He's a friend of ours.
Dean's voice continued to swim in and out of clarity in Sam's mind, popping up in the midst of other ponderings that were currently preventing his ability to sleep.
He rolled over on his back, eyes glued to the white ceiling. If he squinted his eyes just enough, it was possible to see the cracks and craters in the tiles, signs that this hotel had been around for many years. Sam wondered if the cracks in his life were just as visible if another person merely looked hard enough.
Dean…..who is Castiel?
Dean's eyes had widened a fraction upon hearing that name, partly out of confusion due to the fact that the Elrics knew nothing of their angel friend-gone-rogue, and partly out of surprise because they hadn't spoken a word of Cas in quite some time. Although Sam was sure that Cas plagued Dean's mind, the same way he plagued Sam's. It still shocked him how things went down, finding out exactly the kind of person Cas could be.
He's a friend of ours.
It had taken a moment for those words to come out, but when they finally did, Dean's shoulders had sagged with the weight of dark knowledge but incapable of expressing any kind of upset over it at the time. Ed and Al didn't question him beyond that, something about Dean's expression must've tipped them off that it was a touchy subject. The Elrics didn't know. The Elrics didn't need to know.
At least…..not now.
"So you will bow down, and profess your love onto me, your Lord...or I shall destroy you."
There was a cruel irony to their situation now that he thought about it. Cas had expected their loyalty to be given without question or half-heartedness, claiming to be the new "God" as it were. And now they found themselves in another place and time, with a different crowd, and the concept of a God-complex was still in full swing.
One screwed-up situation traded for another. Only in this world it had to do with the military and the Philospher's Stone.
"Therefore, it is only fitting…upon your attempt to take my life from me….that I relieve you of something you value….something your mundane ideology has deemed…..precious."
Equivalent Exchange had its own unique weight and value in their world, unlike this one to an extent. However in some ways, these situations were not so different. Or maybe…
"I require your soul Sam…right now."
The suspicion of military involvement in something dark and mysterious that could harm countless others. Their connections with these monsters called Homonucli. The Fifth Laboratory. The ingredients needed to make a Philosopher's Stone. Al had explained to Sam about the required ingredients, it had been one of the reasons the Elrics had come close to abandoning their efforts to search for the Stone. Sam hadn't really paid much attention to the details, trading in souls for power or deals was something that he was very familiar with, in his line of work it happened all the time.
But with the new development of the possible connections between alchemy and the Enochian language, did that mean….?
"I require your soul Sam…right now."
Were the angels involved in this? They had the ability to create things out of nothing, to bypass Equivalent Exchange and build alternate worlds if only for a little while. Gabriel had certainly done that, Zachariah had done the same a few years ago. Djinns and Tricksters were capable of creating fake worlds, whether in your mind only or out in the real world, either way it could be done. But unlike those two, angels didn't rely on human blood or sweets to get their kicks. No, they relied on something else entirely. Aside from their own given celestial power, there was only one other ingredient required for an angel to become more powerful than they should be.
Human souls.
But if the angels weren't involved in this, than what could it be? Perhaps there was some known knowledge in this world regarding Enochian, someone could've discovered its use. If someone had discovered that angels can use soul-power, and that souls were pure and powerful, they just might be playing copy-cat in using them for power in alchemy. After all it was the soul-power in the Stone that gave it the ability to amplify a person's alchemical abilities, and it was soul-power that had given Cas the ability to help them time-travel, not to mention his supersonic "god-like" abilities now.
Was Cas a part of this then? He'd explained that his efforts to attempt thwarting Rafael had begun right after Sam had taken the fatal leap into Lucifer's cage. How long had the suspicious incidents been going on in Amestris?
Cas had needed all the souls in Purgatory in order to gain enough power to destroy Rafael, but he'd gone off the deep-end as a result, drunk with power but in the worst possible way. If angel's could travel between worlds, what's to stop him from devouring this one? And if plenty of souls were captured inside a single Stone, it wouldn't be that difficult.
Sam rubbed his fingers over his eyes, sighing quietly to himself. He had a feeling that Dean wasn't asleep, but he didn't have the heart to ask him anything about what he was thinking. At some point they would have to, this whole thing was spinning and twisting into something darker and more dangerous than they'd previously imagined. The way things were unfolding, and the secrets each twist and turned revealed, felt like the slowly increasing pressure of a hand against the pillow placed on a person's face. More and more pressure added and you felt the painful yet soothing sensation of suffocation creeping from your lungs all the way up until it put a fogginess on your brain. It was only a matter of time before you ran out of air, and after that…then what?
It was awfully quiet tonight, another sign that Dean wasn't asleep, there wasn't the slightest hint of light snoring in the bed near Sam's. This didn't surprise him, the events of the previous evening were keeping him up as well, and it was damn late. What did surprise him was the sound of rushing footsteps from out in the hallway, followed a second later by a series of insistent knocks on the door to their room.
The two of them quickly shot up, Dean rubbing a hand across his face muttering something about "bad fucking timing" before walking sluggishly over to open the door. Standing in front of him was the same soldier as before, the one that had brought them the request from Ed to speak with them at the hotel. This time he was accompanied by the hotel manager, slowly lowering a closed fist, enough evidence to show whose knocking was responsible for Dean's current bitterness.
"What is it?' He asked none-too gently, and within good reason, one glance at his watch told Sam it was well past midnight.
"There's been an incident at the Central Library."
That got Sam to his feet and approaching the door while Dean's back went rigid and he snapped to attention. "What happened?" he demanded, bracing himself for the worst.
The hotel manager answered this time, uneasy with Dean's attitude, the fingers of his left hand twisting the fabric of his right sleeve. "Your friend, the elder chap, he was attacked tonight in the library."
"Attacked? By who?" Sam looked at them in bemusement, his heart sinking with each passing second they spent chatting about this. What had happened to Bobby?
"We're not sure who is responsible," the soldier replied stoically. "The suspect was unarmed and broke into the library after closing time. Your companion was still in use of his room at that time, an investigation is still underway."
"It took quite some time to locate the two of you," the manager replied, dropping his arms to hang stiffly at his sides. "The hospital attempted to reach you at the home number listed on your records but no one appeared to be home."
Of course, the ridiculous pink house. Sam supposed they could've stayed there instead of spending money on some hotel, but instead they'd made the choice to stick close to the Elric brothers, and truth-be-told the house made Sam a bit nauseous. For a moment he considered burning it, but they still had the state of its rigging to consider.
"Thanks we'll head over to the hospital right now," Dean quickly shut the door in their faces, not bothering with chivalry. Bobby was hurt or worse, and it must be bad otherwise he would've called them himself or had someone to call the hotel for him right?
Sam's heart sank even further. They couldn't lose him, not now. Bobby was like a life-line in this chaotic world, he kept them grounded and focused. If Sid was the rock in Izumi's life, Bobby was rock in theirs as cheesy as it sounded. There was no hesitation, having already been sleeping in their jeans it was unnecessary to change, they simply slipped into their shoes, grabbed Sam's duffel, their jackets and keys before heading out the door. The soldier was still waiting on them, but the manager had scurried off somewhere, probably downstairs to attend to other matters.
Good thing too. As upset as Dean was at the moment, and Sam had no doubt about it, the man's fidgety nature would only grate on the older hunter's nerves.
The soldier guided them downstairs, directing them towards a black early twentieth-century car, property of the military from the looks of the uniformed driver. The boys climbed into the backseat while their escort claimed the passenger seat, nodding at the driver to head out. Sam's head was spinning with possibilities, imagery-based scenarios of what could've happened to Bobby, each as bloody and cruel as the last. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on the fact that the soldier had yet to mention that Bobby was in critical condition, just that he'd been attacked, so there was the possibility that he was perfectly fine.
But that didn't erase Sam's fears nonetheless.
**NS**
"Well?" Lust slithered from the wall, her pale face illuminated with a ghostly glow. She inclined her head to focus on Envy, perched on an empty cage, his giddy and youthful face in his hands.
"It went splendidly," Envy said with no small trace of smugness, "better than I'd imagined actually." He splayed his hands, sitting up straight with a wide grin.
"The plan was to shake them up," Lust folded her arms, the action boosting her cleavage, emphasizing the Ouroboros tattoo on her chest.
"It was just a bit of fun," Envy replied, a slight whine to his tone. He couldn't believe Lust's intent to ruin his good mood. "and you did agree it was a necessary move."
"That may be true, but given what I've heard about those boys…..we don't need vengeance on their minds." Lust turned her gaze to the empty cage that had housed the soulless form of Barry the Chopper for quite some time, her expression blank.
"There's nothing to worry about," Envy stood up and stretched, his tone nonchalant with a touch of exasperation.
"I suppose I may be over-thinking this," she remained focused on the cage, but didn't appear to be truly looking at it. "Still, we shouldn't underestimate those two. They are hunters after all." Lust swiveled her head to give Envy a knowing look, "And you know what it is they hunt don't you? I can assure it's not deer."
"You mean us?" Now Envy was serious, returning her teasing gaze with a look of bemusement. "I've heard the stories. I've just never believed them to be true."
"No us specifically," Lust looked pointedly at one of the snarling chimeras, "but nothing human that's for sure."
"Monsters?" Envy cocked a slim eyebrow, the tendrils of his hair swaying like the leaves of a palm tree as he chuckled. "We're not monsters. We are masterpieces. The true monsters are humans. Wouldn't you agree?"
"They may be ignorant of many things," Lust's sultry voice carried across the room with a subtle firmness. "However they are not quite as feral as one of these," she kicked the cage, startling the chimera into growling and clawing at the bars.
"And yet they never learn from their mistakes," Envy braced a left hand to his hip, gesticulating with his right. "Even the most feral of beasts would be able to learn from its errors in order to survive. Humans continue to wage wars and slaughter one another for centuries without ceasing."
"Yet with all that fighting, they never truly know what they're fighting for," Lust seemed to finish his train of thought.
"And you wonder why I have no faith in the little rats," Envy continued to grin but there was a disgusted look in his eyes. "They're as good as dead the moment they're born."
"Still," Lust's voice now lowered in cadence, almost thoughtful, "it would be best to avoid allowing your little game to progress more than is necessary." She turned to face him with a smug grin of her own, "After all Father wouldn't be pleased if your playtime jeopardized his plans."
**NS**
Bobby had always been a stronghold for the boys, a sanctuary of sorts, a pillar to hold them up, whatever you may call it. He was a source of strength and comfort, a cargo-hold filled with this, that and the other, whatever you needed for moral support. They'd seen him knocked down, beaten, bloodied, even killed, to a point where they should've grown immune to it. Maybe not to a point where they were not hurt at the sight of it, but at the very least to a point where they didn't react as emotionally. Sometimes the two of them needed to be the stronghold for a change, to be Bobby's strength and comfort, the kind that only hunters would understand.
However watching him lying there, oblivious of the world around him as he remained unconscious for yet another hour, he appeared to be rather small. Surrounded by large pillows, blankets, and an IV, he seemed as fragile as ever.
A coma. That was the diagnosis after hours of continuous testing and observation. Severe trauma to the head. It was midday, the boys had been sticking around, shuffling from location to location in restless laps, waiting. Waiting. For something. Anything. Any sign of his awakening, any clue from the doctors as to how long it could be before he awoke. If he ever awoke that is.
But he remained in slumber. The only signs of life were his steady breathing, and the twitching motions he made when the doctor checked his reflexes.
There was still an investigation as to the proceedings that led up to Bobby's hospitalization, particularly the strange being that broke into the Central Library after hours. Whoever this stranger was, he supposedly didn't appear nor act like a typical convict or evildoer. From what little bits of trivia Sam had managed to eavesdrop on here in the hospital, the suspect had been racing around the building on all fours, kind of like a dog. He'd startled some employees, knocked things around to make a mess, and yet he never once attacked anyone. That is until he came into the room Bobby was still cleaning up. There were no clues as to the whereabouts of this strange man, just that he and Bobby had quite the struggle, but in the end he'd been no match for the dog-like pursuer. In the end he'd been left unconscious on the floor, a heavy blow to the head, while the suspect had bolted. The room itself had been left in greater disarray than before, papers and books scattered all around, some of their notes torn and crumbled.
Since Dean was off on another coffee run, either the fifth or sixth (they'd lost track at this point), Sam was left alone with his thoughts.
Only Bobby had been hurt during the assault, which lead them to believe he was the only target for the stranger. The idea of someone intentionally planning to kill Bobby, or at the very least hurt him, made Sam clench his fist. About a million different possibilities had raced through his mind from the moment he'd heard of the attack, but none came quite as close to explaining things as what Sam believed was the more obvious explanation: Someone, somewhere, had heard they were working with the Elrics in cracking the case about the military and the Homunculi, and were obviously trying to shut them up.
Hughes had attempted to help the Elric's, and eventually ended up dead from a gunshot wound at pointblank range. Every person so far, from Sam's understanding, that had either helped or befriended either Ed or Al was now dead or close enough. They were all in danger now, even the trio, and Sam wasn't sure if it would be worth the effort to pull out. If Bobby was now a target, that meant that Dean and himself were targets as well, they were officially marked. Obviously this whole scheme ran deeper and on a more shady level than they'd originally anticipated, so much that whoever was the mastermind would be quick to slay them all should they pose a problem to this mysterious plan. But what was it? What was so epically diabolical that these faceless maniacs would risk more lives to create a cover-up or simply to throw people off their trail?
Even more important, did either of the Winchesters have the guts or bravado to muscle their way through whatever muddy trails lay ahead?
If they pulled back now, one of the three possibilities should occur: Either they were left alone by these faceless pursuers, and no longer held grounds for investigating the case further, or they dropped the case and the evildoers continued the assaults. The more sensible of the three was the option to keep looking, but surely death was a possible outcome of that. But death was a possible outcome no matter which option they chose. If either Sam or Dean planned on uncovering the reasons behind Bobby's hospitalization, they would need to dive further into a world that held just as many (if not more) menacing secrets than their own.
The door to their room opened to reveal Dean's tired face as he gripped a steaming cup of coffee in each hand and a small paper bag clenched in his teeth. For most people, to carry bags in their teeth in such a manner, it just didn't work, but for Dean it was almost…fitting. Strangely enough.
Sam accepted his cup, offering to take the bag from Dean's "grip" as he did so. "I think it's about time we got to the bottom of this don't you?"
Dean half-reclined at the end of the bed, shifting his weight to get comfortable. He took a sip of his coffee, winced briefly at the hot temperature, and gazed at Bobby's still form. "Definitely," he answered finally, the exhaustion in his voice did nothing to smother his contempt for the situation at hand. When you messed with one of them, you messed with all of them.
Sam sipped his coffee as well, wincing at the sting of the heat on his tongue, but a fix was a fix. "Except this time….I'm joining in on the rough-housing," he replied with a small trace of venom in his tone.
Despite his tiredness, Dean managed a wide grin, "I love it when we're on the same mental wavelength."
**NS**
The sun was beginning to set, and Alphonse Elric was just emerging from the hotel, his stride quick and determined. Sam and Dean jogged to catch up with him, silently grateful that he stopped and waited for them to catch their breath. Panting, Sam braced himself against the wall of the hotel, looking directly at Al.
"Where's Ed? We need to talk to the both of you. It's urgent."
Al shook his head, "Major Armstrong came by this morning and took him away. Apparently Ed has some business in Risembool, something about his automail. Though to tell you the truth, I think it's something else, I just don't know what. Things have been very strange lately." He was speaking rather rapidly, more direct than usual, letting Sam know that Al was currently dealing with an urgent matter of his own. Maybe it was the same as their own problem.
"Bobby was attacked last night at the library," Dean offered, keeping the conversation going in their planned direction. "We think the same people that went after him were also involved in Hughes' death."
Al sucked in a phantom breath, "You mean…"
"We were hoping you wouldn't mind teaming up on this," Sam proposed, straightening to stand in front of Al. He extended his hand in offering, "We need to put a stop to all this before someone else gets hurt."
Al hesitated for a moment, gazing first from Sam, to his hand, and back again. But he quickly clasped Sam's hand inside his gloved one and shook it firmly. "Deal"
That "deal" began the moment it was made, for Al had just been leaving to catch up with Colonel Mustang in order to offer his assistance in the investigation of Hughes' murder. He quickly filled them in on what he'd been told recently by his friend from Xing. Ling was his name, and he was…..well…..different was the only word Al could give them at the moment. They had to jog to keep up with him, given the fact that Al never tired it made racing behind him rather difficult, but they managed to stay within a few feet of him. At certain points Al would even slow up in order to allow them a chance to catch up to him.
"So you're saying the Colonel didn't kill that girl after all?" Sam huffed, his side beginning to ache with all the exercise.
"Yes," Al's voice was as clear and even as ever. "He's also trying to weed out whoever was involved at the Fifth Lab. And he used the help of a convicted murderer to do it."
"Barry the Chopper," Dean panted, "did the Easterner happen to mention anything else?"
"Not really," Al replied, but didn't offer anything else, leaving Sam to wonder what Al was holding back.
They had no clue where the Colonel was, but the man was making it easy to figure out when a sudden explosion took place in the tower of one of the buildings and a ball of something fat and covered in fire came crashing down. Flame Alchemist indeed.
"I'm guessing that's them," Dean replied sarcastically, pressing a hand to his side, huffing with the effort to catch his breath. The tower was still a couple of blocks or more away, but they should be able to catch the Colonel and his posse.
It took less time than they'd planned, turning a corner into an alley (what the hell was it with all the allies lately?) to find a military vehicle driven by none other than Colonel Roy Mustang himself. He slammed the brakes upon seeing Al's approach, frowning in suspicion when he saw that the youngest Elric was not alone. He was clad in the traditional blue uniform of all military personnel, short jet-black hair and his hands bore a pair of white gloves, on the backs of which was the Transmutation circle used for fire. There was the symbol of fire itself located at the tops of each circle, two overlapping triangles, and a series of random designs here and there involving small lines and even smaller triangles. Accompanying him in the front seat was his second-in-command, the ever loyal Riza Hawkeye, whose name seemed fitting given that her gaze swiveled and focused as sharply as a hawk's would in search of prey. Her hair was long and blonde, though not as light as Winry's, and she had it pulled back in a clip. Rather than sporting the military uniform, she was clad in khaki pants and a black short-sleeved shirt with gun holsters wrapped around her waist and shoulders. Seated in the back was a man clothed mostly in black, his face covered in a black mask with a single hole in the front that was large enough for his blue eyes to see out of. Sam would come to know later that this was Jean Havoc, another trusted member of Mustang's team, and part of the armed escort for this little trip.
Having to cram six people into one small car was no picnic, with Al twisting as much as he could to give Dean and Havoc room, and Sam trying as he might to avoid brushing his elbow against Hawkeye's left breast. Although she didn't appear offended or embarrassed by the close proximity, he couldn't believe that it didn't bother her in some small way. It was the most awkward ride he'd ever endured….and he'd once been in the Impala with a demon and an angel riding in the backseat. Mustang didn't ask too many questions, either he wasn't that interested at the moment as to who they were or he already knew. Neither of his companions felt obligated to ask questions either, which only encouraged the notion that the Colonel was familiar with the Winchesters already.
They were riding along the alleyways, the Colonel trying to catch up the aforementioned convict-in-arms Barry the Chopper, racing past building after building in pursuit of…..Sam didn't know what. It took him a minute to realize that it wasn't a human but rather a suit of armor, much like Al, and he was missing an arm. He had on some kind of one-piece dress-robe with fur trim and a belt that wound around his left shoulder and right waist. His face was a skull, his helmet adorned with a white mane. Above his eyes on the right side was a large hole in his helmet, the eyes themselves glowed in the same manner as Al's did. The single arm that he had was swaying back and forth as he ran, a large butcher's blade swinging dangerously along with it.
Mustang matched the armored man's pace in order to give out an order, "Don't let him get away!"
"He ain't goin' nowhere!" Barry replied evenly, his eyes focused on the path ahead as he continued to run. He chuckled maliciously, "My soul won't be able to rest! Not until I eviscerate that meat-bag!"
Sam wasn't sure what the hell he meant by that, frowning as he continued to watch Barry race down the alleyway, Mustang keeping a good pace with him. It wasn't until Al tapped him on the shoulder and pointed outside the car, towards the tops of the buildings, that he realized what "meat-bag" had meant. On the rooftops, racing at the same rapid pace as Barry, was a very disheveled looking man. He was dirty and ragged, his clothes torn, seemingly barefoot, running on all four limbs.
On all fours….?
"So you think we can expect another appearance from that blubber-beast back there?" Hawkeye replied, busy reloading a small hand-gun revolver as she spoke. She'd directed the question at the Colonel, who remained focused on the road ahead.
Blubber-beast?
"I doubt it," he answered without looking at her. "I scorched him off the ledge."
"Yeah, and I shot him in the head," Hawkeye loaded the last two rounds in. "But he didn't really seem to mind."
Something that could be injured fatally but not die….that sounded like….
"He didn't have an Ouroboros tattoo did he?" Sam asked her, his back half against the passenger side door as he turned to face her.
She glanced at him cautiously, though more out of calculation of memory rather than direct suspicion of his asking such a question. "A tattoo? Well…..Actually yeah, on his tongue."
"In that case," Al explained, leaning forward, "you were probably dealing with a Homunculus."
There was a collective gasp around the interior of the car from those that had yet to witness anything related to the homunculi monsters. Both Mustang and Hawkeye glanced at Al sharply, the Colonel's grip loosened on the steering wheel and the car swerved dangerously towards Barry who bellowed, "WATCH IT MUSTANG!"
"Hold on a damn second!" Mustang directed that question to Al, pounding his fist against the steering wheel. "What are you saying Al? That's just not possible!"
"What did the Homunculus do to you?" Dean asked Hawkeye, tapping her shoulder to get her attention.
"He advanced on me, and I unloaded some lead in him," Hawkeye replied, a touch of pride in her voice, then her tone went sour. "But not a single bullet was enough to stop him. He came close to chomping my head off, said he wanted to eat me…That's when I saw the tattoo on his tongue. But how is it possible that the bullets nor the fire could kill him?"
"I don't know how they're capable of cheating death but they are," Al went on to explain. "I know this because I got kidnapped by a homunculus. He called himself Greed. One thing he told me is that nothing's impossible. I know for a fact they have amazing healing powers."
"You said that Greed got the top half of his head knocked off?" Sam pointed out, "but a minute later it just…grew back?"
Al nodded, directing his next words back to Mustang and Hawkeye, "They're real all right, but I understand if you don't believe me."
Hawkeye frowned thoughtfully, "After what I just saw…I have to believe you."
"Hold on," Mustang interjected. "I rendered Fat Boy into a blubbering puddle back there. Are you telling me he's still alive?"
"More than likely you'll need to have a homunculi barbeque in order to gank that mother for good Colonel," Dean pointed out.
"Wonderful!" Mustang replied cynically. "Just a never-ending parade of freaks lately huh?"
"It's not so bad once you get used to it," Dean snarked, twisting in his seat to get comfortable, his back half-against Al's side.
Mustang didn't reply beyond a snort.
Their pursuit of the four-limbed-runner ended up at a large building that was enclosed behind a large fence and iron-gate. They pulled over, away from the entrance, to avoid the watchful eye of any guards out front. The seven of them, now joined by the armored Barry the Chopper, situated themselves accordingly in order to get a peak at the building together. The building itself was similar in shape to that of a large white-brick-church building, minus the typical touch of religious décor. Half the windows were alit in a yellow glow, as was the walkway and front doors. A large window was located on the face of the building, just above the wooden double doors, in front of which stood a team of white lab coats casually chatting.
"My body ran in there," replied Barry, his tone held a small degree of childlike delight. "Seems to think it could hide from me."
His body? Wait…..
"You mean that's your real body you were chasing back there?" Dean whispered as he looked at him strangely.
"Oh yes, yes it is," Barry explained, the childlike delight increasing by another degree. "You see those fools at the Fifth Lab ripped my soul out and placed it in this suit of armor. While some other soul, an animal's from the looks of it, was forced into my real body."
Sam couldn't imagine what it would've been like if someone else's soul had been shoved into his body. Being soulless had been bad enough, to have someone else's inhabit him would be just…awkward.
"The Third Laboratory huh?" Mustang replied quietly as he gazed at the monstrosity of a building. "So this ties them directly to the military."
"Wow, your military is a hell-of-a-log shadier than ours apparently," Dean scoffed as he chuckled.
Mustang ignored him, too focused on the mission. He straightened to face the group, "That's all we need for now. We're pulling back."
Barry on the other hand, had a different approach. "Well you have fun with that!" he replied gleefully as he clanked his way into a jog and made straight for the entrance, ignoring Havoc's calls for him to retreat. Sound of a struggle could be heard from near the wooden doors as Barry barged his way through.
"That psycho's stormed the building," Havoc's voice sounded funny with the mask.
Mustang folded his arms, "Yep. It's our lucky day."
Havoc looked taken aback, "Huh?"
Mustang glanced at the Winchesters, "You two, are you armed?"
Sam and Dean nodded, no need to exchange questioning glances. They were ready for whatever came next.
"Well then let's move in," Mustang ordered, he'd discarded his gloves into one of his many pockets and replaced his choice of weapon with a gun.
He lead the way into the building, looking every bit as leader-ly as any man of higher rank possibly could. Even his gait had a kind of authoritative movement to it. The rest of them followed closely behind, Hawkeye and Havoc with guns at the ready. Sam and Dean made quick work of drawing their own 9mm's, after all if they were to assume to role of members of Mustang's group, it was necessary to look the part. They walked briskly through the hallways, where scientists in lab coats were already wide-eyed with panic. Obviously this was the path Barry had chosen to barge through, blade swinging.
"All personnel must evacuate immediately!" Mustang commanded, his gun trained on the ceiling to emphasize a serious situation was at hand.
Along with the lab-coated employees there was also a few military soldiers at hand as well, and one approached Mustang with a saluted hand and a look of incredulity. "Um….Colonel..?"
"Stay back," Mustang ordered him. "The man who broke in is a deranged murderer. My men will handle his capture." Upon their approach to a descending stairway, Mustang gave one last command to the officer, "Order your guards to seal off the exits!"
"Yes sir!" the soldier quickly scurried away to carry out his orders.
The six of them glanced briefly over the stairway before descending into darkness. They eventually came through a pair of metal doors to find themselves in a hallway that was pitch-black on both ends with pipes running along the ceiling. It looked as though the lower parts of the Lab descended into the sewers, there was indeed a hint of misty air in this part of the building, as though they were close to a water source. Stopping to survey their surroundings, there was only two ways to go, and either way could be the wrong one.
"How the hell are we supposed to find him?" Havoc replied, slightly agitated.
"We're gonna have to split up," Mustang replied, looking pointedly at Lieutenant Hawkeye, who replied instantly with a nod and a "Yes sir".
Mustang and Havoc chose one direction and made for the blackness, while Sam and Dean remained with Al and Hawkeye, who chose the opposite direction. It might've been a better idea for either Dean or Sam to have gone with the other group, at least for the sake of keeping both groups even. Impending danger always seemed to escalate a little quicker for some reason when one of the good-guy teams outnumbered the other. Or maybe that was just in movies and such. But Sam was in no state of mind to be content enough to separate from his brother, and he believed that Dean was thinking the same, considering he made no objection to their arrangement.
They continued on in silence, the only sounds were their thudding footfalls, their breathing, and the clanking of Al's armor. The hallway gradually descended in a downward slope, the air becoming the tiniest bit mistier as they went along. Perhaps one of the many pipes had sprung a leak somewhere. They eventually came to another fork-in-the-road and, just like before, Sam and Dean stuck together. Al and Hawkeye continued straight along the path, while the Winchesters turned right into another darkened hallway.
"Yeah this isn't creepy at all," Dean commented darkly after several moments of silence.
"It's not our first rodeo with a creepy place Dean," Sam felt obliged to remind him.
"I'm not scared Sam, I'm just getting sick of ending up in places that look like the setting of a Tim Burton film," Dean snarked back. He looked sideways at Sam, "You got a flashlight by any chance?"
"Where the hell is yours?" Sam asked, already in the process of removing his own. If anything at least he'd have it ready should he need it. It was dark enough to be eerie, but not so dark that they couldn't see at all.
"Left it in the duffel at the hospital," Dean replied, absent-mindedly patting his jacket pockets as though expecting to miraculously find it there. "We were in such a hurry I didn't think to grab it."
"Bag's too heavy to run with anyway," Sam reminded him. They'd left their duffel under Bobby's bead, hoping that the hospital staff didn't happen across it before they had a chance to retrieve it.
They descended further and further, the downward slope subtle but effective, leading Sam to believe they were truly underground at this point. The lab seemingly was connected directly with the sewers after all, Sam could hear the faint sounds of rushing water…..or maybe that was coming from one of the pipes overhead.
"You hear that?" Dean stopped suddenly, holding out a hand for Sam to do so as well.
"What? The water?" Sam stood still, listening hard.
"No, not that. Listen." Dean cocked his head to one side, not moving a single muscle as he focused on the sound.
Sam heard it then, it was a slightly disturbing sound, a mixture of different things. An evil little cackle here, a gurgling sound there, breathing that sounded like a sick-person that was congested.
"You remember Left 4 Dead 2?" Dean whispered to him.
Sam vaguely remembered the game, one of those zombiepocalypse storylines. "Yeah what about it?"
"That sounds like one of those damn back-humpers," Dean explained.
"Back-what?" Sam whispered, confused.
"A Jockey," Dean hissed at him.
Sam was about to respond with a sarcastic comment when something large and fast flew past them, stirring the wet air around them into a short-lived vortex. Both boys whipped around ending up back-to-back, guns raised, Sam pointing the flashlight in all directions hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark mass again. It flew past them a second time, knocking Dean against the wall and moving so fast Sam didn't have time to catch it in the beam of his torch. It flew by again and this time Sam was the one to be sent flying against a wall, his flashlight doing likewise and skidding across the concrete floor.
He heard another thud, sounding off a body slamming into a wall, as he scrambled to pick up his fallen torch, and then Dean's voice shouting "RUN SAM!"
He would've turned to face his attacker, would've gone to help his brother, would've avoided pulling such a pussi-fied move as running away like this. But the urgency in Dean's voice, and the swiftness of the monster (not to mention all the things he'd learned recently about the creatures of this world), gave him enough encouragement to get to his feet. He was going to feel like a wuss about this later, but at the moment he was more concerned with not dying at the hands of a faceless creature.
So he ran.
**NS**
Colonel Roy Mustang was many things, all of them debatable, though all of them in some ways very true. He'd heard many accusations against his person for years, ranging from his affinity for being a connoisseur of women to a man whose only goal was to gain the next rank in the military. He supposed he deserved them, all of the rumors and such, for he did nothing to quiet them, and military gossip was as flighty as a beauty salon's. He heard the whispers wherever he went, knew what his fellow soldiers must think of him, a man his age rising to the top so quickly. He had to have some dealings with the upper ranks had he not?
Oh yes, he knew what others saw of him, but the greater mystery was just beneath the surface. Underneath a pale, handsome face, and award-winning smile, was the calculating mind of a genius. Though he was not quite as brilliant as some, he definitely held rhetorical seniority above many others. The Colonel prided himself in his ability to keep a hand in all things at once, to control the situation from his single post as Colonel, rather than subject to a higher-up for help. He had the resources, the perfect staff at the ready for his command, years of training under his belt, and a cleverness that often surprised even his superiors. For a man as young as he was, Mustang had the mind of a leader with years of authority under his belt, and a familiarity with all things that a military officer could possibly witness.
Though that was not to say he never had setbacks. Certainly a time or two he'd been caught in an unlikely situation that put him on the fault, or turned the tables so that he was not as in control as he'd originally planned. He had his brilliant staff to thank for all the times they'd saved his ass.
His staff was his pride, his well-chosen chess pieces on the board game of life. Naturally one would take a glance at his group and automatically assume that the Lieutenant was the glue holding them together, as well as the perfect shot to get the job done. However a closer look and you could see where the talents of the remaining members played a significant role, each playing his own part in Mustang's little game of honey-do-list. Aside from Hawkeye, Roy would have to say that Havoc was also an excellent marksman, second in rank of gunmanship next to the famous sniper from the Easter Rebellion.
Hawkeye had two phases for her use of weaponry, depending on which type of gun she preferred to use at the time. For hand-guns, she was brute force, her aim dead-on-balls accurate every time, firing one after another without hesitation. She never missed. When using a sniper-rifle, she was a shadow, a slippery figure that one would hate to cross without decent cover. Her time in the Ishvalan war had matured her capabilities to a point where she could hit any target no matter the location or her position. This bit of trivia, as well as the team's personal experience with both gun-phases, earned the Lieutenant the codename of "Hawk's Eye". Not to say that Havoc was not as qualified, he was amazingly gifted with weaponry as well, though he preferred the shotgun over a rifle. But there was something about Hawkeye's finesse with her guns that made it difficult for any other soldier to compare.
Mustang hated to split from the Lieutenant, she was his bodyguard after all, in some ways even his moral fortitude. He'd built a level of trust with her that he couldn't quite find with anyone else, more than likely it was due to the fact that she'd first put her trust in him with her father's secrets. He demanded the best from her, and that's what she gave him every time, nothing less than one-hundred-percent perfection in getting the job done right. On the other hand Hawkeye was in some ways an independent spirit, she could handle herself accordingly with or without his presence, not to mention she was the best choice to go with Al and his two friends.
Sam and Dean. Mustang had briefed both of their files the moment he caught wind of their names which had been associated with the Fuhrer's after the incident in Central and Freezer had gone off the deep-end. However he'd run into a literary-wall of sorts, finding nothing more than insurance papers and information regarding a house. They had no background, no record whatsoever, nothing. It was as if they'd just appeared out of thin air, which was ridiculous to believe.
It made Mustang nervous.
But if Al, and he supposed Fullmetal as well, were both trusting of these two, and this third member of their group who Mustang had recently learned was now hospitalized, he supposed that would have to do for now. They'd certainly been cooperative in the pursuit of Barry's body, not to mention acting as military personnel when the group had entered the Lab, but that wouldn't be quite enough for Roy. He needed more if he was going to trust those two.
"What a dump," Havoc broke the silence, lifting the mask from his face as he surveyed the scenery. His blonde hair slid free of the face-condom and lay tousled on his head.
Along the hallway was a series of large rooms, all of which were trashed, a diversity of lab equipment scattered along every available surface. There were dark stains here and there, some of them on the tools themselves, even in the darkness it was easy to discern it was blood. There were bits of cobweb here and there, but no signs of eight-legged life among them. Some of the rooms had windows that were barred, a sure sign that whatever patients had been brought here had not been allowed the privilege to wander at their leisure.
"It doesn't look like anybody's used this lab in a while," Mustang pointed out, noting the layers of dust and how certain bits of metal were rusted over.
"I guess not," Havoc agreed, looking around the room in dismay. The atmosphere in the room was growing increasingly formidable with each clue they uncovered. Havoc nodded towards the equipment, "What is this stuff?"
Mustang glanced along the tools as well, looking pointedly at the darkened stains. "I have no idea. But whatever they did here, it was painful for someone."
"Well now, I am just shocked."
Both Mustang and Havoc immediately raised their guns, pointing them towards the back of the room where a door leading to yet another room stood ajar. Silhouetted in the dim light was a woman, young and beautiful, her raven hair a mass of wavy curls that draped along her back. She had pale skin and dark lips, dark eyes that were slanted and she stood just over five-feet-tall. She wore a black split-side dress, strapless that reached all the way to her ankles, which were covered in the leather boots she wore that seemingly hid most of her calves. She wore black gloves that reached up past her elbows, both the gloves and the dress had a strange design of red dots and lines that ran along her limbs. Her voice sounded slippery, reminding Mustang of a snake with it's tongue flickering at its enemies, coiled and ready to strike.
She advanced toward them, her stride as graceful as a cat's. She appeared so out of place here and yet it seemed fitting that she would be found in a place like this, her casual demeanor emphasizing the fact that she was used to dark and formidable environments such as this one.
"It's bad enough that you stood me up on our date, and now you point a gun at me? You've got some nerve don't you?"
She directed the question to Havoc, who gaped in surprise the moment she cam further into the light and he could see her clearly. "Solaris? What's going on?"
While Havoc questioned his once-believed-to-be-innocent girlfriend, Mustang got a good look at a familiar red mark on her chest. The mark of a homunculus. "Hey Havoc, your girl's got the tattoo!"
"Yeah, first I've seen it sir," Havoc replied, half ashamed yet half surprised. Apparently Solaris had kept it covered all those times she and Havoc went out together.
Solaris laughed at their puzzled expressions, which were fixed on her chest. "Quit staring," she folded her arms which only emphasized her cleavage, "it's not very polite."
"Well, I can see how she tricked you so easily," Mustang replied half teasingly to Havoc. "You've always been a sucker for big boobs."
Havoc gave a half-sob of defeat, "I can't help it! I love 'em!"
Mustang was in no mood for a sensual discussion, replying in a stern voice, "Did you tell this woman anything?"
Havoc immediately became serious, "No, I never said a single thing about work….sir."
Mustang fixed a glare on Solaris, who returned it whole heartedly. "Tell me," he began, "do you know who Maes Hughes is?"
"Oh, yes," Solaris replied, her tone neutral. "He was quite the intelligent man wouldn't you agree? I only wish I'd had the opportunity to pick his brain."
Mustang fired off a shot at Solaris' knee, causing her to buckle slightly from the blow. "ON YOUR KNEES! I want to know everything!" he commanded.
"Sorry to say," Solaris straightened, revealing the wound that was now flickering with red light as it healed in a manner of seconds, "but it's going to take more than you're capable of to make me get on my -"
Four more shots, three in her chest and another in her forehead, and yet she still remained standing. She laughed at his attempt to overpower her, more ribbons of flickering red light signaling that she was already healing herself of each wound. "How merciless!" she cackled, straightening up, "did you pick that up in Ishval? Huh?" She licked her lips to taste the blood running down her face from the gunshot wound to her head.
Havoc gasped, speaking the very words that Mustang had only just discovered himself mere minutes ago, "You're a homunculus!"
"Indeed, how very astute of you Jean, but I doubt you've seen this one," she flexed the fingers of her right hand, they grew immediately into five blade-like appendages which she used to slit her chest open in order to reveal the crimson stone inside of her. She used the fingers of her free hand to hold the gaping wound open while ribbons of light danced around the hole in an attempt to heal it. "Take a good look boys. It's a Philosopher's Stone. I was created with this stone at my core. It's not just a legend, it's my heart."
Mustang raised his gun further, "You're a monster!"
"Well that was uncalled for," she schooled her features to appear insulted. "I do have feelings. Apart from a few things I was made nearly identical to you. I am human."
"I've got a funny feeling the only reason you're telling us this is because you don't plan on letting us live," Mustang replied quietly.
"Yep," Solaris grinned. "it's such a shame!" She used her blade-like fingers to slice in their direction, drawing blood from the two of them in several cuts, as well as slicing Roy's gun to pieces. Mustang dropped what was left of his weapon to quickly pull on his gloves.
"Too slow!" She sliced through the air again, but this time she was aiming at one of the large pipes overhead, which split neatly in two as it released a rain of water onto both of them. The pipes then fell to the ground with a heavy clank. Water was Mustang's worst enemy at times, it was the main reason behind previous setbacks. He hated to admit that water made him useless, because it rendered his gloves useless.
"Oh no! Did I get your ignition glove all wet?" Solaris purred in satisfaction. "Silly me!"
It would be foolish to try and take her down with hand-to-hand combat, so both men had no choice but to run, at least run from this room. It took only a matter of seconds, but she was too fast, gaining on them the whole time, slicing at their heels as they went. Both men slid through the open door and rolled off to either side, bracing their backs against the wall.
"What are we gonna do?" Havoc demanded urgently. "She'll shred us with her freaky fingers!"
Mustang gave a sly grin, "No she made a big mistake. She flooded the room with water. A quick transmutation and we have hydrogen gas." He placed a gloved hand to the wet floor just as Havoc was flicking open his lighter and lighting it. He tossed the flame into the air, Roy letting it sail over her head before activating his alchemy fully. The room was alit in a blue light just before the reaction hit the flame and the whole room burst in an explosion of hot air and fire. The flames quickly died down, leaving the air hung in a steamy mass of burned flesh and thin layer of humidity. The two men cautiously reentered the room. Solaris was nowhere to be found, except all over the walls and floor. The explosion had blown her to bits, scattering her remains in all directions.
"Ugh," Havoc had gone searching through the wreckage to rescue his lighter, which was now soaked with water and showing tell-tale signs of having been torched. "Crap. This was a gift from one of my ex-girlfriends!" He tried in vain to get another flame going, the cigarette he'd just placed in his mouth twitching as he grit his teeth in frustration, but the flint wouldn't light. He turned to face Mustang, who was still surveying his handiwork, "Hey Colonel! You mind giving me a light here?" Roy gave him a dirty look, to which Havoc grinned and replied with, "Oh right, you're all wet."
Mustang stiffened, "Yeah? Well those things will kill you, you know that!" He glanced around once again, his gazed focused even more on the fresh red stains along the walls, they stood out almost viciously compared to the darker ones. "She's dust. I definitely cremated her."
"How do you know for sure sir?"
"The stench," Mustang explained, pressing his fingers to his nose again. "I'm pretty familiar with that stink by now."
"You mean from that time you spent in Ishval?" Havoc was not hesitant to ask, but Roy wasn't answering it.
"For all we know she can still regenerate," he pointed out. "So stay alert."
Havoc, realizing that his superior was of no mood to offer further comment, simply replied with a stoic "Yes sir", just as two spear-like black appendages shot through his lower back. The aim was almost perfect, narrowly missing his spinal cord. Solaris tore her fingers free, ripping out a stream of Havoc's blood, the force of the movement jerking him face-first to the floor. Solaris was a blur of tissue and bone, with ribbons of red light flickering all around her, becoming whole once again as she arose from her remains along the floor.
"HAVOC!" Mustang cried out, not even caring how vulnerable he sounded just now. One of his best men, his most loyal, lay in a pool of his own blood. He wasn't moving. Mustang fell to one knee, placing a ginger hand on his subordinate's shoulder, "Havoc, hang in there!"
"Don't kid yourself," Solaris chuckled casually, red light dancing around her as she continued to regenerate herself. There were cracks all along the surface of her skin as it healed itself. She flexed a handful of spear-like fingers. "He's a dead man."
"No he's not!" Mustang grabbed Havoc's shotgun and put a single shot into her head, knocking her flat on her back.
"Give up!" She taunted him, half-risen on her elbows, red lights signaling her immortal body's effort to make itself whole again. "There's nothing you can do that'll kill me!" She fixed him with a mocking pair of purple eyes and a sly grin that quickly faded as he placed a boot against her right arm, holding her down.
"Then you won't mind, if I borrow this!" He slammed his right hand into the gaping hole in her chest. The crimson stone glowed in the brilliant light, suspended by an intricate web of veins and tissues. It was soft and smooth, even in Roy's gloved hands, and he used nothing short of brute force to rip it out of her chest. She cried out in pain, but he ignored her displeasure, focused as he was on saving his friend. The second the stone was free, her body began to turn to dust, breaking down in a cloud of smoke.
Mustang turned away from the scene, slightly comforted that she was falling to pieces. "I need it to save Havoc," he explained, though his audience wasn't really listening, he was more or less talking to himself at this point. "I don't know that much about medicinal alchemy," he reached Havoc's side, laying a hand on the unconscious man's shoulder, "but this should amplify my abilities."
The red stone seemed to pulse in his hand, surrounded by its own tiny atmosphere of flickering red light, miniature lightning strikes in a cloudless storm. But before he had a chance to challenge what level of power was captured within it, his clenched hand became constricted by a gurgling mass of muscle tissue and bone as Solaris' almost-fully-regenerated hand closed around his fingers and tugged. Mustang turned in surprise to see her half-healed face, with a single glowing red eye, the bone and muscle tissue all showing in the midst of her healing.
"It seems like you should buy a girl dinner first, before you stick your hand in her chest" she replied, her voice slightly hoarse as it too was regenerating itself. Mustang cried out, jerking backward in an attempt to break free of her bony grip, but she held fast to him while her free hand pierced his side with two spear-like fingers ripping straight through.
"I told you," she explained triumphantly as her voice returned to normal, scissoring her fingers, drawing more blood. "The Philosopher's Stone is my core." She tore her fingers free, still maintaining a grip on his hand as he fell to his side. "I really hate to do this," now fully regenerated once again, she began sliding his glove off finger-by-finger, "you were a prime candidate for sacrifice and all. But you've forced me to kill you." She pulled the glove free, jerking his arm to the side, forcing him on his back.
"Damn you" he croaked through gritted teeth, the pain was almost too much to bear. He could feel the beginnings of coldness sweeping throughout his body as the blood drained from his side.
She used her appendages to shred the glove, allowing it to litter the floor in tiny white strips. "Save your breath. I want you to watch poor Jean bleed to death, then you can die." She turned and walked casually from the room, her heels clicking along the floor as she went.
Roy wasn't sure how much longer he had, his strength was waning as his blood drained. He was certain it would only be a matter of minutes before he died, but it was Havoc he was the most concerned for. He hadn't moved, not once, since she struck him down, and Mustang's worry only increased with every passing second that Havoc remained practically lifeless. There was a faint sound of his breathing, but it was so shallow, and he'd lost so much blood, Roy wasn't sure how much longer he'd have.
"Jean," he croaked, unable to reach for his subordinate, too weak to lift so much as a hand. "Hey, answer me," when he still didn't receive a response Roy became a bit flustered. "Havoc! You can't die! Not yet, not before I do!"
Mustang forced his neck muscles to turn, allowing him to glance at Havoc, still motionless, face-down in a pool of his own blood. Roy glanced around, willing his body to move in order to accommodate his efforts to get moving, to do something. Anything. It couldn't end like this, with the two of them defeated this way, awaiting death while lying in their own blood. He twisted, grunting with the effort, a sharp pain searing along his wound and all down his side. Ignoring it, he braced himself on his elbow, dragging the rest of his body forward in order to reach for Havoc. As he did so, his eyes happened across a small dark shape lying just a foot away from Havoc's gloved hand. It was no bigger than a box of matches, and had been clearly ruined by some sort of flamery.
The lighter.
**NS**
"You are either very brave…..or very foolish to wander this way."
There had been several instances in Sam's life where he had felt truly helpless.
"You humans never cease to amaze me, predictable as you are…"
There'd been the incident where Dean had gone to Hell.
"…..but you hunters on the other hand…you are truly something else."
That time when he'd killed Lilith only to realize he'd set Lucifer free.
"Can I now? Can I?"
Even his trip to Hell had been nerve-racking to the maximum.
"Yes, yes you may…"
But this….this was something else.
"But try not to make a mess"
It wasn't that he felt helpless in the typical way where he felt outnumbered…it was more or less outclassed in terms of species. Supernatural species.
Try not to what?
"He came close to chomping my head off, said he wanted to eat me…"
Hawkeye's voice rang clear in his mind just as the monster struck.
A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat.
A massive, rolling tongue that dripped saliva.
An Ouroboros tattoo.