The barrel felt cold against his head.

With every second it was pressed against his skull harder, more demandingly. A threat, a warning.

Sweat was dripping down his skin, he could feel it sliding down his brow, his cheeks, soaking his uniform.

The woman in front of him was crying, cowering as though her arms would protect the rest of her. From him.

"Kill her."

His arms were shaking—his whole body was shaking. Distantly, he could hear his thoughts, wondering how he had ended up here, wondering how he was ever meant to escape this purgatory, wondering if he was seconds away from dying. Some part of him was afraid, afraid of dying. It was scared shitless.

But it all felt far away, as though he had dissociated out of his body and was listening to his thoughts as mere whispers in the distance.

The barrel pushed against the back of his head, hard enough to hurt, hard enough for that spark of pain to run through his otherwise numb body.

He let out a breath, feeling the crunch of dirt and sand in his mouth, tasting the staleness of his breath, and raised his trembling hand, clothed in his pyrotex glove. His skin was soaked underneath it—maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to render his power useless.

What would Riza think of him now? Her father had been right about Roy, he had been right all along. Roy should have never been given this power.

"Kill her, Major. That is an order!"

Red eyes clashed with his, her expression pleading, terrified—she was terrified of him. Of what he could do, of the same power the men in blue around him approved him for.

He'd never forget her face.

"Please," she cried.

The officer holding her yanked her backwards, a yelp escaping her. He said something to her, but Roy didn't hear it. He was focused on her, on her skin, injured and bleeding, on the bruises on her cheeks and eyes.

She was innocent, she hadn't done anything. Her only sin was being Ishvalan.

A warm, rotten breath in his ear almost made him gag in surprise. The General pressed his gun against his head pointedly, as though Roy would ever forget it was there. "You show us you're useful or we end you here, Major. Your choice." His voice was a hiss, like a snake, like pure poison.

His thumb and middle finger rubbed against each other, sparks of alchemical energy escaping. He could burn them. He could burn them all, including himself, including the Generals—the monsters—that allowed this, that wanted this. The Fuhrer's lackeys.

He was powerful enough to burn this tent to the ground and kill everyone. And perhaps that was why they had three guns pointed at him and one pressed against his head. Control. They wanted to see if they could control him, use him as a faithful weapon.

He shut his eyes, because he was a coward, because he couldn't bear to see the melting of skin, the pain he would inflict.

But he deserved it. He deserved to see. If he was going to kill innocent people, he deserved to see what a monster that made him.

He was about to snap. The smell of burning flesh was already reaching his nostrils, as though his brain was waiting for it, was ready for it. The phantom heat on his skin burned him, ready—ready for him to snap and kill yet another person.

He opened his eyes, but the Ishvalan was gone. It wasn't red eyes that stared up at him in shock, but golden. Pure golden, beautiful golden, and something in Roy recoiled so violently—but his body remained glued on the spot, and the gun was still pressed against his head, but now it was Ed in front of him and he couldn't, he couldn't—

He could feel the bile rising in his throat. It was coming; his throat was scratchy, parched like he hadn't had water in days, but his mouth was watering. He could still feel the sand and dirt crunching in his teeth.

The duvet felt heavy over him, like it was trapping him, holding him down—

He rushed out of bed, his head pounding, dizzy, his stomach and throat tightening as he dashed for the bathroom.

"Wait—"

Ed's mismatched footsteps were running after him, but Roy got to the bathroom first. He caught a glimpse of gold as he shut the door and braced himself over the sink. The porcelain was cool against his skin. It grounded him.

He heard Ed sigh roughly and softly bang the door. "Don't shut me out, goddammit."

Roy ignored him.

Deep breaths, he fruitlessly reminded himself.

The sweat on his clammy skin was cold, and his fingers itched to snap. He resisted, refusing to give in to the compulsion. Even though, without his gloves, it wouldn't cause damage to give in to the urge. That was a mercy at least; that he still needed an ignition source to wield his deadly power, even if he no longer needed the transmutation circle anywhere but in his head.

He wasn't being sick. With every deep breath he managed to push the bile back down, the sting in his throat and chest making his eyes water.

He'd been lucky so far. He hadn't had a dream like this, like he used to have. For whatever reason the bond had spared him, had given him and Ed small, digestible memories.

Until now.

Why was the bond doing this? He'd thought it had wanted him and Ed to get closer, in order for their souls to merge. So why was it doing this, when it would so obviously drive them apart?

Roy had naively thought Ed's theory about the dreams getting milder the closer they were to a merge had been right. But no, because he and Ed were okay, weren't they? And yet the bond had given them such a hideous thing from Roy's memories. And Ed—Ed had been there. It was as though the bond wanted Ed to see what Roy was, and shun him for it.

Roy had been waiting for it, at the start, before they'd thought the bond was working to get them closer. He'd been waiting for the bond to expose the true horrors Roy had truly committed, to show Ed what he had done, how he had killed on command. He'd thought, naively, that he may have gotten away with it when weeks had passed and it hadn't happened.

But no, of course he wasn't going to get away with it. He didn't deserve to get away with it. Ed…Ed deserved to know what kind of monster he was sharing a bed with.

Ed knocked on the door. It was such a hesitant, unsure knock, and Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Go, Ed." His voice was completely hoarse, scratchy.

He didn't want Ed to see him like this, so pathetic, so uncomposed, so broken. He was a broken man, so beyond repair, but he hid it well, usually, behind masks and dry humour and teasing. Ed seeing that bare truth was mortifying, it was—shameful.

He was ashamed.

The door wasn't locked, but Ed gave him space, this tiny bit of privacy for him to look this pathetic and not have beautiful golden eyes upon him. He was outside the door still; there was no tug in his chest. Roy was grateful; he wasn't sure he would be able to keep the bile down if he'd also felt a stabbing in his chest.

After another minute, his death-grip on the sink had relaxed, and he was positive he wasn't about to throw up. His knees buckled with exhaustion so deep-sated sleep could never cure it. He sank to the floor, leaning his back against the cabinet under the sink and pushing his palms in his eyes.

Deep. Breaths.

The door cracked open, just a bit, and Ed peeked through the gap. He must've seen him sitting on the floor like the pathetic, useless man he was, because he kneeled next to him.

Roy wouldn't look at him, couldn't look at him.

He was so deeply ashamed.

"Look at me."

Roy clenched his jaw.

This was it, he realised. He could no longer pretend; Ed knew. Ed knew exactly what he'd done, exactly what he was. Ed would see him for who he really was now; a cold-blooded murderer.

Perhaps he'd be scared to share a roof with him. Perhaps he'd wish to leave, even though he couldn't right now. Ed had known what he was, what he'd done, but simply knowing was different to seeing—

He felt Ed shift next to him. Roy rested his arms on his bent knees and glanced at Ed so briefly it was almost like he hadn't.

Ed was sitting next to him, facing him, knees drawn up to his chest, arms around them and chin resting on his flesh knee. And the look on his face—no, Roy would not think of the look on his face. He tried to block out the concern being fed through to him from the bond.

He didn't deserve any of it.

"I killed her," he said, his voice so bland, so cold. Just plain, icy truth. That was how that story ended. He was a weak man and had killed on command, like the loyal dog he was.

He hung his head, taking a deep breath and pushing his palms into his eyes again, so hard shapes danced behind his eyelids.

Ed's warm hand on his clammy nape made him flinch. But Ed didn't pull away, he rubbed at his nape as though he was calming a wild, whimpering animal. He thought he was going to say something placating, like It's okay, when nothing about this was okay, and never would be. But he didn't say anything for a long while.

"You had a gun to your head," he said quietly, his voice husky from sleep and disuse. As though Roy couldn't feel the cold barrel pressing against the back of his skull even now if he thought about it for too long.

Someone more noble would've perhaps rather die than kill an innocent person. Roy had not been that man, and now he had to live with that choice, and all the blood on his hands.

"What would you have done?" An impossible question, he knew. But he imagined Ed refusing to kill, stubbornly, angrily, and somehow finding a way to save her, and himself, through sheer hotheadedness. He had a way of doing incredible things like that.

"I don't know," Ed mumbled.

Of course he didn't know. It was impossible to put oneself in a position like that, to accurately imagine the panic as they realised a gruesome death was so near, unless they caused a gruesome death. Even Roy, who had been in that place, sometimes tried to imagine how he'd react if it happened in the present. Would his choice be the same?

He liked to think he wouldn't kill again, that he'd rather die this time. But it was impossible to know for sure. It plagued him.

"I'm glad you didn't die." Ed's voice was so quiet and hesitant, as though he was treading on thin ice. As though Roy really was an injured wild animal that could snap at any moment.

"She was innocent." And Roy hadn't been; he'd already killed innocents by that point. He'd already become—

"So were you."

Roy shook his head. He still wasn't looking at Ed, but he could see the glint of his automail and the movement of his hair from the corner of his eye.

"If it wasn't you someone else would've done it." His voice had more resolve now, more stubbornness. His hand left his nape.

"Ed—"

"I'm selfish too." Roy looked at him then, saw the scowl on his face, the way his hands were clenched into fists around his legs. "If you'd died in Ishval I never would've met you."

Roy felt how much that pained him. The anguish over that alternate reality flowed through the bond, and it made Roy want to take him into his arms and comfort him. He was here, alive and well—as well as he could be. And he didn't want Ed to ever worry about him.

But he didn't move. Right now, touching Ed would feel more like soiling him than comforting him.

Roy leaned back against the sink cabinet and stretched out his legs. He looked at the ceiling. "Why do you bother?" When he saw Ed's head tilt to the side in confusion from the corner of his eye, he added, "With me."

Ed frowned, slightly squirming on the cold tiles as he came closer. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you help me? Why are you kind to me? Why do you bother?" His throat closed up for a moment, and he cleared it. "You can't fix me, you know." Because Ed would try, because it was in his nature to fix things, to righten the wrongs. But Roy didn't think he was fixable—he was just wrong.

"I'm not trying to fix you," he mumbled. "What did you expect me to do, just be cruel to you?"

Roy smiled grimly. "I deserve it."

"No one deserves cruelty."

Roy huffed a cynical laugh. Oh, Ed. How did he do it? After all he'd been through, after all the monsters he'd met in his life, how did he keep his heart so pure? "Some do."

He seemed to be mulling it over for a second, his eyes going distant. What—or who—was he thinking about? "That's how cruel people are made."

Roy wanted to hold him.

Affection burst in his chest, warming his cold, clammy body from the inside. He turned his head, locking gazes with those stunning golden eyes he adored so much, and it must've been all over his face—that adoration, the admiration, the fondness—but he didn't care, not in the slightest. Let him see it.

Ed's eyes softened, but he broke the eye contact, staring at his feet as a faint redness bloomed on his cheeks. He was embarrassed again.

It ignited a boldness in Roy, just for a second, just long enough to reach out and thread his fingers through Ed's. Ed stared at their intertwined hands, his face half covered by his knees.

Then he squeezed, and Roy squeezed back.

All Roy wanted to do was hold him. His body felt lethargic now, exhausted to a capacity he knew would take days to fully recover from.

He didn't know how long he and Ed stayed like that in silence, but Roy took a deep breath and said, "Can I hold you?"

A selfish request, but he had depleted his emotional well; he had no more shame to feel, no more self-hatred to torment himself with. For now, he was numb in the best way possible.

Ed blinked at him, then let go of his hand, only to crawl over his thigh and settle in between his legs. Roy's arms wrapped around his torso immediately, just as Ed's settled on his waist and back and his face tucked itself in its rightful place in Roy's neck.

Ed's warmth seeped into him, his bare skin sucking in what it could from Ed's, until he was thoroughly warm, until Ed's scent had calmed him, until the weight of his body over him made him feel safe again.

It healed him, just a little bit.

"There's a lot wrong with me, Ed." His breath ghosted over the top of his blond head, causing a few hairs to tickle his nose.

"I've gathered." His tone held a faint hint of teasing, just enough to make Roy's lips twitch up. It was a miracle that Ed nearly made him smile after what he'd just dreamt.

"I forget about that little genius brain of yours sometimes," he teased gently. It was a lie, he never forgot.

Ed pinched his waist. "It's a big genius brain, actually."

Now Roy did smile. He held Ed a little tighter. "I know it's my face," he said, and Ed made a small sound of confusion. "The reason you bother. I know I have a pretty face." He felt lighter, somehow. By some miracle.

Ed snorted. "You do have a pretty face but—no. That's not it."

He waited for Ed to elaborate, and when he didn't, he asked, "Then why?" Because he hadn't given an answer, and Roy wanted to know. He wanted to know really, really badly.

Ed's muscles were tenser than they were a moment ago, and Roy could feel him frowning. After a moment of deliberating, he shrugged. "I can't explain it. I'm not good with words like you."

Roy smile crumbled as he felt the need to remind him of a horrible truth. "I'm an awful person, Ed. I don't deserve your kindness."

"I don't see it like that." Ed squirmed in his arms, and Roy loosened his hold on him just enough for him to catch his gaze. His eyes were hard, reminding Roy of just how many horrors Ed had truly witnessed. "I think we're all capable of killing. If the situation's right." Roy was silent as Ed grabbed his hand, squeezing so hard it hurt. Roy squeezed back. "When I found out what Tucker did to Nina…" He gulped. "I nearly killed him. And I didn't even realise, I was just so angry. Al stopped me—from killing him. If he hadn't been there I…" He looked away, as though ashamed by what he was admitting. "I probably would've killed him for what he did to her." He took a deep breath, his knuckles white where he was gripping Roy's hand.

Roy understood. He understood better than anyone. That had been exactly how he'd felt with Envy—and what that piece of shit had done to Maes.

He gripped Ed's chin and brought his eyes back to his own. But Ed continued, "We're only human, at the end of the day. People do shitty things but the amount of people that are truly evil is actually quite small."

"I've killed so many people, Ed. There's no coming back from that no matter how much I try."

Ed gulped again, as though that fact about Roy was a hard pill to swallow. "I don't think you're a bad person."

He stared into his eyes, shining bright and stubborn and beautiful. His grip on his chin tightened as he leaned in, kissing him gently on the mouth.

Ed blinked. "What was that for?"

Roy let go of his chin, fingers trailing down his chest. "For being you."

Ed's cheeks tinged pink as he scowled, and he tried to hide it by burying his face in his neck again. "Fuck, you're one sappy bastard."

Roy smiled, arms circling around Ed's body once again. A weight in his chest had eased its death grip on his lungs, on his heart, and he found himself breathing easier.

He didn't know how long they spent on the bathroom floor. His fingers had started threading themselves through Ed's hair a few minutes ago, and Ed was trying his best not to purr every time Roy's nails scraped his scalp.

They only got up when Roy felt Ed's tiredness through the bond. Sleep was hovering over them, and he didn't think his back would appreciate falling asleep leaning against a cabinet.

Ed silently led him back to the bedroom, his warm hand clutching his as though Roy couldn't be trusted to know the way to his own bedroom.

It was endearing.

The moment his bed came into view, apprehension gripped his gut. Ed shuffled under the duvet and looked at him expectantly as Roy paused by his side of the bed.

Usually, he would never be able to fall asleep again after a dream like that. If he did, the dream usually continued, or he had another, or it got worse, or—

"It's only one dream per night." Ed's quiet voice washed over him, calming the anxiety in his stomach.

He understood. And he was also right. Apart from that one time, it had always only been one dream per night. But what if tonight ended up being another anomaly and they had two—

"There was one time we had two," Roy mumbled.

Ed scowled. "That one was bullshit, doesn't count."

Roy took a deep breath, even though his lips threatened to twitch upwards at Ed's attempt at reassurance. But no, Ed was right. The likelihood of them having another dream was extremely low. Even though the unpredictability of the bond irked him.

He got settled into bed, and the exhaustion hit him immediately, weighing him down so heavily. It wasn't entirely physical.

Ed shuffled closer and Roy had been ready to wrap his arms around him, to have Ed's face pressed against his neck again, but Ed wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled him closer, until it was Roy's face that was buried in Ed's neck, until he was cocooned in his scent and his warmth in an entirely different way. When the next wave of sleep came, it took over easily in the safety of Ed's arms.

It would hurt when Ed left, Roy realised. It would hurt a lot.