Battle Cry
Chapter 9
"Woe to the hands that shed this costly blood"
-Julius Caesar
Ed could only grunt in reply with the spoon in his mouth as it was there to stop him from interrupting as well as protect him from the pain. His skin cooled as Catalina swabbed him with a piece of cheese cloth soaked with the few remaining drops of precious alcohol from Mustang's flask cap. He blinked as Breda blocked out the light as he approached from the other side to hold him down. Falman's hands grasped his forearm and bicep to keep the arm from moving while the procedure was done. Ed wasn't sure if they doubted his pain tolerance or if they simply wanted to hold on to him, to physically try to keep him from slipping away from them just as Mustang had.
And there he was again, closing his eyes because he couldn't get the last image of Mustang's stupid smile out of his head as he tried to make the situation in Vertigris less dire. Bastard. He hated himself for not seeing the motives behinds Mustang's carefully chosen words and attitude until now. How he cleverly hid his dedication to his people behind that arrogant facade, but his actions had always spoken the truth. Ed could break a human down into mere elements, but he couldn't see past a mere act to see what Mustang really was made of until it was too late. He remembered the calm of looking at Mustang's damned grin and listening to his unwavering voice and knew that was what a good leader would do. So he opened his eyes and spat out the spoon. Then he sternly said, "Lieutenant, we can't wait any longer. The Colonel needs blood."
Rebecca nodded. Ed's voice was lower, he was trying to sound so much older than he really was. He was trying to mimic Mustang, this time not a joke or in an attempt to mock his superior, but to emulate the man and try to rise to the occasion. It hurt, knowing that the adults couldn't be strong for him and he had to take charge. "I'm ready."
Edward knew it was a cue to the others to tighten their grip on him. Breda stuck the spoon back in his mouth and gave him a glare to let him know he expected it to stay there. They were scared too. Any flailing around would certainly cause more damage, if not kill him quicker. He had been through worse. He just had to keep telling himself that. He had been through worse for more selfish reasons than to save a man's life who had, without hesitation, put himself in harm's way to protect a stupid brat who couldn't follow orders. Breda leaned on him and pinned his shoulder, Falman's grip was sweaty and shaking and Catalina was moving instruments around on the tray trying to avoid the inevitable. They were all scared.
"The first step is to use the Lidocaine as a numbing agent so the incision won't be so painful." Falman saw Rebecca toying with the syringe again and remembered his part was to dictate instructions. They didn't have much of the drug, the vial was only a quarter full when they found it in the refrigerator in the barn. Fuery had volunteered to be the test subject and make sure the drug wasn't expired or tainted, thankfully the drug was still viable and didn't cause a reaction. It removed one unknown from the equation.
"Inject it under the skin. Wait to see if there is a reaction and once the area is numb, prepare for the incision." Falman continued.
Rebecca nodded. Following orders was easier, it was ingrained in them to not question orders in a situation like this. Even if Falman wasn't anywhere near a superior, his voice in the background made her feel like this was just like her training, like she had someone who knew what they were doing looking over her. It was far from the truth, but he was happy to indulge the fantasy right now. She marked out the length of the incision area with a marker and then injected the area with enough lidocaine to make the skin puff up and show it was subcutaneously administered. That was the easy step.
"Next, make an incision on the wrist to expose the radial artery. It should be right under the skin at the wrist, further up the arm it will be buried under muscle." Falman repeated the words from memory with confidence, even though he couldn't quite fathom what the reality of that statement was going to look like. Manuals were one thing, seeing Ed's arm cut open was another.
Rebecca relied heavily on her sniper training to focus herself on the task at hand. When preparing to take a shot, the shooter would have to shoot between breaths to ensure there was as little movement as possible and to ensure focus was at optimum. Controlling breathing was essential, it was part of their training well before they ever put hands on a rifle. It helped take control of the body's automatic responses to dangerous situations, tactical breathing allowed her to calm her heart rate and with it quit her hand from shaking. Her focus was on the target and the target alone.
Ed let his eyes drift to Falman who involuntarily squeezed his upper arm and he knew the incision was started. He wanted to look but he was afraid that in doing so he would move and cause problems. He didn't want to give them any reason to abort this procedure.
"The artery branches off at the hand. You will want to see if you can cut into it further up, before it disappears, it will be largest there." Falman tried to keep his eyes on the cut, he was the one who had the diagram in his head. However blood was already obscuring the site and Rebecca was having to do this with only a pair of rusty forceps they found in the tool shed.
Rebecca finally found the artery and it rolled around under her finger. It was going to be difficult to hold in place while she inserted the needle but she wasn't going to give herself time to play around. The best plan was a swift surgery, for herself and the patients, and she was just going to have to stab at it until she succeeded. She was much better with a snap shot anyhow, taking too long wore her down. If she had chance to second guess herself, she would think too much. She took a stab and missed, pushing the needle into muscle instead. Two more tries ended in failure. "Shit this thing is small."
Ed looked over at Mustang expecting the man to suddenly grin at the mention of how 'small' his artery was. Crack a joke, even if to just keep everyone distracted. But Mustang was still just laying there unmoving. face and lips pale. Hair plastered to his face where it had stuck when he was sweating earlier. He wasn't sweating now, which made him wonder how dehydrated he was. Water would once again be an obstacle for the man as they needed to figure out a way to get some into him. If he survived this.
"You will have to make an incision." Falman said. "In the artery."
"For the method where you thread the donor artery into the patient's vein, yes. " Rebecca was quick to shoot him down. There was no way she was doing that. It was archaic and insane. "I don't have those instruments or ability. Flip to some different pages in that head of yours, Falman. I need instructions for this method. Not the manuals from 1907. Today. " Rebecca felt a rag dab on her brow as Falman wiped away some sweat. She never took her eyes from the incision, and Falman's grumble told her that he only read the manual about one method. Great.
Falman could see Ed's jaw clench, the kid was losing faith. "I..."
"I got this. Sorry Ed, this is going to hurt." She quickly dropped the needle on the tray and took the scalpel again to open up more of his arm. She knew that the discovery of a smaller than expected artery should void the operation, the chances of her getting into it were lower now. It was best to just stop before opening up the patient's blood vessel and just deal with the incision in his forearm. Doing that would certainly condemn Mustang to death. She was more scared of what Ed would do to ensure he got him blood he needed than what she was currently doing to the young man's arm.
Ed could tell from the way Breda grimaced that things were not going as planned. There was line of pressure up his arm, then the pain of a slice that had to be three times as long as the original incision. There was no lidocaine to numb that area, so he focused on anatomy. Small. The artery was too small and she was having to open him up to see if it increased in diameter further up the arm. Soon she would run out of radial artery as it would merge into a much larger one, the brachial artery, in his bicep. Thank god for all those hours staring at anatomy posters in the Rockbell clinic. He spat out the spoon. "I can make the tools you need..."
"Like hell you will." She growled. "Put that spoon back in his mouth or gag him."
The pain was there now and he was reluctant to look at anyone too long knowing his eyes would water. He was glad to have the spoon return to clench down on. There was only so much Lidocaine, and they had hoped that the access to the artery at the wrist would be good enough. He could feel the searching for the radial artery, pushing muscles and tearing fascia. He crunched down on the spoon and reminded himself that this was nothing compared to the pain of nerves being reattached. This was nothing compared to having his arm and leg ripped off, albeit it would be easier if they were just severed and pumping blood out everywhere.
It was becoming desperation as Rebecca continued to hack up Ed's arm. She could understand now, how doctors and alchemists could go too far in a search for a solution. She was so focused that it was doubtful she'd know if Ed was bleeding to death from the slice in his arm. Everything had to be done by feel, and memory of a class she took years ago; memories of slicing up a cadaver who wasn't bleeding so damned much over her work area. She tossed the scalpel and grabbed the huge needle again, stabbing at a tiny rubbery artery who just was not cooperating. After two more tries, a shot of blood spurted out of the end and she paused to stare at it. A fountain of life, a fountain of youth. "I got it."
Falman was quick to say, "Thank God."
She nodded, affixing the tube to the end of the needle and using a clothespin to clamp it shut. Now the race was on against clotting. She didn't wipe her hands off, she just wiped the inside of Mustang's elbow with that drying piece of cheese cloth soaked in whiskey. The easiest part of all this was to get a needle in the man's vein. She had it attached to a syringe, it would be easier to guide into him and hold it that way. Second try and she was in. Then a draw of blood into the syringe, a twist to unlock it from the needle and a scramble to connect to the tube from Ed's arm. The tube was so short, as short as they could manage, so the blood would have the shortest route to travel. Their arms were inches apart. She put her hand on the clothespin and looked to Breda who was in charge of Ed's watch. "Ready?"
"Go." Breda said and watched the clothespin come off and the tube go from cloudy white to dark. It was their only chance to measure how much blood was flowing, that brief second between clamped tube to free flow and it was over so quick. Ed had done the calculations on the diameter of the tube and the volume of liquid that could be held between two marks he had made on it. They could stop and restart the flow, but it was doubtful that they could see it restart once the tube was discolored with blood. Ed's life was now in his hands and the kid's pocket watch felt heavy enough as it was.
The tick toc of his watch over him was the backdrop to the tense portion of time when the procedure would either succeed or fail. Ed willed himself to stay still despite the pain in his exposed forearm. He chose to concentrate on Mustang's shallow breaths again, the ever so slow rise and fall of the man's chest that was the only indicator he had that he wasn't already gone but each move flexed his exposed arm. Maybe this would work, maybe that was the key to human transmutation that he didn't comprehend. A selfless sacrifice. It wasn't equivalent exchange if he sacrificed cheap ingredients and a drop of blood just to have his mother back. He was selfish in wanting her back. It wasn't about her, it was always about him. He would have gained everything from the success of that transmutation and that was why he almost lost it all.
Tic Toc. Their time with Mom had run out.
Even with Al, he simply didn't want to be left alone. He didn't realize how damned wrong he had been until Al wasn't there. How wanting his family back together back almost deprived him of the family he still had. He was so desperate, desperate enough to give up anything to have Al back, have him back, not save his brother. Another selfish act that he paid for.
Tic Toc. Al's time in his temporary vessel would run out.
He was scared now, scared because he was once again in danger of losing his own life but there was no regret in his decision. During his first battle the fear was so deeply rooted in being alone and watching everything he believed in warped before his very eyes. This team, this bastard dying beside him, had protected him despite it all. It was a brotherhood, not by blood but forged in blood. No less than the bond he had with Al, just different. And he felt right being able to give his other arm for Mustang, not out of obligation or guilt, but because it was what it was going to take to save him.
Tic Toc. Mustang needed more time.
That man could save this team. He could stop Kimblee's rampage. He could save them from Scar again. He could free Hawkeye and Al, fix Havoc. Seeing what he could do with his alchemy, seeing the pure force of his power at work made Ed finally see how incredible the man really was. And like Kimblee said, he was holding back. So when the final fight came against the homunculus, Mustang would be so much more vital in that fight than him.
Tic Toc.
The watch. He stared at it, he had no idea how much time had elapsed or hadn't. He could feel tears in his eyes, he was so overwhelmed with exhaustion, fear and stress that he didn't know how to cope with it when he wasn't moving and doing something. His focus blurred but he could still see that damned watch, a token of his selfish desires and pride.
Tic Toc.
Silver, atomic number 47. A transition metal with high electrical and thermal conductivity. Silver, just like his automail. Silver, often symbolized wisdom, a precious metal that would tarnish without attention. A symbol of his vanity. What would any of it mean if he died here on this farm table? All just scrap metal. Right now the only thing of value he had was his blood, liquid life. In this situation, with all these lives depending on him, Mustang's blood was a lot more precious. And other than his brother, who did Ed have that depended on him anyway? Yes, they had friends that would be sad at his loss, but he had distanced himself from them on purpose. Al was a superior alchemist, he wasn't dependent on his brother to save him. Ed actually got them in more trouble and on more tangents, he was the one hurting the quest the most. Al would probably be better off without him. He slammed his eyes shut to stop the tears from coming. The truth hurt.
Tic Toc.
He opened his eyes and returned to staring at the ceiling, letting the echo of the watch's movements fade into the background as he traced the cracks in the plaster with his eyes. As long as he could feel Mustang inhale and exhale, it meant he was still alive and he didn't need to look at anything else. Just the ceiling. Life mattered, but right now Mustang's life mattered more than his. His thoughts were getting erratic and his heart was pumping faster, perhaps to try to compensate for the blood loss. He felt light headed. He couldn't let on that maybe he had already given too much.
He could remember the days and nights he spent immobilized in the Rockbells, just staring at cracks in the walls and the ceiling to make the day go by. Back then he would think about how he could use alchemy to fix it, but wasn't able to due to only having one arm. It helped him cope with the boredom, pain and feeling of helplessness...and he lost himself in the welcoming arms of depression. Until this asshole showed up and screamed at him, challenged him, gave him a purpose. Now he needed to keep himself from being swallowed up by those lingering thoughts of defeat so instead he chose to focus on how his actions caused the people he cared for to suffer. Maybe it would brew some anger instead of acceptance.
And they all suffered in every sense of the word.
They suffered his temper and disrespect, his arrogance and impetuousness. His mother, his brother and now his commander. Tolerant and supportive, they picked him up when he was at his lowest points and urged him to carry on. And they paid the price for it. Without his interference they would not have suffered so much. A mother turned into a unrecognizable monster. A brother trapped in a cold shell of steel. A hero...haunted by his decisions now being drug back from the dead to keep living.
"Ed, how are you feeling?" Breda asked as he watched tears roll down the kid's cheeks. It wasn't because he was gritting his teeth in agony, he was struggling with something else.
Ed was shocked out of his memories with Breda's voice. His memories were becoming as bad as his nightmares and the truth was they that were indistinguishable from each other now. Something Mustang said, back when he was trying to fill him with liquid courage suddenly made sense. That no matter what you did these images were there in your head for life. And he wasn't going to let the image of burying the Colonel in a roadside grave be added to that horror show.
Breda watched a transformation occur as Ed's face lost the show of emotion, the way Mustang often did. That warmth of tears and an internal struggle were replaced by a stoic expression; eyelids closed over watery eyes to open and reveal cold, focused ones. The spoon was spat out of the kid's mouth and a look of determination crossed his face again; steeling himself against the pain, showing his true mettle. Fullmetal Alchemist indeed. And when they were once again out of harms way he'd be sure to tell him that the name was something he could forever take pride in, no matter how he felt about the obligations and affiliations that came with it.
"Philosophical." Ed replied and lifted his head off the table to see if he could. They wanted to know if he gave too much blood. He did feel weak, but he was going to blame that on the huge slice in his arm. God. He could see the muscles and fascia. This wasn't like looking into the gears of his automail, it was his real flesh. His blood was now over Mustang's chest from the incision and cursed the waste.
Falman wasn't sure if Ed looked paler or if he was just seeing things. "Ed, it's important to not drain yourself of blood. The Colonel wouldn't want that, and you know it."
Catalina looked up into her patients watery but intense eyes. It made her more concerned about how far this kid would go to make sure Mustang got blood. She didn't know what was possible with alchemy in this situation, but if Ed's actions in the truck were any indication of what he was capable of, she knew there was plenty she hadn't considered. "Breda..."
Breda continued to watch the clock, his own heartbeat pounding as he waited for the second hand to hit the '12' so he could say 'Stop'. He knew what Falman and Catalina were thinking, they had a kid who has already survived so much that was desperate to save his commander. Ed probably thought he could come back from this, just like he had done when he lost his limbs. He was blinded by his own desires to give Mustang back what he needed to fight on. "A few more seconds Ed, and I'm cutting you off."
"No, keep going. I feel fine." Ed knew that sounded less forceful than he intended an wasn't fooling anyone. It was a damned lie. Shit, he could barely keep his head up.
"I heard rumors, about this procedure being done during Ishval." Rebecca said, her somber voice making Ed's eyes flutter with curiosity instead of the hardness they just had. "From the medics who trained me. It was hot, there weren't many options for blood storage especially on the front lines. The rumors were...that experiments were done on prisoners of war, that when blood was needed they would drain them in order to save the soldiers. Ed, you wouldn't stand for that to be done to someone else, so don't do it to yourself."
Ed wished he could doubt that, but it wasn't in him anymore. That was awful and awful was no longer something that was a concept but a reality. Hell, it was standard operating procedure. "I survived worse. Give him more."
"Stop." Breda said and slapped the watch shut, and leaned on Ed to stop him from moving.
"No!" Ed cried out. "The only way you're stitching my arm up is if I'm unconscious! I won't lay still for that, give him the blood until I pass out! We only get this one shot..."
Rebecca had already clamped the tube and removed the needle from Mustang's arm. They knew it wasn't the pain driving him to say this, it was his fear that it wouldn't be enough. That the procedure could only be done once and if they stopped too soon it would be impossible to reopen him. She leaned over him and looked him in the eye. Ed's eyes were watering, begging her to continue. "You don't get to make this call. You've done everything you can and you will lay perfectly still while I get this artery repaired. You are not in charge here, not while your life is in my hands."
"He's lost too many people already Ed." Breda whispered. "He lives and you die, we lose him anyway. He can't carry around another loss that heavy, none of us can. You did your best, now it's up to him."
He had spent his energy already and just let his head fall back on the table and roll to the side to look at Mustang's face again. He hoped maybe there would be some color there. Was it selfish of him to want to make the man live on, as haunted as he clearly was. Was he really just too scared to be alone again and making rash decisions to save himself the pain. "How long til this helps him?"
"Immediately." Falman said. "You however may take up to five days to recover from it."
"Blood carries oxygen too. That should help him." Ed mumbled. "My blood's also not diluted with booze. Hear that bastard? Hope it stunts your growth and makes you want to punch yourself in the face."
Rebecca tried not to listen to Ed, he sounded tired and lost and it was a strained attempt to sound like his old self. He was doing it for them and they all knew it. She worried that they took too much from him. She was losing focus now that she couldn't stop the blood pumping out of Ed's artery. The sewing needle was considerably smaller than the large needle she skewered the artery with. It was clotting, blood from the area was from surrounding tissue, but this hole was big in comparison. They needed to hold it together to make sure it didn't open up and leave a tail so she could go back in later and snip the suture. She still couldn't believe she manage to get this far in the process. "You need to rest, Ed. That will help your body replace the blood you just gave. We'll wake you up to make sure you're doing OK."
"Is he going to make it?" Ed asked and looked up at her. He heard his own voice crack, he sounded like a fucking kid again. That kid who crawled into bed next to his dying mother and felt her clammy skin and shallow breaths and didn't know what it meant. Now he knew all too well.
"He's got a better chance now." Rebecca said. She was having a hard time getting a knot tight enough to keep the artery closed. "I'm going to have to stitch you up and I don't have anything to numb that pain."
"It's fine." Ed said and let his head roll to the side so he could keep an eye on Mustang to watch for movement or any indication he was benefiting from the procedure. He still looked like he was just one step away from death's door. He was afraid to close his eyes now, afraid that if he did Mustang would be in his dreams asking why he did this to him. Afraid that when he opened his eyes he would find out Mustang really was a ghost and any hope they had would be replaced with despair.
