Me: Chapter 2 time!

Danny: Yes! :3

Me: Before I leave you to read, here's a note for nyc2dragon: Trisha and Hoho both had something to do with human transmutation and the philosopher's stones. Winry's parents were both killed by Scar during the Ishbalan rebellion. Therefore, it's all to do with the promised day. If you still don't understand, the fic explains it all anyway as it goes. Thanks for the review and I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Danny: And let's kick off chapter two!

Me: WAIT. Disclaimer first. I think I forgot last time. (Disclaimer) If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist, my little baby Pride would get much more screen time. 'Nuff said.

A New Way to Bleed, Chapter 2: Selim

"What a foolish question," the boy laughed, one hand covering his right eye, "of course I'm going to obey my father. He gave me life."

"Ha!" There was another boy on the ground next to where he was standing – a blonde one. He looked older than the other black haired boy. Something was wrapped around his left arm, stopping him from moving it.

"You're the foolish one," the blonde said. "You've completely stopped thinking for yourself! Compared to you, Greed is much more evolved."

The younger boy's eyes widened with surprise and rage and suddenly the blonde flew up into the air, slamming into a wall. He gasped in pain, winded.

"I don't… I just don't get it," the older boy carried on, "I don't understand why you're still listening to him." Despite the fact that he was the one being attacked, the blonde still looked up defiantly at him, taking in the bruises and cuts on the other younger boy's body. "You've taken quite a beating carrying out his orders, but he hasn't even given you a chance!"

"What's your point?" Suddenly the world became distorted as the black haired child moved his hand away from his face. The room seemed to twist in all directions, constantly shifting and turning. Things began to blur as everything moved as fast as someone could blink and it was starting to get darker, despite the fact there was light shining in somewhere from the ceiling.

Selim woke up with a start, panting.

His back was wet with sweat and his breathing was out of control. He could only get short, sharp bursts into his lungs and that just made him panic even more and gasp wildly, screaming at the top of his voice.

"Selim!" His mother's voice drew closer as she ran towards his room. She burst through the door and rushed straight to his bed, and threw her arms around him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, checking his temperature by putting her hand on his forehead, "are you alright? You feel a bit cold, dear."

The boy looked anxiously around his bedroom. No lights were on, but the silver glow of the moon filtered in through the window and he could see his mother's slightly wrinkled face, eyes wide with worry for her child.

"I… I don't know," Selim confessed. He was fifteen, but he had always somehow felt a special connection with his mother. He never even pondered the fact that she was considerably older than most of his friend's mothers at school. He knew he could trust her with anything. "I had another nightmare…" he said, still trying to calm his breathing, "there was another kid – about my age, and he was on the floor. I saw something throw him against the wall and I think he told me that I was foolish and then I got really angry after he said something about my father and-"

"Shhh, Selim. Calm down. It was just a bad dream." It didn't faze Selim at all that his mother was soothing him like a young child. Instead, he held her just as tight as she held him, weeping into her shoulder.

After a few minutes he broke away from Mrs Bradley, tears still streaming down his face. The boy felt his breathing begin to slow down and his body relaxed.

"It's six-thirty," his mother observed, squinting at the alarm clock that sat beside his bed, "did you want to go downstairs? I don't think you'll get back to sleep now." She smiled at him, soft and warm.

Selim nodded slowly. He had always clung onto his mother, ever since he was born. As he had grown up other children had sometimes even bullied him for it, but he was often pulled out of schools by various government officials for reasons he didn't know. That had given him more chances to start again.

His father, as he had been told many times, had left his mother before he was born to be with another woman – he have been living all his life with only a single parent. It hadn't bothered him much at first, but as he grew older Selim then had begun to have nightmares that mentioned the word 'Father' a lot – dreams that seemed so vivid it was almost like they were real. Someone would always be fighting him, or talking to him about things he didn't understand. And when he awoke, he would often forget most of it. Unlike tonight's dream, he would only remember the terrifying feeling of overwhelming darkness, and sometimes even the stench of somebody else's fear. He could never recall any faces. And that made him feel even worse – not being able to remember just what had scared him so much.

Mrs Bradley went to fetch her son's jacket from across the room while Selim got out from under his blankets.

He shivered as his feet touched the floor, even if there was carpet, it was still cold. In fact, the whole room felt like it was below zero.

When he tried to stand up, his legs wobbled shakily and he collapsed back onto the bed, head spinning. He felt dizzy again.

"Selim!" his mother rushed back with a black jacket and sat him up, placing it around his shoulders.

The boy murmured in thanks, sliding his cold arms into the sleeves. He felt his mother put something on his feet that were most likely slippers, but he couldn't care less.

The dream he had just had was the most real ever. He could remember almost everything. And he had spoken to someone about his father, who he didn't even know. And why would he obey him? He didn't even know his father. No photos, letters, nothing.

When Selim was eight, his house had been burned down in a fire. That was where he guessed all his mother's keepsakes about Mr Bradley were, although she never claimed for insurance. She had started anew that day, moving into the heart of Central City in a fourth-floor luxury apartment that Selim still didn't get where she had found the money for. Why she had kept her title as 'Mrs' or the last name 'Bradley' the boy did not know, but for some reason, the fact never bothered him. He was still Selim Bradley, and he thought the name quite suited him.

"Selim, you're freezing!" Mrs Bradley held her hand to his pale cheek to check again, "let's go and get you some hot chocolate. It's a bit early for it, I know, but I think I'll make an exception this time."

The black haired boy nodded slowly, his teeth beginning to chatter. He was always cold following the nightmares, but never this much. Crossing his arms and hunching over to get deeper into the thick jacket, Selim followed his mother out of the room, his small feet scuffling along the floor.

He and his mother's apartment covered the entire floor, so the distance from his room to the kitchen was still fairly average compared to that of a normal house. Inside, it was up to date with the latest cooking equipment, with a telephone and radio on the wall at the back as well.

Mrs Bradley went straight to one of the higher-up cupboards, pulling out a jar of chocolate powder from the back of the shelf.

To help, Selim filled a kettle with some milk and put it onto the stove. It was hard for him to reach with his lower line of sight – he looked very young for his age, but if he stretched far enough on his tip-toes he could turn the gas on. In fact, some people said he could pass himself off for a ten-year-old. His face still had a lot of baby fat, and there was a faint red mark in the centre of his forehead, which had faded as he grew older. A birthmark, he and his mother had decided together. Nothing more. After all, what else could it have been? It didn't matter anyway – it was barely visible now. His eyes were a striking dark shade of purple, still wide and inquisitive. He was everything like a young boy, except he wasn't – he was fifteen. A teenager.

That fact annoyed him, especially at school. People kept thinking he was lost when he walked around the senior part of the school. But there were just as many pros as cons, as his mother often put it. He could get into a lot of events for free if he acted like a young child. Which, for some reason, he seemed good at doing.

But he was proud to think that he was just as mature, well-spoken and polite as any other civilised boy his age, growing up in a well-to-do kind of family. He was close to the Fuhrer, too, although he never really understood the reason why. She visited him and his mother often, claiming that she was childhood friends with Mrs. Bradley. Although, Armstrong was considerably younger.

But Selim wasn't comfortable with the way the head of the military acted around him – or any of his mother's other friends for that matter. They always seemed tense, as if something was about to happen. Nothing ever did.

Selim was distracted from his thoughts as the milk began to bubble, meaning it was time to stop heating it. He reached for the knob to switch off the gas and turned it off. The drinks were finished not long after, when Mrs. Bradley poured the white liquid into two mugs and mixed in the powder.

Soon, the boy and his mother were curled up on the sofa together, chocolate mugs in hand, staring out of the window as the city of Central began to slowly wake up.

The bell rang for first period and Selim made his way through the classroom door, positioning himself at his usual seat at the front.

He sighed shakily. He had felt perfectly fine after a nice, long warm shower, but the mental trauma from the nightmare was still there inside his head. He kept subconsciously playing back the dream in his mind's eye, then scaring himself again as it got to the end and the shadows came.

"Hey Selim, you alright?"

The black-haired boy looked up to see his best friend standing over him – a Cretan boy named Nuka. His brown eyes looked worried through his sandy blonde hair.

"Yeah… fine thanks." Selim reached into his bag and pulled out the textbook he needed for that lesson.

"Nuka?"

The other boy turned to him as he sat down. "Yeah?"

"This is… historical and alchemical science, right?"

Nuka sent Selim a concerned look. He saw that his eyes were a duller shade than usual, and they seemed to have lost a bit of their spark.

"It is, yeah. We always have it first period today."

"Oh… that's good. I was worried that I packed for the wrong day." Selim opened up his pencil case and pulled out a biro, ready for class.

"Selim, are you sure you're OK?" Nuka put his hand on his friend's shoulder. As he was of average height, the Cretan boy was naturally taller, but today the black haired boy looked even smaller. "You really don't look too good."

"I'm fine, Nuka. Trust me," Selim replied stubbornly, "I just feel a tiny bit… dizzy that's all. It'll pass in a minute."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"I'm fine, Nuka," Selim said. His shook his head around quickly. "See? No Ill person could do that now, could they?"

Nuka frowned, but stopped trying to interfere. He trusted the shorter boy completely, but this time he couldn't help but think there was something else going on.

Before he could even think about assuring his friend even further, Selim noticed the teacher walk in. Her brown hair was fashioned in her regular multiple braids, most of which were tied back, but some were still hanging in front of her face or tucked behind her ears. Her usual white coat was tied around her waist, revealing a tight black t-shirt underneath. She wore leggings that cut off just belong her knees and a pair of sandals that had the initials 'W.C' inscribed on them.

As always, she cast a glance at Selim as she sat down at her desk, but this time her gaze lingered for longer as she noticed his irregularly pale face.

"Selim, are you feeling alright today?" she asked, forgetting about addressing the class.

"I asked him the same thing," Nuka mumbled under his breath.

"F…fine, Mrs Curtis," Selim's voice came out shakier than he wanted it to. He was convinced he felt fine – they were just dreams. So why were they causing him this much trouble?

"Good," if the woman picked up on the wavering in Selim's voice, she didn't show it. Instead, she stood up again and wrote the date on the blackboard.

"Alright then, class," she declared, "turn to page twenty-one. We're going to continue to look at the alchemical style used in the war between Drachma and the North from 1850 to 1856."

There was the sound of shuffling paper behind Selim as everyone in the class turned to the right page.

"Read through the page and then in a few minutes we'll come together and I'll ask you some questions," she instructed, taking a seat behind her desk once more.

All the time Selim spent reading, he felt Mrs. Curtis' gaze on him and he found it hard to take in what he was looking at. His dizziness had thankfully disappeared completely, just like he hoped it would. But his eyes still struggled to focus on the words in front of his face and he kept having to reread sentences. It felt like his whole brain was doing somersaults and, before he knew it, he felt the beginnings of a headache.

Groaning slightly, he shut the book as his finished the page, trying hard to process everything he had just read. His head was throbbing and there were white spots in the edges of his vision that wouldn't go away no matter which direction he looked in.

Luckily, his mother had put some headache pills in his bag for him just in case, and he took one out, popping it into his mouth without a word. He groaned when nothing happened, but it wasn't like they had an immediate effect.

"Selim, what did you just put into your mouth?" Mrs. Curtis raised an eyebrow, "no gum, I hope?"

"N-no, Mrs. Curtis," Selim replied, "I have a headache. My mother packed some pills for me, and I thought it would hurt to have one without ask-"

"Well, next time Selim," she interrupted, "tell me first. I could get into trouble otherwise."

"Y-yes, Mrs. Curtis," Selim bowed his head, embarrassed. By now, he could feel everyone else behind him staring. Blushing, he mentally slapped himself. He really was acting like a little child. It was just a stupid headache, for God's sake - forget about it.

"Nuka, please tell me the answer to this: what was the form of alchemy the state alchemists mostly used in the war?" the woman turned her attention to the Cretan boy next to him.

"Armament and firearm alchemy," Nuka answered after some hesitation, "they mostly made tanks and large guns."

"And where did the state alchemists do that? Were they on the front line?"

"No… they stayed back and made everything while the ordinary soldiers fought. The state alchemists first began to fight themselves during… during…"

"During…?"

"I don't know, miss."

"Selim? What about you? Do you know?"

Selim looked at his hands, trying to think through his migraine. When the answer came to him and he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse.

"I think it was Ishbal," he said to her.

"And do you know anything else about the Ishbalan rebellion?"

"Only the fact that a lot of people were killed."

Mrs. Curtis glanced around the room at the rest of her students. "What about any of you? Ever been told anything else about Ishbal?"

She was answered with thirty blank faces and a few shaking heads.

"Good, let's keep it that way, then. Now, back to the lesson."

Selim put his head down on the pillow slowly, yawning. His headache had finally faded during lunch, so that gave him one less thing to worry about.

He lay there for a while, staring up at the blank white ceiling, then at the clock. It was about ten, and Selim's mother had already come up to wish him good night.

What he was most afraid of, though, were the nightmares. Would he have another one tonight? Would it be the same as last time?

Eventually, he felt his eyes beginning to close, and within a few minutes, Selim Bradley had sunken into the lands of his subconscious, powerless in what his mind wanted to dream about.

…

"Your threats are useless," the woman said through the distorted darkness.

She was dead still, her eyes unblinking as a black blade cut her cheek. "After all, what would you gain by killing me now?"

Selim felt himself smile, unable to look away. His whole head was screaming at him to run, to get out of there and from the black mass of shadows that kept on encircling him and the woman, shifting back and forth slowly. They moved like snakes, and Selim could swear he heard a hiss one or two times.

But instead, he just spoke. "You're quite right. But you know what will happen if you speak of this to anyone, don't you?" Selim saw the tendrils unwind from around the woman's body as he talked, "Colonel Mustang and your other friends will not go unharmed."

He snickered again as she began to walk away, her pace steady.

"Just remember, lieutenant," he seemed to whisper as he talked, "I will always be watching you, from the shadows."

Danny: Woah, Hayden 0_o 3000 words exactly? That the longest chapter you've ever posted.

Me: I KNOW. Wow, I'm so pleased with myself :3 remember to review now guys! I hope you enjoyed it!

Danny: See you next time!