Chapter Two: Back from the Dead, Seven Days Back

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Spin—

Spinning—

Darkness.

Roy's body had exploded into a thousand pieces, dispersing like confetti, which had started from his toes and travelled to his head. The scream of horror and pain died in his throat, even as the pain multiplied and lanced from the array on his wrist, spreading through his veins like poison. Through his peripheral vision, he noticed that the Deal Alchemist had vanished.

The floor had cracked as the walls of the house were diffused into sand and gravel before being sucked by the heavens. The fallen brown leaves on the lawn had floated upwards, with their midribs sticking back on their respective branches before the trees themselves were uprooted, joining the sand and gravel swirling above.

What's more? Central had begun disappearing into a backdrop of white.

People on the streets: businessmen, parents, children, vendors, and other various civilians alike had walked in reverse, rear end first, as if a giant vacuum was drawing them back the way they'd come from, while the ground beneath them was bleached of color. Sounds buffeted Roy's ears as the honks of cars, the chirping of birds, and the whirr of motorcycles was sucked into their sources, creating a whiplash of vibrations. Two families, who apparently knew each other, had backtracked and cheerfully greeted their acquaintances 'oh well eh.' The sun in the sky had gone opposite its usual route, slowly sinking into the east—

Roy would've mentioned more, but a sudden tug in his gut had pulled him into a void and then he was plunged into total obscurity.

Now, a distant flash of light caught his attention.

White ribbon-like tendrils broke through the light, revolving like the blades of a ceiling fan. He gravitated toward it, pulled by an unknown force, when he realized he was going far far far too fast and there was nothing to hold on in order to slow down his advance—

—Images flitted by him, reminiscent of rolls of film unraveling. It took him a few moments to understand what he was seeing as he began spinning around and around and around vertically, causing him to flail his arms like a suffocating fish—

Ross' skin regenerating as the flames licked her body. Flames extinguished with a snap of his fingers—

Him (Roy was disgusted to say) vomiting expensive alcohol back to their respective bottles—

Ink flowing back into his pen as he traced over the signature and handed the transfer papers to his team…Breda viciously seizing the unsigned paper from his desk—

Night. Ross climbing down the wall as he backpedalled to the phone booth—

Two bullets zipping back to the barrel of the gun—

Maes Hughes coaxed onto his feet like a vampire getting up from his coffin, like those in the silent movies—

The white light cleared and revealed a texture of cobblestones, and his spinning became free falling…

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…falling…

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…falling…

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DAY ONE

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AGAIN


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AIR.

Fresh air entered his lungs as he fell through and he was finally able to scream for a grand total of two seconds before he hit the ground. Face first.

"Ow," he said, then followed it with a muffled curse.

Laying still, he mentally took stock of his vitals: head hurting, face probably scraped (especially his chin), limbs intact though more likely bruised, and body shivering. Groaning, he pushed himself up onto his knees, the small bits of fragmented gravels between the cobblestones digging into the fabric. Immediately, the bright sunlight streamed into his pupils and he blinked rapidly before his vision adjusted. He massaged his throbbing temples, looking around, trying to figure out where the hell he'd been dropped. Thankfully, nobody seemed to be present when he appeared out of nowhere.

His hand dug around his right pocket, pulled out his watch, and clicked it open.

Military time: 1800 HOURS.

He shifted his eyes from side-to-side as he stood up and dusted himself off. A street sign stood by the corner, and as he approached it, he had a great urge to thank the Deal Alchemist for saving him time.

He was on Cobblestone Way.

Which was in freaking Central.

Holy—he had more than enough time to save Hughes from his tragic fate.

'And thus,' Roy thought, 'save myself from my own mistakes.'

Just to make sure he hadn't been tricked, he approached a newspaper stand around the corner and read the date at the top.

It was that day. Shit, he felt like crying. Which was, yes, very much uncharacteristic of him. A bubble of relief swelled in his chest and threatened to pop, and he couldn't help it. He considered jumping for joy—

"Sir," the newspaper vendor addressed him, and then pointed at the paper. "Are you going to be buying that?"

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Military time: 1815 HOURS.

A whole fifteen minutes before Hughes dies.

His legs had taken him as fast as they could to the accursed phone booth, the root of all his problems. There, he crouched behind the bushes, waiting for his best friend and his best friend's killer to arrive. A pair of handcuffs was in his hands; though he also wore his ignition gloves in order to swiftly disarm Ross after his planned ambush.

He had a perfect view of the phone booth's opening.

All that was left to do was wait.

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Military time: 1829 HOURS.

Roy held his breath and kept his senses alert, listening for running footsteps. He kept his gaze fixated on the phone booth. Kept all of his focus on that and nothing else.

He counted the seconds ticking by until a whole minute had passed. He perked up, expecting his best friend to…

The phone booth was still unoccupied.

Okay, maybe his watch was lagging a few minutes behind…or he had probably miscounted and that was why Hughes hadn't arrived yet.

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He had kept up his vigil for another hour, after which he decided that he'd had enough. He slowly stood from his position, glancing left and right to make sure no one else was present.

Roy dreaded the possibility of the event having happened much earlier and he had missed it (a weak assumption, given the lack of police tape), so he went and inspected the phone booth for traces or smell of blood, but all he could smell was body odor, spit, and…well…other stuff.

He decided to storm Central Command and drag Hughes out himself. Preferably alive.

He wondered if he should've contacted Riza first (his gut clenching as he did so), but decided to tackle one problem at a time.

He pocketed his ignition gloves.

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As the gates drew closer, his anxiety grew.

There weren't any blaring sirens, ambulances, or gunshots to indicate there might have been a recent attack on any military personnel, much less Maes Hughes. He contemplated the possibility that Vertrag had, as a best case scenario, done something to prevent the man's passing, or, worst case, tricked Roy and it was actually possible to reverse time but impossible to reverse death. As he thought about it more, however, he realized that particular scenario would cause disappearances.

Roy's stomach churned at the thought. He understood that it wouldn't only be Maes, Riza, and Ross who wouldn't be present in the now, but also those who had died in the erased week.

And it would be entirely his fault.

Sighing, he passed by the military guard, a sergeant, who saluted him. Roy nodded back, though he did not stop his stride at the least.

His heart kept pounding on like a drum, and his breaths grew shorter and shorter as he entered the double doors.

The sound of his footsteps ricocheted off the walls as he passed through the hallways. He was coming nearer and nearer to the Investigations Department, and, although it was very late, hoped that Hughes was working overtime so he could immediately verify that his best friend had survived.

When he finally arrived at his destination, his eyes wandered across the evenly spaced cubicles, searching for the one Hughes' occupied. There were at least three people working overtime, more likely doing their paperwork, scribbling details onto forms of whatever crime they were handling as of the moment. Roy decided not to bother them, all too well acquainted and sympathetic with their distress.

He suddenly remembered that Hughes' cubicle was near the windows, as the man liked seeing the outside scenery. Hughes claimed that the view of the sky and the city skyline gave him a sort of freedom and focus that never failed to steer his mind away from Ishval.

So Roy made his way toward the direction of the windows, and he found that a man with black hair was asleep, head down on the desk in one of the cubicles. The four stripes and two stars on his shoulder stated the rank of lieutenant colonel. Glasses with square frames were folded neatly and resting beside the man's head.

Excited, Roy's hand drifted on the sleeping man's shoulder—

The man woke up with a jolt and turned towards him.

It wasn't Maes Hughes.

"Sir." The man wore his glasses, saw Roy's rank, and stood up with a salute. "Colonel. Do you need anything, sir?"

"At ease," Roy said, slightly disappointed. "I'm sorry for disturbing your rest. I was looking for Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes."

The lieutenant colonel blinked slowly, fatigue evident in his posture. Roy's words seemed to pass over his head, though he appeared to have enough alertness in him to register the name.

"I could lead you to his desk, sir," he offered. Hope fluttered in Roy's chest. "I've heard from him that he's also working overtime, sir."

Roy glanced around. Strange. "Doesn't he also work in this department?"

"No, sir," the lieutenant colonel answered.

"Al…right," Roy said uncertainly. "Lead the way then."

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"He's here, sir." The lieutenant colonel pointed at the door two hallways away from Investigations.

"Thank you for your help," Roy told him sincerely.

"May I continue my work, sir?"

At Roy's nod, the lieutenant colonel was dismissed and he padded back.

'Okay,' Roy thought. 'Moment of truth.'

He knocked and waited, preferring to be let in than to let himself in first.

No one answered.

He knocked again. His heart beat faster and his sweat dripped down the corner of his jaw. He inhaled the cold air as he attempted to calm his nerves. He gazed at the door, willing it to open and reveal his best friend.

And finally, finally, the door opened with a small creak.

A silhouette of a man stood stark against the harsh illumination from inside the office. When Roy's eyes adjusted, he saw the man's gaze travel from Roy's footwear to his head. Then their gazes locked.

Roy felt his throat constricting. The bespectacled eyes. The scruffy beard. The familiar posture that makes the people around him feel curiously at ease.

"Maes Hughes," Roy spoke. Relief blossomed from his gut, and all he could think of at the moment was 'the array WORKED.' But then, a part of him feared that the man might suddenly keel over with two bullet holes puncturing his chest, warm blood gushing forth and pooling around his boots—

Hughes stared at him, then—to Roy's utter bewilderment—gave him a perfect salute. "Colonel, sir," Hughes addressed to him. "Were you…uh, looking for me, sir?"

Oh. Haha, typical Hughes. He used to greet him like that in their early military days, before Hughes decided to just give him a heart attack by popping out of nowhere, screaming 'ROYYY' which usually led to…numerous embarrassing incidents.

Roy chuckled back, and felt a nostalgic smile play on his lips. "Hughes, it feels like a long time since I visited, doesn't it?"

Hughes turned his head back in the direction of the office for a moment before focusing back on his face. "Uh," he said eloquently. "Colonel—" he rubbed his neck "—do I know you, sir?"

A corner of Roy's mouth tilted down as an eyebrow went up. "Alright, Hughes, you can knock it off now. I was just checking on you."

"Er, thank you, sir. I guess." Hughes offered an unsure smile, the kind a student gives to a teacher when they knew they gave a wrong answer to a question. Maes' smile then quickly devolved into a frown. "I don't really know you, Colonel. May I ask for your name, sir?"

An alien sensation spread throughout the entirety of Roy's soul. His eyebrows furrowed as he snapped. "This is no time for jokes, Hughes."

Hughes flinched at Roy's tone, which—Roy found—was extremely worrying to witness. Hughes had never acted so...wary of him before.

"Hughes." Roy's voice gained a faint edge of pleading in it. "Is there…something wrong?" Then his eyes drifted to Hughes' shoulders, then they widened in disbelief. "Why are you wearing a second lieutenant's uniform?"

His best friend looked at him like he wasn't sure how Roy attained the rank of a colonel. "Eh? Because…I'm a second lieutenant, sir."

Roy could hear the 'duh' tacked on. Though, Hughes was dead serious.

"Sir, may I ask what your name is—?"

"Roy Mustang," Roy snapped. "Your best friend? Now, knock it off."

"Woah, there. Best friend?" Hughes raised his hands in a placating manner, still wearing the confused expression, and then he offered his hand to him. "That's quick. It's…it's a pleasure to meet you anyway, Colonel…Mustang…" His voice faded at the last part, as if he recognized Roy's surname for the first time.

Which was baffling on Roy's part.

'There's something wrong,' Roy realized. 'What's happening? Why doesn't Hughes know me?'

Then, Hughes gave him his full attention. His eyebrows meeting at the center of his forehead, and Roy could almost see the gears turning in the man's mind.

"Colonel Roy Mustang," Hughes intoned thoughtfully and Roy stared at him. "I think…I recall someone wanting to see you."

At this, Roy was certain that Hughes might be just pranking him after all. He decided to play along. Make sense of what made the man act this way. "Who?"

Hughes looked like he could taste the name and it tasted like spoiled milk.

"Colonel Theofil Vertrag."

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What.

Roy's mind had gone into static the moment Vertrag's name was mentioned because there was no way—

Shit. What had he done this time?

His oxygen intake increased exponentially as he marched down the corridors, made unfamiliar due to the largely different atmosphere he hadn't noticed before. His mind flicked through the possibilities, pondering the questions of 'What happened here?' and 'Why is Vertrag a colonel?'

Hughes marched in front of him, but before Roy could gather himself enough to speak another plea, the man knocked and entered a room, closing the door behind him. Roy gaped at the polished surface, wondering what lay at the other side. He was about to ask when Hughes exited almost just as quickly.

"Please enter, sir," Hughes said, holding the door open for him.

Roy reached for his best friend's shoulder; plead on the edge of his tongue. "Wait—"

But Hughes pulled back as if he had been burned by the touch.

Dazedly, after a final glance at Hughes' apologetic expression, Roy retracted his hand and slowly entered the office. He was met with the sight of four more soldiers working overtime on their respective desks. As he heard the door close behind him, the first lieutenant occupying the nearest desk to his right saluted him.

"Go right in, sir," the first lieutenant said.

Then before Roy could take another step forward, one of them moved behind him, grabbed his arms in a brusque manner, and handcuffed the wrists. The other two soldiers also moved to help.

"What the hell—!"

Roy was flung unceremoniously through the entryway of the inner office. He landed on his face (which was summarily what life had been doing to him lately), and as he was struggling to regain his balance, the door was slammed shut behind him.

"Ah ah ah! Leave some cheese for little Baldy!"

Roy straightened his posture and raised his head, focus narrowing on a certain red-haired man sitting behind the desk. Said man's eyes—eye (he was wearing an eye patch)—locked with his, his lips splitting into a cruel grin.

"Hey there!" he greeted jovially. "Come to see my rats?" He reached out a hand under his desk and pulled up a cage, the metal clacking on wood as he set it down. Inside resided three squeaking rats, all sporting a different color. He pointed at the brown, the white, and the grey saying, "This one's Troyyy. That one's Baldroy! And this ickle one here is called Leroy! There's one missing and I couldn't find him—" he whipped his head up and acted as if he only just saw Roy appear "—oh there he is!"

He cocked his head. "Mustang."

Sparks burst behind Roy's eyes at the implications. "You. What did you do?"

Vertrag feigned a look of shock. "Do? What did I do? It's more of a case of what you did actually—"

"What. Do. You. Mean?" Roy growled word for word as he strode forward. "Why doesn't Hughes know me? We had a deal, Vertrag, and the deal was to undo last week. You said that Hughes could be revived, and he's here…but why—?"

"So many questions." Vertrag rolled his eye. "Of course he won't remember you—"

"Bastard!" Roy spat, leaning in close as he could across the desk. "You conned me! Didn't you? It was too good to be true after all."

"You found me out." Teeth exposed like a rabid wolf's, Vertrag tilted his head to the other side. He had opened the cage and was running a finger down the brown rat's back. "And who allowed me to do so?"

Roy's blood simmered, as he stared at the man in uncomprehending shock.

"The deal…heh, it was a great bargain, honestly." The Deal Alchemist guffawed. "Worst week of your life erased in exchange for seven days filled with boring paperwork from you? It was practically labeled ON SALE!"

"If it was just paperwork," Roy snarled. "Then why doesn't Hughes recognize me? He—" Roy faltered, realizing what else had been terribly off. "He didn't even pull out photographs of his family…"

Because strangers or not, Hughes had always—always had that nasty habit of trying to soften those people's hearts with his wife and daughter's smiles.

"Did I forget to elaborate again?" Vertrag pulled a hooked a corner of his mouth with his index finger. His eye shone with concentrated malice. "Days of paperwork. Where to start—?"

Roy kicked the desk. "Just GET ON WITH IT! What did you take?"

"Lessee, lessee," Vertrag mused, not even remotely surprised by the violent action. "Oh you know…seven days of paperwork. Paperwork from the time your subordinates were transferred directly under you…"

The blood in Roy's veins froze.

"…Paperwork from when you entered the academy….Fullmetal's recruitment letter…State Alchemy Exam…dang I don't remember whaaat else—"

"You…" the word came out in a whisper as horror set in, "…took days that were important to me." Extreme anxiety dug deep and twisted his insides, and he felt like the entire world had been pulled out like a carpet from under him.

"Yep! In fact, too bad," Vertrag added with a grin as he leaned forward, "that one of those days you signed away to me was the day you were conceived. In other words…" Pause for conveyance of unsuppressed glee. "…You were never born."

And that part struck an disconcerting chord in him.

He was never born. Roy was never born. He never existed and that explained the way Hughes acted—

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck

It wasn't just Hughes who was affected by his nonexistence.

"Would you like a demonstration?" Vertrag asked. He circled his desk, and plucked the silver pocket watch from him before he could unfreeze. The chain links broke apart when Vertrag pulled harder. He then went back to the far side of his desk and dangled the pocket watch in front of Roy by pinching the shortened chain.

Before Roy's eyes, the pocket watch started to fade, growing transparent…

"In this timeline," Vertrag started, as he swung the see-through pocket watch. "You never took the State Alchemy exam. Naturally, since this pocket watch of yours isn't anchored to you, the only stable thing that originated from the timeline it came from, it will cease…" the pocket watch disappeared completely into thin air, "to exist."

Ringing. Ringing in his ears.

"You BASTARD!" Roy jumped over his handcuffed arms and he lunged, toppling the cage and all.

And of course, that shout of fury and sounds of struggle seemed to be the cue for the soldiers outside to come barging in and keep him in check once more.

The Deal Alchemist howled with mirth as the soldiers restrained Roy. "Quite a scene I have in front of me."

Vertrag came forward and punched him hard in the gut. The coward.

As Roy wheezed, the son-of-a-bitch leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "And you know what else I have done?" Roy could hear the nasty grin in the man's voice.

"Maes Hughes is going to die tonight," was ghosted in his ear, the breath accompanying it cold against his skin.

A single drop of sweat traced his cheek as Vertrag pulled back.

"Sound familiar?" Vertrag's smile was full of teeth. "It was the warning that started everything."

"It was you," Roy muttered. Then he started to struggle desperately against the soldiers holding him, itching to plant his fist into the Deal's fucking face. " IT WAS YOU!"

He had been played with, Roy realized, as his face crumpled with pure fury. Like how a cat played with a ball of yarn. Like how a toddler played with her doll. He had been a toy. A goddamn TOY.

"What did you do to my subordinates and everyone I care about? TELL ME!"

"No need to shout and be such a big whiner about it," Deal answered lightly, and then began to gloat, as he adjusted his uniform. "To answer your rather rude inquiry, all I need to tell you is that your former team is having a grand time being miserable. Riza Hawkeye has gone missing. The Elric Brothers are divided. Fullmetal has loyally sided with me…blah, blah, blah. It's quite a list."

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong wrong wrongwrongwrongwrong

"Oh, yessss." Deal beamed as Roy's heart sank further. "Welcome! To a world without Roy…"

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Check out the BADASS comic masterpiece of yanumii on tumblr at post/ 150814322895/to-a-world-without-roy-author-manalfedz (remove spaces)

Where the best part was Roy's stubble.

#Even if the story sucks, at least there's great art
#Miya's awesome art
#The stubble must be seen to be believed!

If you don't have a tumblr account, try to leave a comment for her, or send a praise ask, especially if you gushed about it.

GENIUS BONUS: "Two families, who apparently knew each other, had backtracked and cheerfully greeted their acquaintances 'oh well eh.'" Try saying 'oh well eh' into a recording device then play it backwards . If you do it right, you'll decipher what they said to each other!

#It's just 'hello' tho

Leave a review if you meant any of these things: "The chapter's so short that the end notes are longer, so you better update soon!", "Good job!", and "Noice...but what the fuck is this?". Otherwise, drop some constructive criticism, rant about your feelings and thoughts, pointers to improve on, etc.

It's exam/deadline week (again), by the way, so next chapter's going to be on Thursday night. My time is more likely advanced compared to yours though. See you next chapter :)