Chapter 11
He felt himself gliding aimlessly through something murky that resisted his movement, and yet had no physical form. He was moving, he was sure of it, but had no hope of understanding where he was going, or even in which direction. Drowning came to mind, and Roy immediately thought to follow the bubbles. The understanding that he still could not see came a moment later, and without any sense of surprise, but rather a mute acceptance that reminded him of the weight he felt on his chest.
Awareness slid into Roy's mind fluidly and without him realizing as he floated in that empty space, until the throbbing pain began to sink in. It started out as a dull ache in the back of his mind, then steadily spread like wildfire through the body that he did not feel connected to. It was a familiar pain, but it took him a moment of uncomfortable peace to realize why something about it felt odd to him.
He wasn't supposed to be in pain anymore.
Wasn't that the point? It was supposed to end. It was all finally supposed to end!
And yet his skin burned and his bones cried out.
Was this Hell?
But somehow, that didn't feel right either. He couldn't differentiate life and death, or reality and dreams. Being dead would explain why he didn't feel the hard, cold ground that he had become so accustomed to beneath him, or taste the iron of his own blood that had long since stained his mouth. He instead felt like he was floating, but surely being dead wouldn't come with this much physical pain, or awareness for that matter. But if this was a dream, then how could he wake up? Did he even want to? If the abysmal conditions that he remembered were awaiting him as the sinking dread in his gut suggested, then the answer to that question was clear.
As if by habit, Roy weakly brought his hand up his mouth, hoping that the metallic taste of the blood that often dripped down his fingers would help him to solve this dilemma, but a soft cushion gently collided with his face instead of his own mangled skin. He flinched away from the unexpected texture, breath stuck in his throat. Mind reeling in confusion, Roy eye's shot open only for him to get hit with yet another sense of alarm with enough impact to lurch his stomach.
The space around him seemed as dark as he expected, but he could still make out many shapes within that simply did not belong- or rather, they belonged too well. The sight of what he almost dared to call furniture was such a drastic juxtaposition to the emptiness he was used to, but the layout he was beholding held a powerful sense of familiarity. But it made so little sense to him, it hurt to look at or even consider for more than half a second. The lines were blurred and unclear, as if they too couldn't decide if they existed or not. The nudge of discomfort he felt in the back of his eyes was another reminder that something- or maybe everything- was different, and he needed to understand why.
Despite the ache in his body and the spinning of his mind, Roy thoughtlessly moved to stand up, hoping that getting a better view would help him figure out the picture his mind was trying to paint for him. But as he shifted his weight, the sense of falling suddenly overtook him until his shoulder met with a hard surface and a sharp gasp fled when his head made contact. His body may had been stopped, but his mind kept falling, plummeting into a pit he could see no end to. These new, unexpected sensations after spending so long feeling nothing left him winded, and he remained on the floor for a moment longer until the shock dulled into something more manageable.
As the spike of pain in his shoulder and forehead faded, he eventually cajoled his body to roll onto his back, grimacing as a pressure was momentarily put on his bruised shoulder.
He blinked- or thought he did- at he ceiling, which was suddenly much more visible than he remembered.
Was it possible that his failed attempt to die had kicked the part of his mind that handled hallucinations into overdrive? Was this some sort of twisted punishment for trying to escape? His brain had tried to trick him into seeing a wide verity of people, objects, animals- but now even his sense of touch was actively trying to deceive him, as well as smell. Which now that he thought about it, the scent that filled his nose with each inhale was so painfully reminiscent that it almost felt like a palpable thing that he wasn't sure if he wanted to push away, or desperately grasp for. He resorted to breathing through his mouth.
"Mustang?"
Roy didn't react to the voice of Fullmetal echoing somewhere further off, unfazed by his presence. He ignored it, instead deciding to focus on figuring out what was happening to him.
Was it possible that they put him in a new location just to confuse him? All he remembered was blissfully fading away into nothing for the first time since he was locked in that damn cell, only to wake here up against his will.
But maybe thinking that was exactly what they wanted. If that was the case, then he didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing he was falling for their trap. It was probably their fault that he was apparently still alive.
Unless, of course, this was really just his own personalized Hell, as Fullmetal had suggested some time back. That moment felt like ages ago, and yet his words stuck with him, ringing in Roy's ears. He could have been dead this entire time, encased in darkness, without even realizing. And this too, could have been another stage in his eternal suffering. That at least explained why his surroundings were startlingly similar to his living room.
"Mustang!" It was closer now- right behind him. In response, Roy muttered something incomprehensible that was supposed to inform the kid that he wanted him to stop talking, but sounded like nothing more than a meaningless grumble as he remained on the ground.
As if to get revenge for his silence, the comfortable darkness vanished with a single click and his groggy vision was replaced by an agonizingly stark flash of white that seared his eyes and yanked a strangled gasp out him as his arms flew up to his face to protect himself from the light. Roy's body immediately seized from the shock, paralyzed as the unbearable scalding of his eyes seeped into his very bones for a fraction of a second.
"Turn it off!" he yelled, voice guttural and hoarse as he curled in on himself- anything to get away from the light.
"Wait- what?" Ed stammered, somehow not understanding that bright light equaled pain. "W-what's wrong?"
"TURN IT OFF!"
A few tense seconds went by where nothing happened. With his jaw tightened and arms locked around his head, Roy slowly lowered his guard until he was able to confirm that the damned light had indeed been turned off. As soon as it was safe too, his arms fell unceremoniously back to his sides, one in which hit something plush besides him on the way down. He flinched from it and let out a deep breath, voicelessly cursing as he did so.
"... Mustang."
Roy opened his eyes and blinked out the red that still tainted his vision until it faded, taking in the many blurry objects that appeared to surround him, as well as catching a glance of the teenager's small, featureless figure in the corner of his eye. He felt the kid's gaze land heavily on him, but was unable to see those golden eyes in the dark room, as part of him wished that he could.
"What?" he asked flatly at last, figuring that ignoring the hallucination wasn't going to cut it this time. He knew there was no use it telling Ed or those who he was sure were listening in to keep the lights off. Getting angry at them did him little good, and usually ended with more cracks in his ribs.
"... What do you mean, what?!" Fullmetal exclaimed, voice pitching with unbridled panic. "You've been gone for- do you even realize that- aagh!" He cut himself off and dug his hands into his bangs, groaning exasperatedly.
The colonel didn't register anything he said as his own mind continued to wander, but he could at least sense the hysteria in his voice. Besides anger, that was the most emotion he had seen in one of these visions so far. Curious, Roy craned his aching neck to the side to watch the teenager, who he could just barely make out to be almost trembling on the other side of one of the blurry shapes that resembled a small table.
Edward lowered his arms and returned Roy's stare, his eyes far more intense than his own, despite him being unable to clearly see it. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" Roy echoed distantly, followed by a pitiable chuckle that cracked as his dry throat objected. "I wish I knew," he finished without thought, failing to realize that any of this was said aloud.
As if the figments of his own imagination actually wanted to know what was wrong with him, or even cared. It was almost funny. Enough so that he thought he heard himself laugh, but wasn't too sure if that voice was truly his own, or just his mind laughing at his expense.
And of course, it just had to be Edward of all people that he saw appear before him, mocking him with these questions, rubbing in his failure like salt in a wound. It was he who pinned him down in that alley, and he who invaded that one moment of solace he created for himself, bringing a swift end to it by sending his trusted team away. He who again used him like a chair and almost broke his nose on the ground, causing all sorts of other injuries, real or not. And now he was trying to act concerned.
It was if the hallucination just suddenly decided to begin acting like a human being. Roy lacked the energy to point out this observation, but he at least wouldn't let himself be confused by this more empathetic version of Edward.
The kid did not react to his response for several long seconds in favor of just staring through the darkness at him. The dark silhouette stood rigidly, causing him to question if he was still there at all, until he caught the sight of Ed's shoulders slackening with a forced exhale.
"What happened?"
Well that was vague. Not only was it incredibly unhelpful, but it only helped to further confuse the colonel. Over the past few weeks or months or whatever it was, Edward seemed to have gathered much pleasure from flaunting Roy's lack of answers over his head. And now he sounded as if only Roy could answer the heaviest question of them all.
Maybe that was the point, since it didn't make any sense. This was just a new way to taunt him, surely.
"I don't know what you mean," he admitted sourly, questioning why he even gave into the kid's ploy.
Apparently unsatisfied by his response, Edward took a slow, careful step forward. Roy, unable to see how blind the blond was in the dark, abruptly inched away and drew his legs up to himself, holding his less injured arm above his head in defense of the strike he had learned to expect, despite the spears of pain that shot through his torso from his screaming rib cage and the crushing wave of nausea that plowed over him from the sudden movement.
Even as nothing happened for several painfully long seconds, his muscles remained taut. When he sensed Edward take another step closer, he tensed further and his breathing became uneven as his lungs struggled to keep up with the rate in which his heart was pumping.
"Whoa- hey, calm down," the kid suggested carefully, skillfully lacing that false concern into his voice.
"Stay away," he muttered, not so much as a warning, but rather a plea. He hated the way his pathetic tone tasted on his dry tongue, but saw no other way around it. What did it matter, anyway? A figment of his own imagination was not going to judge him any more than he already judged himself.
"Y- you gotta tell me what's wrong so I can help," Edward supplied slowly. Roy could just barely make out the way he reached his metal arm forward as if he wanted to close the gap between them, yet being held back by hesitation.
"You want to help?" he questioned sardonically, unsure where the spike of rage came from, yet long since becoming accustomed to his own mercurial mood. "After all you've done?"
As blurry and disconnected as the vast majority of his memories were, he could at least recall when he was given the brief moment of bliss thanks to the visions of his team continuing their antics in his office as they always had before. For a short moment, everything was back to how it should have been, and he was happy. But that moment crumbled in an instant when Edward stomped it, alerting them- his friends- that he was dead, and driving them all away.
"W-what?" The kid stuttered in response, reeling away from the colonel slightly in the dark.
"Just go away," he hissed as he so often did at this damnable hallucinations, hoping that one day, they'd finally take his advice.
Still not willing to bet that he wouldn't be rewarded with a kick to the gut, Roy tried to push himself further away in hopes of finding that one corner in the room that he had deemed comfortable and as safe as it could get, ignoring the aches and pains in his body to the best of his ability. But as his hands made contact with the floor, he paused, staring vacantly past the kid as he may or may not have said something.
He couldn't feel the ground.
He had noticed this odd sensation earlier, but Edward had successfully distracted him from it for a mere few seconds. But now that it occurred to him again, there was nothing that could pull his mind away from this; his hands never met with cold, smooth ground, and instead felt like he was hitting a pillow. Except he couldn't get rid of it, no matter what he tried to touch.
"What- what is this?" he muttered to the air, holding his hands out in front of himself as if he could actually see anything more than a black blob. "Why can't I..." he trailed off, certainly not seeking any answers from the single spectator.
Roy had something wrapped around his hands.
Why!?
Did they really try to take away the single thing that could calm him by the slightest degree? His only method to confirm anything had been muffled by a fabric bind that he couldn't get off. While, yes, the sense of touch had been failing him lately, it was still something. With confirmation, came peace of mind. Without it, he had nothing.
His sight gave him nothing but vague, dark shapes, his hearing was overwhelming at best, smell only managed to repulse him at most times, but his sense of touch could relieve him for the briefest of moments, but it was enough to make him reliant on it.
Clawing on the walls until is fingers bled, gnawing on his own nails, grasping at the fabric of his clothing just to feel something different- even that was taken away from him now?!
No, he refused to let them take this too. If they wanted him to feel nothing at all this badly, then he wished they would just kill him already.
Of course, that was assuming he wasn't already dead, in which case he didn't want to think about it.
Almost forgetting that the young alchemist was still watching through the dark, Roy pawed at his own hands, hoping to get some traction with the matted binds that tied his fingers stiffly together. But when that failed, he brought them up to his mouth and bit down on the fabric and yanked back, feeling the strips tighten around parts of his hands, and loosen in others.
"Hey, what are you doing!? Stop that!"
He pushed himself further away from the source of the voice as a colorful curse was muffled through his teeth.
The colonel felt a premature wave of relief when he made out the sound of hasty footfalls distancing away from him. But before he could make more progress on pulling the wraps off of his aching hands, a dim light shined further away. Despite its lackluster, the light still managed to blind him before he could register that it was coming from a hall that he had not recognized the existence of. He shut his eyes tightly, internally conflicting between continuing his fight to free his hands, or moving his arms up to protect his eyes. The head-throbbing red gleam that shined through his eyelids eventually won him over as he shifted his arms to cross over his face, hunched over as his back made contact with something solid.
Long before he had any hope of recovering, two mismatched hands latched themselves around his wrists, not attempting to remove them from the protective position, but not allowing him to fight back either.
Oh god, please no.
Too close- he was way too close.
Flashbacks to the last time he was restrained skipped through his mind, causing his old injuries to tingle at the memory. His arms tensed against the hands, instinctively wanting to protect his core. Fighting back would mean he would have to sacrifice his defenses.
"Hey- Mustang, calm down!" the kid begged as if he were trying to speak to a wild animal or a hysterical child.
Block it out, his scrambling brain supplied through the chaos that rung in his ears, causing the kid's words to become fuzzy and distorted. Just block it all out, and it will end.
His arms became stiff- no longer fighting the sturdy grasp, but far from giving into it. His breathing hitched and caught in his throat until it stopped completely, inwardly pleading for the threat to leave him alone.
And just as his mind had promised him, it did. Just as an animal trying to play dead, he remained still even when the two hands, one frighteningly colder than the other, released their hold and he sensed the source back up. He kept his arms above his head, but lowered them until he had formed a shell around him with his limbs.
Roy did not move after that, unable to notice the horror on the kid's face as he quietly stepped out of the room.
"Hughes residence," a tired yet restless voice responded through the phone.
"Hey."
"Ed? What's going on?" the lieutenant colonel asked quickly, shaking any weariness from the late hour away in an instant.
"It's Mustang. He's... awake."
"He-" Hughes cut himself off, stunned as the information sunk in. But not wanting him to get his hopes up too high, Edward continued.
"Yeah, but there's something- something's not right with him," he breathed reluctantly, his chest aching as the words were forced out. He had dialed in the number hoping to keep the call as succinct as possible, but he was clearly overestimating himself.
Sensing the incoming question, he continued heedlessly. "I don't think he realizes that he's not under the cemetery anymore, and he freaked out when I turned the light on."
Mustang's coarse, ravaging words echoed in his mind, stinging with every loop. The hateful, raging accusation in his tone struck him to the core; it was a miracle he wasn't still frozen to the spot.
You want to help?
After all you've done?
Just go away!
And to think: for a moment, he was too preoccupied with the euphoria of finding the supposed dead man to even think about why he was in that situation. Mustang had plenty of time to think about it; plenty of time to mull over their last interaction and know that his suffering over the past few weeks was his fault. How had he not considered it earlier? Of course he would be furious! Of course he wouldn't want Ed anywhere near him.
He was in no position to blame him for that.
And because of that, he couldn't bring himself to mention the older alchemist's outburst to the man's best friend. What was he supposed to say? Oh yeah, and Mustang hates me because it's my fault he can't even look at a lamp without keeling over.
"I see," Hughes had replied stiffly at last. It took Edward a moment to realize he hadn't just read his mind. The older man cleared his throat. "Do you think that- I mean, is he..."
Edward held his tongue instead of snapping at the man to just spit it out.
"The things you saw written on the walls in that room-" He trailed off again, but Edward got the gist of what he was trying to get at.
After seeing how Mustang reacted to just about everything, those manic scrawls made perfect sense. But again, the blond was at a loss of what to say in response. He did not want to tell Hughes that those insane scribbled perfectly portrayed how insane the colonel was acting.
"When's the soonest you can get down here?" he asked softly, avoiding the topic altogether as he ducked his head out from the kitchen and peered into the dark living room, where Mustang was still huddled against one of the walls. "Maybe you'll have better luck getting across to him."
Hughes was silent for a moment, no doubt catching how Ed did not offer a response to his concern.
"... I'll head out now."
"Okay," he murmured, just barely keeping himself from pathetically begging the man to hurry.
He lowered the handset back down as the call ended and let out an exhale that sounded far too old for his age. He glanced around the corner to the living room again, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark in order to confirm that the man was indeed still there.
When he started to mindlessly bite at the bandages around his hands, Ed immediately knew he would have no hope of stopping him in the dark without earning a few bruises in the process. If Mustang had spent the past few weeks in the dark as he had expected, he had an advance when it came to fighting in the dark, having plenty of time to get adjusted to it.
Edward had scarified the time required to run down the hall and into the kitchen to flip on a light, hoping it still wouldn't be too much for the colonel to handle as he charged back into the room. Able to make out just enough to stop him from hurting his hands thanks to the distant light, Edward was thankfully able to keep him from attempting the same thing again, but that fact meant paltry to him when he saw how broken the man now looked.
He couldn't see Mustang's eyes, but he knew with a chilling certainty that they would have looked distant and frightened if he had.
To make matters worse, it looked like they would need to readjust the bandages, which he expected to be nearly impossible now that the man was no longer comatose.
Edward feared to wonder what had happened to his superior officer to make him like this, but the stomach-churning knowledge that he was to ultimately to blame for it made him want to block it all out. Of course, that was the last thing he could do at the moment. He told himself that remaining here would somehow make up for his idiotic mistake.
Maes gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it, knuckles fading into white. Snakes were viciously tumbling in his stomach and his limbs refused to be still for so much as a second. His brain was no less active, spinning in circles until he felt nauseous to the point that he considered pulling over.
But no, prolonging it would only make matters worse.
He had hoped the discovery that Roy was actually alive would be enough to allow him some rest, but he was too optimistic for his own good. Maes had been dreading a call from Edward for a plethora of reasons, and it was safe to say that his heart nearly jumped out of his throat when it finally happened.
He was expecting to hear that Roy's heart had stopped beating, but it was the opposite: he was awake.
Of course, Edward wouldn't allow him to enjoy the revelation before ripping the rug out from under him.
He said Roy didn't realize he had been rescued; thought that he was still trapped in that dark, damnable place, all alone. This catapulted Maes' mind into terrifying tangents, forcing him to consider possibilities that made him feel sick to his stomach.
For a brief, admirable moment, he at least tried not to think about it as he drove down the slippery road, lit only by passing street lamps as the thin sliver that was the moon had still been obscured by a sheet of clouds. The rain from the night before continued off and on until earlier that evening, giving the fallen water no time to dry. The last thing Maes needed now was to crash his car because he got too riled up to pay attention to the light traffic.
His attempts to keep his mind clear lasted for a good three seconds before he thought back to the painted walls Ed had described seeing, in addition to the news that had been dropped on him through the phone just minutes ago. And what were the chances that he had experienced hypovolemic shock from the blood loss? Not to mention that it was entirely possible that Roy had been trapped in the dark during the entirety of his incarceration.
Maes had not done any research on the subject, but he was positive that light deprivation could do heavy damages to a person's mental state. He heard that similar tactics were used for interrogation in multiple countries, including his own. He did not want to know how effective they were. It was never a pleasant thought, but such things had little to do with his field, so the topic scarcely reached him. But now that such an inhumane act had happened to his best friend...
He swallowed thickly and forced his mind to go blank for the remainder of the drive.
By the time Maes had pulled up alongside the house, he had kept himself from hyperventilating through sheer force of will as he convinced his body to exit the car. The dark clouds were making their departure, drifting past the moon and casting a dim light over the house. He looked at the outer wall as his hands automatically locked the car, wondering if a raging storm awaited him inside. He currently stood at the heart of a hurricane, and was afraid to step out into the chaos that was surely beyond it.
But he had to. Roy needed him to.
Maes forced any and all hesitation out with a shake of his head and marched up to the front door, nearly headbutting the surface when it didn't open as quickly as he wanted it to. But as the door swung open, he froze and surveyed the area, unsure what to look for in the dark as he heard Ed's voice in the back of his head, reminding him that Roy didn't want the lights on.
He heard feet trailing down the hall as he slowly closed the door, willing his hands to stay as stable as possible.
"About time," the teenager breathed as he appeared from behind a corner. Maes decided not to be taken back by his tone, positive that his weary comment wasn't derived purely at him.
"Where is he?" Maes asked needlessly as he stepped further into the house, mind already buzzing with possible locations.
"Hold on." Edward stepped in front of his path, causing him to pause and look down at the kid- actually look at him since he entered. His features were highlighted by the dim gray light that drifted weakly through the blinds next to the door, and by the warm kitchen light that trickled in behind him. He appeared strained with his brow furrowed, eyes staring back at him with a fearful uncertainty pooling within, betraying the steeled expression he tried to muster. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came as hesitation flashed across his face. He looked behind his shoulder towards the living room for a moment, then back to Maes. "He hasn't moved since I called. He- I don't know how he'll react to seeing you."
Maes was silent, biting at the inside of his lip as he tossed the words around in his head, certain there was more Ed wanted to say but couldn't form the thought. He wanted to say something reassuring and promise that he could fix everything, but the sentiment refused to vocalize itself. Instead, all he could manage to respond with was to repeat himself, failing to fend of the grim tone that laced itself into his voice. "Where is he?"
He didn't need to ask, as he could already assume Roy was in the living room, but there was nothing else to be said.
Edward pursed his lip and turned away, quietly stepping into the next room with Maes following him close behind. As soon as his view expanded into the area, Edward stopped moving, his eyes locked on the shadow in the far corner. Maes followed his gaze, noticing the curled figure slumped there in the dark after a moment of squinting.
Roy.
He had been acting odd, but the very fact that he was no longer laying motionless on the couch sent a thrilling jolt through Maes' core, followed by a wave of relief. However, all of this was washed to the side when he found himself approaching his friend, only to notice that he was shivering.
He had given Roy a clean set of clothes the day before and it wasn't particularly cold that night, but his arms were wrapped so tightly around himself that they shook, giving Maes a good view of his bandaged hand and forearm. His knees were pulled up protectively, and his face was completely obscured by the barrier of limbs.
His feet moved on their own, bringing him closer and closer to the man as his brain was fogged by static, thoughts flying through too quickly to understand. He was almost nauseated and his balance wavered with every other step, fear ravaging his motor skills. Edward gave him little to hope for based on his latest report, but he dreaded to discover that Roy's state could possibly be far worse than he imagined.
What if he didn't respond at all? What if he was locked in his own dark, depressing world, and would remain like that forever? Had be already been pushed over the edge? Was it too late?
These dismal thoughts muted once he found himself kneeling in front of his friend, blinking as his eyes still adjusted to the dark. He could only make out the more noticeable details, such as the greasy mess that was his black hair, and the bandages that had been pulled on, tightly trapping his fingers, yet draping down like ribbons at the same time.
He tried to regain some moisture to his tongue, swallowing thickly before opening his mouth to say something. He hesitated for a moment and rose a hand up towards the alchemist's shoulder, not yet daring to make contact.
"... Roy?"
The other man's shoulders tensed slightly. Or did he just imagine the subtle movement?
"Hey," he tried again softly, finally managing the willpower to lower his palm onto his friend's stiff shoulder, anxiously noticing the flinch in response. "Come on, buddy; it's just me," he continued, forcing his voice to sound somewhat controlled despite the battling knots in his stomach.
Roy began to rise his head and Maes halted all breathing, afraid that the slightest movement would somehow push him back into his shell. With bangs crossing in front of his eyes, the man looked up at him- or would have, if his eyes were open. But even without seeing his black eyes, Maes could easily make out the deeply troubled conglomeration of emotion that tainted his expression.
Nothing that he saw belonged there.
His eyebrows were tilted with uncertainty and mouth curved in a frown that had been permanently etched into his face. His eyelids flickered with movement and there was a tense air that surrounded him, like a cat prepared to flee at any given moment.
All of it was so starkly un-Roy-like. But Maes had no choice but to continue on as if the image had not been ingrained into his mind like a scar. Rather, he forced a thin smile onto his face, more for himself than anyone else. He only wanted to appreciate that Roy was alive and awake, but the spiraling sense of dread made it rather difficult.
When he opened his mouth to say something more, though he didn't know what, Roy's expression scrunched faintly, fighting against an internal struggle. His eyelids shut tighter, then slid open, his eyes shining through thin slits for only a moment before closing again with a grimace.
The light from down the hall was at Maes' back. While dim, it was apparently still enough to harm Roy's new sensitivity. But nothing else could be done about it at the moment. They would need to readjust him to light somehow, even if it hurt.
You can do it, he wanted to say, but held his tongue as he intently watched the man try again.
Multiple quick, short blinks later, Roy managed to hold his eyes open, shying away from the distant light. Maes shifted an inch to the side, hopefully shielding him despite his better judgment. Roy gave no indication that he noticed the gesture, but when his fragile gaze landed on Maes' face, the lieutenant colonel felt his chest tighten and the hand that remained on Roy's shoulder mindlessly tensed.
Roy looked at him, breaking the contact with a flurry of blinks, only to continue his stare. An uncertain, almost inscrutable expression slid onto his visage, and mixed in with it was glance of hope. It sucked the air out of Maes' lungs as he was again reminded of the harsh reality of the situation. If everything was as it seemed, then that meant Roy had been trapped, alone, in that dark bloody room for weeks on end. Anyone would have lost all hope long ago. But something dark and painful in his eyes told Maes that he was afraid of it. There was a reluctance there, fearful that the ounce of optimism would only get crushed. A war was raging in those eyes, trampling Maes' heart in the crossfire.
Roy fought against believing what he was seeing, yet wanted to so badly.
"... M-maes?" he whispered, his voice empty and shallow.
If there was any air remaining in his lungs, it would have been punched out of him. He had long since accepted that he would never hear that baritone voice ever again. But in that moment, Roy's voice, as broken as it was, still managed to sound like music to his ears.
"That's right," he choked out, ignoring the warm tears that swelled in his eyes. "You're safe now, Roy."
The alchemist only continued the wordless stare, something flashing across his face for a fraction of a second that suggested he didn't understand the language that was just spoken. But whatever that was, it was quickly covered up by a swarm of denial and sadness and again, hope.
Roy's hands curled into fists as they remained crossed in front of him and he shut his eyes tightly as if he was trying to block something out. But only a moment passed before he blearily forced them open again, albeit reluctantly, landing on Maes once more. He almost looked surprised to see that he was still there.
"Safe," he echoed with a slight lilt in his tone, although not enough to make it a question. It was as if Roy didn't know whether to question the word, or agree with it.
"Safe." Maes, unable to say anything particularly intellectual, could only repeat it, hoping to solidify the concept in his friend's damaged mind. But a second after the syllable left his lips, Roy's shoulder slid out from his grasp. He stiffened from the sudden movement, caught completely off guard when Roy lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his back, locking Maes in one of the tightest embraces he had ever experienced.
Roy clung on as if he were his only life-link, somehow managing to curl his fists around the fabric of Maes' shirt despite his fingers being tightly bandaged. The alchemist pressed his face into his shoulder as a choked sob broke through his tense jaw.
Realization took a moment to sink through his weary mind, but he returned the tight hug as soon as it did, feeling the weight of these past two days- no, these past few weeks come crashing down at once.
His heart jumped at the contact, overjoyed that his friend at least recognized him in light of the previous fears that swarmed his mind, but something cold and withering settled in his gut at the same time. He felt it devour any trace of joy he briefly felt, replacing it with the foreboding understanding that this was wrong.
Roy was wrong.
Nothing should have been able to take such a proud, confident man off of his self-built pedestal and turn him into the sobbing, broken mess that held onto Maes like a child. He had never seen Roy like this, even after the war.
After returning from Ishval, Roy was trapped in a pit of self-loathing, being eaten alive by his own guilt. He was miserable because he believed he didn't deserve to live or be happy.
But the man that clung to him now gave off the impression that he didn't want to live. Just looking at how he was now and feeling the agony in his every breath could convince one that his existence was too painful to find any happiness within living.
And that was the most terrifying part of it.
He could only imagine what Roy had been experiencing these past few weeks, but his reaction to seeing him had erasing any reason to try. For a moment, he felt as if he could somehow share in that suffering and lighten the load. He would do so in a heartbeat if it was possible.
Despite how wrong and unnatural it was, Maes wanted nothing more than to remain there. At least here, Roy was safe. At least he could no longer doubt that this entire thing had been a dream when the man he thought was dead was sitting right in front of him
But more importantly, he knew Roy's suffering could now end. He was brought above ground and could see the sun rise again, if only he could keep his eyes open long enough.
Roy's vice grip on his shirt lightened marginally as if he had accepted that Maes wasn't going to disappear at any given moment and he allowed a long, quivering exhale to sound. "I can't keep doing this," he muttered, voice not much more than a whisper as Maes felt tremors run down the man's back.
"It's over now. You're safe."
He laughed bitterly, shaking his head in Maes' shoulder. "You're wrong," he replied sullenly with a pitiable smile in his tone.
Maes paused at his response and he felt his own bloodstream run cold, sensing far too much trepidation than he was prepared to acknowledge"... What do you mean?"
Roy only laughed into his shirt. The same despairingly tragic, self-loathing laugh as before. It was far too similar to how Roy would laugh at himself as he called himself pathetic or a murderer after the war. The way he got when he was at his lowest point. It was a chilling memory- one that he never wanted to be reminded of again. "I'm... I'm tired, Maes."
The way Roy spoke- the disregard for his concern, the disregard for life itself shot a mercilessly cold rod down his spine. He was silenced as he was hit with the realization that this had likely been Roy's mindset for days or weeks or as long as he had been down there. Of course he was tired from going through hell, but Maes couldn't let him shut his eyes again.
"No, Roy- listen to me," he insisted, tightening his grip around the man's shoulders as if that single gesture could banish every fear that screamed in his head. "It's going to be alright, okay? I promise you, I will make everything better. J-just hang on. Let me fix this." He stuttered and tripped over his own words, repeating the same shaken promises for both his sake as well as Roy's. Fear for his friend ripped and shredded his insides, leaving him too pained to think about his own words as they spilled out as if a dam had broke. Wet streaks had fallen down his face, certain that Roy's misery had only spread to him like a virus.
Roy said nothing until Maes' intent pleas had slowly shifted into a low, pathetic mummer, then to silence when he ran out of breath. The alchemist then slackened his shoulders, his grip loosening further as he laid his forehead on Maes' shoulder, obscuring his eyes.
"Hang on? Hang onto what?" he muttered darkly. "I- I already tried to let go, but they won't let me. What else is there?"
Maes was unsure if he wanted to question the statement that made painfully little sense to him. They? Who were they? Who was down there with him? And more importantly, what did they do to suck the life out of him? But as he say there with his mouth gaped open, mind churning to find the right words, his friend put a halt to the turning cogs and further expanded the void that had grown in his chest.
"I-" another miserable chuckle escaped his chapped lips. "I wish you were actually here."
Maes had figured Roy's train of thought would be jumping from place to place throughout the conversation, but he had been incredibly ill-prepared for the deeply reluctant glimmer of understanding that almost winded him on impact.
It took him far too long to regain any semblance of his voice, but Roy didn't seem to mind the silence for as long as it lasted, as if he was completely oblivious to the horror that slid onto Maes' visage. "Wh- what are you talking about?" he asked as if he wanted to follow up with a joke or a light jab, trying to hide how sick he felt. "I am here. I-" he trailed off, failing to find any other way to get through to him.
"Yeah, it feels like it," he muttered, something akin to warmth slipping into his voice for a split second. "But just like everyone else, you'll leave soon enough."
"What? No! Roy- no, I'm not going anywhere."
A faint, halfhearted scoff shook Roy's shoulders and reverberated down his back. "We'll see."
There was a sense of familiarity in his tone just then- the knowing confidence that Roy so often projected when he knew he was right. It would have been refreshing to see proof that Roy was still in there, underneath the shattered pieces, if only he was talking about anything besides Maes leaving him alone again. Anything besides Maes being a hallucination. He didn't need Roy to spell it out to figure out that that was what he meant. Of course he would have only had hallucinations as company during his incarceration.
Maes felt incredibly out of his league as the weight of the situation built with every waking breath Roy took. He didn't know how to handle this, or how to progress from here on now that he knew what was on the line. But he could at least comfort himself with the one thing he was certain of: he would force the man to accept that the worst was behind him, and he would pull him out of the darkness even if he had to drag him kicking and screaming.
Maes could respond to Roy's comment only by tightening the hug, allowing the miserable tears to escape his eyes and soak into his shirt. He failed to notice when Edward stepped out of the room, leaving the two alone.
On that happy note, it is possible that chapter 12 will need to be postponed by a week. Again, I know. These past few weeks have been very busy for me and my uploading scheduled caught up with me. I'll keep you guys updated on my profile.
Also! I want to take a moment to thank everyone for leaving such kind reviews, including the guests!
Thanks for reading!