Roy Mustang was wondering when it had happened, exactly. He'd spent half his life listening to crusty old generals tell long-winded war stories. These were men who had seen everything: no matter what your current crisis was, they had been there, done that, with fewer men, half the ammunition and twice as much chutzpa. While the other young enlisted men had rolled their eyes and walked away, chuckling to themselves, Roy had stayed and listened. What he had observed first and foremost among those garrulous officers was not so much that they felt the need to constantly recount their finest exploits in order to gratify their egos - although it was partly that, of course – but more significantly, it was that their wartime experience had become the barometer against which everything else in their lives was measured. It was as if the war had carved permanent notches deep within them, forever altering their judgment of every subsequent situation. Everything fit neatly into two categories: "not as bad as during the war" or "almost as bad as during the war".

Roy had caught himself thinking exactly that as he sat down on the cold floor next to the barely cognizant form of Agatsuma Soubi: this is almost as bad as it was in Ishbal. He would have chuckled to himself had the situation not been so grim. I can't believe it: I've become one of those old bastards. I never thought it would happen.

Yet he couldn't help but compare his current state of affairs to his experiences during the war: there were too many similarities. Back then, nearly every night was spent in the same way: you were talking somebody down or someone else was talking you down. It was either that, or you were out doing something that would require you to be talked down the following night. Life was suddenly starting to feel disturbingly parallel to that reality. And the thing of it was, back then, as bad as things were, at least he'd never had to face it alone. Goddamnit, Maes, where the hell are you? You were always so much better at this than I was.

Roy sighed and reached out to touch Soubi's leg gently. "Agatsuma-san." No response. "Soubi-san." Nothing. Roy thought for a moment. "Soubi-kun..."

That did it: Soubi jerked violently away from him, clinging to the metal bars under the bed, trying to get as far away as possible. He's not really here at all. It's not me he's seeing. He's in another place and time entirely.

Roy continued. "Soubi-kun, did I frighten you?"

Soubi answered in a small, ragged voice that was nearly unrecognizable: "Hai, Sensei."

Yikes. Not good. "I'm sorry, Soubi-kun, I didn't mean to scare you. Listen to me, okay? I'm not asking you to come out of there. You can stay as long as you like. I'd just like to play a little game with you. Will you play with me?"

Roy was watching Soubi intently for signs of the slightest reaction. He was coiled up like a wounded animal, his long limbs twisted painfully around themselves. Crimson streaks of dark blood marred his soft blue shirt.

"I would like you to tell me five things that you can see. Can you do that for me, Soubi-kun? Tell me what you see."

Soubi was quiet for so long that Roy thought he was going to have to give up and try a different tack, when he heard an answer almost too faint to perceive: "I see… butterflies."

"Butterflies. Good. That's one. What else do you see?"

Roy had a suspicion that Soubi's nose was broken, as his voice was muted more than one might expect from crying or trauma, and that would explain the profusion of blood. He hoped that was all that was broken. What had that crazy bastard done to him?

"Blood… my wrists. They're bleeding."

Uh oh… "Your wrists are bleeding? I'm sorry. May I see them?"

Soubi twisted himself around, but he would not remove his hands from the bed. "I can't. They're shackled."

Shackled? What the hell had happened to this kid? And I thought the little one was bad. No wonder he's no help to his Sacrifice. He's barely keeping the demons at bay himself.

"Soubi-kun, listen to me. I have a key in my hand. I'm going to give it to you. Then you can take the shackles off. Okay?"

Lying down on the floor, Roy reached carefully under the bed, gently touching Soubi's closest hand, then immediately pulled himself back out so as not to frighten him any further. In so doing, Roy was able to see clearly that there were no wounds on his wrists, and for that he breathed a sigh of relief. We've had one too many suicide attempts already in the past 48 hours.

"There, is that better? You've done a good job telling me what you can see. Now can you tell me five things you can feel? What are your hands touching? Can you describe it to me?"

Roy knew that if he could get Soubi to utilize all of his senses in the present time, it was possible that he could bring him back from wherever it was he had gone. He had watched Hughes apply this technique countless times back in Ishbal. And then there were also those times that he had… experienced it first hand. Roy! Goddamn it, Mustang, look at me! Put this in your hand and feel it. Describe it to me. It's your own goddamned State Alchemist watch. Don't tell me you don't fucking know what it is! You're here with me, Roy, standing right in front of me. Snap out of it! Come back to me! Roy shook his head, dispelling memories that would only make him ache.

"Metal. My hands are touching metal."

"Good! Good. What does the metal feel like?"

"It feels… rough."

Roy could see Soubi moving his hands up and down the metal bars. Come back to me, Agatsuma Soubi, you're almost free of it. Pulling himself slightly closer, Roy carried on, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Excellent. What else can you feel?"

"Pain. My face… it hurts."

"Yes, I'm afraid your nose is broken, but it will heal. Can you smell anything?"

"I smell… blood."

"Good. And taste?"

"I taste blood, too."

"Right. What about hearing? Can you hear anything?"

Soubi paused. "I hear… my heart beating. Quickly."

"All right. Anything else?"

It occurred to Roy that there wasn't very much to hear just then, so not knowing what else to do, he began to sing softly.

Fading light
Dims the sight
And a star
Gems the sky,
Gleaming bright
From afar,
Drawing nigh,
Falls the night.

He stopped. The memory of the last time he had heard that song had flashed through his mind: Hughes' funeral. Roy put his forehead to the cold floor and sighed. This isn't going to work, Maes. I'll never be you. I should just stop trying.

"Please… don't stop. Roy."

Roy turned his head. Soubi was lying on his side, his injured face smearing the floor with blood. He'd taken his hands down and was reaching one tentatively out towards him. "I woke up in pain, covered in blood, and Roy Mustang was singing to me. It was exquisite. Please don't stop."

Roy took his hand and squeezed it.

Thanks and praise,
For our days,
Neath the sun,
Neath the stars,
Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.

Author's note: Lyrics are from Taps (traditional).