The mission had been a disaster. Ed hissed as he shifted on the train seat, the movement pulling on his still fresh wounds. He'd tried to bandage them the best that he could, but he hadn't had a lot of materials to work with. He sighed again. He dreaded the upcoming meeting with Mustang. The bastard was just going to yell at him like he always did, never thinking about the hard work he did for the military. This time Al wouldn't be here to listen to him complain.
The blond frowned, remembering that his brother would be gone for another month. The fourteen-year-old was back in Resembool helping out during the local autumn festival. It began every year in November and ended in early December. It was an event nobody missed, well, except for Ed. He had wanted to go, but the bastard had surprised him with the mission. No matter how much he complained to the man.
Now, without any backup and multiple other factors, the mission had gone horribly. The alchemist he'd been assigned to track down had escaped after a vicious fight, leaving Ed with what felt like multiple broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder (he'd put it back in place but not before stuffing his jacket in his mouth and screaming when he felt the bones shift), some injury to his lower arm that caused it to hurt when moved, and many lacerations, including a large gash on his forehead and other minor cuts on his face.
It wasn't like he'd wanted the man to escape. By the end of it, he'd been kneeling on the ground, as was his opponent, chests heaving while they sized each other up. The alchemist recovered first and managed to sprint off into the trees, leaving Ed to finally succumb to exhaustion and pain and collapse onto his side. He'd floated in a dark void for an unknown amount of time before waking to darkness and pain.
The shame was nearly intolerable.
The blond shook his head, sending that train of thought flying. He wondered if Mustang's spies or whatever the hell knew that he'd failed the mission and of his injuries. He could already sense the conversation coming if his spies had been there, Mustang insisting he go to the hospital. He didn't need a damn hospital. He just needed to be in his dorm room for a bit, lick his wounded pride, and sulk. Plus, his injuries weren't that bad.
Mustang only asked about his injuries because, truth forbid, his prodigy be out for the count. He sighed, gently scrubbing his automail hand down his face. God, he was so tired. When was the last time he'd had a break? He couldn't even remember.
You can't afford to take breaks. Remember what you did to your brother?
He flinched harshly, curling into himself and pressing his forehead against the window. He'd never felt more alone as he drifted into a restless sleep.
It was raining in Central when the train arrived. Ed cursed his luck. His ports throbbed and cramped intermittently, causing nausea to swell in his gut and his head to pound. He pulled himself to his feet with a hiss. His automail leg nearly buckled, but he caught himself, face burning with shame at the looks of pity he was getting.
He limped hurriedly out of the station, taking agonizing step after step to the taxi station. He swallowed profanities when his wounds flared with pain and his vision blurred momentarily. Ed refused to pass out. He just had to get through the lecture that Mustang was planning and then head to his dorm.
The ride to command was too short for Ed's liking. He'd barely gathered his thoughts together when the car stopped, and the driver was looking expectedly at him. He mumbled a 'thanks' and handed the driver a wad of cens in bills.
The walk through the first floor of Central Command, which barely took any time, felt like it took years this time. His wounds protested the movement as he made his way to the stairwell. He groaned. Today was not his day. Sighing, he carefully started his trek up to the third floor.
His whole body throbbed by the time he'd made it up to his destination. His vision flickered threateningly, which told him that he needed to sit down soon. The office was mostly empty when he walked him, save for Lieutenant's Hawkeye and Havoc at their desks. Hawkeye glanced up at him and gave him a friendly smile.
"He's in his office, Edward," She nodded at the door.
"Thanks, Lieutenant." He said, giving her a small smile.
He contemplated kicking the door open before remembering that it would do no good for his already protesting body. With a sigh, he pushed open the door and closed it behind him quickly.
"Deciding to tone down the property damage now, Fullmetal?" The bastard said, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips—a low growl formed in Ed's throat.
"Piss off, Mustang. Just didn't feel like causing chaos today." He dropped the report onto Mustang's desk and plopped down onto the couch, withholding a hiss of pain.
Mustang read through the report and hummed while reading certain pages. Ed had nearly nodded off when the bastard sighed loudly. He looked up in time to see Mustang pinching his brow. The idiot was annoyed, but Ed didn't know why. This had been his most detailed report yet!
"Well," Mustang started before sighing and rubbing his temples. "I'm not a bit closer to understanding how you lost a highly wanted criminal, Fullmetal," Ed stared, a hard lump in his throat. There was nothing he could say to get Mustang off his case; he couldn't blame it on not having Al; Mustang had known that Al hadn't accompanied himself on the mission.
Ed's pride reared its ugly head; what was he supposed to say, 'hey, Mustang, I couldn't catch the bastard because I was exhausted.' that would've sounded pathetic. So, he did the best thing he could think of; he shrugged.
Mustang's eyes narrowed at him, jaw tensing. "You're telling me that you let one of the most wanted criminals in this country get away, and you can't even give me a reason why?" The bastard's voice steadily rose in volume.
"I would tell you if I knew, bastard."
"Fifty thousand cens a year, Edward. The military gives you fifty thousand a year to use on resources for missions, yet you use none of it."
"Listen-"
"This isn't a joke, kid. You let one of the most wanted criminals get away. I've already had my superiors harass me about why you couldn't get the job done. The military can't afford to waste money on people who can't do their job."
"What are you saying?" He fought the tremble that tried to make itself known and the lump of ice that floated in his stomach.
"Tomorrow afternoon at 3:00, General Oaidh is presiding over a hearing where he will try to take away your funding."
"That's not fair!" Ed yelled, jumping to his feet and baring his teeth at the bastard.
"I've tried to talk to him, Fullmetal. I can't seem to persuade him. Maybe if you told me what happened, then I could. I would like it if you could be here by eleven so we can discuss what you should tell them,"
Ed felt heat behind his eyes. He glanced at his feet; nobody would ever let him hear the end of it if they knew that he'd barely slept the night before he fought the alchemist and that exhaustion led to him passing out, and telling the bastard in front of him would only cause the man to mock him for ages.
"I don't know. I guess he just got the best of me or whatever," He shrugged. The lie tasted bitter, and the disappointed look on Mustang's face hurt more than his wounds or his busted-up pride.
The colonel sighed and pinched his brow. "I'm disappointed, Fullmetal. You're dismissed."
Ed left command feeling more lost, ashamed, and embarrassed than he'd ever had in his life.
Ed carefully flopped onto his bed when he got into his dorm room. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He was such a failure, who let go of a criminal just because they were exhausted. Sure, his wounds were bad enough that he couldn't have chased the guy down, but that wasn't an excuse.
Slowly, he sat up and maneuvered his throbbing left arm out of the sleeve of his coat and then his jacket. He hissed as his shoulder revealed itself. His whole upper arm was bruised a deep purple, nearly black. He grimaced; it looked terrible.
He gingerly made his way to the small bathroom, opened the cabinet, pulled out gauze, and cleaning alcohol. He stared into the mirror at the gauze that covered the large gash on his forehead.
The wound stung horribly as he peeled the gauze off. He frowned at the injury; the edges were a bright red, his forehead felt swollen. He could feel heat bleeding off the wound. He uncovered the wound from the tape over it and took in a deep breath before peeling off the gauze at the crook of his elbow excruciatingly slowly.
He blanched. The wound, jagged and across the length of the crook, was discolored an ugly yellow and red. A thin, clear-white fluid oozed from the wound, sticking the gauze to his skin. He carefully stuck his arm in the water, ignoring the burn.
After clearing the ooze off of his arm, he placed down a piece of gauze and poured a little of the rubbing alcohol onto it. He groaned; this was the part he always hated with alcohol on his wounds. He braced himself and shoved the gauze onto his arm, and growled low in his throat.
He bandaged the rest of his wounds and then made himself a meal out of things he found from the fridge. It wasn't much, but Ed didn't feel good enough to go out, and his whole body was throbbing.
He maneuvered himself onto the bed and pillowed his face in his arms as carefully as he could. Mustang's words fluttered to the forefront of his mind. He sighed and smushed his face into his pillow. He was a disappointment; he'd disappointed everyone in his life. Even if they didn't tell him they were disappointed in him, he knew they were.
Something that sounded close to a sob left his throat. He knew he was alone, but for Al and everyone to be in his life and to tolerate him was a much worse fate than them leaving him. At least if they left him, he'd be able to move on, maybe recover eventually. All of this faking and pretending to care wouldn't do him any good.
A sudden burst of pain from his injured arm caused him to gasp, and he turned over carefully onto his automail side. His body felt warm even though it was cool outside. He pulled the comforter and sheets over his head and nuzzled into the sheets. He was trembling, he realized. Sleep would help him. It usually made everything better…
In his dreams, his mother always came to him first. She usually came alive, opposed to the ghastly specter she usually turned into. Ed stared at her. Her sweet smile caused tears to brim over his eyes. She was alive; she was here.
"Aren't you going to hug me, sweetheart?" Her voice was as kind and caring as it had always been. He smiled and met her awaiting arms and buried his face in her shoulder. She was warm and smelled of the perfume she wore that Hohenheim liked.
"Mom," He whispered, feeling tears spill down his cheeks. He was taller than her now; he had to bend to hold her.
"I'm right here, sweetheart."
Suddenly, her grip grew tighter, too tight. She was squeezing him too hard. It was getting harder to breathe. "Mom," He gasped, "Mom, I can't breathe." The squeeze around his chest grew tighter. She was crushing him.
He pulled his arms away and pushed against her while he struggled for air. She wasn't alive when he looked at her face. She was the ghastly creature they'd created; he'd made. She stared at him with dead, glowing red eyes, a disturbing grin on her face.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it, Edward? To hug me once more?"
"This isn't what I wanted," He whispered, eyes filling with terrified tears.
"Oh, but it is, son. You killed Alphonse to see me again. You don't even regret it do you?" Her voice dripped with malice.
"That's not true!" He screamed, tears pouring down his face in earnest.
"Look at what you did!" Her distorted voice yelled. Alphonse's body appeared beside her, emaciated and broken looking. His eyes were dead.
"Look at what you did to me, brother."
"N-No. . .I didn't. I didn't mean to. Please." He begged.
"Look at what you do to the people around you. You're nothing but a failure, Edward." His mother said. Al disappeared from her side. She gasped, glowing eyes widening, blood beginning to pour from her mouth.
"I hate you, Edward. This is what you did to me." Her broken limbs shuddered, gasping tore itself from her broken throat.
"Mom!" He screamed, throwing himself at her broken body. He would do anything to put her apart. He'd give himself to truth over and over before he let her go again.
He held her close to him while she shuddered and gasp and pain so white-hot tore through his body. He crumpled onto his back, feeling blood pool from his stomach. "This is what you deserve, Edward. Never forget that."
He screamed.
Ed woke with a bloodcurdling scream. His body was drenched in a cold sweat. He flung himself forward, cheating heaving. His body was on fire; something wasn't right. Ed gagged, throwing himself out of bed and shooting to the bathroom, where he barely made it to the toilet when he vomited.
He heaved and heaved, but the vomiting felt like it would never stop. Finally, he slumped onto the floor, limbs shaking uncontrollably. His body was wracked with shivers. His body felt like one giant bruise. His flesh arm refused to move or bend; the crook of his arm throbbed. He sobbed out a loud cry.
It felt as if drills were pounding into his skull behind his eyes. It felt like it was about to explode. He dug his fingers into his hair as if that would do anything to stop the horrific amount of pain he was in. It felt as if a fire was licking at his body, torturing him by receding for a few moments at a time before continuing their barrage.
His breathing had become strained as he tried to fight through the pain, sides heaving desperately to pull in any available oxygen. His heart squeezed hard. Oh god, it hurt. It hurt so badly. To the horror of his hazy mind, his body began to feel tingly and then into a numb sensation. Then it all ended as soon as it began.
He thought he was unconscious, but how was that possible if his eyes were open. His head felt like it didn't belong to his body. It was almost like his body and thoughts weren't his, and he was only an outside observer.
He could make out sunlight through his blurred vision, but that wasn't right. It shouldn't have been morning; he hadn't been in the bathroom that long. If the position of the sunlight were correct, he'd missed the time he should've met Mustang. It was too hard to think through how heavy everything felt. His mind wouldn't focus long enough for him to figure it out. It was almost like he didn't feel real.
He should've felt the tile under his cheek; was he still laying on the tile? It didn't matter; none of it did. Nothing mattered as long as he felt like this. He hadn't felt this awful in such a long time. His eyes slipped shut against his will, sending him into more welcoming darkness, yet his mind refused to succumb to unconsciousness, and he was left floating in a dark void.
It felt as if he floated in that dark void for hours upon hours. There came a point where he tried to open his eyes, but lightning shot through him, and he vomited up whatever was left inside of his stomach. His throat burned horribly, and a sob pulled itself from him, yet that still didn't pull him out of that dark void.
Time seemed to become meaningless after that. He only managed to measure how much his body hurt, slowly worsening over time. Oh god, he felt like he was going to die. He wouldn't die in battle or from saving his brother; he'd die on the bathroom floor after getting sick.
A pounding interrupted his sluggish, hazy thoughts. Against his body's wishes, he peeled his eyes open. His eyes wouldn't focus; they rolled around in their sockets as they tried to pinpoint the noise. The pounding only grew louder and shot through his aching head, and finally, something broke.
There were loud voices suddenly in his dorm room, and vaguely, he wondered if he had anything to protect himself. He didn't even if he'd been able to. Someone suddenly yelled his name, and then he was looking up at the terrified face of the bastard himself.
The world once again went dark for a time, and then he became aware of a weight on the back of his neck and lights in his eyes. An eyelid was lifted, and he caught a glimpse of a face that he didn't know. There was a sharp pinch and something over his face, and he faded into oblivion.
Ed's consciousness surfaced three times before he surfaced to the land of the living. The first time, it was the unbearable pain that caused him to surface and the restriction of his breathing. He whimpered, and a sharp tugging and white-hot flash of pain from his injured arm caused him to wail. Voices poured through his mind, and they held him down, which caused him to struggle.
The voices grew louder, and he fought harder until there was a sharp pain originating in his arm. After that, he lost the will to fight. He felt lighter than he had in years, and then he knew no more.
The second time was to the feeling of being moved. He peeled open his eyes and was met with the sight of blue beneath his cheek. It smelt of smoke and ash and made him nauseous. Ed moaned and turned his face into the body holding him. The body he was against rumbled, and then he was laid on something soft, and something cold was placed on his head, and then there was a weight on the hand he could feel at the moment through the haze of drugs.
The sensation passed through his sweat-dirtied hair, and he nuzzled into the feeling. He was vaguely aware of what he was doing, but he didn't care; it felt too good. Then the hand moved away.
Ed panicked in his drugged state.
He struggled and cried out at the pain it caused him. He moaned out something, but he couldn't understand what it was. It seemed to bring the comforting presence back to him. Though the struggling brought back the presence, it brought back the unbearable pain he was in and clouded his already foggy mind. He sobbed and then another sharp prick, and then he was floating.
It was like before, yet something was tethering him and not letting him fade into unconsciousness. The sensation through his hair continued, and another sensation brushed over his hand. A voice broke through the fog, unidentifiable but comforting nonetheless. It reminded him of his mother…
Ed knew he was in the hospital by the smell alone. Wait...hospital? Why the hell was he in a hospital? What had he done this time? He groaned and tried to move his arm, but a sharp bolt of pain prevented him from even lifting his arm. A soft whimper pulled itself forcefully from him.
A sudden weight appeared on his head, carding through the greasy strands. "Easy, you're going to hurt yourself," He groaned; why was Mustang brushing his fingers through his hair? Hell, why was Mustang here to begin with?
Prying his eyes open was a herculean effort, but he managed after a good five minutes. The ceiling above him was white, looking like any other hospital ceiling. It didn't take long for his surroundings to focus, and he glanced at the window, showing that it was dark outside.
"You awake, kid?" The voice came from his left. He looked to his left, seeing the bastard at his bedside, hair ruffled and a faint dusting of stubble on his chin. All and All, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
He nodded, cringing at the pain that shot through his head at the movement. "How long have I been here?" He croaked. Mustang sighed, shifting in his seat.
"Nearly a week,"
"A week!" Ed flinched, the yell causing his throat to throb.
Mustang looked at him as if he'd grown three heads. "Fullmetal, we found you half dead and covered in vomit. You had a fever over 103 degrees. If we'd gotten you here any later, you would have died," The man growled in a loud voice.
Ed looked away and pushed his sore body into a sitting position against the multitude of pillows. He chewed on his lower lip. Mustang's gaze burned into him enough to feel awkward, and he couldn't stand the silence that fell between them.
"You were almost completely unresponsive when we found you. I thought you were dead for a moment," Mustang's words were quiet, in a way that hurt to hear. "All this time, I was sitting here, and I can't think of a single reason as to why you'd hide your injuries. Hell, you hid them well enough that my informants didn't know you even were injured, kid."
Ed turned his face further away. The bastard would mock him when he found out the truth; best to get it over with and out of the way. "I don't sleep well when Al isn't with me. I was exhausted from that, and Al, he has my back. You know he's always been better than me," He whispered. "Plus, telling you or anyone else that I'd been hurt would've sounded like an excuse. I've been injured enough times to know that I'm always inconveniencing others when I am, Mustang."
He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the shouting, waited for Mustang to scold him and call him a brat and ungrateful for complaining in the first place. It took a moment of silence to realize he was trembling head to toe, his eyes were burning, and he was fighting down the urge to sob.
"Do you remember the first time you ended up in the hospital?" Mustang asked. Ed looked over at him. There was a strange expression on the man's face that he couldn't seem to place at all.
He nodded. "It was after that nasty fire in Bafloa. I couldn't seem to breathe at all, and I had some nasty burns." He chuckled before catching himself. "I think...I don't remember, but I think I was out of it. I vaguely remember lying in the back of the ambulance, someone was squeezing my hand, and another was combing fingers through my hair,"
"That would've been Hawkeye. She was terrified for you," There was a small smile on the man's face. "I think that was one of the first times in years that I'd seen her cry,"
Ed had to look away so Mustang wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. "What do you remember when you woke up in the hospital?" Mustang asked after a moment.
Ed thought hard for a moment, the memories were blurry, and he'd been on some excellent pain-relieving drugs for his lungs due to how hard he'd been coughing up ash and soot. He could remember how the pain killers dulled the stinging of the burns. It wasn't the most traumatic thing that had happened to him, but he could remember the relief he felt at even waking up. Before the ambulance ride, he couldn't really remember anything, no matter how hard he tried. He knew it must've been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life.
Never mind that, he did remember that people were occupying every spare piece of room available in that hospital room, each of them asleep. The thing that surprised him most of all was how close Havoc and Hawkeye were sitting close to his bed. They'd never been the closest to him, none of them had, yet they were all asleep in the uncomfortable hospital chairs waiting for him to wake up. He couldn't wrap his head around it.
"Judging from your expression, you do remember quite a bit,"
Ed nodded. He did, but it only caused him to have more questions.
"I don't understand. Why don't they hate me? I'm a nuisance; I'm a waste of precious space. My position could and should be filled with so many other different people," He pretended he didn't hear the tremble that threatened to break his voice.
"I only ever cause problems for you and those around me. I should've been kicked out of the military a long time ago," He was crying now, shoulders shaking around the sobs that were trying to force their way out. He hid his face in his hand.
"Kid, Edward. Hey, calm down, it's alright, you're ok! Mustang's voice was panicked, and he would've laughed in any other situation; he was so bad with people that weren't his age.
He shook off the hand on his shoulder and curled around himself, mourning the past few years of his life with sobs. Here he was again, disappointing everyone around him. Mustang was watching him sob. As much as the bastard got on his nerves, he cared more about his opinion than anyone else.
He was such a failure.
"I make everyone around me hate me," He sobbed. He was so close to hyperventilating now; the air was getting harder to come by. He gasped for air around his sobs, whimpering as pain pulsed from behind his eyes.
His flesh hand was pulled carefully away from where it was curled close to him and pressed against a chest. "Feel my breathing, kid? Do what I do. Breathe in, then out. In then out."
He nodded through his tear-blurred vision, and slowly his sobs dissipated into quiet sniffling. He probably looked tiny on the hospital bed, bruised and battered with horribly red eyes from crying for some stupid reason.
"How long have you been holding all this in, kid?" He glanced at Mustang; his eyes were sympathetic, not pitying and not showing an ounce of malice like he'd feared.
Ed couldn't even remember when he'd began to feel this way. He'd felt like this for years, since before his mother died...since that bastard left. He forced his mind away from the sudden memory of his father's silhouette in the shadows. Figures this all stemmed from him.
Ed shrugged. "Guess it was after that bastard left. I should've... should've done something to have made him stayed. Mom would still be alive if he were here," He hissed. Then his shoulders slumped. "I guess... I've never been enough for anyone." It was just how it was.
Mustang's hand rooted itself on his shoulder and squeezed hard. Ed looked over and was surprised by the fire in Mustang's dark eyes. "We are not your father, Fullmetal. None of the team will ever abandon you. There is no reason to. They were devastated when we found you, kid."
"But they're not my family, Mustang, you're not my dad, and I don't understand why you're acting like we every could be a sort of family. That's not how it works," Ed stammered.
Mustang just shook his head and cracked a small smile, and stood. "I should let you rest. I'll call Alphonse and tell him you're alright," Ed nodded at that and laid back on the pillows. Exhaustion was tugging at your eyes.
"Oh, Fullmetal," Mustang called from the door. The man was half out the door. He turned to look at him. "Family isn't just blood, you know. I would be honored to have a son like you and Alphonse and a family like the rest of the team,"
With that, the bastard left. Ed's face burned horribly, and he huffed and turned onto his side, but he couldn't stop the smile. Maybe...maybe that wouldn't be so bad.