Merry Crisis! See, I told y'all I'd get the next chapter out during winter break! Look at me being all consistent. (Don't get used to it).
Content warnings:
Violence, depictions of blood/injuries, cursing, and general pain & suffering (I did say Merry CRISIS) - If I missed any let me know

Prepare and Pretend

They hadn't been hurting him to the extent that he'd prepared himself for.

Since his conversation with Envy hours before, they had stuck with letting Pouty pound on him a bit at random times of the day, but that had been of an irritant than anything else; he'd taken worse licks from Alphonse when he'd still been getting used to his new strength within his armor. Although Ed supposed the spiking in his pulse and the terror that came with it every time the man walked into his space plenty made up for the lack of actual torture.

Overall it had been weird, and he'd gotten himself so worked up waiting for their particularly special brand of torture that never came, which left him with a giant ball of anxiety in his chest. He refused to let his guard down, though. He would rather be paranoid than think he would get off easy. The anticipation of not knowing what they were planning kept his brain functioning and served as a leash on the thoughts that tried to throw him into despair.

However, with that buzzing, distrusting energy came the little probing questions that suggested perhaps Void hadn't been focusing on him as much because he'd turned his attention to Mustang. And it was those types of thoughts that made him think back to the discussion he'd had with Envy. Although "discussion" was a gracious term for it, when really, it had just been ten minutes of listening to the Homunculus gloat and giggle over the cleverness of his plan.

Edward rolled his eyes, remembering the way Envy had laughed harshly when he'd snapped at him to quit calling him Pipsqueak.

"Ha! Sure, Pipsqueak, whatever you say!"

Edward clenched his jaw. Even the memory grated. But then, so had everything else about the impossible human that had stood before him, asking if he'd really thought he could escape so easily. Ed wished his response had been something more eloquent than: What the hell are you even doing here?

But he couldn't change the past, so perhaps there was no point in dwelling on what he had or hadn't said. After all, at that point in time, he'd been doing his his best to simply wrap his mind around the fact that Envy, the homunculus from the 13th Laboratory, was also Ford, the Amestrian traitor.

Thankfully, Envy had been more than willing to talk.

"Well, since you had to go snooping into the Lab, we've had to pick up our pace, and since there's no particular way we have to do this yet, I figured I'd get the Briggs area crossed off the list!"

Even after mulling that answer over and over in his head for hours, Ed still couldn't understand what Envy had been saying. Part of him wondered if it had something to do with what that other Homunculus, the taller one with the chest tattoo, had said about sacrifices. He got the sneaking suspicion that it did, even if he didn't know how. But then, none of the things that group had said made coherent sense to himself or Alphonse, so he couldn't help but wonder if everything that came out of their mouths was a modified language of its own. Like Alchemist research notes.

Envy had certainly looked at him like he was a deaf idiot, so Ed wondered how much merit that thought held.

After that the conversation had devolved into him shouting at the Homunculus, demanding to know why Amestris had been dragged into it, why Envy was helping the Drachmans in the first place, and what were he and the other Homunculus doing for that matter, while Envy just refused to answer some things and laughing at him in response to others.

When it came to the question as to what he or Mustang had to do with anything, though, Envy had put his hands on his hips and stuck his lip out in a mocking thoughtful gesture before he'd shrugged and twirled a strand of his hair absentmindedly.

"Honestly, you two being here is kind of for fun. You can't die, of course, but the same can't be said about Mustang."

That statement had left Edward in shock long enough for Envy to turn back into Ford and walk out. Hell, just thinking about it made Ed's jaw hang a bit even as he clenched his fist and slam his foot it into the ground, rage coursing through every muscle in his body. Because the entire time he'd been in that camp, being stabbed and burned and terrified, he'd continually worried that he might not make it back home, or even to the others to warn them.

And then Envy revealed to him he'd never been in real mortal danger at all? That everything they'd done to him had been some form of sick, twisted amusement for him? That his suffering was considered fun and entertaining?

His throat still felt scratchy from screaming at the bastard and his eyes still itched from the dried tears that he hadn't been able to properly wipe away. They had wrecked him and spit him back out as a useless hunk of flesh who couldn't even sit up straight without cringing in pain without thinking twice. They'd taken away his peace of mind and ability to get a full night's sleep… and it was a non-issue in their eyes. Maybe the Drachmans had thought he'd actually had some secrets because Envy wanted to see what they did to him, but that didn't change the fact that their ignorance changed nothing for him.

Just as always, his struggles were of no consequence to the bigger picture. He was an ant in an indifferent universe, and no more special than anyone or anything else. Everything that happened was just unfortunate in the eyes of others. It was hard to consider that when it felt like his was the only experience in the world to grieve.

He grit his teeth and shook his head, a shiver running through him that had nothing to do with the cold that had seeped into his bones weeks ago. The movement made him wince as it irritated the scabs littered across his body. He almost laughed, thinking about how everything had been healing pretty well for the most part just in time for that progress to be destroyed. He still anticipated Void's return and the agony that came with his presence.

The entrance to the tent shifted without warning and Edward watched it unblinking, waiting for Pouty or Ford-Envy (... or Void) to enter. He steeled his expression as best he could and tried to calm his climbing heart rate. Until they beat him down again he would do his best to be defiant. If they thought he would let them ruin everything he was, for no reason at all, then they had another thing coming.

(Even the thought of standing up to them made him feel queasy)

When the flap pulled back to reveal the visitor Edward felt his eyes widen and his breath catch in his throat, because there was no way he was actually seeing what he was. There was no way that Mustang had already escaped, especially not looking untouched, save for the cut in his forehead and a few bruises on his face. His mind raced and came to the conclusion that he'd been drugged again and everything he saw was a mere illusion, but couldn't recall eating or drinking anything yet.

Before he could get his mouth to form any words, however, Mustang had rushed over to put a hand on his shoulder and work to undo his bindings. When he didn't fade away with the contact, Edward could only stare in shock as his brain supplied that the man was real, actually there, working to free him.

He finally got his tongue unpinned. "Mustang?"

"Shh," he hissed, shooting a glance over his shoulder before going back to focusing on the cuffs.

Ed would've smacked himself if he'd been able to right then, because he shouldn't have said a word. Mustang had escaped, which meant they only had a certain amount of time to get out before someone noticed, and him talking to the man could harm that plan if anyone overheard. That didn't stop him from wondering just how the Colonel had gotten out so fast, but those questions could be answered later, when they were safe.

When he felt the cuffs drop from his wrists with a clank, Ed grabbed ahold of the metal pole he'd been stuck to and used it to pull himself to a stand. His legs shook a little, but the adrenaline and excitement coursing through his body helped him to ignore that minor detail. Edward could feel the grin on his numbed face, his chattering teeth not even enough to stop the expression.

When Mustang offered his arm for support he didn't have to think twice before taking it. As much as he would have rather run out of the camp on his own, he knew better than to be that careless. He trusted the Colonel to get him where they needed to go. Besides, it was nice to know there was somebody to catch him if(when) he fell.

"Alright," Mustang said, voice a low whisper, "the next guard change is in another two minutes. After that, we'll have to run like hell. Got it, Fullmetal?"

The plan sounded similar to his own escape plan from before and Edward nodded, ignoring the fact that Mustang had slipped up and called him Fullmetal again. He could deal with a name slipup if it meant getting out of that hellhole.

He only briefly wondered how the Colonel had figured out the pattern of the Drachmans so quickly before he reminded himself that he'd been trained to pick up those sorts of things. It would have been alarming if the man hadn't been able to do it.

Hope sparked inside of him in a way he hadn't been expecting and suddenly the shaking in his legs felt more like pent up energy than nerves or muscle fatigue. Edward vowed to never joke about Mustang being useless ever again once they got back to the team.

Waiting for those two short minutes to pass felt like an eternity.

When the time came to move, Edward looked up at Mustang, who gave a nod that had him surging forward with the man.

This is it. He told himself as they reached the slit in the tent that would be their escape point. He waited for Mustang to pull the fabric back, practically bouncing on his heels at that point. When Mustang slowly reached his hand forward, Ed wished he had a functioning arm that wasn't clinging to him, because they would've already been outside.

Mustang's fingers brushed the tent flap and Edward held his breath.

When Mustang slowly retracted his hand, Edward frowned and stared at him, suddenly worried. Had he heard something? Had he seen a guard pass ahead of schedule?

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Mustang shook his head and his hold on Ed's arm became tighter. Edward swallowed hard. That hadn't sounded honest.

"Don't lie to me," he ordered, though he wasn't sure how authoritative he sounded.

"I'm not!" Mustang glared down at him and Edward couldn't help but flinch back. When he checked the man's face again, his stomach flipped when he saw that Mustang was smiling at him.

It was a smile Edward had never seen him wear before and it sent a cold thrill down his spine. Mustang stared at him like something hilarious was going down and him was the only one not in on the joke.

"Mustang, what- Gyah!"

The supportive arm beneath him disappeared suddenly and Edward yelped when he nearly toppled over. Mustang caught him by his wrist and Edward barely had time to think of thanking him before his arm was suddenly twisted behind his back. His cry of alarm was cut off by a hand over his mouth, and it was then that Edward realized something that he should have noticed when the Colonel first entered the tent: The gloves.

Mustang had his gloves on, which… he shouldn't have. The Drachmans would've taken them away from him the moment they'd knocked him out.

Realization dawned on him too late and Edward protested loudly, trying to twist out of the strong hold, ignoring the way his entire body screamed at him for the mistreatment. His shouts came out muffled and he cringed when lips that belonged to Mustang but weren't Mustang brushed against his ear, whispering with malice and glee.

"You really thought you were safe for a minute, didn't you? You thought someone was coming for you. That's so cute."

The voice was Mustang's too, but the words went against everything he'd known the man to stand for and it made Edward struggle harder. He stopped, however, when Not-Mustang pulled his arm up higher, reminding him that his shoulder was still healing from its dislocation before when a sharp ache ripped through his arm and he cried out against the hand over his mouth.

"Quiet," Not-Mustang reminded in a voice that was suddenly sickly sweet. His thumb made little circles on his cheek and Edward wanted to shy away from the touch and bite the finger off at the same time.

"You're something special," he hissed, "you know that, Fullmetal?"

Edward wanted to throw his head back, and tried his best to only to be halted by the hands holding him tight to Not-Mustang's chest.

The man laughed, low and menacing, and Edward swallowed hard. He had no idea what was going on even while he knew Envy had to be behind whatever this was. He had a difficult time wrapping his head around it though, still mourning the loss of what he hoped for freedom. He'd been played and he hated that he'd allowed himself to make it easy for them.

"You're the biggest pain in the world."

The hand on his face disappeared suddenly, but ed barely had time to register that before he was being shoved to the floor. He landed on his right shoulder and brought his flesh hand to his mouth to catch the scream that escaped when fire raced across his nerve endings.

"Rude, impulsive- Don't listen for shit."

The words hit him harder than he thought they would and Edward shook his head in an attempt to ward them off. He hated how much they reminded him of the way Mustang had talked to him at the beginning of everything, when he'd demanded the watch back.

Mustang advanced on him almost lazily and Edward backed himself against the pole in the middle of the area, using it as leverage to get himself standing again. He knew he'd be knocked down again, but he refused to just sit there while being subjected to the abuse. He hated feeling so weak.

Mustang laughed at him for the gesture, stopping two feet away and looking as if he was assessing him. Whatever he saw didn't appear to impress him much. He only shook his head, hands placed on his hips in a fashion that screamed for Edward to remember that it was only Envy wearing the Colonel's face.

"You're pathetic," he sneered and Edward flinched, but didn't let that stop him from putting some steel into his own voice when he replied.

"Leave me alone, you bastard!"

Mustang's eyes crinkled at the corners and he began circling the spot Ed stood. "Now why would I do that, Fullmetal? Messing with you is fun."

The man grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back. Edward gasped, the memory of Pouty doing something similar before burning him flashed across his mind's eye and he could practically smell his bubbling flesh for a moment. He reflexively shot his elbow back and felt a twinge of surprise and maybe a bit of dulled satisfaction when he felt it connect with what felt like Mustang's shoulder. Wherever he hit, it did the trick and the hand tangled in his hair disappeared with a grunt of pain from the man.

The relief of being released didn't last, however, and Edward cried out softly when Mustang grabbed his newly bruised wrist again while the other came to rest upon his neck. A second later his legs gave out, having been hit hard in the back of the knees.

Mustang met his gaze, looking down on him, and Edward tried to find the liar behind the familiar face. All he found was his own terrified reflection.

"You're really annoying, you know that?"

The fingers around his neck began tightening and Ed gasped, feeling like he was being gagged even as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.

He tried to bring his hand up to claw at the man until he released him, but he couldn't pry his wrist from the insanely strong grip that held it firmly at his side. All he could do was listen to his pulse quickening in his panic and then slowing in increments when he lacked the oxygen to keep it going.

He inhaled sharply when his vision began going dark at the edges and he tried to find any remorse in Mustang's expression. There was none to be seen.

"S-Stop it."

The protest came out hoarse and weak and Mustang's only response was to grin and squeeze tighter.

Edward couldn't remember when he finally lost consciousness, only thinking distantly of what what would happen to the real Mustang after he died. Would he be able to escape once he no longer had to worry about him being dead weight? Would he get out safely?... Would he tell Al what happened?

Or would he never make it home?

They'd been in captivity for almost two days, that much Roy knew. Everything else was a bit harder to figure. He'd gotten a good gauge on the pattern for the guard change, as well as what times in the day the army marched based on when he was bound and gagged and dragged out of his confined space.

During those hours of walking he could hear Fullmetal's short protests from wherever they kept him close by. From what Roy could make out, they still made him walk despite his condition, and it took everything in him to remain collected during those times, because he could hear the kid's pain every time he cried out after stumbling or falling behind- a few times he'd even called for him, probably after noticing him trudging however many feet away. At least he assumed that's what happened during those times, since it wasn't as if he could actually see.

He did his best to memorize everything that went on around him, forcing thoughts of Edward out of his mind when he reminded himself that he would never get to the kid if he didn't first get out of his own tight spot. The Drachmans had the sense to keep them separated, a fact that enraged Roy as much as it sent him into a spiral of panicked anxiety when he thought about what they could be doing to Fullmetal without his knowledge. He had yet to hear any screams from outside the tent he was stuck in, but that meant nothing to him. Gags worked just as well on teenagers as they did soldiers.

But he tried not to think about that.

He'd concluded the first day there that the guard changes happened morning, midday, afternoon, and what he guessed had to be midnight, judging from where the moon sat in the sky when he caught sight of it after the tent flap was shifted one time. There were roughly two minutes between the nighttime and morning shifts where no one was guarding. Roy knew if and when he made a move, it would have to be during one of those times. What move that would be, he hadn't a clue yet. The first step would be getting his hands freed from behind his back. They'd foregone the chair after breaking fingers had lost its appeal; without much screaming, apparently that aspect of torture just wasn't fun. Instead, they had him chained to a metal stake that was just tall enough that he couldn't slip off and he applauded their brutish methods of holding prisoners.

Until he figured out how to break that, he was at a loss as to what he could do. His mind kept going back to Edward when those thoughts came through, and Roy wanted to roar in frustration every time he reminded himself that he had no idea where the kid was being kept, and he'd have about two minutes to figure it out before he'd be caught, which was something he couldn't risk. He had to know where Edward was before he tried anything. The list of unknowns that needed to be known seemed to grow continuously when he was left alone with his thoughts.

Roy wondered if the Drachmans did that on purpose, too. It seemed like a pointless tactic, but he could never be too sure with these people. They had been known for their creative methods of getting people to talk. Or perhaps they suspected that having Fullmetal so close by only increased the risks of a quicker escape.

Whatever the case, he hadn't been able to formulate a proper escape plan outside of finding Edward and running like hell. He had to remind himself several times that running could prove difficult if they'd harmed Fullmetal's legs in any way, something he wouldn't have put past their scope of cruelty, especially considering the kid had already run away once. Their injuries seemed to have some sort of poetic justice to them.

His hand pulsed painfully with that thought and Roy grit his teeth, forcing himself to not think about the odd angles his digits were bent at. Yes, their torturer certainly thought himself a comedian. Roy decided he would have to show the man just how funny he thought he was once he freed himself.

He understood the reasoning behind their methods, because while more harsh than those implemented by Amestris, they had similarities. That was beneficial to him as well, since he could officially say that the training he'd been through to withstand such treatment helped. However, past his one mangled hand, he had seemed to avoid anything much worse thus far.

He'd been roughed up by the man he assumed was the muscle for the actual torturer, sustaining his fair share of cuts and bruises, but past that he'd sustained no meaningful injuries. None like Fullmetal, anyway.

Thinking about him again made Roy wince and remember once more how much time passed since they'd been taken from the group. A lot could be done to a person in under two days. It left him with a roiling nausea in his gut that he couldn't lose. Almost two days and the Drachmans had done nothing to him that he couldn't handle, so what had they been doing to Edward?

The not knowing was a torture in and of itself, which Roy was certain the Drachmans did purposely, otherwise he couldn't have understood why he wasn't already being moved towards the mangled and broken area of captivity.

He refused to let the Drachmans see him bothered by anything regarding the setup though, because he knew better than to give the enemy any sort of reaction, good or bad. It was better to not speak or even look at them then to give them something to they could work off of. Evident pain awarded a sense of satisfaction to the person delivering it, and defiance spurred them on due to anger at not being able to chink the armor. It had nothing to do with submission or defeat, but control. And it took every ounce of control in his body to hold onto himself when all he wanted to do was spew torrents of curses and wring their necks.

At that point, Roy wouldn't have been surprised to find out they'd grown bored of his lack of reaction. Maybe they even thought he'd gone catatonic. He doubted that, but also couldn't quite find it in himself to push it out of the realm of possibilities; the Drachmans, when on their own, didn't have the most intelligent thought processes. Maybe that was generalizing the population too much, though.

Whatever.

Out of the whole ordeal though, the one thing that stuck with Roy more than anything and made him certain of his assumption that they weren't going as hard on him physically as they were mentally, was the fact that Ford had yet to visit. He'd yet to come in and gloat or question him, and Roy decided to throw 'coward' into the pool of unpleasant words that best described the Amestrian. It swam in tandem with 'traitor' and 'scum'. It was too bad, too, because Roy had been looking forward to that asshole to show his face so he could spit in it.

But no. No Ford. And save for the first day, no proper torturer either. Just an endless cycle of waiting, moving around, and dozing. Roy found himself rubbing the fingers of his one functioning hand together more often than not in an attempt to calm himself, but doing so only served to remind him that he no longer had his ignition gloves, which got him to sigh heavily. He didn't doubt that they were trying to figure out what was so special about the cloth that made them up, and when they couldn't figure it out because they were idiots, he just knew they would dispose of them in some disrespectful manner.

That gave him all the more reason to want to figure out how to get out of his current situation. He supposed in a pinch he could break the cuffs if he twisted them at the right angle against the metal pole like he'd seen a prisoner do once in his youth, even if it meant risking a broken wrist (but honestly, he already had a broken hand, so would that really be the biggest issue?). After that they would have to run like hell, but he wouldn't do that unless there was no other way out, because he wanted to be as functional as possible when he got out of there in order to ensure Edward's safety.

The kid would be in no position to fight if and when the time came to it.

And once again he was back to Fullmetal. Roy cursed inwardly. It was like he couldn't avoid thinking about him no matter what he did, which made for distracted and disjointed planning that did neither of them any good. Not that it mattered much, because planning outside of breaking chains and running was useless without the knowledge of where Edward was.

He'd been doing his best to remember what he could of typical Drachman camp layouts (something only glossed over during his academy days), but could never remember one that had more than one prisoner containment tent. Perhaps if he could figure out where the food supply area was, he could deduce where Edward was, but that meant he'd have to find out where that particular tent was before he could do anything else. He was, for the time being, and for lack of better term, stuck.

Roy supposed there was no way he could stop thinking about Edward now, seeing as he was the last piece of the puzzle that needed fitting before they could escape. The very thought panged harshly in his chest. Fullmetal was somewhere in that camp, most likely suffering needlessly, because he couldn't figure out something so simple and wouldn't risk being recaptured because of the unknowns in their surroundings. If it had been somebody else in his shoes, Roy wondered if they would've thought about getting out and coming back later with help, and the very thought disgusted him. He couldn't even entertain the thought. He refused to leave without the kid, no matter what might happen to either of them during the wait.

The rational part of his brain reminded him that he'd been doing all that he could as a soldier and superior officer and keeping his charge as safe as he could given the circumstances, but the part of him that couldn't stop his heart from going out to the one who'd already been forced to endure so much pain that he didn't deserve. He'd been doing what he could and following protocol, but that didn't make him feel like any less of a failure.

Every minute he took to uncover answers was a minute Edward went through something awful he could prevent if he could only think faster.

Edward hadn't thought it would be possible for them to scar him any more than they already had, but every encounter he'd endured with Envy-Mustang proved him wrong. Apparently there was plenty of damage to be done still.

His throat tightened as if in acknowledgement of those thoughts and he swallowed until the feeling went away. Envy had done so much worse to him in Mustang's body but that was the one his mind continually came back to.

Edward couldn't understand why, because having his (er, Mustang's) jacket and shirt ripped off his body so that Envy had free access to reopen the healing wounds across his back should have been a decidedly more traumatic experience. Especially when he included the insults that Envy had hurled at him in a perfect imitation of Mustang's voice-

"You can't be that weak, Fullmetal."

A wince accompanied by a slap hard enough to make him see stars.

"Come on, get up, I know you can!"

A choked cry following soon after a blade cut through the scabbed flesh of his back.

"C'mon, defend yourself!"

The arm brought up did little to protect from the blow to the side of his head that made his ears ring.

The foot kicked out in defense proved useless when it was caught and twisted until he was sure it would break.

- Those thoughts had stuck with him, but they still didn't seem as bad as feeling hands so foreign and yet so familiar, wrapping around his throat and cutting him off from the very thing he needed to survive.

Ed wasn't sure how many more times Envy had come to torment him since the moments had begun to blur together in the past couple days (if he still measured time properly, anyway), and he'd given up on fighting him for the most part. It had gotten to the point where he couldn't quite decide what was actually Envy and what was his own imagination, because at times it felt like the Homunculus' cruelty, and other times he found himself thinking, for however brief a second, that it really was Mustang. Either Envy was getting better at impressions or he was getting too tired to be able to tell the difference.

Not that any of that mattered in the long run.; he'd decided about halfway through the last visit from Envy that there were three ways everything could go from that point, each of which had a slightly high chance of actually happening in his mind: He and Mustang could somehow miraculously escape (least likely), someone, likely the team, would come and rescue them (more likely, but he remained doubtful), or nobody would get to them in time and they'd both be killed (not the outcome he wanted by any means, but he had to entertain the possibility that it could happen, especially since it seemed most likely).

He knew if the real Mustang were before him he would tell him to snap out of it, because that sort of thinking was for quitters, and Edward wasn't the type of person to give up. Under different circumstances, Ed knew he probably would've been right (he'd been told by many he was too stubborn for his own good), but he'd grown so tired of everything at that point, and it felt better to think in realistic terms. He could still hold out hope of rescue while admitting to himself that he and Mustang were in danger of death in the near future.

Yeah, Mustang wouldn't be too happy with those thoughts. But then, there was someone else too, which made Edward hold out hope for rescue at all.

Because even as he understood that they ran a high risk of being killed and accepted it, he couldn't help but want to beat himself in a similar manner Pouty had that morning when he thought about Alphonse. What did it matter if he was hurting to the point he was numb? What did it matter if he was so cold he could no longer feel his own face? What did it matter that he was tired of restless sleep that was constantly disturbed? Alphonse had to deal with similar problems on a daily basis. He had a little brother waiting for him back home who needed him, who was expecting him to return in one piece, who would be as good as lost without him and his certification (which he fully intended to get back).

The thoughts of Alphonse in particular were what made Edward keep his eyes open and mind running when all he wanted to do was slip into the welcoming darkness that infrequently floated on the edge of his vision. He didn't know whether the darkness was sleep or something more ominous, but he didn't feel like finding out just yet, not when he had so much to lose and not when was still a chance, slim as it was, that somebody would come and pull him out of this special brand of hell.

He'd been holding out hope in the beginning of this particular stay at Casa De Drachma that Mustang would be the person to do the pulling, but given the current state of things, Edward knew he wouldn't trust anything remotely Mustang shaped if his life depended on it. It saddened him, that, possibly more than the thought of dying before seeing Alphonse again. Because at least his relationship with Alphonse would've been untainted when that happened. The Colonel though, Edward couldn't see himself feeling fully comfortable around the man again; he'd have that lingering, constant fear of wondering whether or not he was really real. It saddened him because since finding his finding him in the middle of nowhere, Ed had grown to trust Mustang implicitly. Before Envy had come into the picture, he'd hazard to say he trusted him with his life- with Alphonse's life.

Maybe if they got out of this alive and he could properly assure himself that Mustang was really Mustang, he could work around it and they could get back to the place they'd been before capture, but only maybe. There would be a lot to deal with before worrying about that, though.

When the flap of the tent opened to reveal Mustang right then, Edward wondered if Envy couldn't read minds, because he seemed to have impeccable timing.

Funny enough, the man was brought in by guards and had his hands bound behind his back. He looked worse for wear, bruised and scraped where Edward could see his skin (he'd been stripped of his shirt as well). His hair was matted with what looked like blood and he had crimson dripping steadily from a particularly nasty gash in his lip.

When they made eye contact the Colonel's eyes widened and he pulled against his guards. He almost seemed surprised when they released him, sending him stumbling, almost falling over before he could right himself. The two men who Edward didn't recognize stepped out and Edward appraised battered adult before him.

He had to admit, Envy got better with every visit. If he hadn't known better Edward might have believed it was the actual Mustang standing before him, looking on with what looked to be a mixture of horror and pity.

When the other made no attempt to come any closer Edward dared to scoff. It seemed Envy wanted to try out a new tactic, though he wasn't quite sure what it was yet, because if he thought he could garner any sympathy from looking so crappy he was dense.

The noise seemed to pull Not-Mustang out of whatever trance he'd been in and Edward followed his every movement carefully when the man knelt down so he was eye-level with him. He still wore that soft, sorrowful expression and somehow it was worse than the various glares and smiles he'd seen on the Colonel's face lately. It felt too genuine, which was a ridiculous thought, but one he couldn't shake off no matter how he tried.

"Edward."

He kept his voice just as soft as his eyes and came no closer, but Edward still found himself flinching back a little bit. It was hard not to react that way when he'd grown used to any of those comments being followed up with an act of violence.

"Sorry," Not-Mustang apologized and Edward narrowed his eyes, wondering just what he was playing at.

The man cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder as if he actually expected someone to come in at any moment to pull him away. That made Edward's pinched expression become a glare, because it just felt insulting at that point, that Envy would bother to pretend like that when he should've known that Edward was well aware of the fact that no guards would be coming in to gather anyone or stop anything that happened.

"Hey, what's that look for?" Not-Mustang frowned and inched forward. Edward instinctively drew his legs closer to his own body. That only seemed to confuse the fake Colonel more, because he sounded decidedly worried and maybe offended when he spoke again.

"Kid, what's the matter? I'm not going to- what's that?"

Edward blinked at him, not following his line of questioning until he caught how Mustang- Not-Mustang was staring at his neck. He hadn't seen it himself but Edward imagined he had a pretty impressive bruise there; Envy's grip had felt particularly crushing in that moment.

He swallowed hard and hunched his shoulders, doing his best to hide the injury. He would bet anything that Mustang had pointed it out just to make him remember the moment when he'd felt like everything was spiraling out of control and he could do nothing but weakly beg for an end to the sensation of falling into nothingness. Sick bastard.

"Who did that to you?"

He sounded angry- or there'd been a quaver to his voice that didn't sound like it'd been caused by teeth chattering, anyway. Edward scoffed again, pulling his knees to his chest but not taking his eyes off of the man who'd gotten closer still in his feigned concern. Edward clamped down on the desire to answer with something like, "I don't know, you tell me.", since he knew how badly it would hurt his raw throat. Plus, he didn't feel like getting started with the kicking and hair-pulling just yet. Still he didn't want to let Envy think he'd been completely cowed.

He shrugged.

In response to that Mustang sighed and shook his head before dropping to his butt and rolling onto his back. Edward watched with growing confusion as the man brought his legs up to hook on the inside of where his wrists met behind his back. He caught onto what he was doing right about the time Mustang had gotten himself into a nearly comical position with his back arched off the ground and his knees slipping through the loop of his arms. A moment later he sat himself back up, his hands bound in front rather than behind.

Edward's lip quirked as he was both impressed by the trick he thought few people knew and amused by the fact that Mustang breathed a little heavier from some exertion. However, when he saw the man's hands, that smirk was wiped from his face. The first thing he registered was that he didn't have gloves on, which Envy had never done before. The second thing was the unnatural angles he could see the fingers on his left hand that made him want to cringe in sympathy. He remembered well what broken bones felt like, and he didn't wish that on anyone. He'd always hated the sensation of part of his body being out of place.

Mustang didn't seem all that bothered by it, aside from a wince when he resituated his sitting position and jostled the appendage a little. That fact made Edward remember that it wasn't real, not the injury nor the man, and suddenly he felt very little sympathy for him.

If Not-Mustang had seen the brief smirk on his face before, he made no mention of it. Ed supposed it didn't matter if he had, seeing as there was nothing he could do about it now.

Edward forget himself in his own thoughts for a moment that when he registered that Mustang had moved closer, it was too late to shift away (and there was only so far he could go, being attached to a pole and all). When the Colonel placed a hand on his flesh shoulder part of Edward wanted to allow the contact since it didn't appear malicious, and if he allowed himself to pretend it was the real Mustang, it could've been comforting, something he wouldn't have passed up at that point.

But it wasn't real, and Not-Mustang never offered comfort unless he was going to follow it with abuse, and Edward didn't feel like giving him the opportunity to get him with his guard down. He jerked as far away from the man as he could while pushing his hand away with his knee.

"Don't touch me!"

He regretted growling out out the command as soon as it left his mouth, sending knives down his damaged throat and causing him to cough.

The noise seemed to only make Not-Mustang get closer and Edward did his best to glare in an intimidating manner, which he wasn't sure how well he managed since he was choking on nothing but the sensation of pain. That seemed to halt his advances at least, and much to Ed's surprise. He wasn't about to complain, though. If Envy wanted to pretend to be decent, he would let him. He had everything to gain from doing that, it seemed.

It didn't stop the man from asking him what was going on and what they'd done to him, though. He sounded so damn sincere and worried, like he honestly couldn't figure out what the problem was, that Edward wanted to spit on him and throw him out using some alchemy-infused snow golem or something. He had no right to talk to him that way. He probably knew that, which was why he bothered to at all.

Envy had gotten better, though, he'd grant him that. He almost had him believing it was the real Mustang. Heck, he even wanted to believe that he was the real Mustang.

He refused to let his guard down, though, and Edward couldn't find a better way to reply to that than to snear and shake his head. He refused to let Envy get him like that. He refused.

That seemed to be the pattern for the rest of the evening after that. Mustang kept his distance but continued to probe gently, asking little things like if they'd drugged him again, or if they'd asked him for any new information. Little things that Edward always answered with eye rolls and grimaces, feeling no need to use actual words when every word being spoken was a ploy to get him to crack further.

It struck him as strange, that Not-Mustang never once asked him if he was okay. It sounded like something Envy would go for, since it would give Edward the option to break down and admit that, no, he was doing poorly and wanted out.

The fact that this Mustang hadn't asked that question or any question similar to it made it harder to think about the fact that he wasn't real. The real Mustang would've left him be on those topics, knowing the questions were idiotic, because he clearly wasn't okay. Not even a little bit okay.

It got to the point where Edward found he couldn't even bring himself to look at the alchemist for fear of giving into his desires to believe that he could be trusted. It was funny, how quickly his mind turned on itself when he was faced with the actual subject of interest. He'd been so sure that it would be difficult to even consider trusting Mustang after everything Envy had done, and yet here he was, doing his best to not do just that when he knew for a fact the person sitting next to him wasn't the real Mustang.

Talk about pathetic.

The time passed both quickly and much too slowly, but Edward didn't even realize that fact until the two guards from before stepped in without warning and strode in towards the Colonel. Mustang snarled at them, standing to his full height and balling his good hand into a fist, which made Edward want to laugh at the theatricality of it all. Everything since Mustang had walked in had been a big show.

Normally Envy just walked in as the Colonel when he wanted to bug him and then out once he was done, he never bothered with a show of force to make things appear more realistic. Edward wasn't sure what inspired the change in tactics, but it was beyond ridiculous to him.

Maybe it was also a little surprising to him as well, since it was such an unusual and unnecessary display. There was also the fact that during the entire "session" (he didn't have a better name for their time together yet) Must- Envy had left him alone, and normally he never left without doing at least something mildly harmful to him first.

When the guards reached the Colonel, Edward watched with some mild amusement tinged with astonishment when the man kicked the first away in a manner that reminded Ed of the fighting techniques taught to Amestrian soldiers (Envy had done his research on more than just how to be a General it seemed), and swung his bound arms into the face of the other, knocking both of them back a bit.

Edward caught himself when he almost smiled. He wouldn't deny that seeing any Drachman get hit felt like a kind of justice in and of itself, but he also had to remind himself that he couldn't cheer that Mustang on. He couldn't have them thinking he was on his side. Obviously he wasn't in the slightest.

Mustang looked to be gearing up for another go at the men when someone else entered the fray, coming behind the Colonel and stabbing a small needle into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. The next thing Edward knew, Mustang was collapsing onto the ground in a paralyzed heap that he recognized was a result of the drug he'd been given the last time he'd been there by himself.

That wasn't what had his eyes widening in shock though. No, it was the face that stared back at him, syringe still in hand and an impossibly wide grin stretching his lips: Ford.

Edward's attention flew between him and the wide-eyed Mustang who was being gathered up by the guards, realization hitting him like a freight train.

The man he'd been with for the last hour, the one he'd ignored, pushed away, and yelled at because he'd thought he was Envy… was the actual Mustang.

He'd had the real Mustang, right in front of him and hadn't even realized it because he'd been so sure Envy had just found the right way to act. Mustang had been there, injured but solid and real. He'd seen the way they'd hurt him, tried to comfort him, and Edward had turned him away because he couldn't trust anything… because of Envy. Because that bastard had taken away his ability to realize what was right in front of him.

His breath hitched in his throat in a way that had nothing to do with the pain he felt there and he didn't miss the cackle from Ford as Mustang was dragged from his sight, into the cold to be placed back wherever they'd been keeping him locked away.

No… Mustang…

Ed wasn't sure if he'd actually said the man's name aloud, but it felt like he had, his tongue tasting of ash, guilt, anger, and an indescribable amount of regret.

*Hides behind mountain of textbooks*
Yes, hello, hi, the next chapter might be posted a little bit before or during Spring break (if mental health is good), or during the summer (if it's not so good), so look forward to that I guess?

I love you all so very much, please don't kill me.

Also, since I haven't said it in awhile: Reviews/Comments are my favorite form of sustenance… so… yeah, something to think about... (I'm a needy bitch, what can I say?)