Another multi-chapter series has begun! I have ideas for this story, but it isn't fully fleshed out yet, which is unusual for me, but I'm rolling with it! I hope you enjoy it!

Any canon divergences please just kindly ignore :) This is set after Hughes' death but there isn't an exact time where this fits into the canon. This is set in the Brotherhood universe!

! EMETOPHOBIA WARNING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. !

Chapter 1:

The night air of Central was crisp. The bustle of the evening commute had died out and now only a few stragglers remained. Amongst those stragglers was a very interesting sight to see to the common man. A short boy with hair in a long, blonde braid sporting a gaudy red coat and a looming seven foot suit of armor. His steps clanked against the hard cobblestone of the sidewalk. The shorter one of the two odd looking individuals was grumbling loudly,

"Ugh! I can't believe that bastard kept us so late!"

"Brother, you were the one who didn't get the report in on time…" Alphonse, the looming set of armor said in a small, sweet voice. Edward, the short, state alchemist, stuffed his hands in his pockets and muttered a line of curses under his breath.

"Whatever. We can still make it to the library before they close," He finally said aloud. The two brothers continued down the dark streets, the only light was coming from the flickering lamps. They made small conversation, discussing their next plans and the alchemic theories they were currently researching. Their conversation was abruptly cut short as a large man bumped into Edwards' flesh shoulder roughly. Ed's body flung back slightly and he barely managed to stumble back to stability. He quickly whipped around, fuming.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, you drunken brute!" Ed yelled, waving his fist at the man whose back was now facing them. The man stopped in his tracks, he began to turn slowly. He glared at the two brothers, his eyes were dark. A smile crept on his face. A shadow casted across half of his large figure, the street lamp illuminating the other half.

"What the hell is your problem?!" Ed sneered.

"I'm sorry! He didn't mean to bump into you," Al apologized. The figure was unmoving, continuing to smile. Ed and Al stared dumbly at him. "Um… Sir?" Alphonse offered again, reaching out slightly towards the man. The man pulled his hand out of his pocket, a glint of a small handgun shone. Before Ed or Al could react, the man poised the gun upwards and fired. There was a brief moment of pure shock and pain erupted in Ed's shoulder. He felt warm blood trickle down his flesh arm. He grabbed his shoulder and wobbled on his feet, trying to keep himself upright.

"Brother!" Alphonse screamed, rushing forward to disarm the man. Another person approached from the shadows. Alphonse began fighting the two men hand-to-hand, keeping a soulfire eye on his swaying brother.

"Damn it!" Ed forced himself to ignore the pain and poised to clap. There was a quiet thump behind him. Ed's instincts flared and he spun around to see another large figure. The figure was holding a wooden baseball bat. It was held up in two massive hands, ready to strike. Ed tried to clap his hands together, but couldn't manage it in time. The bat collided with the back of his head. Ed's vision bursted into stars as he crumpled to the ground. His ears began to ring and his head swam. Bile rose in his throat. He had landed roughly on his injured shoulder, causing a cry to escape his lips. His vision was beginning to ebb out, black forming around the edges.

"Brother!" He heard Al call distantly. He tried to push himself upwards again, but his body wouldn't cooperate anymore. Ed saw shapes in the short distance. Three dark blobs pounced on one big silver blob. He heard struggling. The silver blob was being overpowered by the three dark ones. Alphonse was calling for him, but he couldn't respond.

"A-Al…" Ed reached weakly towards him, before he slumped into darkness.

…

"Hello? Little boy? Are you okay?" A feminine voice echoed into Ed's ears as consciousness gripped back onto him.

"M' not little," he protested weakly. His head swirled dangerously, it was like the entire world was tilted. He weakly rolled from his side to his back. The hard stone of the ground was now rubbing uncomfortably into his spine. Despite his desires, he blinked his eyes open. The face of a middle-aged woman came into view. She was wearing a thick layer of makeup. Her long, auburn hair fell past her shoulders and had bright green eyes that were knitted in concern. Ed tried to sit up, pushing on his automail hand. The woman put a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to push him back down.

"You're hurt! Don't try to get up," she urged. Ed weakly shrugged her off, pulling himself into a sitting position. There was a large puddle of crimson formed around him. A pang of pain radiated from the back of his skull and a sharp burning erupted in his shoulder. He swallowed down a mouthful of vomit and tried to piece together what had happened, his brain rattled around, not able to put together the puzzle.

"Al… Where's…" Ed muttered. His eyes shot open wide as he fully pushed himself up to stand. He wobbled and clutched his shoulder. The woman grabbed him by the artificial arm to support him.

"Al! Damn it!" Ed recalled. The three men they had taken Al. Where did they take him? Where did they go? How long was he out? Ed spun around, ignoring the pleas of his brain to stop.

"Did you see a big suit of armor around here?!" He asked frantically. The woman's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No. You were laying here all alone when I stumbled across you," she explained. Ed cursed loudly, pushing away from the woman. He wobbled as he walked. He felt like his brain was lagging behind him, telling his body to move later than he had requested it to. The warm feeling trickled down his arm and absorbed uncomfortably into his white glove, staining it a bright red. He ignored the sensations attacking every part of his body as he focused on putting one heavy leg in front of the other.

"Hey where are you going?!" She yelled at him. Ed waved his hand as he continued to stumble down the road. With one large protest of his automail leg, his body gave out and he crumpled to sit on his knees. His face clenched in pain. The entire world was spinning in circles around him. The woman ran frantically up to him and knelt down beside him.

"Let me get you to a hospital!" She insisted. Ed shook his head,

"Phone booth…" He wheezed out through his pained breaths.

"Huh?" She asked, Ed frowned and flopped backwards onto his bottom, his mismatched legs sprawled out in front of him. He dug around in his coat pocket for his notebook. After a few moments he yanked it out and whipped it open. Blinking rapidly, he flipped through the book until he found a blank piece of parchment and grabbed the pen that was wedged between the pages. Shakily, he scratched a number, code, and name into the page. His already terrible handwriting now looked even worse from the heavy automail hand, and traces of blood had plopped onto the note. The simple task seemed to take everything out of the small alchemist as he thrusted the paper to the woman with a sickening twinge on his face.

"Call this number. Tell them where I am." He urged, annoyed he wasn't able to do it himself. However, it was taking everything in his power not to vomit all over the sidewalk. The woman hesitated but nodded,

"Alright, I'll do it. Will you be okay?" She asked gently. Ed nodded curtly, immediately regretting the movement. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain and breathed through the spinning. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone. The woman must have left for the phone booth. He slowly, painstakingly brought his knees up to his chest and leaned his head down. He swallowed more bile as he focused on keeping himself upright. The bloodloss had an ice-like grip onto his consciousness. He ripped off his glove on his automail hand and rested the cool steel on his forehead. He didn't know why, but it brought momentary comfort. He squeezed his eyes shut again and waited, his brain swirling with worry and panic. He felt useless. Al was nowhere to be found. Those two bastards attacked him and took his baby brother. What did they want with him? Why did they take Al but not him?

Why didn't they kill me?

He shuddered at the mere thought. He could have easily been shot in the head, or chest and died right there on the spot.

Being shot sucked.

He cursed at the tingling, burning sensation now rippling outward from the wound. It didn't hurt even half as bad as automail surgery, but it was still uncomfortable. He knew being in the military meant that it was a possibility that he would get shot, but it still shocked him right to his core.

He didn't believe in God, but he silently prayed that help would get there soon. As much as he hated to ask for it, he knew he needed it.

…

Roy Mustang was sitting at his desk begrudgingly. The large stack of paperwork in front of him filled him with dread. He painstakingly glanced at the clock on his wall. It was late, much later than he wanted it to be. Almost everyone else at HQ had gone home for the evening. The only people left were himself, his First Lieutenant Hawkeye, as well as Second Lieutenant Havoc and Breda. They worked in the outer office, sorting through even more paperwork. He rubbed his face in exhaustion and was running on nothing but coffee and a sheer determination to get home before the sun rose. As he sloppily signed his name on another form, the phone rang. He jumped at the sudden noise. Who the hell would be calling him at this hour? His mind was instantly reminded of Hughes, his best friend. He had called late at night. Roy had listened as his blood poured out and he took his last breath. He felt his heart skip a beat. He shook ever so slightly as he raised the receiver.

"You have a phone call from an outside line, do you accept?" The voice of a woman. Roy's heart sank more. The feeling of dread filled his soul. A bead of sweat began to form into a droplet on his forehead.

"I accept," he choked out, managing to barely keep his voice steady. There was a click as the line connected,

"This is Colonel Roy Mustang." He said quickly.

"Um hello?" Roy was slightly taken aback. The voice was that of a woman. One he didn't recognize. She sounded panicked, confused and slightly out of breath, as if she had been running.

"Who is this? This is a private military line," He stated, knowing that there would be no way for this woman to connect to the line without a proper code. Whose code had she used? Mustang's heart was plummeting downwards as his mind raced with 'what ifs'.

"Um… Hello. I was told to call this number by a small boy in a red coat… Do you know who that is?" She asked gently, obviously nervous.

"Fullmetal?" Roy dropped his formalities for a moment, confusion furrowing in his brow. The sweat had begun to pour down his face, Fullmetal gave this woman his code? Why couldn't he call him himself? Where was Alphonse?

"Um he wouldn't let me take him to a hospital… He was unconscious on the sidewalk when I found him and his shoulder was bleeding really badly. He told me to call you…" Her voice trailed off. Roy tightened his grip on the receiver. Unconscious? Blood? Hospital?! What the hell happened?!

"Where are you located?" He gulped, keeping his stoic professionalism. The woman told him where they were. He thanked her and slammed down the receiver. Pushing his hands on the desk he stood and grabbed his coat that was draped over the back of the desk chair. He dug in his pocket, ensuring his signature gloves were still there. The gloves that allowed him to perform alchemy, the gloves that he relied sometimes, much too heavily on. He didn't waste any time striding into the outer office. His three subordinates looked at him with confusion.

"Sir?" Hawkeye questioned, standing. She could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong. Very wrong. Someone who didn't know Mustang may not have been able to see the panic that was etched into his features, but Hawkeye knew exactly what his expressions meant.

"We need to hurry. Fullmetal is in trouble," Mustang stated. That was all he needed to say. The three soldiers abruptly stood and gathered their things. Hawkeye grabbed the set of keys to her small vehicle. They wasted no time heading out, hurrying down the hallway with Mustang at the lead, his jaw clenched firmly.

"What happened to the chief?" Havoc asked, trailing in the back, trying to keep up.

"Not sure. It was a woman who called. Said she found him on the sidewalk. Alphonse didn't seem to be with him." Mustang rattled off, not slowing down for even a moment. This seemed to satisfy Havoc enough to keep him quiet the rest of the walk down to the parking lot. Hawkeye took the wheel, Mustang was seated next to her with Havoc and Breda in the back. The tires screeched as Hawkeye sped off towards the area the woman depicted. Mustang stared out the window, thrumming his fingers against his leg anxiously. He desperately tried to get the images of Hughes out of his head. This wasn't it. Ed was fine. Everything would be fine…

…

The waves of nausea failed to cease. Ed didn't dare move. He didn't know how much time had passed. But he knew he grew more and more impatient by the second. Alphonse was gone, Alphonse was taken and every second he stayed sitting here trying not to vomit or pass out, was a moment his little brother was still missing. The woman had come back at some point. Ed knew she was talking but couldn't focus on her voice. He was trapped in his own mind, his thoughts bouncing around the walls of his brain. The resounding, throbbing pain in the back of his head had shifted from a dull roar to a banshee cry. He was thankful that the wound on his shoulder for the most part had simply turned into a large area of throbbing numbness. His body urged him to fall unconscious, to protect itself from the pain, but he forced himself to stay awake. He had to, for Alphonse. Besides, weren't you supposed to stay awake if you had a concussion? Ed didn't know. He may have known if he was in a better state of mind, but it was taking every ounce of his energy just to keep himself upright.

"Fullmetal." A voice, a familiar voice. A deep, grating voice that he usually found obnoxious. Ed painfully lifted his head that felt like it was filled with lead. He opened his eyes, his vision was blurry. He blinked a few times, letting it clear slightly.

"Colonel." Ed exasperated. He couldn't quite piece together the expression that the bastard was giving him. He almost looked… Worried? Nah. He couldn't be worried. That's just the concussion talking. Maybe the bloodloss. Ed began to try and get his legs under him, only for him to list heavily to the side. He could feel hands on his side, propping him upwards. He opened his eyes again, not realizing he had shut them.

"I gotcha chief…"

The person smelled heavily of cigarette smoke, their hands were firm and were the only thing keeping him from toppling over.

"Fullmetal, report. What happened?" Mustang had knelt down now, face to face with Ed. Ed could tell he was studying him intently.

"Al… Alphonse… Th-they took him…" Ed choked out, trying to struggle uselessly away from Havoc's grasp.

"Who took him?" Mustang prodded. Ed shook his head,

"I don't know. We need to go, we need to find him." Ed's voice began to rise in panic. He felt his heartbeat quicken and his breathing grow slightly more erratic.

"Hey chief, calm down… We'll find him." Havoc ensured, his grip still firm on his arm.

"No, we need to go now. I'm fine… I'm-" Ed was cut off by a forceful gag. He listed his head to the side and retched loudly. Bile, spit and the contents of his stomach splat onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing anyone's person. The force sent his brain spinning once again. His entire body gave out and he slumped to the side, Havoc tightened his grip and pulled Ed towards him, away from the puddle of his own vomit. Blood had begun to seep into Havoc's uniform. He could feel his red coat being peeled away. Then his black jacket as well. He winced as his shoulder was aggravated, the drying blood had stuck the jacket to his body and the pulling sent red hot pain down his entire arm.

"Sorry, chief. I need to get a better look at your shoulder," Havoc said gently.

"M' okay… Al…" Ed wheezed, spit still dribbling from his lips.

"You are most certainly not okay. You need a hospital." Mustang stated, matter-of-factly. Ed groaned,

"N-no… I nee' to ge' to Al…" Ed slurred. How could they not understand that? Alphonse was in trouble. Did they not care? Why weren't they jumping in the car and speeding after him right this second? He shivered from the cold wrapping around his now bare arms.

"Sir. It looks like a gunshot wound. I don't see an exit." Havoc informed, ignoring Ed's pleas.

"You were shot?!" Mustang roared, moving to get a better look at his subordinate's sorry state.

"I'm fine! Al… You hafta fin' Al!" Ed yelled. He squeezed his eyes shut as his brain sent another wave of nausea.

"We will find Al, okay? Leave it to us. He will be angry if you get hurt further because of him. We need to get you some help," Mustang informed.

"N-no… No…" Ed protested weakly, forcing his eyes open, only for them to droop closed halfway.

"Chief, stay awake just for a bit longer, okay?" Havoc stated.

"M' awake, I won' fall asleep' not while Al…" Ed trailed off, trying to sound as convincing as possible. But he wasn't doing a very good job. His eyes slipped shut. He tried to open them again but they were heavy. Incredibly heavy. He felt himself being pulled backwards. "No… No… Al…"

"Shit." Havoc muttered as he began slapping Ed's cheek lightly. Ed let out a small groan, trying to rouse himself back to reality. "Come on, chief. Wake up for me." Havoc began rubbing circles into Ed's chest. An uncomfortable pain began to emanate from his sternum. The sudden addition of pain woke him slightly. He pried his eyes open, only seeing Havoc as a blob. "There ya go." Havoc said softly.

…

Mustang's heart was now in his feet as Ed closed his eyes. Havoc had begun to try and arouse him once again. He couldn't think of anything, but was thinking of everything at the same time. His subordinate was attacked, shot. and his brother was taken. Mustang felt a massive headache starting.

"Sir." Mustang turned to see Hawkeye and Breda standing above. The woman was gone now, he assumed that the two had just finished questioning her. "What do we do now?" She asked, her eyes flitting to Ed's wilted form. A flash of worry struck her irises, but she quickly put the mask back up. Mustang stood and turned to Havoc.

"We need to get him to a hospital. Hawkeye, you drive. Havoc you keep trying to keep him awake," Mustang ordered. Breda and Hawkeye saluted as Havoc slowly got up with his new burden in his arms. Ed was small, but heavy with the addition of two fully steel limbs. Mustang helped get Havoc settled on his feet.

"Stop… No hospital… Al, we need to get to Al… Go find Al. Leave me here…" Ed continued to slur weakly. No one responded, but Havoc's grip on him tightened. If Ed were in his usual state he'd be jumping out of Havoc's arms, embarrassed and angry. However, he couldn't seem to bring himself to care how vulnerable he looked. Mustang opened the back door and Breda helped Havoc gently settle on the smooth leather. Ed let out a groan, his lips moving as if he was forming words but it was so muddled and slurred no one could make it out. Mustang shut the door as Breda rounded to get in on the other side. Once everyone was settled, Hawkeye sped off, the tires screeching as she pulled away.

…

Everything was a blur.

The last thing he had clearly recalled was Havoc holding him. After that, only snippets of information clung onto his concussed brain. He dully recalled being put in a car. Hushed voices. Lights, darkness. Everything else was muddled, like a puddle in the rain. He was awake, but not awake. He was unconscious but painfully conscious. Everything was confusing. Why was everything so damn confusing?

He was being jostled. His brain screamed out at him in anger. He tried to tell whoever was carrying him to stop. To slow down, to let him sleep. But, his lips wouldn't move as he wanted them to. Then there were lights, bright lights that burned his half opened eyes. He was being laid down on something soft. He sunk down into it. There were hands on him but he didn't care. He was so… tired… Their touches were like ghosts, soft and barely registering.

He let himself sink fully into the bed into a blissful unknowing.

…

About an hour had passed since Alphonse was taken away from his brother. His armor rattled with worry. The last image he had of Edward was him laying on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound.

He was pissed at himself. He let his guard down, he let the surprise consume him. They had tackled him, tied his gauntlets behind him and placed a bag over his head. Everything was dark. He tried to wretch himself free, but it seemed the assailants knew what they were doing. He was moved into a car, he knew from the dull hum of the engine and the rumble of the road beneath him. He was yelling at them the entire time, but they refused to answer him. Staying totally silent. Where was his brother? Was he taken too?

"Brother! Brother are you here?" He asked frantically. There was no response. "Damn it, someone answer me!"

"Can't we shut him up?" A deep voice spat.

"How do we shut up something that doesn't have a mouth?!" Another voice replied, their voice a bit lighter and higher pitched.

"Tell me what's going on, where's my brother?!" Al demanded.

"We can't answer that. We were only instructed to take you. Nothing more, nothing less. So shut up and wait." The deep voice said.

"What do you mean you can't answer that?! Where are we going? Who is your boss?" Al rambled. Silence continued. They stopped responding. Al kept quiet at this point. There was no point in continuing to yell to something that wouldn't answer. He instead shifted his focus to thinking of a way to get out of here. To get his brother out of here, if he was even with him. He sincerely hoped he wasn't.