DA: Well it's that time of week again! Hope you're all excited for the new chapter. I know I am. I have no witty conversational openings today, so let's just get right to the chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA... or do I? Just kidding.
DA: Usual warnings apply, probably. Enjoy!
Darkness to Dawn
Chapter 9
When Ed woke, something had definitely changed about his surroundings from when he had passed out. Something about the way the air around him smelled. There was no stale blood and sweat, just crisp, clean oxygen. And he was being jostled, strong arms roped around his shoulders and knees. Each movement sent a spike of fresh pain through his body, bringing an unconscious moan from his lips. "Just hang on Ed," a voice whispered urgently to him from above. He recognized the voice, if only vaguely. His head ached too much for him to grasp something so simple as recognition, but he knew that if he gave it time, he'd know. Already the fuzzy memories from before were becoming clearer, though the images of blurry faces didn't help much either. "We're almost out." The blond cracked his eyes open, nearly wincing at the bright flashes of light that pierced his corneas. A dark-haired man hovered above him, his dark eyes directed to the way they were traveling rather than the person in his arms.
"Colonel..." he murmured through chapped lips, voice hoarse. At the barely audible word, those dark eyes instantly snapped down to him, concern drawing harsh lines between his eyebrows.
"Ed, you with me?" Through slitted eyes, he could see glimpses of the battle raging on around them. Gunfire peppered around them, the culprits soon shot themselves. Why wasn't Mustang fighting himself? He was a State Alchemist and therefore one of the more qualified fighters in the group.
"Why 'rn't you f'ghtin'?" His tongue was thick in his mouth, filling up more than it should. The Colonel looked relieved, if only slightly, a small smile feathering his lips.
"Someone needed to carry you out. Clearly though, if you're coherent enough to worry that I'm not fighting, you can walk yourself." It was a weak joke, they both knew it. A nearby explosion caused Mustang to stumble, severely jostling the young form in his arms. Ed moaned at the agony that followed, eyes squeezing shut. "Sorry... Lost my footing for a second. You alright?" He cracked his eyes open to glare at his superior, feeling his blond hair sticking to the blood wetting his face. Mustang winced in sympathy, the skin around his eyes tightening in worry. "Bad question." Surveying the area around them, he scowled, apparently not pleased with their current situation. Finally, he sighed. "Just bear with me for a little while, Ed. I'll get you out of this." Then they were off again, and Ed's world blackened around the edges, his mind floating in a hazy world.
A blond woman ran beside them, her head peeking over Mustang's shoulder to sneak a glance at Ed. "Is he conscious?" she questioned in a hurried whisper, shifting so she could quickly fire her gun at a possible enemy. He risked a glance down at the boy, eyes instantly flashing up to the hallway they were currently sprinting through.
"He fades in and out. All this moving isn't exactly good for him in his condition," he relayed, sounding breathless. His arms were straining with the boy's weight, which was surprisingly large for a child so small. "He was worrying about me a few minutes ago, but I think he's out again."
"Don't count me out yet, bastard," Ed murmured, body tensing at the subtle vibration that traveled up to him. Not like he'd admit it, but he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into the Colonel's stained jacket and sob in agony. He held strong though, not all that comfortable with all this attention focused onto him. "And I wasn't w'rryin'. Just curious. You always try to fight, even when useless." Roy rolled his eyes, nearly growling at the blond. Yet another explosion rocked the ground, the following pain sending the younger alchemist reeling. Seeing his reaction, the black-haired man frowned, desiring with all his heart to yell at his men, or whoever was setting off these damned explosions (why the hell did he come up with that idea again?), to fucking cool it. There was one bright side; they could see the exit, the glow of real sunlight peeking from the cracks around the door at the end of the hall. But with a severely wounded Fullmetal, they could only go so fast without the risk of causing him pain and even more damage than had already been done. "Go as fast as you need. Don't worry about me. I can take it," the boy lied smoothly, voice a harsh whisper. He understood the situation and realized why they were hesitating, his mind, even hindered, putting the reasoning together. The pair looked unsure as the teen leveled a stern but unfocused gaze at them. Eventually, Mustang sighed and nodded. He glanced back at the Lieutenant, watching the conflict in her eyes.
"You'll have my back?" She raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. Her eyes seemed to settle as her hand flashed up to shoot yet another man, her mouth a determined slash across her face. Ed noticed vaguely (that seemed to be happening a lot lately) that though her hair was matted with sweat and other types of bodily fluids, quite similar to his own, the color was high in her face as it always seemed to be in the middle of a firefight. Roy just seemed to notice as well, a small smile lifting his face, marking it with an unidentifiable emotion.
"Of course, sir," she responded, calmly pulling out another handgun. He shook his head, mouth quirking into a smirk. Where she hid all of her firearms, he didn't want to know. Checking on his cargo one last time, he nodded and started to run, trying to hold his arms as still as possible. It wasn't working. Muffled cries and pained winces assaulted his ears as they sped down the hallway, each urging the Colonel to move faster. He was almost glad when the weakly writhing form in his arms gave in and went completely limp, the blond head lolling against his shoulder.
They burst outdoors, someone jamming their rifle under the handle so it couldn't be opened easily. The bright dawn sunlight was glinting out from between the trees, shining like a searchlight to point them in the right direction. They kept running.
Mustang took a deep breath and stopped once they were deep enough into the forest covering, glancing behind him. Sweat trickled down his face, tracing lines through the dust and grime. This was far enough. "Ok, names and injuries people," he ordered briskly, dark eyes still scanning the area for its security.
"Havoc, I'm a little bruised, but alright."
"Falman, singed but fine."
"Breda, left arm's burned. Who's brilliant idea was it to set off those bombs..." The last part was muttered, the man clearly annoyed. Once again, Mustang reminded himself involuntarily that it was his idea, feeling slightly guilty. But that, he shook off quickly.
"Fuery, possibly concussed, but not badly."
"Hawkeye, I'm fine." He blew out a sigh of relief and lowered himself slowly to the ground, carefully draping Ed across his lap. Even unconscious, the teen's face was etched with pain and paler than a ghost. The worry that had formed in a loose ball in his gut tightened, earlier relief at his team's relative safety gone.
"Havoc, I need you with me. The rest of you secure the area." With a single, "yes sir," they were all obediently off, the blond soldier making his way slowly over to his superior. "You have medical experience, am I right Havoc?" Havoc nodded dumbly, his gaze trained on the young form in Mustang's arms. "Please, help him as best you can. We shouldn't leave until we know what we're dealing with." At the desperation in the dark-haired man's voice, Havoc looked up curiously, but his attention soon returned to Ed, who stirred weakly with a low moan.
With steady fingers, he softly prodded at the boy, mentally cataloging each injury he found. His scowl deepened, blood soaking his fingers as they accidentally dug into the deep slice along the boy's side. And all the color left his face as the already slick fingers bumped into a thick rod, embedded in the boy's left thigh. When he was done, he looked up at the Colonel and sighed, running his hand through his hair, paying no mind at the red streaks his fingers left in their wake. "It's not good. He's losing blood too fast and with him being as tiny as he is, that could become a real problem. Doesn't look like anything vital was hit, thankfully, but there are isolated spots of internal bleeding we should keep an eye on," he quickly summarized about the worst of the damage, gauging the worry in his boss's face. His hand snaked out and caught Ed's wrist, feeling around for his pulse. "Skin's cold and clammy and pulse is fast and thready at best. He might be going into shock if he isn't already."
Edward's eyelids twitched, groaning slightly. "'m not tiny..." he managed, voice no more than a breathy whisper. Roy smiled slightly, relieved at the protest, even weak. The boy opened his eyes slightly, the barest amount of glazed gold peeking through the slits. "You ok?" Mustang's eyebrows furrowed slightly at the question before he realized it wasn't directed at him. He glanced up at his subordinate, taking in his appearance. Havoc looked tired, bruises darkening the skin of his face where stray rocks had struck him. Blood dyed his hair in finger-sized lines, a stark contrast from the usual blond. His blue eyes were a little startled at the question, mouth opening slightly in shock. But even that couldn't hide the worry lines creasing the skin on his forehead.
"Me? Yea, I'm a little bruised, but fine. You should worry more about yourself, chief." Ed looked skeptical, gaze drifting up to the stains in his hair. Havoc rolled his eyes and glanced around, noticing that everyone was starting to return. "But enough about that. Did anybody think to pack bandages?" Colonel Mustang's eyes widened a fraction, temporarily horrified at his own failing, but the expression was gone almost instantly. Falman saved them all when he pulled a roll of white linen from his bag as well as a plain white cloth to dab the injuries free of blood. The blond soldier smiled gratefully, taking the supplies. "Colonel. I'm gonna need your help here." The dark-haired man nodded, tightening his hold on the younger alchemist as Havoc took hold of the ripped clothing.
"Hey, what're you doing?" Ed yelped weakly, clearly surprised by this development. He struggled halfheartedly, even though the tattered remains of his clothing barely covered his body. After getting elbowed in the gut with an automail arm, Mustang grabbed the arm and yanked it down to restrain it. The boy went grey at the treatment, a strangled gasp leaving his throat. "Ow! Shit, ow! Don't touch the automail!" Roy let go, eyes wide and watching as Ed took shuddering breaths to gain control of himself. Finally, he looked up, pallor gaining some semblance of color, a small smile fluttering across his face. "Sorry. The ports are a bit sensitive right now."
They finished removing his shirt in silence, Ed hissing slightly in pain when either of his arms were jostled. Havoc threw the scraps of ruined cloth aside and shook his head as his superior went to remove the alchemist's tight leather pants. "They won't come off. Believe me." He leaned in closer to inspect the bloody wound on the teen's side as Mustang's eyebrows furrowed, his dark eyes sliding to find the reason why. It was easily found. He gasped, fingers prodding the rod in his subordinate's leg.
"How about you don't touch that either, bastard?" Ed moaned, eyes squeezing shut as pain tilted his world slightly. The hand retreated instantly, a hard, worried look on the man's face.
"Alright. I'm ready. Colonel, hold him up. Chief, this is going to hurt. A lot." He nodded, wincing slightly as the Colonel's hands gently lifted him upright. The moment Havoc's hands pressed down on his side, his vision flashed white. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, the pressure remaining constant. Spots of black began to speckle the white, creating an abstract painting where his sight used to be. Agony sliced through his being, loosening his hold on consciousness, and everything faded to a peaceful black.
Mustang braced the now limp form more fully against his body, the boy's head reclining back against his shoulder. "Thank God," he murmured, sighing gently. Havoc looked up, quirking an eyebrow.
"Thought you didn't believe, boss," he stated, sounding amused. He finished wrapping the bandages around Ed's torso, effectively treating two serious injuries. Mustang snorted slightly, laying the boy down again.
"Even I have my moments of belief. They're just infrequent."
FMAFMA
Mustang sat in the waiting room, trying his hardest not to look at the stark white walls. It was the one thing he hated about hospitals, the blandness that seemed to suck the color and life from everything. He could feel it tugging at him already, bleaching him of personality and causing his eyelids to droop.
A cup of coffee was thrust in front of him, steam curling off the rim. He took it with a grateful sigh, flashing a weak grin at his lieutenant. "Still no word?" she asked, lowering herself into the seat next to him. He shook his head, sipping absently at the bitter liquid. "He'll be alright, sir. You know how he is."
"But I'll be damned if he doesn't worry the hell out of me first," he muttered almost disdainfully. His dark eyes kept scanning the immediate area for any signs of change, a doctor, a nurse, anything. He was more worried than he'd readily admit, but it was justified. The kid had been half a second from bleeding out when they'd traipsed their collective asses into the hospital. He'd lost count of how many times they'd had to layer bandages over the existing ones in an attempt to keep Ed's blood in his body. Havoc had already been ordered to go home and rest, which he had done but only after he'd made Roy promise to call him when they heard any news.
"Did you call Alphonse?" The quiet question dragged him from his daze, a sense of dread filling him. His eyes widened and he took a drink of coffee to smother his moan.
"Shit. I hadn't even thought of that..." Sighing, he gave his coffee to Riza and hauled himself out of the uncomfortable plastic chair. "I'll be back soon."
"You might want to call the Rockbells while you're at it, sir." He whirled around to glare at her, scowling.
"This isn't a funeral. I don't think I need to call the entire world." The blond regarded him calmly, though if he looked carefully, a small, mostly imperceptible smile was upon her lips.
"They are his automail engineers, sir." All his anger fled him, the scowl dropping from his features.
"Oh..." He turned quickly so she couldn't see the mild blush that brushed his cheeks and walked out, hiding his embarrassment with a confident stride.
He was still on the phone when Hawkeye walked over several minutes later, a man in green scrubs following closely behind. Listening to Alphonse squawking worriedly, he swallowed, holding a finger up to the newcomers. "I don't know, Al. The doctor just showed so I'll talk to you when you get to the hospital." He placed the phone on its cradle and, taking a deep breath to calm himself, turned towards the doctor. The man was middle aged, graying hair meshing with dark brown. A surgical mask hung loosely around his neck, speckled with red. The mint green scrubs were also splotched with scarlet, though Mustang tried not to think about were that had come from. "Well, doctor?"
"Colonel Mustang, correct?" the doctor asked, nodding at the affirmative. "It was stop and go for a little while there, but Mr. Elric's condition is stable." Mustang let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the tight ball of anxiety in his gut relaxing. "We removed his automail to help his recovery. You called his engineer, am I right?" He nodded again, paying close attention to the words. "Good. I'll need his help with something. The rod in his leg seems to be intertwined with the wires of the port and it could be detrimental if I were to try and remove it without the assistance of a skilled automail engineer." The doctor paused, glancing at both of his listeners. "Would you like to see him?"
FMAFMA
The room smelt of antiseptic, thinly masking the thick, metallic stench of blood. The doctor gave the usual warnings - don't make too much noise, he needs his rest - and left, muttering about Ed's age. Roy walked inside the white-walled room, Hawkeye stationed just at his back. A gentle, but steady beeping filled the room with sound, drawing attention to the bed. Fullmetal looked small without his automail, something he'd probably noticed before, but never truly thought about. Blankets were pulled up under his arm, seeming to suck the teen into the bed. Golden hair was splayed against the white pillow, let out from its usual constraint for once.
His face was a mess of bruises, the colors alternating from red to purple to black. Seven neat stitches lined the bottom of his left eye, holding the cut together. Hand prints encircled his neck in the form of contusions, each vivid against the practically colorless skin. Crisp bandages peeked out from beneath the hospital garb, but it was impossible to determine the extent of the damage within the layers. Ed's forearm bore a pristine cast, reaching up to just before his elbow, where an IV was attached.
Mustang sat heavily in the chair next to the bed, feeling numb. Sure, he'd rescued the boy, but he had no idea how much damage his subordinate had managed to accumulate. The majority of the injuries had been hidden by blood and grime. Lacing fingers through his hair, Roy lowered his head into his hands. God, he was tired.
A hand dropped onto his shoulder, squeezing it gently. He looked up and smiled tiredly at Riza, letting out a frustrated sigh as he sat back. "Al's on his way. Given the fact that he's a tireless suite of armor, I give him ten minutes until he's here," he informed her, though his eyes remained trained on the bed. "The Rockbell's will probably be here in the morning. They're taking the earliest train to Central."
"I'll arrange a transport to meet them at the station, sir," she responded, her hand remaining in contact with him. "Do you want me to wait for Alphonse in the lobby?" He nodded, rubbing angrily at his eyes as if the motion would drive his exhaustion away. "Alright. I'll be back shortly." Squeezing his shoulder one last time, she returned his coffee to his hands and left.
"Thank you, Riza." His tone was soft, so quiet the blond barely caught it as she passed through the door. Pausing, she turned back to glance at the man, her brown eyes soft.
"Don't mention it, sir." He smiled into his cup, dark eyes watching the woman as she retreated down the hallway. She always knew what he needed, even when he himself didn't know.
His gaze shifted back to the injured teen, his grin dropping from his face, the worry lines deepening. If only he'd fought the Fuhrer more, then maybe Ed wouldn't have gotten hurt. But Bradley had insisted on sending the two alchemists into an active warzone with limited backup and when the Fuhrer insists, no one can question him. Mustang had tried, only to fail. So he had done the next best thing: gathered his most trusted men. But even that had failed.
Staring at the remains of the brown liquid, the dark-haired man's conscience churned with guilt. Dragging his palm across his forehead, he directed his eyes at the ceiling. The Colonel listened intently to the sharp, but constant beeping, not noticing as his eyelids began to descend.
DA: Damn, I end a lot of chapters with someone passing out... Hehe. But hey, it works. I love exhausted Mustang. He's my favorite... though he enjoys glaring at me inside my head if I leave him as exhausted for an extended period of time. Yep, I'm kinda insane but aren't all writers?
Anyways, don't worry if it looks like the story's ending soon. There's still quite a few plot points I have yet to close. Some of them are far more obvious than others. But I'll just leave you with that. After all, it wouldn't do to give too much away.
Tell me what you thought of this chapter! See you all next week!
May your hearts stay strong,
DarkAngel555
