Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ For Your Own Good ❯ Imagining Atheistically ( Chapter 5 )

For Your Own Good

Disclaimers: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist you can bet Hughes wouldn't have died. XP So no, I don't own it.

 

Sorry for the wait. I won't bore you with my excuses though. All you need to know is this- college can be evil, kiddies.

 

-LAST TIME ON FOR YOUR OWN GOOD-

 

Maes Hughes wasn't one for breaking up disputes.

 

“Why now are you suddenly a hard ass, Roy?”

 

Squinting as blood dribbled over his left eyelid, Hughes could make out nothing.

 

“W-what are you after?”

 

“Little boys,” it grinned licking the blood, Hughes' blood, off its silver blade.

 

“I'm sure it's not that serious…”

 

The flames reflected in his armor's shine eerily.

 

In reality, Edward was a fragile little doll.

 

Brother… What should I do?

 

“It's okay. Everything's going to be alright…”

 

He laughed but immediately stopped when catching sight of a silhouette on the opposite side off the alley.

 

“Full metal,” a bodiless voice grumbled only a mere seconds after the scream was cast.

 

“Edward.”

 

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Chapter Five:

Imagining Atheistically

 

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“I hope I never get so old I get religious.”

-Ingmar Bergman

xxx

 

Theoretically, the mind can come up with a thousand reasons why a scream pierces the night in the few seconds after it's sounded. They range from the typical, the possible, and the hysterical assumptions of a worrywart. Roy Mustang went through all of them as he raced the rain and night to where the sounds died from. Central echoed the sounds off of every wall, leaving it practically impossible to trace the scream- impossible, had he not known where Edward had gone.

 

It took Mustang several minutes to retrace his steps. It didn't help that Central's back allies were like that of a labyrinth. That and it didn't help that his mind was starting to invent horrific images to accurately explain the screams.

 

And it was in those crucial minutes he missed, that Edward's fate was predetermined. Roy didn't know it then, but he was too late even before he started running.

 

He wouldn't make it in time. How could he? He was just a human after all.

 

And with certain pain, Mustang remembered the last time he saw the boy's face. Screwed up with anger and hurt- yelling with tears rushing down his face. It didn't hurt that Ed hated him. It hurt that Roy had hurt Ed- made him feel helpless.

 

Would that really be the last memory he would have of the brat?

 

Mustang raced into the clearing- seeing the shadows dancing before the bright flames and smoke. The closer he got, the clearer the shadows became.

 

Colonel Roy Mustang stopped dead in his run, his dark eyes widening- memories haunting him with thousands of other events in his past that had turned into this. His breath turned to ice and chilled his lungs and heart. His eyes burned but he refused to blink.

 

Blood… So much blood. It had been a while- since he had seen how red it really was.

 

He was far too late.

 

xxx

 

She had managed to ditch Major Armstrong. It wouldn't be long before the muscle-brained man came after her though. Riza gave herself about thirty minutes to find the colonel and return before getting an unwanted search party.

 

“Colonel!” Hawkeye shouted, spotting her superior from a distance by his matted dark hair and blue uniform. The flames surrounded the area, making Mustang look almost at home. His eyes reflected the flames solemnly. His peace seem to reflect his understanding of the raging flames. Their anger at existing. And their undying hunger and thirst of the oxygen rich air.

 

He understood them.

 

She rushed forward, shoes clambering noisily against the wet pavement as she approached. Light forked across the skies as the woman officer loaded another cartage into her gun. She spotted the other man almost too late.

 

“Scar!” She hissed, skidding to a halt a mere few away from the Colonel and aiming her pistol.

 

Scar's face remained neutral- the shadows cast by the flames danced across his features in a taunting fashion. She had a shot, a perfect one right between the man's eyes, but before she could squeeze the trigger, Mustang had rose a hand out in front of the barrel to stop her. A bare hand…

 

It was then that Hawkeye felt the raindrops slipping down her face.

 

“Don't,” Mustang said simply, his arm still out as it could barricade her coming. Not that she'd need to get closer with this shot.

 

Hawkeye didn't remove her steady aim. She trusted Mustang- but not enough to trust the enemy. If Mustang wanted to communicate with the murderer, he could after she had added a bit of lead to his legs and chest.

 

She aimed lower but Mustang stood in front of her shot completely.

 

“Lower your gun, Riza,” Mustang said sternly, casting her an even stare. And having the Colonel address her on first name terms, finally woke her up. And she noticed, bewildered at her lack of noticing before, the slack body in Scar's arms.

 

“F-full metal,” Hawkeye sputtered, lowering her firearm and moving forward. Again Mustang rose his damned arm- and Riza faltered.

 

Edward's head hung back, his young face looked peaceful and blissfully oblivious to who held him in their arms- his blonde hair hanging loose and dripping wet in the rainfall. The raindrops ran down his red face like tears.

 

Scar held the child with no effort, red coat in shreds a few feet off, blood falling off the boy's body like red rain. Like the blood was a substitute for his old outfit. His shirt was now merely a rag on his chest. His dark pants were torn and singed by the flames- but otherwise the most intact thing on him. His automail gleamed in the firelight- and hung off to one side much like his other flesh arm. The boy was missing a shoe. Edward just looked helpless and so young… Too young to die.

 

Scar looked indifferently between the two officers before him. And then, his red eyes went to someone else near his side. A little dark haired girl sat there, frozen with both confusion and fear. She couldn't have been more than eight years old with her short pigtails and small round face.

 

It was then that Hawkeye realized- Scar was hesitating. He didn't want to kill Edward in front of a child…

 

“Sir,” Hawkeye began, but Mustang held up a hand to silence her. He already knew. He was counting on that little girl not running away.

 

Scar's red eyes met with that of the Colonel's. The stalemate held on a little longer- the little girl still quivering in Scar's shadow.

 

“If we wait much longer, Full Metal will die,” said the criminal calmly.

 

Hawkeye looked to the Colonel. Was Scar toying with them? Poking fun at them for being unable to do anymore than he himself could?

 

Mustang's face remained passive. “Yes. He has lost a lot of blood. But isn't that what you want?” Roy rose an eyebrow. “Or is killing children now beneath you?”

 

Hawkeye held her breath unintentionally when Scar's grip on Edward tightened. The little girl was trying to stand, but her small legs kept giving out beneath her weight. Her eyes were wide, filled with an unfathomable fear.

 

He's going to kill him, Hawkeye's mind thought cruelly. He's going to kill Edward…

 

Scar removed his gaze from Mustang for a minute, taking note of the unconscious boy in his arms. And with a soft voice he said, “Give me safe passage, and I'll leave him, alive. You can pick him up at the city's borders.”

 

Hawkeye gritted her teeth. A hostage situation. There was no guarantee for Edward's safety now. Not in Scar's arms.

 

The storm's wind tossed Edward's hair, still heavy with rain. Mustang was watching the boy's face, watching the boy's chest rise and fall with each struggled breath. Willing the boy to make the decision for him. This was a nightmare he never wanted to live. This was a choice he never wanted to make.

 

How did the situation get here?

 

His mind brought Roy back to the first time he met Ed- just barely over twelve years old, in a wheel chair with just stub for an arm and leg. His eyes gleaming gold in the low light. The day he decided to throw away his childhood.

 

And then the day when Edward first realized the darkness of the military. So young, angry, and frustrated. Waiting out the rainfall on some steps that led to nowhere. Standing up, and declaring something so true, so childish and pure.

 

“We're humans. We can't even save one little girl. We're just pathetic human beings…”

 

And all he could do at the time was turn his head.

 

He knew the answer to this question. He knew that in the military- hostages were supposed to protected only to a point. This point had been crossed- in all normal drills, military officers are trained to sacrifice hostages, like Edward, in situations, likes these.

 

But, the flame alchemist regretfully closed his eyes, Edward was different from other hostages. He truly wasn't expendable.

 

“Leave him at Central Hospital. We won't follow you.”

 

Hawkeye cast Mustang a look full of horror. She tried to from words to express her emotions- but her teeth had ground each other shut. All she could do was fight back the stubborn tears forming in her eyes. This frustration was enveloping her emotions.

 

She didn't want Edward to die, but trusting Scar was too far.

 

“You trust me not to kill him?” said Scar with certain doubt hanging in his voice.

 

“No,” Mustang opened his eyes again. Their dark gaze was chilling. “I trust you to not kill a civilian.”

 

The wind blew again. The strands of blonde hair wisped across Edward's unmoving features. Mustang had to wonder if he'd ever see that boy move again… If he'd get to say goodbye.

 

“You'd discharge Full Metal… to save his life?” a smile played on Scar's lips. Mustang was surprised to find it wasn't sinister. The smile was one of relief.

 

“If it will save his life,” Mustang said softly.

 

Scar looked down at the boy one last time. “It might.” His eyes fell upon the commander again, “With a sacrifice perhaps.”

 

It was then that, against all orders, Hawkeye rose her gun and fired. Who the hell cared at this point? They were all dead anyway.

 

xxx

 

Pain swallowed everything. He was enveloped in a hellish nightmare of fire and death. The pain surged up his back- the power of it ripping and tearing at his insides.

 

I'll give you a moment to pray, said a voice below him. He moved his hand towards the voice hitting just a wall. He ran his hand down it, feeling the words vibrate through him- so he could understand.

 

There's no god I want to pray to.

 

There's no heaven. He tried to say so. But his voice couldn't leave his mouth. It seemed to hear him anyway.

 

You think too simplistically, responded the voice. What a sad existence you lead. To make yourself believe you are trapped in a box.

 

But there is a hell. His lips smiled but were unable to say it still. Life is hell.

 

You made it that way, said the bodiless voice.

 

I didn't make anything, thought the boy. Life was thrust down my throat.

 

Stop blaming everything else.

 

But I blame myself, thought the boy sadly.

 

The pain rushed to his head, making the boy dizzy. He buckled low to the wall. His cheek pressed against the surface. It was cool to the touch- refreshing.

 

Below is only soil. Above us only sky. There is no afterlife. What I am in now… is the end.

 

How sad, said the bodiless voice without mercy. You really feel this way?

 

The boy curled himself closer, naked and wounded.

 

When we are dead, we are gone forever. Forgotten forever.

 

Something pulled the boy closer. The wall was suddenly warm, and he suddenly felt comfortable. Someone was brushing back his bangs, and kissing his forehead gently.

 

Mother, thought the boy.

 

The fingertips brushed his skin. They ran down his wounds- healing them momentarily. The boy found his eyes finally opening. His amber eyes finally seeing a face.

 

“Mom,” Edward said softly, blood dribbling down his chin, reaching his hands out towards the light.

 

“Edward,” said the voice. His mother's face was lined with tears. “Don't die, Edward.”

 

Edward blinked, finally able to tell where he was. A white box. A white and tiny room. A hospital room.

 

The young alchemist sat up, in the sunlight, and turned looking around for his mother. He was unable to accept the dream as a dream.

 

His sad golden eyes met nothing. He was trapped in his box again.

 

Ed felt down his body- examining his wounds and reasons for being in this facility. His chest was naked and bandaged. The bottom half of his body was covered with strange pinstriped pajamas pants. Hospital wear, not the most fashionable of outfits.

 

“Edward.”

 

Ed turned, noticing the man in the corner at last. He had a bandage over his head. Edward cocked an eyebrow as if pondering how he got hurt.

 

“Lieutenant Colonel,” said Edward, surprised that he could barely speak above a whisper. His throat didn't hurt. He just couldn't muster the energy to talk as loud as was normal.

 

Hughes smiled, and leaned forward to offer Edward a glass of water. Edward took the glass in quivering hands. Even his automail hand was shaking- clanging nervously against the glass and their other joints. He didn't bother questioning it. He drank entirely from the cup. Afterwards, he felt better- but his voice still had not strengthened.

 

“What happened?” Edward asked curiously, sending Hughes a tired stare, “Where's Al?”

 

Hughes frowned. Edward found he didn't like the man frowning at such a question.

 

“What happened? Where's Al?” Edward asked again, his voice still unable to give much force into the statement.

 

“He's probably just fine,” Hughes said softly, looking down at the tiled floor. “A lot of people have gone missing. I only just found you, after all.”

 

And Edward didn't like that answer. He tried to move but pain rushed down his spine, leaving him crying out in agony. Hughes had moved forward to push Edward back down into bed- but Edward fought him off.

 

“What happened to me?” Edward said through gritted teeth. “What happened to my back?”

 

Hughes' face darkened. He looked down at the floor again, his brow furrowed. “I don't know what happened to you, Edward. We are trying to figure that out.”

 

Edward opened his eyes- seeing the images of his last hours of wake flashing through his mind. The girl and the boy. The burning house. Laughter and screams. And then blood.

 

His head felt empty. Blank. Drained. Like he was missing something important.

 

Pain surged from his back again. Flowing from multiple wounds- multiple strokes of a knife carved into his back…

 

Edward jumped from the bed, ripping the bandages off his back before Hughes could move in to stop him. They fell off easily as if they resisted touching his wounds- like they were of the same magnetic charge, repelling each other. Hughes had just grabbed hold of the teenager's arm when the last bandage fell off.

 

Both their eyes widened in shock at the scars slashed into the boy's back. Deep painful scars- carved in pattern all down Edward's back.

 

“It's… an alchemic circle,” said Edward at long last. He couldn't see himself properly in the mirror, but he could see enough to know this.

 

“An alchemic circle. Someone performed alchemy on your back, Edward?” said Hughes in bewilderment. He had to resist the urge to run a finger along the ridges of the design. It was so detailed and fine-tuned. Someone had planned it. It didn't seem possible for someone to attack Edward and do it in the spur of the moment.

 

“No,” said Edward darkly, wrapping the bandages back over the wounds. They were starting to bleed again. Especially after being exposed to air again.

 

His eyes were sad. But at the same time they accepted the wounds… as if he had deserved them.

 

“They performed alchemy on me,” Edward said softly. “To seal me up.”

 

He tapped his hands together and pulled away. No static ran through his metal or flesh fingers. Instead the bandages on his back soaked up more blood and his body perspired.

 

He clenched his fingers, and fell forward- barely giving Hughes the time to catch him. He was having trouble holding on to his breath. Slowly it seeped out of his body- leaving him only seconds before unconsciousness stole him away again.

 

“Why couldn't they have just killed me?” Edward cried, tears threatening to run down his face. “Why couldn't they have just… done anything else? What do I have left now?”

 

Edward shook his head, fighting off the urge to fall unconscious, “What am I supposed to do about Al now?”

 

Dark fingers slid over his eyes, forcing them closed. And the boy was back in the darkness of his mind before he noticed- he no longer had his silver watch.

 

To Be Continued…

Please R & R!

 

Shout out to my sister- who is turning 16 tomorrow!! The 27 of September.

 

This chapter may have seemed really jumbled and distorted- and that was mostly because a lot of the key events were not relayed yet. Like Mustang was with Scar for several minutes before Hawkeye showed up. And then of course what happened to cause Ed to scream. And how Scar got there before Mustang.

 

These will all be explained later, of course. Through their point of views. Sorry for the shortness.

 

Okay, review responses are on my live journal. You can view them by going to my profile and clicking the links to my memories page. From there go to the title of the story and the chapter- which in this case would be Chapter 4. Those that review last chapter were: Fuyuka-chan, Kiralover2, Kurai Eymru, Rasgara, Nozomi and Hotaru, Steve128967, KamauFox, Tiff-chan, MysticJunebugs, miroku-has-darkness, ArYuNvius, and golden-eyed-heretic.

 

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