Roy was going to kill him.
Roy was going to kill him.
If he wasn't already dead when he found him, he would actually kill that little-…
…He sighed, shoulders slumped. He was getting too old for this. And as life-shatteringly horrible as that was, he was certain that upon entering a completely empty safe-house this morning, he'd gained at least a dozen grey hairs. Not that he was going grey, of course. Roy Mustang did not go grey. His pride simply would not allow it, for one.
Once he'd walked in and seen the empty couch, the quiet walls, he'd known. He knew that Ed was gone and it wasn't a question of why he'd left but when and to where. Those were solid, concrete facts, and didn't involve delving into the mind of Edward Elric. Ed's psyche didn't matter right now, because clearly the kid was out of his mind.
Roy slammed the door to the little building, search complete, and set out through the field of corpses. He still avoided looking at their blank faces, or lack thereof, out of habit. He had worn a path through the field, after having gone back and forth so many times, that wove around every pile and limb, and went by it now with a familiar dexterity.
He pulled his glove tighter against his fingers. Into the battlefield we go.
IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE
Edward was suddenly surrounded by people. People yelling, moving around with purpose, laughing with their friends. After isolation, it was both relieving and nauseating. Between all of the commotion, no one paid him too much attention as he slipped into the fray. Sooner or later he knew someone would pick him out, if not for his age (which was actually not too uncommon) then for the fact that he was dressed in completely different clothes from literally everyone else. He saw a few black undershirts, but not jackets, and his leather pants weren't exactly inconspicuous. At least now it was still pretty dark, with only the trickle of sunlight over the hills, the remaining embers of what looked like a very large fire, and a few individual lanterns providing any light. The black would buy him a dozen more minutes of discretion at the very least.
Or it would have, if he hadn't at that moment bumped into Jean Havoc. Please, don't let him recognize me-
"Ch- Edward?" Shit.
Ed did the only sensible thing for a person to do then. He ran.
"Chief?! Edward Elric!" Havoc's confused calls faded into obscurity as he lost himself in the tangle of people. This wouldn't work anymore. He ducked into a tent, hoping that whoever owned it was busy outside. The frantic wish made sense enough, seeing as the entire Amestrian army was out there.
For whatever reason, he was lucky just this once. It was empty.
Not only was it empty, but it had a lot of stuff in it. Everywhere, clothes were strewn across chairs, possessions spilled out of half-packed satchels, and random items littered the floor. Somehow, he had lucked out and infiltrated the one tent holding everyone's non-battle necessary things.
There were clothes. Amestrian military, current issue uniforms. Edward asked no more questions and took the closest pair of pants that looked about his size. If he'd thought about what that meant he might've realized a little sooner that not very many men out here were the size of a thirteen year old child, but he was in a hurry. He only registered after they were secured around his waist that these were, indeed, a woman's pants.
It was then that Edward Elric stopped giving a crap.
He did investigate a little, though, and found 'Burns' embroidered on the left thigh. With a smirk and a clap, the name read 'Elric'. He thought about it, and changed it to read 'Miller', then 'Mustang', and finally back to 'Elric'. He was supposed to be here anyway, and it wasn't like the tag was to serve any purpose other than for identification after death. Might as well have his real name there.
-philos