Glider = essentially an aiirplane
XxXxX
It started innocently enough. In fact, if Ed didn't know exactly what to look for, he might have missed it.
It all started with Ed's new silver pen.
"You have to account for the hydrogen and oxygen in the paper and the air," Ed says, tapping the sheet on Hawkeye's vacant desk. The Lieutenant is gone for an extended weekend—though she promised to return early if she could—, so things are a bit lax around the office and Mustang has taken to taunting Ed with who can transmute the best paper glider.
Ed's going to win, naturally.
Mustang smirks. "Really?" he says, steepling his fingers over Hawkeye's desk like she wouldn't shoot him if she walked through the front door. "You're going to lecture the Flame Alchemist about hydrogen and oxygen? Give me some credit, Fullmetal."
"Your glider sucks," Ed retorts, gesturing to the fallen construction in front of Breda's desk, crumpled and nose-deep in the cheap office carpet.
"Brother," Al admonishes from the couch in that tone that tells Ed he's being impolite.
"Al," Ed replies in that tone that says he doesn't care.
"Then why don't you try to make a better one?" Mustang asks, one eyebrow arched in challenge as he flaunts a fresh piece of paper.
Ed snatches it and claps his hands, easily transmuting a glider, all sharp angles and sleek lines, perfectly aerodynamic. He plucks it from the desk and launches it with flourish, sending it sailing across the room and all the way to Fuery's desk. Fuery yelps in surprise, ducking as it flies over his head and lands neatly on one of the six radios stacked on his desk.
Havoc, the self-proclaimed judge of this unsanctioned competition, grins and kicks back further in his chair. "I think the Chief is winning, Boss."
Mustang looks impressed. "Nice distance."
A compliment from Mustang is like a homemade sweater: uncomfortable and kind of weird.
"Maybe if you'd follow my example—"
"What example is that? You make it up in your head and clap your little hands like a monkey at the circus."
Ah, yes, back to familiar ground: Mustang begging to have his birth certificate cancelled.
Ed's automail clenches so hard it groans. It would be so satisfying to punch Mustang's lights out, but the blood might get on Hawkeye's desk, and Ed wasn't willing to risk her wrath. "Shut up and let me see your circle!"
Mustang waves a piece of paper with a simple circle drawn on it, lines swooping and weaving inside and out.
"This circle," Ed announces gravely, "is trash."
"Excuse me?"
"It's like you don't even understand the basic construction of paper. No wonder yours hit the ground five feet from Fuery's desk."
Mustang glares. "I suppose you could draw a better one?"
Ed wads up Mustang's circle.
"Hey!"
He tosses it in the trash receptacle at his feet and pulls a fresh piece of paper from the corner of Hawkeye's desk. He wonders briefly if she'll notice one piece missing but dismisses it as paranoia. The rest of her desk is clear though, save for a lamp. There's not even a stray paperclip or pencil in sight, so Ed fishes in his pocket and proudly brandishes a pen.
"Nice pen," Mustang comments. Ed can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, but he looks uncomfortable, and Ed notes it before he's even fully conscious of it.
"Hughes gave it to me," he beams. "For passing the State Alchemist exam. Look, it's real silver."
Ed offers it up for inspection, but instead of leaning in or taking it, Mustang pulls back. "Pretty, but I don't think that's going to help you draw a better—"
Ed pulls the paper to him and draws a perfect circle in a single stroke.
"—circle."
Ed grins, the expression all teeth. "Is it the pen or just my innate talents? Who's to say."
"I think it was the way Teacher threatened to chop your hand off if you didn't learn to draw it perfectly," Al said, armor rattling in what could only be interpreted as a shiver.
Ed could feel the blood draining from his face at the memory.
Mustang looked between them, lips quirking uncertainly, like he isn't sure if he should grin or grimace. "Are you sure you weren't taught alchemy by the Devil himself?"
"No," Ed and Al said together.
His smile evaporates, leaving a horrified sort of awe in its wake.
Falman clears his throat. "Sirs, I hate to interrupt, but—"
"Yes, yes, my meeting with the brass," Mustang says with a sigh, putting his hands on the arm rests of Hawkeye's office chair to push himself up.
"Hey! What about your crappy glider?"
Mustang stops, then gives Ed a smile that's too sharp to be anything but gloating. He walks into his own inner office then returns a moment later with a piece of paper, a clean and perfect circle drawn in the middle. He holds in front of Ed's face for inspection.
He had to go into his own office just for his own writing utensil?
Interesting.
"And what, pray tell," Ed asks, "was wrong with my pen?"
"I don't want to catch whatever you have."
Ed curls his lip, but before he has time to respond, blue flashes and Mustang's paper has reformed into a glider much closer to Ed's in design. He launches it, the paper flying over Ed's head to bounce off Fuery's glasses and fall to the Master Sargent's desk.
Fuery squeaks in surprise like he hasn't been in the line of fire all afternoon, but Mustang ignores him with a gloating smirk aimed Ed's way, standing and grabbing his cap and coat off the back of Hawkeye's chair. "Do remember to take your pen with you when you leave. We don't want the Lieutenant thinking that you had the gall to use her neat and organized workspace to play gliders." And with that, he sweeps out of the room.
But not before Ed notices the dark fur sprinkled across the man's broad back.
And Ed, ever the scientist, now has a hypothesis.
Now for the testing.
XxXxX
"I'm telling you Al, he's a werewolf."
"Brother," Al begins, like he's trying to talk Ed off a ledge.
And he probably is, but Ed isn't going to give up that easily. He's jumped off of higher proverbial ledges with even less evidence and more confidence. Ed is nothing if not stubborn, and Al should probably know that by now.
Ed suspects he does, because next he imitates an eyeroll with incredible accuracy. "We can't just walk up to the Colonel and ask him if he's a werewolf."
"Do you have any better suggestions?" Ed asks, balancing three open books on his lap, a fourth clutched in his automail hand. The library only has thirty-eight books on creatures of folklore, and Ed's been through thirty-two of them, but he's about to call it quits: the mess would be closing soon.
"Yeah, I suggest that he's not a werewolf."
Ed levels his brother with a look. "With what evidence?"
"My evidence?" Al puts his gauntlets flat to his chest. "Where's your evidence?!"
"I'm so glad you asked," Ed says with a grin, flipping the dusty tomb perched on his left knee around so Al can read it better. "Look, right here," he taps a paragraph in the middle.
Al swipes it with something similar to a groan, holding it in front of his eye sockets. "Werewolves, though notoriously difficult to identify in human form, can have some defining characteristics." Al looks down at his brother and makes a sound like he's in pain. "Brother, please," he begs. "We are scientists."
"Then we shouldn't be afraid of challenging our own worldview a little bit."
Al marks his place with a thumb and shoves the cover in Ed's face. "Amestrian Folklore and Creatures of Myth, Brother! This isn't science, this is crazy!"
Ed shoves the book back. "More reading, less whining."
Another pained sound then Al continues, "Some of those characteristics can be odd behavior—"
"Strike one."
Alphonse exhibits what's probably a saintly amount of restraint and doesn't comment. "—an aversion to silver or silver objects—"
Ed has already pulled his pen from his pocket and twirls it smugly. "Strike two."
"—and inexplicable late-night outings, often returning in the morning with either ruined clothing, or clothing that is far too neat, as if it had been carefully laid aside during the changing. Werewolves may exhibit an index finger noticeably longer than the pointer finger, an affinity for rare meat, pale skin, weak vision, excessive thirst, calluses on hands, and eyes that appear to draw you in. The werewolf may also appear more anxious as the full moon approaches, as this is the night they must change . . . Brother, this goes on for half a page."
"It's okay, we already have enough data to test our theory."
"Your theory."
"Come on, Al! You saw all that black fur on his back!"
"He's probably just dog sitting Hayate for the Lieutenant while she's out!"
"I already checked. Fuery's got him."
That gave Al pause. "Maybe he's dog sitting for someone else?"
Ed scoffs. "No one in their right mind would trust Colonel Idiot to watch a goldfish. If nothing else, it's really weird that he wouldn't touch this pen, right?"
Al hesitates again. Ed's about to break him, he knows it. Big brothers hold a lot of sway when it comes to these sorts of things.
Al's looking at the ceiling like he's hoping the gently spinning fan blades might come loose, slice his blood seal, and free him from this mortal coil.
"Maybe," he finally concedes when the fan stays where it is.
"Thank you."
"How do we test it?"
Ed grins and holds up an innocuous looking notepad. "I've got a few ideas."
XxXxX
Roy is a paranoid man by nature. It's something that comes with the ambition of his goals, the target he sets his sights on, and after years of watching the shadows and peeking around proverbial corners, he has a sixth sense when it comes to certain things.
But some things are simply too odd to be predicted.
For instance, he knows that he is not Edward's favorite human being on the planet, but when Ed launches a steel rod at his head, he can't help but feel a little bit surprised by the whole thing.
He manages to duck just before the projectile makes unpleasant contact with his cranium.
"What in the—"
A second rod goes spinning by.
"Fullmetal!"
Edward appears from behind a tree and clasps his hands behind his back, the picture of innocence. "We're just playing a game!"
The telltale clank of armor announces Alphonse's arrival, and he bends down to scoop up the two bars that had nearly concussed Roy. "Sorry, Sir!" Al says, his voice a bit tighter than one of an innocent child. Like he wasn't quite so innocent.
Like he was covering for his brother.
Roy surveys the military grounds, but they are deserted. Somehow, that makes things all the more suspicious. Roy's meeting with the brass had taken him much longer than anticipated, and Hughes had a big case—some homicide or another; people couldn't seem to stop murdering each other—and it was their standing tradition that if they both found themselves working past twenty hundred hours, they would have dinner at the pub around the corner, both to save Gracia the trouble of reheating dinner and to save Roy from his own cooking.
How would the Elric brothers even know that unless they'd been watching him?
That is, of course, assuming Ed was out to get him, which is a ridiculous notion.
Unless it wasn't.
He turns back to the elder Elric. "What are you doing?"
"I said we're playing a game," Ed says, a note of defensiveness creeping into his tone.
Roy arches an eyebrow. "Please tell me what game involves hurling metal rods at unsuspecting pedestrians."
"It's, uh," Ed stammers, clearly not expecting to get this far.
"Rods 'n Reels!" Alphonse interjects.
Roy looks at the suit of armor. "And how do you play this charming little backwater game?" Roy asks, looking at Al but directing the sarcasm at Ed. Tormenting the little beansprout was one of his favorite pastimes, after all.
Ed bristles, but Alphonse continues before he can launch into a defense of quaint Resembool hobbies. "You just try to make the rod stick upright in the grass," Alphonse explains. "See, look." He takes one of the rods in his large hands and spins it up into the air. It twirls for a second, glittering in the last light of the fading sun before hurling toward the ground and biting into the earth with a soft thwack.
Roy remains unimpressed. "This is what you two are neglecting your studies for?" Roy would have thought getting their bodies back might have been more of a priority, but then again, young boys needed to blow off steam regularly, or at least that's what Madam Christmas had told him.
Roy didn't remember having any such notions as a child, but both the Madam and Hawkeye might disagree with him. Perhaps he should hurry and find a mission for the boys before they went stir crazy and their "games" got even more destructive.
"Games are important for the development of young minds," Ed quoted sagely.
Roy would have snorted had he not feared another close encounter with a metal rod.
"Wanna try?"
"Pass." Roy straightens his collar. "If you're going to throw things, do it farther from the walkways."
"Yessir!" Al says, properly chastised.
Ed grumbles something under his breath.
"And don't forget to be at the office by oh-eight hundred, Fullmetal. The Lieutenant won't be happy if we haven't made satisfactory progress on those staffing details."
Now Ed is properly chastised, or at least properly fearing for his life, judging by the sudden pallor.
Roy is feeling a bit pale himself. Maybe he'd be there a bit early, just to make up for wasted time today . . .
Yeah. No more gliders this week.
"Good night, you two."
"Good night, Sir," Al says while Ed is no doubt still contemplating his own mortality.
Roy keeps a wary eye out for any more flying projectiles and beats a hasty retreat from military grounds.
XxXxX
"Way to go, Brother."
"Me?!" Ed squawks, then looks around to be sure Mustang is out of earshot. He lowers his voice on the off chance the sneak has really good hearing. "I'm not the one making up games called 'Rods 'n Reels,' what kind of idiotic mumbo-jumbo is that?!"
"I told you, the book said it had to be thrown over a werewolf in wolf form! Now he's on to us, and we've still got no proof of your dumb theory!"
Ed huffs in irritation and snatches the rod in Al's hand, then the one stuck in the ground. "We have to be thorough! Besides, we're not finished yet," he says, a clap of his hands dispersing the elements back to the earth where he'd found them.
Alphonse sighs and Ed squints at him. Al has been doing that a lot lately, and really, that's no way to address his big brother. Ed is just about to tell him so when he says, "What's your next idea?" He leaves the 'dumb' unspoken, which Ed supposes is a step in the right direction, even if he can hear it very clearly hanging on the tip of Al;s proverbial tongue.
He'd reprimand him for it later, as is his job as head of the family. For now, they have things to do. "He's going to meet Hughes."
"Ed, have you been stalking him?!" Al asks, horror ringing his soulfire eyes.
"Of course not. I overheard his phone call with Hughes."
"Eavesdropping is not much better, Brother."
"Hey, he does it all the time!"
"So much for being the better man."
"All's fair in love and war, and I'm pretty sure this constitutes war."
Alphonse rolls his eyes, which is quite a feat for a suit of armor without eyes. "Let's just get this over with."
XxXxX
Roy is halfway through his share of stuffed mushrooms when he gets a tingling down his spine.
"Roy?" Hughes asks, spearing another mushroom for himself. "Everything okay?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, Roy chews on a bit of their appetizer and scans the pub, looking for something out of place, but nothing jumps out at him. It's just a typical pub with the typical Thursday night fare; military boys in uniform and half-way out, a haze of smoke, boisterous conversation, the stink of alcohol. All is as it should be.
So why does Roy get the feeling he's being watched?
"Does anything seem . . . odd to you?" Roy asks, putting his fork down and taking a sip of water.
"Your behavior," Hughes answers with a grin, but Roy can tell he's surveying the room out of the corner of his eye. Those sharp hazel eyes miss nothing, and if there's anything to see, Hughes will find it. "Nothing else popping out to me at the moment. But I'll keep you posted."
Maybe Roy is still being a bit paranoid from his recent encounter with the major and minor calamities, also known as Edward and Alphonse. "Have you noticed anything strange about the Elric brothers recently?"
Hughes' amusement is palpable now. "You're going to have to be more specific."
Roy smirks, then explains to Hughes what happened on the way here and the Elric's peculiar behavior.
Hughes frowns. "Come to think of it, Ed asked me this afternoon if you'd gotten a dog."
Roy arches an eyebrow. "What on earth for?"
"Don't know. He seemed very interested. Also asked if you typically stay out late on the weeknights."
Roy puts his forehead into his palm. "He's stalking me, I knew it."
"Maybe he's just, you know, vetting you to be his role model."
Roy cracks his fingers and gives Hughes a baleful look through them. "You think he's researching me to be his role model?"
"He's a kid, Roy," Hughes says, finishing the last mushroom before Roy can reach for his fork. "And a teenager on top of that. They're supposed to hate their authority figures for a while. Maybe he's coming around."
"What do you know? Your kid is one."
"Sixteen months and four days," Hughes corrects.
Roy suppresses the urge to ask Hughes why he can't count Elysia's time on this earth in years like a normal man and instead asks, "For my personal safety and wellbeing, just in case he's trying to off me, could you help me keep an eye on him?"
Hughes chuckles. "Sure, but try not to be too paranoid in the meantime. Ooh, our steaks are here."
XxXxX
"Ha!" Ed crows. "Rare, just like I thought!"
"Looks medium rare to me," Al says, but Ed knows he's saying it just to be petty. Ed can clearly see the blood dripping on the Colonel's plate from their position in the corner of the window. Al isn't even looking anyway, sitting under the ledge with his knees drawn up to his chin and a petulant look only Ed would be able to see on his deceptively blank face. "Can we go now before we get arrested for loitering? And spying?"
"Relax, Al, I'm a state alchemist. They're not going to arrest us for anything." Ed cups his hands over the window to block out the glare from a passing car. "He's really going after that water, too. That was one of the symptoms, wasn't it?"
"I am embarrassed to be related to you."
"If you could stop being dramatic for about five seconds, we need to discuss our next phase."
Al looks at him like he hasn't considered the possibility of this taking more than one night of his life. "Can we pretend that this was all a terrible idea and go home? You should sleep. Maybe you'll be normal when you wake up."
"Come on, you agreed that him not wanting to touch silver is weird!"
"Yeah, but not as weird as stalking the Colonel! We're spying on him, Ed!"
"And we're not done. Come on, we gotta scope out his place before he gets home."
"This!" he says with an emphatic gesture. "This is what I'm talking about!"
Ed steps away from the window and brushes off his coat. "Just a quick peek and then we'll call it a night."
Instead of getting up, Alphonse leans his head back against the wall. "You know Brother, sometimes I have this dream, and in it, you actually make sense."
"That's cute Al, because sometimes I dream that I have a little brother that respects his elders."
Al sighs, loud and long in the dark alley. "Looks like we're both disappointed."
XxXxX
Roy decides that he really misses Hawkeye.
He misses that little smile she gives him when he arrives at work on time. He misses the way she holds her coffee, the glimmer of sunlight on her blonde hair. He misses her cool professionalism and her lingering touch when she hands him a stack of files.
But more than that, more than any of that right now . . .
Roy misses the natural barrier she forms between him and an increasingly disturbing Edward Elric.
She'd only been out of the office for two days, and in that time Fullmetal has only grown stranger and more disquieting. Her presence is a natural deterrent for nonsense, and without it, the boy has spiraled. Roy is absolutely certain that if she was here Edward would act normal, or at least whatever passes as normal for Edward.
"Fullmetal," Roy says, trying very hard not to look up in what is probably a vain attempt to avoid further psychic trauma.
Roy can still see him twitch out of the corner of his eye.
"What?"
"For the love of all things good and holy," Roy begins, steepling his fingers and pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets. "Why are you staring at me?"
Roy can practically hear the innocent blinking. "Staring? Me?"
Roy doesn't look up. "You."
"I'm just looking out the window," Ed says innocently from the sofa of Roy's inner office. Roy did not invite him into his private office, and Ed is normally content to work far away from Roy's presence. Perhaps he's positioning himself to move in for the kill.
If he is going to do it, Roy wishes he would hurry up and put a bullet in his head. "Fullmetal, I plead, I beg: go finish your paperwork in any room but this one."
There is a sigh and the sound of the couch and papers shifting as Ed presumably gathers his things, mismatched feet thumping soft on the thin office carpet as he approaches the door, then the sound stops.
Suddenly worried for his own wellbeing, Roy looks up.
Ed's face is three inches from his own.
Roy nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Fullmetal!" he yelps, pushing back in his seat. "What in blazes are you doing?!"
Ed frowns, looking thoughtful. "Definitely pale," Roy is sure he hears Ed mumble. "I don't feel drawn in though."
"Excuse me?"
Ed pulls back. "Never mind," he says, resituating the files he has balanced against his chest before setting them down on Roy's desk. Without permission. "I'm having some trouble remembering the circle to convert oxygen into hydrogen." Ed pulls out that dumb silver pen he's been so obsessed with and offers it to Roy with a sheet of paper. "Maybe you can draw it for me?"
Next time Hughes wants to get the boy a gift, he should get him something useful, like a book on common social skills or something, because this brat really needs to stop being creepy.
"Fullmetal?"
Ed waggles the pen in front of him. "Yes?"
"You know that circle perfectly well. I don't know what you're playing at, but if you're not out of my office in the next five seconds, you're going to be on the next train headed for Briggs and scraping icicles off of buildings."
"Are you feeling okay?" Ed asks suddenly.
Roy flounders. Does he feel okay? He feels stalked, harassed, and like Fullmetal is one hasty decision away from potential homicide. But all he says is, "Me? I'm fine."
"Really? You look a little pale."
"That's because I'm getting tired of your nonsense."
"Did you shave this morning?"
"I shave every morning, why the sudden interest in my personal hygiene?"
"No reason," Ed says, leaning back and finally giving Roy space to breathe. What is with this kid? "You just seem kind of off today."
"Me? I seem kind of off?"
"Maybe you should take the day off tomorrow. You know, with tonight being the full moon and all."
Full moon?
Roy is a master manipulator, and yet he has absolutely no idea what kind of psychological warfare this kid is waging. Was he trying to wear him down? Did he sense that Roy was weak without Hawkeye and now chose this particular week to tip Roy off balance before striking? Maybe he thought if he could get Roy to have a psychological discharge he could move under someone else's command?
Well, Roy isn't going to fall for it. As off-putting and unsettling as the boy's behavior is, Roy isn't about to lose the boost to his command that the child provides, nor is he going to let some tiny, manipulative beansprout dictate his actions. He is a strong, confident officer in this military, and he isn't about to be bested by a diminutive alchemist that hasn't even gone through puberty yet, prodigy or not.
"Fullmetal," Roy says, then isn't quite sure where to even start. He settles on, "Tomorrow is Saturday. I wouldn't be here in the same office as you on a Saturday under threat of duress."
"Right," Ed agrees without rising to the half-hearted bait. He seems distracted, but his gold eyes continue to bore into Roy's and Roy doesn't think he can stand to be with Ed and without Hawkeye for another workday.
"Now get out of my office."
"Yessir," Ed says, much to Roy's surprise, and he grabs his files and leaves.
Roy stares after him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn't—when Ed keeps walking right out the door—Roy sits back in his chair and dials Hughes.
XxXxX
"He's close, I can feel it," Ed cackles, a maniacal grin splitting his face as the two brothers crouch behind the shrubs outside Mustang's front door. Well, Ed crouches. Alphonse sort of hunkers down as best he can, his huge frame crushing delicate white magnolia flowers between his joints. "He's gonna break any time now."
Al massages his temples like a suit of armor can get headaches. "I have so many regrets right now."
Ed ignores him. "He's gonna start making mistakes."
"We are the ones making the mistakes. My first one was letting you talk me into this."
"Stop whining," Ed says, peering through the foliage at the quiet neighborhood street. "This is for science."
"Maybe I can call Winry. She knows exactly where to put her spanner into your skull to make you see reason."
Even the threat of getting wrenched to death cannot dampen Ed's spirits, because he's about to get to the bottom of Roy Mustang's strange behavior or die trying. "Look, after tonight, we'll have all the proof we'll need. It's the full moon, and he will change into a werewolf or whatever and we'll cleanse him with this." Ed brandishes a small amber bottle from his coat pocket.
Al gives the illusion of his eyes narrowing. "What. Is that." The suspicion takes any of the curiosity out of his tone and turns it into more of an accusation than a question.
"Holy water. I got some spiritual leader of some church to do some spiritual blessing."
Al presses his hands together like he's trying to convince himself not to throttle his older brother. "That's for vampires."
Ed shrugs. "Vampires, werewolves, faeries; they're all in league with the underworld or something. Holy water should fix him. We're doing him a favor."
"I'm sure that's exactly the way he'll see it," Al agrees with a sigh.
The world goes dark soon enough, and the Colonel still hasn't arrived. Ed shifts and squirms uncomfortably in the dirt, his flesh leg starting to cramp, but nothing is going to deter him now.
Ed squints through the bushes, trying to catch a glimpse of headlights but he can't see anything from here. Even though the moon is high in the sky, a thin bank of clouds has rolled in, obscuring it from view and pitching the world into darkness. Would that affect Mustang's changing? Ed wasn't sure, but the holy water should do the trick in any case.
And if it turns out Mustang is not a werewolf and just a big weirdo, well, it's been more than worth it for the chance to harass him.
Now, why wasn't he home yet?
"Oh."
Ed nearly jumps out of his skin and whips around to stare at his brother. "What?!"
Al isn't looking at him. He has his soulfire eyes glued somewhere across the street. "You were right."
Ed follows his gaze, craning his neck to see over the bushes and finally catches sight of what has Al so enthralled.
And there, trotting down the street, is an animal.
A big, black wolf.
Even Ed is a little stunned.
"What do we do?!" Al asks, voice pitched low.
"I . . ." Ed trails off. He honestly didn't think they'd get this far. He was expecting to ambush a human Mustang before the moon got him, not . . . a wolf Mustang.
"Brother, use the holy water!"
Ed grips the bottle in his hand. "What if he bites me?"
"Hurry up! We can't leave him like this!"
And here Al was begging Ed for his holy water after mocking him for the past two days. "Okay, fine," he grumbles. "Watch my back."
He stands, branches digging into his skin and snagging his coat, then wrestles his way out of the bushes with a muffled curse.
Wolf-Mustang turns to see him emerging from the shrubberies and his ears perk. He wags his tail and approaches at a trot, jaws parted in a doggy grin.
Okay, so that's weird. Mustang is never glad to see him. Maybe being a dog makes you a better person. "Colonel, what have you done to yourself?"
Mustang stops and looks at him, cocking his head to the side. He's positively huge, his head coming half-way up Ed's torso. Ed has never seen a werewolf before. Maybe they're all huge? Or maybe he's small for one?
"You . . . feeling okay?" Ed tries.
Mustang gives him a quiet "huff," his tail thumping the ground.
"Good," Ed says. "That's good. I've, uh, got something that might help you." He brandishes the bottle, the clear liquid glittering faintly in the dim light.
Mustang hardly acknowledges the bottle, instead lowering his head to sniff at the grass.
"Don't you think that's a little undignified?" Ed asks, unable to keep the disdain from his voice. He uncorks the bottle with a soft pop and holds it over the dog's head. "I'm not sure how much this will take, but it should fix you right up."
Ed tips the bottle, starting a steady stream over Mustang's head. The wolf squints underneath the trickle of water, his tongue darting out to sample the liquid as it runs in rivulets down his snout and neck.
"Have a little self-respect, Mustang," Ed sighs.
"What on earth, Elric?!"
Ed does not shriek, because that would be unmanly.
He does give a mighty battle-cry and hurls the bottle and the remaining holy water at the voice behind him.
Mustang—human Mustang—yelps as it smacks him in the forehead before falling to the grass, the water drenching his face, his uniform, his boots.
"Mustang?!"
"Fullmetal," the Colonel says it like a particularly vile curse.
"Woof," the wolf adds helpfully.
And then he notices Hawkeye standing right beside Mustang and the blood drains from his face.
XxXxX
Water drips from the tip of his nose and Roy tries to think about the two things he likes about Edward just to keep himself from taking Hawkeye's sidearm and shooting the kid dead on his own front lawn.
"You have," Roy begins, swiping water from his eyes, "three seconds to explain yourself."
"I—"
There is a sound like someone upturning a drawer full of pots and pans. "We thought you were a werewolf!" Al cries, emerging from the bushes, disrupting more than a few white flowers as he extricates himself and moves to stand by his brother.
Roy and Hawkeye exchange unimpressed looks, then turn back to Ed.
Ed swallows. "I thought . . . well, look," he says, gesturing emphatically at the animal beside him.
The dog sneezes and licks his nose.
As for Roy, he's a few seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
"That is Stanley."
Stanley wags his tail at the acknowledgement.
"Stanley is the malamute from across the street."
Stanley snuffs in agreement.
Ed and Al regard the dog in question.
"Well, how am I supposed to know that's not a wolf?" Ed demands.
Roy feels the beginnings of a throbbing headache. He wasn't sure if it was from the bottle or the exasperation.
That's what all of this has been about? This is why Ed was acting like a complete loon? These two brats, with their backwater superstitions and their hokey delusions, thought he was a werewolf?
I will not kill my youngest subordinate, Roy promises himself, only because it's the responsible thing to do.
Honestly, the dog would be a more competent subordinate. And wouldn't having a canine state alchemist be even more impressive than the youngest state alchemist?
I cannot replace my youngest subordinate with a dog.
"Fullmetal," Roy hisses, "what on earth would possess you to believe that I was a werewolf?"
Ed seems a little too ready for the question.
"One, your index finger is longer than your middle finger," he counts on an automail hand. "Two, your clothes have been covered with fur the past two days without Hayate around. Three, you have pale skin. Four, you ordered your steak rare."
I will not kill my youngest subordinate, I will not kill my youngest subordinate, I will not—
"And five, you refuse to touch silver!" he said, raising the pen from his pocket and shoving it in Roy's face.
"All this is because I wouldn't take your stupid pen?"
"You wouldn't even touch it!" Ed bites back.
Roy snatches it out of his hand and the boy seems too shocked to retaliate.
"You . . . you can touch it?"
"Of course I can touch silver, Fullmetal!"
"Then why did you have to go into your office for your own pen to draw a circle yesterday?!"
"That's what this is about?" Hawkeye asks.
Roy's sense of self-preservation sets off alarm bells in the back of his skull.
Her sherry eyes glint mischievously between him and Ed. "He wouldn't draw a circle with your pen?"
Roy regrets picking her up from the train station. He regrets that they'd left her car at his house. He regrets apprenticing at her father's place and ever meeting Riza Hawkeye.
"Hawkeye," he begs.
"Edward, the Colonel is unable to freehand a circle."
A cricket chirped under the hedges.
Stanley chuffed.
Ed and Al stared at him with wide eyes.
"You . . . you can't draw a circle?"
Images of resigning in disgrace flash before Roy's eyes.
Ed chokes.
He cackles.
He explodes.
"YOU CAN'T DRAW A CIRCLE!"
"It's not that big of a dea—"
"What kind of alchemist," he gasps between his wheezing, "can't draw a circle?!"
"He uses a compass."
"Lieutenant," Roy says wearily. "You are not helping."
"HE USES," Ed guffaws, "A COMPASS!" Tears are streaming down his face now, and it's a wonder he's still standing.
A rattle draws Roy's attention to the younger brother, and it takes Roy only a second to realize the boy is laughing as well, armor shaking as he tries to contain it.
Roy casts around for a hole to bury himself in, but none presents itself.
Solemnly, Stanley steps around Ed's fit and approaches, sitting next to Roy in a show of solidarity. Roy absently pats his head while Ed and Al attempt to laugh the souls right out of their bodies.
"Hawkeye," Roy says, having to raise his voice to be heard. "After this stinging betrayal, I'm taking Monday off."
Hawkeye doesn't bat an eye. "Yes, sir."
"I might take next week off."
"Yes, sir."
"I might resign."
"Yes, sir."
Satisfied that his life is now over, Roy leaves the Lieutenant to deal with the Elrics, taking the steps to his front door slowly amidst the chorus of laughter. Stanley follows him up, looking at him with wise amber eyes.
Instead of opening it, Roy presses his face to the door.
"Stanley?"
The dog's ears perk.
"Ever think about becoming a state alchemist?"
Yep. Figured it was time for a crack fic xD This is a birthday gift for the lovely firewood-figs of Tumblr c: We were chatting about how Roy had to stitch his circles on his gloves and joking about how he probably couldn't even draw one, and then I wrote 6k worth of Roy being bullied.
So, pretty much what would happen if NSN was a crack fic xDDD
Hopefully it's coherent haha. Either way, I had a lot of fun, and I hope you did too c: Drop a comment/review if you have the time, and I'll catch you next time!
God Bless,
RainFlame