A/N: Welcome back, everyone! This chapter came together quite nicely again, although most of the credit for it should go to Donjusticia—I only wrote the first scene and the beginning of the second, while rest was written by him first and then rewritten/edited by me. Let me tell you, though, it was still a ton of fun to work on this chapter. (Side note, I apologize ahead of time to any Envy fans that read this chapter.)

Haha. Well, we still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Enjoy!


Chapter 2 - "I'll Make It. I Have To."

The sun has long since set by the time Roy is running through the streets. It works in his favor because it means the streets—especially the further away from the station he goes—are practically empty, everyone having retired for the night. No witnesses to his near-frantic sprinting, which could raise unwanted questions if seen by the wrong person. But it also means that he is almost out of time, as he follows the path to the phone booth, tugging his gloves into place.

I'll make it.

I will.

I have to.

He turns a corner and there it is, the phone booth, the space around it dimly lit from the streetlamp nearby. Even under such little light, and from ten meters away, Roy can see that it's occupied—and that there is someone outside it, a military officer with short, black hair, gun pointed at the occupant. He has barely enough time to think—so that's why they pinned his death on Ross—before he snaps with his left hand. The sound draws the attention of the homunculus in disguise a mere second before the pinpoint flame blows up in "her" face.

The explosion sends Envy flying—screaming—burning away his disguise in an instant.

Roy snaps again, this time with his right hand, a larger burst of flames sending the homunculus flying even further away.

He doesn't stop—

snap

shrieking

burning

snap

howling

throbbing

snap

screaming

choking

—not until he skids to a stop in front of the phone booth, exhaustion from running halfway across the city catching up to him. He can hardly breatheam I really this out of shape?—as he clings to the door frame. His vision is hazy, not helped by the low lighting from the lone streetlight, but he can still make out the crackles of red lightning signifying Envy still regenerating. He turns his head away for just a moment. "Are you," Roy starts, finding that he has to almost choke the words out, "alright, Hughes?"

Hughes' hazel eyes are wide in shock. "Roy?! What the hell are you—forget about me, you're—"

"You bastard!" Envy screams, the last red spark knitting his skin back together. "How are you even he-aaaaAAAHHH!" And he's back on the ground, hands over his eyes, pitifully shrieking just as he had the last time Roy had fought the homunculus.

Roy snaps once again for good measure, the flames again boiling the fluid in the monster's eyes. At this point all he sees is red, and for some reason he swears his mouth tastes like metal, but he knows the flames struck true.

"Listen here, whatever you are." Each word sends a stabbing pain through his chest—he's dizzy—he needs air—but he needs to say this. "Stay the hell away from my friend, unless you want to find out how many times I have to burn you in order to make you stay dead."

The homunculus leaps to his feet, regenerated eyes ablaze with fury. "How dare you talk down to me like that, human?! I'm immortal and you look like you're about to fall ov—GGYYYAAAHHHH!" His entire body goes up in flames again. The red sparks dance about, but there are imperfections left behind by their work. Cracks on his skin, prominent on his face.

"It looks," Roy says, having to cough up some dark liquid in order to keep talking, "like you're the one about to fall apart." Just a few more snaps. Just a few more and Envy'll be reduced to his pathetic true form again. Hughes will be safe. I can do it.

One snap—the flames strike true. More screaming. More burning.

I can do it.

A second—not precise enough. They only incinerate one of Envy's arms. But the arm isn't regenerating. One more precise shot will do it.

I can

"Roy, you need to stop!"

His grip on the door frame slips and he falls—not because he ran out of strength, but because he was pushed—impacting with the pavement hard enough to make him cough up blood. He tries getting up, but he can't—he can't even gather enough energy to snap one last time. He can only watch as the one-armed Envy continues to charge—at Hughes, standing over him.

He wants to scream.

Get down, Maes!

He's never felt this useless before.

You're going to die!

He wonders if this is the cruel exchange equivalent for his second chance. If he really had a chance to change things.

We're both going to die here, aren't we?

He sees a glint of silver in Hughes' hand—a glint that's gone in one quick movement.

A knife. Buried square in Envy's throat.

The homunculus falls, gagging, clawing at the handle. The red sparks don't appear.

Maes…

"Roy!" Hughes shouts. He sounds so… distant. "Roy! Stay wi—"


The sun is nearing its peak of the day when Maes Hughes wakes up in the hospital. For a moment, he stares groggily at the plain ceiling. Then he remembers what happened the night before and jerks awake—a little too quickly. His right shoulder flares up in pain and he grabs at it until the pain dies back down. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, but he's still on edge.

Roy. Where's Roy?

His answer comes in the form of a muffled groan from the bed next to him. His head snaps in that direction—and there he is, there's Roy, twitching under the throes of a nightmare, a mask over his face to help him breathe, and an IV hooked in his arm. Hughes allows himself to rest back against his pillows. While it hurts to see his friend tortured by ghosts of the past, at least Roy isn't dead.

Hughes still can't believe that Roy saved his life. Or the look on Roy's face when he did it—he's never seen someone look more full of hate in his life. Or the fact that Roy seemed to know that the thing that looked like Ross wouldn't die after just one flame. Or that he'd been more worried about how he was doing when Roy himself was coughing up blood. Or—really, he just can't believe that Roy was even there in the park to begin with—he's supposed to still be in East City for a few more days. It's almost like Roy knew

A knock on the door cuts off that train of thought. Thinking the person at the door is a doctor, he sits back up and prepares himself for whatever questions or tests they no doubt are going to put him through. He does not expect the Führer to be the one to enter the room—although maybe he should have expected it, considering what he'd found out just before his attack. "Führer King Bradley!" Hughes exclaims, attempting to salute with his right arm before remembering it's in a sling, and awkwardly saluting with his left instead.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," Bradley curtly replies, taking a moment to look at the state Hughes and Roy are in. His eye lingers on Roy for a moment, contemplating something, before he turns back to Hughes. "It would seem the two of you had quite a night last night."

"Haha… understatement of the century right there. If it wasn't for Roy, I probably would have…" Hughes trails off, an unsettling feeling in his stomach. The information I uncovered last night, it was hidden so well. Like it was forcibly covered up by someone high enough to do it. There's no way the Führer doesn't know about the nationwide transmutation circle—this isn't a visit to see how Roy and I are holding up, this is an interrogation.

"Yes, Colonel Mustang's bizarre actions are the only reason we are talking right now," Bradley says, a finger tapping the handle of one of his swords. "I must say, a lot of strange reports have reached my office regarding the incident, most of which center around Mustang's involvement. I'd like a full report of the events of last night, Lieutenant Colonel."

It's hard not to flinch at the Führer's gaze. What should I do? he thinks, straightening himself as he tries to remain professional. I can't tell the Führer everything; if he really does know about the transmutation circle, he'll probably have me killed. …Wait, what if he was the one that orchestrated my attack in the first place? What if—no, no, I can't think like that, Führer Bradley is my leader, not the enemy. Ahh, this is too much. "Well… there was an attempt on my life in the archives room. I don't know how the woman got in there, but she did and—I fought her off, but as you can see…" He gestures to the sling.

"And what were you researching in the archives room at the time of the attack?"

I was hoping you wouldn't need those details. Does this mean you really don't know anything, or do you and you're just toying with me and you're gonna have me killed and—ugh, stop overthinking things, Maes! He tries to keep his face impassive to avoid suspicion. "The Elric brothers had recently asked me for help in their quest to find a Philosopher's Stone. I was in there looking into some of the records they had sent me when I was ambush—"

"Which records specifically, Lieutenant Colonel?" Bradley interrupts, finger still tapping on the handle of his sword.

If Hughes wasn't already on edge, the sight of the Führer so impatient for information certainly would have put him on it. "I… I can't recall all the details. I've never really cared about alchemy…" But I do know enough to recognize a transmutation circle when I see one.

"But it was something regarding the Philosopher's Stone, correct? Could it have been something regarding how to create them?"

Hughes' mouth suddenly feels very dry. He knows. He really does know. Why else would he ask that? Our Führer is in league with the enemy and I'm going to end up killed because I know this. "…Yes, I think it might have been," he admits, after gathering the energy to respond. He can't think of any way out of this mess.

The Führer shakes his head, sighing. "I seem to recall giving you, Major Armstrong, and the Elric brothers the direct order to cease your investigations into all events related to the Fifth Laboratory, including the alleged creation of Philosopher's Stones therein. Do I recall correctly, Lieutenant Colonel?"

Hughes looks down, about ready to scream. He curses himself for being unable to let an unfinished investigation go, and for being smart enough to put together the truth. If he'd only obeyed that order, he wouldn't be in this mess right now. "…That's correct, Führer," he replies. "I know I should have stopped my investigation, but I—"

"But nothing," the Führer snaps. "You disobeyed one of my direct orders, and I could have you court martialled for it. In fact I should have you court martialled for it, because your actions not only put yourself in danger, but also those of your fellow soldiers."

Hughes wants to sink into the hospital bed. It's all true, it's his fault Roy's unconscious and it's his fault he was attacked by that woman with the Ouroboros tattoo. Court martialled, though, he can't be court martialled. He could end up dishonorably discharged and no one wants to hire a soldier that's been dishonorably discharged and then how is he supposed to provide for his family? "Please, forgive me, sir, I didn't—"

"However, I am feeling rather generous today," Bradley interrupts again. "I will let you off with a simple demotion and transfer."

A demotion? That means less pay. Nothing we can't work around, though. But… "A transfer, sir? To where?" He hopes it's not too far. Elicia's too young to have to move all the way across the country. And he's supposed to be here in Central, working to push Roy to the top. He can't do that if he's shipped off to something like Fort Briggs.

"You'll receive your orders as soon as your shoulder is mended, Major Hughes," Bradley replies. It's strange being referred to as a 'Major' again. "But don't worry, you won't have to uproot your family for this mistake. Disobey another direct order and you'll find that won't be the case."

"…I won't, sir," Hughes says, barely able to remain calm anymore because did the Führer just subtly threaten my wife and daughter?!

"I'm glad we have an understanding, Major. Now, back to the events of last night…" The Führer's tone completely shifts as he turns to look at the unconscious Roy. "…The reports I received said that Colonel Mustang had not received any injuries during his struggle with Second Lieutenant Ross. Could you tell me why he is currently in a coma, then, Major Hughes?"

Hughes shoots a worried look at the occupant of the other bed. "No, he showed up out of nowhere and—" Hughes stops, staring at Bradley. "I'm sorry, did you just say Second Lieutenant Ross? As in, Second Lieutenant Maria Ross?"

"Yes, I did. She was your assailant and would-be murderer," Bradley replies. "You will be glad to know that she has been apprehended and is being questioned about the incident as we speak."

Hughes opens his mouth to protest, but the words won't come out. This isn't right, Maria Ross wasn't his attacker, it was a man that looked like her until Roy burned away the disguise. Maria Ross is innocent. When he finds his voice, he starts, "Führer Bradley, sir, you have the wrong—"

Bradley cuts him off again. "Tell me, Major, why is humanity so innately nosy? Does it let them prosper? Does it carry some evolutionary benefit? I personally see no use for those busybodies in a society as advanced as ours. What about you?"

Hughes narrows his eyes nervously. Where did this come from? "I—I can't say that I do, sir," he replies, deciding to try to play along.

The Führer turns, walking towards the door. He stops just before it, turning his head to look at Hughes one last time. "I don't expect my subordinates to like me. I don't even need them to trust me. What I do need is the strict and unyielding obedience of every Amestrian citizen, otherwise people's lives—innocent lives—are bound to be put in danger. Is that clear, Major Hughes?"

"Yes, Führer," Hughes replies stiffly, backing his words with a salute. "I will not disobey a direct order again."

"Then our business here is concluded," Bradley finishes, briskly exiting the room.

The moment he's gone, Hughes finds that he can breathe, the tension finally gone. He stares at his hands—trembling—before looking over at his friend. "What have I gotten us into, Roy? Do you know something I don't…?"

The Flame Alchemist murmurs in his sleep, his words blocked by the mask on his face. Whatever he's dreaming of isn't pleasant—Hughes can tell that much from Roy's drenched face and twisted brow. Hughes wonders if his friend is dreaming of Ishval and almost laughs at the irony—right now, he'd almost prefer to be back in that hellhole.

Roy…


Roy is late. Very late. He's just stepped off the train, but he knows what he has to do. He'll get there in time, he has to, he has to save his friend.

The station is fuzzy, out of focus and blurred, like trying to take the picture of a moving object. It's crowded with faceless people and muddled conversations that buzz lifelessly through the muggy air. It's so packed he almost can't breathe.

He begins pushing his way through the faceless crowd, trying not to make a scene, but for every person he pushes out of the way, two more take their place. The faceless, oppressive mass has no end to it, and he needs it gone, now. Roy abandons being civil—he starts shoving them down and darting in before the space is filled by someone else. It barely makes a difference.

Why are there so many people here this late in the day? And why the hell can't they get out of my way?!

He sees the door outside—finally within reach, blocked by an unhealthily fat woman. Chivalry be damned, he's already late enough. Roy pushes her out of the way, about to take off running, only to see the reason why so many people were trapped inside of the station.

Sheep. Thousands upon thousands of goddamn sheep, being herded through the streets. He can hardly believe his eyes. What has this country come to? Who in their right mind authorized a sheep migration through Central? And why now of all times?

Roy begins fighting his way through the massive herd, practically swimming through the waves of cotton. He can't see the other end of the herd anywhere in sight, just more and more cotton as far as the eye can see. But he doesn't let that stop him. He can't let anything else slow him down.

Suddenly, up ahead, he sees a flash of white. It's even whiter than the sheep surrounding Roy, whiter and brighter and expanding and swallowing everything around it—including Roy.

… …

… … …

… …

He's there. The phone booth is right in front of him. Gracia—no, Envy—is standing in front of it, gun raised. His blood boils and he goes to snap—but he's not wearing his gloves. What the hell, why am I not wearing my gloves, I definitely put them on while I was runn

BANG!

Roy sees it. The flash of the gun. The hideous smile on Envy's stolen face. The way Maes Hughes slumps down after the shot. The blood splattered on the glass.

The gloves are on in an instant and he screams, weaving the oxygen particles in the air just as he needs and snapping. He screams because dammit I didn't take this second chance just to let Hughes die all over again!

Envy has no chance to react. His body goes up in flames in an instant. His face, his eyes, his hands, his feet, his stomach—part by part is melted away and stitched back together and set ablaze again. The homunculus screams, and keeps screaming, because it's the only thing he can do.

Roy doesn't hear Envy's screams. He hears his own and he hears his snapping and he hears his heart throbbing against his ribs and he hears the voices, the ones telling him he needs to stop"You think you can lead a country looking like that?!"—"Are you becoming a beast? Giving into its passion?"—"You only want to kill him to satisfy your own hatred!"shut up, shut up, shut up, I'm not doing this out of hatred, I'm protecting Hughes right now because he's going to be alright. His limbs ache and his face is wet and the world reeks of blood and burning and he tastes metal, but he doesn't stop, he won't stop until the monster before him is dead.

snap

snap

snap

Until the charcoaled husk of a body remains, turning to dust in the wind. A hideous creature crawls out of the remains, still screaming, at a higher pitch this time. With just one more snap, the creature's wormy flesh sizzles and pops until it, too, turns to ash. Envy is no more.

Roy runs to his friend.

Too much.

There's too much blood coating the floor and the walls of the phone booth and the sight is almost too much because Hughes isn't moving.

"No…" Little more than a whisper. He stares at the hole right where his best friend's heart should be.

"No." Louder this time, stronger, enough to remind him to move.

"No. You're not dead. I won't allow it." Roy claps his hands together, eyes shut as he tries to think of something, some transmutation circle he saw in the portal, something he can use to fix this. He finds one and he presses his hands to Hughes' chest and watches the blue lighting dance along the wound, stitching it up as though it had never been pierced in the first place. But that's it. Hughes still isn't moving. Still isn't breathing.

"Maes, this isn't funny," Roy hisses through gritted teeth, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and shaking him. "Wake up. Wake up, Maes. I saved you, I saved you, I saved you!" He shakes his friend harder—and Hughes' glasses fall to the ground. "Dammit Maes, WAKE UP!"

When the whiteness devours him again, Roy is still begging the corpse of Maes Hughes to wake up.

… …

… … …

… …

Roy wakes to the sound of Hughes screaming.

He only has a split second to realize that he's somehow in Hughes' house, scrambling off the couch and down the hall to the bathroom. Already there's blood seeping out from underneath the door and Roy holds back the overwhelming feeling to throw up when he swings the door nearly off its hinges to get it open.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him to find Maes Hughes, sprawled out on the floor, hands limp next to the massive gash in his throat. If the gash was any deeper, Hughes wouldn't have a head.

He can't even scream. He can only stare at his friend's body in absolute shock.

Until the small room fills with the echoed voice of a young boy—laughing. "You poor, poor human. Did you think that just because you had a second chance, you would be stronger than us? Consider this a lesson. You can't change fate, Flame Alchemist."

"PRIDE!" Roy howls, hand raised to snap—but the whiteness devours him again.

… …

… … …

… …

Roy comes to in the bowels of Central Command, surrounded on almost all sides by the mannequin soldiers. He snaps almost blindly, creating a path for himself through them. He sees Hughes fighting on the other side, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other. His stomach twists and he cries out, "Maes, you have to get out of here!"

"No! I'm not leaving you, Roy!" Hughes shouts back, kicking away one of the mannequins that got too close for comfort before slashing another one's eye. "I promised to make Gracia and Elicia happy, I'm not gonna just stand by and let some monsters take their lives!"

Roy wants to argue, he just wants his friend safe, but he sees a mannequin about to sink its teeth into Hughes' back and so instead he screams, "Hughes, look out!"

Hughes pivots, punching away the mannequin before emptying the rest of his bullets into the thing's face. He looks over to Roy with an annoyed but playful look on his face. "Give me some credit, Roy. I might have a desk job, but I can still kick ass when I—"

Roy blinks. Blinks. In that short amount of time, his friend disappears—no, not disappears, he is crushed underneath a behemoth of a man that fell through the ceiling. He keeps blinking, staring at the sight, trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

"Huh…?" The monster looks down, where blood now stains his legs. "Ugh… not alchemist… So… dirty… now… Such a pain… but… gotta stop… alchemist. Such… a pain…"

The white void devours him before he can so much as scream.

… …

… … …

… …

Roy is choking before he can even open his eyes. His lungs feel full of liquid and if the blood in his mouth is anything to go by, that's what he's choking on. He opens his eyes—three of Lust's elongated finger spears are stabbed into his chest, the other two pinning his hands to his sides. He coughs, seeing only red for a moment, and then the world comes into horrid focus.

Lust has Hughes in her other hand, the tips of her fingers digging into his face. He's struggling against her grip, but it's only making it worse, drawing blood where the nails pierce his skin from the movement.

"You've always been such a pain, Flame Colonel. My, how the tables have now turned," Lust purrs, her fingers twisting in Roy's chest. "If only you hadn't burned me before. And over something we'd done to this man here?" At her words, one of her claw-like fingers extends, piercing the same spot on Hughes' shoulder where he'd been stabbed before. Hughes screams and Roy wants to scream and Lust laughs.

"Y…you bitch…" Roy chokes out.

"Such a waste, really. You humans ought to know that your fate is sealed no matter what."

Her fist closes around Hughes' head.

The white swallows Roy up again, but not before warm blood splashes across his face.

… …

… … …

… …

He sees the deaths happen so much faster now.

… …

… … …

… …

He's fighting Pride somewhere on the streets of Central and is unable to do anything when Gluttony jumps on Hughes, messily devouring his friend in seconds.

… …

… … …

… …

He sees Wrath cut Hughes to bloody pieces, so fast Hughes doesn't even have time to draw a weapon in defense. And then the homunculus turns his eyes on Gracia…

… …

… … …

… …

He sees Greed, in Ling's body, trying to get somewhere. Hughes is in his way. Greed looks annoyed, too annoyed. "I don't have time for this, old timer." He envelops one arm in his Ultimate Shield, and slams it a little too hard against Hughes' neck.

… …

… … …

… …

Even faster now.

… …

… … …

… …

Hughes is shot in the head by a stray bullet. Dies instantly.

… …

… … …

… …

Hughes is jumped by a chimera. Stabbed, bitten, and clawed to pieces.

… …

… … …

… …

Hughes is bitten multiple times by the Immortal Legion. Dies soon after infection sets in.

… …

… … …

… …

An explosion knocks Hughes off a wall. Dies splattered across the pavement below.

… …

… … …

… …

Please make it stop.

… …

… … …

… …

Hughes is messing around with Gracia on a flight of stairs. Slips and breaks his neck when she accidentally pushes him.

… …

… … …

… …

Hughes catches a fatal disease. Dies in immense pain.

… …

… … …

… …

Please make it stop!

… …

… … …

… …

Hughes gets caught in a train wreck on a family vacation. He, his wife, and Elicia all die instantly.

… …

… … …

… …

Stop!

… …

… … …

… …

"Mommy, why are they putting all that dirt on Daddy?"

… …

… … …

… …

I SAID STOP!

… …

… … …

… …

"I don't like it! Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do!"

… …

… … …

… …

MAKE IT STOP!

… …

… … …

… …

A field of tombstones, stretched across the horizon, all bearing the name "Maes Hughes".

… …

… … …

… …

STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!

… …

… … …

… …

Roy sees himself, standing in front of Hughes. His gun is pointed at his best friend.

"I'm sorry. So very sorry," Roy says. "I didn't want to do this. But I've seen everything else already—there is no other way. I'm sorry."

Hughes opens his mouth to reply.

BANG


A/N: Yes. That just happened.

You know, I think I'm gonna start leaving "fun facts" in all my ending author's notes, since I did last chapter. This chapter has two fun facts, though. The first is that I kept getting distracted while writing the first scene, but after reading a piece of writing advice on Pinterest about action scenes and seeing this really freaking awesome stylistic thing in a Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V fanfic (shout out to Demons Anarchy of Pride for being the author of said fanfic), I had all the motivation to finish the scene and kept getting so excited that I had to pause every so often and flail my hands like an overly excited child. The second fun fact is that I rewrote/edited the nightmare sequence at two in the morning and sent it to Donjusticia with the message of "OH BOY 2 AM IS THE BEST TIME TO EDIT THINGS HOW HAVE I NOT DISCOVERED THIS BEFORE!"

For the record, don't try writing at two in the morning unless what you're writing is meant to be pure angst or some weird sort of stream of conscience LSD trip.

Once again, thank you guys so much for reading this story! Please leave a review telling Donjusticia and I what you thought!

Donjusticia's A/N: (Don't write at 2:00 AM and send me your work unless you want to torment me by making me edit paragraphs and paragraphs of adjfgjbttxvggnnghbv! Dgbyhcfhbvccxmmmm! Bbbfffffffcccccfffffffffffffff...)

(A/N: Hey, I did NOT make you edit paragraphs of nonsense. Do I need to bring up the fact that you were stunned silent by how I changed the end of that scene?)

Donjusticia's A/N: …Everybody give Sky an ENORMOUS hand for her dedication. She really has worked VERY hard on this (and made me work hard alongside with her! She's crazy! If she wants to do a collaborative fic with you, RUN!)

(A/N: Pfft, it's funny because I'm never the one that asks others to help me write something, either they ask ME to help THEM or, in Donjusticia's case, they demand that they be allowed to help me write something. I'll accept the label of "crazy", though.)

Donjusticia's A/N: It has been a delight working on another chapter for your entertainment. There will be no hidden message in this author's note like there were before, but there will be this bonus segment. Please enjoy.


So, it seems Hughes doesn't know what led Mustang to be injured last night, or even what led him to Central in the first place. I'll have to tell Father about this right away.

As Führer Bradley exits the hospital, a blond-haired soldier with glasses runs to his side. The soldier does not look happy, and the Führer even less so.

"So," Bradley begins, glancing at the "soldier" with distaste. "I see you've recovered from your injuries, Envy."

The disguised homunculus grimaces, his teeth clenched in fury. "Don't talk down to me, Wrath. That bastard alchemist had no right being there. I would've had Hughes if he didn't show up."

"Ah, my apologies then," Bradley—or rather, Wrath—says, "I didn't realize that taking care of two humans was too difficult of a job for you. I'll be sure to let Father know that he needs to give you easier tasks in the future. I believe Sloth could always use some company…"

If it isn't for a nurse walking by, Envy would have lashed out. "Dammit, how was I supposed to know Mustang was gonna pop out of fucking nowhere and continuously set me on fire?" Envy hisses as soon as the nurse is gone. "Have you ever been set on fire before, Wrath? It fucking hurts!" The homunculus stomps his foot, shattering the concrete beneath it. "It's not right, Mustang should've still been in East City."

"Yes, Envy, I'm aware of that." Wrath thinks back to the sight of the Colonel, vulnerable on the hospital bed. There was something off about the man, and not just that he was in the hospital for unknown reasons. "It seems our Colonel has acquired some source of intelligence we're not aware of. Regardless, it is still unacceptable that you failed to kill Hughes last night."

They make it back to Central Command. Stepping into the elevator that will take them underground, Envy transforms into his preferred form, fists clenched tightly. "I'll take care of them," he vows.

"What I don't understand is how you failed to take care of them in the first place," Wrath snarls, glaring at the other homunculus. "In case you hadn't noticed, Mustang was not in prime condition when he was brought to the hospital—his lungs were filled with his own blood when the doctors examined him."

Envy has to physically restrain himself from punching something. "Well excuuuuse me, I was a little preoccupied with getting repeatedly set on fire, in case you've forgotten." Envy huffs, crossing his arms. "…He looked like he was about to fall over at one point, but clearly he was fine enough to keep transmuting. I don't know anything else."

So, Envy never touched Mustang. Pathetic, but then, how was Mustang injured? Wrath sighs, shaking his head, as the elevator doors open. "Well, you've certainly proven utterly useless."

"I am not—"

"I agree with Wrath," a young, echoed voice interrupts from the shadows. "You've made quite a mess of things, Envy. I'm impressed by how incompetent you are, and I'm sure Father feels the same."

Envy glares at the moving shadows and wishes he can hurt them. "You little…!"

"You're just lucky the situation is not completely unsalvageable," Pride continues. "While he suspects something, Hughes does not know Wrath's identity, and both he and Mustang are still fully within the authority of the Amestrian government. They will not be able to do anything without our knowledge, and as soon as they step out of line… well. I'll be there to clean up the mess. Isn't that right, Father?"