Chapter 13: The Past and the Present

*Warning- descriptions of animal abuse and hurt to Edward.

Edward had called him Dad.

If what Damien said was true, and not just some ruse to insight him, Edward had decided to trust Roy Mustang in one of the most incomprehensible but satisfying ways that he ever could, and Mustang knew the implications. He did not need Damien to spell them out for him.

It doesn't make sense. If he did call me, of all people Dad, Damien must have done something after knocking me out. Has everything that happened really caused Edward to see me that way?

Mustang's eyes narrowed, and his fringe cast a shadow over his eyes as Damien watched on in cool, haughty indifference. Mustang recalled Edward's barely concealed concern after he had woken up to find himself in the new cell with him.

That week alone in this room must really have worn on him. He really is just a kid.

Mustang raised his head; he might be lying. But with one look at Damien, Mustang found he did not care if Damien was lying.

Mustang placed one hand on top of his knee and pushed himself up. The chain around his ankle rattled. Fury swirled beneath the surface.

The energy that Mustang lacked before came rushing into every pore of his being, and Mustang stood. He stood despite the aching knee, malnourishment, and thirst. He stood despite every bruise and cut and fractured bone.

This man is threatening my son, Mustang straightened.

Mustang now looked down on Damien and swung a sharp right jab at the man who dared to stand too close – the man mocking him, mocking Edward, and who, thought Mustang too weak, too hurt, and too beaten to stand, and gave him the best punch to the jaw that he had ever endeavored to throw.

Damien went down, skidding on his back, legs sprawled. Once still, Damien propped himself up, leaning on one elbow to support himself so he could look at the heaving Mustang, with his other hand holding his jaw, shock evident in his face.

Dammit, Mustang, you will pay!

Damien heaved himself upward, but Mustang was ready. Mustang may not have had as much mobility as he would have liked due to the chain restraining him, but his fists were up defensively and ready to strike when necessary.

Damien roared at Mustang but kept his distance. "You realize we can take it out on the kid!"

Damien's eyes were wide and crazed. His shoulders heaving, and he, for once, did not care what anyone might think. Everything about Mustang had slowly and increasingly begun to set him on edge, to irritate him. And Damien did not like it. It tore into his very being, and Damien did not understand the feeling in the slightest.

I don't understand! That fool Casper cries for his son, but this one, this Mustang, stands up even when he's beaten, even restrained, and without hope of escape. Casper abandoned his son as much as the military did by not saving him! The way my own…

Damien lurched forward and whipped out his hand to punch Mustang, but Mustang deftly deflected the blow and landed another blow straight to Damien's nose.

The unsettled feeling flared up again as some forgotten memory pushed from the deepest recesses of Damien's mind as he stumbled backward. Damien was losing control.

Mustang saw the half-crazed and wild look in Damien's eyes. Mustang knew the look was dangerous, but he had a son to protect. If Damien remained angry with him, he just might keep his focus here. And if Damien had the key, alone as he was in the room with Mustang, it could be to his advantage.

Damien stepped back once more. Why does this Mustang, restricted as he is, think he can save that brat! Why does he stand up? Why?

Mustang merely kept his eyes on Damien. They were narrowed and almost hidden by his fringe, and Damien backed up slightly. He had woken a sleeping dragon.

Damien twitched. Nothing about Mustang made sense.

Mustang growled, "You take it out on the kid, and I will end you, even if I have to chew off my leg to do so."

Damien reeled back with a shocked intake of breath. He was now looking at the Hero of Ishval, the Flame Alchemist, even if Mustang was without his flames. Another image flashed before his eyes of another man, who stood taller than he.

Damien took another step back but then stopped and stood straight, stiffened, and shook his head, suppressing long-forgotten memories, banishing them again to the very depths of his mind and soul. His anger buried once more, Damien stared at Mustang for a long minute and schooled his features to his typical cool indifference.

The sudden shift caused Mustang to blink, and he jerked ever so slightly, eyes widening as Damien spun on his heel and marched toward the door.

"Where the hell is Edward?" Mustang called, lunging forward, but a good meter from the door jerked to a halt as the restraint on his ankle grew taught. He would have stumbled if not for his honed instincts and surging adrenaline.

Damien barely glanced over his shoulder and slammed the door as he walked out without answering the question. Damien could hear Mustang yelling through the door but paid no heed.

Inside, Mustang cursed.

Damien moved down the hallway, his posture stiff, and quickly slipped into his room.

Once inside, he leaned against the door and, breathing heavily, clutched his chest. His vision was cloudy, and he felt like he had just woken from a very deep sleep. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and Damien lifted a hand to wipe it away, but as he brought his hand down, all he could do was stare at the bead of moisture on his fingertip.

For a moment, the only thing that existed was that bead of sweat. Damien blinked and irritably shook his head as he flicked the droplet away.

He began to move toward his desk but stumbled and fell to his knees by his bed, one hand clutching the bed covers and the other gripping his knee.

An image flashed before Damien's eyes – a scene from long ago. He could no longer suppress the rising tide that he so firmly kept under control at all other times.

XXX

The sky was a vibrant blue, not a cloud in the sky.

Damien stood in the middle of a large field of long, swaying grass. He and his family lived far enough north that the snow only melted in the height of summer, and even then, the air remained cool. Even so, the grass grew long and green and never turned brown.

He loved the scent of the grass.

And the scene was peaceful, all but for a moment.

A small purple and blue butterfly was clutched in Damien's tiny hands, but in an instant, only the wings remained. The thin body falling, writhing, into the grass.

Damien tilted his head as he looked at the gossamer wings shimmering in the sunlight, and in that moment, a shadow fell over him.

"Damien, sweetheart, what are you doing?"

Damien looked up at the beautiful woman and smiled his baby-toothed smile. She was much taller than he was, and her caramel-colored hair was tied back. Her face was gentle and framed by the sun, like a glistening halo.

Then, he held up his hands to show his mother his prize.

His mother's smile vanished in a moment, and a cloud covered the sun. Her voice was pained as she spoke.

"Damien, why did you hurt the little butterfly?"

Damien tilted his head to the side, "it was pretty."

His mother's eyes blinked in confusion, brow furrowing, "that is no reason to hurt it. You should have let it go and enjoyed its beauty as it flew in the sky. I don't want to find you killing any more creatures just because you want something, okay?"

Damien looked up at her, now his brow furrowed, but he nodded, even if he did not understand why.

XXX

Damien continued to clutch the covers as another memory flashed before his eyes. His hand jerked from his knee to his forehead, clutching at his hairline.

XXX

Over the years, the days were cold, much like how he felt inside. There was nothing there, and the other children noticed, and the adults noticed, but most importantly, his parents noticed.

One year, after the second snowfall, he found a small dog dying in the snow. It was skinny, bones jutting out from its sides. Three long cuts ran from its chest to its belly, and other scratches littered its body as if it had been in a fight with another animal. Red painted the snow is a slowly growing pool around the tiny being.

Damien stared down at the small dog, his head tilted to the side, blinking expressionlessly.

He then stooped down, and with one hand holding the dog down, he took its head in the other and snapped its neck.

A gasp from behind him caused Damien to turn slowly and look at his classmates, who were also walking to the one-room brick building that served as their school.

The children backed away at his blank stare as the dog twitched one last time and grew still.

He did not understand, the dog was as good as dead anyway. So, there should be nothing wrong with what he did.

It wasn't like he was taking something because he wanted it from the small thing. Instead, he was just hastening the inevitable.

But people talked, and not just his mother but his father scolded him severely. He listened silently, without any reaction, and his father had finally sent him to his room.

As he had walked up the steps, he felt a slight sting, and his chest tightened but for a moment. They had not listened, but it was not like he expected them to do so.

He craved something, and he did not know what it was. He knew he felt most secure when others were nearby, but they often left him alone.

They said his expression was creepy. The neighbors said he looked like he didn't feel anything at all. The woman who lived next to them had tripped one time, and he had stood silently and watched. When she noticed him, she had complained that he had not helped her, but he did not know why he should have. When he fell down, he picked himself up, so why did she expect help?

Damien slowly stood as the memories faded. The look of anger on Mustang's face. The look of fear on Casper's face after Mustang and Edward had disappeared and the look of absolute horror on Edward's face after he had pretended to shoot Mustang, all of it, brought up something unwanted.

It reminded him why he generally stayed away from others.

But everything had been going so well with the rebels under his leadership. They looked up to him, and so he did not have to be concerned for their fear, horror, disgust, or anger. They had no reason to look at him like that, as it was all justified their fight against the government no matter what he did.

Although, fear was a good motivator. However, it was the most irritating thing he could imagine when it only made someone bite back or cower away.

He understood this, but he did not understand the look Mustang gave Edward. Damien did not understand the expression on Casper's face, soft, sorrowful, creased eyes as Casper talked about his son. However, Damien understood the blazing fury that lit inside Casper once the government was mentioned, though.

Yet, the soft expression, the only word he had for it, reminded him of the one time before the butterfly when his father had saved him from falling down a steep slope. His father had held him, that soft expression etched on his face, giving way to a smile once he knew Damien was alright as they sat on the grass.

But Damien never saw that expression again.

Damien turned rigidly and finally walked to his desk. The parchment on top held notes for all they had done, and another listed plans for the future.

His eyes fell to his note about Drachma. Drachma was here to give them supplies, help train the recruits, and help them push further toward the capital.

Now he also had the two alchemists, and they could serve as hostages. But they could serve other purposes as well.

He knew Drachma would want them, but he would need at least one for the rebels' plans. Damien looked down his nose at the list. If he were to give the Drachma soldiers anyone, it would be Mustang.

The man infuriated him enough, and the thought of squashing that fatherly act pleased him. He would rip that notion to shreds – it had no place in his presence.

Damien looked once more at his hand and the finger where the bead of sweat had once lain. Damien clutched his hand into a fist and glared at the wall for a very long time.

Mustang stood heaving for breath long after Damien left. A cold chill made its way up his spine, slowly, making every bone and muscle quiver.

"I shouldn't have done that." Mustang brought a hand up to his face as he suddenly swayed. Mustang collapsed to his knees. He could not stop the shudders traveling up and down his body. His vision greyed for a moment, and suddenly he found himself lying on the floor.

Mustang had pitched forward as he blacked out for that one moment. The bruise on his temple was a sick darkening blue color, and if he could see himself, he would see the slight hallowing of his cheeks.

Every muscle ached, and all he could do was lay there and try to catch his breath, hoping his last bout of stupidity had not gotten Edward killed.

Later, Damien walked into the mess hall with purpose. The rebels looked on, some with unease and others with the same curt nods.

The Drachma group sat alone at a far table. Everyone gave them a large berth.

Damien grabbed a bowl from the rebel on cooking duty, nodded in approval, and then went to sit with the Drachma leader to discuss their next part in the plan. He hoped his deal would make them happy.

As he approached, the Drachma leader looked up at him and gave him a curt nod.

Damien sat, "so, shall we discuss the next order of business?"

The Drachma leader snorted, "you asked Drachma for help. But you need to keep up your end. We came, and you only use us for scouting."

Damien smiled coolly, "and yet the men have learned a lot from you about scouting. When you came here, you came to observe our motley crew and seal the deal between our group and your government. But, did you not oblige to our request for help in scouting? I never intended to use you only for grunt work. After all, everyone pitches in here, even you, since we don't have enough resources otherwise."

Damien met the Drachma leader's eyes, "after all, the success of our mission benefits your country, does it not? So, do you think Drachma will help us win our rebellion? And if I promise to give you one of the alchemists, will that sweeten the deal?"

At the mention of the alchemists, who the Drachma soldiers knew were there but had yet to see, the Drachma leader's eyes lit up, but his face remained passive.

"Let me think," the Drachma leader paused. The others looked on as if uninterested, but they knew what their leader was doing. The Drachma soldiers knew one should never let the opponent know that they had something you truly wanted because allowing them to know gave them power, and that, was unacceptable.

The Drachma leader took a few moments to settle his thoughts. He, of all of them, could not show anything. The success of this mission was of the utmost importance.

Little did anyone but the Drachma soldiers know that this mission was considered a suicide mission. The Drachma leader had failed several past missions, and this mission was punishment due to the high chance of failure. After all, their success relied on a small group of rebels to succeed where no rebel group had succeeded before.

If they failed and were discovered, the Drachma government already had a plan in place to claim they had gone rogue, along with evidence of their past failures. The Drachma government had already set everything in motion to let their team take the fall for this mission, including doing nothing to prevent the Amestrian government from receiving word they had crossed the border.

Every single one of them was aware of it, and being able to take a state alchemist, or even two, back to Drachma with them would count as a success, even if nothing came of this little rebellion.

When the Drachma leader spoke, he spoke slowly, "we shall see, friend Damien. Your group seems to be well on their way under your leadership. But we may have to return home to gather more troops. Transporting an alchemist will be difficult. I will first want to see these alchemists, to be sure."

Damien smiled, "all in good time. Allow me two more days, and you can meet them."

And then they shook.

Edward twitched. The darkness in the room was absolute. At least in his last cell, the ever-present single light bulb was there, even if it cast disconcerting shadows. The memory of it going out made him shudder, but it hadn't been out for long. Then Mustang had been there, just as he had in the first cell, despite the constant darkness. Mustang had been there despite the cold and darkness.

The thought of a bloody, Mustang lying unmoving in their last cell had Edward shaking his head to dispel the image.

Edward tried to move once more, but the bindings were tight. He was restrained, prone, and caught in the darkness.

The sudden flicker and blinding light caused him to close his eyes.

When he opened them, he saw Damien standing there, two others he did not recognize, and Casper standing by the door uneasily.

Damien walked up to the prone Alchemist and leaned over him. Edward noted that the table was at about waist height as Damien's hand slammed down on the opposite side of his head so that Damien could look down on him from above.

Edward glared but inwardly shuddered at the proximity.

"Enjoying yourself? I hear you have quite the relationship with your commanding officer."

Edward gave Damien a look of utter confusion, "wha'?"

"You're daddy's little boy?" Damien's tone was condescending.

Edward made the most appalled look Damien, or Casper had ever seen. "What the hell, you psycho? Where did you get that sort of idea…?"

Damien's hand, which had moved from the table beside Edward's head to rest on his throat, stopped Edward's words in a sudden intake of breath.

Damien watched as Edward's gaze switched from appalled to a nervous glare in a moment. Only the briefest flash of fear had passed over Edward's eyes in between.

Edward tried to breathe steadily. The weight of Damien's hand was not enough to block his airway, but it was enough to restrict some of the airflow. He could feel Damien's fingers wrapping around his throat, almost wrapping around his whole neck. It made Edward feel small, and his breath hitched.

Damien flicked a switch by the table, which then began to move into an upright position.

The sudden movement startled Edward as his legs began to descend. However, the constant weight of Damien's hand, which only moved enough to accommodate the movement of the table, caused his heartbeat to pick up slightly. Something Edward desperately tried to reel in and control.

"So, Edward," Damien began as soon as the table stopped moving. "What would you be willing to give me in exchange for your life and your freedom?"

Edward gave Damien an incredulous look, "you… are you talking about that stuff now? After all this time, when you didn't ask for anything before? After all this time, you actually wanted something more than to just prevent us from letting the government know about you?"

After killing Mustang? You bastard!

Damien listened as Edward's incredulous tone shifted to something akin to barely concealed panic. Damien could feel Edward's pulse quickening and see him struggle to put on a false brave front as his eyes widened.

Damien's expression was serious, "Why would we keep you alive otherwise?" While maintaining his grip, he slowly moved his thumb up and down but remained impassive despite another hitch in Edward's breathing at the movement and the sudden spike in his pulse.

Edward shifted uncomfortably, eyes never leaving Damien's face.

Damien continued, "If you had no use, then you would not be worth keeping alive. It's not like we have supplies to share. Did you not come here because of rumors that we were stealing goods from merchants along the road?"

Edward's eyes widened more. After everything, he had almost forgotten that was one of the reasons they had come this way.

"I see, so I'm right," Damien plastered a smile on his face as Edward flinched.

Edward tried to take deep breaths, realizing that Damien had read his expression and that he had given something away, despite all of Mustang's warnings.

Crap, crap, crap, crap, I can't believe the bastard was right…

"Damien, we have a goal here," Casper said, drawing attention to himself and interrupting Edward's inner berating.

Damien merely nodded indifferently and turned back to Edward, "so, what do you know of the security around Central Command?"

Edward blinked at him, "wait… what?"

Damien's eyes darkened, and he spoke more slowly and placed just a bit more pressure on Edward's throat, "what do you know of the security around Central Command?"

"What makes you think I know anything? I've been there all of once for my evaluation, and that was only just a year ago. How would I know? They don't tell me stuff like that."

Damien shifted his grip from Edward's throat to his chin and lifted his head. Edward's neck strained as he was pulled against the restraints.

"Are you sure? After all, you are the only one left for us to ask."

Edward's face paled, but his eyes blazed "Of course, bastard! Maybe you should have thought about what you were…"

Damien let go, saying nothing, and lashed out with a vicious knee to Edward's stomach that had Edward coughing up blood. The audible crack had seemed to echo through the room.

Casper watched in horror; this is not what I wanted. Casper reached forward and put a hand on Damien's arm. "Damien, this isn't good. This won't help."

Damien whirled around, "shut up!"

Casper took a step back. Damien had never once lost his temper, and now he looked almost crazed.

Damien turned to Edward, "can you believe it was only just this morning that I brought you here? That I shot Mustang?"

Edward involuntarily shuddered as the memory of the gun's report echoed in his head. If he could have clutched his bangs, he would have.

"You have no power here, and you will be of use, even if it is just to be a hostage. The government will want their little prodigy back, now won't they."

You'll be wanted. Damien stared at Edward and realized he had lost his temper once again.

Damien turned stiffly, "we're done here. We didn't really need information from you anyway. You're just here to act as leverage for your little government."

Then, with an authoritarian jerk of his head, the others followed him out of the room.

Outside, Casper strode up to Damien purposefully, all the while keeping the other two rebels in the corner of his eye, he spoke.

"Damien, we need to talk. Privately."

Damien met Casper's firm expression just as firmly, "very well."

Both made their way to Damien's room, and once the door was closed, Casper whirled to face Damien.

"What were you doing? The Fullmetal Alchemist is just a kid!"

Damien looked at Casper unimpressed, "and yet before their first escape, you were more than willing to go in a cause both bodily harm."

Casper bit his lip and stood rigidly, "I am more than aware of my actions, but I never intended to harm or deliberately attacked the kid. Flame for sure," Casper sneered, "but not the kid." Casper's eyes narrowed guiltily at his last words.

"And yet you came close." Damien leaned forward, narrowing the gap between them.

Casper grimaced, "I was acting in anger. It does not justify anything, nor does it make one of us better than the other, but to deliberately harm a child…"

Damien cut Casper off, "I do not see your point."

"He's younger than my boy when..."

Damien flicked his wrist. "You have told me of your son before. I am well aware of your situation, but how does that bear upon this one?"

Casper straightened a little bit more, "it has everything to do with it. I am here to stop a government that is willing to harm children, like in Ishaval. I am here to stop a government that is willing to make a child into a soldier. If we stoop to their level… if we also do such harm, then how are we any better?"

Damien looked on apathetically, "you will not win your rebellion, your war, with such niceties."

"Niceties? What purpose does it serve to harm either of them?"

"To ensure they cannot escape and ensure they are ready when we have use for them. They can act as hostages, and hostages are more effective when the situation is desperate. We can also use them as bargaining chips with Drachma."

"Drachma?" Casper's eyes widened, "wait, I agreed to hostages, and to asking Drachma for help, but to send them to Drachma is a dea…"

Damien cut Casper off, again, "A death sentence, most likely. But it will give us the aid from Drachma that we need. In our last meeting, you also agreed to use Drachma as a resource."

"You acted without consulting anyone! They were already here."

"And most everyone was impressed."

"Yes, but…"

"You want your rebellion and to succeed, do you not?"

"Yes…"

"And you asked me to help. Why are you questioning me now after all this time?"

Casper met Damien's eyes. It was at that moment that he noted that Damien seemed to express nothing. He had reasoned out his actions and saw them as justified. There would be no reasoning with him. Yet, when in the presence of Mustang and Edward, emotions seeped to the surface.

It was then that Casper felt his first twinge of real fear and disquiet in Damien's presence. If before he saw a stoic and aloof leader who could be a firm guide for a rebellion, now he saw the awkward lack of empathy.

Damien noted the subtle shift, and his expression darkened.

The image of his classmates' faces flashed before his eyes again as a cool feeling settled in his chest.

Casper shook his head, dispelling his own concern, "we both need to calm down, but I don't want to hurt the child. Maybe we consider giving them water daily. They are already far too weak from hunger and thirst to escape, and it will be all the more difficult to escape unnoticed in their new locations."

"No," Damien shook his head, "we stay on the every-other-day water schedule and food twice a week."

"It's only more water. We can't have them dying on us." Casper reasoned.

Damien's eyes darkened, and Casper took a deep breath, "just think about it, Damien. You've helped us more than you know, and I appreciate it, but this is a team effort."

Damien titled his head to the side. Casper's shift back to a calm, reasonable demeanor confused him. Yet, the passing look that Casper had given him was still in the forefront of his mind.

"Very well, I'll consider it. Anyway, we got the information we wanted out of the child, and planted a false sense of what kind of questions we are looking for as well."

With Damien's last statement, Casper nodded and left the room, his expression grim.

Outside, Casper found Logan and Maria waiting for him. As their eyes met, Casper saw the same disquiet that he felt. He nodded briefly and then motioned with his chin toward the door to his room. Both nodded, and they proceeded to enter silently and without preamble.

The mid-day sun hung overhead as Envy scuttled into the Fuhrer's office and, in a flash of red lightning, turned into the androgenous young human form.

The Fuhrer looked on unamused.

Envy spoke, "You should know that both our confirmed and potential sacrifices are now prisoners of the rebel group. They also have Drachma soldiers with them… oh, and the second team is all dead, thanks to said Drachma."

Fuhrer Bradley sighed, and with a wave of his hand, said, "Very well, we will need to send a rescue team."

Envy waited, but when the man continued to look over the documents in his hand stalked a bit closer. "Nothing else?"

"I have things to do," and giving Envy an incredulous look, "I cannot act on your information alone."

Envy sniffed but turned back into a bug and scuttled out as the door opened and General Hakuro walked inside, announced by the Fuhrer's aid.

The call to Mustang's office came unexpectedly, especially given the lack of response from the military's top echelons before.

Hawkeye put down the phone and stared at the group.

"What is it," they asked?

"We're moving out in two days to go find Mustang and Edward," she paused, "and to find the other team as well. Apparently, the second team has gone missing, and so the top does not want to wait given the situation."

The team looked at each other in surprise, "why us?"

Hawkeye looked a Furey, "because we noted the issue first, and because Mustang is our commanding officer. We need to finish up some of our last documents and then move on to planning. Let's go, people. Two other teams from the east and one from central will join us."

The team exchanged smiles and began to move. Other teams in other offices began to move as well.

However, in East City, in one particular office, a report of one missing Mrs. Tucker was lost in the flurry of activity as a result of the teams beginning to plan their rescue of two missing state alchemists.

And if a little green bug took off with the sheet, silently cackling all the way, no one took notice.

One of the first scenes I wrote for the story was about Damien ripping the wings off the butterfly- we finally reached this point in the story- I don't know if I'm conveying him properly- so your thoughts and impressions are appreciated. On Damien and Casper both, they are the OCs, after all.