A/N: IT IS SO LONG. AND SO MANY THINGS HAPPEN. I HAVE SHATTERED MY RECORD FOR WORDS POSTED BY ABOUT A THOUSAND. I JUST...I CAN'T EVEN...*dies*
Seriously. It hits the fan so hard in this chapter. Just a warning. Be prepared for anything, and try not to kill me when you're done reading. THERE IS A REASON I PROMISE.
I love you all dearly; thank you for your patience and your support as I struggle with monster chapters like this one (for real...trying to figure out the chain of events was harder than getting a straight answer out of Mustang). Your reviews and story visits mean so much to me, and keep me sane when I'm beating my face against the keyboard.
I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, and am making no money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Thirteen
"Damn it!"
An automail fist impacted against a plank of old and rotting wood, causing it to splinter and strain under the force. Breath heaving, eyes wide and wild, Edward Elric cocked his fist back for another blow.
"Shit. That wasn't supposed to happen!"
Another punch. The wood cracked in half with a wet-sounding creak and collapsed. Ed followed it down, sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against the wood that remained. His clothes were ripped and torn, streaked with dust and blood. His hair was a tangled mess behind his head, darkened by dirt.
Over his shoulders, Ed heard the soft sound of weeping. Somebody was crying; maybe all of them were. He knew he should get up, should go to comfort them. But he was too raw, his stomach a mass of twisting knots and heavy waves of sick.
"We have to go back," he whispered, and closed his eyes against frightened and frustrated tears of his own.
….
Twelve Hours Earlier
Edward Elric was a wreck. Despite getting zero sleep the night before, he stumbled around the cafeteria like a caffeine addict riding the high. Adrenaline buzzed under his skin like beetles, but he lacked an appropriate outlet, and so even though his skin itched with the urge to move, to run, and maybe to fight, it showed itself only in the restless tapping of his feet and fingers, in the wild shifting of his eyes, and the jerky movements of his limbs.
It had been three hours since his revelation in the boiler room. Three hours since he forced his friends out of bed, and brought the tiny bit of stability their world provided crashing down around them.
Perhaps because of this, the rest of the group looked barely better than the oldest Elric, despite the fact that they'd at least gotten a little sleep. Havoc was tapping at his cigarette box with restless, twitching fingers. Breda stared at the plate piled high with food in front of him, his mouth screwed shut against what looked like a nauseous stomach. Fuery was ghost pale behind his glasses, and almost completely silent. Falman sat still and quiet, and when he moved, the action seemed slow and painful. Riza had her hands locked tight around a metal belt buckle that Ed had never seen before, and she refused to put it down even to eat. Al's lips were bitten to bloody ribbons again. And Mustang was a statue, a dead thing made of stone, but with shockingly vibrant eyes that scorched.
And whether it was subconscious or not, they formed a protective circle around Winry, covering her with their bodies like they thought Dante would simply stroll by and snatch her by the hair.
Ironically enough, it was the girl they were so desperate to protect that seemed to be holding up the best out of all of them. She was pale, yes, her skin white and waxy and sickly looking. But her lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. And the fear in her eyes had been diluted by fury, a rage sparked by the survival instinct and built to a burning blaze.
Ed thought that she was beautiful like this, with a mouth ready to snarl and fists clenched tight and angry.
"We've run out of time," he'd said, back inside the boiler room. "Dante must have been waiting for Winry to grow up enough, but apparently she's decided that sixteen is an acceptable age. And we don't know how long she'll wait now that she's made up her mind. It could be today, it could be tomorrow."
"We have to act," Riza had agreed quietly, and her hands had been locked around the leg of Roy's lawn chair again. "Now."
"But we're not ready!" Havoc had argued, and underneath the anger in his eyes, anger that had developed after Ed had finally calmed down enough to explain the situation, there was a horrible fear. "We haven't talked everything through, and these two aren't nearly trained enough, and we still have no idea where we're going once we get out, or even how to get away!"
"Ready or not, our planning window has closed," Roy had countered, and the soft, terribly sane cadence of his voice had seemed terrifying somehow, echoing in the small space. "The risk factor has grown to an unacceptable level; a slow drain is one thing, but this new threat is immediate. We have to react accordingly."
"But what do we-"
"Tonight," Roy had said, and the fire in his eyes had seemed somehow eager, leaping forward like greedy mouths.
And now the adrenaline was building inside Edward like a fire of its own. He didn't want to wait. He wanted to run, to fight, before Dante and the others could come for the people he was trying to protect. He wanted to bare his teeth, and tighten his fists, and use them. This sitting still, especially knowing that the bright and brilliant flash of action was waiting at the end, was driving him crazier than anything else in this asylum had managed up to this point.
But it wasn't time yet. So they all forced themselves to stay as quiet and still as hunted animals hiding in the tall grass, and did their best to ignore the biological urge to run, run from the danger.
As Gluttony came around to clear their plates, eyes gleaming at the sight of all the food they'd left untouched, Mustang's flame-filled eyes darted upward. Lips pressed tight, he offered Ed a nod, barely there, more like a jerk of his chin. And then he pushed upward and away from the table, and stopped dead.
It was an impressive piece of acting. An old trick of theirs, but still somehow more masterfully executed than Fuery had ever accomplished. Mustang's knees knocked, and then crumpled, those fire-bright eyes fluttering rapidly. His skin was so pale already, and seemed paper thin, as his throat worked frantically.
"Uh," he offered, before collapsing to the floor in a boneless heap.
Riza was on her knees beside him almost before he finished falling.
"Roy!" Havoc shouted, and twisted out his seat to reach him.
They all rushed to his side, perfect examples of panic and worry and fear painted across their faces. Riza and Fuery had tear tracks streaking their cheeks, and Ed thought that it was particularly well done, a perfect way to use the adrenaline to their advantage.
"Move aside," Lust said lazily, nudging the others out of her way with the tip of her shoe. She bent over Roy with a disgruntled sigh, as if his sudden collapse had pulled her from the favored past time of actively not caring. "He's fine. Exhausted." A slow, dirty smile curved her lips. Ed wanted to wipe it away with his fist. "Looks like our favorite boy might be breaking a little. Such a shame. He lasted so long, too."
The look of hatred that creased Riza's face was raw, and wild, and in no way make-believe. Ed almost smiled to see it, a feral grin of approval and echoed sentiment, before he remembered that they were acting now, and ducked his head instead.
"I'll take him to his room," Armstrong said quietly, appearing on the scene like magic, his eyes soft with sadness and concern.
"You do that," Lust said, rising unconcernedly to her feet.
Across the cafeteria, Martel and Kimblee and Greed were howling with laughter, banging their fists against the table like Mustang's collapse was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. But as they exited the room, crowding around Armstrong and the boy in his arms like a little knot of anxiety, Greed caught Edward's eye. His mouth never lost its needle-sharp smile, but his eyes were serious as he nodded, and then tipped his head in Al's direction.
Ed fought the urge to reach for his brother's shoulder, and nodded back. He wandered away with the group, and watched as Armstrong tucked Mustang into bed with all the care of a parent. His blue eyes sparkled with what appeared to be frustrated tears, until he bent down to adjust Roy's pillow, and the boy whispered a single word into his ear.
"We can't risk trying to free whoever ends up in the alchemy chamber," Roy had said. "We have to make sure that its Kimblee tonight, and not any of us."
"And Martel," Ed had murmured. "She's coming with us."
"What!" Havoc and Breda had exploded, and Ed had pinned them with a burning glare of his own.
"Greed risked a lot…everything…in order to get me the information about Winry. All he wants in return is Martel's freedom."
"But not his own?" Mustang had asked quietly.
"He's dying," Ed had explained, appalled by the tightening in his throat. "Says he's past the point of saving. But he thinks that Martel still has a chance."
"He's sacrificing himself for her," Fuery had said quietly, realization on his face and tears in his eyes, and Ed had wanted to hug him for it. "He knows about our plan, but he's giving up his advantage for Martel's sake."
"Protecting his precious people," Ed had whispered. "Apparently, it's a universal thing."
"Unless you're Dante," Havoc had spat. "And you only care about your own damn self."
"We'll have to knock her out," Winry had said, her first spoken words since Ed's revelation. Her eyes had been dry and furious, focused firmly on Roy's face. "She won't come willingly away from her boys. We'll have to carry her."
Mustang had nodded.
"Martel, too," he'd agreed. "So, it has to be Kimblee and Greed in the chamber tonight."
Al ate his lunch slowly, resignedly, his face screwed up in displeasure. In any other situation, it would have been funny, watching him shovel food into a face twisted with palpable reluctance. But it wasn't funny, and Ed struggled not to stare in obvious concern, as he swallowed down his own food (he'd need the energy that those calories created).
Al was only halfway through his mashed potatoes when his face spasmed. He dropped his fork (it clattered loudly against his tray) and spun around in his seat, clutching his stomach as he emptied it all over the floor.
"Alphonse!" Ed cried, and he didn't have to fake the worry in his voice. Seeing his brother so sick made it natural enough.
He all but hurtled the table to reach his brother's side, and stroked his sweaty hair as Al heaved miserably. The others crowded around them, crouching down and patting his brother's back, hovering like worried birds. Across the room, another fork clattered, and Kimblee's voice filled the room, shouting; "Martel, what the fuck?"
A quick glance over revealed that Martel was emptying her stomach just like Alphonse, heaving onto the white tile. Kimblee jumped back in surprise and disgust while Greed went to her side, wrapping a soothing hand around the back of her neck.
"You're all so annoyingly needy today," Lust said, her pretty nose wrinkled in disgust as he eased her way into the cafeteria, skirting puddles of vomit.
"Nurse," Fuery said, eyes wide and lips trembling. "Nurse, please, can you-"
"I'm not touching either of them," Lust snapped, shooting Fuery a glare filled with annoyance. "They're disgusting. Armstrong can take them to see Doctor Hughes."
Alphonse wretched again, sweat dampening his skin where Ed's fingers touched it, and heaved a miserable moan.
"You're a nurse," Fuery whispered, and he looked terrified to be speaking, but determined to get his words out all the same. "Please. You have to do something."
Lust made a sharp, short sound in the back of her throat, and moved. One second she was standing carefully on a clean patch of floor, and the next she was looming over Fuery, the dagger-sharp nails on her right hand pressed against his cheek.
Ed, who'd only heard about their unnatural speed, almost choked on his strangled sound of surprise.
"I wouldn't be so foolish as to pin me with the stereotypes of my profession, if I were you," Lust murmured, intimate as lover, into Fuery's ear. "I don't feel compassion, and especially not for the condemned."
Fuery's eyes were impossibly wide, glossy and fixed on the Nurse's face. She tapped her nails against his cheek, and he flinched away.
"Remember that," she whispered, and pulled back with a smile like poison.
She left behind five crescent-shaped bits of blood on Fuery's face, from where her nails had pierced the skin.
"Armstrong," she said lazily, already strolling her way out of the room. "Take care of this. I'm bored with it." As she passed through the doorway, they heard her ask in a laughing purr, "What did you do to the food? Naughty, Gluttony."
Armstrong already had Martel cradled against his chest, apparently unconcerned by the fact that she was still heaving, and ruining his white shirt with it. He reached for Alphonse next, and draped him gently over one giant shoulder.
"I'll go with you," Edward said, shooting to his feet. This was still acting, in a way, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with letting his baby brother go off completely on his own.
"And me," Greed said, loping up to Edward's side. "Solf's in the bathroom, scrubbing at his jeans. Looks like Martel got him good. So, I'll play escort."
Ed didn't look in his direction, didn't even speak as they made their way down to the doctor's office. Hughes took one look at Armstrong's patients, and their escort, and those tiger eyes went bright.
"I'm popular today!" he exclaimed, ushering the ill inside and onto recovery beds. "It's nice to see you again, Edward. How's Roy doing? I haven't heard from him lately."
"Actually, Doc, he's a little under the weather at the moment," Ed replied.
Hughes never turned away from his patients, but Edward saw the little smile all the same.
"Oh?" he asked. "Well, that's unfortunate."
"Yeah," Ed sighed, and scratched at the back of his head. "Not sure how much longer he'll last, you know?"
"I see," Hughes said quietly. "Well, send him my regards, would you Edward?"
"Sure thing, Doc."
"Brother," Alphonse groaned, and Ed hurried to his side.
"Yeah, Al. I'm here."
Al squinted open soft gray eyes, hazy with sick, and offered his brother a weak, sweat-soaked smile.
"You can go back. I'm sure Doctor Hughes will take very good care of me."
"Of course!" Hughes sang out merrily from the other room.
"You sure, Al?" Ed asked, ignoring the other man completely. "I don't like leaving you alone."
"I know," Alphonse said, and his steady smile grew a little. "But I'll be fine. And I'll see you later. Right?"
Ed blinked, and then returned his brother's smile.
"Sure, Al. Of course."
"Then get going. And get some rest, Brother. You look tired."
Ed laughed, an exhausted exhalation of sound, and grabbed his brother's hand for the briefest moment.
"All right, Al. If you say so."
Al squeezed his palm, and when Ed let go, he watched his brother's fingers curl around the empty space with satisfaction.
"You coming?" he asked Greed, who was bending over Martel's bed and stroking her sweaty brow. The girl was staring at him with soft eyes, and her fingers were locked tight into the sleeve of his jacket.
Ed looked at the floor instead, because it hurt to see them both so vulnerable.
"Yeah," Greed answered. He flicked Martel's nose and laughed when she snarled at him. "There's some teeth. Get some sleep, Blondie."
"Bastard," she snapped, but she was still smiling when she burrowed underneath her blankets.
They heard Hughes re-enter the room as they left through the front entrance, with a cry of; "I know what will make you better! PICTURES OF MY ADORABLE DAUGHTER!"
Greed snorted out a laugh.
"He's a strange one," he said, before flashing that needle-sharp smile in Ed's direction. "Good taste in drugs, though."
Ed didn't respond, because the soft rattle of Mustang's nausea inducing pills in his pocket seemed like answer enough.
…
The rest of the day was disturbingly serene. The evening meal in particular seemed like a somber affair, with Al, Martel, and Mustang missing from the tables. The only sound the dining room had to offer that night was the soft scrape of forks.
If the guards were at all perturbed by their patient's silence, they didn't show it. In fact, the way Dante laughed during Group Therapy, and the curve of Lust's lips as she administered pills after dinner seemed to suggest that if they were feeling anything at all, it was smug.
Bitch. Bitch. Just you wait, Ed thought, with his head down and his pills hidden under his tongue.
After dinner, they all retreated to their rooms. Ed stared at the ceiling above his bed and counted minutes until his brain was numb.
What time do they take us to the chamber? He'd asked.
Around two, Mustang had answered.
And they send us to bed around eleven, Riza had reminded him. So we'll have to wait.
And so for hours, Ed fidgeted against his sheets, and counted minutes, and knew for a fact that none of the others were sleeping.
"You think we can do this, Bastard? Really do this?" he asked, about two hours into their waiting period.
Mustang didn't respond for a while, but Ed knew he wasn't sleeping, so he watched the shadows shift around the room and waited.
"They'll get out," Mustang eventually answered softly. "Probably me. Not so sure about you."
Ed choked on his own snort of laughter.
"Yeah, whatever. Jerk."
Finally, at twelve minutes after two, they heard the sound of clicking heels and shuffling feet outside the door. They listened as Lust coaxed Greed and Kimblee down the hall, and waited until the soft murmur of her voice had faded before sitting up in bed and tossing back the covers.
The others were already waiting for them in the family room, faces pale and tight with worry. They were wearing dark clothes and sensible shoes, and looked ready to run until their feet fell off. They weren't carrying any packs; they couldn't afford the weight. But Ed saw Havoc's cigarettes sticking out of his jacket pocket, and Riza's belt buckle curled inside her fist.
"Al should be here any second," Ed whispered.
"Here, Brother," a soft voice whispered back from the darkened doorway.
Al appeared, with Armstrong and Hughes hot on his heels, the recipient of Ed's unspoken message and the instructions he'd left curled in Al's hand back in the hospital wing. Martel was cradled in the doctor's arms, as expected. But Armstrong's burden had the group sucking in a surprised breath.
"I'm sorry," Al whispered, and pressed the boy called Wrath against his chest. "I know we never planned for this. But Brother and I don't leave people behind. Not ever again."
Ed shot a look out of the corner of his eye and noticed that Mustang looked less startled and more resigned.
"They're very light," Armstrong whispered, and they all caught the catch in his voice as he rocked the older blonde boy against his chest. "They shouldn't be difficult to carry."
It was true. They looked like little more than skeletons in his arms, frail and small.
"I medicated them as best I could," Hughes added quietly. "Martel won't wake up for hours yet. And the others, well…they'll last at least a little longer."
For a moment, there was only silence, and Ed was afraid that everything was about to blow. But then, surprisingly, Havoc stepped forward and held out his arms.
"Load me up," he whispered, and managed a little smile.
Ed's heart swelled with warmth and gratitude as Armstrong passed him the boy with the scar on his face.
In the end, Falman took the elder blonde brother, and Fuery took the boy called Wrath. Riza took the younger blonde brother, because he was the lightest, and Breda took Martel, because she was the only one with any weight on her still. Al remained unburdened, because he'd need to move quickly if the fight caught up to them.
"I can barely feel him in my arms," Fuery whispered, staring at the pale and sunken figure in his arms with tears shimmering in his eyes. "I just…how can they do this…"
"Just get them out, Fuery," Mustang murmured. "That's the best we can do for them now." He straightened, and looked around at their little group. "You all know what to do. Wait until Elric and I start the fight, and then get the door open. Our alchemy should cover yours. Once you hit the outside, head for the trees, and stay hidden. Don't stop for anything, and stay away from the roads. Got your compass, Havoc?"
"Right here, Colonel."
"Good. Your target is on the other side of the forest."
"We don't know where to go," Havoc had repeated.
"There's a house," Mustang had answered. "Hughes told me about it. It's abandoned, but it used to belong to the asylum's overseer. I didn't want to use it, because of its ties to this place, but it appears that we're out of options. We'll use it, at least as a place to regroup. I'll get the coordinates from Armstrong."
"Stay low and keep quiet once you reach it," Mustang whispered. "Elric and I will meet you there."
"Roger."
"Stay safe, you guys," Ed added quietly. "Don't do anything stupid. I'll be too worried about the Bastard's stupid to mess around fixing yours."
They shared a quick, apprehensive laugh. Which was good, that they were still capable of it. And then Riza marched forward, shifting the paper-thin body in her arms in order to crowd Mustang's personal space. She juggled the boy so that she could reach out and wrap one firm hand on the back of Roy's neck.
"Hawkeye," he said.
"We will see you later," she answered, and this time the fire was in her eyes instead, firm and unwavering.
Mustang laughed, and their faces were so close, and everything in Ed screamed that they were about to kiss, that they should be kissing. But then the Bastard laughed a little and wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, pulling it gently away.
"Sure," he said easily. "You go ahead. I'll catch up."
Riza's lips tipped in the barest hint of a smile, and then she stepped back, securing the body in her arms once again.
Ed was about to shoo them out the door, when he felt fingers creep into the crook of his arm.
"Alphonse," he whispered.
There was a long, painful pause, and then his brother said; "I'm not saying goodbye to you."
Something in Ed's stomach bottomed out hard, and so his whisper was a little hoarse when he replied; "Don't be an idiot."
Those fingers on his arm tightened, and spun him around. Al's eyes were wide and deadly somber.
"I'm serious, Brother," he said. "Don't you dare die. I won't forgive you if you do."
Ed swallowed the lump in his throat, and mustered a smile from somewhere. He reached out with his free arm and ruffled his brother's hair.
"I'll see you later, Al," he whispered, and his brother smiled for him again.
"I know."
"Be safe, you guys," Breda whispered as Alphonse melted back into the group.
"Yeah, I know you're a showoff, Colonel," Havoc said lightly, but his green eyes were sharp with concern. "But let the kid do some of the heavy lifting, okay?"
"Go," Mustang ordered with a smile.
As they marched out the door, Ed felt someone grab his hand and give it a hard squeeze. Startled, he looked up, to see Winry standing last in line, burning him with a stare that reinforced everything Al had said.
Don't you dare die.
Heat filled Ed's cheeks like fire, and he nodded. Winry's stare softened into a smile as she stepped out the door.
"Ready to get this party started, Bastard?" Ed asked, after they'd given them a few minutes to get to the door.
The fire was already in Mustang's eyes, burning out of control. He snorted in Ed's general direction.
"Just try to keep up with me, Elric," he murmured. "I've been waiting to do this for five years."
And then he pulled a goofy looking glove out of his back pocket.
"What the hell is that?" Ed hissed, sprinting after Mustang as the boy strode out into the hallway. "Is it really necessary to accessorize for a fight?"
"This was Riza's grandfather's," Roy explained calmly. He was moving away from the main entrance, where the others were gathered. Instead, he was headed toward the staircase that led to the alchemy chamber. "She found it in the attic of her old home."
"Oh, yeah?" Riza's grandfather had been an alchemist in the military, Ed remembered. Still, the glove didn't look that impressive. "Well, what's it for?"
"This," Roy said with a smile that was nowhere near sane, and snapped his fingers.
The floor in front of him exploded.
"What the fuck!" Ed yelped, jumping away as ropes of fire filled the hall in front of him, gobbling up the floor and walls like greedy mouths.
He'd known that the bastard had fire inside of him. It was visible in his eyes. But he'd never thought it would manifest itself so literally.
"Dear me," Roy said, watching the fire with quiet eyes and a small smile. "I do believe the entrance to the alchemy chamber has been blocked."
"You crazy fucker!" Ed replied, but he was laughing, laughing till tears rolled down his cheeks. "Let's block it a little more, then!" He had to shout, because the roar of fire and the screams of collapsing wood filled his ears.
He clapped his hands and slapped them against the floorboards. Jagged spikes filled the fire-wreathed doorway.
"Take that!" he whooped, and laughed again. The power was like flying, like freedom; it had hurt something deep inside to keep it locked away so long. He was giddy with the release of it, like the lightheadedness that follows holding a breath for too long.
But then there was something like a snarl from the blocked off staircase, and the spikes he'd created exploded into bits of the wood and dirt he'd shaped them from. Lust, Gluttony, and man Ed had never seen before stepped out from the mangled doorway, apparently unconcerned by the flames licking at their heels. Their faces were hard and sharp in the flickering light, their lips curved and their eyes empty.
Monsters, Ed's mind supplied, shrinking back with instinctive snarls from the unknown. Unnatural. Wrong.
He didn't know how he'd missed it before. The green-tipped skin, the eyes frosted an unnatural purple, the sharp teeth behind their smiles. But the alchemy in his blood was beating out their perversion like a silent scream.
"What's this? Little brats out of bed?"
Ed stiffened at the voice. Envy; he was the unidentified man. Ed had never opened his eyes in the alchemy chamber, not extensively. And so he'd never seen the man's face. But that voice; the familiar sound of it grated against Ed's skin like knives.
"Out of bed!" Roy bellowed in agreement. "And ready to kick your ass!" And then he whooped like a little boy playing pirate.
Ed momentarily tripped over his own brain.
The hell? And who is this supposed to be?
But then he caught on to Mustang's plan of attack.
Right. They don't know that the others are out of bed yet. Playing crazy might buy time.
"Yeah!" he shouted in agreement, pumping his fists over his head. "You bastards have nothing on our mad skills!"
On his left, he heard Mustang offer a hastily smothered snort.
"Oh, look," Lust purred. "They're crazy. How cute."
"Kiss my ass, Jiggles!"
This time Mustang didn't even try to stop the laugh. Never let it be said that Edward Elric didn't know how to embrace balls to the wall crazy when the situation called for it.
'Seriously, Bastard?" he took the time to mutter. "This is the first time I hear you laugh?"
"Jiggles," Mustang gasped.
"You're wrong in the head."
And then Envy rushed Mustang and Lust went after Ed with an offended pout, and Gluttony stood in the doorway with glazed eyes and drool on his chin.
"Naughty, Edward," Lust cooed, her eyes wide in surprise as she watched Ed fashion a blade out of his automail arm, ripping through the leather glove. "Hiding your real power like that." And then she lunged.
Things dissolved into stop-action flashes of memory from there. Ed had trained himself to take a hit and then hit back harder, but the fight was difficult, and deadly serious. This wasn't a scrap in the schoolyard like Ed had indulged in at the orphanages. It became clear very quickly that Lust and Envy, at least, possessed some sort of alchemy of their own. The daggers on Lust's fingertips extended into actual blades of lethal sharpness, and Envy seemed to possess some sort of super strength, batting Roy around like a bath toy whenever his blows landed.
They didn't want to kill them; that was probably the only thing that actually kept Ed and Roy alive. They didn't want to destroy their precious power sources, just dent them a little. And seven minutes in, Ed was feeling the damage. His automail felt busted and bent; Lust's blows had weakened it exponentially. Blood was stinging his eye from where Lust had dragged a jagged scrape across his forehead. He had his free hand pressed against his side, where Lust's blades had lanced off several layers of skin. And every inch of him felt bruised and battered.
The hallway was in shambles; the combined force of blows and Roy's continued blasts of fire was buckling it. Wooden panels groaned in protest, and charred chunks of plaster littered the floor like little meteorites.
Have to end this soon, Ed's brain supplied breathlessly. Keep this up much longer and they'll damage us beyond any hope of running.
His lightning quick mind began to shuffle through scenarios like a deck of cards, struggling to find the one that would bring them through this in one piece. But then he braced himself grimly instead when a wild, ravaged scream sounded from the staircase.
A curled fist burst through the still hovering Gluttony's protruding gut, spraying bits of blood and gristle. The drooling creature offered a high, keening whine, and toppled to the side.
Kimblee burst through the shattered door, his eyes bugged wide and those horrible, ripping screams still echoing from his lips. He listed to the side like a Saturday drunk, and clutched desperately at his hair, tearing it out in long, bloody chunks.
"Greed!" he gibbered, still screaming. "Greed!
He beat his bloodstained fists against the wall, and then spun around. His eyes were terrifyingly blank; not the absent emptiness of the other broken kids, but the feral hollowness of someone who'd lost everything and was still drowning in the scent of death.
"Fucking bastards!" he screeched, spit flying from his mouth, and then he clapped his palms together.
Tattoos on his hands, Ed had time to think, before Kimblee rushed Envy like a stumbling, lurching wild man, and slapped his hands against his sides.
Envy's eyes popped wide as his skin stretched and swelled, ballooning to gross, bloated proportions, and he blew like a firework at Fourth of July. Lust screamed as the impact knocked her off her feet, and through the adjacent wall.
Ed, who'd missed the blast path by mere inches, could only gape, his eyes the size of dinner plates and the sour taste of sick in the back of his throat.
In the middle of the suddenly silent room, Kimblee swayed like he was dancing to silent music. Tears slipped from eyes he'd fluttered shut, and a strangely peaceful smile curved his lips.
"Beautiful," he rasped, before collapsing like a sack of bricks.
"Shit," Ed whispered. There was blood spattered on the walls, and bits of skin and gore. They didn't have time for it, this was their chance, but he still couldn't stop himself for vomiting in the corner as quickly and quietly as possible.
"Bastard," he croaked, when he was done. "Where are you?" He limped up to Kimblee and dropped to his knees. Everything ached, and the blood was warm and sticky on his forehead as he fumbled at Kimblee's wrist for a pulse.
Silence.
"Shit," he whispered again. Tears stung his eyes, brought on by exhaustion and fear, and he stumbled back to his feet. "Bastard, please."
Across the room, a quiet cough sounded, and Roy emerged from a pile of rubble. He looked like absolute hell; he was bruised and bleeding everywhere, and one of his arms was crooked at an unnatural angle. He was rocking gently on his feet, like Kimblee had, and Ed could tell that he'd caught some of the blast by the blackened areas of his skin.
But the fire was still burning in his eyes, and that comforted Ed like nothing else in this situation could.
"Kimblee?" he rasped.
"Dead," Edward whispered back. "Come on, we've got to go."
They were stopped only once on their way out. By Envy's torso, dragging itself across the floor, by arms that had been blown to bloody stumps.
"Guh," it gibbered, from a mouth half missing and bearing bits of bleach white bone. "Guh." And then it's remaining eye (the other had been melted by the blast, running down his cheek like warm candle wax), fixed on Ed's frozen form. "FACE!" It screamed. "His FACE!"
"Oh, God," Ed moaned helplessly, and the soft gray of unconsciousness began to dance at the edge of his vision.
Mustang shoved him hard from behind, forcing him away from Envy and back to the current situation.
They started off down the decimated hallway, moving as fast as their injured bodies would allow. More than once, Ed saw Mustang stop, and shudder, but he never offered help. The bastard wouldn't have wanted it.
He also didn't seem surprised by Ed's apparent destination. Instead of leading them towards the front door, Ed limped his way down to the adult wing, heading straight for one of the solitary cells. It was unlocked, as Ed had instructed Al to guarantee before leaving the hospital wing.
"Teacher," he croaked into the darkened room.
"Ed?" the woman whispered back, and crawled out of the shadows. "Roy? What's happening?"
"Come on," Edward said, too tired and shaken to explain.
The woman looked like Wrath, like death. She was barely more than a thin layer of skin over a structure of bones. But she climbed to her feet and strode through the door like the strongest woman alive.
"I see," she murmured, after taking a good look at the two boys in the proper light. "Foolish, Edward. I'm dead anyway."
"Come on," Ed repeated, and they moved toward the front door of the adult wing.
Ed had just finished transmuting the lock, Mustang suspiciously silent at his back, when the roar of fire filled his ears once again. His adrenaline spiked painfully, boomeranging around his body, screaming that the creatures were back, that Envy had been crawling across the floor in pieces, oh God.
But when he spun around he saw only Mustang. And the wall of fire he'd created between them.
"Bastard?" he shouted, over the twisting flames. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Mustang's smile was thin and sharp and somehow sad, and Ed realized where he'd seen it before.
Greed.
Clarity ripped up his spine like knives.
"NO!" he screamed, stumbling towards the fire like he might run through it. "NO!"
"Go, Elric," he heard Mustang say over the flames.
"NOT WITHOUT YOU! DAMN IT, BASTARD, YOU FUCKING BASTARD, THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO NEED YOU, REMEMBER?"
"I kept my promise. I got them out. And that's all I have to give; there's nothing left in me for anything more."
Tears were streaming down Edward's cheeks, but he didn't notice them.
"I'm tired," Roy added, and his smile softened a little.
"You're Roy Mustang!" he shouted. His voice was raw and wrecked. "You don't get tired. You scheme and you smirk and you piss me the fuck off, but you don't get tired."
"Go, Elric."
"I am not leaving you here!"
Again, Mustang smiled. Ed recoiled from it. The bastard's eyes were empty; the only flames filling them now were the ones dancing in front of him. Peace had overtaken them instead, a kind of calm filling them like water.
"I'm glad you came," he whispered, and then he snapped his fingers once again. "I'm glad you came to take care of them."
"NO!"
The last thing Ed saw before the ceiling collapsed in a pile of dirt and debris that blocked the hallway completely was Mustang coughing, coughing until he doubled over and fresh blood puddled on the front of his pants.
"Bastard!" Ed screamed, clawing at the obstruction until his remaining glove ripped and his fingers bled. "Bastard! Roy!"
...
A/N: Ha. Aha. So. Do you promise not to kill me if I promise that the next chapter won't take nearly as wrong for me to write? Pretty please? *hides*