Ed's eyes opened to Clara standing over him. He was on the floor, he realized, and in a part of the house he hadn't seen before. It was dank, and the only light was a lantern that Clara held in her hand.
"Ah. So you're awake."
He glared. He tried to pull his head up to meet her gaze fully before a searing pain shot through it. He panted and ceased the effort. "Seems like it." The words were bitter on his tongue.
"Good. I'm going to give you a chance to apologize for your previous actions."
"Or what?" He snarled. "You'll shock me again? You're going to have to come up with something better than that."
"Oh I have," The lantern reflected a gleam in her eyes, one that made Ed's stomach sick with despair. "But first, I'll give you a second chance."
"No."
"Well then," She clapped her hands together, as if she was more excited to hear that answer than a 'sorry'. "Since you've decided to reject my hospitality, I've decided it's only fitting that I stop being hospitable," Between the darkness and the haze, Ed couldn't make out much of the expression on her face, but her voice was callous. "You'll stay here for a week. Anytime you talk back, you'll earn an extra day. Do I make myself clear?"
Ed let out a tsk.
"When you change your mind," She continued. "Have someone send for me. Otherwise you can wait out your sentence alone with the mold and rats."
"I'll never apologize to you, bitch."
"A week and a day, then. Enjoy your stay, since you'd obviously rather live in filth than be rational." Before Ed could send another scathing remark in her direction, the door closed, and he was alone.
Ed always hated the dark, and he hated being by himself more. He was anti-social, yeah, but he had never not had somebody around to talk to when he needed it. Being solitary gave him too much time to think, too much time to agonize over issues he'd rather leave in the past.
Too much time to let his mind wander into dark places; places he kept suppressed for a reason. Places he often avoided by staying busy, keeping his brain occupied by missions or studies or anything, really, to keep himself away from it. Thoughts, he realized after a few hours, were very hard to ignore when there was nothing to do.
The seconds-minutes-hours passed without interruption. His body was begging for rest, and his eyes were strained and heavy. He closed them, allowing unconsciousness to take over, and hoping his brain would comply.
The door opened, snapping any ability to sleep away from him before it could fully come. It was Chris. He set down a tray of food near where Ed was chained.
"So the bastard shows his face?"
Chris didn't respond.
"Y'know, the military's after you. They're gonna find you eventually."
Still nothing.
Ed felt his annoyance grow. "You're an asshole." He spat.
The door clicked as he left the room, and Ed was alone again.
He couldn't see the food. He felt around for where he thought the tray was, and scooted it close to him. He was pretty sure it was some kind of chicken dinner, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. His hand knocked into styrofoam, and lukewarm water splashed onto him. Fuck. Now he had to wait for his next meal before he could drink, whenever the fuck that would be.
The floor was grimy and poorly maintained, and his neck and back were already stiff. He wondered how long it had been. 6 hours, maybe? That sounded about right. Only 8 more days. That wasn't too long. He could make it. He hoped Clara stopped being a cunt and let him out sooner rather than later, though, because he wasn't about to apologize. He needed to get home, to leave before anything else happens, before he's hurt for good. It was a terrifying thought, really, that there was a chance he wouldn't make it out of this. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes tight.
"Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium-"
He recited the elements in any order he could think of. Alphabetical, atomic number, symbol. He took comfort in the familiarity of the names on his tongue, how it made him think of relaxing nights spent studying, textbooks out, his hair and clothes disheveled, with bags that took residence under his eyes. And yet, it was then, that he was content as could be.
He shivered. He was still in the suit, but the long sleeves helped him feel less cold. His sweat was damp against the cloth, but he couldn't tell if his mind swam because he was tired, if he still had a fever, or both. Probably both. He wondered if he should ask for medicine before shaking his head at the thought. They wouldn't give it to him, and he wasn't about to admit how horrible he felt, lest they take advantage of it.
What was everyone doing right now? Clara had said that Al was safe, and he could only hope that meant he'd gotten away. He got the feeling she wouldn't tell him anymore than that. He felt tears prickle his eyes, and wondered if he cried, if anyone would be back in time to see. He decided that if he could see himself do it, he'd be embarrassed anyways. He wouldn't cry. Not because of them, not because of this.
Maybe he could storm Chris the next time he came in. Could he use his tray as a weapon? Probably not, and that still brought up the issue of how he would run. Between being chained to the wall and not having either leg in a working state, he doubted he'd get far.
"Wait until she has her guard down, gain her trust," Something that sounded like Mustang spoke in his head. "She said if you behave, you'll get perks. Trick her into giving you the upper-hand you need."
"No fucking way," He muttered to himself. "I'm not a manipulative asshat like you are, and I can't do theatricals. I don't think I can even stomach being around her for more than 5 minutes, much less rolling over like she wants me to."
Internal Mustang didn't have a response to that.
Chris came again. The dull lantern was a comforting source in the sea of darkness, but it hurt his eyes more than he would have liked. He turned his face and squeezed them closed, trying to adjust.
"I'm guessing you're not supposed to talk to me or something?" He muttered, keeping his gaze to the floor.
Chris set the platter down.
"Is that part of the punishment?" Ed laughed bitterly. "You guys are fucked."
Chris started to walk out, his footsteps even and void, as if he couldn't care less about the person he was leaving behind. As if Ed wasn't there at all.
A dull jab hit Ed's gut. He got the feeling that all the food he ate at dinner with Clara was catching up to him. "At least let me out to use the bathroom."
"There's a bucket. Use that."
Relief flooded over Ed when he heard Chris talk, (It was a sick comfort, hearing someone speak after so long, even if it was someone he hated, it still made his chest constrict.) Before being overpowered by the heat rushing to his cheeks. "Ew! Gross! Just take me to the toilet, that's disgusting."
Chris said nothing else before shutting the door behind him.
Ed's stomach rumbled.
"Oh fuck this." He hissed.
After he finished relieving himself (Which is really fucking hard when you're missing a leg and can't see anything) he sat back down to where he'd been before, heat still flushing his cheeks. He wondered how the people he knew would react to seeing him like this. If they would laugh, mock him for being so pathetic, or if they would pity him. He hoped they wouldn't pity him.
He stared up at the ceiling, and tried to imagine what it may look like.
He found out the next time Chris came in, taking advantage of the light the man brought so he could get a better view of his surroundings. There was nothing of use. The room was empty aside from him and the bucket. He had to stop himself from screaming in frustration. He was just missing something, right? There was a way out. He was just missing it.
Chris came back again. It was always fucking Chris, with the tray in hand, and face masked with indifference. Ed wished the chain gave him enough mobility to punch him. Ed was aching to punch something, to jump up and run laps. Hell, he'd do burpees for the next 24 hours if it meant he could move freely.
Darkness swirled, and he wondered if he was asleep, because this seemed like the plot of some nightmare his hellbrain would come up with. Maybe it wasn't really real, maybe he wasn't really here right now. It was a pathetic thought, really, a refusal to face reality, just the kind of thing he would sneer at somebody for a week ago. He would tell them to get a grip, that they needed to tackle the facts head on.
But it was hard. Before it had been so easy, he had been at fault. He needed to take responsibility, so he did. Simple as that. But now, he didn't know who to blame. Himself for being stupid? Clara for putting him here? Mustang for not warning him? There was fear, and hate, and regret, and he didn't know where to keep it. He couldn't ignore it, sitting in the dark, and anytime he pushed it out, it came back 10 fold. He closed his eyes. It would really be easier if he was dreaming.
Panic. That was the only thing he felt. Panic, and fear. He was hyperventilating, he realized that, and faintly, he could hear someone screaming his name.
"Ed!"
".. Winry?"
"ED!"
He snapped out of his dream. It had been about a month since the automail surgery, but the pain still made it hard to sleep, and when he finally did, he always had nightmares.
"Ed?" Winry was talking to him, he realized that now. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a whimper. He averted his gaze and swung his flesh arm over his forehead, hoping she couldn't see the panic that was still present in his features. The way her eyebrows furrowed gave him the feeling she did.
"Ed…" She put a hand on his forehead. Her hand was warm and a little calloused, and he had to stop himself from leaning into it. "Ed, you're burning up.."
"Oh."
Is that why he was so cold? Why shivers racked through his body, and bile churned in his stomach?
"Ed, I think these nightmares are causing you too much stress. I-I know that you've never slept well, but-" Her eyes were glossy. "If you need to talk about it, please tell me. I want to help you."
"Win, I'm okay. Don't cry, it wasn't that bad."
She chewed on her bottom lip. "I don't believe that, but-" She inhaled deeply, a steadying breath to calm her nerves, and make the tears retreat. "Granny always told me that if you pinch yourself, it lets you know if it's real. It's helped me before, especially after my parents.." She trailed off, but Ed knew what she meant.
Ed smiled. "Winry, I doubt I'll be aware enough while dreaming to remember that."
He banged his hand on the dirt floor. Pain shot up his still-sore arm. Yeah, he was definitely awake. He's pretty sure, at least. It wouldn't throb like this if he was dreaming, right? That's what Winry said. He trusted her judgement. He curled into himself and closed his eyes, hoping sleep might take him, and make things better. He was so tired.
It didn't. Or it might have. Did it? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that his head was swirling, and he was straining for even the smallest amount of environmental stimulation. Sometimes he heard creaks, or thought he saw something moving in the shadows. When he called out, though, nobody was there. It was probably just the rats Clara mentioned, right?
After a few more visits from his captor, Ed began to lose count of how many times he had been fed. At first he was distraught. His meals were the best thing he had to track the passing time, but he soon realized how weirdly fuzzy everything was becoming. He had difficulty keeping his thoughts straight, and hearing creaks and seeing movements in the dark had become voices, and the faces of people he knew. It was absolutely terrifying.
They had to be drugging him. There was no other explanation, none that he wanted to accept, anyways. He wasn't going crazy. He needed to keep his grip on reality. There was something in the food.
He stopped eating, after that.
Chris was here. Ed was talking. When did he start talking?
"Why do you even work for her? She's fucking batshit, Martins is a dick, and I'm sure anyone else playing her lacky is irritating as hell. You seem like the only person here with any stability in your head, aside from when you're shooting people in the leg ," Ed grinned. "Yeah asshole, don't think I forgot about that. And don't think I won't pummel you the second I get the chance."
"You'll make it easier on yourself if you just do what she says."
Anger surged in his stomach, a nauseous, disgusting feeling forming at the very thought. "Fuck no."
Chris sighed, and that was the end of the conversation. Ed drank the water and closed his eyes. He felt too sick to bother eating. (Not that he would've touched it anyway. He hoped the water was clear of whatever they were slipping him.) Consciousness fled quickly, and then-
Golden rays peaked out of his blinds into lines of light in his bedroom. One caught his eyes, stirring him awake. The duvet was a warm embrace, he didn't want to get up, didn't want to face the world on such a peaceful morning. He was just so comfortable. He closed his eyes and turned over, trying to adjust himself so he could go back to sleep. He was still tired. Why was he so tired again?
He laid there, trying to slip back into unconsciousness. The minutes passed as he tried to clear his mind. No dice. He sighed, at least he hadn't had any nightmares. He got the feeling he was probably late to work anyways.
"Brother?" Al's voice echoed through the room. "Brother is that you?"
"Yeah, who else would it be?" He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
There was silence before Al burst through the door. "Brother!" Al ran over to his bed. "Brother! Where have you been?"
"What? Al, I've been right here."
"I-I-" Al was shaking, Ed just stared. Why was he acting so weird? They shared a room, where else would Ed be?
"I thought you were dead, I was so worried…" Al clutched his hand around Ed's blanket, staring down at the floor.
"What?" Ed couldn't suppress his laugh. "Al, why would I be dead? I'm right here."
"Brother..." The horror in Al's voice was palpable. "You're bleeding."
"Haha, very funny, Al. I'm perfectly fine-" A hot pain seared from his thigh. Why did his thigh hurt? He looked down, and a crimson sea surrounded him. ".. What..?"
"Why would you leave, brother?" Al's shaking increased. "Why would you leave me alone? I thought we were supposed to get our bodies back, why would you leave?"
"Al, I don't know what's going on, I'm right here-"
"WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE-"
When Ed stirred, he didn't know where he was, but the air was stuffy and thick in his lungs. He took shallow breaths. It wasn't enough. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? He moved his flesh hand to clutch his side, and pain seared up it, causing him to flinch. His breathing got quicker.
Al. He was talking to Al. He needed to talk to Al, where was his brother?! He needed his brother, dammit!
"You need to calm down before you pass out again."
Someone was there. Why was someone there? Where was he?
"You're panicking, and the injuries make it hard to breathe."
Oh. So that's what this pain in his chest was.
"Take some deep breaths. You're being dramatic."
He did. She smiled down at him, giving him a sense of clarity and stability he didn't have before. Right. He just needed to breathe.
"Thanks, teacher-"
He jumped up. Where was he, again? He opened his eyes to darkness. Was he blind? Why weren't his eyes working? Did Clara- Oh. Right. The familiar dirt floor pressed into his cheek, and that was enough to remind him of where he was, enough to calm the bile rising in his throat, if only a little.
This sucked. He wanted to see Al. He wanted to go home. He didn't want to have to smell the scent of his own feces, or sleep on hard floors, or not be able to tell when he was awake or dreaming. He wanted his limbs, to see the sun, he wanted to be free.
He didn't want to be here. Why was he here? What did he do to deserve this? How long had it even been? Maybe he should just give in. Demand to see Clara next time Chris stepped in, and apologize. Maybe resisting was useless.
He was shaking. When did he start shaking? It was getting harder to think clearly. His mind was woozy with pain, and every muscle in his body was on fire, and yet so cold. His thigh hurt.
He laid there. He couldn't sleep. He was so tired, but it was impossible.
Chris came back in.
"Sup, bastard."
As usual, he ignored Edward. Ed had lost count of how many times they did this, how many times he was brought food, and denied any interaction. If nothing else, at least Chris ushered some light in, even if it was really getting hard to take in his surroundings, it was still nice.
"What'd you do today, be a bigger jerk-off than usual?" His words were slurred, and didn't hold as much aggression as he would've liked. His platter hit the ground with a thump, and Ed gulped down the water as quickly as he could.
He didn't want to be here. Why was he here? What did he do to deserve this? How long had it even been? Maybe he should just give in. Demand to see Clara next time Chris stepped in, and apologize. Maybe resisting was useless.
Wait, Chris was here, wasn't he? Right, because there was light. Ed glanced up to the man.
"What'd you do today, be a bigger jerk-off than usual?" His words were slurred, and didn't hold as much aggression as he would've liked.
How long had it been, again?
Chris raised an eyebrow.
Ed was tired. With the lantern's help, he could notice how the edges of his vision seemed to swirl. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the light comfort him, and then-
"Fullmetal? Fullmetal?"
Bloodshot, golden eyes glanced up at analytical onyx ones.
"Fullmetal, are you really dozing off during our briefing?" Mustang's lips were pressed thin.
"Yeah," He rubbed the sleep from between his eyelids. "You're just so boring to listen to, I couldn't help it."
Riza chuckled, and Mustang shot her an incredulous glance of betrayal.
"You're lucky I'm such a patient man, Fullmetal, or I'd make you drop and give me twenty."
Huh. Ed always thought military officers only made people do that in the media.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," He grumbled. "Can you repeat what you just said?"
"I asked if you ever get lonely, Fullmetal."
Lonely? That was a weird question.
"Why?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Just answer me."
"Uh, yeah, I guess? Is this some sort of psychological evaluation? I thought we were done with those," He pouted. "I already told you, I'm fine. I just have trouble sleeping."
"And why is that?"
"I don't know, insomnia. My brain just doesn't slow down enough to sleep, I guess. It's always running," He paused. He didn't want to tell them about the nightmares, that was too personal. "It's fine, though. I just need some coffee."
"And then you'll feel better?"
"Yeah, probably." He shrugged.
"And if it happens again tonight?"
"I don't fucking know, Mustang. I'll drink more coffee tomorrow."
There was silence. Riza cleared her throat. "Permission to speak freely, sir."
"Permission granted." Mustang waved his hand with a nod.
"What will you do when you see us again, Edward?"
Ed raised an eyebrow. "Like next briefing?"
"You know what I mean. Stop pretending."
Ed swallowed a lump in his throat, and the air seemed to catch in his lungs with her words. "I don't, Lieutenant Hawkeye."
"You're not really here right now. You know that."
Yes, Ed did, but it didn't mean he wanted to let the normalcy go. God he was pathetic, clinging to fantasies after what could have only been a few days.
What was he going to do?
"You hurt people while you're here, you push them away, but when you leave, you miss them. Why is that, Fullmetal? I would've never guessed you cared about me this much before." Mustang smiled, leaning his head in his hand, and planting his elbow on the desk. He looked so goddamn cocky, and anger surged in Ed's chest.
"I don't, bastard," Ed snarled. "I don't- I don't need your pity. I can get through this by myself, I'll get home, and everything will be fine again."
"And if it isn't?"
"That's not an option. I have to get Al's body back, I can't rest until I do."
"And if you die?" The area around Ed flickered into whiteness, and Mustang's cocky smile became a grin.
"Human's don't control life and death like they think they do, Fullmetal."
It wasn't Mustang anymore. Ed was looking at Truth.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Ed furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't preform any transmutations, why the fuck are you here?"
"Your heart stopped. You're crossing over into the Gate."
No, no that couldn't be right. Ed was just awake. He felt fine, aside from the headache, and the fever, and how hard it was getting to breathe, and- Oh. Oh no.
"The bullet wound became infected after being down there for 5 days with nobody to change the dressings. Now we have to wait to see if they revive you in time," Truth grinned. "How exciting."
"You're sick." And Ed felt like he was about to be as well. He couldn't die here, he needed to get home to Al.
"You're really in a tight spot, huh Alchemist? I've been watching."
"Of course you have." Ed rolled his eyes. "And I wouldn't suppose you have any idea of how I can get out of here?" He wanted to sound sassy, but he couldn't help the desperation that seeped through. He couldn't believe he was begging Truth , of all beings, for advice.
"The solution is inside you, Alchemist," Truth's grin widened. "And would you look at that, the defibrillators worked."
"Wh-"
And then the white became darkness once again.