Wake me up inside.
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Wake me up.
Bid my blood to run.
Before I come undone
Save me from the nothing I've become

Evanescence, "Bring me to life"

There were bodies sprinkled all over the field like sugar on a cake. Ed could make out that much as she squinted her eyes in the darkness. The only faint light was coming from the stars, giving the motionless figures on the ground an unearthly white sheen.

The bodies were just faceless because she couldn't make them out in the darkness. But as soon as she raised her lantern over her head, harsh golden light flooded the field in an eerie yellow. All this time she had been trying to adjust her sight to the darkness, now it took her few moments to get used to the light.

What she saw made her gasp in horror.

The wounds looked almost fresh due to the cold and they were glistening in the light. Some had died with their eyes open. Some had died with their eyes closed. And all had died with the same look of frozen horror on their faces, the same expression she wore now.

"I can't believe I did all this," she whispered to herself – and the ghosts of the fallen soldiers – in the semi-darkness, wanting to keel at the sight, the stench. These soldiers deserved a proper burial but why didn't their people come to take the bodies away?

The answer was simple – they were afraid. And could she blame them? Could she blame them when they'd witnessed the destruction that a single alchemist was capable of?

"Major Elric!" a voice barked behind her, making her flinch; she had been so immersed in her thoughts that she hadn't heard anyone approaching. This was a time of war, she reminded herself. She'd have to be more alert if she wanted to keep her head.

"General Harrison," she exclaimed, breath coming out in smoke. She was surprised, embarrassed and irritated that her commanding officer in the war had found her in the place where she least wanted to be found.

"I told you not to venture too far from the camps," he scolded her, frowning.

"I just wanted to get some fresh air, Sir," she answered through clenched teeth, ignoring the way that he stared at her, almost as though he suspected that she would desert the army, when all she wanted was to go back home and keep seeking the Philosopher's Stone.

She tightened her coat around her, more to protect her privacy than to protect herself from the weather.

Harrison kept his eyes fixed on her face, his expression cold and hard. "Come, Elric," he turned around and started walking, a signal that she should start walking.

They walked back to their camp, listening to the drunken cheers of the other Amestrian soldiers who were happy that they'd won another battle, their shoes crunching the dry leaves on the ground.

"You have to be prepared for these kinds of things, Major," the General called over his shoulder. "That's what a soldier does when he goes to war. He must be prepared to face the worst."

The words were meant to be paternal and comforting because he could tell how upset she was, and she nodded even though his back was turned to her.

She knew that she might have to go to war when she joined the State Alchemists, but she had comforted herself that she had already lost two of her limbs, and Al's body, and therefore, the worst was over.

But there was nothing on earth that could have prepared her for this

Ed slowly opens her eyes at the sound of water dripping slowly from a tap at regular intervals, a strange but maddening rhythm.

And then there is Al's voice saying her name.

She blinks her eyes a few times, grimacing at the sunlight, and she looks around. It takes her a while to realize that she's in her dorm room, back at Central and the war with Drachma is over. The realization is a breath of fresh air after spending months in a garbage dump. But from time to time, she can still smell the foul odor, haunting her dreams

Ed yawns and stretches languidly, trying to brush off the chill in her bones, not really listening to what Al is telling her, when she suddenly sees the time on the clock.

It's a quarter past nine.

Her eyes slam open.

"Holy shit, Al!" she sits up in a bolt, swinging her legs over the side of her bed like a bulldozer, knocking off his helmet in the process.

"Hey!" he cries, reaching out to fish out said helmet, which has rolled under the bed.

"Eh, sorry, Al," the blonde girl rushes to the bathroom, hair flying behind her like a magic carpet. "I'm late for work!" She slams the door behind her.

Al has found his helmet by now and reattached it to his shoulders, looking around to the direction of the sound. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for half-an-hour!"

They run through the courtyard in a mad frenzy, Al lagging a bit because of his armor. People see them coming and jump out of the way, dogs barking, newspapers flying. He pauses very briefly to give them a proper apology while Ed yells a loud "Sorry!" and goes on her way.

"Hurry up, Al!" she calls behind her, silently cursing the situation. Of all days, how could she have overslept on the day of being reinstated a State Alchemist? She has woken up earlier than usual, say at seven or eight, during the past two weeks, and she even went to bed early last night, too tired to have dinner (which was weird), listening to Al talk to Winry in the hallway.

It irritates her sometimes to be around Al and Winry because she feels like the third wheel, as if she's butting into something private. She feels left out, but Al's happy and that makes her happy.

She's breathing hard like a woman in labor by the time she has reached the outside of Mustang's quarters, feeling weak and nauseous from the lack of breakfast and the memory of death. Al catches up a moment later, twin red glows softening in concern.

"You haven't had any breakfast, Sister," he says to her. "Do you want me to get you something from the cafeteria?"

Ed is moved, as always, by her brother's consideration and kind heart. Does he feel so resentment that because of her, he cannot touch or kiss his sweetheart?

Why don't you blame me, Al? Or do you actually hate me, but just don't show it? Do you hate me, Al? You can tell me...I won't hold it against you...because I would hate me if I were you.

She gives him a slight smile and shakes her head, sleek ponytail swinging behind her like a pendulum. "There's no time for that, Al. I'm going in now. Wish me luck." She turns around to open theoor.

"Okay," he nods. "I'll be at the library then. I'll bring you something good to eat at lunchtime."

Ed stiffens before the door, face falling, eyes saddening. Why do you have to be so goddamn nice to me? Don't you hate me...even just a bit? "Sure. See you later."

"See you, Sister, and good luck."

She smiles a little and shuts the door behind her. It's finally here. Return-to-work day. She is torn between feeling happy and sad that this day is finally here – happy that for two weeks, she could rest and relax and not have to put up with Mustang's infuriated smirks and sneers, and sad that this blessing in disguise is finally being taken away like food from an orphan. She would've liked Al to come in with her, but she would rather not have him there, come to think of it. No doubt Mustang would say something utterly humiliating (she would actually be upset if he didn't – hey, Mustang, you okay? Say something! Something bad.) but Al's been in a really good mood lately. So she doesn't want him to get upset over something the bastard says to her.

Everyone is at their desks, looking busier than usual, except for Hawkeye. She is at her desk, reading this leather-bound book like she usually does (what's in the book, anyway?) and at the sound of the door closing, she looks up. "Edward – " she starts.

"I know, I know," says the young girl. "I'm here to see the Colonel – is he in?"

"Now is not really a good time," the First Lieutenant begins weakly but she is cut off by a deep booming voice coming through the ajar door of the owner's office. "Is that Fullmetal?"

"Yes, Sir," Hawkeye answers.

A pause.

"Send her right in."

Ed takes a deep breath and then she goes in.

Mustang is behind his desk, scrutinizing official documents (or pretending to scrutinize, for all she knows, he could be trying to remember what his date from last night looked like). They haven't had any contact since the automail fair and she hasn't thought much of him since then, her thoughts skipping over him like stones in a pond. She didn't even miss Russell that much the next day, but somehow her subconscious prevented her from thinking of a certain Colonel.

He turns a page of the document, reminding her of a schoolteacher marking scripts. "You're late, Fullmetal," he says quietly.

She reddens even though she has seen this coming. "Yes, Colonel. I'm sorry about that."

"Hmm," he doesn't look up at her but she still has the feeling that he is watching her every move. "You are to be reinstated as a State Alchemist today, are you not?"

"Yes, Sir." Why does he have to rub in?

"All right then." Mustang finally puts the papers away and looks at Ed. "Take a seat, Fullmetal."

Hesitantly, she does so and he looks at her levelly. She prepares herself for a dressing down.

"As you are aware, the higher-ups have strongly disapproved of your disobedience in the war," he says, "but they agreed to give you a second chance."

She nods, waiting to hear what he has to say next.

"The military brass knows that you go out often on missions," he continues, "but for the time being, they have another assignment for you."

Golden brows furrow. "Which is?"

He drops a stack of papers before her. "These are the answer booklets of the State Alchemy exam that took place two days ago," he informs her, noticing her perplexed look as she gaped at them. "They'd like you to check these."

Ed stares at the booklets, shocked. It takes a while for the words to sink in before she looks up at Mustang. "What?" she says under her breath.

He leans back in his chair; it's almost as if he's enjoying her confusion. "You heard me. They want to you to check them."

She keeps staring at him. "But I don't know anything about marking exams!" she protests.

"It's not a big deal," he shrugs. "You've taken the exam. This should be a piece of cake for you." When she still looks reluctant, he reiterates coolly, "It's a 'request' from the higher-ups, Ed. Not an assignment from me."

"But the stone – " she sputters, trying her best to weasel away out of this. All she is interested in is information on the legendary artifact. Anything besides that holds no fascination for her.

"I have no leads for you at the moment," he explains. "But rest assured that when I do, I will let you know."

She remains seated, staring at the papers in horror. What is going on? "Is this for Drachma?" she blurts out before she can stop herself.

Onyx eyes narrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Drachma," she repeats, trying to hide her panic. "I know that I've been suspended for two weeks but this..."

"Edward," he interrupts her, voice firm. "I assure you this has nothing to do with Drachma. All State Alchemists are often asked to check the answer scripts of the entrance exams. I've done it before, when you applied. It's not a big deal."

She stares at him for a moment. And then she nods grudgingly.

"Now if you don't mind," he gestures towards a small desk in the corner.

Once again, she is horrified. "I have to do this right here?" she demands.

"The scripts cannot leave this office," he says, deadpan. "Now please, get to work."

She grimaces. "You're awfully cranky today," she comments. "What, you didn't get a date last night?"

She shoots her a look that immediately sets her to work because he is not a person to be messed with this morning.

The answers are long and boring, many of the applicants having gotten wrong the easiest questions. She rolls her eyes, scribbling comments in red ink, regretting that they would not be getting these back. She is tempted to smack the pathetic applications and tell them not to take the exam if they can't tell the difference between a transmutation array and the transmutation itself. Her stomach is rumbling softly but she wills herself to ignore it. She's gone so long without food; she can wait for another three hours.

"Hmm," she says to herself suddenly as she looks carefully at one of the answer booklets.

Mustang looks up at her with a frown. "What's that?"

She glances at him. "Um, nothing...I just noticed that there are no examinees from Risembool."

He stares at her for a moment. And then he smirks.

"Well," he says as he goes back to whatever he was writing (a recommendation? Love letter?). "There aren't too many people from your village who're interested in alchemy, let alone becoming a State Alchemist. As I recall, Mrs. Rockbell was strongly against you taking the exam when I suggested it."

Ed frowns. "She was against the idea because her son was killed by a State Alchemist," she pointed out, heated. "Not because she has something against alchemists." Just as soon as the words leave her mouth, it dawns upon her that maybe old lady Pinako does have a thing against alchemy because she looked extremely offended when Ed suggested human transmutation. No, she did have a point. Heh. Even Aunt Pinako knew that human transmutation is a forbidden science. And Ed still had to go do it.

That's why we automail engineers exist, Ed recalls the elderly woman saying as she looks down at her metal prosthetics, and she smiles bitterly. You have no idea.

"Perhaps so," Mustang says straight-faced. "But your people are more concerned with the harvest next season than the latest ground-breaking theory in biological transmutation, aren't they?" The corner of his mouth twitched in a small smile.

She narrows her eyes at the slight to her people. "We all have our priorities," she says slowly, brows knitted to show her displeasure. It is one thing for him to insult her, and another thing to extend the insult to the people of Risembool. "But we have the best automail engineers in Amestris!" she glows, a child able to defend herself in the least way possible.

To her surprise, he rolls his eyes, a way of dealing with her naiveté. "No offence, Fullmetal, but while they might be very good at what they do, they're certainly not the best."

She glowers at him, fists tightened in rage, offended by the very statement. "How can you say that?" she snarls. "You haven't seen the automail they gave me!"

"Calm down, Ed," he chides, making her wonder if he just likes pissing her off. "And I certainly have seen your automail – impressive craftsmanship," he smirks a bit when he sees how proud she looks, but her face falls when he concludes, "but it's not the best."

"But Winry won the automail competition!" she argues vehemently, refusing to give up and let him win this little "debate."

"Miss Rockbell's work was comparatively better than anyone else's," he replies calmly, writing away. "But she has a long way to go."

"Hmmph," she folds her arms across her best and turns away, sulking like a child who did not get a cookie. "So you think nothing of their work. And since when did you become an expert on automail, anyway?"

"I didn't say I was," he says. "There's no need to take everything so personally. It takes a lot of work – for anyone – to become the best in a certain field. Your friend may not be the best yet, but she's certainly determined to become so."

Ed is surprised to detect a hint of admiration and...relief in his tone. Relief? Why would he feel relief? He sounds awfully comprehensive in his assessment of Winry's talents, as if he'd put a lot of thought into it. "Well," she says thoughtfully, "all she really wants to do is to help people." And it is the truth, come to think of it. Winry is here to learn more about her craft so that she can help people, not because she is competitive or for personal gain. Funny how the Colonel should be the one to make her realize that.

He looks at her again, silent. "That's a very noble aspiration," he says quietly, eyes boring into hers, making her forget what she wants to say. Her mouth feels dry suddenly and her heart skips a beat when he keep holding her gaze like piercing vice, and she can't look away until he does first.

"Her parents were like that, too," she shrugs and takes up another booklet. "They were like that at the Ishbal rebellion. I heard – all they wanted to do was help people. They didn't care if the wounded were Amestrian or Ishabalan. They only wanted to do their job." When she hears Mustang say nothing, she turns her head to find him sitting stiffly, grip so tight on his pen that his knuckles have turned white. He looks like he's remembering something (from his experience at the war, perhaps?).

She wonders what she could have said wrong. "Colonel?" she ventures tentatively. "You all right?"

He snaps out of whatever it was and looks at her sharply. "Go back to work, Fullmetal. Chit chat on your own time."

She feels like she's been slapped in the face and for a moment, she's tempted to retort by pointing out how much worktime he wastes calling his girlfriends when Hawkeye is away, but she decides against it.

For the next two hours, the only sounds in the room are those of sealing envelops, the turning of pages and the scratching of pens. Ed immerses herself in a world of scribbled answers about the origins of transmutation circles and Diefenbaker's hypothesis on water alchemy.

She freezes.

Water alchemy.

There was this State Alchemist at Drachma, known as the Waterstring Alchemist, whose talent was to manipulate the properties of water and turn it into some kind of killing instrument that could slice a victim in half. Ed saw the woman at work. If her power wasn't so deadly, she would have thought her magnificent. It was the sight of the Waterstring Alchemist at work splitting live people in half that strengthened her resolve not hurt people with alchemy, even if it meant her being court-martialed, even if it meant never recovering Al's body.

Often, when she closes her eyes, the screams of the fallen Drachman soldiers ring fresh in her ears, and she can feel the warm splatter of blood on her skin.

The scraping of the Colonel's chair rouses her from her trance and she finds him standing. He looks too tall, and foreboding, for a moment, an angel of death come to punish her for what she's done and instinctively, she shrinks back in horror, watching carefully as he straightens his jacket. He looks pissed about something.

When he notices her staring at him, he says curtly, "It's lunchtime, Fullmetal. I'm surprised you haven't figured that out when your stomach has a tendency to growl every five minutes."

She flushes and gets to her feet slowly. "That was uncalled for, Colonel," she mutters, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, the world spinning, the ground shaking.

Bodies, bodies everywhere, not a single one living.

She can't breathe; all she sees is blood, all she smells is death as the carrion settle on the decaying, mangled corpses, and shortly after, wolves come to feel on the remains, making her want to hurl.

She moans; it is almost inaudible. She grips the edge of her desk to steady herself and still the world, taking deep breaths to calm down and stop her heart racing.

Mustang frowns at her. "Fullmetal?" he cocks his head to the side, eyeing her carefully. "You okay?"

Flies buzzing around the bodies, wolves tearing at the rosy flesh, desecrating that which should have received a proper burial. Here is someone's father, someone's husband, someone's brother, someone's son. And they have been reduced to food for insects and wild animals.

The walls are closing in on her fast and she can't see anything anymore. The last thing she remembers before she slips into darkness is a pair or strong arms catching her.

She's swimming in darkness. It feels cold and wet around her legs, like she is in a snake pit; it takes a while for her to realize that it's water.

Or something else.

Like blood.

She walks forward, her hands stretched out to see what kind of place this is, but all she can feel is the cold slap of stone against her bare feet. (What happened to her shoes?)

She keeps going forward until she sees a dim light in the distance. She blinks to make sure that this isn't a mirage in a desert,

There's a single island in the middle of this sea of blood with a tall lamp post. And then there are bodies.

What is this place? She wonders, wincing. As she goes further, she notices a young boy with frightened grey eyes, and long sandy blond hair. He is hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes come to rest on her and she gasps, fixed to the spot.

Al...

The boy is relieved and he holds out his arms, a child beckoning to his mother to be picked up. "I'm scared, Sister," he whimpers, urging that she go to him at once. "Help me!"

She wants to. But her feet seem glued to the ground.

Her eyes narrow upon seeing the mass of corpses stir behind Al. It is a sudden movement, lasting only for a few seconds. He seems to have felt it because he looks more afraid than before. She should get going. She should go to him and pick him up and then get out of this horrid place...wherever it is.

But she still can't move.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the corpses quickly merge together, rising up in the form of a giant snake, its mouth wide open, wearing the face of a thousand suffering humans, eye eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. It throws her a malicious look, and grins evilly as it looks down at Al, whose eyes are wide with fear and horror.

"Sister..." he pleads, piercing into her heart.

The snake opens its jaws and strikes down to engulf him whole.

She screams.

Ed comes to and sits up with a bolt, pressed against a warm human chest. A living human chest. She clutches desperately at the thick blue fabric, breath coming out in pants. Her heart is pounding loudly in her breast, forehead sheened with sweat as she tries to chase away the nightmarish images that still linger in her mind.

"Al," she whispers, tears coming to her eyes, grip tightening on the blue serge as she presses her cheek against it, listening to the regular beat of the hidden heart. She squeezes her eyes shut. "Al..."

"Bad dream?" a familiar voice asks gently.

Her eyes fly open and she freezes.

Mustang.

Damn.

She's about to pull away but then his hands come to rest on her back in an awkward attempt to comfort her.

She wants to die.

Instead, she takes a deep breath and rests her forehead on his shoulder, blinking back her tears. It waSs just a nightmare...in the middle of the day.

"Where's Al?" she croaks, her throat feeling as if she'd been thirsty for days.

"He's right outside – he's very worried about you," the Colonel assures her, patting her gently on the back. She closes her eyes involuntarily, pleased by the warmth of his hands, it's been so long since she's felt such human warmth – technically, Russell would always touch her whenever they were together, but this was somehow difference, more soothing. Almost as if he understands.

He probably does.

"Shall I call him in?" he asks, looking down at her as she tilts back her head, feeling his breath on her face.

Her heart chooses to flutter at the oddest of times.

She shakes her head slowly, not yet recovered, body still trembling.

"You okay, Ed?" he sounds genuinely concerned, patting her on the back again. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," she lies and slowly disentangles from their awkward embrace, harshly reminding herself that this is her commanding officer, not her mother.

Or her father.

She blushes furiously, embarrassed that he has seen her in such a moment of weakness.

"What – what happened?" she shifts, placing her feet on the carpet.

"You passed out," he answers. "You don't remember?"

"Oh..."

"Alphonse told me you hadn't eaten anything since last night. So I had some sandwiches brought over for you."

"Um...thanks." She is surprised by this gesture, even more so when he pushes the tray towards her. At first, she isn't inclined to eat, feeling tired and dizzy. But then, she reminds herself that she needs to eat to feel better and she starts to munch on the chicken sandwiches.

They remain in heavy silence, not knowing what to say to each other, but Mustang breaks the silence. "Eat up," he just says. "Did you have a nightmare?"

She pauses before swallowing. He takes that as an affirmative answer.

"You kept saying Alphonse's name when you were out," he goes on slowly, eyes deep and anxious. "And then you kept apologizing to the soldiers..."

Suddenly, Ed isn't hungry anymore. She finishes her sandwich and takes a drink of water, deliberately not meeting his penetrating gaze.

He remains unfazed. "It happens, Ed," he says unobtrusively, words meant only for her. "It happens to us all."

"I guess I should've been expecting it, huh?" she remarks bitterly.

He looks like he wants to say something more to her, but propriety prevents him, and he simply nods.

"I want to see Al now," she looks up at him.

"Of course," he nods again. "You wait here, I'll go get him."

She is puzzled why he's being so nice all of a sudden when he was insulting her just hours ago, but hell if she's complaining. She watches his back disappear from the door and moments later, Al comes in, armor clanking.

It is a comforting sound.

"Sister!" he cries. For a moment she thinks he's going to hug her, but he stands at bay, looking at her carefully with those red glows people have come to think of as eyes. What color were his eyes back then? Ah yes. They were gray. Wide and grey, reflecting the light of the sun whenever they played outside. They would brim so easily with tears when he was young, and then their mother would scold her for picking on him.

"What happened? Are you okay? Say something!" he says desperately.

She manages a small smile. "I'm okay, Al, I just wasn't feeling too well." She glances at the tray of sandwiches. "Guess this is the last time I'll be going without breakfast, huh?"

"I told you to eat something, didn't I?" he chides her. "The Colonel got you some food – "

"Yeah, I had it," she says, trying to calm him down. Honestly, she should be the one fretting after having that terrifying nightmare.

"He was pretty worried about the way you passed out."

"Oh...really?"

"Yeah, he sent Sergeant Falman to get me. I was so worried about you, Sister..."

She smiles again, despite his concern for her firing her guilt. Why are you so nice to me? "Don't sweat it, Al," she comforts him, "I'm fine. Really. I feel a lot better than before." And she does.

Until the images rush back to her, the blood, the darkness, the serpentine corpses engulfing him, and her blood runs cold.

"Hey, Al?" she gets to her feet slowly, swallowing, hating how he's treating her like glass. "Could you come here for a moment?"

Al complies. "What is it?"

She takes a step forward and embraces him, pressing herself to the cool plates of metal, remembering a time when her brother had a warm body and a heartbeat. He is surprised at first but then he returns the embrace, large leather gauntlets coming to rest upon her shoulder blades. "Ed?" he says her name softly, confused at this sudden display of affection.

She tightens her arms around him. "I'm going to get your body back, Al," she whispers fervently, golden eyes filled with determination and promise. "I don't care how long it takes or what I have to do – I'm going to get your body back."