It was happening again, that screaming that he couldn't silence. It kept echoing cavernously through his mind, even as he clenched is fingers in the mud, energy rippling through the soil and opening it whole beneath the Drachman's before him. Heat sizzled overhead from Roy's fingertips blossoming into great plumes amidst the enemy troops, and Edward flinched; he'd never felt this sort of chaos before. Sweat seemed to bead and freeze almost instantly on his face and his heart felt like it was in time with the spats of gunfire, constantly starting and stopping. All of this for the sopping mud beneath his feet? He would have spit in the damned trench if the man hadn't appeared before him, blue eyes full of rage and a simple traditional knife in his hand. All it took was a crackle of energy and he was gone, Edward having neatly slit his throat. The man's blood soon turned to pale little crystals in his joints.
"Nice one, Fullmetal," Roy managed to struggle out, wrists flicking almost casually like he was dealing cards with catastrophic results. Edward snarled.
"Fuck you, old man." He ripped the earth open again and the men that slipped in soon found themselves in their graves as it zipped itself shut once more. A look of pain crossed Roy's face briefly, and Edward leapt forward into the trench, hating the man's pity. Freezing water poured into his boots, but at least he didn't have to see Roy's face again. Alchemy didn't even seem to cross his mind as he raced down the trench, cutting down anyone who wasn't in the dapper blue of the Amestrian army. The blood ran warm down his arm, turning the cloth a dirty black. This wasn't what he thought it would be.
There was no heroism here, with flags waving proudly ahead of the dogs of war, and between the battles there were no good ol' boys drinking beer and talking trash about the Drachman's like he'd imagined in the photos that graced the walls of Roy's house. No one grinned goofily with a cigarette between their lips like Hughes did in Roy's living room, looking handsome in sepia. It had been awhile since he'd been there, but he didn't recall any blood drenched boys in the simple maple frames. What would Al think of him now? He looked down and saw dirty cloth engulfing his right arm, red trickling from the edges. He was arm deep in a man's chest, and he could do nothing but laugh as everything went white around him.
It hurt, everything hurt. The rain didn't make him feel any better, sucking what little warmth he had in his body. Murky worlds filtered through the eerie silence, someone began shaking him. Roy came into sudden focus, face unreadable.
"Major Elric, get out of the mud," he said sternly. Edward rolled to his side shakily, a telltale trickle on his neck telling him he was bleeding again, and vomited violently. His whole body shook as he emptied his stomach, and Roy made no motions to comfort him.
"Why did you not erect a wall when I told you too, Major?" Mustang straightened and stood, hand clenched tightly around his own arm. The younger boy groaned and struggled to his knees. Wall? What fucking wall?
"I couldn't hear you," he argued.
"That's not an excuse soldier."
"Well I at least take it we won I take it, or your ugly ass wouldn't be standing here." Shivers began to take over his body, some from cold some from fear, but he managed to struggle to his feet. A disconcerting hum refused to shake out of his right ear.
"At least thirty men died from your disobedience. Don't let it happen again, Major." Mustang's boots even managed a click as he turned on his heel and strode away towards camp. "Take him to the clinic." A medic was at the young alchemist's side, a steadying hand on his shoulder as Edward clenched and unclenched his flesh hand.
His anger simmered quietly until they began their examination. He hated the clinical tent almost more than he hated the hospital. Not only did they shine lights into his eyes and poke, prod, and squeeze his injured limbs, but the whole process was laced with a scent of decay and quiet moans from behind curtains. The dull throb of his head made everything even more confusing, the attendants words seemed to slur together making them difficult to understand. Someone must not have been doing their job because he was soon escorted back to his empty tent after receiving an "adequate" bill of health and instructions to rest. Roy wasn't in and the heater was off making the warmer solitude of his bed inviting. The drying muck of his uniform crackled as he changed and goosebumps shivered across his skin. Everything hurt and sleep was almost instantaneous.
Edward woke to a cold sweat and a warm body on his back. Mustangs hand lay on his thigh, legs tangled with his own. He didn't understand why the bastard did this, with his body nearly half metal he probably sucked in more heat than he gave off. Shifting slowly, he moved the older man's hand to the mattress, taking some of the pressure off his aching ribs by rolling over. He wanted to shove the man out of his bed, punch him for what he had said early, like it was his fucking fault he didn't hear him, but he didn't have the energy to summon his anger. The man looked older in his sleep, small wrinkles decorated otherwise immaculate skin, and now dark circles were beginning to pool under his eyes. There was something disconcerting about seeing him this way, uniform unstarched, the dark angle of his jaw shadowed with stubble, let alone curled up next to him in a bed. Rain began to patter against the tent. Even when this fucking war ended, things would never be the same.
The months had changed too much in himself let alone between him and Roy. He'd seen the look in his eyes as he burned hundreds of men to death, calmly sending out circles of flame that wrapped around his comrades calculatingly. It chilled Ed more than the wind. Ed wondered what his own face looked like as he sent men to their graves. He wished he could go back to where their biggest disputes were over short jokes. A smile gripped the split corners of his lips; he didn't remember the last time they had had such an exchange, or that he had lost his temper over any insinuations. A laugh escaped him as a cough, causing the officer across from him to stir. His eyes cracked open, warm and muddled by sleep.
"Fullmetal?" He whispered, voice husky and cracked.
"Sorry, bastard." Edward murmured. "What are you doing in my bed again?" He teased halfheartedly. Roy licked his cracked lips.
"You're ok?" The blonde nodded hesitantly, wincing as the sharp pain in his head. "I'm glad." He felt the older man's hand move to hold his back firmly.
"Like you really care, geezer," his voice hitched. The intimacy of this conversation, their faces so close made him nervous. He imagined this was how parents spoke to each other, alone in their beds with the children asleep.
"You scared me. I saw the explosion, and thought I'd be picking pieces of you off the ground." He words still slurred, like he was speaking in a dream. Edward was willing to bet he wouldn't remember this tomorrow. "But you were alive. I don't know how." The man felt hot. Was his fever returning? Suddenly his bedmate's face filled his vision, dry cracked lips pressed uncomfortably to his own. Roy gripped his back tightly with one hand while the other moved up to gently hold his clenched jaw, attempting to soothe it. It lasted only a second before his body relaxed back into sleep, but unwelcome tears already filled Ed's eyes. Why did this war have to ruin everything?