THREE WISE MONKEYS
Hey! pale-blue11!
I haven't had time to edit this—the internet died this morning and I have about five minutes before Mum realises I stole her phone :/ sorry it's later than I promised, LadyOfBirds!
WARNINGS: Character death, blood, language, and torture in this chapter.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters.
CHAPTER EIGHT • The Third Friday
Colt didn't return for a long time. Days, maybe. Weeks. Ed didn't blame him. The stench of undigested bread and whatever else had been in Ed's stomach still stained the air—if smells could have colours, it would be an off-white, mixed with pale green and beige. Like off-milk, left on the front doorstep in the summer. Splashes of grey and red mingled with it, the metallic colours of dried blood.
But at least it had gotten him another bath, though it hadn't been easier or more comfortable than the first—which was saying quite a lot. It was nice, however, to be almost clean. The bathroom floor couldn't say the same.
He was drifting off to sleep. A heavy feeling was spreading throughout his body, as if someone had filled his veins with lead. In that state, thoughts became clearer, yet more disjointed, and he could pretend he was back home. In Risembool. With the hard wood against his bare back, it was like sleeping on the old jetty. Even his shorts were still damp.
No.
He didn't want to sleep. For many—and sometimes for him—it was an escape, but that didn't guarantee that he would escape to somewhere nice. After careful thought, he determined that the vision of Alphonse and the Gate was merely that—a vision. But the paranoia and bitterness refused to leave so simply.
No matter how much he willed himself to stay awake, he couldn't stop himself drifting in and out. Flashes of Mother, glimpses of Alphonse, all filling his crumbling mind as if they wanted him to lose his grip. They always knew what was best for him, after all, and only his pride was pushing him to stay sane. Colt may have beaten him, but not completely.
Not yet.
But his eyelids were dropping lower and lower, the lashes fluttering as he struggled against sleep. Any second, he would lose his grip, and tumble into the nightmares lurking, grinning, waiting for him. Any second...
Bang!
Ed lurched up so fast his vision swam with black dots and a stab of pain shot through his head. His hand flew to his temple, and, with nothing to support him, he collapsed back onto the table with a noise almost as loud as that which had startled him.
"Did I scare you?" Colt asked innocently. Ed wasn't able to hide the shudder he gave at that thought. "Were you sleeping?"
Ed cleared his throat. It felt as if it were swelling, but he knew he was only thirsty. A bit of water, and he'd be fine. Well, better, at least. "No," he croaked. "Do you... want something?"
Humming thoughtfully, Colt stepped closer to the bed. "I suppose... Are you interested in a new game?"
Feeling a bit daring—or perhaps stupid—Ed said, "Does it involve letting... me go?"
Colt laughed, long and loud. "I thought you'd stopped with that, Pipsqueak! You know why I can't let you leave!"
"Because I'd... tell the colonel... what you did?"
"Exactly." Colt held the knife loosely, and Ed couldn't tear his focus away from it. "But there's not much he could do, is there?"
"You're… a murderer," Ed said laboriously. "They'll put you… in front of the… fi-firing squad."
"May-be." Colt accentuated every syllable by tapping Ed's nose with the knife. Ed frowned, suddenly even more wary. Colt wasn't acting like himself, and the new attitude reminded him of… "But that wouldn't be too nice. I hate pain."
And it clicked.
Colt smirked at him, cocking out a hip and placing a hand on it. His grin grew, menacing, to the extent of human capability and beyond. "So you've figured it out now, Shorty?"
He had. "Envy."
"Very good!" the homunculus applauded with mock admiration as light wiped away his façade. "I wondered how many hints I'd have to drop. You humans never look past what's in front of your face. Kinda makes me wonder how they survived so long."
"We're not… stupid."
"No, we're not." Envy leant forward and traced the knife along Ed's jawline. "That oaf who called me is, though. Or…" he tapped the blade twice before drawing back, "he was."
Ed frowned, his eyes never leaving the knife. "Colt called you? He has a… telephone?"
"Him?" Envy laughed at the mere suggestion. "Him? With a telephone? I doubt anyone in this neighbourhood owns a telephone!"
"What, then?"
"You wouldn't understand, shrimp."
"Bastard."
Envy's smile turned deadly, full of hatred and disgust. "So…" he said quietly, in a voice as smooth and sweet as honey, "would you like another guess, or should I describe the game?"
Though every nerve in his body screamed not to, Ed couldn't ignore the opportunity. "Will you give me food?"
Envy's eyes thinned in annoyance, but he only shrugged. The response may have infuriated Edward at any other time, but he was so tired. "Probably not," he admitted airily. "It still stinks in here. If you throw up again, I'm not cleaning it up. What about water, hmm?"
Ed nodded as strongly as he could. Water would be very good. Anything was sounding great, at that moment. Even milk.
Okay, maybe not milk.
Envy clasped his hands together, the knife glinting like some strange offering to the gods. "That's great news! Now, you have one last guess. Would you like to take it?"
A quick shake of the head. Ed didn't think he could stand saying another word.
"Oh, this is going to be fun!" the homunculus exclaimed, and Ed knew it would be anything but.
XxX
Sometimes being an animated suit of armour was taxing, but other times it was a real advantage. There were no sore eyes from poring over thousands of files, no fatigue from nights of constant reading, and no need for rest or breaks. Just steady, unrelenting research. Unfortunately, only Al could say that. The remainder of Mustang's team were dead on their feet.
The lieutenant had left three hours before to feed Black Hayate, and she hadn't come back. Al wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep or if she wasn't returning until the next morning. He wouldn't blame her for either—it was already late afternoon, and most of them had been there since Tuesday. Al was too preoccupied to work out the hours, but he knew that was a long time. He hoped no one else had any pets.
Havoc's quiet snoring was the only sound, aside from the clock on the main table and the human traffic outside. A thin line of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth, dangerously close to whatever he was working on. The air was warm and smelt of coffee, since empty mugs lay scattered over every available surface.
But the peace of tired study was broken when the large door opened. Bloodshot eyes turned towards the visitor, and Havoc sat up with a disgruntled expression. The young soldier peered in nervously, shifting his weight beneath the many stares fixed upon him.
"There, uh," he started, fingers twitching together as he struggled to keep his gaze off the floor. "There's a girl... She wants to talk to Alphonse Elric."
Al forgot about his research in an instant. "Winry?" he asked, and not even he could know if it was fear or anticipation in his voice. "She's here?"
The soldier shook his head. "No, uh... Mr Elric. She's on the phone."
Together, they left, feeling the heavy stares settled on their backs. Alphonse hadn't spent much time in the part of the building they walked to. Usually, he was just following Ed, and the phone room wasn't high on Ed's list of interests.
The soldier led Alphonse to a phone near the back corner. Its black hand piece was balanced carefully on top of the receiver, and blank pieces of paper littered the ground beneath it, in case someone needed to write a message. It looked so normal, but Al knew that his stomach would have been full of butterflies, if he had a stomach.
Leaving with an encouraging—and slightly relieved—smile, the soldier turned. His shoes clicked on the stone floor until he rounded a corner and disappeared. Then there was nothing else to do. Al had to listen to Winry, and he could guess what type of mood she'd be in.
What if she asked about Edward?
"Alphonse?" her voice came through the line almost as soon as he picked it up, sounding tinny and annoyed. "I swear, if you keep me waiting much longer, I'll-"
"I'm here, Winry." Al hoped she couldn't hear his distraction. What would he tell her about Ed? "Sorry for taking so long. And, uh... why'd you call the military line?"
"How else am I supposed to contact you? I rang the dormitory, but they didn't know where you two were. You left me no choice!"
"Sorry, Winry." Maybe, if he kept apologizing, she'd be more forgiving. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes!" Winry replied venomously, causing Al to physically recoil from the phone. "What the hell are you doing, Alphonse? You left on Saturday—without telling Granny or me anything—and never thought once to call!"
"I did—" Al tried to lie, but she cut him off again.
"It's been six days, Al," she said, quietly. Through the crackling static, it was impossible to know what she was feeling. "Six days. I know I don't usually call but... God, Alphonse. You were really scary on Saturday."
"Scary?"
"You were..." she paused to think, and Al could imagine her anxiously fiddling with a bolt or screw as she did so, "really... distracted? Or maybe... frantic? Oh, I dunno. I've never seen you like that!"
"I'm okay, Winry." Al crossed his fingers, hoping she wouldn't pick up on his avoidance.
No such luck. Either Winry was a mind reader, or she had really good intuition.
"And Ed?" Her tone had softened—she wasn't so mad anymore—but that could all change in an instant. In fact, it probably would.
Alphonse hesitated. He wanted to answer, he really did. But... he didn't want to make Winry upset.
"Al?"
"He, uh... I-I mean..."
"Al?" The first signs of dread were leaking into her voice. "Is Ed okay? Is he?"
He really didn't want to say anything. "We... We don't actually know... right now."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Is he busy?"
"Uh-h, not exactly. We don't know."
"Alphonse." Though she sounded calm, Al could recognize the Winry's fear. It was the same every time he and Ed did something dangerous. "Please tell me. Where's Ed right now? Why can't he come to the phone?"
"Brother's missing." It was out. He'd said it. And everything was immediately worse.
He heard Winry inhale sharply, and prepared for a shout, a yell, a 'how could you let this happen to him?' But she only let it out as a long, shaking breath. "I see," she said softly. "That call on Saturday, was it from Ed's superior?"
Al shook his head, armour causing a racket. "No. I was talking to Brother when... Well, we're not entirely sure what happened." Lying really was easier over the phone. "We're looking for him."
Winry didn't speak. As the silence stretch on, Al wished she would say something. Even an accusation would be better than the quiet. It was as if that moment was lasting forever, and it wasn't really a moment Al wanted to prolong.
"Win-"
"That idiot," she interrupted. Her words sounded thick and dull, as if she had a bad cold. As if she was saying 'the sky is blue', or 'fire burns'. 'Edward's an idiot' fit right in with the other truths.
Al's armour clinked in alarm. "No, Winry, don't cry! Really—we'll find him!"
"I'm not crying." Her protestations sounded weak, but sincere. "I said I wouldn't. I won't until Ed's safe again."
She went quiet, and Alphonse shifted his weight uncomfortably. He wanted to comfort her, but how would that work with her in Risembool and him in Central?
"We have a suspect," he said, hoping it would help in some way. "We'll find him soon, Winry, I promise."
"I know, Al." It was the least certain assurance he had ever heard. "Please find him soon. Granny and I'll be there as soon as possible, so... Please have him there to greet us."
"Y-you don't have to come, Wi-"
"I'm coming," Winry snapped. "The idiot's broken my automail again, I can feel it."
Despite the gloomy atmosphere, Al found himself laughing. Suddenly, getting Ed back seemed more like a certainty than a hope. It was a wonderful transition.
"You're probably right," he agreed. "I'll see you soon, then. We'll get him back for you to fix."
"Alright, Al." Winry gave a quiet, sad chuckle. "I'll hold you to that."
Alphonse hung up the phone feeling more drained than ever. Never had he felt so hollow, so... empty. The irony wasn't lost on him. But instead of a suit of armour, Al would have likened himself to an egg. An egg with the insides removed, and only the fragile outer shell to keep up appearances.
Ed would have laughed if Alphonse told him that.
But where was he?
XxX
Ed ran his fingers across his collarbone. He had new scars there, to match the ones on his right shoulder. The scar tissue was raised and bumpy. Messy. Organised. Contradictory. Envy hadn't said what he carved into Edward's skin, but his touch found a definite 'F' closest to his neck.
And the fact that it was already melting proved that Ed had failed the day's 'activity'. He was ordered not to let it heal, to somehow stop his skin re-knitting itself. That was almost more painful than the actual... application. It had left Ed with gritted teeth, sweat pouring from him and mixing with fresh and old blood. That part was disgusting, but nothing he hadn't experienced before. He'd been through quite a lot in the past few weeks.
And he'd probably go through a lot more before Envy was finished. A lot more.
But Envy had rewarded him for his efforts. A glass of water and a biscuit that was most likely baked around 1880. It had basically grown its own ecosystem, but food was food, no matter how unappealing. And thankfully, Ed managed to keep it down.
It wasn't long before he saw the effects. His ribs no longer stuck out like they wanted to explode from his chest. The sunken pit of his stomach had levelled out. It wasn't back to normal, but at least it was an improvement. Even his arm and leg had regained some of their old muscle.
But Envy had him. That pretty much guaranteed that the remainder of his existence would be… uncomfortable, to say the least.
And how hadn't he noticed? For what… two weeks? For two weeks, Envy had been there, watching him, hurting him, enjoying his pain. It made so much sense.
Ed touched Envy's latest addition. Yes… that was an 'F'. For some reason, Envy took a long time to write something on Ed's collarbone. It hadn't healed properly, thanks to Ed's effort and constant, painful, patient reapplication on Envy's part. But he was Envy. Insane. Ed wasn't really surprised, since he understood. The next letter was... maybe an 'O'. Or an 'A', perhaps.
He gave up on reading it. It didn't really matter. Nothing did anymore. He was stuck under Envy's limited mercy, awaiting the day he died a conclusive death. A final death. One he couldn't wake up from.
His life was so messed up.
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