Hey ho, Teeta the Monster here, bringing you another piece of sh*t chapter!
For those of you who may or may not be having your emails spammed, I took the oppurtunity of my Thanksgiving break to fix the mistakes and inconsistencies that were bothering me the most. But, knowing my ADHD, I've almost certainly missed some. If you catch any I missed, please don't hesitate to PM me or let me know in a review.
This chapter was supposed to be out last month, but I've been struggling to adjust to post-college life with three jobs and my cousin's been diagnosed with brain cancer so my family's been going back and forth between Missouri and Illinois to visit my aunt and her family.
But enough of my angsty life.
This is about Edward's angsty life!
I'm working on a second chapter to Submersion since the Queens of Parental/Royed liked it enough to review it... so that should be done soon...
I haven't had dinner yet..
I'm gonna submit this now...
"That night I woke, after a few hours' sleep, with the feeling that something was about to happen. It was, and it did! Suddenly a great hand seemed to take me across the chest, rendering respiration impossible. Another two such hands forced my head backwards towards my heels and my heels towards my neck, while my whole body poured perspiration. I felt some of the dorsal musculature give way with a tearing agony, and this made the pain worse at the slightest movement."
- Trevor H. Knights, M.B., "A Personal Experience of Tetanus", July 30, 1938
Roy admitted it – he was jealous.
Who wouldn't be?
Mustang had entered the guestroom, after knocking, of course, to see how things were proceeding. He had heard them leave the bathroom a while ago, and after waiting for a quarter of an hour, decided to check on them.
He found Edward reclining, a thin sheet pulled up to his chest and his drying hair spread over fluffed pillows, his brother sitting on the bed beside him (the mattress dipped with the uneven weight). Alphonse held a cloth and would occasionally reach over to wipe the spit that would roll down Ed's chin. Ed was unable to close his lips and he looked eerily like a skeleton wrapped in flesh-colored tarp. On his other side, Gracia Hughes sat in a chair, a book in her lap, and was reading to him.
Roy recognized the story. It was about the disgraced son of a tribal leader trying to find a place for himself in the brutal world of primitive civilization. The plot itself was dark and in stark contrast to the scene in which it was being told, and yet Roy couldn't think of any story that fit Edward Elric better.
Al and Gracia both glanced up at Roy's entrance. Gracia returned to the book with no other indication that she had noticed Mustang. Edward did not react if he was aware that Roy was there. His eyes were half closed, his left arm curled protectively against his body while his metal one lay straight and prone, the fingers clenching and unclenching. Roy wondered if it was Ed expressing the pain he was probably in.
Alphonse set the cloth aside and stood, the bed and his armor creaking, and started making his way towards Roy. Gracia paused to watch him. Edward raised his arm, hand grasping for his brother.
"I'll be right back," Al said to the both of them. "There's something I need to tell the colonel."
This did not placate Ed in the slightest.
To the contrary, his beckoning became more frantic.
Gracia took the steel wrist and gently lowered Ed's arm.
"It's all right, Edward," she assured him in a voice that told Roy that the both of them knew what Alphonse was going to tell him. "It will be all right."
Ed did not seem able to speak, but his eyes showed that he didn't believe her.
Roy had to back out of the room to give Al room exit. When they were in the hallway, Al closed the door, but they did not move away from the room.
"I need to ask a favor of you," he said, not wasting any time.
Roy replied just as quickly.
"All right." When Alphonse Elric asked someone for a favor, it was usually more for the benefit of them than himself.
"Do you have a way to contact the doctor who saw Brother in the hospital?"
Roy remembered glimpsing a card in the supplies that were provided to care for Fullmetal.
"I think so," he said. He hadn't paid enough attention to the card to see if it had contact information printed on it, but he couldn't imagine any other purpose for it.
"I need you to call him." Need, not want.
Roy raised an eyebrow, though he knew the answer to his question.
"Brother's getting worse. He was twitching this morning and then he was stiff when Gracia took gave him a bath. When she brought him back, he couldn't speak and he couldn't move except his arm and his leg." The former fretting worry was gone, replaced by a determined drive to act. Somehow, Roy knew this meant Al was more concerned than he had been before.
Mustang knew Alphonse was right.
He knew he should do as the boy requested.
And yet…
"I understand you're worried, Alphonse, but I'm not sure that's necessary. The doctor did say your brother would get worse before he got better. Maybe this is just part of the healing process."
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't." Al was insistent. "But we don't know for sure, and that's why I need you to call the doctor."
Roy sighed, the major misgiving catching him and keeping him from doing what he knew he should probably do.
"Alphonse… The doctor said to keep your brother calm." Roy knew they hadn't done a very good job of that so far, but they were trying. "And if we bring the doctor in, calm is not what he's going to be. I'm not saying you're wrong," Mustang raised a hand to placate the armor when he moved to protest, "I'm saying it should be a last resort. I only want to go ahead if we are sure that it's needed, not because we want to know if it's needed."
"But…" Al's stance faltered, still eager to help his brother but now wondering if the colonel was right. "But what if when we do call the doctor, it's too late?"
"Alphonse, I will call the doctor the second I am sure Fullmetal is in danger," Roy promised, pushing away the voice that told him that Fullmetal already was in danger. He pushed it away, because they had done all they could, had been doing all they could, and if that wasn't enough…
No.
Mustang had promised Edward he would not let them drug him into a coma.
The colonel reached out and placed a hand on the boy's broad metal shoulder.
"Your brother will be fine. I won't let him be anything but fine."
Alphonse said nothing.
Roy wasn't sure if it was because he had come to agree with him or because Al realized Mustang was simply not going to comply.
XXX
Al had half a mind to pilfer the doctor's card and call the man himself.
But he was held back by the same knowledge that held back the colonel.
They had taken Edward to Roy's house to get him away from the hospital. By bringing the hospital to Roy's house, it would undermine the comfort that they had promised Ed by bringing him there and forfeit the trust they had.
Al knew his brother trusted him wholeheartedly – in most things. The trust Edward had towards those caring for him was shaky because he knew their current situation was unorthodox and any mishap could lead to them turning to the more traditional process.
And Al valued his brother's trust more than most things in the world.
He valued it more than the sight of his brother struggling to eat a thin soup pained him.
Riza had made a broth made of soft meat and melted vegetables, seasoned with pepper and spices. Roy and Al both knew that it was made specifically for Edward, but the colonel and the lieutenant helped themselves to it as well. Roy nearly commented on how Fullmetal ought to be sick more often if it meant he would be served such gourmet cuisine, then realized how tactless it would be.
Edward managed to part his teeth just enough to let the soup slip past, but no more. He was not able to put the spoon in his mouth. The result was broth running down his cheeks and into the hair that Gracia Hughes had so painstakingly washed.
After two spoonfuls of this, Gracia herself took the spoon from Ed's metal hand and the bowl from his lap. Edward grunted his protest. A stern look from Mrs. Hughes invalidated it.
"There's no shame in being cared for when you can't care for yourself."
Edward looked away, whether in submission or because he lacked the ability to verbally respond.
The sight of his big, strong brother being spoon-fed while lying incapacitated in a bed made of freshly washed linens brought back memories that Alphonse did not like thinking about, and thinking of that made him realize that as uncomfortable this was for him to watch, it was probably far worse for Ed to experience it.
The bed creaked as the armor leaned over and a leather gauntlet wrapped itself around Edward's half-clenched flesh hand. Ed glanced at the giant glove encompassing his hand and the helmet it belonged to but did not react further.
The room was silent save the scraping of metal against porcelain and the gulping slurping sounds of struggled swallowing.
XXX
Hayate sniffed the tiny human pup. She smelled of milk and soap. In response to having her tummy tickled by a wet nose, the baby grabbed the dog's ears and yanked. Maes jumped to his feet, ready to snatch up his daughter.
"Hayate is a good dog," Riza reassured him, a hand on the lieutenant colonel's arm to still him. "He only bites when I give the order."
Hayate huffed in annoyance and backed away, his downy ears slipping out of Elicia's clumsy hands. The sensation set her squealing with delight.
Hughes sat back down with a sigh of relief and returned to his mug of coffee. He and Hawkeye were sharing a pot while they watched Elicia and waited for Gracia to come back with assisting Edward with dinner.
"She's too cute to bite anyway," Maes commented as he watched his baby girl babble and crawl across the living room floor in pursuit of the trotting Hayate's tail. "But if he did, I bet she would taste like candy because she's so sweet."
He grinned goofily at his own joke.
Riza stared at him, one eyebrow raised in concern.
It was a shame, Hughes thought, that Havoc had had a date tonight - or at least, that's what he'd said he'd had as soon as Maes had shoved his daughter's beautiful existence into his face. He was missing out on the most adorable scene on the face of the earth - or it would be, until Elicia changed scenes.
They all looked up at the sound of a door opening.
Gracia appeared from the hallway, carrying an empty bowl. At the sight and smell of the porcelain, Hayate stopped at her feet and looked up at her imploringly, which gave Elicia the opportunity she needed to catch up and wrap her pudgy fingers around the dog's tail and pull it towards her curious mouth. Hayate didn't react.
Riza was about to suggest that Gracia not do what she was thinking about doing, but Gracia did it before Riza could tell her not to. Hayate lapped eagerly at the dregs of soup at the bottom of the bowl while Elicia happily slobbered on his tail.
Hawkeye sighed, half exasperated, half amused.
"All of you are spoiling him."
"You housebroke him with a gun," Hughes said. Riza blinked at him, not understanding why he bothered to bring up something that was, to her, an unrelated fact. Maes was apparently not brave enough to explain himself.
Instead, he turned his attention to his wife.
"How is he?"
Gracia's face fell and her green eyes rounded with worry.
"He's in pain and can hardly move. Alphonse wants to call the doctor."
"Will he?"
"Roy doesn't want him to."
"Why the he –" Maes caught himself when his daughter's equally green eyes locked on him at the sharpness in her father's voice. "Why not?"
"Because Edward will panic if the colonel brings the doctor here, which will make the situation even worse," Hawkeye explained calmly. "Therefore, he is choosing to wait until it the benefits undoubtedly outweigh the risks."
"They don't have to bring the doctor here." Maes pointed out. "They could keep it a consultation call."
Roy gave Hughes a long-suffering look. He patiently waited fifteen seconds for the Head of the Investigations Department to realize what he was thinking. Hughes did not. Roy rolled his eyes exasperatedly.
"Yes, Hughes. I'm sure that hearing that his patient, whom he entrusted to us against his advice, has lost his ability to speak and sit up and feed himself and basically do anything on his own will not make him feel the need to take him straight back to the hospital and sedate him into a coma."
Maes didn't react beyond blinking and tightening the thin line of his mouth.
"Okay, I see your point… But maybe that is what he needs."
Roy's face darkened and Riza decided it was time to intervene.
"Sirs, I think we need to stop talking about Edward as if he wouldn't have an opinion on it."
This did not kill Roy's anger. Instead, he turned his scowl on her.
"I am talking about this like he has an opinion! I'm the only one who is!"
"But is his opinion what's best for him?" Hughes challenged. "He's thirteen, Roy, he doesn't know what is and isn't good for him. What did you think was best for you when you were thirteen? Chocolate for breakfast?"
"The boy's a prodigy –"
"In alchemy. Not in life, Roy. There some things that only living can teach you."
"I'm not putting him through that."
"He's already going through it. The least you can do is make it easier for him, we did for you –"
"I'm not going to hurt him anymore!"
The tension in the room had become too much for baby Elicia and Hayate. The dog had looked up from his bowl as voices rose, and to Hayate's horror, Elicia began to cry, and the dog started whimpering, sniffing the infant for injury and licking her soft fingers. Hughes swept her up, patting her back and cooing softly to her while Riza bent over from her seat on the couch, reaching out her hand for the dog so she could scratch him comfortingly behind the ears.
"Sir, no one blames you for this," she said as she patted Hayate.
Roy, wearing an expression that was more than guilty, sighed and pressed his hands to his face. "I'm sorry for scaring the baby, I shouldn't have yelled –"
"Not for that, Roy," sighed Maes, bouncing his daughter. "Well, we don't blame for that, but Riza means Edward. None of this is your fault."
Mustang dropped his hands, his arms heavy.
"I should have kept better track –"
"Of his vaccines? Hell, Roy, they didn't have this stuff when were his age. Remember that crappy shot that only worked for one month that nobody got because it wasn't worth it?"
Hawkeye nodded impassively and Roy shuddered with a humorless chuckle.
"I remember. Then when the medical alchemists finally made one that worked for more than three weeks, nobody believed them so nobody got it."
"So you can't blame yourself for Edward's condition, sir," Riza said calmly, sipping her coffee. "The medicines are still relatively new, so no one's used to keeping track of them. Edward's illness is the fault of chance, nothing more."
Roy breathed deeply, feeling oddly refreshed, though his self-hatred had abated only slightly.
Then jumped when Gracia, who had been observing silently from the corner of the room where she had been forgotten by all but Hayate and Maes, "Well, Maes, Edward's asleep with his brother and its almost Elicia's bedtime. Will we be going soon?"
Hughes glanced worriedly at Roy, then conflictedly at the sleepy baby in his arms.
"We're fine, Hughes," Roy assured him. "You and Gracia have done enough. More than enough."
Hughes relaxed and lovingly watched his daughter suck her thumb. He kissed his girl softly on her forehead and said, "Yeah. Let's go, Gracia."
XXX
Roy tried to convince Riza to take Hayate and return to her apartment as well.
If she stayed, it would be her third night in Roy's house, and while he (certainly) didn't mind her (and Hayate's) company, if she stayed too long, too frequently, he was afraid certain people might take notice and start talking.
Riza refused.
"Lieutenant, this could cost us our positions."
"Caring for an ill friend?"
"Sharing the same residence!"
"You often stay at the Hughes's when you're on call in Central."
"Gracia and Maes are married. There's no way anyone would assume anything was between us."
Hawkeye raised her brow.
"Between who? You and Gracia? You and the colonel? Or both?"
The full meaning of her implication stole Roy's voice. Riza took the advantage.
"If anyone questions, we'll tell them the truth: Edward is very ill and needs constant supervision. Understandably, they would assume that one of us cares for him while the other sleeps, and if they doubt this, we'll have Edward and Alphonse back us up."
"But we need to –"
"We need to be there for the Elrics. You can't do this by yourself, sir, I've known you since we were teenagers. You'll get so caught up in atoning to Edward some crime you think you've committed against him, you'll forget about you. You need to eat and sleep once in a while." She thought for a moment, then added, "And shower. Edward is right about that, I'm afraid."
Roy considered being offended, then decided that would distract him from their argument, which very well may have been the lieutenant's intent.
"Alphonse doesn't need to eat or sleep –"
"But he still needs breaks, Colonel. Besides, can you really exploit Alphonse like that?"
"He doesn't mind –"
"He pretends he doesn't mind. And Edward most certainly would mind."
She was right. Of course, she was right."
"Don't you want your privacy?"
"Doesn't Edward? Doesn't Alphonse?"
Roy felt his cockiness return as he caught the loophole she had missed.
"Lieutenant, you shouldn't punish yourself for Fullmetal's condition. It's not you're fault."
Mustang wished he could bottle the expression on Riza's face and keep it on his mantel as a trophy.
Then her shock smoothed into an oddly proud smile.
"You're right, Colonel. It's not my fault." For a moment, he thought he had won – "but I'm still not leaving." Crud. "Hayate is worried about you. All three of you." The dog looked up from licking his paws. "And I can't leave him."
Neither of them mentioned the nights she had been called away to her post or the missions that required her to be away for several days. Neither of them needed to say that Riza could not sleep without a warm body at least in the same room, and though Roy's worries were interpersonal, Riza withheld her boundaries even when theirs were the only suspecting eyes in the house.
They did not say that "him" was not referring to her dog alone.
So Roy caved, as he often did, and Riza stayed, as she always did, and Hayate barked to be let out outside, as he always did.
XXX
His shirt stuck to his skin like he was sweating gravy. The unclouded sun sent spear lancing through his head and his thirst was so strong he could taste it. He didn't bother reaching for his canteen, all that was left would be disgustingly warm and tasting of leather. He stood with the other soldiers, each waiting for their turn to be processed out of the desert. Tents and fires flooded both sides of the checkpoint, those on one side having not yet been approved for leave, those on the other in line for the inconsistent trains shipping them home.
He stared off into nothingness, blocking out all sensation in his attempt to ignore the insistent throb in his ankle and the fire in his skull. Then he thumped painfully on his back, causing him to stumble slightly, sending daggers up his right leg. He turned to see Hughes's vulpine grin and, more importantly, two tins of clean water in his hands.
Without so much as a thank you, Roy snatched one of the metal cups and drained it in three gulps. His tight throat stiffened and he coughed, spewing half of the last mouthful onto the sand where it was visibly pulled into the dry air. Then Maes was patting his back even harder.
"Woah, there, Roy-Boy, hold onto your mustangs!" Then laughed at his own idiotic joke.
Once his breath was back, Mustang glared at his stupid friend. The second tin was missing from the man's hand; Hawkeye sipped from the cup on Roy's other side, her face equally disdainful.
"What? Don't be so in the dumps. We're going home! Real food! Showers! And crowds of busty, beautiful –"
"If your want to cheer us up, sir, I suggest you go get more water. The major is still looks a bit dry."
Roy would have laughed, but he didn't think he remembered how. He was swimming in his own perspiration.
And yet he was shaking as if he was in North City during autumn.
Hughes paused to study his subordinate and frowned.
"Are you all right, Major? Does your bandage need to be changed?"
Frightened and angered by the mention of the mark that he earned for all he'd done, Mustang took a breath to show his superior just how all right he was.
What came out was a wild, cracking shriek that caused heads to turn and soldiers to step away in fright. Roy stuffed down his own fear at the sound and pretended he had meant to make it.
Maes backed away slowly, raising his hand placatingly. His smile was still there, but it had shrunk, weakened by nervousness.
"Okay, Roy, I get it. You don't have to… I get it."
And he left with a swiftness that was far too quick to be comfortable.
Riza watched Mustang with her brows pinched with concern, watched as he sucked in breath and his hands shook.
"Sir… how are you feeling?"
Roy swallowed with difficulty, his mouth now wet, and reflexively brought a hand to his Adam's apple.
"My throat is raw."
He refused to elaborate further.
XXX
His mistress's body was warm against his, the blanket covering them both.
As strict as Hawkeye was, when night fully fell with Riza in her bed and Hayate in his own, the dog would get up and jump onto his mistress's mattress, curling against and snuggling into the blankets. They both pretended that Hawkeye wrapping her arms around him was an unconscious action.
Hayate blinked, wondering what had woken him.
The night was cool and soft, but that did not deceive him. If there was something in his pack's territory they didn't know about, it was his responsibility to find out what it was. As carefully as he could, he hopped off the couch where his mistress slept without pulling the blanket loose and padded down the hallway.
He found what had woken him.
The large metal pup was squeaking down the hall to the study, on his way to trade the book he had just finished reading for a new one. Hayate trotted up beside him, the sound of this claws on the floor making the pup stop and glance down at him, then slowly bend his knees so he could rub Hayate's head. The dog wagged his tail happily and followed him, keeping watch as Alphonse replaced the novel on the shelf with the next in the series (he had continued reading the book Mrs. Hughes had been narrating to his brother until Ed had fallen asleep, he was surprised to find that, not only did the book belong to Mustang, but the colonel owned the entire saga). Together, the pair quietly made their way back the room where small male slept, smelling of soap and steel.
Al sat down in his chair and Hayate leapt onto the bed, his paws crunching the comforter. Al was afraid the dog would wake his brother, but Edward merely twitched spasmodically as he had been after his bath, so Alphonse couldn't tell if it was an indication of stirring or not.
Al turned his attention his book, the pages lit by the moon spilling through the window. Hayate settled on the bed between the two brothers, tucking his snout against his feet.
They remained that way, silent save for the turning of pages and Ed's strained swallowing and pulling of air between his teeth.
Then Hayate raised his head.
His nose twitched, smelling the air.
There was a new scent.
It was sharp and charged in a way that sent tingles of urgency running through his fur.
Something bad was about to happen.
Hayate hopped to his paws, yipping and raising his forelegs towards Alphonse.
Al, who had looked up when the dog had rose, let go of the book with a gauntlet and tried to keep Hayate from damaging the pages.
"Shh, boy, you'll wake Brother. Hayate, shh!"
Hayate did not hush and Ed's twitching strengthened, his metal fingers digging into his chest.
"Hayate! Hayate, stop it!"
The scent had thickened, like a fog over a river. Hayate's yipping loudened to barking and he snapped at Alphonse's gauntlet with his jaws, catching hold of it and dragging it with all his might toward Edward. With calculated force to free his glove but not harm Hayate, Al yanked his gauntlet free.
To have it immediately caught by his brother's weak flesh hand.
Ed's eyes were wide open, his teeth bared and face wet with sweat and spit.
"Al."
That was all he managed to gargle with his trapped voice before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
XXX
Edward was fixing his brother.
He grabbed Al's gargantuan arm and yanked it away from the armor as if it was a gingerbread cookie and threw it aside. He took hold of his own arm and snapped it off himself like a branch from a tree and slipped the limb into the hole he had made in his brother's side.
The pain was a necessity and so Ed savored it as blessed proof of Alphonse's restoration. He did not question how he was able to rebuild his brother with the parts of himself if doing so meant less of him left to do so, nor did ne notice that the limbs he tore off his body seemed to leave phantom versions of themselves behind (after all, how was he supposed to give his brother arms if he had none himself?).
Edward pulled away the other heavy arm and replaced it with his slender one.
Both hulking legs were drug off and two fleshy ones propped in their place.
It was not important enough for Ed to remember that he had only two human limbs.
He lifted Al's helmet, creating a headless juggernaut, then pressed the heels of his hands beneath his chin and gripped his cheeks with his fingers. Ed twisted his head free from his neck and stretched his phantom legs to perch his skull on top of his brother's body.
It was at his body that his common sense awakened.
Edward pressed at his back, crossed his arms to pull at his shoulders, cupped his hands above his hips and pulled.
His torso would not come off.
"Oh, sweetheart! That's for me!"
Cold, wet hands gripped his shoulders, the broken nails spearing his skin. His mother's naked face, slick with blood and dripping black muscle, was centimeters from his own, her red transmuted eyes boring accusingly into his.
"Surely my little man wouldn't forget about his loving mother? You wouldn't forget that your heart belongs to me?!"
The skeleton grin opened wide and buried itself in his chest.
He fell and there was no ground to catch him, and Alphonse, once again hopelessly made fully of armor despite Edward's best efforts, despite his greatest sacrifices, watched their descent, eyes empty and impassive, until he vanished above them.
His mother ripped his chest open, stealing ribs and devouring viscera. He couldn't breathe, she had taken his lungs, he couldn't call to her, couldn't beg her to stop, didn't want her to stop because he knew he deserved this, knew she was right.
She gnawed him away, champed down the gristle and bone, until he was nothing but a smear with arms and legs and staring eyes.
He came to life when Trisha found his right leg.
His only leg.
She bit into his hip and Edward found his voice, cried for his mother to please, please not take his leg, not his other leg, how was he supposed to save Al without his leg, he couldn't do it again –
It was not his mother.
It was not his mother and it did not care. It only took and took and took even when he was certain there was nothing left to take, and he did not try to keep from wailing when he felt his right leg tear away.
XXX
Alphonse could only stare as his brother turned into something else, folded and twisted into a writhing creature that squealed and gasped.
He didn't know what to do.
This creature was killing his brother and he didn't know what to do –
Black Hayate slammed himself into Alphonse's breastplate with the strength of the storm he was named for. He stumbled back onto the bed, twirling in a stunned panic, still barking. When he finally found his footing, he launched himself off the bed and pelted out the door that had been left ajar. As Al instinctively watched Hayate run, his soulfire eyes crossed over the inconspicuous ventilator on the other side of the room.
He remembered what to do.
XXX
Roy scrambled awake, Hayate's alarmed barking shoving him from sleep to alertness.
He fell onto his bedroom floor in a tangle of sheets so that he had to fight to free himself, then charged through his house and down the stairs to be met with a terrified Riza Hawkeye. She cast him the barest of glances before following Hayate as he led the way to the guestroom.
Edward's room.
Alphonse said nothing as they entered. Even if he had known what to say, it wouldn't have been needed. The sight of him holding the mask of the growling ventilator over his flailing brother's face was enough.
Mustang stood in the threshold, paralyzed inside and out, feeling nothing has he watched his major die and knowing it was his fault.
They had all died like this, curling like shrimp cooking in a pan, their skin darkening to scarlet, fading to blue, until they were there, not breathing or living or suffering, simply there, and the medics would pull the sheets over the body as best they could.
And Roy had watched, either in the medical tent boosting morale for his wounded comrades or on the field where a physician was unable to reach them for days and they had no cots to spare and not enough guns and… and…
Hawkeye slapped him.
The stinging of his cheek was nothing compared to the terrified fury raging in her eyes
"Colonel, call the hospital! Now!"
It wouldn't work.
It hadn't worked for those men in the war, Roy knew that once they got this point, where their toes touched their scalp and the wheezing from their throats stopped, the doctors would sit and drink whiskey as the soldier suffocated, or if they were feeling merciful, they would drag the bastard out and blow his brains out…
They dragged him away from the train station, the world spinning around him. He didn't know which way was up, he couldn't find enough air, and he just wanted to sleep…
They pulled him onto the train and his body vanished back into pain and fire.
It had worked once.
He ran to phone where he'd left the doctor's card for safekeeping, ran from Fullmetal who was pleading for release with every whistling groan, ran from the boy he he'd promised to protect –
Roy reached the phone and grabbed the receiver. He heard something crack, like a balloon exploding.
Roy heard Edward scream.