Title : Whispers of a Nightmare

Genre : Anime/Manga

Category : Full Metal Alchemist

Disclaimer : Nope, this one belongs to someone else as well.

Summary : Takes place after the incident with Nina. Something's wrong with Ed, and Al just can't quite figure out what it is. Serious situations and angst ensue.

Warnings : Angst, mild language, violence, and other issues that shall go unnamed for now. I don't want to give away too much of the plot just yet, now do I? ;)

Rating : T

Chapter 4 : Deterioration of a Soul

A warm sensation flooded through his veins, though he could still feel himself shivering. What's going on? He could feel the fingertips on his left hand tingling, suggesting that perhaps, the end hadn't come as he thought it had. He took a deep breath, realizing that the sound of the rain had stopped, and everything around him was silent. Am I still alive?

Almost reluctantly, he opened his eyes to find that not only had he not died and gone to whatever creation met him on the other side; but he was also out of the rain, and out of that stranger's grasp. The memory sent his hand flying to his chest, just to double check that his heart was still pumping blood through his veins. Luckily, it was.

A sigh of relief parted his lips as he finally looked around and took in his surroundings. He was back at the inn in the room he shared with Al, only it seemed that no one else was around. How'd I get here? he wondered, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He looked down to find that he was covered up with two, possibly three blankets, taking note of the uncontrollable shivering that was still wracking his body.

He didn't have his normal attire on, causing him to immediately panic at the thought of someone else dressing him besides himself. The only other person to do that was his mother, and that was a long, long time ago. Confusion made his brow scrunch, his brain trying to figure out just who's pajamas he was wearing. He knew he didn't own any, especially not ones that looked so formal, even if they were sleeping attire.

The navy blue and white pinstripes still weren't giving him any indication of who their owner was until he saw that the sleeves and the pants legs were rolled up, and quite a bit at that. His lips curled in disgust. Mustang's…that damned Mustang's!

After further consideration, he decided that he in fact did not want to wear anything that his superior officer deemed wearable, leading him to search for his own clothes, something that he didn't feel so small in. But as soon as he stood up, he found himself falling right back down to the bed, a bout of dizziness taking over his head. Nausea managed to strike his stomach at the same time, though there was nothing in his stomach to throw up.

He shivered once more as he felt sweat slowly run down his forehead, surely a sign that something was not right. Maybe…it was all just a dream. Yeah, some stupid dream, like the other nightmare. But…what about the pajamas? His first feeling of hope crashed as he realized that there would be no other reason why he was in the Colonel's sleepwear, thus leading him to want to discard the clothes even more.

Closing his eyes tight, he pushed himself up once more, dizziness still creeping in from behind his ear lobs and resonating through his skull; but he was determined to get to the bottom of things, no matter what the case was. He took one step and his leg trembled so badly that it sent him straight to the hardwood floor, his chin connecting ever so politely with it.

"Dammit," he mumbled, an irony taste invading his mouth. Sure enough, he'd managed to bite his tongue, a trickle of blood oozing through his teeth. Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself up, swaying a bit as he stood. Clenching his jaw, he took a few more steps, only to have the same effect as before, though he did make it a few more feet. But anger got the better of him. "Come on! I can't be this weak!" he managed to yell at himself, exasperation clearly evident in his tone.

He could feel tears of frustration well up in his eyes, making him push even harder. He suddenly felt like an infant, even more degrading than being weak. Trying his best to ignore the voices that were haunting his thoughts, he got back up again, this time steadying himself on the small oak dresser that sat a few feet from the bed.

He didn't even notice he was soaked in sweat until he came across the mirror, his eyes widening at the sight. He blinked once, staring at the person who looked back at him. His skin was pale, the light tan that he had from years of being out in the sun, gone from his complexion. And underneath his eyes sat dark circles, apparently from his restless state. Beads of sweat littered his forehead and slowly slid down his cheeks which were flushed. He'd never seen his eyes so dull before. Just looking into them almost frightened him for some reason.

Not wanting to see what he looked like anymore, he turned away from the reflective piece of glass and began the seemingly long trek to the door, his legs wobbling underneath of him. He almost had his hand on the knob when the door opened, sending him sprawling forward in to the arms of the Colonel.

"I see someone found their way out of bed," Mustang scolded smugly, his eyes gleaming with that familiar cockiness that Edward had come to see.

"Get your hands off of…" He'd almost managed to finish his sentence before the urge to vomit arose once more. He turned his head to the side, nothing more than a bit of water burning his throat as it came up, then hit the floor. The dizziness was returning worse than ever, and he could nothing for Mustang still had his hands locked securely around his sides.

"You're ill. You need to rest," he stated, though it sounded more like a command than anything else. It didn't take much for him to pick the boy up and take him back over to the bed, the blonde State alchemist too weak to resist. Though his stubbornness decided to rear its ugly head and he stayed sitting up, much to the Colonel's dismay.

"Where's Al?" he muttered as loudly as he could, his head bowed, all of his hair coming completely untied and hanging in his face. He shivered again, feeling worse by the second.

"I'm right here, Brother," a small voice came from behind Mustang, the steel suit of armor obvious, standing all the taller, though.

"Al, are you okay?" Edward questioned, his head shooting up to meet his brother's metal soul-filled eyes. He immediately regretted the movement which sent his head spinning even worse, a wince escaping his lips.

"I'm fine, Brother; but I can't say the same for you." He paused, wondering whether or not he should continue on. "What is wrong with you?" he exclaimed, Edward's head jerking up again at the outburst. "Going out there and nearly getting yourself killed? If the Colonel wouldn't have went looking for you, you would've wound up dead! What were you thinking, Brother?" Al's voice was loaded with half-hearted anger, though worry weaved itself through his undertone.

"I'm sorry, Al," Edward muttered, rubbing the back of his sore neck, his vision still dancing double around him. "I just…I just wanted to solve the case I guess. After all, it is my responsibility," he whispered, a bit bitterly, solely for Mustang's presence.

"We're in this together, Brother! How many times do I have to say it before you'll listen to me? Even though you're the one in the military, we both have the same goal. Why did you try to do this by yourself?" Al burst out, voicing his hurt this time.

"That may be true, Al, but you disappeared on me so there wasn't exactly much I could do anyways, now was there?" the small blonde shot back, instantly regretting his words for the second time that day. Or was it the next already?

"That's not the point--"

"Not the point? I don't see--"

"Enough!" Mustang's raised tone shot through the air, so fast that it silenced the two arguing brothers right up. "Al, could you excuse us for a minute?"

"Yes, sir," Al murmured, giving his older brother one last glance before exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

Silence enveloped the room, crossing back and forth between the two, weaving an imperfect path along the way. Rain decided to fall once again, infecting the silence momentarily as it lightly tapped against the window.

"What were you thinking, Full Metal?" Mustang finally spoke, his onyx eyes landing on Edward's pale face, his tone sharp; even. He stared at him through his jet black bangs, his gaze never faltering. Anger hinted at the corners of his eyebrows, though at the moment, he was trying to conceal it.

"I thought we went over this already," Edward mumbled, clearly annoyed at the Colonel's choice of words, his eyes focused on the floor. He tried to hide the involuntary shiver that wracked his bones, but it broke through his barrier, slightly amusing Mustang.

"I don't care how many times we go over something, Edward. If you don't listen or understand the circumstances you're in, then I'll keep repeating it until you do. This is not a game, Full Metal--"

"I know that!" the thirteen year old exclaimed, cutting his superior officer off, sweat tricking down his cheek and falling to the floor. "I'm not some stupid little child that doesn't know what I'm doing!" he added, standing to his feet once more, automatically regretting it as his stomach felt like it was bottoming out. He swayed slightly, but stood his ground.

"Then quit acting like it!" Mustang shot back, his voice raising in volume. The seriousness that his eyes cast off was enough to silence the younger State alchemist, though not for long. "You don't realize how close you were to being killed two days ago, Edward," he stated in a more serious tone, his eyes never disconnecting with the blonde's line of sight.

"You should have just let him do it," he muttered under his breath, though the Colonel heard every word of it, a sudden ferocity flooding through his veins.

Mustang stopped himself before he went into an all out verbal attack. That's not what the boy needed to hear at the moment, though it was tempting…A strange feeling hit him, making him see something that he hadn't quite caught onto before. There was something in the boy's eyes that hurt him to look at, though he'd never admit it, not even to himself. But there was that expression of lost hope; of wanting to give up. It could have just been side effects of the cold the kid was suffering from, but as he took a longer look, he made up his mind that that wasn't true.

He remembered when he had that same look in his eyes; and he too recalled those feelings of hopelessness and being lost. He remembered when he held that barrel up to his lips, but he just couldn't do it…

"So you just want to give up that easily? Let your brother remain in that state forever, knowing that you could have done something about it, but chose not to because you were too selfish? Maybe you're not as intelligent as I first thought…," he let his voice trail off, hoping for some reaction out of the boy. It didn't take long, though guarded as it was.

"I don't want to give up!" Edward returned, a confused expression set upon his flushed features. "It's just…he was so close…," he whispered, his voice shaking as tears met his eyes. "I thought for sure…" He sat down on the bed, placing his head in his hands, embarrassed at his childish actions. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't stop it. He had been so scared, so sure that it was over with. He'd never felt so bad in his life, just the thought of leaving Al alone…

"I…I was frozen," he continued, his automail hand still hiding his tear-stained cheeks. "I tried…I tried so hard, but I just couldn't," he sobbed, his voice on the edge of a breakdown. "I just sat there and watched an innocent man die! He looked right at me! He asked for help…and I just let him die… I let him die! I watched him get killed! I saw it…

It was awful…"

More tears rained on his cheeks, his shoulders rising and falling quickly as they fell down. He never felt so ashamed, so disgustingly unclean in his life, not even when he was covered in his own blood. He shivered again, though the over-sized pajamas were sticking to his skin, the navy blue turning to midnight due to the amount of sweat that was soaking through them.

Mustang studied him quietly, watching the twelve year old fall apart at the seams right before his eyes. He knew no child should go through what this one had; but then again, the kid had signed his childhood away over to the military the moment the ink hit the page, thus rendering him vulnerable to whatever lay ahead. Even if it involved another's death. Everything was eventual; and there was always a first time for everything as well, even if it was none too pleasant.

"You need to rest," the Colonel finally spoke, the tension in the air lessening not one bit. "It's imperative that you're back on the case as soon as possible, and in order for that to happen, you need to rid yourself of whatever has infected your body. I'll be back in the morning to check on you," he concluded, making his way to the door.

"So that's it? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Act as though nothing happened? Like I was never there?" he questioned, unsure of whether it was more to himself or Mustang. He continued as he heard the door open. "You may be able to do that, but I can't." This time it was a direct hit at the Colonel. "I'll never forget the look on that man's face, even if he couldn't see what was happening to him, he still knew. And he knew I was there too." He was quiet for a moment as he waited for some type of response, though the only thing he heard was the door closing, making him feel even lower.

"Dammit!" the curse befell his lips, his fist connecting with the small wooden nightstand. His eyes watered immediately after the impact, pain shooting through his fingertips. He let out a quiet breath, though nothing could suppress the anger that he felt towards himself. He'd let an innocent man die, knowingly. He cringed at the thought, images replaying in his head. "No, I won't have it," he mumbled angrily as he clenched his hand into a fist, ignoring how shaky it was. He could feel a cough tickling the back of his throat, but he ignored that as well.

He had been assigned a job, and he had to do it, sick or not. Determination snaked through his veins, appearing in his golden eyes, a tiny gleam running through the dullness that had made its home in them.

That man was calling out to me…He knew I was there…I could've saved him…I could've…

He cut himself short, the man's last words echoing through his head.

"Wait a minute, he knew who the killer was," he stated to himself, his voice squeaking unexpectedly, though he hardly noticed. "He begged them…" He paused, letting the name come to mind. "Kania, that's it!" he let out, his eyes widening at the resurfaced clue. "All I have to do now is find out who Kania is. That shouldn't be too hard to do, after all, it's not that popular of a name, is it?"

He'd made up his mind by the time he stood up again, though as soon as he reached his feet, a coughing fit pounded his susceptible lungs, sending him stumbling. He caught himself on the wall, impatiently waiting for it to pass. It took a minute, but he finally made it over to his small suitcase, his small body still shuddering due to the stress it was being put under.

He picked up his neatly folded clothes, praying somewhere in the back of his mind that it was Al who had dressed him and not the Colonel. He was so upset before that he forgot to ask…

As he stood back up, the same black and blue spots that had distorted his vision before, came back, causing him to sway. He blinked a few times, but they were still there, his head starting to swim. Faintly, he could hear his stomach growl, knowing that it had been at least a week since he'd last eaten, but he didn't care. He wasn't hungry and he was resolute on staying that way, regardless of the effects it had on him.

It took a minute, but finally his sight was restored, though a faded ache crept into his skull. He shook it off, slowly making his way back over to the bed.

Carefully, he pulled the drenched pajamas off and began to change into his usual attire; the slick black pants going on a little more loosely than normal. He buckled the belt gently, sliding it over another notch. As soon as he slipped on his black undershirt, the door opened, the silhouette of his brother appearing.

"Brother," Al began, then cut himself off as he realized Edward was no longer in his bed clothes. "Brother, where are you going?" he questioned, his voice leaning towards shrill.

"Shh!" the young State alchemist hushed, his brow narrowing as he gestured for his little brother to come in. Once the door was safely shut again, he eased his tone, though it was still hurried. "I've got a lead; I know the person's name. I remembered when I was going through everything in my head," he explained, as though the incident were of casual nature. "When everything was happening…the victim called out their name. Kania. He begged them not to do it…but he knew them. Maybe the killer only targets people that are close to them," he wandered aloud, hiding every ounce of the pain that he truly felt.

"Well, it's not much, but at least it's something to go. I'm sure if we ask around long enough, we'll be sure to come up with something," Al agreed, a gloved hand scratching his metal chin.

"And you were right, Al, they did have automail, just like you said. I think that's plenty to go on. It shouldn't be too hard, right?" he added, trying to force a grin on his strained features, the memory of the automail hand coming towards his chest playing over and over again in the back of his mind.

Alphonse was silent for a moment, something apparently on his mind. It didn't take long for Edward to notice, knowing a question was coming.

"Just say it, Al. What's wrong?" he asked with a raised eyebrow as he slipped on his boots, his hands still shaking.

"You're sick, are you sure you should be going out now? I mean, I know it's important that the killer gets caught, but I don't want you to get any worse, Brother. Are you sure you're going to be alright?" he questioned, worry heavy laden in his tone.

"Al, you've got nothing to worry about. We played lots of times outside when we were sick, remember? And we're still here now, right? It's just a little cold, that's all. Nothing to be concerned about." As soon as he finished his sentence, another coughing fit choked his lungs, annoyance marking his face.

"You were saying?" Al hit back, a smirk like Mustang's crossing his face if it could.

"Let's go," Edward mumbled, making his way to the rain splattered window, red jacket tumbling behind.

"The Colonel's not gonna like this…" Al muttered as he reluctantly followed his older brother, all the while knowing he wanted to catch the killer just as much as Ed did.

"Have I ever cared before?" the blonde alchemist quipped back, a cheeky smile parting his lips.

"Nope," was Al's simple reply before following his older brother out of the window and down to the ground below. Somehow, he just knew it was going to be a long day.

Author's note : Sorry for the cliff! From the previous chapter anyway. No, I couldn't kill Edward. I just don't have the heart. But the suspense added with angst equals eye candy to me! Jk…Forgive me, caffeine truly has an adverse effect on me. Well, since I can't remember who I replied back to, I'll thank all of you right now. Each and every single review was and is appreciated and mean loads to me. So thanks goes to ChibiCorsair, Ominous-Shadow, Aemilia Rose, Zion, me, Jchrys, Birth of Venus, Lyemi, and agent000. Thank you so much for your support, and once again, I hope this chapter will suffice. I know there's not too much action yet, but it's coming! ; ) And I need to apologize and state a correction: In previous chapters, I wrote that Edward is thirteen, when in actuality, he would've been twelve at the time. I realized this after watching a few episodes of the show, so from now on, unless noted otherwise, he's twelve. An insignificant fact, yes, but I'm picky. :) Well, let me know how I did. All feedback is welcome!