Tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . .

The word echoed in Ed's mind over and over again, an awful record stuck in a glitch.

Winry was coming tomorrow.

He was vaguely aware of Al and Mustang talking, but it sounded far away, as if hearing it through a wall.

"Tomorrow? Why the sudden change?"

"I don't know! Miss Hawkeye said Winry just called the office to make sure we were still in Central! She's getting on a train tonight!"

"Then she should be here around lunch."

He could hear the blood rushing through his ears now, and his body felt light, as if he weren't even in it anymore. He was sure that if he could see, his vision would be tunneling.

Of course, if he could see, then this wouldn't be a problem.

"Ed?" Mustang's voice suddenly pierced through the haze, bringing back the weight of everything, making his chest feel suddenly heavy.

Tomorrow . . .

He shook his head slowly, trying in vain to clear it. "I can't . . . I can't . . ." He tried to tell them, but the words wouldn't come. "She can't see me like this," he whimpered instead. "She can't see this."

"Brother—?" Al questioned somewhere above and behind him.

Why didn't they understand?!

"I'm not ready!" he wailed, sounding desperate even to his own ears. "She wasn't supposed to be here until next week! Why is she coming tomorrow?" It was getting hard to breathe, as if his lungs were too small to take in the air he needed. He felt like he was suffocating.

Something warm and steady settled on his shoulder. He flinched from the sudden contact, but it didn't budge. "Ed, you need to calm down," Mustang said, low and steady. "You need to calm down and think about this."

Neither of them understood. But how could they? They had never been so pathetic, so helpless before. It was a special torture that seemed to be reserved for him alone.

Not that he didn't deserve it, but that didn't mean he wanted it, either.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "It's not supposed to be like this . . ."

The hand tightened around his bicep. "Fullmetal," Mustang said, his voice firmer, a clear warning for Ed to get a hold of himself.

How could he, though? He was pathetic and helpless and stuck here. He suddenly needed to move, to be anywhere but here, but where could he go? He couldn't leave the house. He'd be hit by a car within the hour.

But he couldn't just sit there, knowing she would be here tomorrow.

He pushed away from the table, so suddenly that it hardly registered in his mind that he did it. In the same motion, he shook off Roy's grip and moved, his hand trailing the table and the wall, moving with his broken, stumbling gait to where the living room should be.

Stupid automail. If it wasn't for that, she wouldn't even have to know what had happened, how he had failed.

The anxiety tugged at him, shadowy wisps of terror that raked down his spine, reminding him of the feeling he'd get when he heard footsteps upstairs, his captors running across creaking floorboards to get him, to drag him out by the neck and hurt him for things he didn't know. The door creaked open and cold seeped into his very bones, the fear freezing him from the inside out—

"Brother, where are you going?" Al's concerned voice rang out, jarring him free from the memory that had almost taken him.

He shook his head. He had to keep moving, to do something. Anything. Anything to keep from thinking about her and her being there and seeing him like this.

He didn't have an answer for Alphonse, so he didn't reply. He kept moving, staggering uncertainly as the floor below gave way to carpet.

Then his stupid automail leg locked up once more and he fell with a surprised cry, shoulder grazing the wall as he crashed to the ground in a heap of fabric, flesh and metal.

He could hear both Roy and Alphonse at his side in an instant. Again, that warm hand latched onto his arm. "Fullmetal, where are you going?" Mustang demanded sharply, the tone overlaying something almost like worry.

Ed flinched at the harsh demand, but he tried to tell him. "She's coming tomorrow. I can't just sit there! I need to . . . I need to . . ." He frowned in frustration. How could he possibly explain it to them when he wasn't sure what he was doing himself? "To do something!"

"And what would that something be?" Mustang asked, voice low with disapproval. "Stagger and stumble around the room until you give yourself a concussion?"

And the sad thing was, it was true. Ed could move all he wanted, but he would just end up breaking something, or hurting himself and upsetting Al. He was free of that basement, but because of what they did to him, they had guaranteed he would always be a prisoner in his own body.

And now not only did he have to share the shame with his precious brother and the man he tried to tell himself he didn't admire more than anyone, but now with Winry.

She was his measure of normalcy, the one unchanging thing in his life. No matter what atrocities he committed, what madness the world threw at him, what chaos shredded his life, the Rockbell home was the one place he could go to escape. It was the one place he could put aside his responsibilities, just for a little while, and be truly happy with Al and his extended family.

But her, coming here, seeing this . . . the illusion would be shattered. She would find him in this place of despair, even more helpless than he had been the night he had lost his arm and leg and Al's body. She would see him broken and destroyed, a husk of who he was supposed to be. The way he was, he couldn't take care of himself, much less his little brother or her.

She would see his weakness, his failure, and it was intolerable.

What would she think of him? The boy that wasn't afraid of anything, quailing at unexpected whispers, freezing up when he heard running water. The boy that protected her from bullies and snakes, hiding under a blanket.

She would see his weakness and treat him like a fragile vase, too thin and brittle to be the boy she knew. Nothing would be the same ever again, and this would be the final nail in the coffin. The last vestiges of normalcy would die the moment she found out and that was that.

Maybe that's why he was so afraid, why he had to move, to run away. If she found out, there would be no place to hide. There was no normal left, no one else to lie to, and he would finally have to admit it to himself.

Admit that he was blind, helpless and useless, doomed to live out the rest of his life in darkness, to never atone for his sins.

Forever condemning Alphonse to be nothing more than a soul trapped in a suit of armor.

He leaned against the wall, pulling his legs up to his face, despair threatening to drown him.

"Brother?" Al asked.

"What am I supposed to do?" Ed asked, despising how weak his voice sounded as he hugged himself, blanket pulled taught around him. "She'll . . . she'll cry, and—" a sudden, terrible thought entered his mind. "What if I hit her?! Al . . . Mustang, what if I hurt Winry? What if I—"

"You're not going to hurt Winry," Mustang interrupted firmly. "You'll do no such thing."

Ed shook his head. "I've hurt people before. Don't try to tell me I haven't, I'm blind, not stupid," he hissed before either of them could interject. Ed knew when he had done some damage. Well, maybe not in the moment, but afterwards he could gather pretty well when someone was hurt because of him. He knew Al, Mustang and others had received their fair share of dents and bruises at his hand. One particularly violent flashback had ended up with one of the nurses at the hospital admitted to the emergency room. It was stupid to assume nothing would happen just because it was Winry. As much as it pained him to admit it, he wasn't in control of himself all of the time.

"We won't let you hurt her, Ed," Al promised, a leather gauntlet coming to rest on Ed's other shoulder. "I'll be right there the whole time."

Ed hadn't assumed otherwise, but hearing it took the faintest edge off of his anxiety.

But would that be enough?

Al was everything. He was Ed's whole world, inside and out. He was the sole reason Ed was still alive, but right there, in that moment, he needed something more.

Ed tried to turn to Mustang's general direction. He opened his mouth, trying to ask if he would be there, too, but the request wouldn't make it past his lips.

He had taken too much from Mustang. It would be pushing his luck to ask for any more. Besides, it wouldn't be too much longer before Mustang grew tired of him and his pathetic needs and baggage and kicked him out. It was just how life worked, the Law of Equivalency. He had nothing to give, so there was no reason for Mustang to let him stay any longer than his conscience dictated, despite what he said about being "glad Ed was here." The only reason he was probably doing this now was in a vain hope that Ed's sight would be miraculously restored and he would once again be a useful dog of the military, another boost to his goal of Fuhrer.

Hoenheim left for reasons similar; his family provided nothing for him, so he had gone.

Mustang could be expected to do the same. It was just the way people were. Ed didn't want to admit to himself how much that hurt, how much he hoped he was wrong and that Mustang wasn't just like Hoenheim.

But that just goes to show how pathetic he had become.

Winry would find out and his life in Resembool would be over. Mustang would soon reject him after that. He and Al would be left alone, and Al only because he wouldn't leave Ed's side for anything.

And if Ed really loved his brother, then at that point, he would do everything in his power to sever that connection. For Alphonse.

Ed knew all of this would happen, but he just wasn't ready for it to happen so soon.

He could feel his body trembling, rebelling against him as the fear and exhaustion became too much. Mustang's hand was still on his left shoulder, and Al's on his right, both supporting him, one firm, one gentle.

"Come on, Brother," Al said softly, giving Ed's empty shoulder port a small shake. "You should finish eating and get some rest."

He was famished before, but even with his newly developed instinct to eat everything he could while he could, the thought of food seemed particularly nauseating. Like after being dissected and cut up for hours, the scent of his own burning flesh hanging thickly around him. He was too sickened by the pain and the smell to hope to keep anything down. Somewhere nearby, the wolves were fighting over the scraps of food that had been brought down, but Ed hurt too much to fight for his share. He had thrown up every last bit of bile in his emaciated stomach, and the scent of old meat almost convinced him to throw up his intestines as well.

His lungs labored to bring in enough of the frigid air, hoping it would settle him somehow. He needed to be ready. As soon as the dogs were finished with their meal, they would come to him, crazed with hunger and the scent of his blood.

He pressed his hand to his side, trying to staunch the bleeding on his right even as more fluid seeped between the ribs on his left. He was so sick and so dizzy. He wasn't sure there would be a way to fight them off this time, not like this.

Never before had they hurt him for this long. Maybe they were getting desperate, hoping that he would break in time for something, like a preemptive strike on Amestris forces or some sort of ambush on their supply lines.

But Ed didn't know the answers to their interrogations, so it was really easy for him to tell them what they could do with their questions.

He pressed his shoulder to his jaw, even as he tried to hold his side. He had been trying for heaven-knows how long to get under their skin, to get an emotional reaction from them. To get them back the only way he could. Tonight, one of them had hauled off and punched him in the jaw. No snide comments, no cruel jokes about his naked, wasting body or pretty little dissections of the muscles in his back. Just a pure, animalistic, angry reaction to his defiance.

He was relatively sure something in his face was fractured, but there was a certain amount of smugness he felt about it, like it was his own small victory. It tasted like hope.

And if anything killed faster than knives and wolves and starvation, it was hope.

People with hope died of a broken heart.

Something ghosted past him, and he straightened. He couldn't stop shaking from the cold and possibly shock, but he was ready. He showed the Drachmans what he was made of, and now he would show these stupid mutts.

One of them moved his shoulder, wrapping his jaws around his bicep, but he was ready. Before the beast could draw blood, he swung his head and bit the creature in the neck. Hard.

The ensuing cry was anything but canine and Edward's blood froze in his veins.

He pulled back, fresh terror enveloping him, clouding his mind. Where was he? What was going on? He thought he was in the basement, but . . . he thought he was in Mustang's house, too . . . Which one was the dream? Which one was real?

"Ed!"

"Fullmetal!"

He scrambled back, tripping over some sort of fabric. His back hit the wall, but instead of being comforted by it, it increased his panic. He tried to crawl away, someplace he wouldn't be trapped. The taste of blood was in his mouth, sickening and burning with iron.

Something latched onto his arm and he wheeled back, baring his teeth in warning. "Get away," he snarled, more than willing to tear apart the next thing that touched him. He got his feet under him, but his automail was broken. He was injured and handicapped in multiple ways. He knew there were at least two of them and his hand touched another wall and he knew he was cornered. There was nowhere he could go unless it was through his captors.

"Get away from me!" he roared again, trying to blink away the terrified tears he could feel burning his eyes. He couldn't see them, only sense them. They could do a hundred things to him and if they put any effort into it, there would be little he could do to stop them. He was completely at their mercy, and vainly hoping they didn't know it.

But they could sense weakness like he could sense danger, and it wouldn't be long before he was back in that chair or on that slab of cold steel, being tortured and defiled and unable to do anything but scream.

And scream and scream until his throat bled and that cursed hope died.

"Brother, please."

His brain stopped.

Like a stream of sunlight breaking through a storm, his mind quieted and he knew. He wasn't sure if it was the familiarity of voice, or if it was how scared and desperate and hurt it was, but it pierced through the darkness, shattering the loathsome memories like glass.

Alphonse . . .

Then that means he . . . this was Mustang's house. This wasn't a dream, right? And did he . . . did he hurt Mustang?

The tang of blood in his mouth was incontestable proof.

He could feel their eyes on him, their stares that held equal parts pain and pity and fear. Watching him like a dangerous animal.

He slowly brought his shaky hand to his mouth, wiping the blood away. Mustang's blood. He had bit him, like some kind of feral dog.

He didn't deserve Mustang's kindness. He didn't deserve Alphonse's love, or Winry's care, and he didn't deserve this place to stay.

His hand wandered to his throat, where the collar and leash had been attached for so long.

He deserved to be thrown out on the street like the dog he was.

"Mustang—" he tried to say, but the name was strangled in his throat. He tried again, "Are . . . are you . . ?"

"It's fine, Ed," came the response, but his voice was thin, laced with the pain and discomfort that he was trying valiantly to hide.

Ed shook his head. "I'm . . . I'm so sorry, Colonel . . . I didn't—"

"Forget about it," Mustang said gently. Kindly. "It was just a scratch. Are you okay?"

Was he okay? Ed had just bitten him and he had the gall to ask if Edward was okay?

It was too hot, too oppressive in here with their stares and his guilt that was slowly drowning him where he stood.

It was too much. Too much.

He tried to run, he really did. He tried to move fast before they could catch him and smother him in his guilt. He lunged forward, barely making it a step before he ran straight into a warm body.

He smelled dark earth and spicy mesquite, tainted by the rich tang of blood. He tried to pull away, to keep running, but strong arms wrapped around him and wouldn't let him go.

"Stop it," he wailed, straining against the hold. "Let go of me! Let go!"

But Mustang didn't listen, and his withered body was too weak to fight him. "Ed, I want you to listen to me," Mustang murmured near his ear, holding his head trapped between the crook of the older man's neck and a strong hand at the back of his head. Ed struggled again, not wanting to be there, not deserving to be there, but Mustang's grip only tightened. "Listen, Fullmetal," he hissed. "And stop that!"

Ed froze.

"I don't know what all happened to you, Ed. I don't know what awful things they did to you, or how badly they must have hurt you to make you like this," he whispered, voice rough with emotion that Ed couldn't begin to understand. "I . . . I know you don't trust me, Ed. I know I haven't given you much reason to. But if you'll give me just a little, Edward. If you will let me help you, I will. I will help make this right again. Part of that is Winry coming. Part of that is psychiatrists and doctors, and part of it is Al and me and the others. As much as I want to, as much as it kills me, I can't make it go away alone. I need you to help me. I need you to trust me, just with this. Just with getting you through this. Can you do that, Ed? Can you give me that much?"

Trust him? Trust him with his weakness, with his vulnerability? Trust him to take care of this, to help him?

Trust him to not leave?

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Unless Mustang felt indebted to him for something, there was no equivalent exchange here. It defied everything Edward knew, everything that made sense. He couldn't put that kind of trust in someone so close to leaving.

Could he?

"Edward, please," Mustang murmured, voice thick, pleading. "I know you're scared, kid. I know you don't want Winry to see this. I know you don't want us to see this, but please, Ed. You have to trust me. This is what's best. I wouldn't let her come if I didn't think it was best for you."

Mustang was begging him. Did it mean that much to him? Was Edward's trust that important?

Was he that important?

"Colonel . . ." he whispered from where his face was buried in the older man's shoulder. He was warm and strong and Ed felt so safe there, like maybe there was a chance everything could be okay.

It tasted like hope.

Ed tried not to be sick.

"It will be okay, Edward," he whispered, still holding him, cradling him like a child. "I promise you, when Winry comes, it will be okay. I won't let you hurt her. It will be okay, just trust me."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll try," he choked.

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth.

Because how could you trust someone that would end up leaving you?

Is it just me, or are my chapters getting shorter? /shot/ It don't plan it that way, but they just cut off so nicely sometimes . . .

Sorry this probably wasn't the chapter you had in mind/wanted lol :'D I hope it will do, at any rate. I do love Ed angst xD But fear not, Winry will be here next chapter c: I hope everyone was in character here . . . I started out this thing in Roy's POV, but then it got so stiff and dull, so I switched to Ed's and everything got all dramatic lol.

lotrprincess pointed out that my timeline was all askew. I said Alphonse was twelve, making Ed thirteen, but Hughes is already dead. Completely silly, and I shall fix it. Just so we're all on the same page, Alphonse is fourteen, Ed is fifteen and Hughes is gone, which fits the timeline much better lol. I blame my brain's inability to process numbers *nods* Yes, that is what I'll blame xD

Guys, you are the best! Thank you so much for the encouragement about my new job (this week got a lot better :)) and especially the feedback on this fic. I love writing this, and I'm just thrilled others are enjoying reading it c: All your reviews make me silly happy, and even the favs and just the views! Thanks for everything C: I'll be responding to reviews on the last chapter tonight/tomorrow.

If you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter!

God Bless,

-RainFlame