There reaches a point where you believe it can't get any worse.
The footsteps returned and Ed curled up tighter, doing all in his power to become invisible, but something took hold of his automail arm and yanked him up, drawing the limb high over his head and leaving his body exposed. Ed gasped and strained against the hold, but the grip was unrelenting. "Let go," he whimpered, begged.
When you get past that point, they call it a nightmare.
The knife split the skin between his ribs, hot and vicious, drawing a strangled scream from his lips.
"Brother?" Al's sweet voice rang out.
Ed's blind eyes widened. Al? Alphonse was right here, in the basement?! "Alphonse, get out of here!" he screamed, the words gnarled by his panic. Not his baby brother. Nothing like this could happen to his baby brother.
When you pass that, well, then it must be called purgatory.
"Brother, do you trust me?" Alphonse asked, not a trace of fear in his voice. He sounded calm, serene, like he was sure of himself. Like he had no reason to be scared.
Ed allowed himself to hope, pressing his face to the wall, trying to stifle a panicked, pained whimper. If Al thought it was okay, maybe it was okay. Maybe he'd just been lost in his head again. Was he back at Mustang's? In the dorms? Maybe he was safe. Al knew. Al would tell him.
His flesh hand cradled his side, fingers slick with blood.
Not right.
What was past that, then? What did that make this?
"Yes, Al," he gasped.
He didn't need much time to think it over. He knew exactly what this was.
"Maybe you shouldn't."
This was hell.
The metal arm was ripped, torn, shattered. Pain lanced through his body like lightening, sharp and jagged and bright, easily making him forget about the cuts in his side. A scream shredded his throat before something collided with his jaw, forcefully silencing him with shock. He fell backwards through space, hitting the hard ground and the collar around his neck chocked him at this angle, but he couldn't do anything about it.
"What a pathetic sight," Al continued, voice cold, just like the basement. "How are you going to get my body back like that, Brother?"
Ed's body writhed in pain, lungs straining to take in more air but unable to do so. Half of his mind wanted to protest this, embrace the nagging feeling that this wasn't right. Something was off, because everything wasn't stacking up, but his mind was still too scrambled to figure out what the discrepancy was.
The other half of his mind accepted this as pure, undeniable truth, accepting wholeheartedly what his senses were telling him.
Of course Al hated him. It only made sense, because Ed had lost his body, and now couldn't even try to fix it. It made sense for Al to find out and be angry. He wouldn't save him from this basement, and Ed didn't deserve it.
He would walk away. Just like Mustang. Just like everyone else who mattered.
"But maybe I'll forgive you."
Something nudged his body, pushing him aside so the collar wasn't quite as tight around his neck. His aching lungs took in a few greedy breathes before footsteps moved in front of him.
"Yes, maybe I'll forgive you," Al said, and Ed dared to hope.
Thick leather fingers wrapped around his throat, snaking beneath the collar, and all reason was lost to him. Because he knew it only took thirty-three pounds of pressure to crush a trachea, and Alphonse was angry enough to kill him.
His throat was closed, forced shut by his brother's angry hand and Ed struggled, half his body still spasming from the destroyed automail, the other trying desperately to free himself from the hold. His lungs strained, but couldn't draw breath. If Ed could see, he knew his vision would be tunneling, but it almost seemed like the blackness spun, oxygen starvation finally taking hold of him. His muscles burned.
"You're nothing now, Edward," Al hissed.
Ed's struggling weakened, hand clawing only weakly at his brother's wrist.
"Nothing but a blind dog. You did this to yourself."
His ears rang, but Alphonse's voice punched through mercilessly, suffocating his soul even as the grip on his throat suffocated his body.
"Pathetic. Useless. I'm better off without you."
The voice was farther away, but painfully clear.
"I hate you."
Hope that Ed didn't realize he possessed shattered somewhere in his soul. The spark of will that had sustained him for his months in this place died, snuffed out by the simple proclamation.
Because if he couldn't help Alphonse, then there was no point in his existence.
His hands fell to his side, slowly. Slowly he relaxed into the grip, the deathly embrace.
It was alright, if Al did it. His life had always been Alphonse's, in a way. It was a fitting end.
After all, what was left to live for? He couldn't save his brother. Mustang didn't want him. He was completely helpless now, handicapped to the point of worthlessness. Without his brother, he was nothing. It had always been that way, only now more pronounced.
Yes, Alphonse was better off without him. He could die knowing that.
He could hear his heart beat in his ears, blood rushing in a desperate attempt to keep his body alive. He felt the burning in his chest finally lessen, like he was distanced from it somehow. Like he wasn't a part of the pain anymore.
Finally, when the pain was gone, he knew it was over.
Ed smiled.
XxXxX
Red.
It was the only comprehensible detail Roy was able to discern.
The floor was smeared with blood, the wooden floorboards stained in the grisly fluid like some macabre painting.
Once his eyes saw it, it was like his mind took a step back, time slowing down, letting him drink in the horror in front of him with terrible clarity and precision.
It was a typical house near the warehouse district, where people would rather keep their heads down than ask questions, and gunshots were met with sympathetic winces instead of police calls. No one would question a few screams in a place like this, and it wasn't too far from the alley they had found Ed's footprints in. Breda and Havoc were able to pick out the new set of tracks in the fresh snow, and the three of them had followed it all the way here.
It was a small house, probably only two or three rooms. The floors and walls were wood and rotting, cobwebs and dust coating every surface and wind whistling through a dozen cracks in the walls. There was no furniture and no light, save the fire crackling happily in its hearth, and the gleam from a single chain bolted to the far wall.
A chain, attached to a collar. Attached around the neck of a small blond boy, crumpled on the floor, unconscious or worse. The boy had no clothes, half his limbs missing and blood leaking out of his side and smeared on his body, pooling on the floor beneath him.
Edward.
His subordinate.
His son.
There was someone standing over him. A slim form, dressed in black garb that left his stomach exposed, long green hair falling past his waist in unnatural spikes. Most of his legs were bare, and when he shifted to glance over his shoulder, Roy caught sight of it—a small, red tattoo high on his left thigh. A dragon eating itself in an eternal loop.
An oroboros. That could only mean one thing.
Homunculus.
The monster's face split into a huge grin.
"Well, look who it is!" he exclaimed, turning fully to face him, hands on his hips. "I thought you'd be locked up safe and sound in prison by now."
Blood pounded in Roy's ears, anger and terror twisting in his gut like snakes. His eyes were locked on Edward and he was unable to tear them away, searching desperately for any signs of life.
That was Ed. Edward Elric, the boy that had already lost so much, endured too much. This wasn't allowed to happen to him again. There was no sense in it, no reason, no Equivalent Exchange to be found.
His hands shook and even as Havoc and Breda came up behind him and drew their guns, Roy couldn't move.
"Why?" he managed, past a clenched jaw and a dry throat. The word was gnarled and deformed, like spitting up metal. It sounded nothing like his voice.
The monster smiled. "This is all your fault, you know. If you and the little brat had stayed out of Father's business, none of this would have happened. You should have kept your dog on a tighter leash, Mustang. Then he wouldn't be heading for a padded room and you wouldn't be headed for the slammer."
The words jumbled and fell over themselves in Roy's frantic mind, forming and reforming, trying to fit into the paradigm of his perceived reality. They made no sense. Who was Father? What did he have to do with anything? How did that even begin to relate to what this thing had done to Ed?
"I think I might have gone a bit overboard," the creature mused, voice mild as if he were talking about dinner. The tone jarred Roy from his thoughts much the same as a car wreck might. Roy watched as the green-haired man nudged Ed's arm with one bare foot.
"Don't touch him," Roy snarled, the words leaving his lips in a vicious fury as he took one step forward.
The homunculus looked up at Roy, mouth pulled down, considering.
Then the smile returned.
"You mean, don't do this?" He picked up a foot and brought it down on the boy's hand.
Roy could only watch as the monster smashed Ed's only flesh hand against the wooden floorboards. He could have sworn he heard something snap, the floor creaking under the pressure.
Roy didn't quite understand how he had crossed the room so fast, but he was within striking distance in less than a second. He hauled back and hit the creature across the face, knuckles striking skin and bone with a satisfying crack, forcing the homunculus' head aside.
It froze there.
Then, slowly, the creature turned back around, red lightening sparking and completely healing the bruise that had only just begun to taint its cheekbone. The monster locked black eyes on him and that same gleeful smile split his face, sending an involuntary chill down Roy's spine. "Alright, Mustang, if that's how you want to play. My turn!"
Roy didn't have time to even react as a fist made contact with his gut, the force of it knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the ground, pain erupting all through his insides.
He was distantly aware of Havoc and Breda opening fire, guns barking even as Roy tried to get his feet underneath him, and his injured body tried to draw breath. His vision tilted for just a moment, then righted in time for Roy to assess what was happening.
The creature had stepped past him, headed for his subordinates still standing in the doorway. Edward lay just out of his reach, not even flinching as the sound of gunshots split the air time and again. But Roy could make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the relief he felt almost had him collapsing back to the ground.
Edward was alive. He was injured, but he was still breathing. If he was still breathing, then that meant that there was a chance. There was a chance of this all turning out alright. As long as the boy was still breathing, Roy had a chance to do something right by him. Roy had a chance to make up for all the times he had let him down.
There was a chance that Roy could be redeemed. And there was a chance that Ed could be saved.
Roy stumbled to his feet, squared his shoulders and snapped.
XxXxX
Ed thought it was strange that even though he was dead, there was something bothering him.
It was a tickle in his ears, like hearing noises when your head was under water. It was far away and murky, and Ed really just wanted to ignore it. It wasn't much trouble to sink back into the dark embrace of death, if that's what it was. All he had to do was keep going . . .
"Just like that?"
Ed flinched, turning around in the blackness to see a familiar face. One he hadn't seen in months, but still knew like he knew his mother's own visage.
Colonel Mustang stood there, dressed smartly in his uniform, pristine gloves covering his strong hands and a challenge in his dark eyes. Behind him, there wasn't blackness anymore, but fire. The flames leapt high in the air, licking at Mustang's back like a dog at its master's heels. It was wild and hot and Ed instinctively wanted to shy away from it.
Ed nodded to the familiar hallucination. "Just like that." He turned to look the way he had been heading just moments previous. Inky blackness, soft and warm, flooded the pathway. It would be easy to get lost in. It would be easy to let go.
"The Fullmetal I know is no quitter," Mustang challenged, voice ringing like struck iron.
Ed ducked under the conviction of it, turning to give his commanding officer a weak glare. "The Fullmetal you know doesn't exist anymore, Mustang. It's over. I lost. I can accept that, why can't you?"
Mustang approached, imposing in his height and his fury. Ed took an involuntary step back, but Mustang effortlessly closed the gap. "My men and I are back there risking our lives while trying to save your sorry life, and this is the thanks we get? This?! You slinking off to your sweet cushy death like a coward and leaving us to pick up the pieces? Good men are seconds away from giving their life for you!"
"What am I supposed to do?!" Ed screamed back, his own voice cutting through the air over the roar of flame. Ed felt months of pent up frustration and pain, all of it flooding him, filling his chest, spilling past his lips in terrified words and down his face in angry tears. "I'm blind! I'm hurt . . . I don't have half of my limbs. What do you want me to do, roll over Envy's toes?" The words were like hot stones, choking him with his own desperation. "I'm useless now," he sobbed. "Useless . . . So you tell me, Mustang . . . you tell me. What am I supposed to do now, now that I'm less than nothing? What . . . what now?"
He was sobbing, crying in front of Mustang uncontrollably like he had now countless times before. He didn't even have his pride left. There was nothing. No point, no reason, nothing.
"You're right."
The words caught Ed off guard. Ed blinked tears out of his eyes as he looked up at Mustang, the man he admired most in the whole world. He looked up at him and saw him staring down at Ed with firm but gentle eyes, the fury all but gone now. "You're right. If you think your worth can be summed up to your silly alchemy tricks and a pair of steel limbs, then you're absolutely right; you're useless now. You can go ahead and die. We'll all move on eventually. Even Alphonse might be able to recover enough to lead a somewhat normal life, after a few years of therapy and maybe some psychiatric medication.
"But," Mustang whispered, one hand grabbing a fistful of Ed's shirt and yanking him close, eyes gleaming inches from Ed's face. "But, if you think for just even one second that maybe you are more than that— that maybe you aren't just alchemy and limbs, but a flesh and blood human being that makes a difference— then you had better follow me the way I came in. Because I'm not about to sacrifice my life for a bag of steel limbs and alchemy and your eyesight. I'm about to give my life for a child that has made a difference in my life and the lives of every single person he comes into contact with. I am giving my life for you, Edward Elric, and you had better be around to appreciate it."
Mustang shoved him roughly away and Ed stumbled to get his feet under him.
"Wait!" he called out, but it was too late. Mustang was already halfway through the fire and disappearing fast. The blue of his uniform was finally swallowed in the inferno and all that was left were the flames and Mustang's haunting words.
Ed turned to look at the blackness.
It was the easy way out. It was the logical thing to do, something that would have been as easy as breathing. Just keep walking and fall asleep. He could leave it all behind, stop the hurting and the fear once and for all. He could rest.
He glanced back the way he had come, through fire and pain.
There was no logic to be had there, nothing easy about the trip. There was a slim chance at a happy ending, and there was an enduring promise of agony the whole way through. There was no rest to be found there.
No rest, and yet . . . maybe Mustang had a point. Maybe . . . maybe he could still make a difference. Maybe there was more to it than limbs and alchemy. Maybe the Fullmetal Alchemist could go beyond what he'd thought possible. Maybe he could still pull through and save the lives of his friends.
And if not he, then perhaps Edward Elric could.
Ed spared one last look at the shadows before throwing himself into the fire.
*sneaks in*
Uh . . . hi guys :'D Long time no nothin', yes?
The good news is I'm alive! I'm so sorry I completely left you guys hanging without any warning whatsoever. Wow, the past three months have been insane. I've been dead to the internet for all intents and purposes, even on my typical haunts like deviantart and tumblr. In March, my choir had contest and I was completely stressed over it ('cause I'm the director xD) and then at the same time through May I was in a musical and directing another one, plus work and just trying to take care of life, and the first part of this month I have been out of town, so it's been stressful and busy and every time I sat down at the computer to write or do art, it was just a chore to turn out anything. It gave me no joy, no pleasure. It was just turning into another job that I simply couldn't handle at the time. I'm slowly starting to come back to myself, though, and I hope I continue to crawl out of that particular brand of depression. It's been a rough few months, and this summer is looking to be a bit stressful as well, but I'm hoping I can have sufficient time to take some joy in the things I love and relax a bit. Fill my cup up, since apparently it's been emptied when I wasn't looking lol. Praise God for His continued mercy on me.
So, with all that said, I will be getting to reviews and PMs in the next few days, with any luck. I know half of you have probably forgotten what you even wrote it's been so long lol. Again, sorry about that, but the other good news is that I plan to have this baby finished in just a few more chappies. That's right, folks, we're nearing the end of our story. I'm both elated and terribly depressed lol, but hopefully the sense of accomplishment will do me good c:
So, if you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next time! :D
God Bless,
-RainFlame
