons Heiderich; one-sided/platonic Russell Tringham/Edward Elric
Beta: No one, yet.
Rating: R, this chapter. R, overall (Uncensored version will be post at my LJ).
Genre: Angst, Romance.
Warnings: Post anime, more or less consistent with movie canon, violence, gore.
Feedback: Very welcome, please!
Word Count: +/- 3 458.
Summary: This is not what they need. This is not what they want. This is what they have, to build up something from ashes of their dreams.
Author's Notes: Okay, this is probably the hardest chapter I've ever had to write in this fandom, because it's hard to tell you what I'm picturing in my mind. Also, I couldn't keep this shorter, damnit.

Un-censored version - but not much - available back at my LJ.

Pieces of a Dream.

Like the Wings of a Butterfly.

"Heaven ablaze in our eyes
We're standing still in time
The blood on our hands is the wine
We offer as sacrifice
Come on, and show them your love
Rip out the wings of a butterfly
For your soul, my love
Rip out the wings of a butterfly
For your soul
This endless mercy mile
We're crawling side by side
With hell freezing over in our eyes
Gods kneel before our crime."
 -- HIM, "Wings of a Butterfly."

Every two weeks, early each Monday morning, an old, arthritic mailman rode his bike all the way to the small cottage just outside the small town to deliver a large yellow envelope with the Military's insignia in it. If the recipient were someone else, he would have complained loudly about silly, antisocial brats that didn't know better, but as it was, Edward Heiderich always gave him a generous tip for his trouble and a cup of 'tea' to counter the chill of dawn. The old man was bitter – wounds from the Ishbal war had left him nearly a cripple reduced to a pathetic job in the postal service after all – and snide and generally considered by the town's folk as not-nice. He couldn't hope to know that was precisely why he was allowed into the small house, why the blond young man bothered to give him something more than the very basic.

That, and because he never asked questions and Edward never volunteered information.

Every two weeks, early each Monday morning, Ed received a letter from himself, given to him by an old, arthritic old mailman. Van Hein was a good man, Ed figured, if a bit on the colder side of things. Nevertheless, his presence was always appreciated in the small, lonesome cabin. He sat with Ed to sip tea that was really more scotch than anything else, and both watched the sun coloring the forest into goldens and reds. Neither spoke about anything, not since the first morning Ed had greeted the sour-looking mailman with a pensive look and a quiet, almost hesitant 'want some tea, Mr. Hein?' and two weeks later, when Mr. Hein had snapped grudgingly 'Name's Van, kid,' and that was it.

That morning, the yellow envelope rested on the counter by the sink, the two men drank quietly and everything was just normal, except not. Golden eyes peered discretely at the old man, wondering if he had any clue of the disaster that was brewing behind the closed door that connected the kitchen with the rest of Ed's little world. Probably not.

When Van finally left, Ed rinsed their cups, feeling the scotch swirl inside him as the warmth spread along his limbs, alongside the courage needed to take his little silver platter to Envy's room – he didn't want to know when it had gone from 'guest room' to 'Envy's room' – and sit through another fight. The fights were getting repetitive, too, with the same old insults and the same old jabs that did nothing to either of them and just left Ed weary and Envy tired.

Taking one last look outside, Ed noticed autumn was almost over. The few leaves that remained up in the battered trees were yellow, and the chill was getting more and more persistent. Dragging his eyes back to the task at hand, he ignored the letter – just another biweekly report on all the excitement that made up Alphonse's life and enthusiastic ramblings on how good and wonderful and gentle Mustang was – just as he always did. He would eventually open it, of course, no amount of spite against Mustang would keep Ed from knowing about his little brother, but it'd take time.

Ed wondered if his whole mess with Envy – nearly three weeks already, since he found the Sin – was enough of an excuse to write a letter to Alphonse.

Envy was getting better.

He knew it the moment he woke up and realized there was no biting agony, no screeching pain, nothing. Just a faint empty feeling that he quickly labeled as hunger and that was it. Considering he had been reduced to the point he could barely twitch, it was good news. Maybe it was because he had thrown up all he could have possibly thrown up, up to the very last shard of red he had swallowed during four hundred something years. All of them. The pain was gone and he was feeling strangely good, but Envy knew he was at his weakest, the point where the smallest wound would be enough to do him in.

He wondered for a moment if this was why Ed had kept him, why he'd dealt with him all this time. Envy laughed at himself and decided that yes, of course it was. The brat was just waiting for him to be as weak as he would ever be, falling to pieces right before his eyes, so that when he actually killed him off, Envy would be humiliated by his own pathetic display. Yes, that must have been it, from the very beginning, what Ed wanted was nothing else but make Envy suffer.

Envy was getting better but he forgot Ed was Ed was Ed was not Envy, so he awaited his host and expected to be killed.

Outside, the wind blew away the last yellowed leaves and sung a mourning song for winter.

Russell scowled and protested the whole time, but Ed didn't hear him.

Inside the tiny basement – a tornado bunker, the man who had sold him the house had told Ed at that time – the tubes and the pipes glinted eerily as the toxic water flowed from one into another, condensing and evaporating in turns. Russell refused to do it, he absolutely refused to do anything that could remotely work in Envy's favor, but he couldn't let Ed do it alone. It didn't matter if the Fullmetal Alchemist was now considered the best alchemist of the century, red water was deadly and Russell just couldn't allow Ed to do something as stupid as get killed for Envy's sake.

Envy's.

He was bristling by the time Ed was done, a complete opposite to the beaming expression in his companion's face. Ed hadn't used alchemy in years. Not like that anyway, controlled, thought out alchemy, not panicked attempts to survive in the middle of a battlefield. Russell's sour face turned into something else when Ed smiled at him, golden eyes serene – Edward Elric's eyes had never been serene – before he hugged him lightly.

"Thank you," Ed said as he pulled back, honest expression smoothing his features, "I know you don't get it, I know you don't like it, but it's important Russell, for me it is."

The younger man felt air grow scarce as Ed left the room, skin tingling under his clothes as the imprint of Ed against him stayed behind. He felt his whole body tremble with the intensity of the emotions that were threatening to take his heart, rip it apart into a thousand shards and scatter them to wherever the Northern Wind pleased to take them.

"Yeah," Russell replied long after Ed had disappeared, his voice bouncing into the walls, "Yeah, okay."

Russell Tringham didn't cry, not since his parents had died and even then, he hadn't had much time to make a racket like some senseless child. Fletcher had needed him to be strong and solid, so Russell had swallowed down the knot in his throat and had smiled and promised everything would be alright. Now he didn't have anyone to ask him to be strong, not Fletcher, not Ed, no one.

He figured no one would mind if he let out a sob or two, a symbolic toss to his own stupid nature to reach out for the unreachable; despite what he had claimed before, he wasn't an Elric, he wasn't meant to catch his own dreams. That was not how the world worked.

Envy was getting better, and Ed hadn't killed him yet.

After the first batch of red stones, shiny and new, his body began to regain its former power. He could feel it, inside, how everything shifted and twisted, greedily taking in the offered sacrifice. It coursed through his veins, to the very last of his nerves, soothing the hurt that had tormented him for so long, helping him clear the fog that insisted on mixing his memories with his current sensations into one big, fucked up mess.

But still, Ed had fed him. He had come into the room, smiled in that eerie way that made Envy's insides dance with apprehension and then just… fed him. The very things he needed the most, as if that had been his intention from the start. Which couldn't have been of course, because no one, no one ever did something remotely nice for Envy. That was just not how the world worked. People feared Envy, the braver – and the more stupid – ones disdained him, but no one ever tried to be nice, because Envy was a monster and people never got close to monsters.

Envy had never let anyone close enough to even try.

It was baffling, really, this strange one-eighty degree change in Ed's attitude, and Envy just had to figure it out. He was sure that once he found the ulterior motive, once he caught on with the brat's silly scheme, things would go back to normal. He was Envy, after all, and Ed was Ed, and being… friendly – Envy felt the urge to throw up something that certainly wasn't stones at the very idea – was not something they did. They hated each other.

Hate, Envy could understand, could deal with. This pseudo-truce he had been forced to accept merely because he was too weak to do something else, no, not so much. So he laid back on the small bed, ignoring the pleasant sensation of clean linens against his skin and the cheerful birds singing outside the window, and just thought. Good and hard, because there was nothing he couldn't understand, there was nothing he couldn't learn to hate.

Even kindness.

Especially kindness.

Ed was probably just waiting for him to be back to full health to take him head on. Yeah, that sounded reasonable enough. Ed wanted to fight him like they had fought under Central, with both on them strong enough to hold their own side of the battle. Ed was too proud to kill Envy while he couldn't defend himself, even though he probably knew Envy wouldn't do the same for him. Yes. That was it. Satisfied with his conclusion – ignoring all possible logic mistakes in it – Envy snuggled back against the pillow and smiled a little. If that was what the brat wanted, Envy was feeling magnanimous enough to wait for him to give the first hit.

It wasn't like Ed had the smallest chance to win, anyway.

By the time the first snow came, casting little specks of glinting ice that covered everything as far as the eye could see, Envy was feeling strong enough to slip out the bed and stretch his stiff limbs. In nearly half a century, he couldn't remember spending so much time on bed, never mind the same room. He did it only when neither Ed nor Russell were nearby, though, because he didn't want to lose the upper hand. As long as those two thought he was too weak to stand on his own, he could turn around and kick their sorry asses into next week with ease.

Of course, he was probably too weak still to kick their asses properly, but that wasn't the point.

Envy had always liked winter, or at least he didn't dislike it so much as he did summer and spring, and he felt the strange need to go outside and feel the snow between his toes. So he did.

One night – the thirty-seventh night he had spent under Ed's roof – he woke up and carefully slid out of bed, before padding soundlessly into the kitchen and out into the backyard. It wasn't so much a backyard as an extension of the forest itself, but it was wild and cold and open, much welcomed after so many days standing the monotony of four walls painted in bland beige – Envy had spent two days debating with himself whether the walls were light yellow or dirty white, before deciding it was probably meant to be beige after all.

It felt good, to be outside and feel the cold biting his body, the wind ruffling his hair almost like a caress. He wasn't human, he wasn't sure he was even alive, but that feeling of absolute freedom that only wild nature could inspire, that was probably the closest he would ever get to it. It reminded him of Drachma, that disastrous stay Dante had orchestrated nearly two hundred years ago and which had only accomplished adding a new thorn – Greed – in Envy's side. It reminded him of the desert beyond Ishbal, before he did his job and started the war, how it was ample and threatening in its impassiveness. How it had turned savage and red after the first shot, how it seemed to rage alongside its children after Envy detonated the spark of destruction there.

"Huh?" Envy narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye, turning around as fast as he could – slower than he should have been, though – and stretched out a hand to claw at whoever had sneaked on him.

He blinked curiously at the sight of the golden butterfly caught in his grip. The tiny insect fluttered uselessly, already dying and well past its season. It struggled against his fingers. It was a beautiful creature, its golden scales glinting weakly under the pale light of the moon and its delicate antennae twitching erratically as it panicked. Envy held it close to his face, eyes noting the delicate pattern in its wings, faint black lines that swirled around. It must have been magnificent while it was young, freshly out of its cocoon, but now it was battered and almost inert.

With a snort, Envy ripped its wings off, killing the insect with an irritation he couldn't explain, simply because he didn't understand his own metaphors.

It was purely by accident that he saw them as he tried to slide back to his room, the golden wings still held in his right hand.

"I worry about you, Ed," Russell's voice was soft as Envy had never heard it – probably because Russell had no soft things to say to him – and the homunculus paused in front of the door to the brat's room, "I really do."

"It's alright," Ed tried to sound convincing, but Envy could tell he was trying to convince himself, "I'm alright."

"Are you really?"

There was a queer huskiness in the younger man's voice, something that made Envy stand up a little straighter and peer curiously through the ajar door. Ed was standing against his window, cornered by a blond that was at least a head and a half taller than him, and who seemed to be leaning in with a very clear intent. Envy held back a snort; he really didn't need to know who the brat was fucking. But just as he was about to go back, disgusted sneer in his face, Ed turned his head to the side so that Russell's lips caught his neck rather than his mouth.

Envy arched an eyebrow. In his very limited experience, that was not how things were supposed to go.

Now vaguely interested – he didn't bother to try and explain why everything Ed did was interesting, it just was – he moved so that he could see a bit better, and strained his ears to listen.

"---me away, it's not fair." Russell's words were slightly muffled by Ed's neck, but for all the ardor the younger alchemist was showing, Ed looked rather uncomfortable.

"I really don't think it's a good idea," Ed said quietly, his voice holding a defeated quality Envy had never heard before – not coming from him, anyway, "Let me go Russell."

The former State Alchemist pulled back and slid away, going straight for the door and Envy wondered why he wasn't moving away yet; he didn't want to get caught, really.

"I love you."

Envy mentally congratulated Russell for his ruthless manipulative skills – at least he thought that was what they were – when Ed paused midstep and looked down. The homunculus cursed the blond bangs since they obscured his vision of his nemesis' eyes, the windows to his mind. Russell walked up to his companion, placing each hand on a shoulder and gently pulling the unresisting body against his chest.

"I love you," He repeated, mouthing the words against Ed's neck.

Envy expected Ed to explode into a rant at any moment, that was what he remembered the brat did best after all, but to his surprise – and a strange, quiet feeling he couldn't name – Ed turned with a growl and kissed the taller man in a decidedly aggressive way. If it weren't for the fact those were tongues, Envy would have admitted that was quite a spectacular battle. The long haired blond cornered his partner until Russell fell into the bed, hair mussed, cheeks flushed and mouth parted invitingly.

Strangely enough, Ed looked angry, rather than aroused, but then again, Envy couldn't really know better.

What followed was a strange dance of ripped clothes, scratching fingers and grotesque sounds that blended into one big disgusting show. Envy didn't know why he kept watching: maybe he wanted to see if things got better and he could finally figure out why people seemed to like sex so much. Because if all of it was as violent and painful as this looked, humanity would have already become extinct long ago. But no, it kept going the same, just as fierce, just as wrong as it had started and Envy convinced himself, once more, that he really didn't like sex at all.

No matter what strange sounds Russell was making as he threw his head back, thighs quivering as he kept them wide open, having Ed slid his cock into him couldn't be pleasant. And the expression on the brat's face, that sort of grimace but not as he thrust his hips furiously; Envy thought he was trying to kill Russell, rather than make things pleasurable.

Envy gagged, more so when Russell cradled the sobbing Ed to his chest, looking almost sincerely worried.

"Ed?" Russell appeared to be panicking, but Envy didn't know if it was an act or not, "God, Ed. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Ed?"

The homunculus slipped away unnoticed, huffing in disdain. To burst out in tears in the middle of it! That brat was really a crying baby, after all. Snorting in disgust, he stepped back into his room, trying to dispel the images from his mind. Only when he tried to brush his hair off his face did Envy notice the fine golden powder on the fingers of his right hand, the last remains of the crushed wings he'd destroyed unconsciously while he watched the strange show.

He wondered why the tiny scales reminded him of Edward somehow.

It was almost dawn when Russell came into his room.

Despite his pretentious plans to shock him and Ed with his sudden mobility, Envy choked a squeak when Russell settled on his chest and wrapped his hands around his neck. He could move, sure, but he wasn't strong enough to throw the bastard off him and kick his sorry ass all the way to New Year. Snarling, Envy bared his teeth in a threatening display.

Russell wasn't fazed.

"Fuck you," The blond hissed venomously, his grip tightening around Envy's windpipe, "Fuck you, this is your fault!"

The homunculus thought back about the night before and the strange display he'd observed, wondering for a moment if that was what all the fuss was about. If so, Envy thought Russell was overreacting a lot.

"Fuck, you broke him," The young man informed with a mix of despair and hatred, "He's trying to save you, you fucking freak of nature and you broke him!"

Envy didn't know where he found the air to answer, but the words were out of his mouth before he thought them properly.

"But I didn't rape him, did I?"

They probably saved his life, all things considered, since Russell stiffened and when Envy was sure he was going to tighten his grip again, he fled the room, pale as if he had seen a ghost. Envy sat up coughing, staring warily at the open door and didn't relax even when the front door slammed shut.

Russell didn't come to the little cottage afterwards and Envy thought for some reason that perhaps he hadn't been the only one to break golden wings the night before.

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