Author's Note: I did not write this chapter lightly. In fact, it took me almost three weeks to muster up the nerve to actually sit down and write it, even though I've had it all planned out for months. If I could rate this differently than the rest of the fic, I would probably rate it M just for disturbing elements; I don't describe anything in too much detail, but there are mentions of truly nasty stuff, and what makes it worse is that I'm not really making any of it up. So just...be forewarned. Also note that this follows the events of CoS completely (rare for me indeed), except that I'm bumping it up to the '40s rather than the '20s.
Timeline: Post-CoS AU
Theme 52: "I won't surrender"
For feathersnow, who is evil :P
At least Al's safe. That was the thought that sustained him through three days of a miserable, halting train ride and then a cramped, lurching journey in the back of a truck. He tried to ignore the gnawing hunger, the press of so many bodies in such a small space, the stench of human waste, the aching in his legs as the space wouldn't even allow them to sit down. It wasn't so bad, he kept telling himself. He had endured worse at the hands of a dozen criminals. Besides, now they were finally being let out of the truck – he could stretch his legs at last, and breathe fresh air again. The sky was even blue.
And Alphonse and the seven Jews they had hidden in the walls of their house were safe. Edward had been arrested on suspicion only; they had stomped around the house a bit, but didn't try too hard to find the others. They had what they were looking for. As soon as a day or two had passed, Alphonse would carefully check that the coast was clear, and the eight of them would sneak out in the dead of night and make their way to Switzerland. Just as they'd planned.
Of course, Alphonse had always thought the plan included Edward escaping with them, but Edward had known all along that he would have to be the sacrifice. He wasn't sorry; it was Equivalent Trade. If his capture meant that the rest of them could go free, it was worth every minute of that torturous journey.
Women and children were screaming up ahead. He craned his neck to try to see why, but – much as he hated to admit it – he couldn't see a thing over the dark shoulders of the people in front of him. The line of prisoners shuffled forward while guards shoved stragglers through a heavy iron gate.
When he drew closer, he saw what the screaming was about. It seemed males and females were being separated, family members pushed aside forcefully when necessary. Mothers were screaming for their children, husbands were shouting for their wives, babies bawled in fear. Edward stumbled to the right with the rest of the men, more grateful than ever that their Jews hadn't been found. Five of them were a family.
The men filed into the first building they came to, and were ordered to strip. Though he didn't protest like some of the men were doing, he felt a faint stab of anxiety as he pulled off his rumpled shirt. One of the guards noticed his prosthetic limbs and leaned over to say something to another guard. As he stepped under a shower head and gasped at the shock of icy cold water that hit him in the face, he imagined he could feel their eyes on him. Examining the movements of the otherworldly automail, Winry's last gift to him. What were they going to do? Take it away? Leave him a cripple? Maybe they would kill him and melt down the high-quality steel for themselves. Let them, he thought fiercely as he stepped away from the shower, all too aware of the mismatched sounds of his footsteps against the tiled floor. I won't surrender.
They were taking away everyone's personal belongings, tossing them to the side carelessly. Edward was glad he hadn't tried to sneak the old family photo into his pocket like he'd been itching to do when he was arrested. They would have taken that too, and he didn't think he could stand the thought of his mother and Alphonse being crumpled by their dirty hands. Even if they weren't real. This way, he could keep them bright and clean and alive in his mind.
Without giving them anything to dry themselves off, the guards urged everyone forward, thrusting threadbare, colorless uniforms into their hands. Shivering all over, Edward hurried into his, noticing with much less annoyance than usual how the sleeves covered his hands almost completely. His hair hung in a sopping tangle down his back, soaking through the thin shirt. He tucked his arms against his body and shuffled forward with the rest of the crowd.
Outside once more, guards barked orders and sent the prisoners running to various barracks, which were identical except for the stark white number above each door. Edward shivered in the chill breeze that danced carelessly between the buildings, and stumbled forward, hoping he could just get inside before he froze to death.
"Wait!" barked a voice.
Edward stopped short, hardly daring to believe... "You – yes, you! Come here!"
The voice was addressing him. Edward turned slowly, forcing himself not to think, not to make the connection his mind was itching to leap to. A guard marched up to him – boots, uniform, pistol at his belt – no, no, don't look at his face, don't don't don't...
"Look at me, boy!" A firm hand grasped his chin and forced it up, and before he could close his eyes, he saw. Something in his chest clenched and then released with a silent sigh like a dying animal.
Sharp features, narrow dark eyes, messy black hair trailing from beneath his hat. The man who used to look down at him with a satisfied smirk as he teased him, whose gibes and self-important orders belied a palpable affection and familiarity born from years of working together, now stood in a Nazi uniform and gazed into his eyes with a cold inscrutability. Edward was falling, drowning, tumbling head-over-heels, groping wildly for something to hang onto as he sank into the abyss, but there was nothing.
For two seconds that felt like two years, they stared at each other. Then Mustang motioned to someone who hurried up and handed him a large pair of scissors. Still holding Edward's chin in one hand, Mustang unceremoniously chopped off the heavy, waterlogged hair hanging down Edward's back. Edward was dimly aware of the wet slap it made on the ground behind him, but he still couldn't tear his eyes away from that familiar face. He didn't move even when Mustang released him, and it took another guard's yelling and shoving to remind him where he was.
As he started to jog towards his assigned barrack with a clump of prisoners, he glanced over his shoulder once at Mustang. The man was still watching him with those cold, dark eyes.
The barracks were filled with narrow bunks stacked three on top of each other, two men assigned to each bunk. Edward wandered past bunks that had already filled up, eventually clambering onto a top bunk in the far corner. An old man – probably a rabbi – motioned him up and swatted away a few fleas before lying flat again. He was as thin as a rail, which Edward took to mean he had been here for some time. Edward nodded his thanks and sat with his legs dangling over the side, trying to process what had just happened.
He had known this could happen, didn't he? He had known that everyone in this world was a doppelganger of the people in his. He'd grown used to seeing the faces of old friends on strangers, hadn't he? He'd known these people didn't have the same souls as their counterparts; he'd lived for two years with a man who had proven again and again that he was a good man, but not his brother. He'd met the alternate version of King Bradley, who had proven to be a kind, gentle man. It only stood to reason that it could work the other way as well.
But...why did it have to be Mustang? Edward ran a hand through his newly-shorn hair. He had to accept that this man was not Roy Mustang, no matter how much they looked alike. He was just a Nazi. Just a cold-blooded killer, like the rest of them. He will kill you, and he will enjoy it. Just keep your head down and stay alive. Al is safe, and that's all that matters. If you have to endure this so that he never will, that's a price worth paying.
He convinced himself he had accepted it, convinced himself he could cope. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he told himself it would be all right. When they were given a meal of watery soup and the hardest bread he had ever seen, he gave his share to the old man, who thanked him in surprise. Edward told himself he was just being generous to the poor man.
He almost believed it.
Days passed. He ate, he slept, he lived. Some people died. He tried not to think about it.
They stood outside in rows for hours upon hours while the guards called off numbers to make sure they were all accounted for. He didn't see why they bothered. They shot some on the spot most days, it seemed, and had several prisoners carry the bodies to the pit where all the dead prisoners went. Once Edward had to do it. He grabbed the heels of a boy younger than he was and hauled him off to land spread-eagled among the other rotting corpses. A thought of Alphonse flitted through his head, but then he drowned it out with Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen...
Sometimes clusters of prisoners would disappear into the building at the far end of the camp and never be seen again. Black smoke would fill the air, and thoughts of Ishbal would fill his mind. Even though he hadn't been there himself, he could imagine a State Alchemist standing on a hill, snapping his fingers... Oxygen, fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon...
People got sick, too. As Edward lay on his back at night, he would listen to the chorus of coughing; it became as soothing as the crickets that used to chirp outside his window in Risenpool. He wasn't too worried about getting sick, at least not yet. He had a fairly hefty immune system, after everything he'd been through growing up. No, he was more worried about the old man, Josef. He was tough; he'd been through a lot too. But it was plain to see that he didn't have much longer. Soon, he would fall ill, or one of the guards would decide it was time to send him on his way. Edward gave him his food whenever he could stand it, but most of the time he was too ravenous to part with his own paltry portion.
He tried not to look for Mustang, but whenever he saw one of the guards, he couldn't help scanning his face to see if it was him. Thankfully, Mustang didn't seem to come out for the inspections too often; Edward gathered that he was fairly high-ranking in the camp. Just like Mustang, trying to push his way to the top... He caught himself thinking that one day as he watched the man disappear inside his own private office. Chlorine, argon, potassium, calcium, scandium, titanium...
And then it happened.
"Word is the Colonel wants you in his office." One of the men who slept beneath Edward and Josef was leaning against the opposite bunk, arms crossed and staring at him with hard eyes.
Slowly, Edward sat up. "Colonel Mustang...? What does he want with me?"
The man turned away, hunching his shoulders a little. "It's unofficial. Which means go now or you'll make him...unhappy." He left.
Edward swung his legs over the side and was about to drop down to the floor when Josef grabbed his arm. "Don't go!" he hissed, pushing himself up on one elbow. His eyes were hollow and haunted. "The Colonel, he... There are rumors."
"Rumors?"
Josef's face twisted in pain. "Young boys, like you...he calls them in to see him sometimes. He...likes the pretty ones, you see. They all disappear once he calls for them, but...we all know what he does to them first."
Edward felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He stared at Josef, hoping he had understood wrong, wishing wildly that he hadn't mastered German years ago. But the horror in Josef's eyes could only be interpreted one way. Edward sucked in a deep breath, feeling as though his lungs had deflated. "If I don't," he whispered, "he'll kill me. He'll find some excuse, won't he? It's...not good to make them angry."
Josef slowly released his arm, and sank back down on their bunk. "Make your choice. One way or another..." He trailed off and turned to face the wall. "Goodbye, Edward."
He wasn't quite sure why, but he ended up going. He trudged slowly between the barracks to Mustang's office towards the front of camp. He didn't think, he didn't feel. This was inevitable. Maybe it was punishment for every mistake he had made. Maybe he deserved this. Or maybe this all had no meaning, and there was no equivalent trade, and he was just here because the world was rotten to the core. Vanadium, chromium, manganese, iron, cobalt, nickel...
The door opened to his knock, and there he was. Roy Mustang, not a colonel of the Amestris Military, not the Flame Alchemist, not the Hero of Ishbal, not a superior, not a friend. Mustang glanced out the door, then closed and locked it while Edward stood numbly in the center of the room. He was shivering all over. Copper, zinc, gallium, germanium, arsenic, selenium...
"Are you Edward Elric?"
It hurt. It hurt so much. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then nodded curtly.
"Then your father is Hohenheim?"
Edward looked up in surprise at the eagerness in Mustang's voice. The man was looking intently into his eyes, and he wanted to curl up in a ball in the corner. "Yes," he whispered, unable to break eye contact.
"I knew it," Mustang breathed, and paced over to his desk. "You look just like him, but I thought it was too much of a coincidence to believe..." He spun back around, making Edward flinch. "Where is he? I've tried to contact him several times..."
"He's...dead." Edward almost forgot his fear in all the confusion. "You know him?"
"Yes, he's a good friend," Mustang said slowly, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry to hear of his passing...though I can't say I'm completely surprised; he always was too heroic for his own good." He thought for a moment, then shook his head and looked up. "But we need to get to business," he said briskly.
Edward immediately hugged himself and backed against the wall, but Mustang wasn't even looking at him anymore. He opened one of the drawers in his file cabinet and pulled out a ragged old satchel, then crossed the room and pushed it into Edward's arms. "Food, and warmer clothes. I've forged papers that will pass under brief scrutiny, but try to avoid any border patrols. Head west until you can see mountains; then you will be safe."
Edward's mind whirled, fear giving way to confusion. "Wait, you're...helping me...escape?" He whispered the last word, hardly daring to hope. Maybe he was misunderstanding again. Maybe this place had addled his mind and he couldn't understand German at all anymore.
"Yes, yes," Mustang said impatiently, peeking out between the heavy curtain at his window. "Now, at ten o'clock sharp, you will go to the fence and climb over, but you'll have to be fast. I've bribed one of the guards – he'd do anything for a smoke – but he can only guarantee me five minutes. Once you reach the top of the fence, jump down and run until you reach the trees. Don't stop for anything. In the forest, climb a tree and wait until you're sure you aren't being pursued, then head west."
In a daze, Edward looped the strap of the satchel over his shoulder and looked up at Mustang, who had turned from the window and was checking his watch. "This is what you did with the others, wasn't it?" he said, feeling warm all over. There was a horrible, wonderful pressure in his chest. "You pretended to...but actually you were..."
Mustang raised his eyes to Edward's once again, and it almost seemed like the old, familiar Mustang was back. The corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest, saddest smirk he had ever seen on that face. "I plan to reach the top position of this place, Edward Elric," he said with quiet confidence. "Once I do, there will be no more deaths. But until then...I will not stand by and watch children be slaughtered." He looked down at his watch again and immediately tensed. "It's time."
Mustang opened the door and checked to make sure the coast was clear, then nodded. Edward darted out into the darkness, running as stealthily as he could between the buildings towards the fence at the front of the camp. There were no guards about; at this time of night, they were probably playing cards and depending on the guards stationed in the watchtowers. One section of the fence was in complete darkness, with no sign of a guard on duty.
Edward clambered up the fence, feeling as light as a feather, and dropped down lightly on the other side. It was just like all those times he and Alphonse had sneaked into places they really shouldn't have. This was just another adventure, just another mission that jerk Mustang had assigned him. He was the Full Metal Alchemist, and he could do anything.
He ran faster than he ever had in his whole life, ignoring a sudden shout from a watchtower and a few hopeless bursts of gunfire as he dashed under the cover of the trees. He ran, with the image of Roy Mustang in a Nazi uniform flashing before his eyes, smirking down at him just as the other Roy Mustang always did. He ran towards Switzerland, towards his brother.
Towards freedom.
