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Couldn’t he have one mission go according to plan, or was he doomed to chaos for the rest of his career?
Roy crawled onto the river's embankment, little rivulets of ice-cold water trailing behind him and puddling in the valleys of disturbed earth. It poured from his clothes and mouth as he coughed and retched. He shivered violently, from both the cold and rage.
‘Have a nice swim,’ huh? he thought bitterly, coughing again and spitting phlegm into the mud beside him. He sat back on his ankles and wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve, frowning at the equally drenched jacket, compliments of their “escort.”
Was the entire inspection order a farce? Or was it an interception of official plans? Either way, he would have to worry about it later. He had to focus on surviving the oncoming night.
A splash of falling debris echoed off the trees just out of sight around the riverbed. The bridge was likely in a sad state of splintered lumber, crumbling concrete, and torn rebar now. He supposed they were lucky that the car was swept so far downriver. The tree line gave them the cover they needed for them to find shelter.
Behind him, the water splashed, gravel shifting with a crunch as Fullmetal trudged ashore.
Too drained and too stiff to turn around, Roy muttered, “You alr-right, Fullmetal?”
No answer.
He turned.
Nothing was there, save for a scorched wooden beam, the swift current driving it further and further onto the stone-covered shore.
“Fullmetal?” he called, slightly louder.
He scoured the area for blond hair and a red coat, but saw neither. He looked across the narrow channel, thinking maybe he swam to the other side.
Swam…?
Could he swim?
He stumbled to the water’s edge. “Fullmetal!”
Roy was certain that Fullmetal had made it out of the car. The explosion had shattered Roy’s window and Fullmetal had broken off his own door with his automail after they hit the riverbed.
That was the last Roy had seen him.
Why assume a child with two steel limbs could swim? Why assume he could swim at all?
He was such an idiot .
He had to find him before it was too late.
Moving as fast as his numb, shaking legs could manage, he followed the shore downriver.
He found him quickly.
Laying face-down on the riverbed not fifteen feet from the water’s edge, Fullmetal floated weightlessly above the ground, automail limbs anchoring him below the surface, coat and untied hair drifting with the current.
The realization floored him like a sack of bricks.
He had tried to crawl along the bottom.
Throwing his waterlogged coat to the ground, Roy hurried forward on unstable legs and braced himself before wading into the water.
Taking a deep shuddering breath, he submerged.
His body seized.
Holy fuck.
The frigid water swallowed his sharp gasp, the air ripping forcibly from his lungs as if he were punched in the gut. Jagged, icy knives stabbed him all over his body and burned his skin like white-hot fire. It took every ounce of willpower to force his eyes open in the murk and move.
Grimacing against the pain, he reached down and roughly flipped Fullmetal onto his back, hooked his forearms under his shoulders, and pulled .
He used his body weight as leverage to drag Fullmetal from the river as fast as he could. Water poured off of them to rush through the deep trenches carved into the frosted mud to rejoin the river. Pine needles scratched roughly against Roy’s face and neck as he pushed backwards through the low-hanging branches covering a narrow gap between the trees.
He tripped on the cape of his uniform — who designed this thing anyway? — and collapsed backward with a grunt, the impact sending daggers up his body. Fullmetal landed heavily on his legs, red-clothed arms drooping limply on either side. Panting heavily, he carefully maneuvered out from under the teen’s torso and lowered him to the ground.
His subordinate's head lolled sideways, crystallized mud and brittle pine needles sticking to his wet hair fanned across the forest floor. His bangs clung to his ghostly face, his lips a shocking shade of blue.
Is he…?
Roy recoiled at the thought and shoved it from his mind. His hands shook furiously as he brushed gold bangs away from the teen's slackened features and turned his face toward him.
“Fullm-metal,” Roy muttered through violently chattering teeth. He rapped his fingers on one cheek. “Answer me!”
The only reply was the wind rushing through the trees.
He slowly released Fullmetal’s face, and his head fell limply to the side.
Dread knotted his gut.
Quickly, Roy pressed an ear onto his small chest — flinching at the freezing bite of the wet fabric — and listened.
No breath. No heartbeat.
Snow began to fall, quiet and cold.
For just a moment, time froze with the earth around them.
Then, Roy inhaled, more a hiss than breath.
“Oh n-no you don't,” he growled.
Roy moved automatically, pushing Fullmetal's left arm and jacket out of the way and rising onto his knees. He placed his palm on his chest, stacking his opposite hand on top and lacing his fingers together to form one large fist like a miniature battering ram. Locking his elbows and positioning his shoulders directly over his hands, he started chest compressions.
The odds of resuscitating a person without a heartbeat were slim, he knew that. But he’d be damned if he allowed that to stop him from trying.
Immediately, water and vomit bubbled from between purpling lips with each rib-bruising push. He hurriedly rolled Ed onto his side, and he was horrified at how much liquid spilled out. Depositing the teen once more onto his back, Roy replaced his hands.
He mentally counted to thirty then carefully tilted Fullmetal's head back, pinched his nose tightly shut, and gave two rescue breaths, looking sideways and hoping for the rise and fall of his chest. Panic increased when there was no movement.
Without hesitation he began again, pulsing deeper into Fullmetal’s rib cage. He winced at the crack of bone under his hands, but didn’t dare stop. He was going to get an earful about that if – no, when – Fullmetal woke up.
…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.
Two rescue breaths.
Nothing.
“ Edward, damn it, breathe!”
Roy choked down the lump in his throat. He couldn’t panic. He wouldn't let Ed die because of some damned water.
Ed would recover his original limbs and Alphonse’s body and live a whole and happy life until he was old as dirt. Maybe he would meet someone that could tolerate his bullshit and settle down and raise some kids if he wanted to.
He would not die up here soaked and frozen and far away from his brother and friends at fourteen years old.
Not if Roy Mustang had anything to say about it.
Two more breaths.
“Come on, kid,” Roy pleaded quietly.
…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—
Ed jolted.
His eyes flew open, panic bright in his watery eyes. He coughed hard, chest heaving as icy water and bile exploded from his mouth like a geyser. He shoved Roy’s hands off his chest and twisted roughly to the side, nearly knocking the man over in the process. Ed’s arms drew inward, hands clutching tightly at his shirt as he continued to cough and gag. Roy helped Ed roll further onto his side then leaned over to repeatedly thump a fist on Ed's back.
Ed's coughing subsided into a groan.
Roy dropped heavily onto the ground beside him, each gasp of breath fogging in the chilled air. His whole body shivered from the cold, his arms and shoulders weak from overexertion. He rested his right hand on the back of Ed’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Just,” Ed wheezed, his jaw quivering, “peachy.”
Roy let his head sag, a smile shaking from his lips.
Ed was alive.
“Good enough.”
The first thing Ed noticed was pain. It was like a sledgehammer being rammed over and over into his chest, intense and unrelenting. Then he heard Mustang’s voice, his tone desperate and broken in a way he had never heard before. It was distant and muffled as if he were under water…
Water.
He was under water and it was in his lungs and he was drowning .
Ed shoved the sledgehammer away and recoiled against the raging coughing fit tearing through his body, water erupting from his mouth. His chest hurt , and he pulled his arms inward to protect it. He tried to turn onto his side, but weakness wouldn’t allow it and something was in his way. He felt hands roll him further over and proceeded to start hitting him hard on the back.
As the coughing fit ended, Ed dropped his head to the ground. He couldn’t have stopped the groan, even if he had wanted to.
“You okay?” Mustang’s tired but relieved voice echoed dully in his ears.
Well, to recap: he got blown off a bridge by some asshole impersonating an Amestrian soldier, almost drowned in a river, then woke up feeling like he had been beaten to Xing and back by both Teacher and Alphonse, and he was fucking freezing . The combination equated to “very much not having a good time.”
Lacking enough energy and give-a-shit at the moment to say all of that, he summarized, “Just peachy.” He might have wheezed. Whatever.
“Good enough.”
Ed unwound his arms to prop himself up on his elbow, but stabbing pain ran through his middle like a knife. He hissed back a cry and fell back to the ground. The hand on his shoulder held him down.
“Stay still.”
Ed grunted in reply: no objections here.
Not that he could move anyway. He was freezing. His entire body was numb, but he could still feel the stiffness in his joints and the chill penetrating deep in his bones. He was shivering so violently that he could hear the ground rustling underneath him above the chattering of his teeth. Every labored breath burned both ice and fire in his lungs.
A moment later Ed heard the underbrush beside him shuffle as Mustang got up with a strained huff, and the hand on his shoulder lifted away. He squinted through blurred vision to see Mustang walking stiffly over to the river bank. He picked up a dark lump — probably his jacket — and shook it out on the way back.
“What h-happened?” He croaked, failing to stifle a haggard cough.
“I’ll tell y-you later,” Mustang stuttered as he draped his mud-covered jacket over a dead tree limb. “We need a fire before we both freeze to death.”
“I d-doubt your gl-loves are dry.”
“As sharp as ever, Fullmetal,” he taunted half-heartedly. “Not that it matters. The blast blew them out of my hands.”
“Just our l-luck.”
Ed watched as Mustang started snapping dead twigs and pieces of bark off of low-hanging branches and gathering dried pine needles off the ground to pile them in the center of the thicket. The Colonel’s hands were trembling just as violently as his own.
Mustang deposited the last of his collection onto the pile and began digging a hole. Recognition suddenly striking his fogged mind, Ed grinned as the older alchemist built a familiar configuration.
This time he succeeded in propping himself up on his elbow with minimal wincing and smirked at Mustang when he looked up. Ed nodded toward the pile of branches and tinder.
“As much as I would l- love to watch you try and start a fire from scratch,” Ed chattered, reaching for the silver chain on his belt. “I think we’d be b-better off using this.” He produced a small metal rod and held it up.
Mustang’s eyes widened. “Since when do you carry around a firesteel?”
“Since my alchemy teacher d-dumped me and Al on an i-island and we had to do this,” he gestured again to the pile of dead foliage as he struggled to push himself up.
“Why the hell did she do that?” Mustang asked as he reached over to help him up.
Ed's reply was cut off by another stab in his chest and he bit back a cry. His face contorted against the pain, right arm instinctively wrapping around his chest. He felt Mustang’s hands tighten on his shoulders. The stabbing lessened as quickly as it had spiked, and he looked up to see the concern on Mustang’s face.
“Don’t,” Ed choked, sounding less confident than he’d prefer. Holding the firesteel in his left hand, he placed it under the edge of the kindling, pressing firmly against the ground to mitigate his shivering. He scraped his right thumb forcibly down the metal rod and white sparks flew. The kindling ignited after a few passes.
“Impressive,” Mustang commented as he carefully stacked larger sticks on top to fuel the fire.
Ed looked at the Colonel sideways and arched an eyebrow. “Wow, an actual compliment th-that isn’t completely sarcastic? I'm touched.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Mustang droned as he continued to stoke the flames, running a hand to shake the ice freezing his hair into spikes. Apparently satisfied with the current state of the fire, he stood. “I’m going to get firewood before it gets dark. You stay here.”
“Aye aye, Colonel,” Ed gibed, lifting his hand and saluting with as much mockery as he could muster. Mustang rolled his eyes and disappeared through the foliage.
Ed took the opportunity to assess his injuries. As far as he could tell, other than a few bruises and a sizable knot on the back of his head, he was alright. Obviously his chest was in terrible condition. He prodded his ribs one by one and grimaced each time he found an especially tender area. They were likely broken. The injuries seemed to be located in the same place: on or near his breastbone. Strange…
Ed thought back to when he woke up with Mustang hovering over him looking absolutely terrified, and he wondered what had happened to cause that much fear in the usually stoic Colonel. The last thing he really remembered was that rat bastard imposter running off and wishing them an enjoyable swim before an explosion ripped the whole damn bridge apart. They were lucky that they were in a military issued car. Those things were built like miniature tanks, especially necessary in the North near Amestris’ unfriendly neighbor, Drachma. It was probably the only reason they weren't dead.
Ed watched the flames dance against the darkening forest, listening to the crackling of burning sticks and twigs and the plip plip plip of water dripping into the puddle forming under Mustang’s coat. Tossing a few more sticks and pieces of bark into the fire, he crossed his legs and breathed into his hands to try and relieve some of the numbness. Somehow his brain had only just registered that he was still wet and shivering. He looked over at Mustang’s coat hanging on the tree limb, and noticed that it was starting to freeze. Opting to increase their chances of avoiding hypothermia, Ed attempted to stand up to take off his own jacket and dry them both out.
Ed’s legs promptly gave out from under him, and he would have stumbled straight into the fire had Mustang not caught him with an arm across his chest.
“I told you not to move,” he said sternly, lowering Ed to the ground.
Ed tried to hide his pained gasp behind a scoff. “You said ‘stay here,’ which I did. Be more specific n-next time.”
“Can you at least try to have some common sense?” he sighed, moving to retrieve the wood strewn across the ground.
“I was about to dry our clothes off!” Ed retorted as he removed his coat and overshirt and laid them both in his lap. “Common sense enough for you?”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” The prick didn’t even look up.
Ed rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at the idiot to get his attention. “Watch and learn.”
He clapped and placed his palms on the wet mass of cloth in his lap. Alchemized lightning sparked blue around his hands, and as he lifted them away he drew out an icicle the size of his arm, feeling very much like a magician pulling a white rabbit out of a hat.
Ed grunted at the weight when it settled in his hands, his ribs twinging in protest, and he presented it to the stunned-silent colonel.
He smirked in satisfaction. "Well?"
Colonel Goldfish closed his mouth and cleared his throat. Ed's grin widened.
Serves him right.
Ed dropped the icicle next to him and reached his hand out to silently grab at the air in the direction of the Colonel’s jacket. It was childish, of course, but that only made it all the more entertaining when Mustang handed him the garment without a word.
Clapping once more, Ed lifted away another icicle and dropped it on the ground to join the other with a thud.
"Where did you learn to do that?"
Ed's smirk fell and his gaze dropped back to the clothes in his lap. As he handed Mustang's coat back to him, he solemnly whispered, "The Gate."
Mustang hummed in acknowledgement, and melancholic silence fell between them as Ed donned his shirt and coat.
After what Ed deemed an appropriate amount of time for guilt and self-loathing, he shrugged. "At least it's saving our asses now,” he sighed heavily. “I should probably dry out your Blues too."
Mustang looked down at his uniform as if he just remembered he was wearing it and still shivering. "Right."
Ever the eloquent.
He dried the blue disgrace to fashion, and handed it back. “I can dry the rest of our clothes while we’re wearing them. Our hair too, probably. Hand over the butt-cape.”
“Butt-cape?”
“Well what do you call it?”
Mustang frowned and his eyebrows pinched together.
“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. Hand it over.”
Their hair and clothing now completely dried, Ed decided that having water pulled from something touching his skin was one of the weirdest sensations he had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. He wasn’t sure if Mustang agreed, but he supposed that the shrieking was a good enough indication. It was impressive that the man’s voice could even reach an octave that high.
Sniggering quietly at the memory, he tied off his braid and tossed it over his shoulder. He watched Mustang fiddle with the fire for a moment before repeating a question left unanswered.
“So,” he began, “What happened?”
Mustang froze (pun partially intended) and glanced up at Ed nervously.
“… Colonel?”
Not knowing if their hitman would come back to check the area, Ed had built a hearth of sorts to hide as much of the firelight and direct as much heat toward them as possible. They couldn’t risk being found alive, which meant that the campfire had to be small. And it was small.
Both had resigned to the fact that said fire wouldn’t be enough to stave off the dropping temperature, so Ed had reconstructed their coats and overshirts (and butt cape) into a large blanket. They sat side-by-side under the brushy boughs of the largest pine tree and huddled under the abomination: a hodgepodge, multicolored mess, but effective against the ever-worsening cold. He had turned it into a quilt of sorts, and they stuffed the pockets full of pine needles for insulation.
Ed squirmed to put as much space between himself and Mustang as he could without bursting their insulative bubble and letting all the cold in when he’d finally stopped shivering.
"This is weird."
"Do you want to die of hypothermia?"
Ed huffed. "You're making me consider it."
Mustang breathed a half-scoff and shook his head.
Okay, it was official: Mustang was being weird.
Not that Mustang being weird was unusual, but he was being even weirder. More weird? Whatever, he wasn't acting his usual idiotic self.
He was almost being…nice?
Mustang never missed the opportunity to call him short or whip up some other lame comeback, but other than calling Ed “Captain Obvious” earlier, he was leaving him alone and even complimenting him.
He didn’t even get mad when Ed called him a dumbass for forgetting that there was an extra set of ignition gloves hidden in the breast pocket of his uniform. The Lieutenant had probably put them there. At least she had a brain cell, unlike this idiot.
Mustang had explained that Ed was unconscious and not breathing and pulled some emergency medical magic and that’s why his ribs hurt like hell, Ed picked up on the hint of regret in the man’s tone. It wasn’t that he’d regretted basically bringing Ed back from the dead, it was something else.
It felt like that was only half the story. Mustang was hiding something, and Ed wanted to know what it was.
So, Ed decided to utilize his best interrogation method: poking him with a stick.
Literally, he jabbed him with a twig.
"Hey!" Mustang screeched indignantly, swatting the stick away.
"Why are you being weird?"
"I'm not," he said sullenly, grumpily.
Weirdly.
Ed squinted sideways at the older alchemist as he once again started staring at the firepit with that nearly blank expression on his face. Nearly blank. Something else was there, but it was just hidden enough that Ed couldn’t quite place what it was.
Ed scowled. "If you think I'm mad at you for busting up my ribs, I’m not.” Eyes narrowing further, he wagged the stick threateningly in Mustang’s face and almost laughed at the moron crossing his eyes to watch it carefully. “So what's your problem?"
“I don’t have a problem,” Mustang mumbled dejectedly, pushing the stick away again.
Very convincing.
“You do too!” Ed was nearly shouting, and the pain in his chest twinged again at the strain. He pressed a hand over the complaining rib, and Mustang glanced over at the movement.
Aha, there it was. Ed made that face often enough himself even though he always tried to mask it behind confidence, irritation, or a smile. Any version of "I'm okay" never worked, he knew that, but he couldn’t let it show, especially to Al and Winry. Ed had to be the strong one. He had to be the rock, the resilient, the resolute, because he was the one at fault for everything. Yeah, Ed knew that expression.
Guilt.
But about what?
Ed hesitated and said slowly, “You’re not telling me something.”
“Drop it, Fullmetal.”
“No.”
"I said drop it. ”
“Why?”
"Because."
"Because why ?"
"…It doesn't matter."
"Apparently it does matter, otherwise you wouldn’t be sulking."
"Fullmetal, please."
"If you'd just tell me, then—"
"You're a real brat, you know that?!"
"Just ‘cause I CALL YOU ON YOUR CRAP—"
"I left you behind!"
"—DOESN’T MEAN YOU can…"
Ed’s tyrade died to a whisper, and he blinked.
…oh.
Mustang sighed and slumped against the tree trunk, covering his face with one hand. "I didn't know that you can’t swim."
The fire crackled as the silence stretched on between them.
Ed stared at the stick in his hands as he twirled it between his fingers. What was he even supposed to say to that? Crack a joke? Haha, at least I didn’t die, right? No… and he wasn’t so heartless as to kick him while he was down and call him stupid for blaming himself. Al would know what to say. He was much better at these kinds of conversations, but Al wasn’t there, so Ed had to at least try. Ed couldn’t let the sap keep thinking it was his fault.
"Well,” Ed said carefully, “You didn't know."
A muffled scoff answered him. “I should have.”
“It’s not like it ever came up before," Ed insisted, tossing his interrogation stick into the flames.
"As your commanding officer, your safety is my responsibility—"
Ed slapped his palm on his forehead. "Oh, don't start with that!”
“Start what? You are my respons—”
“What, are you supposed to keep a file on all my basic life skills or something?”
“No, but—”
“Then it's not your fault you didn't know!"
"It's common sense. Metal limbs aren't exactly lightweight."
"Common sense again?" Ed pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It is common sense!"
"It's irrelevant is what it is.”
“How is it irrelevant?”
“Because I'm fine, and now you know for future reference."
"That doesn't make it okay!"
“I lived didn’t I?”
"You could have died, and it would have been my fault."
“ Well Al almost died and that would have been my fault!"
Whatever Mustang was about to say caught in his throat, eyes going wide.
Realizing what he had said, Ed closed his eyes and turned away with his head low. Mustang thankfully kept his mouth shut, silence stretching on as an occasional snowflake drifted down between the boughs. The fire interjected with bright cracks and pops as it burned, oblivious to the tension that enveloped the thicket.
Ed felt the blanket being pulled up around his left shoulder; apparently it had fallen down at some point during their arguing. Suddenly aware that he was shivering again, Ed pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He wasn’t sure if the source of the chill was from the air or his thoughts.
Mustang huffed a sardonic laugh. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
Ed snorted. Quite a pair indeed, he sneered internally. He would never say it aloud, but Mustang was right, in more ways than one. They both had an awful guilt complex, and they were both idiots. Mustang more than him, though.
“Al doesn’t blame you for what happened.”
Ed sighed. “I know.” He carefully drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on folded arms. “And I don’t blame you for this. You saved my life, jackass.” He glared weakly over his shoulder. “So shut your mouth.”
Never one to do that he's told, Mustang opened his mouth anyway, but Ed cut him off.
“Colonel, don’t . This was one hundred percent accidental. You didn’t know. You were able to salvage the situation pretty much immediately, but I…” his voice fell to a whisper, and he looked back at the fire.
Mustang grabbed Ed’s shoulder firmly and turned him around. He could feel Mustang’s glare, but Ed kept his head down to avoid his gaze.
“Look at me, Ed."
Ed’s eyes widened and he jerked his head up. Since when did Mustang use his first name?
"Stop that,” he ordered. “Self pity won’t get you anywhere. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, you can’t give up. You’re too stubborn for that.”
“I won’t give up. Even if I can’t get my arm and leg back, I’ll find a way to get Al’s body, with or without the Stone.”
“You two are smart enough to figure it out.”
“Two compliments in one day? Are you sure you’re not going into hypothermic delirium?”
“Stuff it, Fullmetal.”
Ed sniggered. Back to normal, then.
He turned and replaced his chin on his arms, careful to not irritate his injuries.
They fell into an easy silence. Occasionally Mustang would add wood to the fire and stoked it with a quick snap, but otherwise they simply sat and enjoyed the comfort of what little warmth the small flames offered.
As the night progressed, Ed’s body grew heavy, and he found it increasingly difficult to keep his head upright and his eyes open. The thicket became hazier and hazier, weariness clouding his vision as his body wavered sideways. He nearly toppled over when his exhaustion finally won out, but he felt himself being gently guided backward.
Fatigue overtook his senses, and he fell into unconsciousness.
Roy woke with a start, the loud whistling in the trees diminishing with the dying gust. He yawned widely, and shook his head in an attempt to keep himself conscious. Time spent away from the battlefield had seriously affected his ability to keep himself awake. Still…
Damn was he tired.
He heard another gust shake the treetops extending high above the branches that framed their little hovel, and he was grateful for the barrier provided by the natural shelter. He was even more grateful at his luck that he had happened upon the refuge during his panic to extract Ed from the river.
Blinking through another yawn, he noticed the snow had piled high around the thicket, a layer of ice effectively sealing them away from the outside world. The snow must have repeatedly melted from the heat just to refreeze against the frigid winds. The only opening was at the top of the dome above the fire. The low light of the embers shimmered on the smooth surface, softly glittering like a curtain of gold coins.
Lucky as they were to have had such a shelter form around them on its own, it didn't quite block all of nature's elements, and he was reminded of that fact as an unkind wind funnelled in through the opening.
He shivered and pulled his knees to his chest to bring his feet back under the blanket, simultaneously shifting Ed’s metal shoulder from pressing uncomfortably into his sternum. Ed mumbled something — stop it? — and settled back into sleep, his mouth hanging slightly open. A short trail of drool on his chin threatened to drip directly onto Roy’s shirt.
Okay, gross.
Using the edge of the ugly blanket, Roy wiped the spit from Ed’s face before pulling it up and tucking it under Ed's shoulder.
Roy paused, and a memory stirred in the back of his mind.
"So, how are the Elrics doing? You keeping those boys out of trouble?"
"I'm their commanding officer, not their father."
Roy would never live it down if Hughes was around to see him now.
When had it shifted from the usual protectiveness of his team to… whatever this was?
He sighed.
Thinking back on the events of earlier that evening, Roy recalled with unsettling clarity at the feelings of immeasurable rage and terror at Ed’s endangerment and the absolute relief at his revival. Despite the familiarity with those emotions, they struck him with an intensity that he had never experienced before.
Roy looked at the kid sleeping soundly, and hesitated before resting his chin lightly on top of Ed's head.
Ed would threaten a painful death if Roy ever dared to mention that he fell asleep on him, much less that he had been tucked in, but he needed the rest. He'd been through enough that day.
Unfortunately their reprieve would be short-lived.
Barely audible above the crackling fire and howling wind, Roy heard the crunch of snow-covered gravel in the distance.
Someone was coming toward them, and whoever it was probably brought friends.
Roy nudged Ed with his shoulder and muttered, "Fullmetal."
Ed grunted and raised his head, half-lidded eyes glassy and unfocused.
Snow crunched beyond the treeline. Ed stiffened as he lifted his gaze to the gap in the trees, his face hardening. He looked up questioningly, and Roy nodded toward the fire. Ed reached forward with his automail hand and quietly scattered the wood fueling the fire. Darkness enveloped them.
The footsteps followed along the riverbank, gravel and snow crunching underfoot.
Ed rose to one knee, his movements as silent as snowfall, and readied his hands to clap.
Roy raised his gloved hand, poised to snap.
If they were found, their opponents would meet a hell of a welcoming committee.
A pair of voices rose above the wind, but Roy couldn’t make out what they said.
They came closer, snow and frozen earth crunching, loud as crushed glass in the silence.
Roy tensed. Ed shifted his weight.
A shadow fell over the entrance.
Roy held his breath.
“Colonel? Edward?”
Roy lowered his hand. He knew that voice anywhere.
“Lieutenant!”
“Sir!” Hawkeye’s voice was thick with relief. “Breda, go get the corpsmen and tell the others we found them. Quickly!”
“Yes, Sir!”
Breda departed as swiftly as the deep snow would allow, shouting across the river, “We found them! Back to the trucks!”
He smiled at the celebratory replies, recognizing each of the voices of his team: Feury, Falman, Havoc, and… Alphonse?
Ed must have heard him as well.
“Lieutenant,” Ed called, his voice hopeful, “Alphonse is here, too?”
“He is,” she replied, her voice muffled by the snow. “He insisted on coming when he heard that you and the Colonel didn’t check in yesterday.”
“I’d expect nothing less from an Elric,” Roy mused as he sat down and pulled the blanket back over one shoulder. He offered the opposite corner to Ed, who eyed him with mild suspicion before sitting down and wrapping himself up against the cold.
“We called the inn where you were supposed to be staying, but they didn’t have any record of a reservation,” Hawkeye explained, her voice tinted with anger. “We called North City Command Center and they didn’t even have an inspection scheduled for Zieter. If the storm hadn’t already snowed them in, they would have sent a response team themselves. We left immediately after that. We had a better chance of reaching you by coming from the South.”
“I see,” Roy crossed his arms. His suspicions were correct, it seemed. Someone had planned the whole thing, then.
“Sir,” Hawkeye said, her voice now wary with concern, “Are you both alright?”
“Fullmetal likely has some fractured ribs — ow,” he grunted as Ed jabbed an elbow into his own ribs — his automail one, too, the little pest — and shot a smirk over his shoulder at the younger’s cheeky grin. “Other than some scrapes and bruises, we’re alright.”
Roy could hear the smile in her reply.
“I’m glad.”
An engine roared in the distance, and he heard Hawkeye shift.
“The crew is here, Sir. You’ll be out of there soon.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Anytime, Sir.”
The metallic clamor and hissing of steam approached, bright lights illuminating the area and filtering through the snow-covered branches. Above the din, a separate source of clanking reached the treeline and a large shadow rising next to Hawkeye’s.
“Brother!”
“Al!”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Al, I’m okay.”
“Okay…” he replied, uncertainty in his voice. “Stand back, I’m going to move the snow.”
“We’re out of the way,” Roy confirmed.
“Al, there’s a layer of ice on this side,” Ed added.
“Got it.”
A clap rang through the air, and sparks twisted around the snow and ice. Moments later, a shroud of white erupted as the transmutation activated.
The fluffy cloud of powdered snow settled and revealed two tall snowmen, top hats included, standing on either side of the thicket’s entrance.
These boys…
Ed burst out laughing, but was cut short by a coughing fit. Roy thumped him a few times on the back — to help, of course.
“Brother?” Al stepped forward, concern radiating off of him in waves.
Ed stifled the coughing and shouldered Roy away from him. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Sir, the medics are waiting.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” Roy staggered to his feet, the blanket dropping in a heap onto the forest floor. After steadying himself, he pulled Ed up by his elbow, releasing him before he could protest. He smirked at Ed’s I-can-do-it-myself glare, and led the way out of the thicket.
The two alchemists were immediately surrounded by the medics, his team watching the flurry off to the side. All of them shared a collective expression of apprehensive relief. Woolen blankets were draped across their shoulders as they were led toward the trucks.
Al hovered closely to his brother as they walked, twitching every time Ed uttered the slightest hint of pain.
Roy could empathize.
They reached the trucks — one a heavy duty ambulance — and Roy was ushered into the rear cabin, landing heavily onto one of the benches.
Ed and Al stood together outside, their shadows stretching out far into the white expanse behind them. Snowflakes flitted through the light shining through the cabin door like tiny meteors burning bright in the night sky before disappearing into the darkness.
Al kept shuffling his feet, clearly anxious at the thought of being separated from his older brother again. He would have climbed in with them, given the chance, but there wasn’t enough room amid the ensemble of medical supplies.
Offering a reassuring smile, Ed placed his left hand on the back of Al’s arm. “I’ll see you at the hospital,” Ed said quietly, a tone reserved specifically for his little brother. “Okay?”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Hawkeye added, offering the boy her own soft smile with a nod.
Al worried his hands, looking from Hawkeye, to Ed, to Roy, to the truck. He was probably wondering if he could hitch a ride on top of the cabin.
“Al,” Ed said with a gentle tug at his elbow. “I’ll be fine.”
Al sighed, his shoulders sagging with defeat. “Just… just be careful.”
Al helped Ed climb into the cabin then stepped back as a medic climbed in with them, another closing the door.
Roy accepted two canteens from the corpsman with a “thank you” and handed one to Ed. Roy opened his and drank deeply, the heat spreading throughout his body, warming him like the blanket resting upon his shoulders. He sank forward to rest his elbows on his knees and let his head droop with fatigue.
The truck roared to life, and they were off.
His body bobbed and swayed gently with the motion of the vehicle. The further they travelled along the river, the more difficult it was for Roy to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t count the number of times he had already jerked awake.
That is, until he heard Ed’s voice, barely audible over the rumbling of the engine.
“Hey.”
Roy lifted his head.
Ed’s eyes darted from Roy’s face to the canteen in his lap, his fingers idly fidgeting with the cap.
The green container suddenly seemed too big for him, the width of it barely fitting the palm of his hand. The blanket engulfed him, and all Roy could see under the billowing fabric was his head and his hands, the rest pooling around his feet hovering above the floor. He reminded Roy of a caterpillar wrapped in a fuzzy cocoon. The overall effect made him look smaller than usual.
Or maybe Roy just never realized how small he really was.
How much of a child he really was…
He suddenly noticed that Ed was staring at him waiting for a response.
“Hey what?”
Ed shifted in his seat, suddenly sheepish and trying to hide it under a guise of irritation.
“…Thanks.”
Roy stared at him for a moment, his eyes widening in mild surprise.
Ed glared weakly at him. “What?”
Closing his eyes, Roy smiled and shook his head before pushing himself upright to relax against the wall behind him.
“Nothing.”
Ed huffed quietly, and Roy grinned.
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll kick your ass if you tell anyone I fell asleep on you.”
Roy chuckled.
“I know.”