Gloom
He screamed, his mind swimming in pain. In agony. So much pain so much pain so much goddamn pain. When would it come to an end it had to come to an end he couldn't put up with it for any longer.
Edward jolted awake. A bright light had flashed in the corner of his vision. He was disorientated, and he had the biggest thumping migraine, as if he had another heart pumping inside of his head. But his surroundings were completely swathed in darkness.
So this is what a hangover was like…
His awareness spread from his pounding brain across the rest of his body. It was a morbid thought that he had to count his limbs each time he awoke from a nightmare.
One, two...no, definitely not a third or fourth.
Goddammit. He couldn't feel the automail. But there was a phantom pain that was shooting along like stars across his absent limb, coursing like liquid fire through his shoulder port.
He groggily opened his eyes, wincing at the slightest movement. Sharp cuffs dug in at his wrist – he was manacled, and a quick wriggle of his right foot indicated the familiar presence of a chain. His leg was gone, although that limb wasn't in as much pa-
Ed pulled awkwardly at the manacles, held fast to the dank room he was being cooped up in like an animal. He was shirtless, and his chest was damp, slick with sweat, but in the darkness the sweltering smell of something salty and metallic touched his senses. He shuddered back, feeling grotesque and nauseous. His head was still swimming in an ocean of confusion. The gloominess of the place was suffocating.
The movement jostled his shoulder port. Ed winced; he didn't think pain could actually be this damn painful. It was a struggle to think and grasp for a cohesive thought-
Nothing came to mind.
He knew one thing for certain – this was wrong.
This place, him being chained to a wall coated with his own blood; it was all so morbidly wrong.
And that was when he noticed the breathing. Not his own, but huskier, deeper breathing of an older man. It sounded like grumbling machinery.
Wait was this man – laughing?
"Ugh…" Ed tried to speak although only a groan would escape his lips. He tilted his head back, feeling the blood swish around in his brain like the contents in a frying pan.
"Ah, look, you're awake. Excellent!" Ed crawled back against the wall like a mouse scurrying to be away from a cat's gaping jaws. His forehead was damp, but he wouldn't dare move to brush it away. Maybe if he remained as still as he could-
He was running away…that wasn't right…that wasn't like him? He wasn't sure…
"Oh, sorry about that!" the voice sounded cheerful, eager. Goddamn enthusiastic. There was a click of a button and the world flashed around him. A dusty light bulb flickered on. Ed squinted – the light was so bright and caused his eyes to tear up. He had been in the darkness for so long…light felt strange. Unusual. "The drugs should begin to wear off in a couple of minutes!"
However, Ed's next reaction was to shirk back and recoil. That light had outlined the menacing figure sitting on a stool by a bolted door. He was whistling serenely, his messy black hair knotted loosely into a ponytail, which was slick. He was well-groomed, his clean-shaven face glistening like pearls in the hazy light. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt, although he was slim and probably only of average height. One of his legs was resting on the other, and he was slouched over, dressed casually in a button-up and trousers. He was wearing black studded boots that were lined with something white. What white "something" this was, Ed didn't know.
It was damn hard to think right now.
All he could process was fear and fascination as the man turned his hazel eyes onto his. They were large and rounded, like an owl's. He had a hand resting on his lap, holding the switch for the light and the other was pointing directly at Ed.
"You…" the man said, his sudden cheerful tone switching to being horrendously morbid and sinister. Ed felt his blood pressure rise drastically as his heart rate accelerated; this man looked like he was pointing straight into Ed's soul, as if those hazel eyes could see everything.
This time under than unnerving stare, Ed stared back. Strength was flowing back into his veins like water being given to parched flowers. He felt his jaw tighten, his muscles tense. His shoulder seemed to shiver, but he pushed the pain that lanced with it to the back of his mind.
And when he looked back, he saw how cold and unfocused those eyes were as if this was a veteran of war, used to the presence of bloody death. There was a sense of hopelessness and defeat and desperation. A desperation to do anything. The man then started laughing.
"You…you're the first person to stare back. It has been long enough… I'm glad. Hopefully this means I can talk back to you, man to man," his legs were twitching; he was also fiddling absent-mindedly with the remote still resting in his lap. He was agitated, something clearly on his mind.
Why wouldn't anything damn coming back to Ed's mind? He couldn't remember, he couldn't think…all he could think was blank white like a distorted memory. He felt like he was forgetting something really important…
"Who the hell…are you," Ed growled, his throat dried. He didn't have the energy to be asking questions; he would demand and take like the spoilt brat he was. He had lost all of his moisture through blood and sweat. And…tears? He didn't want to delve into that-
Wait. Spoilt brat? That reminded him of something, like a bloody religious calling, as if the phrase "spoilt brat" would help enlighten him or something. He didn't know. He just wanted to remember what he was forgetting…
"…"
"Nothing to say, bastard?" Ed raised his head coldly.
"I have no name. That is why I said nothing. I thought that you alchemists were masters of common logic? I presume that this conclusion of mine was a little far-fetched-" the man pondered, lost amid his thoughts, whatever the hell they were.
"Get me out of here, dammit!" the blond struggled at his restraints when suddenly-
Thump.
Pain. A spiralling frenzy of pain caused dots to appear in his vision. It felt like someone had sent a rippling shock wave throughout his insides. It was his automail been stabbed and ripped apart all over again…
Wait.
Shit.
Holy shit.
His automail. The hotel. This madman capturing him and his brother.
"Alphonse! Where is he – I swear if you have done anything to him you bastard I'll rip you to shreds-" Ed screamed, lashing out fully. The drugs were beginning to wear off and even though the pain was worse than the wrath of Hell pouring through his soul, he would take that. He couldn't ever forget about his brother.
Spoilt brat. Oh. Ed grimaced as he thought about whom that would entail…a certain Colonel Bastard (keep remembering brain keep doing your job) but he couldn't care about that now. He had to make sure his brother was safe.
What if Al was hurt?
What if Al was hurt and you were passed out here unconscious having a casual conversation with a madman?
What kind of brother does that?
Ed blinked trying to blot out the tide of thoughts which were flowing around in his mind. At least his mind was starting to function again. That had to be a start.
He shook his head. He didn't have time for pity or self-denial. He wasn't a worrier for goodness sake.
He was an alchemist.
Luckily he was pressed with his back to the wall. And even if he didn't have his automail arm, he had something that the enemy wouldn't be able to anticipate – an invisible drawing medium. His arms were clammy, but if he could draw a transmutation circle accurately, then the array should be able to activate and he would bust Al and him the hell out of this place-
"Oh, you're inquiring about your brother? You should have said so!" the nameless man had suddenly changed his tone to becoming jovial and upbeat once again; it was a shift that Ed found unnerving. He reached his left arm slowly behind him, reaching up to where the manacle was chained to the wall, and pressed his fingers against its cold stone surface-
And the man moved to the side. He stood up and brutally kicked the stall so it smashed into the door. It shattered into splinters. Ed flinched. The man's face was expressionless and that made the action even more sudden. Ed didn't care because he saw a figure hunched over behind the smashed up stall-
It was Al. His head was slumped over; his face blotched with bruises, his wrist bent at an awkward angle…
Ed couldn't bear to look but he did because that was his brother and it was his fault for dragging Al into his mess again. It was his responsibility to get them out of this.
"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL! GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!"
Ed had finishing etching his array and he slapped his palm into the wall. He waited for the familiar rush of alchemy to tingle along his fingertips and for the manacles to shatter beneath their power. He would break free and punch that bastard in the face and make him pay for every ounce of pain that he had caused Al-
But nothing happened.
The one time he needed alchemy was the one time that it wouldn't bloody work. He snarled in disgust at his uselessness and lashed and kicked and pulled against the manacles in any way that he could. The pain was unbearable and his shoulder was being crushed but he didn't care. He had to get to Al-
"That won't work, little alchemist. I have to ensure you don't cause any harm to my facility with your…hmm…magic tricks," the man picked up the remnants of his stool. "That's a shame, I really did like that stool."
How dare he.
How dare he!
He didn't give a damn about hurting Al. Goddamn why wasn't Ed here on his own what had his baby brother ever done wrong except eat too much ice cream because he hadn't goddamn had the capability of eating for five years. Al had been desperate to eat ice cream; it was the third item of food on his list after quiche and apple pie. Ed had taken Al to the renowned ice cream parlour in Amestris situated deep in the East Area. Ed had watched in enjoyment and bliss at Al being gluttonous…for once.
And this shouldn't have been the first time. There should have been countless more visits to the parlour. Al shouldn't be caged here in this prison; he hadn't sinned. It had been Edward who had bound Al's soul unwillingly to the armour and caused their mother a second death. He had a lifetime worth of debts he was going to repay to Al. His brother wouldn't accept charity, but he would definitely accept food (a ravenous appetite didn't seem to belong to Edward alone).
The ice cream parlour was just the start.
If this madman – who was throwing his remote delicately into the air and catching it, completely ignoring his surroundings – wanted to hurt Al, he would hurt them.
"I SWEAR IF YOU TOUCH MY BR-"
"Take him," the man whispered. "And perhaps when you are more cooperative we'll discuss about matters later. I won't fail again…" his voice was lost to muffles as he unhinged the door and sealed it shut again; its sound made Ed yelp.
And still Al didn't respond. His head was slumped heavily.
Another second passed and the lightbulb had extinguished to next to nothing. There was enough light cast for him to see Al's delicate figure outlined by shadow; etched in the darkness, his form resembled that of a person in a tranquil sleep.
A feeling inside of Edward clicked - the perfect blend between a surge of protectiveness for Al and adamant frustration to be out of this place before that madman returned them. Edward wanted to embrace his brother tightly – Edward wanted to scream at this heartless world for abandoning the brothers in the dark. Alone in the gloom.
His anger temporarily forgotten, Ed tried to struggle at his manacle. He was several feet away from Al, and if he hadn't been so goddamn short he would have been able to nudge Al with his foot. "Al come on you've got to get up."
Ed scraped his skin painfully as he inched across the ground, cold and numb to the touch. However, before he had stretched a metre, his lungs demanded that he paused to retrieve his breath back. He hadn't even being any goddamn exercise other than hurling out his fury at the nameless man who prized a stool over human lives!
He was more resentful towards his own useless body than he was towards anything else.
And as he had lived to become accustomed to the automail in the place of stumps, being given the latter again was strange.
In a reality where he still had his automail, Ed could almost feel the automail attached to their ports and he imagined struggling with his metal foot – also bare – to reach towards Al. He would bend his toes and extend his leg with the control of his nerves, and be able to prod Al.
However, reality surged back in when the stump of his leg began to wriggle helplessly, like a worm trapped on the surface of the earth, and Ed stared back down in disgust. He had no goddamn automail, although his body believed that he still did. Pathetic.
His arm was a different matter. Now that the "drugs" had taken away their numbing effect on his brain, Edward was sensitive to each particle of dust that became trapped in his port, like fireflies becoming wedged and trapped under the layer of his skin. While they wriggled, his skin tingled.
He attempted to turn his head to the right to inspect for damage to the port, although instantly his shoulder and neck muscles spasmed in synchronisation like to the beat of a discordant symphony. Ed had barely moved his head at all. The sensation until all that tingles remained, and these morphed into throbs that spread across the shoulder to his right thorax and neck. Moving his right side was strenuous, as if half of his body had inflated like a balloon.
However, the worst part was how warm and red the wound had become.
Ed wouldn't dare consider touching it but he imagined lifting his finger towards a cherry hot poker and burning himself alive. He would have experienced the same type of pain by touching his port. He winced at the thought, but he knew he at least had to look at the goddamn wound. If he wanted to escape, he couldn't just collapse after taking three steps due his shoulder being so severe.
And he looked down. The fatigue, the nausea, the swelling, the heat suddenly all made so much more sense. He didn't need to be a doctor to know that the wound was infected.
It was like staring at a minute volcanic eruption expanding across his body. A rift of red swollen skin was bulging around his shoulder, and he could see each of his muscles straining and tendons stretching, his skin covered with a sickly sheen of sweat; the network of veins tracing his skin was as clear as the moon on a starless night. As Ed's eyes moved closer to the shoulder, the red skin became crimson and black, lined with pus and dried matted clumps of solidified blood. Nobody had bothered to patch up his goddamn wound.
It resembled something more skeletal than human.
Although he wasn't surprised nobody had dealt with the infection, what surprised him was the extent of the damage done to his shoulder port over such a short space of time.
The skin around his shoulders was covered in nasty purple blots of bruises like spilt ink. And then another layer of infection had wrapped nicely over the bruises. Ed's head ached in numb confusion – this wasn't the kind of wound that could just appear on his body overnight; the damage must have manifested over several days…
How long had he been knocked out for?
His stomach twisted at the thought of looking at his shoulder port directly. But he wasn't going to wince out like a coward now. His eyes moved from the clotted blood to the bruises, passing over the network of bulging veins-
Shit.
Some of those veins were wires. Wires.
His skin had interlaced and woven over the wires of his automail like a tapestry, snakes roiling loose along his port. And at the centre of the port, a huge orange-green wound had literally shed parts of his shoulder port away. The metal had fought a resilient battle, although the remnants of his automail were peeling off, like corroding iron. Ed, when he had moved his shoulder unwillingly, imaged the wires knotting beneath his skin and the metal pressing even harder into the infected wound-
He would just have to make do with his left.
But that meant if he was trying to escape from this hellhole (he had only been conscious in this room for less than an hour and that surmised his feelings accurately of the place), he would have to replace his automail arm.
He knew that his infected wound would become more painful. And while it was now localised and restricted to his shoulder region, it had already begun to spread along his back and neck and thorax. Ed hated feeling this useless, but he had to receive medical attention soon. He felt giddy and nauseous and his throat so parched he felt that his insides were a desert. The one good thing was that his hunger was suppressed, especially after seeing that horrible wound.
Ed shifted but didn't feel discomfort; he hadn't leaked and he definitely wasn't fitted with a catheter. Unless someone had been taking an unconscious blond to the toilet, his lack of…bladder release was strange too. Ed quickly looked over the rest of his body. It was numb and heavy-feeling, although each part of his out-of-balance body moved in accordance to his sluggish brain's commands. He reached out his left arm and flexed it forwards and backwards, craning his neck to his expanding and retracting diaphragm.
Even though he was shirtless, his trousers still remained, offering him some little valuable warmth.
And there was his biggest concern for the moment. He was shivering and felt colder than being buried beneath a layer of ice. While his shoulder port was throbbing and heat emanating from that, the rest of his body was riddled with fever. As if to confirm his suspicions, Ed wiped away another layer of sweat from his forehead with a flick of his palm. He was losing precious body heat, and fast-
However, those exercises of co-ordination had left him breathing heavily again. He wished he could transmute…
But he needed that goddamn limb to transmute. However, he thought gratefully, at least I should be able to find my leg. I should be able to walk.
This room had somehow been sealed so alchemy would be of no use. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary about it, no secret button or special lever which stopped the flow of alchemy. Under usual circumstances, this would have been Ed's priority to work out, although he wouldn't class this as "usual".
In the dim light, Ed could see shattered pieces of wood that belonged to the stool NoName had hurled against the wall. The wall itself was damp and a dull grey, the colour of storm clouds, made out of a type of stone…He scratched his brain for answers…but the damn fever seemed to have suppressed his basic alchemy knowledge. His five-year-old self would have known what the material was…
Perhaps the drugs hadn't worn off entirely; he hoped that was the case. Alchemy was second nature to Ed like a shadow, and without he felt lost and defenceless.
He shook his head slowly, careful not to tilt his neck too far to the right. A part of him wondered if he could shake the fever from his brain. But again, his delusional thinking didn't prove to be particularly fruitful.
The rest of the prison was darker than the night sky; Ed couldn't discern much else in the darkness. He didn't know how large or small the room was, although he was sure that the door was their one exit out of here; there didn't seem to be a window or piping system to escape through.
Ed tried to focus and he closed his eyes. A pungent odour trickled into his nose, smelling of decay and mould and damp and fever. He smelt carrion and disease and rotting food not even a stray dog would consume. He could hear the drip drip of moisture trickling down the walls, plopping into puddles which must have been scattered across the ground. However, the rest of the silence was unnerving – it wasn't this silent even when he slept.
Hmmm. Sleep. That sounded good.
Come on, Elric. Not now.
Sleep sounded idyllic to his exhausted and weary body, sapped of energy through fighting an infection. Hmm, maybe five minutes would be alright…
And then Ed heard something. A groan.
A groan that caused Ed to snap out of his delirium and fever dreams.
Al! How the bloody hell had he forgotten about his brother-
Goddamn useless brain.
Ed wrestled his drained body and shuffled into an upright position, his left wrist tugging at the cool metal bite of the manacle. He was stretching out towards his brother, inching forwards again with his right leg. Even after moving a fraction, his head was heavier than lead. All that he wanted to do was sleep…
However, the protection the older brother felt towards his sibling kicked in like adrenaline. The pain didn't matter; nothing mattered apart from getting to Al. Even in the darkness, Al's patchwork of bruises was illuminated. Ed inched forwards again leading his left side pain-staking and slow towards his brother.
The distance that stretched between him and Alphonse seemed to have expanded; the gap between them yawned with the depth of a chasm. Fatigue was clutching him at the heels – one heel, his automail leg was somewhere – as if he was being dragged away from Al. With each step he took forward, Ed was being dragged two steps back and he was gaining no distance on Al-
When suddenly, the bulb flickered, and beams of light reflected from the glass. Al's features became as clear as day to Ed; the older Elric started shaking.
Al's muscles once lean and skinny had been harrowed down to raw bone beneath his skin. His cheekbones were elongated and sharp, his closed eyes heavy, sunken pits. His head and shoulders seemed too large for his malnourished body. He was fully clothed (if a green shirt and dark shorts could be classed as fully clothed) but they were torn and laced with dirt and blood, but he didn't have any shoes. Protruding from his toes were curly, orange nails which hadn't been cut or maintained in a long time. But Al always took such great care over the body he had lost-
Ed was distracted by the greasy, dishevelled hair that nearly reached Al's shoulders, which possessed the texture of straw, and was the same dull, matted colour. No longer did his cropped golden hair glow like sunshine as Al always seemed to be; this Al had been locked in the shadows and separated from the light.
But Ed hadn't even registered the bruises. They swirled across Al's body like tattoos varying in every degree of colour – purple to navy to black to green – of the twilight hues. Some were as small as a coin while others were as large as his fist. And some had even started to heal to only have a fresh round of bruises applied; there were multiple ridges and bumps where the older and newer wounds overlapped.
It was sickening and how the hell was this fair. No harm should ever come to his little brother!
A part of his mind wanted to scream towards Al and tell him to wake up. The same part of him convinced him to fight with all of his willpower against the strength of the manacles attaching him to the wall and cause them to snap off. He wanted to kick down the door and force his fists into every goddamn person in this place and he would carry Al all the way home. If anyone even looked at Al, he would fire a death glare at whoever stood in their way.
And yet if his fever brain brought him any consolidation, he knew that plan was ridiculous. If he was in full health, and neither of the brothers had their physical impairments – namely Ed having his automail – and unlimited alchemy at their disposal, it might have been an option to consider. It still would have been goddamn reckless. Ed's protests and shouts at NoName had been ineffective as well and that time, he had hurled a stool at the wall. Ed didn't want to think about the other possibilities-
They were stuck. They didn't know where they were or how long they had been trapped in the darkness for.
When he had been held a captive in Liore, he had known the city and what a phony Father Cornello was. All the Fullmetal Alchemist had had to do was stall some time before he had usurped the plans of the fake priest to the entire desert town.
Al had made that option a possibility.
Ed pushed himself forwards. His left side was straining as far as it could go, but a portion of his right side was slumped against the damp wall. He was so close now. Ed was in the position where his leaning closer to his left side than right, head reaching forward, braid a mess, and the manacle on the wall stretching as far as it could. He had fully moved his left side, but in order to reach Al, he would have to hook his right leg around Al's folded legs and push himself closer to his brother. Ed didn't think that simple actions like poking or prodding would wake Al from his unconscious state, and he didn't want to make too many loud noises. They couldn't afford NoName returning – and this time he could return with other things – instruments of torture. Ed had to suppress a shudder.
The blond however had to move the right side of his body. Even though the gap between the brothers had shrunk to half a metre, Ed still needed that push. With his left side stretching as far as he could, he would need to move his right side to cross the distance. But that meant-
The sickening blend of pus and blood and infection swam through his mind. Ed bit his lip to the point where it should have drawn blood, but even his goddamn capillaries had given upon him now. A thought, a single thought, of the pain he would be in if he moved a millimetre, let alone half a metre, was almost worse than experiencing the pain itself. He should have braced himself or prepared mentally for the pain he was going to feel, like he did when he had his automail reattached to his nerves.
And yet when Al groaned in his unconscious state one more time, Ed closed his eyes – there wasn't time to think or prepare when Al was in danger – nothing else mattered when Al was in danger. And he hurled his body forward-
He hooked his leg around Al's ankle-
He held on for dear life when suddenly-
The pain knocked him full force; it was like being winded. The breath was drawn from his body as if someone had blocked his windpipe.
Ed had been reminded about how he had needed Al in Liore – he had needed Al everywhere.
Ed closed his eyes and swore and prayed and held onto that one single thought to prevent himself from screaming into the cavernous silence. Al wasn't the one who needed him, but he was the one who needed Al. Al was here - he wasn't on his own and fuck his arm was in agony-
If having his automail removed had been like being pulled in half, this sensation was like he was being shred into tiny pieces, and each pulling sensation was twice as painful as the last. The atrophied muscles and tendons stretched beneath his skin and the wires dug in in addition to the thumping agony of the infection coursing through his blood. Ed pulled his flesh hand against the manacle to keep himself from falling unconscious. Sweat was visibly dripping down from his face now – he tried to stretch his tongue to lap up the precious moisture, realizing this strenuous exercise would not be helping with the inconvenience of dehydration.
Here Ed was hanging from a wall like a Jack-O-Lantern, cut out and hollow.
He managed a weak smile.
There wasn't time for feeling weak or useless because when Al needed him, that desire overrode any ounce of pain that he might have been feeling.
Edward had to wake Al up and they were going to get out of here…together.
Ed firstly had to re-position to leg which was holding onto Alphonse with barely enough leverage. He couldn't free his manacled wrist and so instead used his foot to nudge his brother's ankle in the hopes that Al would escape from the clutches of unconsciousness.
"Al, come on Al, you've got to get up now," Ed whispered but Al didn't stir. His raised his voice by a minute pitch – usually loud enough to wake Al up with – although today, luck wasn't on Edward's side. He cursed quietly under his breath and flicked his braid out of his face; his bangs were obscuring his line of sight.
Damn, that was it.
Edward leaned forward, his body silently screaming, and he winced as his leg stretched even further than it had before. His toes curled and touched Al's damp hair. The younger blond stirred uneasily, restless in his fevered dreams.
Because he definitely had a fever. Ed could see the whorls and lines of black shadow etched beneath his brother's eyes. His skin was boiling to the touch, although the Elric was also shivering profusely, expending pressure energy as his body tried to regulate his fever-wrecked form. "Al, we've got to go!"
Al didn't open his eyes.
"Please, Brother," Ed shivered and hunched over, his body wanting to relax and stop stretching and curl up and sleep. His foot slumped and fell on top of Al's left hand.
Ed's hearing was attuned in the quiet and damp, and he easily heard Al stir. Alphonse's golden eyes flickered open, cloudy and misted, but focused as soon as he saw the golden eyes staring back into his own. A kaleidoscope of emotion danced through Al at that moment – relief, pain, euphoria, exhaustion, joy, confusion, shock, horror – and Al screamed.
"NO GET OUT OF HERE BROTHER!" Al's voice wasn't just loud, it was deafening. Al looked as if he had been possessed by a maddened spirit, lashing against his chains, shaking his body in denial about the fact that Edward was here with him. His voice sounded cracked and frayed, as if he had not spoken in a long time or like the time when they had lost their voices when they had screamed for so long when they were children…
Al had been screaming. Al had been hurt by these people.
He was frightened like a feral cat.
"You shouldn't be here. He promised. You can't be here!" Al cried again, and he was panting, exhausted from the strain and effort it must be to stay awake. Al knew more than he did and had likely been subject to more horrific things than Edward. It made his stomach knot in sheer disgust. Al's body hadn't fully recovered - it wouldn't have for many more months yet – and now it would take longer for Al to return to his normal healthy state.
Al should be watching the stars in Resembool. He should be watching the sunset or the sunrise right about now. Edward wasn't sure what time it was; time had no construct here.
"I'm not going to leave you, Al," Edward said softly. He had to attempt to calm Al down. Al's head snapped around, and he watched Ed's lips move carefully. The blond shuddered and let his shoulders slump and he tried to lean forward to get closer to his older brother.
"Please go away…" Al murmured, and then fell heavily against the floor of their prison, and Ed's chains rattled and protested heavily. He didn't give a fuck as he pulled closer to Al but he could barely touch his brother when Al goddamn needed him.
"We're going to get out of this Al."
-Lies.-
I wouldn't lie to my brother...
-Hmm, we'll see about that.-
"Brother. I'm s-scared." That was it.
"Don't you say that, Al. Everything is going to be fine. You've just got to breathe – everything's going to be okay. The Colonel Bastard has to find a way for us to get out of here – he owes us that much." But the prospect of the Colonel coming to rescue them was very, very grim. They were in the middle of nowhere, starved and riddled with infection. And Al-
Was everything going to be alright?
-Now you're getting the right idea.-
Piss off.
His whole body was in pain; if anybody else was in Ed's situation, they would be writhing on the floor in agony. But he was the Fullmetal Alchemist for Hell's sake. He was a brother.
"We need to find a way to transmute these chains – and create an escape plan. We're going to be alright Al," lies for his brother – there was a deep knot in his chest – he hoped they weren't lies he was telling Al.
Al didn't seem to hear him. He was staring at the floor, his eyes dim and unfocused, and he was muttering to himself. "Bad, bad, bad. No no no NONONO NOOO!"
The last came out as a scream, a rich, contorted recipe of a scream blended together with agony, torture, loneliness, horror, fear. The prison stank of fear.
"NOT MY BROTHER PLEASE." Al's eyes were hazy, a fog of tears.
Ed suddenly didn't give a shit about being bound or not. He tugged and yanked and pulled against the chain with enough force to dislocate his shoulder. Anything to give him some distance. He felt like his hand was being ripped off, and his wrist had a stream of viscous blood dripping with distinct splatters on the ground below. He would likely get a permanent scar where the manacle's cool metal bite dug into his flesh. Ed forced his arm away from the wall inch by inch.
However, he realized, starvation had actually been incredibly useful for him. His bones and skin were gaunt and every ounce of fat had melted away into nothing as his tired body resulted into using his own flesh to keeping his organs functioning. The thought scared him more than slightly. He could hear Al muttering, lost in the panicked haze of his own mind, a retreat that Ed couldn't get to. Al wasn't listening.
Ed felt his wrist twist and suddenly his hand slipped through the manacle chain. It twisted much too violently though. There was a dull snap as several of his fingers broke with the contact.
But he was free (even if his leg was still chained). He hadn't been awake for an hour, and already the prospect of being free was like a blessing.
How long had Al been awake for?
Edward didn't have to think. In less than a heartbeat he was smothering Al and he pulled his little brother close and vowed to never let go. Initially Al flinched slightly at the contact but then relaxed as realization spread through his soul. The Elric brothers were with each other now, and Ed hoped he conveyed to his brother that he wasn't going to leave his side.
Some things didn't need to be expressed with words.
Roy Mustang stared at his clock in the office. 2am.
Not much of a surprise.
It was only him and Hawkeye in the office. Hughes was somewhere, and probably Armstrong too. They had become all too familiar with military HQ over the past six weeks.
A stack of folders rested on his desk.
"More paperwork, Hawkeye."
"..."
"Are you not going to lecture me, Lieutenant?"
"Get back to those files, Roy."
Roy. She must have been pissed off. Well, in truth, they all were. The Colonel was trying to make light conversation, but that didn't fucking help. He still felt as shit as he did now as he had six weeks ago when he had found out his lousy subordinate had got himself kidnapped. Hawkeye had to keep his gloves hidden from him (that was all that had stopped him incinerating the whole of Central City).
He hadn't slept in four days. He hadn't eaten in two. And he had been living on caffeine solidly for a month, with whiskey poured into his drinks more frequently than not.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was exhausted and near breaking point. There were no leads, no clues, no hints. If this was a game of hide and seek, they were losing miserably. They kept searching and searching, but they had become no closer to finding their target. Fullmetal's captor.
They had one clue: East. Fucking East.
He started to giggle, and soon he was in utter hysteria. He slammed his fist against the table, crying out "East!"
"Take a break, will you, Sir."
For once, Roy had to agree with his Lieutenant. He rose shakily from his chair, grabbed the closest bottle of alcohol he could find and tottered to find Hughes in his office where he would laugh and drink some more and beg that the world would end.
Second day, second update. Not too bad XD
This chapter had to set up locations, timings etc. so I hope it wasn't too slow. Things will get, um...more intricate next time. I hope this doesn't turn into a crackfic XD
I hope you enjoyed. Chapter 3 Voltage may even be up tomorrow. We'll see how the writing muse goes.