Chapter 14

Ed collapsed onto his small military-issued bed with a great exhale, kicking his shoes off as he scrubbed at his face, hoping to rid of all the worries that plagued his mind. But just as he pessimistically expected, a growing headache continued to pound as his mind was constricted with the thoughts that refused to leave him be.

"Tiring day?" Alphonse asked from across the room, having the forethought to give Edward enough time to lay down before asking the inevitable questions.

"That's the understatement of the century," he muttered plainly, lacking the will to do much more than huff when he heard his voice break from exhaustion.

"So... how is he doing?" For the sake of secrecy, they tried to use Mustang's name as little as possible while within the military's walls. Hughes' warning about ears being everywhere had stayed with him, constantly a shrill reminder in the back of his head.

Edward groaned and shifted until his face was halfway pressed into the pillow, tilted just enough so he could still breath and speak with more clarity than a muffle. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words remained on his tongue, refusing to go further as his last encounter with Mustang cycled through his head.

The fear, the uncertainty, the lack of trust and the willingness to do anything to save himself.

Edward tightly shut his eyes, willing the images away and sculpted his partly obscured expression into something less distressed. He had told Alphonse the vast majority of what was happening, but his brother held Mustang in such high regard; telling him of what the man was reduced to was harder than he expected.

"I don't know, Al. I thought that maybe I was starting to get through to him, but I dunno if he even hear anything I said."

After he had finally tossed aside his pride and apologizes for everything that he had caused him. Ed didn't know why he thought for a second that that could do anything when Mustang already knew it was his fault. The man had told him straight to his face in more ways than one that he was to blame for the hell he endured, and the side effects of the torture.

And that was why he tried to kill himself.

What he did was so simple; Ed just walked away. He got mad and turned his back to the problem like he so often did, and it resulted in a chain of events more horrible than he ever could have imagined.

And he apologized for it.

But nothing changed.

He didn't need to be forgiven; he just wanted to fix it. But maybe his guilt and his apology were worth far less than he thought.

The worst part was that he could not relate to what Mustang was going through in the slightest. He knew it was a serious issue, but finding a solution felt nearly impossible when he couldn't even begin to comprehend the problem.

He tried clearly stating the situation with every ounce of honesty he could muster. That at least seemed to get the man thinking, but it might have overwhelmed him instead of helping. After adjusting to the lackluster lighting, he could easily see the desire to flee etched into Mustang's face. And as soon as Hughes appeared, all focus was draw away from their conversation.

He began to regret making that phone call if there was a possibility that he could have broken through Mustang's stubborn denial if given the time. But considering the circumstances, he wouldn't have dared to risk it. What were the chances that Mustang would shatter a window and run down the street if he felt like he was being chased? He still acted like a caged animal, desperate to escape his captors, so Edward couldn't afford to put such behavior past him, as much as he wished he could. He reacted to Hughes' presence far better than Ed's, so he was thankful he showed up before things could take another turn for the worst.

"Even as he is now," Alphonse began, his voice a source of clarity in this sea of confusion. "He is a smart man. I'm sure he hasn't forgotten what you've said. Maybe he just needs more time to process it."

"Maybe," he breathed, likely sounding just as unconvinced as he felt. If Mustang was so smart then why was he still refusing to accept what was right in front of him?

"When are you going back there?"

"Tomorrow morning. Hughes agreed to stay the night in my place, thank god."

He felt Al watching him and tilted his head to return the look. There was an unspoken question in his glowing eyes,

Edward sighed. "It's not how it sounds," he corrected wearily. "I want to help however I can, but I... I hate being there. The entire state of the house- everything- reminds me of what I've done that lead up to this."

"Brother, you can't keep blaming yourself for this," Alphonse said, surprising Ed with the sudden urgency in his voice. Edward didn't respond, but rather kept his distracted eyes on the floor between them. "This guilt will destroy you if it keeps on like this."

He withheld another sigh. "I know, Al. I'm sorry." As much as he wanted to argue, it was all he could manage to say.

Even Alphonse knew it was his fault. There was no denying it. He was told to stay by the colonel as extra backup for the threats that lucked, and yet he turned his back on him. So what was he supposed to do? Just forgive himself and move on when Mustang was still trapped in his delusions and steps away from shattering for good?

He didn't have it in him to voice these painful truths. In fact, he didn't have the energy to do much of anything.

Ed rolled over onto his side, making it clear that he was finished with his venting. Eventually, his eyes closed and he drifted into sleep, dreams just as chaotic as his thoughts. And though it was early, he slept until the next morning.

The night passed within what felt like minutes. The next morning, as he left to return to to the source of his dysphoria, there came a moment in which he swore he felt eyes on him. But shrugging it off as Mustang's paranoia rubbing off on him, Edward continued on his way without a second thought.

When Maes drove back to Roy's house Monday evening, enticing multiple people to honk and flip off his hasty driving, he wasn't entirely sure what he walked in on. There was the distinct scent of smoke in the air, but not enough for him to think the house would burn down. Even as his eyes landed on the maroon shards of a broken ceramic vase against the far wall, he got the impression that the situation had already simmered somewhat by the time he got there. His involvement seemed to have calmed his friend down enough to put an end to it, at the very least.

It wasn't until he got Roy to scarf down a thin sandwich did Edward finally decide to tell him what had caused the incident.

Roy had found a pair of his gloves, obviously, but the discovery must had brought his mind back to that cell, just as he was beginning to find his way out. He was disoriented, believing he needed to have a weapon to fight back if they were to hurt him. Maes desperately hoped that he would just wake up and remember how woefully unnecessary it was, but something told him that was too much to hope for.

However, there was something off about Edward's recount of the story. There were gaps in his explanation and he seemed shaken, like something was weighing heavily on his mind that he did not want to talk about. Maes didn't pry, but it still bothered him. He missed something, and he feared it was more important than the kid let on.

But he let Edward leave after that, seeing how drained he looked. Hopefully some rest would do him some good.

Roy more of less passed out not long after, on the floor no less. Maes didn't want to wonder why he looked more at ease in the corner, but moved him to the couch anyway, even though his own room was only steps away. As ridiculous as it sounded, Roy wasn't nearly as familiar with his bedroom at the moment, and Maes was not eager to start switching up his surroundings without his knowledge.

It wasn't until several hours passed that he was certain his friend wasn't going to wake up any time soon, and got to work on removing his gloves. He would reluctantly put them back on once he was finished, but Maes needed to see the state of his hands if he were to have any peace of mind at all.

Of course, actually accomplishing all of this was much easier said than done.

Even while laying on the couch, Roy kept his arms wrapped around himself, his hands curled in light fists that would occasionally tighten from whatever distressful dream he was likely having. Through a series of impressively timed maneuvers, he eventually managed to slip the two gloves off without waking the light sleeper.

Maes peered at the white fabric, struggling to find what he was looking for with only the setting sun sneaking through the blinds and the distant kitchen light for assistance. Besides a few faint smudges, the inside of the fabric seemed fine, which told him the bleeding on Roy's hands had calmed considerably. Not surprising, since it was already fairly light to begin with- but that wasn't to say the wounds were no longer in desperate need of treatment. And more curiously, the fingertips of the outside were blackened from the misuse of alchemy. One would think that flame retardant gloves would not have this problem.

Abandoning the small cloths onto the coffee table, Maes' attention was swiftly directed to Roy's hands themselves. He almost felt bad for checking on his wounds behind his back like this, but the man left him no other choice.

As he knelt down besides the couch, the lieutenant colonel gently took hold of one of Roy's wrists, turning his limp hand in the dim light, squinting to make out the damage.

While not bleeding, his skin was still angry and raw. The many wounds that coated his hands were just beginning to scab over, but the use of alchemy and wearing the gloves looked to have further aggravated the skin. Roy must have been too distracted to think much of it at the time, but Maes knew they hurt. It was chilling to wonder if Roy believed there to be no point in voicing this, or had simply grown used to the pain over time.

Some areas of his skin were incredibly dry with the deep red of unshed blood seen within the cracks, turning his hand into some sort of miserable wasteland. Meanwhile, other parts looked as if they had been recently hit with sand paper, causing Maes to begin idly pondering if his finger prints would be able to return. In fact, his fingers in particular had a peculiar shine to them, almost as if they have been-

burned.

A jolt of panic spread like a looming storm, and Maes quickly moved to compare his friend's other hand, confirming his suspicions when he discovered Roy's right fingers were more red than the left.

He was forced to release his friend's wrists before his own shaking could wake him up. Biting into his cheek, Maes curled his hands into fists, breathing through the enraged mixture of screaming, crying and cursing that wanted to break through his fading composure.

It was so wrong.

Roy shouldn't have felt like he was in enough danger to excuse burning his own hands in an attempt to defend himself- or whatever he called that alchemy stunt he tried to pull on Edward earlier. He must have known that he could not currently control the flames, and yet he tried anyway. Somehow, in his mind, setting off an explosion in his own living room towards Ed was worth it.

Frankly, Maes was surprised Ed had not yet complained about the work watching over Roy required.

With a deep breath, he willed himself onto his feet to fetch some burn ointment, and went to work on treating his friend's wounds once more.

After sufficiently coating Roy's hands in yet another layer of antibiotics and painkillers, he let them be for the moment and drew his focus over to the man's many other injuries, giving them a once-over now that he was finally still enough to allow it. He changed the bandages that tightly wrapped his forearm, thankful that Roy had not decided to start ripping at them too. A sick curiosity still prodded at his mind, asking what could have possibly been down there with Roy to cause such a deep and ravenous bite wound, but he mostly was afraid to ask. Whatever it was, it couldn't get to him now.

As much as he tried to avoid it, Maes' gaze eventually found itself on his friend's neck, and he was hit with an impenetrable wall that forced him to hesitate at the very sight of the ivory bandages that obscured the self-inflected wound. He tried not to look too carefully, terrified that he would see the stains of blood soaking through.

The wound that could have killed him.

The wound that was purposefully made shallow, because Roy wanted it to be slow.

God, it's so wrong.

Maes couldn't pull his eyes away, only marginally aware that his vision began to blur as his heart wept for the tortured man.

He wasn't entire sure if Roy would have died even if the gash in his throat was not covered when it was, or if the blood flow would have slowed before then, but the intent remained. And Maes hoped with every fiber in his being that Roy realized that he no longer had to escape.

Forcing out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, the lieutenant colonel gently unwrapped the bandage, taking as much time as was needed to unravel it around Roy's neck, his priorities set on disturbing him as little as possible.

Once he finally managed to slip the bandage out from under him, he began to clean the wound as gently as possible, pausing every time the sting of the treatment caused Roy to stir. He couldn't decide if actually seeing the injury served to remind him that it wasn't as bad as his imagination liked to insist, or further worry him because it existed. Both, probably.

The incriminating gash was about two inches long, slanted and veering close to the trachea, yet avoiding anything of importance by a stroke of luck. The surrounding skin was thankfully not particularly red or inflamed; an infection in the neck was the last thing he was prepared to face.

The cut itself was jagged and grotesque, freely exhibiting the dark red of escaping blood. The shallowness of the cut was the only factor that stopped him from attempting to sew it shut himself, seeing as the pressure of the bandages were enough to halt the bleeding.

With a hollow sigh, Maes began to wind a clean roll of gauze around his neck, then leaned back against the coffee table as if every trace of energy drained out of him within the last ten minutes or so. His eyes scanned over his unconscious friend, a sight that had become painfully familiar by this point. Roy covered in various wounds that could only be partially covered by bandages, unconsciously curling into the corner as if he could hide from the world. The image he saw could not compare to the man he had known for so long now. He couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the Roy Mustang he knew again.

He's in there, a voice assured, answering his dark thoughts. You know he's in there somewhere.

Maes rubbed at his eyes and begrudgingly worked the gloves back onto Roy's battered hands before he could forget, not daring to test how far the man would go to get them back if he were to wake up too soon. He hated that he had this distrust, but Roy was in no state to constantly be armed with a weapon that has, can, and could continue to harm both himself and others. But Edward made a good point once they were able to step aside from the man and talk about it.

It was a matter of trust.

The people who had imprisoned Roy like an animal would never allow him any use of alchemy, besides what he tried to engrave into the walls, which quite clearly did not work. They needed to differentiate themselves from those monsters in as many ways as possible.

Maes certainly had plenty of time to think about more ways to accomplish this, since Roy had slept through the night and the entirety of the next day.

However, there was one single concern that plagued his mind during this time above all others. He constantly swapped between fretting over it like nothing else mattered, and forcing himself to forget about it completely. If he thought about it too much, he would probably make himself sick.

Because the fact of the matter was, Roy was suicidal.

What made it worse was knowing that Roy had blatantly told him this disturbing little detail himself. The first night he woke up, he told Maes that he was tired and that he tried letting go but someone else wouldn't let him. Maes was too busy reveling in the fact that he was alive to realize that he didn't even want to be.

God, how dense could he be?

Roy certainly did not seem to be itching to off himself since then, but there was no telling what could happen if he felt that same desperation again.

That single revelation haunted his thoughts when he went to sleep that night, infected his dreams, distracted him as he drove to work the next day, and worked it's way to the tip of his tongue when Riza found him at the office and started discreetly imploring about Roy once again. Havoc did the same not long later, and he caught a few more intent stares as he passed by Falman and Breda on his way to get lunch.

They deserved to know, but he remained silent.

They all knew Roy was alive at this point, but were thankfully keeping it as quiet as possible, since Maes had been yet to sense anything off within the military so far. He was still willing to bet that Roy's captors were still searching, but he dared to hope they had not sniffed him out, even now that more people knew the truth.

He feared to think about the secret meetings Roy's old team were having behind closed doors, discussing his situation and how they could track him down without Maes coughing the information up. As much as he would have loved to bring them over so they could see Roy with their own eyes, the thought also terrified him. Nothing good would come from Roy being in the same room with more people than absolutely necessary.

And he didn't want them to see what had become of him.

Maes could see it in their eyes. They all wanted their brave, inspiring leader to come back in a flash of light to pull them all back together to continue their goal of reaching the top of the chain once more.

The way Roy was now, he wasn't going to be doing any of that any time soon.

Until he learned to separate the visions that haunted him apart from reality, he would be doing very little of anything. And even as Maes gave it his all in order to help his friend accomplish this, he couldn't help but feel incredibly useless. For not the first time that day, he told himself once again that something needed to change.

A little over half through the work day on Wednesday, Maes left the office early, claiming he had an important family matter to attend to. He hated spending so much time away from them, but taking a day off from caring for Roy was simply out of the question; he could not put that kind of pressure on Edward. Getting maybe someone like Riza involved crossed his mind, but he had not been able to give the idea much thought lately, considering it seemed impossible at the moment.

Edward greeted him at the door on his way in with an unreadable expression in place. He tersely stated that Roy had woken up earlier, but was still in a haze and drifted off again not long after. Apparently, he had been mumbling to himself since then as well, trapped in a trance-like stupor. Maes would have asked him for more details, but the kid seemed eager to leave, and was already standing in the door frame by the time he finished his short explanation. Lacking the willpower to focus on his behavior, Maes just let him go, and returned to Roy's unconscious side yet again.

By the time the front door closed behind the fleeing blond, Maes had taken a spot besides Roy on the couch, finding plenty of room as the man had curled up on one end.

The room seemed pale, but not dark as the mid-day sun managed to sneak through the tightly shut blinds. He could see everything around him with relative ease, but there was a downcast air that was almost suffocating once he stopped to consider it. Maes was not used to living in such a continuous drabness, but didn't need to ask to know that Roy would still not take kindly to him opening the windows. He could only hope that his friend's light sensitivity was decreasing by the day, and it was only a matter of time before they could allow some light through. As it were, the house was beginning to feel depressing.

Roy fidgeted on the couch, expression tight and arms tense around his body, successfully drawing Maes' attention back towards him. Without any clear cause, he flinched away from something unknown to the lieutenant colonel, a pained grimace etched onto his face.

He frowned at the sight, wishing there was something he could to do fend off the night terrors without waking him up.

"Stay away," Roy breathed, slightly more coherent than Maes had expected. Another violent flinch, his head turning abruptly into the safety of the couch cushion.

Maes felt his heart crack as he watched his friend writhe, and gently placed a hand on his tense shoulder. But as soon as he made contact, Roy kicked himself away further back, stopped only by the sofa's arm.

"Get away!" he hissed, eyes now wide open, searching the room wildly, his breathing rapid as he fought to focus on whatever danger he sensed.

"Hey, it's just me," he assured, voice as calm as he could will it. Roy's eyes settled somewhere past him, distant and foggy, but Maes fought to keep the obvious distress from his expression, for his own sake if not Roy's.

His friend did not respond, continuing to stare beyond him for several prolonged seconds. Just as Maes contemplated saying something more, Roy flinched again with enough strength that one would think he had been physically struck.

"N-no- shut up. Shut up." Roy spoke in a rasp, bowing his head and covering his ears. His legs were pressed protectively against himself, giving Maes the impression that he would get automatically kicked in the gut if he dared to get too close.

The lieutenant colonel had no choice but to hold his tongue and keep himself still, unsure who Roy was talking to. Surely he could not have caused the man to react so vehemently, but one could never be too sure anymore.

Slowly, Roy eventually lowered his gloved hands, arms shaking, frightened eyes staring into nothing- and empty void that surrounded only him, blackened by horrors only he could see.

"Roy?"

He glanced at Maes, but his dark eyes were then drawn away, searching the room as if he barely noticed his presence. Each breath was willed and heavy, his entire body heaving and shivering with every intake, depending on the movement like it was the only thing that kept him functioning.

"Just... stay away-"

"Roy."

"-you damn animals."

Oh.

Oh.

Maes wasn't entire sure if Roy was still trapped in a vivid dream or if he was hallucinating, but he dreaded to lean towards the latter. He instinctively glanced down at his friend's forearm, still wrapped in bandages, covering the mangled bite mark that was underneath.

With a deep breath, he scooted himself closer on the couch, positioned so he was directly in front of Roy, who's back was still pressed into the corner.

"Roy, listen to me," he ordered, hoping his voice would break through whatever fogged his mind. "You're in your house, remember? There are no animals here. It's just you and me."

Whether it was by divine power or sheer luck, this at least managed to get through to him. Roy blinked rapidly for a moment, eyes thin and wary, and looked at him. Some of the terror on his face faded, replaced by something far more agonizing that tugged on his heartstrings. It was that same hopeless, confused expression he had seen earlier- the one he hoped to never see again.

Roy's mouth cracked open to respond, and he shook his head. "If they're not here," he began slowly, and a gloved hand lightly grazed the bandaged around his arm, "then why can I still hear them?"

Maes hesitated, unsure how to respond to the painfully genuine question. Roy had to have known he was hallucinating, since he seemed to think even he was imaginary. Whatever had attacked his arm must have left quite the mark on his mind as well, revisiting him in dreams and appearing in the corner of his vision.

"They want to kill me, Maes," Roy gasped when he didn't get an immediate response, arms now returning to wrap around himself, eyes wide and staring down at the floor. "I can hear them. Pacing- growling at me- hungry. They followed me. They- they want me dead." he paused, thought for a moment, then chuckled pitiably at himself. "But I already am dead, aren't I?"

It was a rhetorical question that left him faltering. Roy didn't expect an answer. But there was something in the way he spoke- something distant and thoughtless that told him that Roy was stuck in a reverie, but too conscious for him not to take it seriously. He was awake, but Maes had seen him act more aware than this in the recent past. Roy was stuck in between, and needed help to break out.

"No, you're not. You're just as alive as I am, Roy," he insisted, shifting to catch his foggy gaze again. "You know I wouldn't lie to you."

His friend blinked a few times again and looked over at him, a thoughtful frown in place. And then his shoulders sulked, glazed eyes widening slightly as something new occurred to him. "But they wanted to kill you too."

"They... what?" Maes muttered without any thought whatsoever, having been yanked off of his train of thought and left stumbling to recover his balance.

"They want to kill you; they told me. But they didn't. They didn't and I- I don't remember why." Roy scowled down at the couch, an irate struggle clear in his thin eyes. "I can't remember. Why can't I remember?" he growled, a hand absently trailing up towards his mouth, close enough only for his glove to lightly graze his lip, paused, then continued upwards until his fingers curled into his long bangs.

He did not have a response to that. Maes found himself torn between imploring Roy to explain what he was talking about exactly, or pulling him out of his trance. But in his hesitation, a bark that only Roy could hear sounded and he flinched away from it again, swinging his right arm over his head for protection from something that existed solely in his mind. Maes found himself speechless as he looked at the scene of a terrified man shielding himself from an invisible beast with an arm that had already been ripped apart.

Maes thoughtlessly extended his hand forward again- to do what with, he wasn't sure; remind Roy that he wasn't alone anymore, hopefully. But before he could, his friend's arm began to lower, then froze mid-way as his slit eyes landed on the glove that hugged his wounded hand. He stared at it too long for comfort, then slowly began to curl his fingers except his thumb and index finger.

A harsh shiver ran down his spine and alarms blared in his mind as soon as Maes realized what the man was thinking.

Confirming his thoughts, Roy licked his dry lips and looked up to search the room with the slightest of smiles tugging at his visage. "That's right," he murmured quietly to himself. "Almost forgot. I can- I can fight back now. I can kill them before they kill me. I-"

He was cut off with a rough gasp as Maes grabbed onto the wrist that was steadily rising into the air, posing to snap. Roy instinctively pulled back, but Maes kept his grasp firm, not allowing him to withdraw into himself, or worse, aim for him.

"No, Roy- don't. You'll hurt yourself."

Roy stared at him through unfocused eyes, flabbergasted and something resembling betrayal mixing in as well. "Why are you trying to stop me? I can get rid of them. I know they'll go away if I could just..." He trailed off, pulling back against Maes' grip again, a small spark flickered from his fingertips as the tense digits rubbed against each other.

"Stop it, Roy," he insisted, forcing his friend to lower the gloved hand, and reaching for the other before he could get any ideas.

"No!" he exclaimed, panic lacing into his voice. "I need to- please, Maes!"

Just as his heart shattered for what had to have been the third time that day, Maes decided to do the only think he could think of, regardless of whether or not it would actually help. The gamble was worth it, he decided as he watched Roy glanced around himself, hysteria building as he searched for either a clear threat, or an escape route.

Maes released Roy's arms for just long enough to wrap them around Roy's torso, his head falling easily into the crook of his neck as he pulled the man towards him, grip tight and secure. The alchemist stiffened rigidly at the contact and stopped all breathing as if he did not understand what was happening, and needed to direct all effort into figuring it out.

Maes felt like he was leaning over an open fire, but he did not loosen his hold when Roy fidgeted and tried to break out as he murmured promises that he was safe.

"W-why are you trying to stop me?" Roy asked, his voice alarmingly quiet and broken when the fight started to die out of him. He allowed himself to breath again once he began to accept that there was no use in trying to break free in his current state, and hopefully realized he didn't need to. "You're helping them."

"No, I'm not. There's no one else here, Roy. Just focus on my voice. It's only you and me here."

Roy finally stopped resisting and the tension eventually slid out of his body as if he decidedly relented, rather than understood that there was no threat. His arms slackened by his sides, still trapped within his unyielding embrace. He slowly lowered his head, his chin slightly touching Maes' sleeve. He couldn't see his friend's eyes in his position, but he was sure they were just as hollow as before.

The sickening realization that Roy was simply giving up hit him like an oncoming truck, but still, he did not release his hold.

Neither moved for what felt like many long moments, besides lightly shifting once or twice just to remind Roy that he was there, and keep him focused on reality.

Although he appeared relatively clam, Maes could clearly feel Roy's pulse racing and his breathing was hitched, like he expected a blow to come at any moment. But the fact that he stopped fighting had to have meant something, right? Something besides giving up. Something for Maes to latch onto. He so dearly hoped that Roy trusted him, not just as a friendly illusion but as someone who had the very real power to keep him away from harm, but a sinking feeling suggested that that was nothing more than hopeful thinking.

Maes began to drift into his own thoughts by the time Roy finally moved. He managed to surprise him by tilting his head to the side, gently leaning into Maes and resting the side of his head against him. Somehow, Maes doubted he was even fully aware of this subtle gesture.

"Are you like them, Maes?" He spoke so quietly, it might as well had been nothing more than a passing thought. But he wouldn't dare treat the question as such, taking a brief moment to dissect the words.

"No," he said sternly, willing sincerity into every syllable of his assertive tone.

"You're just telling me what I want to hear."

"I'm telling you the truth," he insisted, his arms subconsciously tightening around his friend. "I'm not like them."

I'm not a hallucination. I'm real, and not going to hurt you.

In response, Roy only hummed dismissively and continued to allow the hug to last as if he hadn't noticed it. After a moment where nothing more was said, Maes absently hooked his hands together, letting his arms remain around Roy with little effort, no longer expecting him to pull away.

Until that moment, he had no idea how... distinct Roy's hallucinations were. The line between reality and illusion seemed to have been erased completely. Things couldn't go on like this, Maes ensured himself. And he was no longer willing to just wait and hope the problems would solve themselves. But what could he possibly do to help? Scheduling Roy for therapy was far out of the question, but maybe he could coerce someone into selling him some medication for hallucinations, if such a thing existed. He would need to do some research...

Roy rose his head to glance around the room, pulling Maes from his thoughts. He tensed, afraid of what his friend might have seen, but his eyes only drifted aimlessly for a moment, until he went still.

"They're watching," he whispered, remaining surprisingly slack as the foreboding words left his mouth. Maes glanced around as well, particularly at the windows, but felt no such sensation, which was something he had become quite intone to turning the war.

"Is it... the animals that attacked you?" he asked carefully, still entirely unsure how to respond.

Roy pursed his lip, then slouched again, seemingly relaxed and far from suggesting that anything was terribly wrong, besides the slightly furrow of his brow. "I'm not sure."

But if there was a bright side to anything, it was that the beasts have finally left him alone for the time being.

Maes sighed, and tried not to think about the trials that were to come with the next step. He needed to find a solution or a cure to these hallucinations, and face the possibility that there simply wouldn't be one. No matter how tightly the trepidation curled around his lungs or how badly his head ached, he directed his attention back onto the present and his friend who, even as he remained safely in his arms, felt miles away.

Sorry about the wait, everyone! Here's a sad little hug to make up for it. I know you're all probably waiting for certain things to happen, like some bonding time between Roy and Ed, and for the rest of the team to get involved, and hey, what happened to Envy? Don't worry, all of that is going to be taken care of real soon. We're actually getting closeish to the end, so a lot is going to start happening in the next few chapters.

Thanks for reading!