Soldiering and Sacrifice

Dammit!

Dammitdammitdammit!

The blood coating his chest was the only warmth around for miles and he snarled at his misfortune of being the one to get caught up in the hail of bullets sent by Colonel Mustang's dogs. The humiliation of having to play dead while the Drachmans ran around like headless chickens was almost outweighed by the annoyance of losing sight of the Flame Alchemist and the pipsqueak. If he hadn't thought the Drachman soldiers would attack him when they saw him healing, he would've gotten back up and continued his chase. Unfortunately humans were predictable, and confrontation with a superior entity made them become afraid. And when humans were afraid, they got violent. He couldn't keep an eye on the potential sacrifices if he was busy fighting off soldiers who didn't understand the kind of presence they were in.

And now, of course, it was snowing.

Even more frustrating than that, was the fact that the General and his keeper had seen him getting shot, which meant there was zero chance he could go back to his current, "Ford" form without raising massive suspicion. It was ridiculous, how many times he had to change and conform to keep plans from going south. One of these days he was going to get praised for it.

He wondered if that was the reaction waiting for him at home. In the beginning he'd been pretty sure that he could create enough bloodshed to please Father, and with the Amestrians playing their dutiful part in slaughtering the Drachman camp, he was hoping he was right. Otherwise, while entertaining, his efforts would be for nothing. At least if he maintained Elric and the Colonel's safety Father wouldn't immediately kill him for his actions.

Maybe Father would appreciate what he'd done? After all, even if the bloodshed wasn't enough, he'd damaged one of the more volatile pawns on the board. Edward Elric might not be so keen on fighting them when the time came for them to use his knowledge after everything he'd gone through. Envy sure hoped that was the case, anyway, and that Father wouldn't punish him for hurting one of the sacrifices.

Even as he thought all that though, he knew in the back of his mind that Lust was right when she'd chided his impulsive decision to spark a war between the two countries. He'd only been trying to help their Father, but he doubted it would be received that way… He'd just grown so bored. Killing that family man had alleviated it for a time, but he'd been missing being a part of something big. Honestly, he'd only been looking to make another Ishval- one that didn't affect the soil of the country Father was almost finished preparing this time.

Lust was right, though. As painful as that was to admit to himself, he knew it to be true. Everything was turning into a disaster. It was an easy enough realization to come to when he pushed himself up and finally allowed the hole in his body to stitch itself closed. After that, it was all a matter of finding a new face to take.

The first person he spotted was the brick house of a man that had tattled on the Alchemists' plans the day before. Petrov, if he remembered correctly. Though, he supposed it didn't matter what his name was because he was going to be dead in a moment anyway.

Envy cackled when he thought of it that way while launching himself at the Drachman. The man looked surprised to see him for a millisecond, having been one of the few to see "Ford" die, and the moment's hesitation was enough for Envy to form his arm into something sharp and impale the huge moron with it. Even before Petrov drew his last breath his likeness had been copied. Envy released the man to fall face-first into the stained snow and did his best to get his bearings so he could find the Alchemists again.

The camp was twenty-five paces to his immediate left, which meant the last place he'd seen the pipsqueak and his friends would have been to the east, where the land tilted to kiss the sky's horizon. Envy let his eyes roam the barren land for any signs of life and squinted against the elements when he caught sights of two figures making their way towards the flaming camp.

Envy bet he would have caught the blond mop atop the first person's head, even without the light of the moon.

What was the brat doing getting closer to the fight?! He was going to get himself killed.

The real question was which idiot was helping him? Envy strode closer until he could match a few features of the man to his memory, and he scoffed when his mind supplied Maksim's name.

Of all the people on Volkov's scrappy team, Envy would've pegged Maksim as the most likely to betray his people. He'd sensed weakness in the man the moment he'd met with the group. All humans held some kind of weakness to them, it was true, but Maksim in particular had pissed him off because it was so visible, yet so inaccessible. It had been clear the man wasn't cut out to fight -didn't have the stomach for it- but why exactly that was, he'd had no clue. It wasn't until he'd seen a few sessions with Maksim and the Fullmetal Pipsqueak that he'd finally been able to peg that weakness. His suspicions had been further confirmed after the man had realized there was no point in the torture he perpetrated.

He cared about kids. It was one of the most pathetic things in his eyes. What was so special about a tinier, weaker human, that grown men would defy their superior officers and risk being court martialed? He couldn't understand it.

At least, he'd thought that was Maksim's hang-up. Now, as he watched the man… help? Drag?... ...

... as he watched the man run beside the small alchemist, he wondered if he'd been mistaken. Maksim didn't appear to want to help him. It was almost like he wanted Elric dead.

Well, he couldn't let that happen now, could he?

Envy sighed heavily and picked up his pace after the pair. He really had to do everything, didn't he?

Flames licked at the air close to his face and Roy felt more at ease because of it.

He missed having his gloves, but he wasn't letting that stop him from carving arrays into any and every available surface, setting fire to the tent containing much of the Drachman weaponry. He could hear the panicked shouts from the enemy soldiers and did his best to remain hidden. He may have been able to fight, but Fullmetal and the Lieutenant had been correct in saying that he was in no shape to.

His hand throbbed as if to agree with their words. He held tight to the gun he'd procured from a nearby body and hurried to the next area of cover that would need to go. The Briggs soldiers were doing a fine job in disposing of enemy soldiers, but he was determined to leave no traces of that army behind. A message needed to be sent to the leaders of the country, and he would gladly help send it. Besides, he was more interested in causing disarray than death today… well, with the exception of a few individuals.

Amestrian soldiers passed him like ants in a frenzy, paying him no heed as they picked off any stray enemies that should've fled. The Drachmans quickly thinned out as he continued setting fires that sent them fleeing, though. If the Briggs men realized that he was sending the enemy their direction by blocking their path with the explosions, he did not know. They seemed to have the situation under control either way. He had high expectations of Olivier's men and didn't pay heed to the cacophonous cries he heard because he assumed they belonged to the enemy.

What he hoped more than anything at the moment, though, was that Maksim and the others were not part of those groups being bottled up and executed. He still had a few things he wanted to say to those men before he killed them. Perhaps it was wrong, to hunger for vengeance -or was it justice?- like he did, but he couldn't help it. They'd hurt his youngest subordinate, and that was not something he would stand for. He didn't care about what they'd done to him, but what they'd done to the kid was unforgivable.

So maybe it was wrong, but he didn't much care. He knew that Ford at least needed to be detained for questioning- he refused to take blame for overlooking an important detail like that because he wanted to kill the man- and that was fine. The person he really wanted to deal with was Maksim. Following closely after, of course, would be General Volkov, who Roy wanted dead almost as much as he wanted to beat the hell out of Ford, because he was the instigator of everything that had gone wrong.

More arrays drawn in the snow and more tents blown up. A bullet buried itself in the ground only a few centimeters from his hand. Roy rolled his eyes and turned to dispose of the soldier.

It occurred to him then, with how few Drachmans he'd been seeing the further he weaved through the camp, that his people might actually be the ones winning. Considering how desperate the whole situation had seemed not an hour ago, the turned tables were a welcome change. It gave him a shred of hope that the main forces would be able to defeat the enemy, now that the threat of a surprise attack was being neutralized.

He wasn't about to get caught up in that thinking though, because there was always the chance that Briggs would lose. It wasn't as if the Drachman soldiers here were not capable fighters, and Roy was fairly certain in his assumptions that Olivier had not been able to spare as many men as the enemy army had. His only solace there was the Briggs fighters were supposedly the most elite in the whole of Amestris. It had been some time since anyone from the Northern base had come to a drill in Central to show the truth of that rumor, but Roy did not doubt the validity of it. Olivier did not tend to say something unless she was at least ninety percent sure that it was accurate.

In the grand scheme of things, there was little he could do to change the outcome of the fight, whatever it may be. He would lend aid where he could. Other than that, he only had to do his part and stay alive… and tie up some loose ends. Most important was the staying alive part.

The squeaking of snow underfoot behind him had Roy spinning around and bringing his gun up. He'd already disposed of a few stragglers and was more than ready to deal with one more. That thought in mind almost had him pulling the trigger before he realized who it was he aimed at.

His brain felt like it was short circuiting and Roy gaped. He had not been expecting Edward to move from his spot, much less come and find him.

"Fullmetal what the hell are you..."

He trailed off his question when his attention locked onto the flicker of movement he caught behind Edward. It was difficult to make out a full face in the waning, flickering light, but he saw enough that his blood boiled and he snapped at the kid to get back. If Maksim thought he was going to make an attempt on anyone's life from the shadows like a coward, he had another thing coming.

He nearly tripped over his own feet when Edward not only refused to get out of his way, but also told him to not shoot the man. When he finally got his mouth to work, he glanced at Edward, hoping his disbelief was clear on his face. He didn't remove his gun from where it was trained on the Drachman.

"What?"

"He's helping us," Edward explained, "don't kill him."

"I'm sorry, kid, the torturer is helping us? You gotta see how bad that sounds."

Maybe Edward had hit his head? Maybe Maksim threatened him? Had he hurt Edward again?

The notion made him toy with the trigger. If that man had done anything more to his charge when he hadn't been there to protect him, he was going to make him wish he'd never been born.

"Whatever," Edward sighed, "but it's true."

Maksim stepped out from the little cover he had and Roy zeroed in on the red dripping from his hands. An icy dread dug into his shoulders at the sight and Roy immediately started searching for any signs that Edward had been injured. He hadn't looked like he was bleeding, but given the awful lighting it wouldn't have been hard to miss. He wasn't walking any funnier than usual, sure, but that didn't mean anything. Although, if he had been hurt to the point of bleeding, he probably wouldn't have been telling him not to shoot Maksim- Edward was stubborn and would protect himself. Right.

"He doesn't deserve to die right now, Colonel."

That was the statement that did finally made him scoff. "Really? I can think of a few reasons why he doesn't deserve to live."

Roy didn't miss the flicker of a grimace across Maksim's face. Apparently for once they might have agreed on something. Good.

"I'm not gonna argue that." Edward conceded and Roy thought for a moment he'd won. "But you still shouldn't kill him."

It was strange, how shocked Maksim appeared when he said that. At least he reflected the disbelief Roy felt in hearing the kid say it. How could Edward not be rooting for the death of that man? What was it about death that bothered him enough to spare and enemy? He never had understood that part of Edward- how he could be so violent, yet… not. Normally that was something he could respect. It didn't usually piss him off so much.

"You can't save everyone all the time, Fullmetal," he ground out. Edward glared back at him.

"And you can't always justify murder."

That's what he thought this was? How could he not see it as protection- at the very least, justice for wrongful harm done?

Roy sighed and forced himself to lower the firearm. As much as he wanted to kill Maksim and rid the world of another monster, he couldn't justify it when Edward was staring him in the eyes and advocating for the man's life. He didn't want to become that kind of person to the kid.

That didn't mean he wouldn't do it later. A shared glance with Maksim told him the Drachman understood that, too.

Edward released the breath he'd been holding and swallowed hard in an attempt to soothe the burn in his throat. He wished Mustang could trust him once in awhile so he didn't have to keep explaining himself. Although, for once he did understand why he hadn't. It wasn't like he'd been too comfortable with the idea of trusting Void. He still wasn't, but he'd been his best shot at getting to the Colonel safely. The man had at least proven that he wasn't trying to put him in harm's way when he'd taken out one of his own people to protect him.

That was a weird thought. Void protecting him. Edward shook off the uncomfortable feeling that brought with it. He supposed it was better than being afraid of him. At the very least, they had backup that knew how to use a gun and wasn't afraid to.

He finally turned his back to Mustang to let Void know he appreciated the help, but his voice caught in his throat when he saw the Drachman lifting his gun. He didn't even get a second to warn Mustang before the trigger was pulled.

Edward tasted copper in the back of his throat and he wondered if he'd screamed. It sure felt like he had, but he wasn't sure. He was sure that it felt like someone had sat on his chest to constrict his breathing and that his ears were ringing from his proximity to the gunshot. He'd made a mistake. It was the only thing he thought as he turned to see where the Colonel had been hit.

He'd made a mistake. He never should've trusted Void for a single second. He should've protected himself like he'd been told to. Like he'd promised Mustang he would. People didn't change that fast. What had he been thinking? He was an idiot, and… and…

And Mustang was fine.

The sight he expected to greet him disappeared from his mind when Edward stared at the man on the ground, the hole in his head coloring the snow a sickly red. A knife was still held in his hand and Edward wondered how close he'd been to driving it into Mustang's neck when Void had moved. And Mustang… there was a trail of blood from under where he had his hand pressed to his neck, and Edward guessed the bullet had nicked him. Otherwise, there didn't seem to be any damage to the Colonel.

Edward wondered wryly if all the spinning back and forth was going to put him on the ground when he faced Void once more. The expression he wore was softer than Edward had ever seen it and he tried not to gape out how human the man appeared. He'd saved Mustang's life, and his, and had made himself an enemy of his own people. For what, he still didn't know, but he supposed it didn't matter.

A silent understanding passed between them then, a mutual gratitude -though Edward wasn't sure what Void would be thanking him for- and then Void nodded and moved to take off.

He got not more than two steps before he was doubling over himself, the distant ring in the air from nearby gunfire the only indicator for why.

Before realizing he was moving, Edward found himself catching the man before he could fall. The effort to hold him up was taxing on his healing shoulder and the wound in his thigh he'd reopened somehow, but Edward grit his teeth against it, determined to stay upright. He didn't know much about gunshot wounds, but he knew enough to be aware of the dangers associated with too many sudden movements. If the bullet was still inside, one wrong position could kill Void. He'd just gone through the trouble of keeping Mustang from shooting him, so he'd be damned if he let him die this way. Now that he knew Void had people waiting for him to get back home, he couldn't let that happen.

Edward was distantly aware of Mustang shooting at the attacker, but he didn't know if he got the guy. It didn't really matter if he did or not, so long as nobody shot at them again. Aside from the three of them, the area had been more or less abandoned, Edward noticed. With all the fires around, he was guessing it wasn't worth it to the Drachmans to stick around. Also, he was assuming they had their hands full with the backup Hawkeye and the others had brought.

Void grunted, the strain of holding himself up no doubt hard on his body and Edward glanced down to the spot on his abdomen that he was holding onto. Even with the pressure he applied blood leaking through his fingers and Edward quelled the nausea in his own stomach as best he could. He'd seen bad injuries up close before, but he was already surrounded by the smell of so much blood and death that viewing the wound up close got to him. He couldn't imagine how Void was staying on his feet with a hole in his body like that. Yeah, he was helping him, but Edward doubted he was offering that much support, given how his own legs were quaking with the effort of holding him up.

They needed to stop that bleeding as much as possible, or else even the smallest effort he took to keep him away from death's door would be useless. Edward scrunched his nose when his fingers made contact with Void's, the stickiness of blood coating his hand. He could feel that Void was pressing hard, but he knew it wasn't as much pressure as he could've been applying. He found himself rolling his eyes because, yeah it hurt, but after all the things Void had put him through, he had very little sympathy. Not wanting someone to die and caring that they were in pain did not go hand-in-hand. Edward pushed harder and felt a sliver of satisfaction when the blood stopped leaking as rapidly. Void gasped, the noise choked and painful.

He was so focused on that, that Mustang's hand on his shoulder made him flinch. It also alerted him to the fact that the Colonel was speaking.

"We need to go, it's not safe here."

Edward couldn't help scoff. Yeah, he had no idea. That was some news to him. It wasn't like that was the whole reason he was there.

"It's not safe anywhere. In case you didn't notice, we're in enemy territory."

"C'mon kid, I'm being serious."

"So am I." Edward shifted his arm so he could look at Mustang and show why he couldn't walk away. Not when he was helping Void to stay alive. "We can't just leave him."

Mustang barely gave Void's wound a glance before he was back to arguing with him. "I don't see why not."

"He's got a family!"

Void lifted his head and Edward ignored the look he was giving him. He didn't need gratitude from the guy, he just… he wasn't gonna leave a family fatherless if he could help it. No kid deserved to grow up without a dad.

He wished he could have transferred that to Mustang somehow. There was no way he could say that, because of course the idiot would read into it and think he was talking about Al and himself, and then he'd probably pity him or something similarly stupid, and he didn't need that. He just needed the Colonel to quite fighting with him because now was really not the time!

Perhaps he only needed to put things into perspective for Mustang to get what he was saying- why he couldn't leave Void behind. It would be like… like if Mustang had made a promise to someone- oh!

"If it were Hughes, you wouldn't just walk away."

It wasn't a perfect example, since it wasn't as though Edward liked Void and considered him a friend (gross), but it was good enough, because he did not miss the way Mustang's breath caught and his eyes darted to the ground. Edward wanted to laugh victoriously, but was glad he didn't when the Colonel's next words destroyed any shred of positive emotion inside of him.

"It doesn't matter what I would do. Hughes is dead."

It was Edward's turn for his breath to stutter and it took him longer than it should have to find his voice.

"Wh… what?"

Mustang shook his head and Edward distantly wondered what was going on in his own head. He almost looked like he'd regretted saying that.

"This is an enemy soldier, kid, it's not the same. You can leave him."

He sounded so far away and Edward barely heard him. He was still reeling. What Mustang said... it couldn't be true. It hadn't been that long since he'd seen Hughes before leaving…

What happened? How had Mustang kept it from him this long? The whole team, actually… how long ago had it happened? Why hadn't anyone told him? And why had Mustang decided now was the perfect time to tell him?

He tried to be mad about that, but he couldn't do it. It wasn't Mustang's fault. He could've picked a better moment, but… Hughes had been his best friend, and his bringing him into the fight had been a mistake, even if he hadn't known.

But... How and why? Who would've killed Hughes? What had he done to anyone to...

Edward swallowed hard when he remembered what Hughes had been helping him with last time he'd heard from him. He did his best to push back the wave of guilt that wanted to eat him whole, then. Whatever he'd found must have gotten him into trouble. It might've been the reason he'd died.

His breath stuttered and he forced his lungs to expand. Breathing had become increasingly difficult, but he shook his head and worked to calm down until the feeling of being choked went away. He couldn't do that right now. He had to keep it together. Once he was home he could deal with… all that.

Mustang must have taken his head shake as something else, though, because his exasperated words filled his ears not a beat later.

"How are you defending him after what he did?"

Edward finally looked back down at Void. His skin had grown paler and his breathing a lot more ragged. It was painful in Edward's ears and he could imagine what the man was going through as the bleeding made him weaker and unsteady on his feet.

It would be a lie if there wasn't a tiny part of him that was satisfied with seeing him like that. However, the sympathy he felt made that feeling obsolete. He didn't enjoy seeing people hurt, even if they were people who'd done him wrong. In the same way he wouldn't have felt any joy in seeing the MPs kill Scar -even after the man had nearly destroyed him and his little brother- he didn't feel much elation in seeing Void bleeding out.

He doubted Mustang would understand any of that, though. He was a soldier, and he'd been more than willing to let people shoot Scar back then. Mustang had a strong sense of justice, but that sometimes meant he was too rigid in the ways he thought.

Edward frowned and shook his head as a sigh left him. "I don't know."

A small 'tsk' left the man, but the rest of Mustang's reaction was lost to him because Void's weight shifted and before Ed knew what to do, he was slipping. Edward cursed when trying to reach for him with the hand not holding pressure against his stomach resulted in a sharp burn from his shoulder, a reminder of why that arm had been immobilized in the makeshift sling. The inevitable consequence of his not catching the man sent Void slumping into the snow. Or, it would've, if Mustang hadn't caught his arm before his face could make contact with the ground.

Edward blinked, not expecting the Colonel to offer any assistance. Void groaned when he was hauled back to his feet and Mustang told him to shut up before he started dragging him towards one of the few areas he hadn't yet torched. Edward followed, feeling the slightest bit triumphant in winning Mustang over. He wasn't sure what he was going to do to help. Past getting Void somewhere he wasn't in constant danger of being shot, he wasn't sure what either of them could do.

Void seemed to be grateful for anything, though. When Mustang set him down roughly atop a crate, the Drachman hissed and clutched at his side with more vigor. Edward grimaced for the sole fact that he knew just how much it hurt to be jostled like that when you had a hole in your body. Mustang didn't seem to care all that much, because he kept moving him around, making Void take his hand away from his stomach so he could open his jacket and push his shirt up. Edward was sympathetic to the Drachman's plight when he watched his expression pinch as he clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists while Mustang prodded the skin around his wound.

"The bullet's still in there." He concluded when he pulled away, wiping Void's blood off like it offended him. "Doesn't look like it hit anything major, though. He'd probably be dead by now if it had."

Edward got the impression that he was disappointed by the fact that it hadn't done more damage. He couldn't blame him for that, but it also made him cringe. He hadn't seen the Colonel harbor so much hate for someone before. Understandable or no, it was disconcerting. Void didn't seem to mind. He just seemed relieved that he wasn't dying as fast as it looked like he was.

"I need…" Void paused to take a measured breath. "I need to stop the bleeding."

"Have fun with that," Mustang snapped, "we aren't exactly in a doctor's office."

He was right. Neither of them had any idea what the crates inside the tent held, but there were no bandages or disinfectants in sight. Still, Void was also correct. They needed to stop his bleeding or else he was going to die before sunrise. They needed bandages at the very least. Edward wished Mustang had a little more urgency when confronted with the problem, but considering the fact that he didn't want to help at all, he supposed he couldn't have expected much more from him.

Okay… Bandages… What makes good bandages? Clothes? Who can spare clothes?

Mustang would not be the one to ask. Void needed any warmth he could get, so cutting up his clothes would be plain stupid.

Hey, hey Ed. Who's got the metal leg?

"Right," he muttered before having Mustang cut his pant leg, which he then handed to Void to use himself. That was fair. It wasn't like he was too keen on the idea of patching up the enemy either, even if he was there to save his life.

Edward decided his priorities in life were an enigma even to himself.

It occurred to him a second later that Mustang was still bleeding from the cut in his neck. He had him rip off another section of his pants to tie around the wound.

Once that was all dealt with, Edward leaned against the crate opposite Void and rubbed his knees. He was sore all over, but his legs hated him the most right then. It was crazy how out of shape he'd gotten in only a few weeks. He tried to let that thought provide him with some wry amusement, but all it did was make him frown when he realized how much work he'd have to do when he got back home in order to build his muscle back up. Just another thing to add to the list of "reasons Drachma was a terrible vacation spot."

However, at the moment, there were worse places to be. The carnage outside came to his mind's eye and he scrunched his nose. Yeah, there were worse places. Even if hanging out in the general space of the person he'd rather not see again wasn't his idea of a good time, he was willing to do so if it meant laying low and staying safe until the whole battle blew over. From the brief glimpses of the situation he'd gotten, it appeared the Amestrian forces had things under control, so he would bet there would be people coming to find them.

Now that he'd had a second to calm down and let himself rationalize that by being in the vicinity of a Drachman wasn't killing him, he realized how fortunate they'd been to have the team attack when they had. It really had been a perfectly timed coincidence. He just hoped things would keep working in their favor until they were home again. They more than likely wouldn't, because that seemed to be their luck as of late, but he could still cross his fingers.

Unfortunately, Mustang did not share his sentiments, because after two rounds of pacing, he 'tsked' under his breath again and pulled his gun back out. Edward snapped to attention because he realized if he decided to shoot Void after all, he wouldn't be able to stop him. However, Mustang didn't shoot, but instead went for the door.

"I need to give backup."

Edward groaned and tried his best to convey how stupid of an idea he thought that was with a single look. He wasn't sure how well he managed, but he liked to believe Mustang got the general message nonetheless. He'd thought they were done gnawing at that bone, but apparently Mustang wasn't ready to drop it yet.

"They don't need backup. You just don't want to sit and do nothing."

"Fullmetal, I don't need a lecture from you. You're fifteen and this is one of those things you don't understand."

He probably would've been alright with being told to stand down if it wasn't for the fact that a) Mustang had been told multiple times that nobody needed his help, and in fact, wanted him to stay put in one place, and b) he brought up his age as if it had anything to do with what was going on. When exactly had his age ever been a problem for the Colonel in the past? He'd encouraged him when he was eleven freaking years old to join the military and he was going to try and lecture him about age now.

It was not an excuse he was going to let stand.

"Well, you're old and apparently can't remember how to do as you're told."

Contrary to the popular belief, Edward understood well the reasons Mustang was so determined to get back out there. He not only had scores he wanted settled (as did Ed), but he was likely feeling pretty useless to the rest of their people, sidelined as he was. Edward couldn't see how the Colonel thought he wouldn't get that. He'd been immobilized within the first day of being in the damn country and he didn't understand?

Mustang had no reply to that, so Edward wasn't all that shocked when he shook his head and exited the tent. Usual Mustang fashion. Going it alone, never needing help, always the leader. Sometimes it was admirable, other times it made him look like a desperate fool. Edward would definitely classify this time as one of the latter.

What frustrated him about the whole thing was the fact that even as he judged the Colonel for running off yet again, he felt the urge to leave too. It was ridiculous, because without a crutch he would be slower than slime and he doubted he would be helpful in a fight. Hell, he doubted he'd be helpful in any situation right now. Admitting that, even to himself stung, but he knew there was no denying it. If the last couple minutes had been a good example, he would be a hindrance to Mustang more than anything once he caught up to him, especially if the man's plan was to step right back into the war zone.

Yet he was still seriously considering following after him.

But there was that other thing holding him back, too. Void coughing brought Edward's attention over and his frown deepened the longer he stared at the man. His skin hadn't gone any lighter since the initial paling, even if it did appear clammy and feverish, and while his arms trembled with exertion from keeping himself upright, he seemed otherwise fine. The cloth bandage might have soaked through, but seeing as it was black, Edward couldn't tell. All in all, though, Void could've been faring worse. He might have been fine to leave, and really, aside from the knowledge that he would feel guilty if he left a father to die, nothing was keeping him there.

But there was the smallest chance that if he left him, Void would end up needing someone. Maybe the person that had shot him would come back to finish the job. Maybe soldiers would find him and take him captive- Edward didn't think he'd survive a trip to Amestris.

It was almost annoying, how much he cared about the fate of someone he didn't care about. And that was a confusing thought. Edward wished he could be more like Mustang at times like these, because then he could let his anger and hatred block out any other emotions and allow him to continue on with his life without any hangups. Or maybe he'd be better off like Hohenheim. That way he could abandon everyone he cared about to keep himself safe.

"Go with him. He needs you."

Void's order jolted him from his inner turmoil and Edward tilted his head. He wasn't sure if he'd heard him right- he was talking quieter than usual. Which was fair, but it still made him hard to hear.

"I've been through worse than a little love tap from Petrov- he's a shit shot. I'll be fine." Void paused to take a breath and Edward caught the momentary clench of jaw before he continued. "I thank you for your help, but you can leave now."

The idea that something as serious as a gunshot wound could be referred to as a "love tap" was insane to him, and he seriously doubted Void's assurances, but if the man felt confident in his chances of living enough that he could lie, Edward wasn't going to challenge him. He didn't care enough to call him on it.

Void's words solved his inner conflict at any rate, so Edward pushed off his support and was pleased when he only wavered a little before his legs decided they could work for him a little while longer. Void halted him when he made for the door. Edward waited, not sure what to expect -a quick threat? A weird word of wisdom? The man offered up his saber and before Edward could register his own actions, he accepted it. Making quick use of the weapon, he sunk the blade into the ground for leverage. Void nodded approvingly and Edward took a moment to appreciate the fact that he'd given him the sword instead of the gun.

A gun was next to useless in his hands when he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger, but a sword. A sword, he could handle. After all, it was his favorite thing to attach to his arm in a fight. At least with a sword he could control exactly where an enemy got hit.

Void sat up a bit straighter to grab his attention again and Edward tightened his grip on the saber unconsciously.

"I know it means very little, coming from me, but I'm sorry for the things I put you through."

Edward knew his mouth had fallen open, but there was little he could do to close it. Of all the things Void could have said, that was the furthest from his mind as being in the realm of possibilities. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't say "I forgive you" because they both knew it would be the biggest lie in all history. He didn't forgive him, he doubted he ever would- that he ever could. But what else was there to say? He could think of nothing.

Void didn't look to be expecting anything, though. In fact, he was looking at him as if to ask why he hadn't left yet.

So he did.

As much as Void's apology had left him reeling, Edward told himself to get it together as he stepped outside and scanned the area for any indication of the direction Mustang had gone. He focused on that, on Mustang, who was now his top priority. He was back to needing to find him and make sure he didn't get himself killed. It was funny, how the tables had turned and that was now his job, though not a kind of funny that made him want to laugh.

The falling snow was making it difficult to find any tracks, but Mustang left a pretty visible trail all on his own. It was less flashy than before, but for someone who knew the signs to look for, it was simple enough to find the dusting of old alchemy arrays in spots that had yet to be covered and follow those.

The path had been picked clean, much to his surprise. He'd been expecting to come across a straggler or two -one of his main reasons for keeping a brisk pace- but his worries ended up unfounded. Apparently the Drachmans had a penchant for maintaining a tight formation? If he'd been able to see the way they traveled it would have been easier to know for sure, but he wasn't about to dwell on that. The last thing he needed to do was get caught up in the past. How they may have acted before had no bearing on how they acted now. Maybe he was wrong about their tight formations, too, and they were simply lying in wait.

He crept on, and it wasn't until he got closer to where he suspected Mustang was that everything grew hectic once more. Where the path up to that point had been clear of any soldiers, friend or foe, the one ahead was littered with all kinds of people, alive and… not. Though, whether they were Drachman or Amestrian, he couldn't be sure.

It hadn't registered with him how hard the wind had been blowing until he realized how much of the fighting had been drowned out by the cold whipping his hair around his face. He must have been upwind if the sound was travelling away. Why that mattered, he wasn't sure, but he tucked away the trivial information in case it became important later.

As far as he could tell, he'd yet to be spotted, and Edward did his best to keep it that way, weaving in and out between boulders and abandoned wagons, and everything between. While there may not have been a hundred people to worry about, there was a steady downpour of slush that made it difficult to make out anything. There could have been a few live soldiers around that he couldn't see, which was enough to warrant caution, especially when his fighting skills were not up to snuff. He wasn't naive enough to think he could get to Mustang without being spotted if he made no effort to remain invisible. Sneaking around had never been his forte before but- well it was never too late to learn.

The sight of still bodies lying in all manner of awkward positions made him queasy, and there was no safe place to look. As far as his eyes could see death stared back, though the elements were trying hard to cover the evidence. The fact that it was a war and the people being killed were coming at them with malicious intent was supposed to reassure him, he knew that, but Edward found that it did very little to help. Just like Void had been a person, with a family and a job, and most likely dreams and ambitions, so had every other person who'd lost their life to the cause. How many of them had only been doing what they'd thought was best? How many of them had only been trying to get by so they could go home?

He was beginning to realize why his certification had been taken. He couldn't stand seeing so much destruction of life and he hadn't even been the one to do the killing. Mustang had to have known it would get to him. He'd been trying to protect him. Ed had already known that, but it wasn't until he objectively looked at what life had been like for everyone for the last couple of weeks that he finally came to terms with the fact that, in his mind, Mustang had done the right thing… and honestly, it had been a good call. He could not see himself doing anything as gruesome as what he saw around him. A shudder passed through him at the thought of it.

The unease he felt as he walked through the sea of death only worsened when he noted how many of the people still visible in the snow were wearing Drachman uniforms. He became more and more aware of the fact that he was wearing a Drachman military jacket… and that the Amestrian soldiers that were killing the Drachmans did not know that.

He'd thought his need to catch up with Mustang had already been pretty intense, but the increased wariness urging him into a faster pace made him realize otherwise. He ignored the fact that his leg felt ready to give out on him at a moment's notice and pushed forward, using the saber to aid him as much as possible.

Catching sight of Mustang was like finding the light at the end of the tunnel and a relieved smile broke across his numb face despite the circumstances. It looked like he was talking with a soldier -was that a Briggs uniform?

The apparent turning of the tides made sense now, at least. The only thing he knew about Briggs was that the men from there were "tough as they came." It was reassuring to see that they lived up to the hype. At least it gave them a fighting chance against the Drachman's force.

It was difficult to make out much more than a few gestures, but Edward clearly saw when the person opposite Mustang pointed in his direction. He froze in place and willed the Colonel to tell the guy he wasn't a threat if that was what they'd asked. When nobody fired at him, he assumed he was safe and he let his shoulders relax. However, as he did so, the wind carried to him the sound of heavy breathing. He would've been tempted to write it off as his own if he didn't remember the small fact that anything he heard came from behind, where he was upwind from.

Not knowing who it was, but being sure an ally would have identified themselves, he turned around and heaved the saber in front of his body. The resulting clash of metal had his eyes going wide as he stared down the Drachman who'd been about to rend him in two. It was nobody he recognized, though the hate shining in his eyes made it seem like he recognized him.

Who the hell is this guy?

Their blades screeched when Edward stumbled backwards. He barely had time to catch himself before he was lifting the weapon above his head to block another swing. It wasn't easy to get a good look at the man who seemed pretty determined to kill him, but from what he could make out, it was nobody he knew. It was a random soldier who hated him for the sole fact that he wasn't one of them. How he'd managed to avoid the rest of the army's attack Edward didn't know, but he wished the guy would stop trying to stab him!

The weapon he held was foreign to him and Edward knew his movements were stiff and clunky, and his frozen fingers meant his hold was weak. To add insult to injury, he wasn't used to the weight or length of the blade, and it didn't take a genius to notice that- the Drachman certainly had and was taking full advantage of the fact.

Edward yelped when the man thrust forward and he had to jump back to narrowly avoid being skewered. The movement and landing were hard enough on his leg that he wasn't at all surprised when he toppled backwards. Even with the cushion over the ground the fall sent a spark of pain up his spine. There was little time to worry about that, though. His time to recover was cut short when the Drachman loomed over him and made to drive his saber into his heart.

His body moved of its own accord and Edward gasped when he felt the whizz of the blade by his head. He didn't have time to get up, but he did have long enough to block once more when the man tried to hack his head off. The effort it took to keep his arm up wasn't enough to keep the weapon away from his face for very long and he knew it. His whole body shook with adrenaline and exertion alike and there was no way he could keep fighting for more than another minute at the most.

He couldn't give up yet, though, not when Mustang was right there. He'd been spotted already, too, so it wasn't as if his plight was going unnoticed, right?

When the Drachman grabbed his wrist and tried to make him release his weapon, Edward brought his knee up and dug it into the man's knee stomach as hard as he could. There was no crunch of ribs resulting from the action he'd been rooting for, but it was enough to knock him off balance and wind him, giving Ed the chance to kick the sword out of his grasp.

The loss of leverage brought him down and Edward took advantage of the momentary lapse and pushed himself back up. Or at least, he tried to. A hand in his hair kept him from getting very far and he stifled a curse when he was yanked back into the snow. If he didn't have a concussion yet, he never would, he decided while swinging his arm out blindly. Somewhere between trying to stand and falling, he'd lost his grip on his sword. That didn't matter, though. If he could just get a good hit in, he could get him to back off long enough to get away.

But he was outmatched. He was injured and had little experience fighting with Drachman weaponry on thick, uneven terrain. Meanwhile, his opponent had undoubtedly spent his whole career fighting with sabers. And he wasn't sporting a dozen different wounds. The match was as unfair as they came, and even as he struggled to free himself from the bruising grip, Edward knew there would be no winning.

At least neither of them had a sword now, which would make the whole killing thing harder, but he didn't want to die. Not yet, anyway. There was so much he still had to do. What would Al do if he died now?

Please

He didn't know who he was pleading to. Truth maybe, though he knew how cruel it could be. Maybe God, though he wasn't sure which one would be listening. Hell, maybe he was just willing the Colonel to hear him.

I can't die. Not now. Not like this. Please…

Warmth splashed across his face after a pop sounded in the distance and Edward didn't have to open his eyes to recognize what it was. The scent was overwhelming and made him want to gag. Before he could make any kind of move to do that or even open his eyes though, a heavy weight settled across his body and left him breathless.

Edward wheezed and blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his blurred vision. As soon as he pulled his arm free from under the Drachman's body, he scrubbed at his face in what he knew was a vain attempt to get the blood off. He wasn't sure if the copper he could taste on the back of his tongue was his or the soldier's but the thought was enough to make him want to throw up all over again. His desperation to get out from under the dead man increased tenfold and he kicked and shoved with all his might until he could slip out.

The sight of blood covering his jacket and the feeling of it against his chest made bile rise up in his throat. It was strange, how he could handle the sight of his own blood, but the minute a stranger's got on him, it became a horrifying ordeal. Or perhaps what was terrifying about the whole thing was the fact that the man had been murdered… right in front of him- on him.

And yet, past that sickened part of him, he was so glad that it hadn't been him.

That was what tipped him over the edge and had him emptying his stomach. He was glad that it hadn't been him. What kind of horrible thought was that?

"Edward!"

How was he any better than the man whose blood he still wore if he thought like that? Edward shuddered and wiped his mouth off, the bitter taste of vomit on his tongue a welcome distraction. He hated that he felt the way he did about the Drachman's death, but at the same time, he wasn't dead. He would get to keep going and grab the Colonel, and he'd get to go home. The grotesque swirl of warring emotions on the subject made him dizzy.

"Edward, are you alright?"

Mustang kicked up slush when he knelt beside him and Edward wondered if it was a bad sign that he couldn't really feel the cold of the world around him anymore.

"Kid!"

Edward started when Mustang shook him a little roughly and it occurred to him that he was the only one privy to the knowledge that the blood covering him was not his own. The Colonel had no way of knowing whether or not he'd been injured in the struggle. He nodded slowly and grabbed Mustang's wrist, prying his hand off his sore shoulder. Aside from the usual, and being shaken up, he was fine. He didn't know if the same could be said about the Colonel, though, who looked like he was ready to pass out.

The relief that flooded Mustang's features served to untangle some of his own nerves and Edward didn't fight back when he was briefly crushed against the man's shoulder. The warmth Mustang's body provided was a welcome change, too, even if it did make his skin burn as feeling was slowly restored.

While the hug was nice, though, the point still stood that if his arms hadn't turned to complete jelly, Edward would've hit him for how reckless he was being. Wanting to be useful was one thing, but this was a stubborn unwillingness to accept that he shouldn't do anything. He may have been able to handle the last week better, but Edward could see the ways captivity had left a mark on the Colonel. He hadn't been sleeping or eating, and he'd worried himself into a state of constant near-frenzy. It was wrecking him. He shouldn't have been fighting. He should have been sitting in wait for the others to come back with the good news that the threat had been neutralized.

Even the thought that he'd been expecting Mustang to do that made him want to laugh. He'd never been good with being told what to do -they had that in common-, so why was he so surprised when the Colonel didn't listen to others who told him to not do anything?

He still got to be mad at him, though. After all, his first instinct wasn't to run when people he cared about were being threatened either, but he'd been able to do it, so… no… wait… no he hadn't. He'd gone right after Mustang, who had told him to stay safe and…

Crap.

A groan escaped him and Mustang's expression screamed worry. Edward shook his head, not about to explain to the man that was just realizing he was a huge hypocrite. Instead, he took advantage of the fact that he had his attention.

"C'mon, Mustang. You've proved your point. You're not helpless. Let's go."

He waited for the argument, so when none came it was his turn to frown. Mustang looked like he was lost in thought, his eyes glued to somewhere beyond his immediate line of sight. He sort of looked lost in thought and Edward huffed.

"Hey. Are you even listening to me?"

No, of course he wasn't, because that would make his life easy. When was that ever allowed? Edward pushed away from the man in order to turn around and see what had him so transfixed that he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to what he was saying.

Had the Colonel's expression not tipped him off, he would have been lost trying to identify the man who'd come from seemingly nowhere. Now, even through the haze of weather, Edward only saw the looming figure as the only other Drachman who instilled in him as much fear as Void.

Oh. Oh no.

"No, hey, Mustang, nuh-uh. Not happening."

He was already grabbing at his jacket before the Colonel stood completely from his kneeling position. It was funny what a healthy dose of mortal terror could do to revive the movement of his limbs. Edward would give himself time to marvel about that later. For now, he had to stop Mustang from whatever it was he was planning. There was no mistaking the murderous intent in the man's glaring eyes and Edward got the feeling there would be no talking him out of whatever he had planned. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

He'd seen Black fight, even if it had only been a brief example, and he didn't know how Mustang would fair against him when he was in pique physical health, much less when he was battered and fatigued. Edward did not want him going anywhere near the man. Even if Fordvy had been the one pulling the strings behind the original attack plan, Edward got the impression that Black was no idiot. He was a higher rank than Mustang, and he was a lot bigger than him, too.

Mustang couldn't beat him. Not as he was- and especially not without his flames. It wasn't worth it to even try. And while part of him said those things out of fear, and he knew it, he also didn't think that that fear was unfounded. Black had been one of the main instigators of everything bad that had gone down in the last month, and he'd been merciless in his pursuit of war.

Either the Colonel didn't understand that, or he refused to consider it. Whichever one it was, he wasn't listening to him and Edward kept a tight hold on his sleeve and tugged hard until he was sure he had the man's partial attention.

"Listen to me! You can get him later."

"No," Roy stated, the word rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. Edward pulled harder and he bitterly wished he could just kick the man's legs out from under him so that there could be no debate.

"Why not?"

"Because I have to get him! He's my responsibility!"

The sudden shout made Edward flinch, but still he asked him why he thought that. Mustang didn't notice the reaction -or if he did, he paid no attention to it- because when he answered, he only got louder.

"Because I didn't protect you! I should've but I didn't, and he ordered Maksim to do those things, and if I can't kill that son of a bitch then I'm killing this one!"

"That's bullshit, Roy." The words slipped from his mouth with little thought and finally, finally, Mustang's expression shifted from something ugly and terrifying to something more like himself, annoyed and expectant. Edward was beyond caring about that, though, because he was fixated on his disbelief. The fact that Mustang was so upset over something that he couldn't have controlled was crazy!

After how many times the man had told him that his getting captured hadn't been his fault, and how their being recaptured had nothing to do with any mistakes he'd made, how could Mustang go and blame himself for something he'd clearly had no say in?

There were plenty of other things he could take blame for, like embarrassing him with that song, or being weird around Hawkeye and making everyone generally uncomfortable. But what had happened to him, had not involved him in any way.

"First of all, you're not my boss, so responsibility doesn't mean anything. But, second of all, if you're gonna go around saying crap like 'you're responsible for me and I'm like… your kid' or whatever, then you need to start acting like you give a damn about what I say! You're being a shit excuse for a leader right now. If you want to take responsibility for something that has nothing to do with you, than you'd better start acting like you care!"

Mustang said nothing, though he did open and close his mouth several times like a gasping fish. Good, let him chew on that for a minute. Edward knew he may have been harsh, but he'd spent the entire night chasing his dumb ass around and talking him out of killing people, and he was not about to play witness to a pity party. If anyone deserved a pity party, it was him, the only person in the whole area that hadn't signed up to be part of a war. He wasn't getting one, and neither was Roy.

He wanted to believe his words reached somewhere deep and knocked some sense into the man, but he didn't know if he should. He wasn't exactly known for motivational speeches. Yet, when straightened shoulders sagged and a weighty sigh left the Colonel, he started thinking he was getting better at them.

"You're right."

He was so quiet Edward wasn't quite sure he caught the words. He had the feeling he knew exactly what Roy had said, but… well, how often did he get to hear the Colonel tell him he was right about anything, much less something so serious?

"What was that?"

"I said you're- move!"

Not for the first time that night Edward hissed when Mustang pulling him roughly reminded him that his arm was still healing. When he saw a bullet embed itself into the nearby Drachman body, where he'd been standing not a second ago, he decided he could forgive him. He couldn't wait until they could have a proper conversation without being shot at.

Black's eyes met his when he spared a glance up, and the ice in his expression sent a chill to his bones. The distance between them had been closed by a significant margin and Edward didn't want to think about how quickly he'd been able to cover that ground.

Up to that point, he'd been making every attempt to get Roy out of there so that he wouldn't be in a position where he had to kill anyone, but when he assessed the situation, he realized that was the only option that got them both out of there. Black was too close and too good of a shot to miss if they took off running, and there would be no reasoning with him- even from the space between them, he could see the same crazy look in his eyes that Mustang had not too long ago. Or maybe he was imagining it. Either way, he didn't see Black letting them go without a fight.

He didn't want it to have to come to that, though. He'd been doing well, convincing Mustang to think rationally. He'd been close to reasoning out that they could find the Lieutenant or Havoc, or anyone else who would help them out. Now that was all ruined. They still needed someone to back them up though, because they had no cover and one gun and probably not enough bullets to last them very long. Edward looked around and realized he hadn't seen where the Briggs soldier Mustang had been talking to disappeared. Maybe he'd imagined that.

"Get down, kid!"

Edward grunted when Mustang shoved him to the ground and he went to ask what good that did them but went silent when bile rose back up in his throat at the sight of Mustang grabbing the nearby deceased soldier and turning him so that his body acted as a barrier between them and Black. As appropriate a tactic it may have been in ensuring their survival, the situation still made him sick. Mustang at least didn't appear too pleased about the turn of events either.

Another shot was fired. It drilled into their barrier with a sickly thud and Edward grimaced. Mustang cocked his weapon before sitting up to fire back. Edward frowned when he cursed, signalling the fact that he missed. He doubted they had more than a few bullets left, so unless Mustang was only trying to slow Black down, it didn't make sense to waste them. On top of that, they wouldn't last long if Black kept getting closer and all they had blocking him was a body.

For some reason he was suddenly reminded of when he and Al had tried to fight the island "monster" back during their training days. They'd tried defeating it head on at first, and in doing so had almost gotten themselves killed. They'd only really had a chance at survival when they'd stopped trying to match his strength, and instead had used their wits to deal with it.

Edward rolled over to pull his arm out from under his chest and drew a quick array. He may not have been able to fight well, but that didn't make him a complete liability. He could still do small things to outwit the enemy and keep them alive. A thick wall of icy snow shot up and Roy shouted in surprise, which made him smirk a bit. He'd have to thank teacher for drilling into him how unnecessary it was to rely on brute strength alone when he got back.

"... Nice job." Mustang blinked owlishly at him and Edward smiled in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

"Thanks."

It wouldn't be a permanent fix, but it would buy them time.

"Where are they?"

The mutter had Edward uttering a noise of confusion and Mustang elaborated on how he'd sent the soldier from earlier to find the team. They couldn't have been too far away, because according to the man, their men had "almost finished cleaning up." Edward wanted to laugh until his lungs gave out, then, because he'd been getting worried and worked up for no reason. Of course there had been a plan and Mustang hadn't just been firing at Black for the hell of it. Their situation wasn't desperate, it was calculated. It was the most comforting news he'd heard all day.

They only had to fend for themselves a little while longer and then they would have backup. They could finally get away from that damn camp. He could go home. He could see Alphonse and Winry. He could eat- he could sleep. Just a little bit longer…

Roy let loose another shot and quickly ducked back behind the wall when Black retaliated. Edward took that moment as an opportunity to see where the Drachman was in terms of distance. It looked like Mustang's shooting had done the job in slowing him down, but he was still making decent progress. That wouldn't do.

As much as he complained about the snow, Ed was thankful for it right then, because it was an endless supply of defense that he could use at longer range than a lot of his attacks back home. There was more room to work with. Another shaky array later, he huffed a small laugh when Black's alarmed cry rang out, signalling the frozen fist he'd created had made contact. He was prepared to pat himself on the back when he noticed out of the corner of his eye a huge problem. The snow bank he'd used to attack Black had been shifted to reveal the tailcoats of a soldier. It was difficult to see through the veil of falling snowflakes, but he seemed to be holding a rifle. A rifle that looked an awful lot like the kind the Lieutenant carried. One made for precise long-distance shooting.

He squinted against the elements and felt his throat go dry when he realized it there was more than one coat to spot- more than just one soldier. He didn't know how many there were exactly, but it was easily more than two or three. And none of them were shooting at Black, which meant they were going to be shooting at them.

And if he could clearly see them, then they could clearly see them.

"Mustang…"

"What?"

"There's-"

"Colonel Mustang!"

Where Havoc's voice would've been like hearing a river in a desert a few minutes ago, now it sounded a lot like a gun being cocked and Edward wanted to go back in time just to tell him to shut up when he watched Mustang's attention switched from him to the man waving at them. He couldn't have been turned away for more than two seconds, but that was all it took.

Crack!

Without thinking about the potential consequences, he pushed himself up and moved to shove Mustang out of the way of the bullet that he'd only distantly heard being released. The only thing to signal he'd made the correct move was the unmistakable sound of metal piercing metal. The screeching sound of it so close to his ear alone would've been enough to get him on the ground, but he got the sneaking suspicion it was the force of the shot itself that ended up putting him there.

Winry is going to kill me.

Heat flared up from the side of his neck when the shock of the fall finally wore off and Edward didn't know if it was pain or blood or the friction caused by the bullet or all the above. What he did know was that stars danced in his vision and the world appeared before him a huge blur. All around him was a mess of shouting and gunfire, but it sounded so far away- like he was underwater… or they were in a cave… or… or somewhere else loud and echo-y…

And then there were hands on him, and they were warm and calloused and careful- friendly. Maybe they were friendly. He hoped they were. He couldn't tell, and he was too tired to figure it out. His entire body felt like lead, and he couldn't remember how he got on the ground, but he didn't want to get up, even if the swimming voice kept telling him to not close his eyes. He was so tired, and so cold… He just wanted to sleep.

Dun dun duuuun! Nobody saw this coming, I'm quite sure. Nope. Nobody. Not my style at aaaall. I dunno about you, but I'm

SHOOK

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