Revisited the 24th of May 2020 (this will be the last one for tonight, but I will actively continue for the next few days).
Chapter 5: Flashback, warm nights, almost left behind
Roy parked his black Ford in front of a large brick house and climbed out of the car. The house had two stories and a pointed roof with a short metal fence surrounding the chimney. He made his way around the car to open the door for Ed. As Roy reached for the handle, the door burst open, and the 16-year-old swung out along with it.
Roy stared in disbelief, eyes wide and with his arm still stretched out. The blonde shuffled around on the ground, quickly getting back up, with just as much disbelief on his face as his elder was displaying.
"What... are you doing?" Roy finally mustered enough courage to ask.
"Err... Lost my balance. T'was a heavy door," Ed uttered, starting to brush snow off his pants.
"It's not, really," Roy argued, defending his beloved car, stroking the side of the door. Ed looked at the strange sight, arching an eyebrow.
"Did I hurt its feelings?"
Roy stopped his loving caress. "Don't be stupid," he sneered, offended.
"No, no. It's okay," Ed assured, leaning forward to pat the hood. "There, there little one. M'sorry," he consoled.
Roy scoffed at the boy's sarcastic motion towards his beloved car, and pitched forward, reaching for Ed's shirt. A small yelp came from Ed as he was tossed over the black-haired's shoulder and transported towards the entrance of the large house. He got over the instant shock quickly and started to fight again, unappreciative of the manhandling.
"Are you going to fight me every step of the way?" Roy snarled tiredly. Ed swung a fist at Roy's head which the seasoned officer avoided easily.
"Probably," Ed pouted as Roy fidgeted for his keys, making sure to wiggle a bit extra to throw off his aim as he tried to unlock the front door.
Discarded on an embroidered couch in the living room, Ed was offered a cozy woolen sweater, a cup of tea, and a sandwich. With forced reluctance, he accepted both. There had to be a catch to all of this. Well, it was clear that he had to put up with this moody old fart, but why was he being so nice? Ed shuddered at the thought of the man wanting something in return for his favors but quickly shrugged it off. He didn't seem like the type. Also, he was military. And usually, predators didn't have this short of a temper. They couldn't afford to. No, this guy wasn't like that at all. But Ed was not going to trust him just like that. He never did. That man who picked him up in his car, Ivan, was an exception. Ed was a survivor and did what he had to do to keep it that way. He guessed that was what he was doing now too.
He gave his wet sweater to Roy, who placed it over the back of a wooden chair in front of the fireplace. Ed pulled the new sweater over his head, noting that, not surprisingly, it was way too big. But it felt good to wear something dry and warm. Roy sat down on his knees by the fireplace, starting to place firewood in a little structure inside the furnace.
"Wait, what... what are you doing?" Ed asked, abruptly looking absolutely terrified. Roy hesitated a bit, holding up a box of matches.
"I'm getting the fire burning. The house is freezing," Roy explained, a bit perplexed.
"N-no. Please don't-" Ed clutched at his blanket, halfway covering his face.
Bewildered, Roy gazed back at him, but then it dawned on him.
"Your house," he muttered. "Damn it, I should have thought about that." Roy got back up, getting seated beside Edward.
"Listen, kid-"
"Not a kid."
"Listen, Edward. We need to heat up the house, or you're gonna get sick. And the only way to do that is getting the fire burning. Would it help to be in a different room?"
Ed shook his head, not moving his gaze from the fireplace. Roy took a moment to think about it, a deep wrinkle appearing between dark eyebrows.
"What happened, that night?" he finally asked. Ed merely kept shaking his head, albeit, a bit less determined this time.
"I don't remember," he declared intently, shifting his sole arm as if he was crossing it with a phantom limb.
"Yes, you do," Roy prodded in a softer voice.
"N-no."
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just thought it might help."
Ed didn't answer.
"I'm pretty good at building fires you know. I was an Eagle Scout," Roy offered, smiling crookedly as he raised his hand in salute. Ed let out a half-hearted chuckle at the man's attempt to get his mind off of what inevitable was going to happen.
"Just do it," Ed decided with a sigh, still clutching his blanket. Roy got off the couch and took a step towards the furnace, but stopped, turning back around.
"No. Actually, you'll do it." Roy reached out and hoisted the boy off the couch. Ed lost his blanket and grabbed tightly onto Roy's shoulders for purchase.
"W-what?"
"You're gonna light the fire."
"No, I can't!"
"Of course you can." Roy placed the boy on the floor and lowered himself next to him while offering him the matches.
"No, I really can't." Ed frowned, gesturing to his single arm.
Jesus Christ.
Roy's cheeks were burning with guilt as he realized the huge flaw in his plan.
"Sorry," Roy uttered shamefully, internally punching himself. He could be such an inconsiderate dick sometimes.
Ed glanced back at him, feeling a little bad about shutting the other down when he was clearly only trying to help. Resolutely, Ed grabbed the box of matches and slid it open. A match fell out of the box, and he grabbed it with a shaky hand.
"Edward?" Roy asked, arms hovering to take the match away from the boy.
"No, I'm going to try it," Ed interrupted stubbornly.
It was so simple; just a tiny spark. The house wasn't going to burst into flames from that. Everyone had a fireplace, and he didn't see anyone else freaking out about it.
He let out a deep breath, turning the matchbox to its side and balanced it against his knee. Tentatively, he swiped the match against the striking surface. The match let out a sigh and a small blitz engulfed the head of the stick. But it didn't catch on fire. Edward tried again, still not getting a different result. He threw the broken matches into the fireplace and grabbed a new stick to try once more. Giving it a bit more pressure, the match finally set ablaze.
Edward let out a surprised squeak as his fingers got burned on the small flame, dropping the match to the wooden floor. Roy moved quickly to pick it up and threw it into the fire. Proudly, he shifted back around to commend the boy, but paused the moment he saw him. Edward was grasping tightly at his leg, hyperventilating with wide, unfocused golden eyes.
"Shit," Roy gnarled and went to grab Edward and get him away from the smoldering flames as quickly as possible. The small body was shaking in his arms, hand grasping weakly at Roy's shirt before it went entirely limp.
Edward had shut off.
Roy sat down in an overstuffed chair facing away from the hot fireplace. What was he supposed to do now?
He examined Edward's hand. His fingertips were red and had already started to blister from the flame, but it wasn't anything too bad. Then, Roy noticed the older burn on the top of his hand, and he realized that he had pushed too hard. It was apparent that this kid was not the type to give up. He had probably faced his fears every day for the past twelve years, so what gave Roy the right to push him into doing even more?
"Edward? Can you hear me?" Roy t tried, shaking the feeble frame lightly. There was no reaction. "Come on, wake up... p-pipsqueak?"
Roy frowned. Nope. That was a low blow anyway.
This was not the quiet night Roy had planned. Looking at the unconscious boy in his arms, he couldn't help but stroke his hair back in a caring notion. Edward didn't look 16. His growth was stunted, probably because of severe malnutrition from his life at the orphanage. Roy decided the best thing to do was to put him to bed. The guest bedroom was close to his own, so he would wake up easily if Ed needed him during the night. Roy could use an early night himself.
He carried Ed up the stairs and opened the door to a small bedroom with his elbow. The room was sparsely furnished with a single bed, a bedstand, two small pictures on the wall, and a gray weave blanket on the floor. There was a single dresser in the corner, where Roy had placed a thirsty-looking plant for some color. Gently, he laid the kid down on the bed, pulling off the covers and tucking him in.
Before going to bed himself, he placed a glass of water and one of his favorite novels on the bedstand and left Ed's backpack within reach of the bed. He turned the lights off and left the door slightly cracked. Then, he got himself off to bed, pondering over the day's unexpected turnout, but it didn't take long before he was fast asleep.
His eardrums felt like they were about to explode. The high-pitched noise drowned out the noise of gunfire and screams.
The noise of despair and death.
The noise of his men falling.
Someone grabbed onto his shirt.
"Don't worry Cap'n," the man urged. "We'll get you outta here."
Roy could not open his eyes. His chest tightened as if someone was sitting on it, holding him down. He recognized the voice talking. It was Private Palmer.
"You're... you're dead," Roy muttered feebly, trying to reach for the young soldier, but his hands were pinned to his sides.
"What are you talking about? You're losing too much blood Cap'n." the voice chuckled nervously, his hand meeting Roy's own hand, picking it up reassuringly.
"No, no. You... You died. I remember this day. I got shot, and you, you-" Roy's voice drowned out by an ear-shattering explosion. He felt the force of the blow in waves, leaving the air dusty with sand and rubbles.
"Palmer?" Roy called as he came back to his senses, still clutching at his subordinate's hand, not wanting nor being able to open his stinging eyes. Something was not right.
Carefully, he squinted at his surroundings. The thick layer of dust still burned and the noise in his ears got louder and louder. The hand in his had still not let go.
"Private Palmer!" His voice was sterner this time because his subordinate needed to answer him goddammit! He peered down on the hand in his own, blinking a few times to let his view clear, but he couldn't see his Private anywhere.
Piece by piece, a picture of what was going on fell into place.
Knuckles white and bloody. Like a rockslide, he realized what was happening.
"P-Palmer?" he stuttered to no one. All that was left of the young man's body covered Mustang's clothes, hands, and face.
"Palmer!" His voice suffocated in the chaos of his own mind. All that remained of his young subordinate was a death-grip, and the rest would be washed out of his uniform later.
Roy screamed.
Everyone was screaming. The whole world.
His peers, subordinates, their families, his enemies; Pleading for their lives, praying that this atrocious war would end.
He had to make it stop!
With that thought Roy forced himself awake drenched in sweat, throwing himself into a sitting position while panting heavily.
But the screaming didn't stop. He held his ears, muffling the sound of helpless cries of despair. But, how? It had never helped before-
That's when he realized that he wasn't dreaming this. Someone was actually crying out. It took a second before he remembered the boy in his guest bedroom, but the moment he did, he jumped out of bed and dashed for the room across the hall.
"Edward?" he called urgently, slamming the door open. Curled in on himself, grasping at the sheets with the pillows thrown to the floor, Edward trashed about helplessly.
"Nononono," the boy wailed with tears rolling down his face, leaving wet splotches on the white sheets.
"Edward, it's just a dream. Please wake up," Roy cooed, hovering above the bed, unsure of what to do.
"M-mom! I'm sorry. It was an accident. Al. I'm sorry. So sorry, please!" The heart-shattering sobs broke into silent weeping, and Roy sank to the floor.
"I can't handle this," he told himself exasperated, letting his head rest on the mattress. "Not now."
He contemplated calling Hawkeye, or even Havoc to come and get the boy. This was too much. He had too much to deal with. He couldn't babysit a broken boy, being utterly broken himself.