Warning: This chapter gets a bit . . . violent, I suppose is the word. Just a warning. Carry on.


Roy decided that there was something different about Ed.

He was sitting on the couch, his usual spot when he wasn't in his room or on the kitchen counter. He was now short both automail limbs as he leaned against Alphonse's side, but that wasn't what had Roy's attention as he watched him carefully throughout the day.

He was still exhausted, still thin. His body still looked injured and his damaged eyes still looked haunted, but it was muted, somehow. It was as if there was a light there, a glow that Roy hadn't seen in months and was almost too afraid to at look too closely in case it faded, like catching the glimmer of a falling star out of the corner of your eye, then turning to find it gone.

No doubt it had to do with the girl that was currently hard at work in his basement, slaving away over Ed's automail. Roy had seen the look on Ed's face as he held her. He had seen the peace that suddenly stole across his visage as both of them cried and comforted each other. Perhaps Winry coming was the best thing that could have happened to him.

Now if only his little brother weren't leaving in just a few short days . . .

"Read that last line again," Ed said, brow furrowed in concentration and his flesh fingers lightly drumming Al's leg. Roy wasn't sure if it was thoughtless movement or an absentminded attempt to constantly remind himself of where he was. Regardless, it was refreshing to see Ed taking a little interest in something again.

Alphonse turned his ruby gaze back to the text in his hands. He began to read something about Bosonic particles or something of that nature and Roy turned back to his own reports he had spread about the coffee table. He had the rest of the day off, and more paperwork than he could wrangle into submission in a reasonable time. His days in the office had been divided between keeping up with day-to-day tasks and his investigation into Ed's case, one that the higher-ups seemed both unsympathetic and indifferent to. His team was doing all they could to help keep him from drowning under the flood of work, but even Hawkeye had her limits, and with a sudden influx of other work from upstairs coming down the chutes, it was all they could do to stay afloat.

He wasn't sure why, but something about it made Mustang's instincts twinge in a foreboding sort of way.

"Mustang!" Ed snapped.

Roy blinked, turning to face the blind boy. He was looking in his general direction with an annoyed expression on his pale face. "What?"

Ed was practically rolling his eyes. "I said that Winry's calling you! You falling asleep over there, old man?"

"Maybe all of your talk about particles and matter is boring me to death," Roy countered, placing the page in his hands on a stack of files and getting to his feet.

"Not my fault that you're an uneducated moron," Ed shot back, though there was something forced about his irritation. Probably trying to save a bit of face from the incident in the bathroom earlier that afternoon.

"Says the one that tried to use his toothbrush as a hair comb this morning."

"Hey!" Ed shouted indignantly. "I'm blind! You can't make jokes like that!"

"Of course I can, since the two aren't even close to the same size. Toothbrush handles are a lot smaller, much like a certain blond brat I know."

Ed ground his teeth together, and his words coming out deceptively low and gnarled by his fury. "Get over here, Mustang, so I can break your face with my foot."

"No thank you, I believe you said Winry needed me," Mustang said, smirking broadly as he turned and headed for the basement, listening to Ed's strangled threats and curses and Alphonse's gentle laugh as he did.

His basement was nothing spectacular. It was a small room with wood paneled walls and floors covered in mismatched rugs to help the small radiator keep some of the cold at bay. It was a musty, dark area, the only light coming from a bare bulb dangling from the low ceiling and the lamp at his desk. Shelves lined the back wall behind the stairs holding jars filled with chemicals and other raw materials, while the walls around his desk were devoted to his many books and journals.

A long table and workbench were set up in the back of the room opposite his desk, where Winry was laboring under a bright work lamp. The table was scattered with scraps of metal, wires, tools and other items Roy could not identify a function for. In the midst of it, Ed's arm was being disassembled, cleaned, repaired, modified, and put back together with the girl's swift, accurate hands. She was currently staring through a magnifying glass mounted to the side of his table and using a small bladed tool to strip the casing from a wire.

"About time," she muttered irritably as he approached, making quick work of the wire and setting it aside. "I've been calling you for the past five minutes."

Roy opted to ignore her tone of voice. Winry disliked him enough as is without him throwing fuel on that particular fire. "Did you need something?" he asked instead, positioning himself at the opposite end of the table.

Winry put down the blade in her hand and pulled the arm on the table closer to her. It looked almost skeletal, stripped of its outer plating and its insides laid bare. It was nothing but supports and levers wrapped in colorful tubes and wires, oil leaking slowly from something in the elbow joint to add its own mark on the motley collection already staining the table. Without Edward attached to it, Roy couldn't help but think it seemed rather unimpressive, much like the handicapped teenager that sat on the couch upstairs, small and almost insipid without all of his limbs . . .

"I dialed back the power and I'll be replacing the plating with a lighter alloy, since he's . . . since he's so thin now." Her voice caught, but she cleared her throat, keeping her swollen eyes carefully glued to the prosthetic in front of her as she carried on in short, clipped tones,. "I'll do the same with his leg. The lighter weight will be easier on his body until he can put some weight back on."

She flipped the device over, pointing to a small white button on the back of the 'bicep' that gleamed new against the scarred metal it sat on. "Here's the failsafe you asked for. I installed a rubber stopper where the wires connect with nerves, so if you hold it down, the rubber will slide into place and interrupt the signals from his brain to his automail, essentially shutting it down until someone goes in there with a screwdriver and resets it here," she lifted a plate and pointed out a screw amidst a bunch of copper wires.

Roy nodded, filing away the information. "That will do nicely, thank you, Miss Rockbell."

Winry frowned, staring at the arm as if it were a serpent. "I'm not sure about this, Colonel. I don't like going behind Ed's back on this."

Roy studied her for a moment. Her eyes were still bloodshot, as if during the hours she'd been down there she'd spent much of it crying, and her jaw was tense, the way Hawkeye's got when she was under a great deal of stress and doing all in her power to hold it together. She was just a little girl, and it wasn't fair for all of this to be sprung on her when she wasn't expecting it. "It's for his safety as much as everyone else's," he assured her gently. "I told you about his flashbacks. Sometimes things get out of hand."

She looked at him, her sky blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is that what happened there?" she asked, nodding to his arm. He followed her gaze to see a strip of bandage peeking out from under his rolled sleeve.

Roy carefully stuffed it back under his cuff, expertly hiding a grimace as his fingers grazed the swollen flesh. "Like I said. Out of hand."

Winry glared at him a few moments longer before turning back to her work, picking up a pair of forceps to pull at one of the copper wires in the forearm. "I think Ed might be better off if he came home."

Roy wasn't sure why, but the comment made his whole body stiffen, the hairs on his neck raising as if in response to an actual threat. He forced his hands to unclench at his sides and took a deep, calming breath. She gave him a curious glance, but he ignored it in favor of keeping his cool. "I don't think that's wise," he said, his voice ridged and terse. He cleared his throat, purposely banishing the irrational anger from it. "Ed doesn't respond well to changes in environment. We figured that out firsthand."

"Home isn't a change in environment," Winry pointed out, anger lurking just under the fragile tension in her voice. It somehow reminded Roy of Edward, the way he barely contained his displeasure when given orders he didn't like. "Did you even give him a choice before you dragged him to your house?"

Roy struggled to keep his own voice calm. What was this girl implying? That he kidnapped them or something? "Certainly. He and Alphonse both agreed that this was their best course of action, for the moment. I'm sure once Ed is better, they'll both be on their way." Roy only smudged the facts a bit, thought he did carefully omit the part about Alphonse leaving. The last thing he wanted to do was hand his opponent ammunition. "Besides, Ed needs the care of specialized health professionals right now. The likes of which are not common on Resembool."

She whirled on him, a wrench suddenly clenched in her fist. "Are you saying I can't do the job?" she demanded. "I've been taking care of those two for years. I think I can handle it!"

Roy would be hard pressed to admit it, but it took some effort on his part not to take a step back from her. Something about this girl was almost as intimidating as Hawkeye when she was irked. He decided that those two should stay as far away from each other as possible. "Miss Rockbell, I don't think we're on the same page—"

"We certainly are not!" she hissed, striking the wrench against the table for emphasis and sending a few loose bolts and screws bouncing to the ground like metallic rain.

"I'm talking about mental health professionals, Miss Rockbell," he said quickly. "Psychiatrists and therapists."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you trying to say that Edward is crazy?" she asked, her tone suddenly low as she glared at him. If looks could melt, he'd be a puddle on the floor. He didn't have a chance to defend himself further before she cut him off. "Just because Ed works for you doesn't mean you know him. You know nothing about either of them and what they've been through. I know Ed would never agree to something like this, so what gives you the right to make a call like that? What gives you the right to force them to stay here?"

"Miss Rockbell—"

"He deserves to be able to go home! That's the least they deserve, after everything you've put them through!"

The words hit home, forcing the breath to leave his lungs and his mouth to fall shut.

She was right . . . she didn't know how right she was. Roy had put them through much too much, and it was clearly his fault that Ed was the way he was now. There was no denying Roy's guilt in the matter, and Roy knew that regardless of what he did, he would never be able to atone for it.

But still . . . isn't trying worth something?

Alphonse had entrusted Roy with Ed's care, and on some level, Roy believed that Edward was trying to trust Roy with himself, too. Roy couldn't fail them again. He wouldn't.

Roy recovered himself. He leveled the girl in front of him with an even stare, straightening his shoulders just slightly. "Miss Rockbell," he said slowly, resolve lending his voice strength. "The Elrics have chosen to stay with me, and they will be allowed to do so until they decide to leave. If Ed wants to return to Resembool, I won't stop him, even if I disagree with his decision. He isn't a prisoner here. I don't appreciate you questioning my motives."

Winry seemed surprised by his rebuttal, blue eyes widening and her lips moving soundlessly. Then, she was crying. She turned away from him, dropping onto the workbench and letting the wrench fall from her limp fingers with a dull clunk against the wood. She tried to reach for the forceps again, but her shaking hands wouldn't hold it and she abandoned the notion, burying her face in her hands instead and sobbing.

Roy blinked, staring at the girl stupidly. Why was she crying? Was it something he said? "Miss Rockbell?" he asked uncertainly, stepping closer.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her sweater. "I'm sorry, I sh-shouldn't have said that. I'm t-taking it out on you, and it's not y-your fault," she said between sobs.

He floundered there for just a moment before his sense of chivalry kicked in. Though he wasn't sure if it would comfort her or earn him a wrench to the head, he slowly placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't shrug him off. Maybe he was developing a talent for this. He certainly seemed to be doing a lot of it these days. "Winry," he said softly. "It's alright. You're under a lot of stress right now. It's understandable that you're confused and looking for someone to blame, but I promise you that I am doing my best to help Ed the best way I know how. It would mean a lot to me if I had your support, but I understand if you are reluctant to give it."

She sniffled, hastily wiping away more tears and blinking furiously. "I know you're trying to help. I'm sorry." She took a long, deep breath, then cleared her throat. "I better get back to work if I'm going to finish this by tomorrow."

Clearly a dismissal, Roy took back his hand back. He only watched a few minutes more as she grabbed the forceps again and started at the wires again, then he quietly slipped back up the stairs. He had his own work to tend to, and however much practice he was getting, he decided that comforting emotionally distraught teenagers was not something he took a great deal of joy in.


Ed couldn't seem to stop shaking. The fear was consuming, making his body feel hot and cold at the same time and his breaths come in quick, shallow gasps.

"It's alright, Fullmetal," Mustang's quiet voice assured him somewhere from behind. "You need to calm down before you hyperventilate."

Easy for him to say. Ed couldn't calm down. Even now, Winry was fetching the finished limbs from the basement, and she would be there any minute.

"It's okay, Brother," Alphonse said over him, his gentle grip tightening around him ever so slightly. "We won't let anything happen."

It wasn't okay, and Ed wished they would stop insisting it was. He was trembling so badly that he was rattling his brother's armor. The urge to bolt was almost impossible to ignore, but Alphonse held him securely in his arms, and there was no way Ed would get very far without his other leg, anyway. "Al, can you . . . will you . . ." His arm made a weak twitch toward where he thought the bed was. He wasn't too sure if he was pointing in the right direction, though. Mustang had thought it better to use the other spare bedroom for this, since he didn't want Ed to have a negative association with his own room, and Edward was not at all familiar with it.

But even with his vague request, his little brother was able to understand him clearly. Without further prompting, Al carried him the last few steps to the bedside, carefully lowering Ed onto the soft bedspread. "Do you need some help?"

Ed shook his head, conscientious of Mustang's watchful presence only a few feet away. He awkwardly dragged himself to the side, wobbling slightly on his shaky arm and leg before he managed to twist himself around, laying on his stomach with his empty shoulder port overhanging the edge of the mattress.

He could hear Winry coming, her steps thudding down on the ground floor. He fisted his hand in the sheets to stop its shaking,

Mustang moved, feet treading softly across the carpet. Ed felt the mattress on his left dip as the older man sat down, sending a wave of his mesquite-and-earth scent to wash over him. Ed tried to find it comforting. "What do you want me to do, Fullmetal?" he asked.

Ed swallowed, hating what he had to ask, but knowing the alternative was worse. He turned his head so that he would face Mustang and not Winry. It would be harder for him to hurt her that way, and if he accidentally bit Mustang again . . . well, he deserved it more than Winry. "Hold my arm down. Al, can you get my legs?"

Two leather gloves settled on the back of Ed's mismatched legs, a gentle but firm hold through the blanket draped over them. Ed's breathing spiked from the sensation of being restrained, a small, panicked whimper escaping his lips and he flinched, almost kicking Al away before he caught himself. Al held steady through it, loosening his hold just slightly. "Is that better, Brother?" he asked softly, as if afraid Ed's reaction was somehow his fault.

Ed nodded, trying to force a smile to his face. It faltered, though, twitching then falling flat entirely when it was too much effort to keep it in place. He needed to reassure his little brother, though. "That's good, Al. Thanks."

One of Mustang's hands settled on the back of Ed's shoulder, the other around his forearm. Ed shook him off enough to raise his hand to his throat. His breathing calmed just a bit with the comforting pressure there, his heart easing into a less frantic rhythm. His neck was safe, so there was nothing to worry about, right?

He almost laughed aloud at the stupidity of it.

Sure, Ed, just hang on to that completely rational thought . . .

Winry's footsteps sounded in the hallway, and though Ed didn't think it possible, his body stiffened further, pulling against his captors' holds . . .

No. Not captors. It was Alphonse and Mustang. Alphonse and Mustang. He had to keep it together.

He heard Winry's hesitate at the door. "What are you guys doing?" she asked, voice laced with suspicious accusation.

His little brother was obviously flustered. His grip shifted. "Um, Ed . . . he asked us to help hold him," he explained sheepishly.

"Why?"

"Does it matter, Winry?" Ed said, surprising himself with how level his tone was. "Just do it fast."

Apparently she hadn't been expecting Ed to come to their defense. She paused, then came closer, automail clicking in her arms. "Alright, Ed," she murmured, voice gentle. The same tone she used on him after he had lost his arm and leg in the first place. He hated it, being coddled and pitied like some kind of helpless invalid.

But that's exactly what you are.

He was quick to suppress that particular thought. He had more pressing things to worry about.

She was beside him now. Metal clanked and shifted and he heard the rustle of fabric and tools. Thoughts of knives and saws burned to the forefront of his mind, rising from the dark corners of his memories like wraiths from ashes. The air was suddenly frigid, goose bumps rippling across his skin as his body trembled. A cold draft stirred the air, resonating through the small chamber with a haunting whisper.

His only three limbs were strapped securely to the metal table, and no matter how much he pulled against them, they wouldn't give. In fact, they seemed to tighten with every tug, his body aching painfully in response to the pressure.

Everything hurt so much, and it seemed like it had hurt for forever. He couldn't remember what not being in pain felt like. His chest, sides, throat, back, neck, ports . . . everything, one, big, insurmountable ache. The worst, though, were his eyes. They were swollen painfully in their sockets and seemed to constantly sting, like the acid poured into them not long ago was still eating through, burning the back of his eyelids and into his skull. They constantly watered, streaming liquid misery as if simple tears could wash away the blindness.

He suppressed a small gasp as he heard movement. Heavy boots thumped into the room, one set coming closer. He was here. Him and his lackeys, ready to beat the information out of him, to unearth secrets he simply didn't know and wouldn't tell them even if he did.

"Have you thought anymore about your answer, little alchemist?"

Ed shivered. That voice. It was a rough growl, laden with a thick accent and terrible cruelty. Though his eyes were gone, Ed remembered his face; the last sight he ever saw. It was broad and weathered, with pocked, dark skin under a thick beard as black as the night and small eyes that shined with hatred and brutality.

"Hmm. Still nothing to say, eh? And you were so vocal when you first arrived," he said, a devilish smile in his voice. A gloved hand touched his bare stomach and Ed gasped. He flinched away as far as he could, but his restrains didn't give and he whimpered, a thousand pleas bubbling in his throat and dying on his lips. The man only chuckled, fingers running across his exposed ribs almost playfully. "What's that, little alchemist?" he cooed, voice sneering and patronizing and completely humiliating. "You need help finding your words?" The fingers dug into his side, ripping open a healing wound. Fresh, hot pain lit his body like a fire and wrenched a strangled cry from Ed's throat. "Perhaps a taste of your own blood will loosen your tongue." The hand dragged over his side, stinging abused flesh further and smearing blood down his body. Then something clamped over his mouth. Ed pressed his lips shut and tried to wrest his head away from the hold, but his own warm blood seeped into his mouth, metallic and bitter and he gagged.

"Fullmetal, come on!"

Ed couldn't get the wretched taste from his mouth. It slid down his throat and it was drowning him.

"Ed!"

"Brother, please!"

Alphonse . . .

Ed recoiled as if from a slap. He felt Alphonse, heard Winry's frantic mutterings and felt a tingling sensation in his shoulder port. He smelled Mustang and heard the clang of metal and felt the mattress beneath him, its softness unstable and terrifying. "Al!" he yelped, twisting against the restraints.

"I'm here, Brother!" he answered, his voice just a bit too fast and too high to be calm. "I'm right here, but you need to stay calm, okay? Winry's just repairing some of your wires."

Ed swallowed thickly, the phantom taste of blood still haunting his tongue. His heart was racing in his chest, making him dizzy and he heard Drachman voices laughing in his head, getting closer to reality. "Al, talk, please. Someone keep talking."

"Alright, Brother," Al said, and Ed latched onto his voice like a drowning man to a life raft. "When this is over, I'm going to make you stew for tonight. I'll make it the way you like it, with milk and everything. How does that sound?"

Something in his shoulder port shifted and he gasped as it felt like his absent arm twinged in response. Sweat beaded his forehead, even as he shivered, and he could have sworn he heard the Drachman say something to the others in his thick language. "That sounds . . . sounds g-good, Al." His voice was shaking as much as his body. "Keep talking."

"Winry's almost done replacing the damaged wires, right Winry?"

"Just one more," she agreed, her voice quivering as much as his. "How are you holding up, Ed?"

The Drachman was coming back and he shook his head against the mattress. The movement was quick and jerky. "Fine, just hurry."

"Okay, I finished replacing the wires, Ed," Winry said, throwing something down and making more metal clang together. His port jarred, a heavy weight settling in it. "I'm putting in your arm now. I won't connect it until I get your leg. We'll do them both at the same time, alright?"

Ed didn't respond. His hand knotted the sheets, twisting them as he tried to gain purchase in this reality until another hand found its way under his. Mustang gripped it firmly as Winry set to work aligning his leg's prosthetic. "You're doing just fine, Fullmetal," Mustang said, his low baritone soothing and strong. "Just think, in a few minutes you'll have two arms to hit me with instead of just one."

Ed's lips twitched again, but the smile was gone before it arrived.

"Okay, Ed," Winry said, her voice clipped. "We're ready. On three, okay?" He felt her touch on his ports, ready to flip the clamps into place. "One."

It was coming. It was coming, they were going to hurt him and there was nothing he could do about it.

"It would make me happy if you screamed as prettily as you did last time, little alchemist," the Drachman purred.

"Two."

He heard a sharp crack of electricity, the generator being brought to life, and then something was clamped to his automail.

"Now, what are your northern base's lockdown procedures?"

"Three."

Even if he could, he wasn't given a chance to answer. His world became reduced to white, searing agony as hundreds of volts of electricity slammed into his body. Other pains were reduced to gentle discomforts in his mind as this new torture ravaged him. His blood sang with it, his ears ringing and he thought he would certainly be lucky enough to die this time. His heart faltered as his body jerked in terrible convulsions, caught in the throes of agony unlike any other.

Time stopped. It was only him and the consuming pain, ever other sensation, every other thought blocked away. In that eternity, he didn't know who he was. He didn't know why he was, or how he was, only that his entire existence boiled down to that single, encompassing sensation. There was no beginning and no end and no mercy.

He wasn't sure when it finally stopped, but he heard screaming and realized it was him. He was screaming and crying and weeping and shaking, and arms were wrapped around him, and he smelled mesquite and earth, and heard soft murmurings and quiet whispers and he simply could take no more.

His mind shut down and he drifted, lost in a sea of white that smelled strangely of steel and citrus.


Hope that wasn't too violent :'D

I am SO sorry about the delay D: It was completely unexpected and unavoidable. Those that follow me on deviantart know that my computer's battery ceased working, so everything was inaccessible until I ordered a new one. So I ordered one and got to work as fast as I could once it came in, and I was about to post a couple of days ago, but then I decided that my work was too rushed, so I forced myself to calm down and fix it. I figured you had waited that long, so what was another day or two? :'D

Either way, I hope this chapter is okay. It still seems a bit rushed in some places, and Winry . . . I can't seem to get a hold on her character -_- I hope she came across as in character. I would think everything hitting her all the sudden would make her a bit more emotionally volatile, so I tried to portray that without making her OOC . . . dunno if I accomplished that or not lol xD

I still haven't replied to reviews from last time (again, computer issues XP) so I shall get on that ASAP.

Just as a warning: now my computer power cord is glitching, like there's a loose connection or something. That might cause a delay. Usually if there's some kind of major delay, I post about it on my dA, so check there if you think I'm being abysmally slow xD

Again, thank you so sooooo much for all of your reviews, favs and support! You guys are the best c:

God Bless,

-RainFlame