[B/N: Hello everybody! It's Morg's failure of a beta reader heeere! Another chapter posted without Morg's knowledge. Happy not birthday, Morgan!

[The long-awaited chapter. Well, sorry, that'd be mostly my fault. Apparently it's possible to have a beta's block as well as a writer's one. This was news to me... until two weeks ago. I evidently can't beta unless it's 7am (and I haven't slept). That's slightly unorthodox, I'm thinking.

[Anyway, the show must go on. We're actually on Chapter 23 now, not counting the A/Ns. And guess what? Heee's back!!]


"We've had reports of the sighting of a black Mustang GT Ford on Gellsing Avenue. Registration is believed to match up with the missing vehicle."

"And the kids?"

"Witness didn't report seeing anyone in the area."

"Unit will check out the car. Over."

The radio was full of static, but Mustang could hear it almost painfully clear as he sat in the back of the police van, straining to listen to the radio up front past the four men in the middle seats talking. Every word tied another knot in his stomach as he waited apprehensively for the words he needed to hear.

"Two gunshots were heard. It was called into the station fifteen minutes ago. Up on Van Horne. That's not far from Gellsing… you think maybe they're connected?"

"Guess we'll find out."

Mustang felt so… useless. He was just sitting there aimlessly, listening to them talk as if he weren't there… and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. After all, he was the one who had had to pull strings and pretty near beg the chief investigator to let him go with them. Those kids were too important to him to just stay home and chew his fingers off, waiting, but it had been a near thing. He was lucky they'd even let him in the van, even if he was stowed away right in the back.

"A gunshot, though? Seriously, I thought these kids had just run away from home or some such shit."

"S'pose some people just attract trouble."

"Yeah – and bullets."

"Pull over here," the man in the passenger seat interrupted the officers in the back, pointing over to a wide alley on their left. The driver followed his instructions. "This is where the car was sighted."

Once the van pulled to a stop, Mustang had to hold back the urge to shove them out the door and run to the car to find the boys, instead of waiting patiently as they all filed out of the van. Slipping out of the door as someone slid it open for him, he glanced around and spotted the car at the end of the lot, looking a lot more bruised and battered than the last time he had seen it. He hung back reluctantly before following one of the police officers over to the car, wanting to shout at them that three young people's lives could be at risk while they dawdled. As he came abreast of the car, he found that the damage was worse than he'd at first thought – the windows were all smashed in and jagged silver lines criss-crossed the shiny black paintwork where a key had been run along the sides. Feeling less than hopeful, Mustang peered inside, feeling his heart sink as he realized his quarries weren't taking shelter in Winry's car and were nowhere to be seen around the area.

"Envy."

Mustang jumped slightly, looking over at the police officer who spoke. Envy? he wondered. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Sure, it's a nice car, but…

"Officer John," a voice replied, and a lean teenager stepped out from a different alleyway, smirking profusely at them. Roy eyed him suspiciously as the kid leant against a wall at the mouth of the alley and nonchalantly put his hands in his pockets, his smirk broadening. "What's up?"

"Have you been getting in any trouble? Did you see the kids that were with this car?"

The teen lifted a black eyebrow, failing at looking innocent as he scratched the back of his green-haired head. Mustang's sharp gaze noticed a thin gash along the teen's elbow, as if scratched by a sharp edge… like broken glass. "Hmm," he said noncommittally, doing a passable imitation of someone actually thinking. "Well. I most certainly haven't been getting in any trouble" – suddenly a wicked grin crossed his face – "But I know a certain blond pipsqueak who is."

The meaning behind his words screamed at Mustang as he stood there waiting, the police officer sighing at the lanky teenager. They seemed to be acquaintances from the way they talked. If it really had been Envy who vandalized the car, Roy could guess why they were on first-name terms.

"Do you know where he went?" Mustang suddenly asked.

The kid blinked, looking over at him as if just noticing he was there. "Oooh… you know, I'm not sure. But he took off running pretty damn fast with his friends, that way. Some men were after him… men with guns." The kid named Envy laughed at Mustang's wide-eyed stare, seeming to bask in the drama of the situation. "What's the matter with you? What are you, his mom or something?!"

"You knew they were in trouble and you didn't contact the police?!" Mustang shouted, wanting to knock this kid's skull in. He had never felt so violent towards a teenager in his life, and he had had some pretty rotten teens in his office before. But this kid… this kid pissed him off just from looking at him.

"Hey," Envy shrugged, "It's not my problem. I'm just here to get the car. But you assholes just had to come and ruin it for me. Oh well. I'll see ya later, John."

Envy flicked a wrist, and stepped away, disappearing back into the shadows the way he came. Mustang glared over at the policemen. "You aren't going to get him?!"

The sergeant grimaced, stepping towards the car and quickly noting down its registration number as he spoke. "He didn't do anything wrong – nothing we can prove," he added as the social worker gestured angrily towards the trashed car. "Besides, it isn't a great idea to arrest him again just yet. He's always getting in trouble for something."

Mustang just stared at them, trying to keep himself calm and cool. This was just ridiculous. That kid had just stood by and hadn't even called the police to help!

Shooting the young man an apologetic look, Sergeant Waters turned to the rest of his men, scratching his scraggly beard for a moment before issuing his orders. "John, take the car to the station. We're going to check out Van Horne Avenue. If Envy's right about those men having guns then this all matches up, and those kids are in trouble. The rest of you…? Let's go."

~*~

Winry felt her back hit the brick wall of a building as she shook in terror, her feet scrabbling weakly at the tarmac as if she could somehow push herself through the wall if she could only get enough purchase with her feet. The bigger man towered over her, a gun held loosely at his side. It wasn't that she was afraid of. His weapon of choice was the lecherous grin plastered over his greasy face.

"It's a shame," he told her, not sounding in the least sorry. "You're such a pretty girl too. Too bad y'had to get caught up in all this." He shrugged casually, his grin twisting at the sight of her open terror. "But, y'know, we can't have witnesses. Boss's orders. It's jus' not my choice, y'see?"

The girl shook her head wildly as if trying to clear it, her eyes once more fixated on at the lifeless body lying on the side of the road. Blood still stained the cement, the puddle around the boy's head ever spreading. She felt another sob break out as she stared at Al's corpse. It was like something from her worst nightmares… but her hands and knees stung from where she had fallen when Ed pushed her away from the car, her throat and eyes burned like liquid fire, and every beat of her heart felt like a gunshot to her core. It hurt too much. This… this was no dream.

He's dead, she repeated to herself once more, the words ringing around her skull. I can't believe this. He's really… dead. Gone. Never coming back. … Al didn't deserve to die! Ed, where did they take you?! What do I do?! They'll kill me too! I don't want to die!

"P-please, I won't tell anyone," she lied, freely letting the sobs sound as she clutched her hands to her chest as if she were trying to hold her heart in place. She slumped against the wall and trembled like a leaf, hoping she seemed as helpless as she felt. She didn't care what she looked like or what he thought of her. All she wanted was to survive. "Don't k-kill me," she breathed. "Please. I won't tell… I-I promise!"

She had to save Ed. She had to. She couldn't just let herself be shot. She was the last person – the only person – who knew everything Allen Juan had done. She couldn't let that information go with her to the grave. She couldn't let Al's body be thrown in a lake or somewhere else so terrible. He deserved a proper burial! Not this!

A bitter taste flooded her mouth as she bit through her own lip in terror. Sweat trickled freely down her face, her eyes wild, her hair disheveled. Her knees were so weak she could barely stand. Her nails were cutting into her own palms. Somewhere, distantly, in the back of her mind, she realized something. I have never been this scared before in my life.

What a lie, to try and convince herself she wanted to survive for someone else's sake. Right now, all she could think about was preserving her own, useless little life. Alphonse had faced down that bullet like a hardened warrior, fighting it only with a smile. Edward had dived in front of a car to protect her with no thought for his own safety. And yet, here she was, begging and pleading for her life while they suffered at her expense. Shame and guilt clutched at her aching heart, but she couldn't find it within herself to give in gracefully to the death she was promised. She was so pathetic!

"Oh? But what if my Boss finds out I let you live?"

"He won't! Just please! Don't do this! I'll tell them it was a gang shooting! Please!" Winry gasped out as pressed herself back further against the wall. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but suddenly a rough hand ran up her thigh, making her shiver.

"I think we could work somethin' out," came the suddenly husky voice, just inches from her ear. She opened her eyes and stared vacantly at the satisfied grin right in front of her nose, mind working slowly before it clicked in her head. Oh. Right. The hand moved closer to forbidden territory, and she wondered vaguely why she wasn't afraid anymore. She was about to be raped by a man with a gun. Surely that was reason enough for fear?

Winry let her eyes flutter closed again, trying to ignore the sensation of her body being violated as she forced calm and reason on her mind. It wasn't as hard as she'd imagined. In fact, she felt almost detached and distant, almost like her mind was floating somewhere far away from the present. The groping hand squeezed painfully, and she screwed up her eyes, her hands balling up in the material of her shirt front. Why had a white mist suddenly descended over her emotions, making her feel icy cold and almost blank? She had to do something… this couldn't be happening…

She had been through this way too many times at school and parties. She knew she was pretty, and the kind of parties James had taken her to were the kind of parties where guys got so drunk they didn't care about a girl's self-respect. This was no different. Sure, he had a gun, and he was drunk with power instead of alcohol, but he was cut from the same cloth. He would go down the same way. Snapping her eyes open, she brought her knee up and jabbed it in between his legs as hard as she could. She felt her kneecap connect with something frighteningly hard, then he collapsed on the ground, groaning. She stood there gasping for a moment, staring down at him as adrenaline thundered through her veins, before quickly side-stepping and staggering back. She was just about to start running when a hand grabbed her ankle, making her fall hard to the ground with a cry.

"You little bitch, you'll pay for that!" the man hissed, pain contorting his face as he flipped her onto her back and straddled her waist, pinning her to the ground. She writhed half-heartedly underneath him and kicked her legs helplessly at the unyielding tarmac, but he ignored her attempts and drew the gun up, pointing it directly at her face.

She froze, any attempts at escape disappearing in the whirl of stark terror that sight induced. She stared down the barrel of the gun, breath catching in her lungs. This was it. She was really going to die. She clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the click and the loud bang, just like the one that had ended Al's life. Any second now, it would all be over. Any second…

But it didn't come. She sat there for a moment, slowly peering through her eye lashes at the man, wondering what he was waiting for. Opening her eyes fully, she realized he was staring over her head at something behind her. She blinked, not daring to move another muscle as a voice behind her growled out a command.

"Drop the gun and let – her – go."

Without hesitation, the man let the gun clatter to the cement and stood slowly, taking his weight off of Winry and lifting his hands above his head. She lay there for a long moment, stunned into silence, before a strong hand grabbed her arm and yarded her up off the ground, drawing her back. Glancing up over her shoulder, she let out the breath she had been holding, feeling light-headed with the rush of relief and gratefulness as she recognized the man as Roy Mustang.

But how had he – ? She gazed blearily at the gun in his hand, still pointed at Juan's flunky. His other hand was still clasped defensively on her arm, his fingers gripping just a little too tight for comfort. Her eyes trailed along his arm and found his face, jaw set in a tight line, eyes blazing furiously.

"The police are just down the street," Mustang gritted out in a soft, tense voice. "It's a good thing we all split up, now, isn't it?"

A light flashed on her right, making her blink dazedly, and she looked over towards it in time to see two other men rush up, flashlights shining through the dim light. One of the beams hit the gunman's snarling face and Winry drew back into Mustang's protective hold, shaking.

"Good work," someone behind her shouted, barking orders with practiced fluency. "Get some handcuffs on this guy! Carlton, notify the station – we found them!"

Winry stared blankly ahead of her as the policemen got to work, one retrieving the gun from the street while two others stepped up behind Juan's flunkie, pulled his hands behind his back and secured them with metal handcuffs. Her eyes blurred as she tried to follow what was happening, and she again wondered blearily what was going on inside her head. It was… difficult to focus. She wanted desperately to sit down, to curl up somewhere and stay… very still. Very quiet. Yes… she'd like that.

An arm wrapped around her shoulders comfortingly and guided her to the wall at the edge of the street, obviously sensing her desire. Eyes never moving from their blank stare, Winry slid down the wall into a crumpled heap and started crying again, tears leaking silently from her lids.

"Winry," came a voice insistently in her ear. She half-wanted to bat it away and tell it to leave her alone. "Winry? Please… you have to tell me. Where are Edward and Alphonse?"

The names threw her back into perspective with all the sensitivity of a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. She shuddered and curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees and clasping her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white in the darkness. "T-they… they're not…"

Mustang crouched down in front of her and took her hands in his own, pleading with her, "You have to tell me, Winry, before it's too late – "

A harsh sob escaped Winry's throat, cutting him off. She moaned in sudden despair and shoved him away. "You're already too late!" she shouted bitterly, eyes clenched shut as if they could block out the truth. "They took Ed! I don't know where! And… and Alphonse is… h-he's dead, Roy!"

~*~

Mustang's mind screeched to a halt as the girl shoved him away and hurled those words at him. He had dreaded what she might say, but he had never expected those exact words to come screaming from her lips.

You're already too late…

"Hey! We've got a body over here!" an officer yelled out. "There's a lot of blood – looks like a gunshot wound to the head!"

Helpless to his body's reactions, Mustang slowly turned his head to gaze at the scene behind him, peering through the low light the street lamps provided towards the man who had shouted. He felt his heart pound to a full stop, his chest constricting tightly as he dropped the gun to the ground and stared at the body, lifeless and prone on the side of the road. Somehow… Alphonse had never looked so… small, before.

"God… no," he felt his lips whisper, as if by themselves.

He left Winry still sobbing, letting another officer wrap a blanket around the tremoring girl and rub her shoulders, trying to calm her down. She was probably in shock, Roy concluded, dimly recalling the blank look on her face when he'd found her staring down a gun with a man twice her weight on top of her… but that was all in the past. All that mattered now was what lay before him as he stared at the boy – shot… killed… murdered.

He was too late.

… Were they going to kill Ed too?

What could Ed possibly have done so wrong to get himself into this?

And why… God, why couldn't he have been there to prevent it?!

A hand rested on his shoulder, making him tear his eyes away from the body and stare into Sergeant Waters' sympathetic eyes.

"I'm really sorry. I know these kids meant a lot to you," the officer offered, but Mustang just nodded, looking back down at the ground.

It didn't matter what they said. He was too late.

Again.

Was he really that bad a person? Was he just that awful? Another kid had lost their goddamned life because of him! For the second time! If only he had looked more into Edward's case and learned from his past mistakes, then all of this would never have happened! He was such an idiot!

Bringing up a shaky hand, he dragged his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture, staring at Al's body with a kind of sick fascination. That was what he had caused. That was his doing. By now, there could easily be another small, crumpled, bleeding form on a nearby street, thrown out of a getaway vehicle without so much as a 'rest in peace'. Where the hell was Edward?! He couldn't let this happen again and again, could he?! But… but how the hell was he going to find them?! They could be anywhere by now.

He sighed, burying his face into his hands as the questions continued to swirl fruitlessly in his head, demanding answers he couldn't give. He would simply have to face it – there was nothing he could do. He would just have to pray that, whatever was going on, Ed would be returned to them alive.

"Hey! Somebody call an ambulance! We've got a pulse over here!"

Mustang jerked his head back up, staring widely over at the officers knelt next to Al's body. Even in the dark, Mustang could make out the perfect little circle stamped on the boy's forehead, and the pool of blood he lay in told its own story. Was this some kind of sick joke? A shot to the head was fatal. There was no way he could be alive.

Striding over to the group as if his legs had a mind of their own, he stood back a few feet behind them, staring in shock as one of the officers, also a trained medic, gently opened one of Al's eyes and shone the flashlight into the pupil, watching for a reaction from the small black dot.

"Yup," he proclaimed after a moment of tense silence. "Pupillary response. Kid's still with us."

The bottom dropped out of Mustang's world… yet again. He couldn't believe it. He almost didn't want to believe it, so deeply steeped in self-blame was he. "H-how is he – ?" he stuttered, feeling his voice give out on him. He swallowed thickly, then tried again, clenching his fists by his sides to stop his fingers trembling. "How is he still alive?!"

An officer looked up at him, smiling widely. "It a damn miracle. Mortality rates of a gunshot to the brain are roughly 94 to 96 percent. This kid is pretty damn lucky. But we need to get him medical attention quickly. He's been bleeding for way too long. … All we can do is hope."

Mustang blinked, then blinked again, eyeing Al's 'body' with disbelief. A small smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth as he stepped over to the officer's side and knelt down next to Al. He carefully touched Al's wrist as if it would break from being too rough, and felt the weak, feeble pulse. It was barely there, but all that mattered was that it was. Al was alive.

He really was alive. And he'd be fine.

He had survived this long… he couldn't die now.

He was Edward's little brother, after all, he thought to himself as he heard the sirens blare in the distance. An ambulance was coming. Al was somehow, miraculously alive. And Edward was out there somewhere.

And Mustang was going to find him no matter what.

[B/N: Mustang is da bomb. Officially.]