when it feels like too much

by CluelessOnex

Summary:

After a brutal and life-altering attack against Ed, he struggles to accept and cope with the aftermath. Ed finds himself slowly coming to terms with what happened and beginning to heal with the help of his brother, Mustang's team, and...Mustang?

Parental!Roy, sibling bonding, familial hurt/comfort; additional tags will be added as updates are posted.

PLEASE read the warnings and tags! This work includes non-explicit references to sexual violence against a minor! Underage and Non-Con tags are included because it is heavily referenced; it is not explicit.

Notes:

Hello everyone!

It's been a long time since I've posted anything on this site, and I'm so glad I finally have the energy and desire to write again! This one will include heavy themes and topics, and it may or may not just be me projecting onto fictional characters again, but if you read that- no you didn't.

Regardless, I hope you all enjoy and PLEASE read the tags and the warnings! There is no explicit sexual violence but there are vague flashbacks and there will be discussions of severe injuries, rape, and other warnings that I will include at the beginning of each chapter. Rape is heavily heavily implied and referenced, so please listen to yourself if you need to stop.

Thank you all for your interest! Here are the CW for this chapter:

CW: non-explicit/vague flashback of sexual violence, description of injuries, dissociation, discussion of restraints (in a hospital setting), graphic violence/injury description

Chapter 1

The first thing Ed registered after regaining consciousness was the pain.

 

Sharp, jolting, electric pain coming from- well, it might be easier to identify where he wasn’t in pain.

 

Ed was used to pain. But this...this was pain of a severity he couldn’t remember feeling since That Night. Even automail surgery paled in comparison to the agonizing feeling of his limbs being slowly unraveled and his nerves severing, leaving behind nothing except his bleeding stumps to prove he had once had all four of his limbs.

 

But this…this rivaled even that.

 

He lay for a moment, still face-down on his bed, slowly regaining control of his erratic, gasping breaths. He wracked his mind to try and remember what the hell happened, but he couldn’t remember a damn thing after Al saying goodbye before heading to the library for the night and Ed climbing into his bed and almost instantly falling asleep.

 

He groaned, deciding he had done enough lying around, and maneuvered his forearms and palms under his shoulders to push himself up. He wasn’t wearing his signature high-collar black jacket, so he immediately noticed the deep purple- almost black- bruising that encircled his left wrist. Deciding it would be good to take stock of his injuries, whatever they were from, he forced himself to breathe through the pain as he pushed himself up.

 

About halfway into a sitting position, he was struck by a shock of white-hot pain that shot up from the bottom of his spine to his mid-back. He barely bit back a cry and somehow managed to force himself into a seated position as his mind reeled. After taking a moment for the sudden dizziness to pass, he raised his head and furrowed his brows.

 

The window was open.

 

Well, “open” was a bit generous- the bottom half of the window had been shattered and glass was littered all over the floor. Ed sat still for a moment, staring blankly at the shards.

 

Why couldn’t he remember? This was clearly more than the typical aches and pains after a fight on a mission; this was an attack, and for some reason he could remember none of it.

 

He staggered slowly to his feet, leaning against the wall for balance as black dots overtook his vision and waited a moment until his vision cleared. He drunkenly stumbled into the bathroom where the first aid kit was, fumbling in the dark for the light switch.

 

“Damn thing...where the fuck is-?”

 

He stopped abruptly as he finally flicked the switch and light flooded the small bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, stunned as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

 

The dark bruises he had noticed on his wrist before appeared even darker in the harsh lighting, but that was not the reason for his shock. His braid was only half-done, the plaiting was loose and strands stuck out randomly and large pieces had come loose in the front and were framing his face. He was wearing his usual sleeveless black shirt, but it had a noticeable tear on either side of the opening for the neck, as if someone had roughly ripped the fabric apart. He was without his pants but he still had his boxers on, showing bruising similar to that on his wrist was on his flesh ankle as well. His forehead was bloody but it seemed whatever bleeding there had been had stopped for now. The evidence of a blow to the head would explain why he couldn’t seem to remember what had happened.

 

But what really concerned him was his neck.

 

Angry reddish-purple marks circled his neck, darker in certain spots in such a way that it almost looked like curved lines. He gingerly stepped closer to the mirror and reached his left hand up slowly as he inspected the damage. He lightly brushed his fingers against the bruising in the center of his throat and his eyes widened.

 

It almost looked like…

 

It was suddenly difficult to breathe as he realized it was. These weren’t just bruises, these were marks from where someone had wrapped both hands around his neck and choked him- nearly strangled him by the looks of it- and any struggling he certainly did had not been enough to stop the attack or even lead the perpetrator to hesitate.

 

Suddenly, and against his will, he saw a flash of something- no, someone- in front of him. It was a man and he was looming over him, both hands wrapped mercilessly around his throat, saying something he couldn’t hear as Ed struggled to get a breath and clawed at the stranger’s iron grip. He was aware of a stabbing, invasive pain somewhere else, lower on his body, that he couldn’t see and couldn’t place.

 

And as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

 

His eyes were unfocused as he yanked his hand away from his bruised throat and gasped for air. He noticed absently that he had somehow ended up on the tile of the bathroom floor, pressed against the side of the bathtub as he wheezed and his blurry vision started to become dark around the edges.

 

It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough for it to come back.

 

He had been torn from sleep by something shattering, and before he could move to see what it was, he was being pressed into his bed roughly by large, calloused hands. Ed had opened his mouth to ask what the fuck this idiot thought he was doing breaking into his dorm when he was struck with something on his forehead and lost consciousness.

 

When he woke up once more, the man had pinned his upper body down with his left forearm and was struggling with something Ed couldn’t see.

 

“Fuck’re you doin’?” he demanded, but his voice was weak and bleary and lacked any real authority.

 

The attacker had looked at him then, seemingly surprised that he was no longer knocked out, and grinned a little too widely, but didn’t answer, instead continuing whatever the hell he had been doing before Ed had spoken. Before Ed could snap at him to explain why he was being attacked in his own dorm room in the middle of the night, he stopped short when he felt some kind of movement near his stomach.

 

He tried to growl and shove the man off, but his grin only widened as they made eye contact. Before he could do anything else, he realized with a start how abnormally...cold he was. His flesh arm and leg both felt oddly exposed and he suddenly realized two things: his jacket and his pants had both been removed, and he could feel the chilly wind on his skin coming in through the shattered window.

 

Before he could even process that, he realized there was something pressing into his stomach; something oddly warm and...wet? What the fuck?

 

“You try anything and I’ll tell the Fuhrer himself the truth about you and your brother,” the man said so casually Ed almost didn’t recognize it as a threat.

 

Tell the Fuhrer…? Tell him about him and Al? About...their bodies?

 

Ed felt his heart begin to race at the implications. This man knew about them? Not only knew who he was, but he knew enough about him and his brother to threaten him with the one thing he had never told a soul since joining the military.

 

Everything became strangely distant then, like he was watching himself as a spectator. His vision had tunneled and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. He felt detached. He felt dead.

 

He didn’t know how much time was passing or if time was passing at all, but in a split second all he could comprehend was the pain. It was a violent, sharp pain near the bottom of his spine that came and went quickly. He realized that he was shaking- no, the bed was shaking; thumping against the wall rhythmically in time with the stabbing pains.

 

He was...no, he couldn’t be…

 

Still disoriented, he forced himself to open his eyes (when had they been closed?) and his fears were confirmed.

 

The intruder’s face was mere inches away from his own, shining with sweat as he moved on top of Ed. Ed could feel his wrists were tightly grasped and the pain near the bottom of his spine was becoming harsher and more unbearable.

 

He felt strange. He felt like he was asleep. He felt like he was dead.

 

The rest was a blur. He vaguely remembered short moments, times when the pain flared or large hands pressed into his skin. The one thing he remembered with startling clarity was the primal fear. There was no way he was going to make it out of this alive; he couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to die.

 

Slowly, he began to regain his senses.

 

He wasn’t on his bed and the man was gone. He was alone, on the bathroom floor, hyperventilating. The man was gone. He was alone. The man was gone.

 

Slowly, slowly, he began to come back to his body. His breathing slowed and his raw panic began to dissipate. It was fine. He was fine.

 

He shifted and pain spiked somewhere in his body he couldn’t place. He positioned his hands under himself to push himself up, and jolted after a delay when he felt wetness under his left hand. Dazed, he looked down.

 

It was blood.

 

He stared for a moment, uncomprehending, and blinked. There was blood on the floor. There was blood on his boxers.

 

He quickly shoved down the rising panic and forced himself not to think about where and why he was bleeding. He couldn’t lose it now, not when he was injured and evidently still bleeding. He needed to go somewhere, get help from someone who wouldn’t tell Al what happened. But first he needed to make sure there was no evidence of how brutal the attack was, both on his person and in his bedroom.

 

He blearily looked down at his clothes, his head still swimming at he decided it would at least be good to put on pants and his coat before going wherever it was he was going.

 

He sloppily threw a blanket over the bed to hide the stains on the sheets and quilt. He pulled on his red coat and, after some struggling, managed to get on his black pants before stumbling out of the dorm building.

 

He realized with a start that he was outside.

 

It was cold.

 

He shivered.

 

The pain had become more bearable, maybe because he was delirious and concussed, but he couldn’t bring himself to be concerned about not being in excruciating pain. He was glad there was no one on the street right now. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it had to be late.

 

Wait, where was he going?

 

He stumbled and looked around dizzily.

 

Who would keep their mouth shut to Al about what happened? Who did he trust enough to go to after what had happened?

 

He was surprised to find how easily the answer came, even through his concussion and shock.

 

Mustang. He only lived about two blocks away, and, loathe as Ed was to admit it, he did trust him. Completely. Mustang was insufferable and he was a bastard, but he was trustworthy.

 

That proved to be enough convincing for his current state of mind as he hobbled down the sidewalk until he found himself outside of the Colonel’s townhouse.

 

He leaned heavily against the door frame and drunkenly raised his fist before knocking with as much force as he could muster. He couldn’t tell if anyone was coming past the blood rushing in his ears, so he knocked again.

 

He blinked sluggishly as the door began to open, revealing a very irate and disheveled Colonel Mustang. He didn’t have the energy to decipher the confusing look on his superior’s face, so he decided to explain before the man could start being a bastard.

 

Or at least, that was what he was planning to do, before the bastard himself cut in and asked, “Fullmetal, what happened?”

 

He blinked for a moment as he processed the question, furrowing his brows slightly as he swayed on his feet. Mustang abruptly shook his head and opened the door wider, his face doing something confusing again as he gently pulled Ed inside by his automail arm. Ed didn’t have any strength left to fight it.

 

Mustang’s voice was strange when he spoke next: “Here, come inside. I need to see if you need to go to the hospital.”

 

Ed couldn’t even react before he found himself being seated on a wooden chair in the Colonel’s kitchen. He barely bit back a pained scream when he sat down, but something must have shown on his face because Mustang looked concerned as he pulled another chair beside Ed’s and sat down.

 

“Stay still for a moment, I need to be sure you don’t have any life-threatening injuries,” Mustang said with his usual professionalism, but Ed could tell by the creases on his face that he was alarmed.

 

Ed tried to bat away the man’s hands as he quickly checked for any visible injuries, but he couldn’t lift his arm much due to this overwhelming exhaustion.

 

“Hang on, let me see what-”

 

Ed slowly turned to look at Mustang and recognized what might be described as horror dawning on his face. It looked strange on the face of such a confident and self-assured man.

 

“Edward, what…?”

 

Ed could feel the collar of his coat being gently pulled down and Mustang breathed in sharply. Oh, right. The bruises on his neck. He had forgotten about that after stumbling to the Colonel’s apartment.

 

“Okay, that settles it. We’re going to the hospital,” Mustang said as he stood up, “Now,” he added, as if Ed had the energy to argue with him in his current state.

 

Ed blinked and he found himself in the Colonel’s car, watching blankly as he clenched the steering wheel with white knuckles and drove- probably far above what was legal- down the dimly-lit streets.

 

“No...dun’need a hos’tal…” Ed slurred weakly as his abused brain finally caught up with what was happening.

 

Mustang made an odd choked sound and said, “I don’t think that’s really up for debate right now, shrimp.”

 

There was a moment of tense silence.

 

“M’not...a shrimp…”

 

It might have been his imagination, but it seemed Mustang gripped the steering wheel even harder after that.

 

Ed blinked again, and found himself being laid onto a stretcher in a flurry of commotion. He began to close his eyes, just to rest for a moment (he was so tired), when he felt leather straps being tightened around his torso, thighs, and shoulders. He jolted with renewed vigor and thrashed as hard as he could against the restraints as panic flared in his chest.

 

There were voices speaking all at once before a familiar one registered and he did his best to focus on it.

 

“Edward, you have to settle down. They have to use the straps so you don’t fall off when they’re getting you to a room.”

 

Ed stubbornly shook his head, regretting it when the world spun and dizziness overtook him.

 

“D’un want it.” he slurred, still struggling but lacking the energy to put up much of a fight.

 

“I know you don’t, sweetie, but we want to be sure you get to a room without getting hurt any more,” an unfamiliar voice said and Ed groaned as he continued to pull at the straps.

 

He felt a hand gently stroking his hair and distantly realized it was Mustang’s.

 

“Just calm down, Edward. It’s okay, you’re safe,” Mustang said soothingly, and if Ed were feeling any more like himself, he would have punched him in his smug face for treating him like a little kid. Right now though, he was too tired to protest.

 

There was some more movement and several people speaking. It was loud and disorienting, and Ed screwed his eyes shut and whined.

 

“It’s okay, Ed,” Mustang said, and his hand slowly stroking through his damp hair was grounding.

 

People were speaking all at once again, and Ed could make out Mustang’s voice among the others, but couldn’t care enough to listen to what was being said. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he felt himself begin to be pulled into unconsciousness.

He didn’t fight it. He was tired.

 

“That’s it. Just relax. You’re safe. Go ahead and rest,” Mustang soothed.

 

And, for once, Ed listened.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Ed wakes up in the hospital. Hughes conducts an interview. Mustang is angry.

Notes:

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and comments, I am so happy that so many people are interested in seeing where this will go. :) This is a slower chapter but it's necessary to set up the coming events.

CW for this chapter: self victim blaming, dissociation/out-of-body experience, discussed sexual assault of a minor, discussion of injuries and violence, self-blame, and brief passive suicidal thoughts.

I think that's it, but if there's anything else I need to include a CW for, please let me know!

The second time Ed came to, he felt numb. A strange, clinical detachment from his body that he immediately recognized as the effect of heavy painkillers. Stiff sheets, stale air, the steady humming on his right side that was only ever accompanied by waking up to- fuck. He was in the hospital. What the hell happened again?

 

He kept his eyes closed as he tried to force himself to recall what he’d gotten into this time, but the lack of sensation in his body didn’t help piece together what had happened any better. Deciding it was time to see if he could make sense of anything by looking around, he slowly cracked open his eyes and almost immediately regretted it.

 

It was fucking bright.

 

Now he was wondering if by some divine punishment he was hallucinating too, because the first thing he saw was Mustang looking uncharacteristically disheveled and slouched slightly in a chair at the foot of the hospital bed.

 

Ed made up his mind then that now he really needed to know what the hell happened because why was the bastard of all people dozing on the other side of the room like he was just waiting for Ed to- to- to what exactly? To wake up? He had woken up in the hospital alone countless times since joining the military, so he couldn’t understand why he was here now.

 

He hastily shoved down the growing emotions he felt seeing that he wasn’t alone and seemingly hadn’t been for a while based on the rumpled clothes and dark bruising under Mustang’s eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and worry. He was not going to think about that right now, thank you, or hopefully ever if he could help it, but he was going to figure out what was going on.

 

“Hey, bastard,” he called, and grimaced when when his voice was hoarse and his throat stung when he spoke (because he certainly did not squeak, Ed didn’t squeak).

 

He cleared his throat and ignored the coppery taste that came with it and raised his voice slightly and felt relieved that his voice was steadier when he called for the man again.

 

Mustang startled instantly and opened his eyes quickly, relaxing slightly when he realized Edward was awake and apparently feeling well enough to insult him.

 

“The hell happ’nd?” Ed asked, and cursed inwardly when his voice slurred slightly. Damn painkillers.

 

A confusing array of emotions flickered across Mustang’s face but he masked it quickly.

 

“We’re not completely sure exactly what happened, but you were attacked yesterday.”

 

There was some bizarre quality to the Colonel’s voice that was somehow both alien and familiar at the same time. He stubbornly ignored it and forced himself to roll his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I got that much, Mustang. Don’t you know anything else? Or have you just been watching me sleep like a creep and slacking off this whole time?”

 

Something like relief briefly showed on Mustang’s expression at the practiced normalcy of the jab, and he sighed theatrically and looked Ed in the eyes.

 

“I suppose you can’t be feeling that bad if you have the energy to insult me, Fullmetal,” he groused.

 

“As if you don’t deserve it,” Ed said simply. “Just tell me why I’m here.”

 

He thought for a beat and added, “And where’s Al? I’d much rather see him than your smug face after I wake up in the damn hospital.”

 

It was that moment that Al coincidentally burst into the room with a steaming cup of coffee, seemingly for the Colonel (Roy did not ask him to fetch coffee, but Alphonse- being the saint he is- had insisted that he give the man something as a display of his gratitude since he was the one who had driven his brother to the hospital. Roy couldn’t do much to argue with that).

 

“Here you go, Colonel Mustang, they didn’t have any sugar but I got you some cream if you like that in your coffee. I didn’t think to ask you if- brother! You’re awake!”

 

Al quickly handed the foam cup to Roy and turned to examine his brother now that he was awake. While his facial expression couldn’t change, his body language was rigid with concern but somehow more relaxed than when he had entered the room upon realizing Ed was conscious.

 

“Hey, Al,” Ed rasped and somehow managed a small smile despite the acidic pain in his throat.

 

“How are you feeling, brother? Are you in any pain? The nurses said they could give you a little more pain medication if you want it, but they wanted to keep the dose as low as they could while being sure you weren’t hurting.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine, Al. Can barely feel a thing,” he said.

 

It was then that there was a firm knock on the door before it swung open, revealing a middle-aged male nurse with salt and pepper grey and light brown hair. Ed wasn’t sure why but he felt his skin prickle on the back of his neck at the sight, but he forced nonchalance for the sake of his brother, still keeping a close eye on the newcomer.

 

“Good afternoon, Major Elric. I just need to recheck your vital signs and ensure that your wounds are healing nicely,” the man rumbled as he approached the side of the bed and grabbed a blood pressure cuff.

 

“Ugh, just Edward is fine, thanks. Only people who call me Major anything are trying to suck up to me at Command,” he complained and scrunched up his nose and pushed down the growing unease at the nurse’s appearance.

 

The older man took it in stride and didn’t stop tightening the cuff around Ed’s flesh bicep.

 

“Yes, of course, Edward,” he replied easily before introducing himself as Ed’s nurse until 7 o’clock that night when the night shift would be coming in.

 

“Right, right- anyway, do you know when I can get outta here?” Ed asked, pointedly ignoring Mustang’s pointed gaze. The nurse quickly jotted something down on a piece of paper before looking back at Ed.

 

“The doctor would like you to stay for at least another seven days, just to be sure there is no chance of infection or permanent damage. But that would really be a question for-”

 

“A week?! Who does this quack think he is keeping me here for an entire week? I have to get cleared so I can go back on active duty, I can’t sit around in here for a damn week!” Ed complained loudly, barely registering that the nurse had begun to check his wounds underneath the bandages he hadn’t noticed yet.

 

To his endless annoyance, he didn’t receive an answer beyond an anxious squeak from Alphonse and a stern glare from the Colonel. Instead, the meticulous assessing of his injuries continued silently until his brain caught up to the current situation. No one had given him a straight answer as to why he was here in the first place, and he hadn’t seen the state of his body since waking up, but when he felt hands near his throat he flinched, hard.

 

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted suddenly, surprising even himself with the hostility in his voice.

 

The hands retreated and he realized he was suddenly pressing his back against the headboard and his heart was pounding loudly in his chest. He molded his facial features into an expression of annoyance and anger to cover up the raw fear that had overcome him. Anger was easier to feel than fear, and he wasn’t going to show how overwhelmingly afraid he was in front of a random stranger, his little brother, and his commanding officer.

 

“Warn a guy next time, geez,” he muttered, and attempted to loosen his posture to resemble something more startled than terrified.

 

“My apologies, Edward, I just need to check the bruising on your neck,” the nurse said, voice even but still cautious. Despite what he said, the man didn’t make any move to touch the bandages again and Ed realized he was waiting for him to give the go-ahead.

 

“Just do it, I’m not going to freak out or anything.” Not again, at least.

 

Ed could feel Mustang’s eyes boring into him as the bandages were carefully unraveled. Suddenly, he felt unbearably exhausted despite just waking up likely no more than ten minutes prior. Ed wasn’t looking directly at his brother, but he could tell he was watching based on his rigid posture in his chair next to Mustang’s. He could feel that Al had questions, and he did too, but was waiting until they were alone to ask. Ed was grateful.

 

The rest of the nurse’s visit was mostly in silence, and when he did speak before slipping back into the hallway, Mustang said something to him that Ed couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on.

 

It was stiflingly quiet for a moment until: “Brother…?”

 

Al’s voice was hesitant but unafraid, and Ed found himself oddly grateful that Mustang was there, too, but that might have been due to the cocktail of drugs he was certainly on that were making his thoughts muddled and cloudy.

 

“Do you remember what happened?” his brother continued, “No one has been able to determine what happened when you were attacked.”

 

Ed thought for a moment. He did remember something, something he hadn’t been able to acknowledge earlier when his instincts were overpowering any trace of rational thought. When the nurse had gone to look under the bandages on his neck initially, there had been a brief memory that had played in his head with startling clarity and realness.

 

There had been hands squeezing his throat. Large, beefy hands that engulfed his entire neck with ease. There’d been sounds and sensations he’d remembered, too. Broken gasps that were too close to his ear and some awful, scraping squeaking sounds and hot breaths on the side of his face and that horrible, seemingly endless pain everywhere, just make it stop, just let me fucking die, and suddenly he remembered what had happened and he remembered how disgusting he was and how his brother could never find out what happened. Anyone else he could handle knowing, but not Al – not his brother.

 

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Al knew how disgusting he was.

 

“I don’t remember, Al.” he said dully, no longer able to even fake being alright after what he’d just recalled.

 

“Oh. Well, that’s okay, brother, I’m sure it will come back to you soon and then Lieutenant Colonel Hughes can narrow down the suspects. He’s in charge of the case.” Al’s tinny voice, which was usually such a comforting sound, was grating on his exposed nerves and he clenched his jaw so tightly he was absently worried his teeth would break.

 

Al was still speaking but Ed just wanted to sleep. He didn’t want to think about what had happened anymore. Maybe he was a coward but he just couldn’t do it right now.

 

Ed didn’t believe in any god but maybe someone was looking out for him, because Mustang’s low voice cut his brother off, not unkindly, and the noise stopped.

 

He didn’t have the energy or the strength to say anything before he felt himself drifting into unconsciousness, and he welcomed the numbness.

____

 

The third time he woke, it was to two distant but familiar voices.

 

They were clearly speaking quietly as to not wake him, but Ed was awake now and he wanted to know who was whispering so obnoxiously while he was trying to get some much-needed rest.

 

He groaned and shifted under the blanket and the voices stopped abruptly.

 

“Can you keep it down over there? M’tryin’ to sleep,” he grumbled.

 

“Oh, Fullmetal, you’re awake. We were about to wake you since the Lieutenant Colonel is rather short on time today.”

 

Oh, goddammit.

 

Right. He was in the hospital and Colonel Bastard was there, the same Colonel Bastard he had stupidly gone to for help after that happened and the same Colonel Bastard who had seen him disoriented and confused while bleeding on his doorstep.

 

Ed groaned again, but pushed himself up into a seated position to glare at Mustang. A stab of pain shot through his lower back and he barely stopped his face from contorting at the sudden sensation.

 

“’M not short, bastard,” he bit out, but it lacked his usual fire and fell flat.

 

It was then that Ed looked up and realized the Lieutenant Colonel in question was Lieutenant Colonel Hughes and Alphonse was nowhere to be seen. Before he ask where he was, however, Hughes spoke up, probably to prevent a full-on argument from developing.

 

“Yo, Ed!” he said, clearly trying to sound upbeat, but it was strained and his eyes couldn’t conceal his worry.

 

“What are you doing here? I’m already in the damn hospital, do I really need to do military shit here, too?”

 

If Hughes was offended, he didn’t show it. Something akin to relief flitted across Mustang’s face again, and Ed was starting to become irritated that he couldn’t decipher exactly what he was thinking. The Lieutenant Colonel grabbed the chair Al had been sitting in before, and dragged it near the side of the bed so he was closer to Ed.

 

“Well, since you were attacked on military property and you’re a well-known state alchemist, there’s an on-going investigation into what happened. We don’t know who the attacker was or if he’s planning to attack someone else or go after you again. I’m here now to do your interview since I’m the one in charge of the case.” Hughes said, his eyes suddenly serious as they often were when he was talking about work-related matters.

 

“Do we have to do this now? I’ve only been here for- what- a day? Can’t you come back?” Ed asked, hoping in vain that this conversation could be put on hold just a little longer.

 

Hughes looked apologetic but said, “Sorry, Ed. It’s already been almost three days since you were attacked and there’s not much to go off of without your report.”

 

Ed tried to ignore the rising panic he felt when he realized he had been in the hospital for nearly 72 hours. Had he been so out of it that he didn’t even remember being here for three days? What if something had happened to Al while he was unconscious? What if the assailant came back while he was unable to defend himself?

 

“Ed?”

 

Oh, right. He couldn’t afford to lose it yet, and he especially couldn’t afford to lose it in front of two higher-ranking officers.

 

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, “what do you need me to do anyway?”

 

Mustang shifted slightly in his seat and Hughes frowned.

 

“I need your account of what happened during the attack. I know you might not remember much, especially since you have a concussion, but anything you tell me will be used only for the investigation. I won’t share anything you say with anyone unless it’s necessary, and your identity will be protected.”

 

Ed heard the words for what they were: I know what happened. I just need to hear it from you so I can judge for myself how disgusting you are.

 

Ed heaved a sigh and absently picked at a loose string on the blanket.

 

“Fine,” he muttered sourly, “What do you know already about what happened?”

 

He didn’t want to know, he really really didn’t, but he had to before he started his statement. If he could give the report without saying it outright he would; it was cowardly but he was already pathetically close to breaking and worried he might shatter completely if he had to say it out loud.

 

Mustang and Hughes shared a brief look. The Colonel’s expression was unreadable but his posture was tense and Hughes pushed his glasses further up his nose.

 

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Ed, because I know you wouldn’t appreciate me sugarcoating this. Colonel Mustang and myself have both seen the injury report and I was one of the first officers to go in your dorm room after the attack. I had my suspicions just from what I saw in your dorm, but the medical report confirmed that the attack was sexual in nature.”

 

Ed hated how his heart had sped up as the man spoke, and he hated even more how he felt like he had been dunked in cold water just hearing him speak. It wasn’t a big deal, it wasn’t, so why did he feel like he was suffocating?

 

It was quiet for another moment and he could feel the two men’s eyes trained on his face. Ed took in a breath and fisted his hand in the blanket before sitting up straighter.

 

“I was asleep. I woke up because I heard the window shattering. Al was gone, he sometimes goes to the library at night because he can’t-- anyway, I was alone. Someone pushed me down onto the bed and must have hit me on the head with something because I blacked out for a while after that.”

 

He kept his voice as monotone as he could and just relayed the facts as matter-of-factly as he could. Hughes scribbled something down in a notebook hastily, before looking at Ed again.

 

“Do you have any idea what struck you?” he asked.

 

Ed thought for a moment, wracking his brain for an answer but found himself becoming frustrated at the lack of information he could recall.

 

“I’m not sure. It felt solid but I don’t remember much else.”

 

Hughes scratched something else onto the paper before looking back up expectantly.

 

“I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up a man was holding me down with his arm. I tried to push him off, but he said if I tried anything he’d tell the Fuhrer about me and Al,” he recalled, feeling light-headed even thinking about it.

 

Mustang stiffened in his chair but remained quiet and Hughes furrowed his brows and his frown deepened.

 

“You and Al...meaning your bodies?”

 

“I don’t- I guess so? He didn’t say anything else, he just said he’d tell Bradley about us. I don’t know what else he could have been talking about. I just don’t know how he would have known, I’ve only ever told the Colonel, Winry and Granny, and you. What if he told someone? What if he- what-”

 

Before Ed could dissolve into anxious babbling, Mustang cut in.

 

“I haven’t heard any reports from my contacts about you or your brother’s bodies. If someone else knew about it, I would be informed immediately,” he said firmly. Ed didn’t have the energy to wonder why Mustang would be informed about gossip regarding Al and himself or why he had contacts at all, but he felt somewhat reassured.

 

Ed nodded slowly before continuing.

 

“Uh, anyway. It’s kind of fuzzy after that. I couldn’t really move to see what he was doing, but he was...on top of me. There was something pressing into my stomach. It was kind of...wet? There was a lot of pain, like, near my hips and spine, and he was...moving…” Ed felt himself becoming distant and faintly noticed he had stopped speaking. He was lost in his memories and felt like he was paralyzed.

 

“Edward?” someone called, and he felt himself blinking dizzily while fighting to regain awareness, “Ed, do you need to take a minute?”

 

Ed stared unseeingly for another beat before blinking hard and shaking his head stubbornly.

 

“No, I- no. It’s fine. I’m fine,” he lied.

 

Before anyone could argue, he spoke again, finding it was easier to remember what had happened when he didn’t acknowledge that it had been happening to him. It wasn’t quite as difficult to think about when he told himself he wasn’t the person he was seeing in his memories, that the pain wasn’t real and nothing had really happened.

 

“He kept moving for a while. It hurt. I don’t know how long it was. At one point he started choking me and I blacked out again. When I woke up again I was alone,” he reported mechanically.

 

There was nothing but tense silence for a while, and Ed finally dared to look up. What he didn’t expect was the undisguised rage on the Colonel’s face. He had seen the man irritated, he had seen him annoyed or frustrated, sometimes he had even seen him angry, but right now- now, with unbridled fury coloring every feature on his face, Ed understood why Mustang had the reputation he did among other officers. He didn’t often think of his superior as intimidating or aggressive, but at this moment he looked like he wanted to do nothing but kill.

 

Ed swallowed and forced himself to look at Hughes instead. He was struggling to remain professional, clearly, but his expression was more difficult to read, probably due to years being in investigations and hearing of similar attacks.

 

“Thank you, Ed,” the Lieutenant Colonel breathed, “That’s helpful, thank you. Just one last thing, can you give me a description of the intruder? You’ve already given a lot of important information, but a description will help us find him more quickly.”

 

Ed gave him a description as quickly as he could. Middle aged, heavy-set, light brown hair with grey flecks, brown eyes. Hughes wrote the details down as he spoke and finally- finally- it was over. Hughes pushed the chair away from the side of the bed and stood up, straightening his uniform jacket before looking at Mustang briefly, though Ed couldn’t see either of their faces from where he was sitting. As Hughes moved towards the door, Ed got a glimpse of Mustang’s intense expression, and he quickly looked over to the other officer. Hughes had his hand on the doorknob and was looking at Ed intently.

 

“Thanks again, Ed. I know your statement will be very helpful as we continue the investigation.”

 

He softened his expression slightly as he gripped the door handle.

 

“And Ed?”

 

Ed didn’t respond, but dully looked him in the eyes.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

He said it with finality and certainty, but Ed still found himself doubting it. Hughes didn’t know everything that had happened. If Ed had told him everything, he wouldn’t have told him it wasn’t his fault. He would have told him that he hadn’t fought, hadn’t protested. He would have told him that he wanted it. But he didn’t, because he didn’t know. Because Ed didn’t tell him. Because he was a liar and a coward.

 

No one said another word as the door opened and the man slipped out into the hallway, leaving behind a disgusting, broken child and a man with molten eyes that promised pain.

Notes:

Thank you all for reading, please leave a comment and/or kudos if you would like!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Ed continues to blame himself. Mustang doesn't know how to deal with emotions. Al is suspicious.

Notes:

Welcome back everyone! Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and hits. I am so glad people are enjoying this and are interested to see what happens next. This chapter isn’t incredibly eventful, but things will be picking up again in the next one, so buckle up!

Enjoy the brotherly angst feat. emotionally constipated Roy.

CW: self-blame, pretty extreme self-hatred and low self-esteem, non-graphic description of injury, mention of sexual assault, gratuitous overuse of italics

Also, if anyone knows how to prevent the end note from going to the end of the LAST chapter, please let me know! I had the note at the bottom of this chapter at the end of the first chapter when I posted it but now it keeps moving to the end of the most recent update and I don’t know how to fix it :(

Ed was getting tired of sitting still.

 

Today was his sixth day in the hospital and he could do little more than lie in bed and attempt to dodge conversations about what had happened with Alphonse (or worse, Mustang) sticking instead to asking his brother if he had found any new texts or insights about the philosophers stone. He did his best to avoid saying anything to Mustang at all, knowing that he knew what had happened six days ago made Ed embarrassingly anxious and sick with guilt.

 

The bed was stiff and his body ached and he itched to walk around or do something- anything- other than continue to rot in this stale room and stare at the white walls, yearning for sleep but avoiding it out of fear that he would relive the attack in his nightmares.

 

It was painfully boring and tense, especially right now, when Alphonse was gone and it was just Ed and Mustang. The man was still seated at the foot of the bed; today he was balancing a small stack of paperwork on his thighs and fiddling with a pen as he pretended to concentrate on the paperwork Hawkeye had dropped off a few days before.

 

“Why are you even here?” Ed asked suddenly, frustrated by the awkward silence that had filled the room as soon as he woke up for the day hours earlier.

 

The Colonel sighed and looked up from the paperwork on his lap.

 

“Because, despite what you’ve been led to believe, I do care about you and your well-being.”

 

Ed stopped for a moment, completely taken aback by Mustang’s answer.

 

He...cared? About Ed?

 

The man might be a smug bastard but Ed knew he was far from heartless. It was clear he cared for his subordinates, maybe even to a degree that it was a weakness, but Ed? Ed wasn’t even part of his team, at least not really. Mustang had known the others for years, even decades, and he’d chosen them all specifically for a reason.

 

Ed was just…

 

Ed.

 

He was a disrespectful, insubordinate soldier who was too young to be taken seriously by most of the brass, too hot-headed and impulsive to be respected by his peers, too mature and jaded to fit in with other people his age, and too prickly and aggressive for anyone to get close except Al.

 

It wasn’t so much a shock that the Colonel cared, it was a shock that he cared about Ed specifically. Mustang caring was not a surprise, not really, but Mustang caring for someone as utterly unlovable as Ed was.

 

Before Mustang could say anything else, Ed scoffed to hide the bizarre sensation in his chest. He felt raw and exposed and he hated the pathetic glimmer of hope that someone like his superior officer cared about him- that anyone who didn’t feel obligated to would care about him at all.

 

“Right,” he muttered bitterly, “Can’t have a dog that can’t bite under your command.”

 

“No.” Mustang cut in sharply with an edge that made Ed jolt. “I care about you, as does the rest of the team. Both you and Alphonse are important to everyone on the team, not just me.”

 

Edward stared uncomprehendingly for several moments. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed. It was suddenly difficult to look Mustang in the eyes. He didn’t believe it, not really, not after what he’d done to Al. To his mother. How could anyone tolerate- let alone care- about a destructive fuck-up like Ed?

 

He didn’t respond and the Colonel looked at him for a while longer before turning back to his paperwork, apparently deciding he was satisfied for now with the conclusion of their exchange.

 

It was probably no more than five minutes later when there was a knock on the door as it creaked open, revealing a tall, plain-looking older man wearing a doctor’s coat with a stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. Edward had met him several times before, initially being introduced not long after Hughes had left after he had given his report for the investigation.

 

“Good morning, Edward,” he said, acknowledging Mustang with a brief nod as he stepped inside.

 

“Y’here to tell me I can leave yet?” Ed asked impatiently. His discharge date had been relayed as being a week after his admission by several nurses, but he had yet to hear it from the doctor himself.

 

He was becoming restless and frustrated sitting still for so long. He didn’t have time to waste, not when Al was being forced to exist as an empty shell because of Ed's mistake and didn’t have the ability to experience even the most basic aspects of being human. The doctor gave him a critical stare, as if assessing his condition, before allowing himself a small, but genuine, smile.

 

“I am, in fact. I know you’ve been told you would likely be here for a week, and given how well your injuries have healed thus far, you will be discharged tomorrow.”

 

Ed immediately let out a breath of relief.

 

“I have been communicating with your commanding officer about your living arrangements after release,” he continued.

 

Ed stilled and quickly sent Mustang a startled glare. Why was Ed the last to know about these supposed arrangements? And better yet, why did nobody ask him what he wanted? Before he could ask, however, the doctor continued, either oblivious to Edward’s irritation or simply unconcerned.

 

“The reason you were not consulted about this is because, while you are the rank of a Major, you are still a minor under Amestrian law. After such a violent attempt on your life, everyone involved in your case has agreed that it would be in your best interest not to return to the dormitories.”

 

It was said matter-of-factly and with finality, but the older man’s eyes were soft as he met Ed’s gaze. He hated it.

 

“What, you think I shouldn’t be able to decide where I go when I leave? It’s going to be my life, not yours.” he fumed as the irritation bubbled up in the back of his throat and he clenched his fists so tightly his automail creaked.

 

It was Mustang who answered, this time.

 

“This isn’t up to you this time, Fullmetal. This is an extremely serious situation and no one is willing to risk you returning to potentially be attacked again.”

 

“I can take care of myself! Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”

 

For that Mustang awarded him with a flat look.

 

Ed scrambled to think of what else he could do, what he could possibly say to put an end to this before it truly began. He didn’t need help, he couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t allow other people to do things for him, not when he was such a vile and pathetic excuse for a human being. It was wrong- viscerally and disconcertingly so- that anyone would even consider helping someone like Ed. He could do it himself. He had to do it himself, especially after this had proven just how disturbed and disgustingly wrong he was as a person.

 

He could fell panic beginning to set in as his heart thrummed in his bruised wrist and throat.

 

“I have Al! He can-”

 

“Alphonse is thirteen, Edward. He can’t be expected to act as a bodyguard. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of you if we allowed your brother and yourself to stay by yourselves at this point.”

 

Ed closed his mouth with an audible click.

 

The previous alarm was replaced with something else; something dull and aching.

 

Mustang was right, of course. How could he be so selfish as to put something like that on Al? The situation was his problem and his problem only, and even though Al lacked a physical body, he didn’t need to go through any more pain because of his brother’s ridiculous issues.

 

“...Fine,” Ed mumbled, looking down at the blanket covering his feet.

 

“Good. Then, upon discharge, you will be staying with Colonel Mustang at his residence until you are completely healed or the investigation is completed, as agreed.”

 

Wait.

 

...What?

 

“Him?” he breathed in disbelief and pointed at the Colonel.

 

“We have determined this to be the best course of action considering he is your legal guardian and you will require a bodyguard at all times until you are well enough to defend yourself,” the doctor said firmly, clearly unwilling to budge on this.

 

Ed looked back at Mustang and saw the steel in his expression. He wilted.

 

Breathing in through his nose, he did his best to tamp down the overwhelming shame he suddenly felt. It was fine. It was temporary, he could pretend to be okay like he always did for Al and bury every stupid weakness he had, at least until Al had his body restored. Then he could break. Only then.

 

“What about my brother?” he asked instead of acknowledging what the doctor said.

 

Mustang leaned forward so his forearms were resting on his knees and his hands were clasped together.

 

“Alphonse is welcome to stay with me as well. I have a spare room the two of you can stay in until you’re healed.” he said, looking sternly at Ed like he always seemed to do when he was making sure Ed understood what he was saying.

 

“Fine,” he said and crossed his arms to stave off the disturbing vulnerability to suddenly felt.

 

“Then it’s settled,” the doctor interjected before an argument could begin, “you will be discharged tomorrow into Colonel Mustang’s care.”

 

Great.

 

“Are there specific instructions for his wounds following discharge?” Mustang asked, using his obnoxious Colonel Voice that made Ed want to smash his automail fist into his dumb bastard face.

 

Ed groaned and turned to face the window, blocking out the rest of the conversation. He wasn’t too interested in hearing anything else about his stay with his commanding officer. He frowned slightly and did his best to ignore the sudden throbbing he felt in the bruises on his wrist and neck and the invasive stab of pain the lanced the length of his spine.

 

----

 

Al retuned soon after the visit with the doctor.

 

Ed had practically begged him to go for a walk or to get some more library books or something so he wasn’t bored to tears in the hospital room. Edward felt guilty that his brother hadn’t left his side for more than five minutes at a time for nearly a week, he was probably becoming restless and tired of staring at the white walls. Ed knew he was.

 

Alphonse accepted the news of the brothers’ living situation for the foreseeable future with no arguments.

 

“It won’t be so bad, brother,” he reassured Ed when Mustang had excused himself to make a phone call. “Colonel Mustang is being kind letting us stay with him while you’re still healing. Maybe we can see if he has an interesting collection of alchemy books or any we haven’t read.”

 

Ed nodded absently as he attempted to focus on what his brother was saying. He was still feeling the effects of the blow to the head and the medication in the IV made his head foggy.

 

God, he wanted to leave. Like, yesterday.

 

“Brother?”

 

At the sudden shift in tone, Ed forced his eyes to focus on his brother. He was fiddling with his gauntlets like he tended to do when he was stressed or nervous and his voice was suddenly uncertain.

 

“Yeah, Al?” Ed asked, forcing a smile that he hoped didn’t appear as strained as it felt. He couldn’t give Al any reason to question the story he’d been feeding him about the attack so far. He had to pretend he was fine. He was fine, after all. There was nothing to be upset about and breaking down over something so insignificant would be a waste of valuable time and energy. He had to be strong for Alphonse.

 

There was an uncomfortably long pause.

 

“What really happened when you were attacked?”

 

His voice was so quiet Edward almost didn’t hear what he had said. Ed blinked slowly, digesting, before laughing (perhaps a bit too long to be believable) and adjusting his position on the bed.

 

“What do ya mean, Al? I already told you. Someone broke into the dorm through the window and attacked me. Typical anti-military nut job who had heard about the youngest state alchemist in the country, probably.”

 

The armor clanked softly when Al shifted his helmet to meet Ed’s gaze.

 

“But why did he just leave? You said he kept talking about state alchemists and asking about the military, but didn’t you not tell him anything? Why would he break in and attack you and leave without getting anything?”

 

Ed choked back a startled, disturbed wheeze at that, instead masking it as a cough.

 

“I dunno, Al. He wasn’t exactly the most stable person, he probably got nervous and that’s why he ran.”

 

“But why did he break in in the first place, then? He was already in our dorm, it wouldn’t make sense to just leave after already breaking the window. Besides, you had already seen his face.” Al reasoned.

 

Ed wracked his mind to think of a reasonable excuse but came up blank. He was exhausted and his thoughts were sluggish from the drugs. He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to think about what had happened anymore. He just wanted to pretend it never happened and everything was normal.

 

“...I wish you would tell me the truth.”

 

A retort died on his lips when he looked at Al’s face. As expressionless as his helmet was, Ed still saw the defeated pain in his brother’s posture and his eyes.

 

He did that.

 

He had hurt Al.

 

Again.

 

It was quiet for what felt like a long time.

 

Ed stubbornly fixed his gaze on the blanket that was draped over the mattress. He couldn’t think of a single thing he could say to reassure his brother. He couldn’t tell him what happened. He couldn’t be the one responsible for his brother losing his trust and faith in other people. He wouldn’t do it, not when it had the potential to turn Al into the same bitter and angry person Ed was.

 

“I’m sorry, Al. I can’t.”

 

Neither brother moved when the Colonel returned, an unidentifiable emotion on his face. No one breathed a word, not even when the nurse came in to check on Ed.

 

The silence was heavy and the tension was oppressive.

 

It remained that way even as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon spilled through the window to reflect off of the empty armor’s helmet, sparkling like tears in the darkness.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Mustang, Ed, and Al leave the hospital. They are all struggling to adjust.

Notes:

Welcome back everyone! Thank you so much again for your continued support, kudos, comments, subscriptions, bookmarks, and hits! I know I’ve said it several times now, but I appreciate the love and everyone who is reading and joining me for this story. I hope you are all enjoying the chapters I have posted so far. I have been planning out some future chapters and scenes, specifically a few intense emotional hurt/comfort moments with Ed and various other characters. I’m so excited for the coming chapters and I hope you all are too!

This chapter is where things start to pick up some more, so hopefully you enjoy! Feel free to leave any comments or kudos if you would like and thank you all for reading. Also, bonus Mustang POV for a little bit!

CW for this chapter:
Self-hatred and self-blame, discussion of sexual assault and violence against a minor, references to combat and genocide (specifically Ishval).

As always, if you feel I need to add any additional warnings, please let me know!

As promised, Ed was released the following day.

 

After the doctor gave him a quick-once over and a stout nurse relayed the home wound care instructions, the three were on their way to the Colonel’s home, which would be their temporary living arrangement for the next few months until Edward was strong enough to defend himself.

 

Al seemingly had recovered from the tension of the previous night, and Mustang was either deceptively good at pretending (entirely possible, really) or was simply feeling as infuriatingly bastardly as usual, but Ed was…

 

...well, he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt, but it was suffocatingly present in the tension in his jaw and shoulders and the rigidity in his aching spine and the seemingly endless racing thoughts that this is your fault, you did this to yourself. But it, evidently, wasn’t just himself that was affected. Al had been shaken by this, and he saw it in the quick glances his brother gave him when he thought he was asleep or didn't notice, and the frequent scraping that came from his large metal wrists when he wrung his hands together out of anxiety.

 

He hadn’t outright told Ed that he was anxious or afraid or however it was he was feeling, but it only strengthened his brother’s decision that he would not, under any circumstances, tell Al what had happened. He couldn’t, not when he was clearly already so torn up over what he had been told had only been an attempt on Ed’s life (which wasn’t completely a lie, so the elder brother didn’t feel so guilty about that at least). Knowing that Ed had been- knowing the truth would destroy him. And Edward wasn’t going to volunteer information that would do nothing but hurt his brother.

 

So he vowed that he was going to keep it to himself.

 

He had somehow managed to keep the darker parts of himself concealed for this long, and this would be no different. He didn’t have the luxury of letting this be different – to wallow and feel sorry for himself – not with Al’s life at stake.

 

So the three climbed into the Colonel’s car, Ed in the front passenger seat, Alphonse taking up the entire back seat, and Mustang, of course, driving.

 

“I’ve prepared the spare room for the two of you. Everything you need should be there, but if there’s anything else either of you need, feel free to ask me,” The Colonel said as he turned onto a narrow side street.

 

Ed remained silent and continued to stare blankly out the window.

 

“Oh, thank you Colonel Mustang! I’m sure we’ll have everything we need. Thank you for letting us stay with you while brother heals,” Al said appreciatively.

 

The Colonel’s expression hardly changed, save for the slight upward quirk of his lips.

 

“It’s no problem at all, Alphonse.”

 

Ed rolled his eyes as he continued to sit with his back to his brother and Mustang. He didn’t have the energy to fake his enthusiasm right now, and he felt strangely empty since leaving the hospital. He hadn’t felt this crushingly hollow since Mom had died, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was feeling like this now.

 

It was frustrating how turbulent his emotions seemed to be lately.

 

Ed blinked when the car door abruptly opened, barely catching himself before he fell face-first onto the sidewalk. He scowled when he saw Mustang staring at him with a quirked brow, hand still resting on the door handle.

 

“Hell’re you doing?” Ed muttered venomously as he pushed himself out of the car and shoved Mustang’s hand away when he reached out to steady him when he lost his balance.

 

“You weren’t responding and we've arrived at my apartment. Your brother is getting your things from the trunk,” Mustang reported matter-of-factly, keeping his face irritatingly expressionless as he usually did.

 

Ed stared for a moment, wondering how he had been so out of it that he hadn’t heard anyone calling for him, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up the back of his neck.

 

“Just get out of my way,” he grumbled, feeling himself relax slightly when Al turned up holding his worn suitcase that had presumably been packed while he was in the hospital.

 

“I got your suitcase, brother! I got some of your things so you would have your own clothes and some of the books we’ve been researching,” he chirped, though his voice seemed to be lacking a more cheerful quality is usually had.

 

Ed smiled tiredly despite himself and Al’s soulfire eyes brightened the smallest bit at the gesture.

 

The three made their way to the Colonel’s front door, and Ed grimaced when he remembered the circumstances of the last time he had been there. He forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on the wood of the door in case he caught a glimpse of any blood from his last visit.

 

Mustang pushed the door open and they made their way inside. It looked more or less the same as it had last time, but it seemed the Colonel had cleaned up the living room a bit. Ed didn’t necessarily remember the state of the man’s apartment the last time he’d been inside, but it was clear someone had made an effort to tidy up. It was a modest townhouse and the front door led into the living room, which had an olive green couch as well as an armchair and a large bookcase that was stuffed full.

 

“I’ll show you to the spare room and then I’ll see what I can come up with for dinner,” the Colonel said and Ed barked out a laugh at the thought of Mustang of all people doing anything that involved a kitchen appliance.

 

“You can cook? Always struck me as the type of person to burn toast,” he snickered.

 

Al sighed and elbowed him gently, “Brother, be nice,” he chided.

 

The Colonel led them down a short hallway and pushed open the lone door at the end.

 

“Believe it or not, Fullmetal, I have been able to survive by myself for several years. Which involves cooking.”

 

Ed rolled his eyes as he looked into the room he and Al would be staying in. It was a small room with a nicely sized bed that had an earth-toned quilt draped on top and a short chest of drawers on the opposite wall. There was a single painting that was hung above the chest, a scene with several dogs and horses in a forest. Ed idly wondered where Mustang got such a hideous painting, but then remembered this was the Colonel, after all. He wasn’t exactly known around Commend for his impeccable sense of style.

 

Alphonse gently leaned the suitcase against the side of the bed and leaned back to survey the room.

 

“I believe everything you’ll need is here, but my bedroom is at the opposite end of the hallway,” Mustang said as he started back towards the kitchen. “I’ll get started on seeing what there is for dinner, but make yourselves at home.”

 

Ed just barely held back from shooting back a snarky retort, which was definitely not because he was narrowly avoiding gasping for air after such a pathetically short walk. Damn injuries.

 

He flopped down onto the edge of the bed and forced himself to ignore the pain in his body at the motion. He was sick of feeling so vulnerable and weak. He was used to being in pain – he did have two automail limbs, after all – but something about the nature of these injuries made the aches more difficult to stomach.

 

“Brother, do you want to see which books I brought for us?” Al asked after a moment and Ed welcomed the distraction.

 

He felt himself relax marginally as his brother enthusiastically showed him the assortment of texts he had packed. Even though Edward felt a bit guilty for not telling him about what had transpired that night, he was grateful that it was being left alone for now.

 

As the two began to settle in to read until it was time for dinner, Ed felt a pang of emotion he couldn’t identify at the striking normalcy of it all. Whether he wanted to accept that it was true or not, this wasn’t the same, and maybe never would be. He was a different person than he was a week ago and he was struggling to continue to keep up appearances and his usual attitude, loathe as he was to admit it. He had always been an arrogant and selfish fuck-up, but he hadn’t felt so suffocated by this fact for a long time.

 

Maybe the attack a week ago was just what he’d needed to keep him in his place.

 

He made sure to keep his expression neutral as he stared down at the open book on his lap, pretending not to notice how the words had begun to swim from the sudden dampness in his eyes.

 

----

 

Roy was, most of the time, a fairly light sleeper. He supposed this was expected after his time on the battlefield and the less-than-ideal places he had been forced to try to rest before his Aunt had taken him in. But even so, he found himself blinking away the inky blackness and listening closely to determine what had roused him from sleep. The air was still and all he could hear for several beats was the ticking of his bedside clock.

 

Then he head low voices from down the hall.

 

He sat up slightly and willed the murmurs to become words in his sleep-addled mind. Luckily, this proved not to be too difficult as the voices increased in volume to the point that he hardly had to strain to make out what was being said.

 

As he had assumed, the voices belonged to his subordinate and his brother.

 

“I said to leave it alone, Al,” Ed’s voice sounded unfathomably tired, but didn’t lack its usual force.

 

“No! I can’t keep watching you suffer like this! You don’t have to do everything by yourself, I want to help you!” Alphonse’s voice was slightly shrill and he was almost certainly being much louder than he intended, but Roy knew how much his brother’s refusal to talk to him about the attack was weighing on him. The two had spoken briefly a few times while Edward was still in the hospital, and Roy certainly understood the younger brother’s despair over not knowing how to help, or even the details of what had happened.

 

It was stiflingly quiet for a moment, and Roy dared to believe that maybe the argument had ended without incident.

 

This thought was quickly disproven when Ed spat something he couldn’t quite make out and the door slammed a moment later, followed by the familiar clanking of Al’s heavy armor.

 

For a moment, Roy didn’t move.

 

He wasn’t sure if this was something he should interfere with- it was, after all, between the brothers- and he knew getting involved would likely anger Edward. However, they were staying in his house and were currently his responsibility, and he really didn’t want to see them arguing for the rest of their time with him. Besides the fact that Edward was already physically defenseless and clearly in pain (whether he admitted this or not), both of them were children. They had already been forced to deal with their mother’s passing and the failed transmutation and it’s consequences by themselves; something as life-altering as the assault Edward had endured hardly over a week ago should not be something they had to recover from by themselves.

 

Roy sighed heavily and blearily felt around in the dark until he found his bedside lamp and flicked it on. He blinked and gave himself a moment to adjust to the sudden light that flooded his bedroom, pushing himself into more of a seated position.

 

Damn.

 

He didn’t bother trying to convince himself that he didn’t care for the boys anymore. He’d known them for several years now, and it was virtually impossible not to be protective and proud of such brilliant and talented kids. Though he did find himself frequently frustrated by the oldest’s lack of self-preservation and stubborn guilt complex, he cared immensely about both of them, which was a fact he wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

 

He found it nearly impossible to believe that anyone could not only dislike these children, but feel such contempt for them that he would commit such an act of depravity against Edward. He was mature and intelligent beyond his years, and he had seen more than some grown men in the military Roy knew, but he was fourteen. It was easy to forget at times, but there were moments when he was startled by the reminder that his subordinate was not even a legal adult, and wouldn’t be for several more years. He knew he was a hypocrite, but he struggled to comprehend that Ed had been attacked so extremely by someone he had presumably never even met.

 

It was ridiculous that he felt that way he did about it. 

 

Roy had killed children.

 

He had burned them alive with a detached precision that he truly found frightening, watched them beg for their lives and slowly become engulfed in flames as their skin melted and their lungs filled with ash and smoke and-

 

Get a grip, Mustang.

 

 

Deep breath.

 

 

 

 

…

 

The point was, he had killed children. Children that were even younger than Edward and Alphonse, and he had killed them in one of the worst imaginable ways. He knew it wasn’t right for him of all people to be entrusted with these two prodigious children, not after what he had done, but he found that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself to care any less.

 

These two absolutely feral and astoundingly resilient brothers had wormed their way into his heart and he found that it didn’t even bother him. Yes, it drove him half mad when Edward went against his direct orders and put himself in potentially fatal situations only to brush off the Colonel’s concern. And it scared him out of his mind when Alphonse’s armor gained a new dent or another bullet hole because he knew that if his body was flesh and blood, such injuries could easily end his life. But even as valiantly as he tried (and he did try), he couldn’t keep his emotions completely out of anything that involved the Elrics.

 

So, sighing again, he dragged himself out of bed and ambled down the hallway to find Alphonse.

 

It wasn’t hard to find him. He was, after all, over seven feet tall and Roy’s home wasn’t particularly spacious. He was seated stiffly on the couch in the living room staring straight ahead. In any other situation the Colonel might have found it amusing how ridiculously unusual the armor looked perched on the edge of his couch, clearly trying to take up as little space as possible despite his size. Right now, however, his heart clenched.

 

He stepped through the threshold of the room and Alphonse looked over suddenly, clearly startled.

 

“Oh, Colonel Mustang. Did I wake you? I didn’t realize I was being so loud…” he said quietly, sounding guilty and subdued and not at all like himself.

 

Roy waved him off, but not dismissively, and sat in the armchair to get a better look at the younger brother.

 

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t have the best sleep habits anyway, and I know you and your brother are going through a lot right now.”

 

He hoped the unspoken message got through: You can trust me.

 

Al just nodded silently and looked at his hands. Roy knew well enough by now that he would start to speak when he was ready, and he was fine sitting in tense silence if it meant he could be of any help. He couldn’t have gotten this far in this profession without enduring uncomfortable situations. He would admit to himself, though, that he felt incredibly out of his depth right now, as he found he usually did when it came to the Elrics.

 

It wasn’t something he was particularly accustomed to feeling, but he was becoming more acquainted with being clueless the longer he knew Ed and Al.

 

“I wish brother would tell me what happened,” Al whispered suddenly.

 

Roy turned and gave him his full attention, but kept quiet.

 

Al hardly paused before continuing. “He’s had bad dreams for a long time but he’s never reacted like that. I just- I usually wake him up when I notice he’s having one but he…”

 

Roy had the feeling if the kid had a physical body, he would be struggling to form words.

 

He continued to be silent.

 

“I was just trying to wake him up! I didn’t think he would get so upset…”

 

Ah. Roy began to understand what the problem was.

 

This was more upsetting to Edward than his brother could understand because of how he had been held down during the attack. Not to mention being woken up to his dorm window shattering the first time and regaining consciousness not long after to see a strange man on top of him, violating him in one of the most severe and violent rape cases Maes said he had seen in years.

 

“I barely even touched him, I swear! If I thought he would have reacted like that I would have tried to wake him up another way! I just wanted to help,” Alphonse mourned, appearing to become more frantic the more he thought about what had happened.

 

Roy needed to step in now before he somehow became convinced he had done something wrong.

 

“Alphonse,” he said firmly, and leaned forward in the chair, “you didn’t know he would react like he did. There was no way you could have known. He probably didn’t even know himself. Like you said, you were trying to help. It’s not your fault.”

 

The armor’s shoulders slumped a little bit but there was a faint rattling as the metal shook.

 

“...That’s true. I just wish he would talk to me…”

 

Roy could empathize.

 

“I believe he will when he’s ready,” he said confidently, because it was true, “he’s just been through something traumatic and will likely need some time to process what happened.”

 

Alphonse nodded and looked like he wanted to say something in response, but instead he asked, “Could you check on him, Colonel? Just to be sure he’s okay? I don’t think he’d react well if I went back in right now.”

 

Roy found it oddly easy to agree.

 

These boys were going to be the death of him, dammit.

 

“I’ll go see if he’ll speak to me, but I can’t promise he’ll be receptive,” Roy said. He felt like he needed to at least make sure Edward was at least somewhat alright, relatively speaking, but he didn’t want to push too hard and break the fragile trust that had been built up between them.

 

“I know. Thank you, Sir.” Al whispered sincerely.

 

Roy offered what he hoped was a comforting smile and started towards his guest room.

 

We all have to die sometime, I suppose.

 

When he reached the doorway, he couldn’t hear any movement inside. He raised his knuckles and knocked three times, bracing for the unavoidable explosion that was sure to come.

 

Instead, all he heard was a muted rustling of the quilt and an emotionless, “I don’t want to talk about it, Al.”

 

Roy had never heard his voice so raw before, and he doubted his subordinate would have spoken that way if he knew who was on the other side of the door.

 

“It’s Mustang. Can I open the door?” he asked feeling out of place even though he was in his own home.

 

He heard a muffled groan of what he imagined was exasperation and then, more clearly, “It’s your house. Do whatever you want, bastard.”

 

He figured that was as much of an invitation as he was going to get, so he gently pushed the door open to see Edward sitting upright on the bed and facing the door. Roy wisely chose not to say anything about the glassy look in his eyes and the suffocating shame and embarrassment that radiated off of him in waves. His mouth was twisted down into a scowl but it seemed forced.

 

Now that they were looking at each other, Roy found that he didn’t know what he should say. What could he possibly say right now to make this any less awful?

 

“Can you just get whatever you’re going to say over with so I can go back to sleep?” Ed snapped, not once taking his eyes off the man in the doorway.

 

Roy kindly didn’t mention that Edward clearly wouldn’t be able to – and probably didn’t want to – go back to sleep.

 

They looked at each other for another moment.

 

The kid’s posture abruptly sagged and he sighed, “Just leave it alone. I’m fine.”

 

Roy guessed that was as much of a confirmation that Edward was okay that he was going to get, so he decided to leave this conversation alone for the moment. He doubted he would be able to get through to the kid right now anyway, he looked absolutely exhausted in more ways than one and his eyes were unusually dull.

 

Making sure to keep his expression unreadable to keep up some sense of normalcy, Roy just nodded and said, “Alright. But you’re going to have to talk to someone about it eventually.”

 

Ed opened his mouth with a deep frown but Roy spoke up again before he could argue.

 

“I’m going to go back to sleep. If I doze during work hours again, Hawkeye will shoot me for sure,” he said for the sake of some kind of familiarity in a situation that was so unprecedented, “I’ll be up around 6 o’clock, and you’re welcome to join me for breakfast if you’d like.”

 

Ed just stared at him for moment, clearly surprised, and the Colonel took this opportunity to shut the door and return to his own bedroom.

 

He was unsurprised when he found that he was unable to go back to sleep, instead staring into the darkness until sunlight crested over the horizon and the birds began to sing.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed some of Roy’s POV for a change! I’m going to include some Roy POV occasionally just to give another perspective about what is happening.

Fun fact, the painting I included in the guest room is actually one that my dad has in his apartment that has apparently been passed down for multiple generations. As a kid, I always thought it was a weird thing to have a painting of, so I thought I’d throw it in as a little detail this chapter. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 5

Summary:

Hughes stops by for a visit. Ed becomes upset. Mustang tells Ed something unexpected about his life.

Notes:

Hi everyone! Thank you for the interaction and kudos, it means a lot! :)

Here are the warnings for this chapter. There aren't a bunch this time. Also, just a reminder that this is Ed's POV so his thoughts are included, and are presented as absolutes. That doesn't mean I think these things are true, I'm just demonstrating the self-hatred and guilt he is feeling. Also, I have been SA'd several times so these stream-of-consciousness bits included are really just how I felt after the times I was SA'd.

CW for this chapter:
Vague descriptions and references to SA, mention of sex work, self-hatred and self-blame, victim blaming (of self), canon-typical mentions of death of parents

When Ed woke up later, there was pale sunlight filtering in through the curtains. He guessed he had finally slipped into fitful sleep after what felt like hours of half-consciousness following the events of the early morning. He thought he could remember being woken up a while ago to force down the bitter pills the hospital staff insisted he take, threatening returning to the hospital if he didn’t follow the post-discharge instructions.

 

He blinked sleepily and surveyed the room to see that Alphonse wasn’t with him. A sudden wave of hot shame doused his entire body and he shuddered involuntarily, doing his best to calm his suddenly racing heart. He was still achy and somewhat disoriented from both sleep and his concussion but he was fueled with anxiety as he forced himself out of bed.

 

He didn’t mean to snap at his brother, he was just…

 

Angry.

 

Disgusted.

 

Irritable.

 

(Enraged at himself for allowing any of this to happen, ashamed that he’d reacted the way he did, afraid that someone would hurt him like that again.)

 

He might have stumbled the tiniest bit as he made his way to the doorway and maybe his hand had missed the doorknob the first time he reached for it through his double vision, but eventually he was staggering down the hallway. He could hear faint voices as he came closer, and recognized the aroma of vegetables and earthy spices coming from Mustang’s kitchen.

 

He guessed he had been the slightest bit too loud as he reached the doorway because the murmured voices stopped abruptly and he was suddenly being scrutinized by three sets of eyes when he came into view.

 

“Brother! What are you doing up? I was just getting you some water,” Al said, gesturing to the glass that was almost comically dwarfed by his hand.

 

Ed refused to acknowledge the relief he felt upon seeing his brother, and – more importantly – seeing that he wasn’t ignoring or avoiding him following the tumultuous argument that had taken place hours earlier.

 

He forced nonchalance as he leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms and looked at his brother, “Don’t worry about me, Al, I can get my own water, you know.”

 

To an outsider, he might have sounded dismissive, but the corners of his mouth quirked upwards the tiniest bit, and the softness in his expression betrayed him. If there was one person he couldn’t pretend around, it was Al. Neither brother said anything as Alphonse handed him the glass, and Ed finally realized they weren’t the only ones in the room.

 

Hughes and Mustang were standing behind his brother near the stove, a large pot of something bubbling over the flame. Mustang was wearing his frustratingly unreadable mask as he usually was, and Ed was strangely relieved to see such a familiar expression on his face. Seeing him how he had in the hospital, even if it was only for seconds at a time, had been oddly rattling. Like maybe this time everything wouldn’t be okay, and this wasn’t something he could fix. Mustang didn’t do anxious, and he certainly didn’t allow himself to show uncertainty. But Ed remembered seeing both in his rare moments of coherence while he was admitted. It felt wrong to see the Colonel like that. Vulnerable. So unlike the man who had reached down and grabbed him by his shirt those years ago after losing his arm and leg and demanded to know if he was giving up.

 

Hughes, expressive as always, was scrutinizing Ed and smiled softly when he noticed Ed was looking at him.

 

“Yo, Ed!” he greeted cheerfully, “I heard you like stew, so I thought I’d stop by and make some for lunch.”

 

At that, Mustang rolled his eyes and sighed, maybe with a little too much weight for the situation, and huffed, “It was less ‘thinking you’d stop by’ and more breaking in unannounced and making yourself at home in my kitchen.”

 

Hughes waved his friend’s complaints off, “Well, agree to disagree then, Roy,” he said breezily, “Anyway, I didn’t see you making anything, and you hardly have anything edible here anyway.”

 

If Edward were feeling more like himself, he probably would have taken advantage of the embarrassed look of indignation on his superior’s face, but he felt too hollow to do anything beyond a slight smirk.

 

The two continued to bicker for a moment, and Ed realized he must have zoned out again because when he blinked there was a steaming bowl of stew in front of him and he was seated at the table. He should have been alarmed or disturbed that he seemed to be doing things with no awareness, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Ever since the attack he found it difficult to be too concerned about his own well-being or safety. There wasn’t much that could happen to him now that he hadn’t been through, after all, and he was too exhausted really to be concerned.

 

As he slowly blinked himself back into awareness, he realized Hughes was saying something somewhere close by.

 

“All I’m saying is that I think it might be helpful for him. Just bring it up, at least. He should be the one to decide.”

 

Realizing he was probably listening in on Hughes and Mustang talking – likely about him – he forced himself to become more aware and strained to listen.

 

There was a moment where no one said anything before someone sighed.

 

“Alright, Maes.” That was Mustang. “I’ll ask him about it today.”

 

“That’s all I’m asking.”

 

Hughes said something else that Ed couldn’t decipher before a door closed and a lock clicked. The sudden sound jolted him back into reality, and he started hard.

 

“Brother?” Al’s tinny voice worriedly asked from Ed’s side.

 

Edward flinched again, but not as harshly, as he realized Alphonse was seated in the chair next to his at the table. God, he was really out of it today, wasn’t he?

 

“Fine, Al,” he forced out, and grimaced slightly when his voice was hoarse and weak.

 

There were footsteps coming towards the kitchen and Ed realized it was probably Mustang coming back. Hughes had likely just left to go back to the office for the afternoon.

 

Before he could consider it anymore, Mustang himself briskly walked into the kitchen and stopped suddenly when he saw the brothers as if he had forgotten they were there and was surprised to see them. Ed lazily raised his eyebrows and spun the spoon around in the bowl of stew that had long since cooled.

 

“Whaddaya need to ask me about?”

 

Mustang just looked at him for a moment and blinked, appearing unnaturally wary. It was still strange to see anything other than his constant bastard-y smug confidence on his face, but Ed was a little startled to realize that he didn’t actually mind, and the Colonel certainly seemed like a lot less of a jackass when he wasn’t sucking up and putting on a show.

 

“Ah, Fullmetal,” he said, as if he was convincing himself that Edward was in fact sitting at his kitchen table, “What makes you think I need to ask you about anything?”

 

Ed huffed and rolled his eyes, “In the flesh, bastard.” (Mustang rolled his eyes at this.) “And I heard you and Hughes talking a second ago about asking me about somethin’,” he clarified.

 

“Believe it or not, Fullmetal, not everything we say is about you, you brat,” the Colonel droned, apparently pulling himself out of his stupor as he stepped over to the stove to ladle himself his own bowl of the stew Hughes had made. His words held no actual heat and he even smirked a bit as he sat across from the brothers at the table.

 

Edward wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but it was relieving to have a somewhat normal interaction with the man after a week of whatever their brief conversations in the hospital could be called. He did feel considerably more empty and irritable since being released now that he was more coherent and on less medications, but the familiarity of the banter was...nice.

 

“What’re you doin’ here anyway?” Ed asked, accepting for the moment that he’d need to let it go if he was ever going to get a real answer, “Aren’t you s’posed to be at command? I thought Hawkeye was going to shoot you if you didn’t do your work today.”

 

Mustang looked slightly uncomfortable for a split second, but recovered quickly. “The Lieutenant requested that I stay here to do my paperwork today. I’ll be returning to the office on Thursday.”

 

Today was Tuesday.

 

Ugh. Another two full days with the bastard. Edward groaned loudly.

 

“Oh, perfect. Great. Two more days in Colonel Jackass’s presence. Just what I want after being in the hospital for a fuckin’ week.”

 

“Brother,” Al sighed in exasperation, but Ed ignored his brother’s lamentation.

 

“I’m gonna go crazy if I have to keep sitting around! I don’t see why I can’t at least do some research with Al until we can go after the next lead.” He was well aware that he was whining, but he really did feel like his brain was melting and was going to begin to leak out of his ears if he didn’t do something productive soon.

 

“We still have the books I packed, brother. We can start making notes from them,” Al, ever the helpful one, suggested.

 

Ed may or may not have sulked the tiniest bit at that. Honestly, he just wanted to complain about something besides what was actually weighing on his mind. The longer he could distract himself from what happened, the better. He just had to pretend everything was fine for a little longer and then he’d actually believe it and not even need to pretend anymore.

 

Because he’d be fine. He was fine.

 

This train of thought was becoming a little too close to the topic he was doing everything to avoid, so he decided now was a good time to change the subject.

 

“Didn’t know Hughes was much of a cook,” he murmured as he lifted the spoon out of the broth and rested it on the surface thoughtlessly.

 

“Well, maybe you’d know for sure if you actually ate some of the stew he made, Fullmetal,” Mustang remarked as he made a point to raise his own spoon to his mouth.

 

Ed scowled.

 

He was hoping nobody would say anything about his eating, or lack thereof.

 

“Yeah, Ed, you won’t be able to heal as well if you’re not eating,” Al chimed in.

 

Ed’s scowl intensified.

 

“I’m not hungry,” he hissed as he glared at the offending bowl.

 

“Not hungry,” Mustang echoed, “Right. And I assume you haven’t been hungry the last week then, either?”

 

His blood suddenly felt like it was on fire as anger bubbled in his chest. How dare Mustang act like he knew everything? How dare his brother and the Colonel gang up on him like this? He just wasn’t hungry, and he would probably get sick if he ate anything, anyway. It seemed like he’d felt perpetually sick to his stomach since the intruder broke into his dorm room.

 

Suddenly the room seemed very small and very hot.

 

“Just leave it alone, Mustang.”

 

“I’ll leave it alone if you eat something,” the Colonel replied easily, either unaware or unconcerned about Edward’s rising turmoil.

 

The silverware on the table rattled as Edward abruptly stood up, ignoring the intense pain he felt at the sudden movement and the shout of alarm from his brother. He couldn’t hear what he was saying over the static in his ears, anyway. Mustang might have said something – he probably did – but Ed didn’t stop or turn around as he stomped unevenly back to the room his belongings were in. He might have slammed the door before he clicked the lock and collapsed against the doorframe in the spare room, but he wasn’t concerned about anything except getting away.

 

He noticed his chest was heaving and he was probably gasping too, since the edges of his vision were becoming dim. He closed his eyes and forced himself to slow down his breaths.

 

This was stupid. Nothing had even happened. No one had done anything and he had just lost it over a fucking bowl of stew.

 

He hated how unregulated he felt lately and how he only seemed to feel absolutely nothing or too much. This was like mom all over again.

 

No, this was worse than mom because this time he didn’t even have his brother who understood. He was truly by himself this time because he just couldn’t tell Alphonse the truth. He couldn’t let his brother know how disgusting and weak he was. He’d already deprived him of having a body, he wouldn’t be the one to shatter the trust and kindness Al saw in everyone.

 

Fine.

 

It’s fine.

 

 

 

His breathing was still slightly irregular, but his vision was clear again and his chest no longer felt like it was seconds away from bursting.

 

He was fine. He had to be fine.

 

Fuck.

 

He took another breath and forced the panic to stay the fuck down because he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let anyone think he was broken or fucked up because he had to get his brother back to normal. He could not – would not – lose his mind until Alphonse was a living, breathing, wonderfully whole person again, like he was supposed to be. Like he should have been this whole time.

 

Right. This was about Al. It had always been about Al and it had always been for Al.

 

Al deserved to restore his body.

 

Al deserved to be happy. To not worry about his monumental fuck-up of a shitty older brother anymore.

 

This was for Al.

 

--

 

Ed wasn’t sure how long he had been crumpled on the floor before someone approached and tried to turn the handle.

 

“Dammit.”

 

Mustang, then.

 

There was a trio of knocks and then a beat of stifling silence.

 

“Full- Edward, you don’t have to open the door, but at least let me know you’re alright.”

 

Even though he had been mentally tormenting himself on the floor for who even knew how long, Edward found himself surprised that he was being called by his first name.

 

Mustang very rarely addressed him by his actual name- it was almost always his state title, or worse, his last name only. It was strange to hear him say it, but Ed found that he didn’t really mind. Clearly something had shifted in his relationship with the Colonel since he had showed up nearly-dead on his front doorstep, and it was uncomfortable in a way, but not entirely unwelcome.

 

It was weird. It was...not terrible.

 

There was another knock on the door and it was out of curiosity (not anything else, and especially not wanting to be anything but alone right now) that had him pushing himself to his feet and unlocking the door before he was really thinking about it.

 

He didn’t look up as the Colonel stepped inside or even when he slid down the wall until he was sitting across from Ed on the floor with his back against the bed frame. It was probably uncomfortable.

 

“Where’s Al?”

 

“I told him to go for a walk to clear his head,” Mustang said, “He’s worried, you know.”

 

Edward sighed.

 

Minutes ago he would have exploded at the Colonel getting involved, but now he was just tired. He didn’t have the energy to be angry right now. What had been unimaginable rage had now fizzled into something that just felt empty.

 

The two continued to sit in silence for a moment longer before the Colonel took a breath like he was preparing himself for something. Unconsciously, Ed tensed and braced himself.

 

“Have I ever told you about my sisters?”

 

What? Ed blinked stupidly. That was not where he was expecting this conversation to go. He didn’t have time to even fully process what the man had said before he continued speaking.

 

“After you were admitted to the hospital I called Vanessa right away.”

 

Ed was incredibly confused as to where this was going, but he was curious and exhausted, so he stayed quiet.

 

“Vanessa was always the closest to me out of my sisters, and she made sure I was taken care of as well as I could be growing up.”

 

There was another beat of silence.

 

“I don’t usually tell people this, but I was raised in rather unconventional circumstances,” he said, sounding slightly distant but somewhat amused, as if there was something about his upbringing that Edward didn’t know.

 

Ed couldn’t help himself. “Unconventional?” he whispered, because he wasn’t sure his voice would be even if he spoke any louder right now.

 

“I was raised by my Aunt after I was a toddler. My Aunt owns a bar that is also a brothel.”

 

What…? The idea of Mustang as a child was strange enough, but Mustang growing up in that environment was almost unbelievable. Ed had always just assumed he had been another spoiled rich kid who did so well in the military because he had connections he’d gotten from his parents, not...this. The Colonel growing up in a brothel of all places almost instantly destroyed the wild stories Ed had made up in his head about how he’d become such a high-ranking officer when he wasn’t even thirty.

 

“Please don’t go telling other officers about this, really, I do have a certain image to uphold.” Mustang said, but he didn’t actually sound concerned.

 

“I won’t,” Ed said immediately, and he meant it. Sure, he didn’t particularly like the bastard, but he wasn’t going to make fun of him for that, not when he knew himself what it was like not to have parents growing up. And he did have an unusual respect for the Colonel, even though he didn’t often allow himself to show it. Not when he’d just end up leaving him too.

 

“All of my sisters worked for my Aunt. I suppose, technically, they aren’t my blood relatives, but they might as well be.”

 

Edward didn’t need an explanation for what “working” meant. Mustang’s sisters worked in his Aunt’s brothel. That was certainly not something he expected to learn today.

 

“My Aunt is fairly well-known, and so is her bar, so most of the clientele knew better than to mess with any of my sisters.”

 

Something cold settled in the pit of Ed’s stomach.

 

“Vanessa ended up with someone who had come from out of town. I suppose he didn’t known my Aunt’s reputation, or he simply didn’t care, because he was aggressive with Vanessa. My Aunt threw him out as soon as she realized something was wrong, but the damage was already done.”

 

Ed swallowed hard. He wanted to tell Mustang to stop talking, that he didn’t want to hear about how someone else had been through this, too, but he was unable to speak.

 

“She stayed in the bar mostly from there on, but she refused to talk to any of us about what had happened. She hardly spoke at all and barely ate.”

 

Ed felt ashamed then as he recalled what had happened earlier. He didn’t want to hear about someone else that was as broken as he was. He couldn’t stand to hear how he was going to end up, how this was never going to get better or go away.

 

“But after a while she couldn’t continue ignoring it, and she spoke to my Aunt about what happened. It was a slow process, but she did improve.”

 

Ed couldn’t believe it. There was no way anyone could ever be okay after something like that.

 

“You don’t have to lie,” Edward said without really meaning to.

 

“I’m not lying. She said she’d be happy to talk to you if you’d like. She’s doing much better now.”

 

He almost sounded like he meant it. Like it was true.

 

“I don’t-” Ed’s voice was raspy so he started again, “How? He did she...?”

 

He didn’t finish his thought, but apparently Mustang knew what he meant anyway.

 

“She talked about what happened, I suppose. She tells me she felt significantly better after she talked with my Aunt the first time. I didn’t even need to tell her what happened when I called, by the way. I would never share your personal information like that. She just knew, somehow, that someone had been hurt badly. She doesn’t even know who was attacked, but she said if you don’t want to talk to her directly, that’s fine, but she hopes you’ll talk to someone about it. It won’t fix everything, of course, but you can’t push it down forever.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Ed whispered, hating how exposed he felt. He elected to momentarily ignore the new information that Mustang had a sister – several, in fact – and that these sisters likely knew who Ed was.

 

“I don’t. But I do know that everyone I’ve known has tried and none of them succeeded. After Ishval, a lot of the soldiers I knew did everything they could to forget. But it can only last for so long,” the Colonel appeared distinctly uncomfortable now, and Edward found himself wondering how much of what he was saying was about himself.

 

Ed hummed in response, partly because he didn’t know what to say and partly because he didn’t trust himself to speak. It was silent again.

 

Edward fidgeted a bit when neither of them said anything for a while.

 

“I…” he started and Mustang stayed quiet as he collected his thoughts, “Not now. I think I will, but...later. I don’t think I can-- Just...not now.”

 

The Colonel seemed to be satisfied with this response, because he nodded.

 

It was quiet again, but it wasn’t oppressive as it had been. It was almost comfortable. Neither of them made any move to get up or walk away until the front door creaked open and Alphonse called out for them.

 

And for the first time since that night over a week ago, Edward dared to feel the slightest spark of hope.

 

Chapter 6

Summary:

Alphonse begins to understand the gravity of the situation. Mustang is irritated (and irritating). Hughes makes a breakthrough.

Notes:

Hi everyone!

Sorry it took a while to upload this one, I finally started my new job and I'm doing night shift so it's been a bit of an adjustment. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this one, and please feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you'd like! I appreciate each and every one of you. <3

CW for this chapter:
Brief suicidal thoughts, description of injuries (bruises), SA mention/implications, self-blame, mild description of a panic attack

I think that's it, but if there's anything else, please let me know and I'll add it!

Thanks for reading!

After the strange talk with Mustang, Ed tried to keep to himself. He didn’t need anyone knowing how unstable he was right now, least of all his brother. Or, somehow even worse, his fucking superior.

 

So he did what he could to maintain some kind of normalcy in a situation that was so far from normal it was almost funny in a twisted way.

 

Right.

 

Ha.

 

If Alphonse had realized anything about the attack being anything other than a routine violent altercation, he didn’t show it. He was acting like his usual self – at least, as usual as he did when Ed had been in the hospital with life-threatening injuries. So, mother-henning and worrying non-stop, as if that would fix everything.

 

Well, that wasn’t really fair.

 

Worrying Al was far from one of Ed’s favorite things to do, and he felt guilty about the amount of stress he had (and continued to) put his brother through.

 

“Hey, Al, can you pass me that book?” Edward asked absent-mindedly as he held his hand out and continued to scan the words on the page in front of him.

 

His brother handed it to him without comment, which Ed might have found odd if he had been paying more attention. He couldn’t help it. Research gave him direction and distracted him from the admittedly dark places his mind consistently crept into lately.

 

He flipped the page and continued to absorb the words. Alphonse hadn’t been reading for several minutes now. If Ed was feeling more like himself, he would have noticed and asked what was wrong, but his thoughts were still foggy and interactions weren’t as easy as they had been before. Nothing was as easy as it had been before.

 

Suddenly, he felt like it was too hot and the air was too thick and it was too hard to breathe. That seemed to be happening a lot. One second he’d be feeling fine, and the next he’d be gasping for air or trembling like he was freezing. Or dying. Or both.

 

Before Alphonse could pick up on his irritatingly random and unpredictable anxiety, Ed pushed himself up from the table and quickly walked to the bathroom down the hall.

 

This was ridiculous, nothing had even happened.

 

He hated being so uncomfortably vulnerable and he hated feeling like a wound that had been reopened and rubbed raw. He needed to get it together. For Al.

 

It was too hot.

 

He fumbled with the zipper of his jacket until he finally grabbed hold of it long enough to allow some air flow onto his neck.

 

He gripped the sink with both hands so tightly he was slightly concerned the grinding metal in his right hand would shatter the basin. He stared hard into his own eyes in the reflection of the mirror and forced himself to look any other way than he did. He didn’t look right – he didn’t feel right, but when did he ever since Mom had died?

 

His breathing was still stilted and uneven, but not to the point that he was beginning to hyperventilate as he had, pathetically, the other night. But it was enough for him to be the slightest bit off of his guard.

 

Alphonse had become frighteningly agile in his hulking, metal body, and that meant he somehow had gained the ability to walk on hardwood without making any noise. This could be both a blessing and a curse. (Al’s body was always a curse, but there were times when his quiet creeping came in handy and had even saved both their skins a few times.)

 

Right now, Ed thought, it was a curse.

 

He didn’t even register that the door wasn’t locked or that it had slowly opened until he noticed Al behind him in the mirror.

 

He startled hard, and forced himself to laugh so that he wouldn’t scream instead. This was Al. This was his brother. Edward being afraid of someone was laughable anyway, but being afraid of Alphonse? His gentle, kind-hearted brother? That felt almost criminal.

 

He opened his mouth to say something, but there was an odd tension that hadn’t left his brother’s shoulders that sparked panic (more panic, always fucking panicking) in his chest.

 

Alphonse was looking at something, he realized, and quite intently. He was staring and, even though his eyes were nearly impossible to read, Ed had become accustomed to deciphering his lack of expressions through body langauge.

 

He was staring at Ed. And not just Ed, but Ed’s throat, that was still covered in nasty, now-yellow and green bruises that encircled his entire neck.

 

Fuck.

Ed had done his best to keep the stupid thing covered up with his jacket, and it had been wrapped for a few days when he had been in the hospital; something about bringing down swelling. Al hadn’t asked about any of his injuries beyond that one night, but now Ed felt like she source of his shame was on fuil display. His weakness.

 

It was too late, he realized belatedly, when he tugged the collar of his jacket and quickly pulled the zipper back up. He spun around to face his brother, if only so he didn’t have to look at his own goddamned face anymore.

 

The two stared at each other for a moment, and Ed wondered if Al would just let it go. The bruising wasn’t identifiable as hand-shaped anymore, and just looked like a formless blob of waxy yellow-green.

 

Fuck, someone had to say something, or they’d both be staring at each other in Mustang’s bathroom all night.

 

“Al-”

 

“What is that.”

 

Although it was phrased like one, it didn’t really sound like a question.

 

Ed forced himself to laugh and cringed internally when it sounded more like a gasp or a wheeze.

 

“Oh, this?” he gestured to his neck, “’S not a big deal, the-”

 

“No. That.”

 

“What are you…?”

 

Oh.

 

On the sink behind him was one of his medication bottles the hospital had given him upon discharge. It was an antibiotic for the slight, really-not-a-big-deal internal bleeding he’d had. He was almost done with the medication cycle, he just had a few days left. He had left it out because Alphonse didn’t have any reason to go into the bathroom.

 

The thing was, Alphonse didn’t know he’d had internal bleeding. He didn’t even know he was on antibiotics. Edward had only explained the medications he had received while inpatient to be for the pain – presumably the pain from the attack (which had only been physical blows and nothing more) – but he knew Al had better eyesight than most people. He could likely clearly read the label, and Ed wasn’t going to insult his brother and suggest he was stupid. Al knew an absurd amount of things about chemistry, and even pharmacology. He had to know what it was.

 

“Oh, that,” Ed said, doing his best to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “It’s just for-” he swallowed hard, “for some bleeding. Wanted to be sure I didn’t get an infection.”

 

Alphonse would probably have given his brother a flat look if he was capable.

 

“But you weren’t bleeding. Except a little on your head.”

 

Fuck. Come on, Ed. Think of something.

 

Al couldn’t know what had happened, he just couldn’t. It would break him.

 

He couldn’t lie – wouldn’t insult his brother’s intelligence like that – but he couldn’t know.

 

The bathroom was silent except for Ed’s admittedly heavy breathing.

 

“Al…” the rest of the words got caught in his throat.

 

There was silence.

 

Suffocating and tense silence that should never exist between himself and his brother.

 

“Okay,” Al said suddenly with an unreadable tone, and Edward jumped slightly at the abruptness of the sound, “I won’t push you.”

 

Alphonse made sound similar to a sigh.

 

“I just hope you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

 

Without another word, the taller of the two exited the bathroom with the same eerie silence as he had entered.

 

----

 

“Stop asking, Fullmetal.”

 

It was becoming a little hard to keep up the weak facade he had with Al, so Ed decided he’d try and keep up appearances with Mustang instead.

 

“Oh, come on! You can’t just blab with Hughes and then expect me not to ask about it!” Ed didn’t do whining, but his voice at this moment was suspiciously close to being just that.

 

“Brother, I don’t think the Colonel is going to tell,” Al reasoned, and Ed felt himself release some tension he didn’t know he’d been holding at the easy lilt in his brother’s voice.

 

Ed and Mustang had been going back and forth about the mysterious conversation Hughes and the Colonel had had before Hughes had left for the day. Edward was feeling particularly irritating today, and pissing Mustang off was so fun he couldn’t help it.

 

There was a beat of silence. Enough for that crease in between Mustang’s eyebrows to loosen a bit before Ed struck again.

 

“...I’m just saying-”

 

“Fullmetal.”

 

“-that you knew I was here when you were talking and you still did, so you knew I could-”

 

“Edward.”

 

“-overhear you, so you probably wanted me to know-”

 

“Ed!” And, oh, that was Al.

 

“Wha’s wrong, Al?” Ed asked as he tipped his chair backwards and looked up at the ceiling and started counting the stupid, tiny cracks in the stupid Colonel’s plaster in his stupid, bastard kitchen.

 

“Stop bothering the Colonel,” Al said as he shuffled something, likely a book, behind his brother, “he doesn’t have to tell you anything.” Edward ignored the stab of guilt he felt at that.

 

“My own brother is against me,” Ed muttered, and Alphonse probably would have rolled his eyes if he had any.

 

“Fine,” Ed declared, as he stood up suddenly, forcing himself to ignore the stabs of pain that rushed up his spine at the motion, “I’m gonna do some research then. Since the bastard here ain’t gonna talk.”

 

Al just sighed again. “Okay, brother.”

 

Edward headed towards the room he and his brother were sharing and grabbed a book before heading back to where he had camped out at the kitchen table, making a point not to limp as he came back in the room. He slammed the book onto the table, maybe with a little too much force, just to see Colonel Bastard scowl when his coffee nearly sloshed over the rim of his mug and stained the report he was reading.

 

Ed heaved himself up back into his chair (and his feet definitely didn’t dangle above the floor when he sat in it, thank you). He flopped open the large tome and resumed his reading where he had left off last. This was important. This was something he could focus on, distract himself with, that gave him some semblance of purpose when he was feeling so awkwardly cyclonic and aimless.

 

The text was starting to get into the nitty gritty of soul bonds and transference when Mustang broke the silence with a sigh.

 

“The rest of the team has been asking about seeing you,” he said without looking up from the paper he was reading.

 

Ed mirrored his superior but his thoughts were starting to short-circuit. They...wanted to see him?

 

Him?

 

Ed?

Meaning Ed the fucked-up-excuse-for-a-state-alchemist-that-couldn’t-even-defend-himself Ed?

 

He wasn’t particularly close with anyone on the team except Havoc, but the man acted like a brother with all of Mustang’s team. Ed wasn’t special to any of them. And he shouldn’t be. If it was between himself and Al, Al should be the one to receive the team’s praise and interaction. Ed was all sharp edges and hostility and had his hackles raised and fists ready at every moment.

 

Al was...kind. Gentle. Trusting. If anyone had said they wanted to see Ed, they probably meant they wanted to see Ed and Al, meaning really only Al. That was it. That had to be it.

 

Or.

 

Nobody had said anything at all about seeing him.

 

Ed unconsciously clenched his fists.

 

That was low, even for Mustang, to lie about something like that. To have him dare to hope that someone – multiple someones, even – cared about him, that they were interested in visiting him and making sure he was okay.

 

It was wrong.

 

It was so horribly untrue that he suddenly felt light-headed with the rush of it.

 

“They were planning to visit you while you were in the hospital, but you were on some pretty heavy drugs and security was tight due to the attack.” Mustang was completely oblivious that he had been caught in his lie.

 

Ed scowled.

 

“Brother, that’s exciting! Oh, you should let them come visit!”

 

The look on Ed’s face expressed that he wanted nothing less than to see them. He looked confused, he looked like he had been caught off-guard. He looked...disturbed. Like he was in disbelief. Angry.

 

He couldn’t believe anyone would want to see him, that people had supposedly claimed to have missed him around Command, that they didn’t see him as the sick, disgusting monster he had become and was trying so hard to hide.

 

Ed wanted to swear, he wanted to scream that no one could – or should – want to see his face, that he was immeasurable and astronomical amounts of fucked up and only Truth itself should look at his face when he was damned to Hell, assuming such a thing existed.

 

Instead, he was just exhausted.

 

“...I’ll think about it, Al,” he said, “Okay?” He even forced himself to smile, and prayed it didn’t come across as a grimace.

 

He didn’t sound enthusiastic, but his brother didn’t seem to mind too terribly. Al thought this would be good for him, he needed to see the team, he needed to be around familiar people, safe people, who knew him before he was just a husk of a child that was admittedly too damaged to do even simple things like eat a fucking bowl of stew without having a breakdown.

 

“They’ll be excited to see you. The whole team has been asking myself and Hughes about when they were going to get to see you,” Mustang added, the slightest bit of concern evident in the creases in his expression that would be unnoticed by the untrained eye.

 

Edward was not the untrained eye.

 

Ed felt his anger flare. Mustang didn’t need to lie. Mustang didn’t need to do...whatever the hell this was. Protect him? Protect him from what? The truth? The fact that was so obvious that anyone who looked in his general direction could tell he was awful and damaged and sick?

 

Mustang never coddled him. Not once had he lied to his face about anything, and yet here he was, lying to him and saying that his team had been bothering him about seeing Ed since his hospital stay.

 

It felt wrong.

 

It felt insulting.

 

Before he could even think about it, Edward scoffed loudly. He couldn’t help it, not really. He was tired – exhausted, actually – of pretending anyone gave a shit. He was tired in such a deep-rooted, bone-deep way that he hadn’t felt since his automail physical rehabilitation. He just wanted to sleep. Or die. Whichever came first. At this point, he wouldn’t really complain either way.

 

Mustang looked mildly surprised. Alphonse looked as confused as a faceless suit of armor could.

 

“Something to say?” Mustang drawled.

 

Fucking bastard.

 

“Yeah, actually.” Oh, here we go. Just keep your fucking mouth shut for once, fuckin’ moron. “I don’t really know what you’re tryna do, but I’m not buyin’ it. Bet nobody even mentioned me since I’ve been on leave.”

 

Because that’s what this was. Medical leave. It wasn’t anything else or anything to overreact about. It was just medical leave. Because Ed had been attacked and he’d gotten the slightest bit beat up before putting the idiot who decided to try him on their ass.

 

That was what happened.

 

…Maybe if he kept telling himself that he would start to believe it.

 

The phone trilled suddenly, effectively cutting off the rest of the conversation. Mustang exhaled sharply and pulled his hand across his face, missing the irritated but oddly wounded look on Ed’s face.

 

“I’ll be back. Stay here,” he snapped, perhaps a little too waspishly for the situation at hand.

 

He sighed again to himself as he crossed the room to where the phone sat in it’s cradle. He might have snatched the receiver up with a bit of excessive force, but he couldn’t help it. He was frustrated. And admittedly out of his depth.

 

“Mustang,” he grunted just before the ringing ceased.

 

“Roy,” a voice responded, sounding worryingly relieved that he had answered the phone.

 

Roy sobered instantly.

 

“Hughes? What happened?” he asked, not wasting any time with formalities. He couldn’t afford to do that right now, not with everything at stake.

 

There was a moment of tense silence, presumably while Maes attempted to formulate a sentence that made sense and wasn’t too analytical and blunt as he tended to be when he was working. Yet, he often tried to soften the blows when he was speaking to Roy. Like he couldn’t handle it.

 

“Hughes,” Mustang repeated, attempting to force some steel into his voice, if only to cover up the frighteningly turbulent and unfamiliar anxiety that had begun to creep in.

 

There was a long sigh.

 

Maes didn’t even need to say anything. Somehow Roy knew what he was about to say, like a sick intuition that was so foreign and out of place that he almost shoved it away instinctively.

 

He said it anyway.

 

“We’ve got him.”

 

Roy swore.

Chapter 7

Summary:

Roy meets with Ed's attacker. Edward and Alphonse have a talk.

Notes:

Hi everyone, sorry it's taken a bit for me to post this one. Thank you everyone for your comments/kudos/bookmarks and just reading in general! There are a lot of content warnings for this chapter so PLEASE look after yourselves. This fic is incredibly self-indulgent and just me attempting to cope with my own issues, so if there are any plotholes/errors it isn't intentional, I just start writing and can't stop.

Anyway, here are the warnings for this chapter:
!! negative and victim-blaming language by a perpetrator !!, discussion of sexual crimes and violence, threats of violence, attempted violence, and all archive warnings and other tags still apply.

That should be all, but please let me know if I left anything out. With that being said, thank you for reading!

Roy was angry.

 

No, that wasn’t right.

 

He wasn’t just angry. He was so enraged that his veins felt like they had been hot wired with pure, burning gasoline that spread stifling hurt throughout his body.

 

He hadn’t been this- this unbelievably pissed since Ishval.

 

“Roy, come on, let’s think about the long-term-”

 

He stopped walking.

 

“Long term?” his voice was low and quiet, but there was a dangerous undertone that was only ever present when he was viscerally, unequivocally infuriated. “What about Edward’s long term, Maes?”

 

The other man sighed. He sounded worn down and exhausted.

 

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Hughes amended as he adjusted his glasses on his nose, “I mean think about what will happen if you go into that room guns blazing. He’s a vile bastard, we both know he is, but you need to be Colonel Mustang right now.”

 

Suddenly, Roy felt very tired and much older than his twenty-eight years.

 

There was a heavy silence.

 

“You can’t do anything without getting the information we need about the assault.” The not yet was left unspoken.

 

Roy set his jaw and bit down hard enough to draw blood. He wanted nothing more than to burn this man to a crisp, watch him suffer for doing something so unbelievably depraved, so repulsive that it would change his young subordinate for the rest of his life.

 

He had seen it before. He couldn’t sit back and do nothing as he watched it happen again.

 

“Fine,” he snapped as he continued walking. Hughes quickly fell into step beside him. “Where is he?”

 

“Just in there at the end of the hall.”

 

Roy nodded stiffly.

 

The man was apparently named Jens Leicht. It could have been the name of anybody on the street, but it made Roy’s skin crawl. Hughes and the investigative team had found Leicht by chance, bragging in a local bar about some blond in the military he had had relations with. Once questioned further, he admitted to the crime immediately, as if he simply didn’t care. Whether he didn’t care about the depravity of it or how it would effect Edward, Roy didn’t know.

 

The short distance between the two and the door to the holding cell suddenly seemed to stretch for miles. The anger had changed now into something more vulnerable, something uncomfortable and raw that he didn’t like. Protective.

 

The door was in front of him before he could ponder on it any longer, and he pushed it open with no hesitation. A confidence that he didn’t feel.

 

The man in front of him was startlingly ordinary. Roy didn’t know what he had expected, but it hadn’t been an older middle-aged man with an average build and salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to his head. The mundaneness of him made Roy sick. Roy thought he looked like the most vile bastard alive, and he looked at himself in the mirror everyday.

 

“Ah,” the man greeted him with a smile that was a little too wide and completely out of place for the situation at hand, “Colonel Mustang, I take it?”

 

Roy scoffed in disgust. The man’s demeanor changed almost instantly.

 

“I guess you’re here to talk about your subordinate. The little blond one,” he drawled boredly, examining his cuticles as if he was wasting his time talking about the horrific crime he had committed against Ed.

 

Keep it together, Roy.

 

Fuck, this was hard.

 

“The Fullmetal Alchemist. A State Alchemist, in case you weren’t aware,” Roy said with far more detachment and coolness than he felt. He felt the need to remind this filth that he had not only committed a crime against a child, but a child that held the rank of a major in the Amestrian military.

 

“Oh, yes. Hero of the People. Edward Elric. I know who he is,” he shrugged and Roy felt his blood boil and his body catch aflame.

 

“And yet you committed an act of sexual violence and physical assault against him. Are you aware of the consequences of such an attack on a military officer?”

 

The man had the audacity to shrug carelessly once more.

 

“I’m very aware, Colonel. But I think I know something the military would be interested to know.”

 

Roy froze now, and he heard Hughes’ breath catch in his throat. He had almost forgotten he was there in the torrent of fury he was experiencing.

 

“And what’s that?” Roy asked through gritted teeth.

 

There was a pause before the bastard grinned and leaned forward, clasping his hands together and looking directly into Roy’s charcoal eyes.

 

“He and his brother committed human transmutation,” he said, a sick satisfaction coloring his tone.

 

Neither Roy nor Maes said anything for a beat.

 

“What makes you think the Fullmetal Alchemist performed human transmutation?” Roy finally asked, being sure to keep his voice even and steely.

 

“He might as well have told me himself, considering how loudly he and his brother were talking about it. And in the library, of all places. It’s not difficult to put it together after seeing his automail limbs and his brother’s abnormally large armor,” Leicht stated plainly. “So, there’s nothing you can do to me.”

 

Roy barely restrained himself from sucker punching the scum into the next dimension.

 

“You have no proof of the alleged transmutation,” he said instead.

 

“Maybe not,” Jens conceded, “but I think I know someone who might.”

What the fuck? Who exactly was this guy? Hughes had told him Leicht was just a nobody from East City who had never been in any sort of trouble with the law before now. How did he seem to know so much about the Elrics? Why did he-

 

Roy was startled out of his thoughts by an absentminded chuckle from Jens who was looking him directly in the eyes as if he knew something incredibly funny that Roy was unaware of. “Don’t worry, though. If you let me go, I won’t go after him again. He was hardly a good fuck, anyway.”

 

What.

 

What the fuck.

 

Red-hot anger rushed through Roy so suddenly he nearly lost his balance. How dare this subhuman fucker talk about his subordinate that way? How dare he try to play this off like some sort of joke, like Edward had wanted it? Like it had been consensual?

 

He didn’t even realize Hughes had pulled him into the hallway until his hands were being held at his sides. He could feel the rough fabric of his ignition glove on his hand and tried to remember pulling it on. Everything was hazy except the anger that was so clear.

 

“Roy! Roy, stop!”

 

“I’m going to kill him,” left his mouth without permission. He felt so turbulently out of control right now. Unhinged and bloodthirsty. He had never been this angry before in his life. Never. He wanted to do nothing except tear Edward’s attacker apart limb from limb and burn him to a crisp until he was no longer recognizable as the human he had disguised himself as.

 

“I know you do, and I do too, but we have to think. He claims to know someone who knows that the Elrics committed human transmutation. If he’s dead, we’ll never know who that is.”

 

Damn! Damn Hughes for being the voice of reason. Damn him for being level-headed and thinking beyond the stifling rage that filled every inch of Roy’s body.

 

“Just...try to keep it together for now. If we don’t find out who this other person is, Ed and Al could be in danger.”

 

That made Roy pause.

 

Maes was right, of course. He always was, and he’d always been able to keep his head even when something as depraved and repulsive as this had happened to someone he cared about. He was still angry (would always be angry) but he felt like he had suddenly deflated. The fury was still there, but it was less blinding and more controlled. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t kill Leicht. At least not right now. Not yet.

 

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded curtly at his friend.

 

Without another word, the two headed back down the hallway and further and further away from the evil that lay behind the door.

 

---

 

It had all started with a shattered glass, this time.

 

Alphonse had brought his brother a glass of water as he continued reading, and Edward’s hand had slipped and the cup had shattered all over the hardwood. It was a mistake, and truthfully not a big deal in the slightest, but it made Ed freeze as if he had been shot.

 

He didn’t even realize he wasn’t breathing and his vision was tunneling until Alphonse’s voice had cut through the fog of his mind.

 

“Brother,” Al called, “Ed!” Oh, Al sounded worried. Like he was panicking. Ed cursed himself for worrying his brother.

 

(Again.)

 

He gasped pathetically for another moment, trying to pull himself together, grasping his torso to be sure he didn’t shatter himself.

 

“I’m fine,” he finally managed once the pressure in his chest and eyes became bareable.

 

But that must have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, because his brother’s massive shoulders became rigid and he stared straight into Ed’s eyes.

 

“Stop it, Ed! You’re not fine! You don’t sleep, you don’t eat, you’ve been having more nightmares than usual, and you’re keeping things from me!”

 

The silence was utterly explosive for a moment.

 

And then: “I thought we didn’t keep things from each other, brother.”

 

There was something so vulnerable and raw in Alphonse’s voice that Ed felt his crumbling resolve dissolve completely. They stared at each other for a while – minutes, maybe – and Ed knew Al would do it all night if he had to. His brother had the patience of a damned saint but somehow Ed was always the one to push him to the end of his rope.

 

“He-”

 

Suddenly, words were impossible to form. His mouth somehow felt gummy and dry at the same time and his hands were clammy. It should never be this difficult to say three words, to just force them out, but he found that no matter how hard he tried to spit them out they wouldn’t form.

 

“Brother.”

 

Al sounded different now. Not as frustrated, but more transparently worried. Ed hated it.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

It’s okay. Had anyone else said it, Ed would have laughed. Scoffed at them for even suggesting anything right now was fucking okay. But Al had been there through everything. They had both lost their mother, both been desperate and arrogant enough to try to play god. Alphonse had something no one else had, and that was a shared past. And for some reason, he hadn’t left.

 

If anyone wouldn’t judge him, it was Al. And Al deserved to know. He couldn’t keep him in the dark on this, not when they had been through everything together. Ed just hated he had to be the one to expose his little brother to this darkness and rot of humanity.

 

How could he do this to his own brother? How could he hurt him? (Again. You hurt him again. You do this every fucking time. You’re a sad excuse for an older brother.)

 

“He…” Ed swallowed thickly and ignored the disturbing numbness in his chest, “He-”

 

Ed took a deep breath and steadied his nerves, forcing himself to force out the words that were as disgusting as they felt to say.

 

“He raped me, Al.”

 

.

 

.

 

They were silence that stretched for a long time.

 

Ed didn’t feel like he was alive anymore – like he was somewhere far away again – but this time he welcomed the feeling. Anything, anything, would be better than being present in this moment. He was worried – horrified, scared – that Al would turn around and leave when he still didn’t say anything, but finally:

 

“What can I do, brother?” his voice was soft and nonjudgemental like it always seemed to be when Ed was drowning in guilt or tearing himself to pieces over what he’d done (or hadn’t done).

 

“What?”

 

“How can I help you believe this isn’t your fault?”

 

Oh. Of course Alphonse wouldn’t see this for what it was: Ed fucking up again, Ed being wretched and sickening, Ed hurting him again (When will you stop hurting him? It’s always you. He’d be better off without you constantly fucking up his life. You’re despicable.).

 

“Not my-”

 

“Because it wasn’t, Ed. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Ed didn’t bother telling his brother it wasn’t true, that it was the punishment he’d been expecting since he had even first had the idea of bringing their mother back.

 

He didn’t know what to say. He stayed silent.

 

“Let me help, brother. Please.”

 

And fuck, Ed couldn’t handle when Alphonse begged. But he wouldn’t stoop so low as to put any more of his fuck-ups on his brother. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime already.

 

“Just…” Ed swallowed, “Let’s just keep researching.”

 

He hoped Alphonse would understand what he was asking.

 

“Okay, Ed.”

 

Even as they both sat down and continued reading, Ed couldn’t stifle the aching hole in his heart or ignore the heaviness in his limbs. How his precious little brother could stand to be near him after what he’d just revealed he didn’t understand, and that almost made it worse. Al should be pushing him away, he should be telling him it’s his fault, that he wanted it, that he deserved it.

 

Knowing that he never would was maddening.

 

Every word he read and every page he turned drove another nail into his already bleeding heart, and he did his best to pretend everything was alright. For Al.

 

----

 

When Roy returned from headquarters, he didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. He could have sworn the temperature dropped several degrees when he entered his home, and he instantly felt on edge.

 

He had told Edward that he had been called into the office to pick up some paperwork that needed to be reviewed and signed. He couldn’t bear to tell him the truth, not when he looked like a shell or himself, like he did all those years ago when he was in that wheelchair in a farmhouse in the East, with two empty spaces where his arm and leg should be. He didn’t know what was different this time; he’d had had no problem back then grabbing him by his shirt and shouting what the hell did you do you stupid child, how are you so arrogant as to play god, to taint alchemy in such a perverse way.

 

Maybe it was because he hadn’t known him back then. Hadn’t known how resilient and driven Edward was. Now that the boy had been his subordinate for years, he knew him. Knew how he blamed himself for everything, felt that Alphonse had lost his body because of him alone, convinced himself that he’d deserved to lose his limbs and suffer the pain of automail.

 

It was harder this time because now he cared.

 

So when he felt the stifling atmosphere when he crossed the threshold into his living room, he knew that something had happened, and his nerves were shocked back to life.

 

He put down the stack of papers he had picked up at command (he couldn’t very well return empty-handed after telling Edward that he’d left for that purpose) and headed to the spare room that the brothers were staying in.

 

The door was ajar but he knocked nonetheless, careful to be respectful of the brothers’ privacy and boundaries.

 

“S’open,” Edward said, and the dullness of his voice set off alarms in Roy’s head.

 

“Hello, Colonel,” Alphonse greeted as Roy pushed open the door and examined the two discreetly as he leaned against he doorframe.

 

“Hello, Alphonse,” he returned, “Edward,” he added as he looked towards the smaller of the two.

 

Ed merely grunted and kept his back turned as he turned a page.

 

“I’m going to make something for lunch shortly,” he said somewhat awkwardly, feeling uncomfortably unsure, “Are leftovers okay?”

 

Edward didn’t answer and his head was still bowed as he leaned over the book he was reading.

 

“Brother?”

 

Alphonse’s voice seemed to startle him out of his stupor because he turned around to face the Colonel. Roy was somewhat taken aback by the vulnerable expression on Ed’s face, but decided it would be best not to address it, especially in from of Al.

 

“Sure, bastard,” he said, clearly attempting to force some normalcy, but it fell flat in he sparse room.

 

Roy held his gaze for another beat and suddenly understood.

 

Alphonse knew what had happened.

 

Not knowing what to say, or if he should say anything about it at all, Roy nodded before leaving the room and making his way to the kitchen.

 

As he began to gather the food for their lunch, he did his best to push down the swirling guilt that he had misled Edward about why he had been going to command.

 

But it was in his best interest for now. It had to be.

 

Somehow, he still found himself doubting it.

 

 

Chapter 8

Summary:

The team stops by to visit.

Notes:

I'm not really feeling too confident about the second half of this chapter, but I can't really think of what exactly I need to do to improve it at the moment. I might make changes down the road, but I'll add a note if I do.

CW specific to this chapter:
Self-hatred and self-blame, implied/referenced SA, brief non-graphic violence

I also want to apologize for being so late posting this chapter! I hit a deer with my car and it's completely totaled, so I'm in the process of getting a new one which is, of course, a long and dull process, but I'm very grateful I will have a car again soon. I also hit my head at work and have a minor concussion and I have strep throat, so hopefully that didn't take away from the quality of this chapter.

Thank you everyone for reading and commenting- I appreciate you all! <3

Mustang had been acting strange for the last few days. He’d said he needed to go to command to sort out some urgent paperwork, but something about him seemed different when he’d come back. At first he’d seemed more reserved, maybe even regretful. But now he seemed to be more frustrated than usual, more irritable, more angry. Ed didn’t want to admit it, but he felt like he’d experienced some sort of...loss with the Colonel’s new, distant behavior. He didn’t know why, but something about this put him on edge. Like he’d somehow lost something. Like he’d fucked something up.

 

(Again.)

 

Which was stupid, because the Colonel was right there and he hadn’t left and he still sat with them at breakfast and told them goodnight and not to stay up too late and worked on his paperwork at the kitchen table while he drank his coffee.

 

But something was different- something was wrong and Ed knew it was something he’d done (it’s always you, you’re the one who makes everyone leave, what sorry idiot would want you around anyway?) but he just didn’t know what it was. At this point, he was even considering apologizing – apologizing! - but he didn’t even know what he would be apologizing for.

 

Maybe he should just leave now before he got kicked out. That’d save everyone a lot of grief.

 

But if he left he’d upset Al, and the Colonel would be furious. But Mustang’s house had become tense and the air was thick with something Ed couldn’t identify, and he didn’t know what to do to fix it.

 

...No.

 

No.

 

What the hell was he thinking? He’d never backed down, especially not when it involved Mustang. He and the bastard used to yell and insult each other for the entire duration of his reports and he’d never even had an inkling about giving in or, fuck, even worse – apologizing. Had he really stooped so low that he was afraid (you’ve always been afraid, you’re afraid of being abandoned again, of fucking up another person’s life for your own selfishness, you’re a fucking coward)? Edward Elric didn’t do afraid, he couldn’t afford to when getting Al’s body back rested on his shoulders. Al always swore up and down that he’d wanted to perform the transmutation too, but Ed knew that wasn’t true. It hadn’t even been a thought in his brother's mind before he’d said those damned words all those years ago.

 

So he wouldn’t give in now, he couldn’t give in now. If Mustang wanted to act like a bastard, Ed would play his part and be the loud-mouthed punk everyone was used to. The loud-mouthed punk he was. Because he wasn’t anyone else, and he wasn’t some lost child who hadn’t had enough stability or normalcy to form his own identity beyond being angry. He wasn’t. It would be normal, it’d be safe, if they went back to whatever complicated relationship they had before. Mustang didn’t do soft, he didn’t have deep, sappy talks with his subordinates after they woke up screaming and soaked in sweat, and he certainly didn’t do it with Ed. So why was he so upset? This was just how things were with Colonel Bastard.

 

So he’d do what he always did: smother whatever these confusing thoughts and feelings were with bravado and a prickly, unapproachable shield and over-enthusiastic rants. Being vulnerable was being weak, and he couldn’t believe that he’d thought for a moment that he could afford such a luxury. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve to want it, not after the unbelievable string of fuck-ups that was his life.

 

Ed was startled out of his thoughts when he heard Mustang swear from where he was seated at the kitchen table.

 

“Damn it…” the Colonel muttered and Ed peeked over the back of the couch to see him furiously blotting at one of his papers with a napkin.

 

Something about his tone was a little too aggressive for something as inconsequential as spilling tea on paperwork, but this is what had become the norm the last few days since he’d had that mysterious visit to command.

 

Ed forced himself to muster a smirk as he made himself more visible on the couch.

 

If he was smarter, maybe he would have realized now was not the time.

 

If he was smarter, he would have kept his damn mouth shut for once.

 

He was not smarter.

 

“Pssh, I guess rain isn’t the only thing that makes you useless after all, bastard.”

 

The Colonel didn’t say anything, but Ed could tell from the subtle tension in his jaw that he was angry. It might have not been noticeable to the untrained eye, but Edward had become much more attuned to his superior’s behavior and tells since he’d been staying with him, and he’d gathered quite a bit of understanding over the past few years, too.

 

“I need to make a phone call,” the man finally said after staring holes into the tabletop, and the chair scraped on the floor as he got up to go to his room and close the door without another word.

 

All Ed could do was blink.

 

Because what the hell had just happened? He called the Colonel useless all the time, why had it seemed to strike a nerve now?

 

Oh.

 

Mustang was going to tell him to move out now for sure. Or he was going to leave and never come back. Both would be justifiable. Technically, the Colonel was supposed to be making sure Ed wasn’t going to be attacked again, but now that Ed thought about it, he didn’t seem too worried anymore. Like he knew something Ed didn’t. He didn’t seem worried, but he seemed angry and on-edge.

 

He didn’t even realize he was standing until he heard Al calling for him. His brother had been rifling through the stacks of books in Mustang’s spare room they had brought from the dorm. In the time he’d been gone, somehow everything had fallen apart.

 

“Huh? Brother, where did the Colonel go?”

 

He wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to say “oh, that bastard? I’m not his babysitter, Al, I don’t’ know where he is every second of the day”. He wanted to roll his eyes and say, “Why should I care?”

 

Instead, he found that he couldn’t say anything at all.

 

And he would be damned if he admitted to the heat he suddenly felt behind his eyes, but what had just happened?

 

“Brother?”

 

He blinked hard, thanking whatever higher power there might be that the wetness in his eyes didn’t spill over.

 

“Said he needed to make a phone call,” he said as nonchalantly as possible.

 

“Oh,” Al said, “Well, I finally found those books we were looking for. I brought them and another one that might be help us find the stone.”

 

And god, if Ed didn’t love his brother.

 

There was no way Alphonse didn’t know something had happened. He was scarily perceptive, after all, but he didn’t push. He never really did until things started to become too suffocating and weighing Ed down so heavily that he could barely stand. Al knew his brother was stubborn, maybe even to a fault, and he knew pushing too hard would just lead to being pushed away.

 

The two quickly dove into the books, and Ed almost forgot about the Colonel’s strange outburst until he heard a door open somewhere down the hallway.

Mustang appeared a moment later, looking almost sheepish behind that slowly thawing mask he always wore. He was clearly trying to force some sort of normalcy as he collapsed into the armchair opposite the brothers.

 

“I think if I look at that paperwork for one more second my brain will leak out of my ears,” he groaned.

 

Ed really hadn’t meant to say anything, but something snarky came out anyway.

 

“As if you have any brains left, bastard. Prob’ly killed ‘em all with all that smoke you’ve inhaled.”

 

The Colonel looked somewhat surprised that he’d said anything, and Ed felt similarly startled. Their eyes met for a moment before the Colonel smirked, that same smirk he always wore when Edward said something disrespectful in the office.

 

“Why, Fullmetal, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d be able to hear me from all the way down there.”

 

“Wh- I’m sitting down, jackass!”

 

“Brother,” Al sighed.

 

Mustang laughed for a moment. Ed hated that it made him feel a little better. As if his commanding officer could allow him to take his walls down, even for a moment, and maybe even trust him.

 

That was scary. Trusting was scary, especially when the threat of being abandoned was always looming overhead. He didn’t want to trust anyone, he didn’t know if he even could.

 

He didn’t know if he deserved it.

 

Alphonse did- Alphonse always did. He deserved the damn world if he wanted it. But Ed...Ed was something else entirely. Ed was vile and disgusting and pathetic and-

 

“I have some alchemy books of my own if the two of you would like to take a look.”

 

Ed looked up and saw the Colonel was studying him critically. It was the same look he gave him during reports when Edward would refuse to disclose all of his injuries or insist he was ready to go back into the field while he hadn’t even been in the hospital for a day.

 

He knew what it meant, but he didn’t know how to respond.

 

“Oh, that would be great, Colonel Mustang! Thank you!”

And thank god for Alphonse because Edward felt strangely uncertain and it wasn’t a feeling he particularly enjoyed.

 

“It’s not a problem,” Mustang said as he stood up from the chair and began to head down the hallway, “I’m glad I have someone to share these with. Most people aren’t as well-versed in alchemy as the two of you.”

 

Al followed eagerly but made sure his brother was behind him. Edward offered him a wan smile.

 

Ed could hear his brother chattering with the Colonel but he wasn’t really listening. He could hear words and sounds but he couldn’t be bothered to decipher the meaning. It was too exhausting, and suddenly he was exhausted. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. He’d be bantering and conversing with Alphonse or the bastard and then he’d suddenly feel as thought he could fall asleep on his feet.

 

The three came to a small closet next to Mustang’s bedroom that Ed hadn’t noticed before. As the Colonel opened it, the brothers’ eyes went wide at the sheer volume of books. The closet wasn’t large but it was crammed full of books on various subjects relating to alchemy. The closet was clearly supposed to be a linen closet, but Edward was immediately captured by the titles on the shelves.

 

The Colonel chuckled and, if he didn’t know any better, Ed might have thought it sounded almost fond.

 

“Colonel, some of these titles have been out of print for years! This is incredible!” Alphonse breathed, eagerly running his gauntlet over the names of some of the tomes.

 

Edward was interested in the books – of course he was – but he found himself wondering what exactly Mustang’s goal was with this. Very little came without a price, and he was already dreading what the price would be for staying with the Colonel for so long. Nothing in life was free, and he had a sinking feeling that the Colonel was only watching over him to be sure that one of his dogs was able to fight.

 

He was a fucking fool to think the bastard actually cared. He didn’t know how he kept allowing himself to fall into these childish, naive thought patterns, but somehow with the Colonel it kept happening.

 

He leveled the Colonel with an intense stare which was met almost immediately. He didn’t know what he was looking for in those dark eyes, maybe some kind of confirmation that I’m not just using you or, even more pathetically, I’m not going to leave. It was stupid, it was absurdly juvenile and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things whether Mustang cared about him, but right now it felt important.

 

He searched the man’s eyes and was surprised that his typical hard stare was somewhat thawed. He seemed more human, more like he cared and less like Edward was just his to use and then discard. He seemed more like the Mustang Edward had spoken to who had told him about Vanessa, who had not only revealed a piece of his past life, but had also done what he could to show him he wasn’t alone.

 

He wasn’t sure if he found what he had been looking for, but he nodded minutely before turning back to his brother, and he thought that maybe he could see the corner’s of the Colonel’s lips turn upward out of the corner of his eye.

 

-----

 

“Are you sure coming here unannounced is a great idea? I don’t think the boss will be too happy to see all of us on his doorstep at seven in the evening on a Tuesday.”

 

Havoc chuckled and gnawed on his cigarette, “Aw, come on, Breda, we haven’t seen the chief in almost two weeks. Or the boss. They can’t expect us to just wait around forever."

 

Two weeks, in Havoc’s mind, was essentially the equivalent of forever. What can he say? He’s not the most patient man in the world- sue him!

 

“Okay…” Fuery mumbled, looking slightly anxious, “but if the Colonel isn’t happy this wasn’t my idea.”

 

Havoc clapped the younger man on the back and continued towards the Colonel’s house, leaving Fuery to hastily push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and hustle to catch up with the group. It wasn’t much longer before the four were approaching Mustang’s apartment and Havoc strode up to the door without hesitation, knocking firmly.

 

Some muffled noises could be made out from inside before the door unceremoniously swung open to reveal Ed in his black jacket and pants, but noticeably shorter than he seemed to be in the office.

 

“Colonel Bastard’s hou-”

 

“Fullmetal! I told you not to open the door!”

 

Ed was about to say something else – probably something snarky – before Havoc gasped, “Chief?!”

 

Clearly, Edward hadn’t realized yet that whoever was at the door was not a solicitor because his eyes flew open and he pointed at the rest of Mustang’s team accusingly.

 

“What are you doing here?!”

 

“What are we- what do you mean, what are we doing here?! We haven’t seen you for weeks, chief!”

 

Before anyone could say anything else, the Colonel himself appeared behind Edward, looking slightly flustered and maybe a little alarmed by the ruckus. Havoc found great joy in seeing his commanding officer (who was always so poised and collected) in such a state. It wasn’t every day he saw this side of the Colonel, after all.

 

“Fullmetal, you are not to open the front door,” he boomed in his most commanding voice, “What if someone relating to the attack was-”

 

It seemed he had finally ventured far enough into the front room to take in the scene of is team – his entire team, sans Hawkeye– on his doorstep.

 

“Hiya, boss! We hadn’t seen you or the chief in a while, so we thought we’d stop by.”

 

The chaos had yet to end there, however, because not even a second later the telltale metallic clanking of Alphonse’s armor echoed through the house as he thundered towards the front door. How a gargantuan suit of armor could travel so fast, Havoc would never know.

 

“Colonel Mustang?! Brother?!” he cried as he bounded to the front door, barely skidding to a stop before running into the tiny army that had manifested on the Colonel’s front stoop.

 

“Oh,” Al said, somehow sounding out of breath, “I thought someone was in trouble.”

 

“We’re fine, Al,” Ed said, his eyes suddenly dark with something unidentifiable as he rapped his automail hand on the breastplate of the armor, his face blank as the metallic ringing continued to echo.

 

Maybe Havoc wasn’t the most observant person in the world- he left that to Falman and Hawkeye – but he did know when things were off, and he had an exceptional ability to read body language and Ed’s was currently screaming leave me alone!

 

He was a little confused by this, but he knew very little about what had happened to the chief during the attack, and neither did the rest of the team.

 

So, he did what he did best: defused the growing tension.

 

“Who wants Xingese?”

 

He didn’t miss how Ed’s face was blank for another moment before he smiled broadly, and started to speak animatedly again, as if he hadn’t clearly been upset by something mere moments before.

 

Jean knew this was his way of dealing with things – he, after all, had his own methods – but it was alarming how quickly the kid could turn on a smile, or a glower, or a smirk. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Ed upset in a way that wouldn’t be perceived as angry. Vulnerable was not something Edward allowed himself to be, and Havoc could understand that, but seeing the mask slip, even for a moment, was unsettling.

 

“Jean,” a deep voice muttered beside him and he felt an arm nudging his side, “let’s go inside.”

 

He followed Breda through the front door and into the kitchen where he set down the bag of Xingese food the team had ordered together.

 

“What took ya so long, I’m starving!” Ed crowed as he dove into the first bag to see what was inside.

 

“Yeesh, chief, doesn’t the Colonel feed you here?”

 

Ed made a face as he continued rummaging through the bags.

 

“He does, but it’s not Xingese food,” he said, as if that somehow explained everything.

 

The Colonel scoffed as he peeked inside one of the takeout containers, “What’s that supposed to mean, Fullmetal? Is my cooking not to your standard?”

 

The two bickered for a while longer and Jean took this time to observe the youngest member of the team. To most people, he probably seemed to be carefree and relaxed, but Havoc had known the kid long enough to know his tells and body language when he was on edge.

 

He was certainly putting on a good facade, but the subtle hunch of his shoulders and the clenching of his fists and the slight tension in his face gave him away. Havoc didn’t know what had happened – no one on the team did, except the Colonel and maybe Hawkeye – but in this moment, he wished he did so he could at least say something to have the kid ease up.

 

The remainder of the meal passed uneventfully, and nothing of note happened.

 

Until the team was heading towards the door getting ready to leave.

 

Fuery wasn’t typically one to push boundaries with anyone, let alone the youngest member of the team. So when the men were leaving and Edward began to scream, alarm bells went off in Havoc’s head.

 

“Oh, Ed, I-”

 

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

 

It was then that Jean noticed Kain was on the floor and Edward was standing above him with a combination of anger (or was that fear?) and unmasked horror on his face.

 

“Brother!” Al gasped.

 

Ed seemed to deflate at that single word. He sunk down onto his knees beside Fuery before curling in on himself, clearly attempting to force some semblance of stability but failing.

 

“It’s okay, Ed! Look, I’m fine!” Kain said, but the pinched look on his face told a different story and Havoc grimaced.

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

“I think it’d be best if everyone left for the night,” the Colonel cut in before the situation could escalate any further. There was a certain exhaustion in his superior’s eyes that made Jean wonder once more what the hell happened. “Fuery, see to it that your injuries are tended to.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

It was a blur as the team quickly gathered their belongings before closing the door behind themselves and starting the treks to their respective homes. Falman, Havoc, and Fuery would all be heading the same way for a while, so the three said their goodbyes to Breda before moving to the sidewalk.

 

“I wonder what was up with the boss back there,” Havoc said, sounded nonchalant but knowing the others would understand what he was asking.

 

“I barely even touched him,” Fuery lamented, “he just...lashed out!”

 

Falman hummed in acknowledgement.

 

“It seems he was on edge before that,” he added, “he was upset before we even entered Colonel Mustang’s home.”

“The chief seemed tense the entire night," Jean said with a thoughtful frown, "but I’m sure you both noticed how hard he was trying to hide it.” 

 

Both Fuery and Falman nodded silently.

 

The rest of the walk continued in heavy silence, and when Havoc said goodbye to Falman and Fuery, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. He just felt it, and he wasn't sure how hard he should push to find out what that something was.

Chapter 9

Summary:

Edward and the Colonel struggle with sleep.

Notes:

Hello lovelies! I hope you are all doing well <3

CW for this chapter:
Vomiting, nightmare depictions, referenced/implied SA, self-hatred

I think that's all, but if there need to be any additional CWs please let me know! Thank you for reading!

“-other! Brother! Ed!”

 

Ed gasped and shook as he found himself back in Mustang’s guest bedroom, Alphonse at his side looking as worried as an expressionless suit of armor could, his skin clammy and sticky with sweat that clung to the sheets.

 

He heaved for a moment and Alphonse (bless him) already knew what was coming, and had quickly grabbed the wastebasket and thrust it under Ed’s chin just before he felt sickness overwhelm him.

 

There was a knock on the door and Ed would have said something disrespectful if he hadn’t been actively expelling the entirety of his stomach contents into Mustang’s garbage can.

 

“Edward? Alphonse? Is everything alright?”

 

Obviously not, Ed thought as he choked and Alphonse continued to worry his gauntlets as his anxiety radiated off of him in waves. When there was no response, the Colonel knocked again.

 

“I’m going to come in, I want to make sure you’re both okay.” Goddammit.

 

Sure, Edward had had nightmares at the Colonel’s house, enough for a normal person’s lifetime, probably. But this time was different. He could still feel hands around his neck, on his wrists, trailing down-

 

NO. Not now. Not with his brother here. Not with the Colonel here.

 

Alphonse had seen him at his absolute worst, seen him bleeding and just barely continuing to grasp onto life, seen him unable to push himself to his feet after automail surgery, gasping with watery eyes as defeat threatened to consume him. But the Colonel...

 

This was not the same. He wouldn’t let this be the same.

 

“Fullmetal,” Mustang said, and Edward felt a spark of something (disappointment, maybe?) at the use of his state title, “I’d like to speak with you for a moment. Alphonse, could you please get a glass of water for your brother?”

 

Edward bristled a bit at that, instinctively, but realized the Colonel probably just wanted to talk to him about something. Alone. Great, another heart-to-heart with his fucking superior officer.

 

“O-Oh, of course, Colonel Mustang,” Alphonse said before hurrying into the kitchen to search for a clean glass.

 

As soon as his brother was gone, Ed wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Mustang tiredly.

 

“What’s so important that you needed Al to leave to tell me?” he asked bluntly. It was 3 o’clock in the fucking morning, he didn’t’ have time for formalities and definitely didn’t have the emotional capacity for pleasantries.

 

The Colonel seemed to falter a bit at this, Ed noticed curiously. He looked a little as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. It was still a startling look for such a confident and self-assured man.

 

“You know,” Mustang began, “it can be helpful to tell someone about your dreams. You don’t have to go into detail-” the Colonel cut in as soon as Edward opened his mouth to protest, “-but talking about it can help.”

 

“Tch. How would you know?” Ed asked, but both of them knew the answer to that.

 

There was a beat of heavy silence.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

And then, finally: “It’s hands.”

 

“Hands?” the Colonel asked, but he sounded completely non-judgmental. Like he was talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. Ed was glad.

 

“Yeah, it’s-” hands everywhere, all over you, squeezing your arms, covering your mouth, tugging your hair, calloused fingers prodding lower and lower until- “It’s nothing.”

 

It didn’t sound convincing to either of them and he knew it.

 

Mustang just looked at him.

 

They wait another moment. Two, three…

 

“I…”

 

Where to even begin?

 

“I just-” and oh, he could feel his eyes growing hot and his breaths becoming more labored as he spoke. If he continued at this rate, he’d break down in front of the Colonel. Days ago, that would have been embarrassing. Hell, it was embarrassing, but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to care right now.

 

“I don’t-” I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where to even start. How the fuck am I supposed to move on from something like this? Why did I have to fuck up so bad as to deserve this? What-

 

“No,” Mustang said suddenly, so harshly that it startled Edward back to realize he had spoken aloud. “This is not because of anything you did. Nobody- nobody – could ever do anything that is deserving of this.”

 

The burning in his eyes was growing stronger, and he knew he’d better just tell the Bastard to leave before this got out of hand, but fuck he didn’t want to be alone right now.

 

“Just leave it alone, bastard,” he barely choked out, “you dunno what the ‘ell you’re taking ‘bout.”

 

His voice was becoming stuffier and it was getting more difficult to see through the tears clouding his vision but he wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry in front of Mustang.

 

“I do,” was all the bastard said.

 

“You don’… you-” Words were no longer able to form past the lump in his throat and he could no longer stop the tears from spilling over.

 

He tried to speak, but it just sounded like a pathetic wail that felt as disgusting as it did relieving.

 

“It’s hands. They’re al’ays- they’re all over me, I can’t- I-” Ed couldn’t even find it in himself to be disappointed as he dissolved into harsh, gasping sobs.

 

He was shaking so intensely he was worried he might fall apart completely. It was too much. It was just too much, and he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t handle this by himself. And he loved Al- god, did he love his brother – but he couldn’t put all of this on him. Mustang had proven to be trustworthy, to keep anything that Edward said in confidence, to maybe even understand a fraction of the pain he was experiencing.

 

The Colonel might have said something, but he couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears and the overwhelming, suffocating sound of the breaking of his own heart.

 

He could just see Mustang past the tears in his eyes, but he blindly reached out until he was grasping the man’s sleeve. This was breaking every boundary he had put up, this was being vulnerable, being weak, but he needed it. He needed to know someone else was there.

 

A moment later he felt strong arms encircling his shoulders and he sobbed again, this time in relief that he wouldn’t have to put words to what he needed right now.

 

“You’re breaking my heart, kid.” Mustang muttered and Edward would have said something about how he wasn’t a kid, that he could hold his own, but being weak – as foreign and uncomfortable as it was – was oddly soothing right now.

 

He gripped Mustang’s nightshirt tighter and buried his head into his shoulder. There was something about this, something that he wouldn’t have entertained in a million years, had this not happened, but it was what he needed now. And if Mustang was here, willing to provide it, he’d accept it for now. He might regret it later, but right now, finally releasing all the suffocating emotions felt like a massive weight off his shoulders.

 

“Why?” he asked no one in particular, “Why do I always have to suffer? I don’t- I don’ understand,” he cried, and fuck, he knew he’d be embarrassed when he came back to his senses, but this question had been bothering him for days.

 

Mustang didn’t say anything, he just tightened his arms around him. Probably because he didn’t have an answer.

 

There were no words for a while, no sounds beyond the pitiful, revolting sobbing. But slowly, slowly, they tapered off into something more manageable, and so did the crushing emotions from earlier.

 

“Think Al got lost,” Ed murmured nasally.

 

Mustang snorted in surprise and Edward could feel him smirking against his hairline.

 

“I suppose he did,” the Colonel said, “I’d better go find him.”

 

Ed knew what that was: an excuse for him to go clean himself up before he had to see his brother. He was grateful. He hated when Al saw him in this state.

 

Mustang started down the hallway and Ed stumbled into the bathroom, shielding his eyes as he flicked on the lights.

 

To say he was a mess was an understatement.

 

His hair was tangled and stringy, his skin shone with sweat, his eyes were puffy and red, but – somehow – he felt better than he had since the attack. More fragile, maybe, but more alive.

 

It was a strange feeling.

 

But it was...nice.

 

As he started the water for a shower, he realized that – it wasn’t completely gone – but that obnoxious, hateful voice in the back of his head had quieted down a bit. It didn’t seem as oppressive or as honest. Less threatening.

 

And he dared himself, just this once, to cling to that rising hope.

 

-----

 

After Edward’s breakdown, Mustang noticed some kind of difference in him.

 

He wasn’t necessarily as fiery as he had been before, not yet, but some of his personality was beginning to shine through. He still had ways to go (so, so far, Roy knew, too far), but there were moments when things were strikingly normal despite never having been this way before.

 

It was domestic, it was bizarre as all hell, but somehow it was comfortable.

 

Take now, for instance.

 

Edward and Alphonse had been reading on the couch with Roy in the armchair. “Had” in past-tensebecause Ed had fallen asleep with the book still open in his lap and Alphonse had begun sketching in the margins of his notes (despite his best efforts of pretending to be hard at work).

 

Ed’s golden hair was lit up by the sunlight filtering in through the curtains and Alphonse, while his face held no expression, had a curiosity and intelligence that shone in his eyes and they weren’t his (he didn’t deserve them, anyway), but Roy realized that he adored these boys.

 

And that was new. That was different, and different was scary.

 

It was taking everything in him not to shut off this strange, new part of his brain that wanted to care and protect and see these brothers thriving and driven and happy.

 

Fuck, all he wanted anymore was to see that passion in them both again. They deserved it. They deserved everything. And Roy didn’t deserve to be a part of it. He wasn’t gentle or kind and he had burned so many children alive, charred their bones and melted their flesh and ground their bones into ash--

 

So, no. Roy was not the type to care for Edward and Alphonse. And yet, somehow, these two headstrong, absolutely feral, ingenious, loyal children had wormed their way into his heart anyway.

 

“Brother,” Alphonse whispered, “It’s getting late, let’s go back to our room so you can get some rest.”

 

Ed groaned and groggily blinked his eyes open before yawning loudly and stretching his arms above his head. Roy tried to ignore the pride he felt burning in his chest when Al had called his guest room their room.

 

“Ugh,” Ed said eloquently, “’S not even dark out, Al. And ‘m not even tired.”

 

“Brother.”

 

…

 

…

 

“Fine! Fine, yeesh. Just don’t- look at me like that!”

 

Edward got up from the couch slowly, and Roy didn’t miss how he favored his right leg when he stood up and shuffled with an awkward, stiff gait. Maybe he needed some more pain medication. He was done with the antibiotic but it was likely he was still sore or in pain following the attack.

 

“Tch. Guilting your older brother…” Ed muttered, and Alphonse just sighed, sounding somewhere between annoyed and fond.

 

“Goodnight, Colonel Mustang,” Al said before following his brother down the hallway to the guest room.

 

“Yeah, ‘night bastard!” Ed called, and Mustang couldn’t hep but smile a bit despite himself at the jab.

 

Roy began to clean up the living room a bit before heading to his own room. The sun had fully set now, and he switched the light on to get ready for bed, feeling more at ease than he could remember for a long, long time.

 

And, for once, his dreams weren’t filled with screams and sand and fire.

Notes:

If you couldn't tell, one of my headcanons is that Ed has a slight country accent because of where he and Alphonse grew up. I feel like he'd have a bit of that and then a more general "Amestrian" accent from his travels around the country. Just a fun lil side note :)

We'll be getting into more of the things with the attacker next chapter too, so get ready for that!

Chapter 10

Summary:

No one is having a good time.

Notes:

CW for this chapter!
Mentions of murder/thoughts of murder, referenced rape, threats of violence, actions that could be viewed as self-harm, victim-blaming language.

I THINK that's it, but please let me know if I need to add anything else! Thank you everyone for reading and all the kudos and comments! <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter. See note at the end for some more details

If Roy could name just one thing he wanted to accomplish in life above all else right now, it would easily be burning the subhuman trash who raped Ed to ash.

 

Hughes was with him to meet Leicht again (after Maes had decided he’d had enough time to decide how to proceed and gotten a bit more information on the bastard) and Mustang was doing the very best he could to keep his temper dampened before he even entered the room.

 

Which, admittedly, he wasn’t trying very hard to do.

 

Honestly, who would even miss a man like Leicht if he mysteriously vanished and no body was left behind?

 

No one, if Roy had to guess.

 

“Now remember, he’s going to trial next week. We’ve already gathered some more information about him that could be relevant, but if we get a direct confession, we would have him,” Hughes said. “But you really do need to talk to Ed about testifying.”

 

Roy knew that.

 

That didn’t mean he wanted to have that conversation.

 

Maes stopped suddenly and grasped his friend’s shoulder. “I’m serious. He needs to know that he can have a part in this.”

 

“I know that,” Mustang snapped before sighing heavily, “I’ll...get to it.”

 

“I’ll make sure you do.”

 

He could feel Maes’ eyes boring into the back of his head as he continued down the hallway to Leicht’s holding cell. He needed to get it together. He couldn’t lose it yet.

 

With little fanfare, he pushed the door to the interrogation room open and barely held back a scowl at the sight of the man. He was chained to the table that was in the center of the barren room, and he looked as pleased as he possibly could.

 

“The great Flame Alchemist is back again?” Leicht asked mockingly, “Guess I really made waves with that brat.”

 

“Shut up,” Roy honest-to-god growled. So much for keeping his emotions in check.

 

He barely registered Hughes entering the room behind him and shutting the door. The only thing he could focus on was the scum that sat at the table, a frighteningly believable imitation of a human being.

 

Leicht grinned but stayed quiet for a moment.

 

Maes stayed standing by the door and Mustang circled around the table like a tiger surveying its prey. He had never wanted one person to suffer as much as this man. He wasted no time with formalities or introductions. The man remembered him and knew why he was there; no point in beating around the bush.

 

“Last time, you suggested that the Fullmetal Alchemist had committed human transmutation and that you were not the only one who was aware of this alleged transmutation,” he began stoically, being sure to keep his face carefully blank in the way that he had crafted so well, “Who suggested to you that this transmutation occurred?”

 

Leicht looked towards the ceiling, clearly pretending to be deep in thought. It angered Mustang more than he wanted to admit, that he was acting so blasé about the whole thing.

 

“I don’t remember saying that anyone told me anything about the transmutation,” Leicht said, still with that infuriating smirk on his face.

 

“You reported that you weren’t the only one who knew about this supposed transmutation,” Roy said, forcing himself to unclench his fists that had instinctively tightened.

 

“Oh, yes,” the bastard said, as if he had forgotten, “I’m not. But I don’t see why I should tell you who else is aware of this. And if this is all hearsay, I’m curious as to why you’re investigating so thoroughly, Colonel.”

 

“Because you will die a very long, painful death at my hands if you refuse to answer me,” Mustang said simply, forcing his voice to stay level.

 

Leicht looked over towards Hughes at that, clearly wondering if he was going to do anything about Roy’s threat. After a moment he barked out a laugh, and leaned back in the chair he was seated in.

 

“Oh, I see,” Leicht said casually, “So the boy has gotten around, then. I should have suspected that, given his age when he was recruited.”

 

Was he insinuating…? Did he suggest that Roy had sexually abused his subordinate? That he had raped Edward? That Hughes had done the same? He had heard the disgusting rumors around command about potential relations between Roy and Edward when the kid had first gotten his certification, but suggesting that Hughes was somehow involved was a whole new level of depravity.

 

Mustang felt his blood begin to boil but refused to rise to the bait. He felt Hughes shift behind him and imagined the man was just barely holding back himself.

 

“Answer me,” he growled.

 

“Or what? You’ll beat me? Burn me? Haven’t you gotten enough satisfaction from killing in Ishval?”

 

Stay calm, Roy. He’s doing everything he can to make you lose your cool. Keep it together.

 

He could feel the rough fabric of his ignition gloves in his pocket, and it kept him grounded.

 

Hughes decided to step in now, noticing that this was going to go nowhere for the moment. He walked over to Leicht until he was standing and leaning down eye-to-eye with the bastard.

 

“Who gave you information about the Fullmetal Alchemist?” Hughes asked, and Roy was in awe by how calm his friend appeared to be, but he knew that it was only after years of being in investigations and learning how to keep his emotions from showing. And he knew his friend well enough to know that there was a storm brewing just below his calm facade.

 

“That depends. How will it benefit me to tell you?” Leicht asked smugly, leaning back in the rickety chair.

 

Hughes shrugged easily. Roy did his best to calm his racing heart and the furious anger thrumming in his skin.

 

“You might not get the firing squad,” Hughes said and Leicht laughed in disbelief.

 

“The brat is that important to this country?” he scoffed.

 

“He’s a state alchemist in case you’ve forgotten,” Roy cut in sharply. You have to leave him alive for now. You can’t lose it, Edward needs you to keep it together. “He’s incredibly highly regarded and valuable to the Amestrian military.”

 

And me, Roy thought darkly.

 

He still couldn’t believe how protective he was of his subordinate. Sure, the kid was just a pawn at first, but he couldn’t deny the protectiveness he held towards him and Alphonse. He would do anything for these boys, even if it meant smelling burnt flesh and hearing the roar of flames over the screaming of his victim.

 

“Fine,” Leicht said breezily, “some odd character brought it up to me. Said something about needing the kid alive, but said I could do whatever I wanted with him.”

 

And...what?

 

Because Roy was complete floored. And he knew Maes was, too. He’d seen him tighten his jaw in his peripheral vision, and he shifted slightly – so slightly it was doubtful Leicht even noticed – but Roy did.

 

Who the hell would need Fullmetal alive, but allowed this subhuman scumbag to commit such a horrific act against him? Alive for what?

 

“What did the informant look like?” Maes asked, looking a bit greener than he normally did, but still business as usual.

 

Leicht laughed again.

 

Roy hated it.

 

“You think I’ll tell you anything more?” he asked, “Who do you take me for?”

 

A child-raping bastard, Roy thought, but kept his mouth shut.

 

“You think I’m giving you a choice?” Hughes asked, and Roy swore he could feel the temperature of the room drop several degrees.

 

It was quiet for a moment, just long enough to make Roy want to squirm, but then Leicht spoke.

 

“So that’s how this is going to go,” he said, his voice strangely aloof. He lacked his usual smug, careless air and the atmosphere shifted into something that allowed Roy to see the man as the one that had assaulted his subordinate.

 

He was different now. He seemed more primal. More dangerous.

 

It wasn’t as if this wasn’t something that Roy had seen before. But it was still jarring. He knew Leicht was dangerous, of course he did, but the part he’d been playing until now had been startlingly believable.

 

“Fine. If you care so much about your little whore-” Roy saw red at this, but somehow held himself back from burning Leicht alive, “-I’ll tell you. But you’re going to tell me something first.”

 

“You’re in no position to negotiate,” Hughes snapped.

 

“Negotiate? No, you misunderstand,” the bastard said lowly, “I’m not negotiating anything. I’m telling you how this is going to go.”

 

Hughes scoffed.

 

“Need I remind you of your position right now? You’re in the custody of the Amestrian military with charges that can and will have you executed. You’re in no place to be telling me what I will and won’t do.”

 

“I can change that very quickly,” Leicht said, his voice completely monotone. Detached.

 

“Change what?” Hughes asked, his gaze sharpening on the other man.

 

Leicht stared at him for a moment before he laughed and leaned forward with his cuffed hands behind his back.

 

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

 

The interrogation ended soon after that rather uneventfully, but Roy still felt oddly alarmed by the words despite how utterly ridiculous they were. He would die before he allowed Leicht to get anywhere near his subordinate again.

 

He couldn’t- wouldn’t allow it.

 

Not again.

 

--------

 

Ed jolted when he heard Mustang come in the front door that afternoon, having been reading with Alphonse again in the living room.

 

“Hell’d you go, bastard? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch or somethin’?” Ed asked as he narrowed his eyes slightly.

 

Mustang didn’t bat an eye, instead opting to put his keys down on the kitchen table. “I have eyes on this building at all times. If anyone were to come near you I would know.”

 

Ed rolled his eyes. Why did Mustang have to be so dramatic all the time? He could take care of himself, after all.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he said sarcastically, “but really, where’d you go? Al’n I were sittin’ here for hours.”

 

He mostly asked out of curiosity. He expected Mustang to say he was out doing something stupid, like going on a date or getting more dress shirts to add to his bastard-y collection.

 

It was silent for a little too long, so Ed peeked over the back of the sofa to look at his superior.

 

“...Mustang?” he asked hesitantly.

 

“Hughes and I just finished interrogating the man who assaulted you.”

 

Fuck, what?

 

“You mean you saw him?” Ed asked, his eyes suddenly wide, but strangely distrustful. This tasted startlingly similar to betrayal.

 

“Yes.” There was no hiding from it now. “Hughes wants to know if you’ll testify.”

 

“I-” Ed stuttered, “testify? Like, in court?” Obviously, dumbass.

 

“Yes,” Mustang said, apparently unfazed by Ed’s moronic floundering. “If you testify, there will be a greater chance of him getting locked away forever.”

 

“I don’t- I can’t-” Ed gasped, and Mustang recognized his panic before it could get out of hand.

 

“Edward. You don’t have to testify. Just think about it.” Mustang said calmly.

 

Edward willed himself to calm down, taking deep, measured breaths. He was fine. Everything was fine. He had to testify. He couldn’t not do it, not when that bastard could be put away for good if he did. He couldn’t run away from this.

 

“I’ll do it,” he said firmly.

 

Mustang looked a little unsure, eyeing him critically. Ed wanted to wither under his gaze, but forced himself to continue to sit up straight and look at his superior. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity until Mustang sighed.

 

“Alright,” he conceded, “the trial is next week.”

 

Ed didn’t say anything to that, he just nodded. He didn’t quite trust himself to speak. He wasn’t exactly angry at Mustang for keeping this from him, especially not when he had been acting so unstable lately, but knowing that he wasn’t being trusted with such information by his superior was like a punch to the gut. He could handle it. He could.

 

He just wished time wouldn’t move so fast.

 

------

 

 

It was six days before the trial, and Mustang was tired.

 

“So wait- because I want to make sure I get this right- you told Ed that if he testifies Leicht will get locked up?” Maes asked in disbelief.

 

“Yes, Maes, for the last time, that’s what I said,” Roy muttered into the phone.

 

Maes sighed heavily, and it sounded like he was just barely restraining himself from dragging his hand down his face in frustration.

 

“I- Roy, why would you do that? What if Leicht gets the firing squad? What do you think Ed will do then?”

 

Mustang sighed and listened- really listened- to his friend. Hughes had been stretched thin by this investigation, and Roy knew the infuriating interrogations and long nights away from his wife were taking a toll on him. He sounded tired. No, he sounded absolutely bone-deep exhausted, and Roy tried †o crush the growing guilt before it could swell into something unbareable.

 

Why did he get to sit at home with Fullmetal while Maes was struggling through such a taxing investigation? It didn’t sit right with him.

 

He needed to do something to help.

 

“Roy.”

 

Roy sighed.

 

“I don’t know, Maes,” Roy said finally.

 

There was nothing but static on the line for a moment, and then:

 

“He’s going to be angry.”

 

Well, wasn’t that unhelpful?

 

Mustang scoffed and did his best to keep himself from laughing out loud. Oh, Ed would be angry, alright. He’d be angry, he’d be guilty, and he’d be terrified.

 

Roy knew how the kid felt about death, about killing. If someone was executed because of something that happened involving him, he would be completely consumed by guilt.

 

“Are you going to tell him?,” Maes asked, and Roy knew it wasn’t really a question, “Because if you don’t, I will,” his friend warned.

 

“I’ll tell him, Maes,” Mustang snapped.

 

He sighed.

 

“I’m sorry. This is just…” Just what? Horrific? Terrifying? Unfair? “…a lot,” he finally decided on.

 

Hughes sighed on the other side of the line.

 

“I know,” he said, and God, he sounded so tired, “I know. But he deserves to know.”

 

Of course he did. Roy knew that. That didn’t make it any easier.

 

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” Roy finally agreed.

“You’ll tell him tonight,” Hughes corrected.

 

“Fine. Tonight.”

 

Damn Hughes.

 

The two said their goodbyes and Roy hung up the phone before sighing. He needed to keep it together. He needed to keep it together and he needed to tell Edward about Leicht. He’d never coddled the kid before, so why was he doing it now?

 

Because now you care.

 

He ignored that voice.

 

Fullmetal hadn’t said much after he’d told him about testifying. Roy pushed down his worry and told himself he was just thinking about what to say at the trial. He continued to tell himself this even after Edward had gotten up from his seat in the couch and said he was going to lie down.

 

He tried not to think about the fact that Ed would never admit that he needed to lie down, or that he always ran himself into the ground with his research. He tried not to think about how unusual this was and let him go. The kid needed space.

 

So, Roy settled into his armchair and pulled a book from his bookcase and tried to ignore the unease that began to creep into his mind.

 

-----

 

It was six days before the trial, and Ed was starting to freak out.

 

He’d told Mustang he needed to lie down- a flimsy excuse- but one the Colonel seemed to accept.

 

If anyone asked, right now he was just thinking. He wasn’t spiraling and he certainly wasn’t panicking. And he wasn’t upset. He couldn’t be upset, not if it meant giving that bastard power over him again.

 

Alphonse had gone out to get some groceries for the Colonel since he wasn’t supposed to leave Edward alone, so Ed was the only one in the spare room. He was grateful. Alphonse didn’t need to see him right now. He already felt horribly guilty about telling his brother the truth about what had happened, he didn’t need to pile more of his stupid brainrot on him.

 

He forced himself to take a breath as he stared down at the quilt that was draped over the bed. He picked at a loose thread with his automail hand and reveled in the way that he couldn’t feel it.

 

Having automail was strange.

 

He could see his hand moving, hear the clicking of his metal joints, but he couldn’t feel it. It was unnerving when he stopped to think about it.

 

If he hadn’t known the Rockbells, where would he be now? Where would Al be now?

 

Assuming he wouldn’t have bled out the night of the transmutation, would this have happened? Would Leicht even know who he was?

 

Ed wasn’t a believer in fate. He didn’t believe in destiny. But it was still like twisting a knife in his chest as he thought about it.

 

If he hadn’t joined the military, would he still be feeling this pain?

 

He didn’t think so, and that was the hardest part to swallow. He already knew he’d royally fucked up Alphonse’s life, he thought about it every day, but it was rare that he thought about himself. He didn’t like it. It felt strange and it felt vulnerable. Raw.

 

He didn’t realize his fist was tightly clenching the quilt until he looked down.

 

He pulled his hand away as if he had been burned.

 

His automail was a weapon. It was a weapon that was a part of him. He was a weapon. But he felt disconnected from his body. He had since Leicht had forced his way into his life (his thoughts, his conscience, his body), and while he was no stranger to this feeling, it seemed to be more difficult to deal with lately.

 

His thoughts didn’t feel like they were his, they felt like they were being projected into his brain by someone else, someone who was broken and hurting and angry.

 

He wasn’t that person. He couldn’t be that person.

 

He held his hands up so that his palms were eye-level.

 

His automail was a weapon. He could kill someone. He could kill Leicht and he wouldn’t even feel it.

 

…

He slammed his hands down into the mattress and lurched forward as if he had been punched in the stomach.

 

Kill him? Kill him?

 

Ed was against killing. He was so against killing that he had sworn that he would never kill anyone, even if he was sent to war. The thought of killing Leicht was so thoughtless, so casual that he unconsciously reached his left hand up to grasp his automail shoulder.

 

He was dangerous. This proved it. He needed his arm off, he needed to know he wasn’t he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

 

His hand scrabbled with his shoulder, but he couldn’t get a grip on the metal plating. He was panicking. He needed it off, he needed to be safe, to know he wouldn’t hurt anyone (not again).

 

He gasped and hunched over, his left arm still gripping his right shoulder. His hair was hanging in front of his eyes, and he realized how much he was sweating. He ignored how blurry his vision had become and how he could feel salty tears dripping off his nose and down his cheeks.

 

He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to sit back up straight.

 

He was suddenly overtaken by a calmness that should have been alarming, but his mind was too detached from his body now to care. He was looking at himself as a spectator, someone in the audience of some fucked-up play, and he watched himself wipe his eyes and pull his right knee up to his chest.

 

He wasn’t going to kill anyone. He wasn’t going to kill Leicht.

 

He hated what Leicht had done, hated how he’d grinned and threatened him while he’d done it, but he wouldn’t kill him. He was in control of himself. He wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.

 

What if you do want to?

 

He ignored that voice.

 

He released his automail and rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to regain composure. Mustang was here, he was in the living room, he wouldn’t let Ed leave and go on a homicidal rampage.

 

Everything was fine.

 

It’s fine.

 

He kept telling himself this, willing it to be true.

Notes:

Okay so don't come for me if you know who the odd character is, I'm not bashing anyone and I'll have more explained later.
Also, Ed is NOT homicidal. I myself, and some other survivors of SA that I've talked to (NOT all survivors of course), have experienced thoughts of hurting their abuser. It's an intrusive thought and I'm trying to give it the attention it deserves. I'm projecting heavily on Ed, but I'm hoping maybe this will be relatable and cathartic for some people to read and know they're not alone.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave a comment!

Chapter 11

Summary:

Recovery is not linear. Edward is spiraling.

Notes:

Hello everyone! Sorry this took a while to upload, life has been busy and I've been trying to work through some things. Thank you all for your patience! <3

Warnings for this chap:
Passive suicidal thoughts, references to SA, just general dark/self-loathing internal monologue. I think that's it (??), let me know if I missed anything.

It was three days before the trial and Mustang had noticed a change in Edward.

 

He supposed it had started a few days ago, after the kid had gone down to his room to lay down for a bit. That in itself was certainly odd, considering he never admitted to needing to rest or take time to himself, so it only left Mustang to wonder what had happened while he had been alone.

 

The urge to call Vanessa was becoming stronger with every passing day as Edward became more and more withdrawn. Or Hawkeye.

 

God, he could really use Riza right now. But with the investigation and everything going on at the office, he hadn’t seen her for weeks, and he felt bad enough that she was picking up the slack from him not physically being in the office. He was tempted to call her, he had been tempted to call her since it all happened, but he couldn’t risk anyone hearing what he said or allow for any chance to be heard being so close to this. It could put Edward at risk.

 

But the kid was just acting so unlike himself.

 

Right now, for instance.

 

Roy was in his usual spot at the kitchen table while Edward and Alphonse were reading in the living room. At least, that was what they had been doing, but now Edward was laying (rather uncomfortably, it seemed) in the armchair nearly upside-down with his left arm fiddling with the rug and his hair half covering his eyes. At some point, he had gone from sitting and reading to slouching and staring vacantly to laying with the book discarded on the floor.

 

It was unnerving.

 

Things had seemed to be going better, too. But ever since he’d brought up testifying to the kid, he’d been more and more reserved, and Edward was anything but that.

 

Alphonse had tried – with no luck – to get his brother to open up some, and Roy had oscillated between giving him space and occasionally prying. His questions were met without resistance necessarily, but instead with dull, monotone responses.

 

He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, what the kid was thinking when he seemed to always be stuck in his own head.

 

Which brought Roy back to Vanessa. He wouldn’t tell her any details about anything, or even breathe a word about Ed, he just needed some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t going to sit by and watch the kid slip away.

 

He was inching closer and closer to just giving in and calling. She had said he could, that she’d be glad if he did. But whether it was his own pride and unwavering resolve or fear of upsetting Ed further, he hadn’t done it.

 

He sighed, and noticed how Edward didn’t look up from where his eyes were blankly boring holes into the rug.

 

Okay. That was enough.

 

Whatever funk the kid had fallen into, he wasn’t going to sit around complacently anymore and watch him suffer or whatever it was he was doing. Because from what Roy could see, Edward wasn’t necessarily aware he was alive. And Roy knew that feeling.

 

He stood up slowly and Ed finally looked sluggishly at him, but otherwise didn’t move.

 

“I need to make a quick phone call. I trust you two will be okay for a few minutes?” he asked, eyeing Ed critically and feeling his heart sink when he just looked back down at the floor.

 

“We’ll be fine, Colonel Mustang!” Alphonse said and Roy could hear in his voice past the forced cheerfulness that he was at a loss, as well.

 

Yeah, he definitely needed to call.

 

----

 

After the two spoke, Roy started to mentally tally up what he had noticed about Edward over the last few days.

 

There were the staring spells, his monotone speech, and – even more bizarre – his sudden seeming aversion to his own automail.

 

Clearly it wasn’t something Roy was supposed to notice, Edward was obviously trying to be nonchalant and natural about the whole thing, but it hadn’t escaped Mustang’s notice that the kid hardly ever used his automail anymore if he could.

 

For example, the other afternoon: Roy had been handing Ed a steaming bowl of soup. Initially, Edward had reached out with his automail hand before quickly pulling back and grabbing the bowl with his left hand instead. Okay, fine. Maybe it was too hot to hold with his flesh hand.

 

But then again, just earlier today: Roy knew Edward was right-handed. He had seen him write with his automail (no matter how much he struggled to do so) before, but earlier he had been writing (terribly, if he was being honest) with his left hand while he practically sat on his automail arm.

 

He flinched when his leg clunked on the hardwood, he huddled in on himself when the joints in his arm whirred and clicked, and Roy for the life of him couldn’t figure out why.

 

He knew he needed to talk to the kid at some point – preferably soon – and figure out what the hell was going on – but he wasn’t going to pretend that he knew what missing limbs and having automail was like, because he didn’t.

 

Luckily (or perhaps, unluckily) for him, an opportunity presented itself rather quickly.

 

Alphonse was fetching a book from the other room when Roy noticed that Edward was trembling.

 

Not trembling to a noticeable degree, but enough that Roy had picked up on it while he was studying the boy on the couch from where he sat in his armchair. He was holding a book with both hands and his left arm was shaking. It didn’t escape Roy that his automail was completely still.

 

Edward licked his lips and continued to read – or rather, stare holes into the page in front of him – and he continued to shake.

 

Alphonse’s thundering footsteps suddenly began to approach and Ed continued to shake. Al sat down next to him and it didn’t cease. Alphonse asked him if he was okay and it didn’t stop.

 

His brother gently reached out to touch his shoulder and it finally stopped, because he screamed.

 

Mustang couldn’t help but flinch at the abrupt noise, and Al instantly jerked back. Edward seemed to be on his feet before he even realized he’d moved. He was panting and his eyes darted wildly around the room.

 

When they landed on Roy, he stilled.

 

They stared at each other for several beats before Roy spoke.

 

“Why don’t we get some fresh air,” he said calmly, standing – very, very slowly and deliberately – and putting down his mug on the end table.

 

“I don’t- I-” Ed stammered before he snapped his mouth shut. Mustang stayed silent. “Fine,” he said sourly.

 

“I’ll get your coat, brother,” Alphonse said quietly before he hurried into the next room.

 

The tension was horribly thick while Alphonse was rummaging around in their room searching for Edward’s coat. Roy bitterly wished he could be the one getting the coat while Alphonse had the heart-to-heart with the traumatized child.

 

But that wasn’t fair to anyone, was it?

 

“Here you go, brother,” he said gently and it didn’t go unnoticed to Roy how Ed’s jaw tensed at those words. He guessed it had something to do with the soft, almost sympathetic tone Alphonse had used.

 

Edward still didn’t speak as he pulled on his coat and stood at the door while Roy slipped on his own jacket.

 

Alphonse stood by the couch and worried his gauntlets but Roy noticed he made no move to join them at the door. Maybe this was something he – the adult – needed to handle. That was fair, Roy supposed. He was the adult here, after all. Edward was in his care, not Alphonse’s.

 

Fuck.

 

He barely suppressed a groan before he opened the door and held it open. Edward walked through without a word or a glance in his direction. Alphonse stayed behind.

 

----

 

It’s cold.

 

That’s the first thing Ed notices.

 

Then come the other sensations.

 

Dead weight hanging off his right shoulder. His automail leg pinching his thigh. It’s heavy. It’s cold.

 

His face is cold but his neck is hot.

 

He’s tired.

 

He’s always tired.

 

It’s cold.

 

(You thought about killing someone,)

 

He can feel himself starting to come back to his body. He feels something in the back of his throat.

 

Irritation. Or frustration, maybe.

 

Whether it’s with himself, the Colonel, or the general situation, he isn’t sure. He just knows he’s frustrated. Maybe even angry.

 

But more than that low thrum of anger is the overwhelming loneliness and numbness that had been growing ever since he thought about killing Leicht. Now, he was more than just weak. He was actively dangerous.

 

Hateful.

 

Harmful.

 

He hadn’t said anything to Mustang for a while, probably a few hours. Now he just wants to scream.

 

But he’d already done that, hadn’t he?

 

And fuck, how did things always go so wrong?

 

(How could they not? You are wrong, everything you do is a fuck-up. You deserve it.)

 

Somehow, that didn’t even make him feel any worse. His mind had been tormenting itself for the last few days anyway, but it felt good to know that he was the one who was the problem. Of course he already knew that, but know he himself was just fundamentally wrong helped in a fucked-up way. The issue in all of these situations was him.

 

If he hadn’t suggested the transmutation to Al, if he hadn’t left Nina alone with Tucker, if he hadn’t let a random stranger break into his dorm room, if he hadn’t, hadn’t, hadn’t…

 

It’s cold.

 

He thought about killing Leicht.

 

People keep telling him it wasn’t his fault. He doesn’t know how he could convince them that it was. That if he wasn’t so selfish and weak and pathetically worthless that none of this would have happened at all.

 

He and Mustang had been walking for about thirty seconds before he realized what was happening and mentally kicked himself. He’d been in a dreamlike state lately, but willingly going outside with Mustang was almost certainly a huge mistake.

 

He didn't want to talk, he didn’t want to feel, and he didn’t want to be alone with Mustang.

 

With every step Edward was in pain. Whether it was actual pain or just the manifestation of emotional turmoil he wasn’t sure, but his back hurt, his automail ports hurt, and his heart hurt.

 

He was tired of feeling so sick, so foul, such a fucking waste of space.

 

But that was what he deserved.

 

If he’d just lay back and take it, accept that his was what he had to endure for being who he was, maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult. It was like he wanted to be miserable- he welcomed it, because it was what he was supposed to endure.

 

“Edward?”

 

What. Just what? He was so fucking tired of thinking about this, of reliving it every waking moment and reminding himself that he had thought thought about killing another person.

 

You swore you’d never kill anyone under any circumstances. Now here you are, thinking so casually about killing a man. You’re pathetic. What he did wasn’t even that bad. You deserved it.

 

God, if he could just get his brain to shut up for ten seconds maybe then he’d be able to breathe.

 

You don’t deserve to breathe. You stole if from your brother. You should have died during that transmutation.

 

His thoughts were so toxic, so suffocating lately, but he couldn’t find the will to fight them. And now he was here with Mustang and it felt like it was overpowering again.

 

“Edward?”

 

Oh, Mustang had stopped walking.

 

Edward guessed he should stop walking then, too.

 

He did.

 

It’s cold.

 

He had wanted to kill Leicht.

 

“Why don’t we sit down?” the Colonel asked, gesturing to a bench a few feet away.

 

Ed did.

 

Edward was floating, his mind was miles away. If the Colonel was speaking, he couldn’t hear him over the roaring hatred of his own thoughts.

 

You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it.

 

“You know,” the Colonel started, and Ed couldn’t even find it in himself to roll his eyes, “I was like this too. After Ishval.”

 

Ed didn’t react.

 

You weren’t even in combat. You’re just overreacting, like you always do. Mustang was in a war zone, of course he was like this. You’re just upset about something inconsequential and stupid. Like always.

 

“I didn’t do much of anything. And anything I wanted to do I lost interest in quickly.”

 

This isn’t the same. You were at war. I deserved it.

 

“I didn’t really experience much of anything. I just existed.”

 

The Colonel was starting to sound farther away.

 

“Hawkeye and Hughes were concerned. They’re the ones who ended up pulling me out of my funk.”

 

I don’t deserve to be helped. I deserve to suffer.

 

Ed thought about asking how, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort of opening his mouth and forming words.

 

“You can get through this, Ed.”

 

I don’t want to.

 

“There’s nothing you’ve done or anything you could have done to deserve this.”

 

Ed felt himself tense at those words. Of course the Colonel didn’t get it. Nobody did. He was a fool to even entertain the idea that someone would be able to truly understand what he was feeling.

 

“Ed.”

 

Mustang was turning on the bench to face him, Ed could hear the wood groaning under his weight.

 

“I know you’re listening.”

 

Edward, with sudden renewed energy, turned to Mustang and just stared. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what look was on his face at that moment, nor did he care.

 

He wanted to say a lot of things. What he ended up saying wasn’t what he would have chosen, necessarily, but they got the point across.

 

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, and he would have gotten up and stalked off if he didn’t hurt so badly.

 

And it was cold. And he had thought about killing Leicht. And he deserved it.

 

Mustang didn’t say anything, and Ed saw that same confusing flicker of something flit across his face, but he stayed silent.

 

“What?” Ed asked, “You’re not going to convince me that you get it?”

 

“I never claimed I understood,” the Colonel said carefully, looking intensely into his eyes. It was uncomfortable. Ed barely restrained himself from looking away. “I just noticed some similarities in our behavior.”

 

“Yeah,” Edward said as he exhaled with a puff, “well, this isn’t the same.”

 

“I know it isn’t.”

“Then stop acting like it is! It isn’t! Okay?”

 

He could feel himself getting more and more riled up for the first time in days, but why didn’t anyone understand? Was he truly so cripplingly alone that not a single person could conceptualize what he was feeling? Why did no one get it?

 

The Colonel didn’t speak. Edward found himself doing it for both of them.

 

“It’s not. It’s not. You didn’t want to go to war. You didn’t want to kill people, Mustang. It’s not the same.”

 

Mustang looked like he wanted to say something, but he stayed quiet.

 

“You know, I thought about killing Leicht,” Ed whispered, “it was such a casual thought, too. I could kill him. I could-” his breath caught in his throat but he forced himself not to stop, “I could just kill him and be done with it.”

 

Mustang’s facial expression didn’t change.

 

“Did you not hear what I said, Mustang? I thought about killing someone! Taking someone’s life- someone who has hopes and dreams and family that cares about them! I swore- I swore I wouldn’t kill anyone. That I wouldn’t even think about it! But it was so natural, it was-” he was shaking a bit, now. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

 

“I have killed people,” Mustang said suddenly, his voice hard. “You thinking about it is not the same, Edward.”

 

“But you were ordered to do it, you bastard! Why doesn’t anyone get it?” Ed was beginning to feel a little desperate, scrabbling for the words that would explain what he was feeling.

 

They both sat in silence again, and Ed blinked hard to keep the stupid wetness out of his eyes.

 

“It isn’t the same,” he said again, hating how his voice broke at the end, “It’s not.”

 

“Edward,” the Colonel said softly, “you aren’t going to kill anyone.”

 

Ed sniffed. “You don’t know that,” he muttered.

 

“I do,” the Colonel sounded so sure of himself, “even if you did think about it, even if you did want to, you wouldn’t. You care too much about other people.”

 

Care too much…? How did thinking about killing someone mean he cared about them? What the fuck was Mustang trying to pull?

 

“Leicht did something to you that no one should ever go through,” Mustang said, “thinking about hurting him does not, despite what you might think, make you a bad person.”

 

Edward tried to digest that.

 

How did the Colonel not understand that he was a bad person? Not even just because he had thought about killing Leicht, but because he had committed so many horrific things before? He wasn’t a bad person just for thinking about killing Leicht, he was bad because he had put Alphonse in the armor, he had made Winry cry, he had hurt his brother again and again and again and again-

 

“What are you thinking, kid?” Mustang asked.

 

It’s cold.

 

“I- you don’t get it. No one gets it. I’m not a good person, Mustang. Everything I do hurts someone. I’ve hurt Alphonse who knows how many times, I’ve hurt Winry, I’ve hurt mom, I’ve- I’ve hurt a lot of people. And now I want to-” he took a deep breath, “I want to kill someone. With my own automail! I am a bad person. I was probably born a bad person. That’s why I deserve to be hurt. So I know what I’m putting other people through. I deserve it.” He spat out the last words like acid, and they left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

There, now Mustang had to understand. He had to get it.

 

“Edward,” Ed noticed the Colonel sounded somewhat uncomfortable again, a strange thing for someone who hid all of his emotions behind that obnoxious, emotionless mask, “you don’t deserve any of this. I don’t know what to say to get you to believe that.”

 

Nothing.

 

“People want you to be happy. People care about you, kid. I care about you.” Mustang stopped and took a breath, “Leicht...Leicht is a sad imitation of a human being. He’s pathetic to hurt someone like he hurt you. And it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to deserve, and you didn’t allow it to happen. And I’ll keep saying that until you believe it.”

 

You’ll be saying it a lot, then.

 

Neither of them said anything for a long, long time.

 

It was still cold, and Ed had still thought about killing Leicht. And he still deserved it.

 

Even as he limped back to Mustang’s, even after he went inside and sat on the couch next to his brother, even as he crawled into bed and pulled the quilt up to his chin, he was still cold.

 

You deserve it.

Notes:

Recovery is not linear!! I know y'all were probably hoping for some more developments with Leicht and everything else, but I really wanted to focus on how Edward is doing mentally, especially after the end of the last chapter. I've had lots of ups and downs after my C/SAs and I hope this chapter connects with some of you. I promise there'll be more excitement next time!

Thank you for reading!

Notes:

Thank you for reading. If you are in need of any resources relating to violence or sexual assault, please look out for yourself and your mental well-being. If you are in the United States, RAINN is a great resource. Take care of yourselves and I will be posting the next chapter shortly!

RAINN: https://www.rainn.org/

Stay safe and feel free to leave a comment if you feel inclined!