Chapter Text
Ed wasn’t particularly prone to shaking. He’d trekked through enough hellfire and bullshit to be able to stand his ground against the proverbial equivalent to a cattle stampede. He had that hammered into him like metal being worked for a forge. But now, with the goddamn Flame Alchemist staring him down with hate in his eyes and violence on his hands, Ed started to falter.
Mustang didn’t even look like a person anymore. He looked like something worse and more monstrous that Ed had thought him capable of.
Even at the darkest of times, he had never feared the older alchemist. Not in screaming matches or getting chewed out. Not even with all that happened with Ross. Then, Ed has just been angry and hurt.
Now?
He was struggling to hold his ground.
“I’ll burn up your hand along with it!”
It was like the kind of broiling, untouchable rage he’d felt rolling off of Pride and Bradley. It literally wasn’t human. Mustang was slipping. It was the bend before the break and the break before the fall but Ed knew—he knew that people don’t just snap. They can splinter and crack but they won’t stop bending.
Ed covered his own flinch with another challenge. He called Mustang’s bluff. The only thing that gave him any sort of confidence was Scar, looming over Ed’s shoulder with his arms fold and somehow emanating calm like a lighthouse in a hurricane. What a thought: Scar giving him a modicum of comfort and security. Perhaps it was raining ink and the sky was turning to a stone. Everything else that should be impossible was happening, it wasn’t that far of a reach.
No matter, Scar’s steadfast presence helped him hold on to courage. That, and a weak, cloying little memory from months prior. That stupid promise. The five hundred and twenty cenz. Mustang is a manipulative, egotistical jerk but the one thing Ed had learned to count on was that he delivered. All his faith was being put in that.
All his trust, painstakingly built over four years of bickering and begrudging respect, was riding on this one thing. He didn’t even hesitate to shoot the barbs out towards Mustang, even as his hand came up, gloved and poised to send off a miniature bomb.
“Try it then—“
He wouldn’t.
“If it’s a fight you want, fine—“
He’ll back down.
“But first maybe you should take a good look—“
He’ll come through.
“Is that what you want to be Colonel? Another monster—”
People keep bending they don’t—
Snap.
Ed didn’t even had time to suck in a breath before the oxygen was ripped from his lungs and everything was flooded with red. It was careless, wild and writhing. The blast ringed his arm and sent him flying back, the distant sound of lightbulbs popping and shattering only an afterthought in the roar of fire.
Everything felt hot and blistering before he even hit the ground and he hit it hard. It knocked Ed senseless, rolling to a stop with nothing but the taste of heat in his mouth and smoke in his eyes. It was dark. Almost pitch black and his ears were ringing so loudly it made him feel sick and his shoulder was a mess of slow spasms.
He couldn’t do anything other then try to remember how to breathe, his flesh hand scrambling at the ground, looking for any kind of anchor. There was nothing.
Ed choked on his own tongue and felt a searing flush of prickles across skin. Again and again, flourishing and dying down until it started to feel numb and he couldn’t even bring himself to remember that there… there were other people with him.
Where were they?
Ed curled on his side and tried to ride out the vertigo and burning afterimage but it was all too much too fast and—and Mustang—
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.
Ed’s mind was stuck on loop, skipping recklessly because… it couldn’t be real. Something must’ve gone wrong. A miscalculation or maybe some trick that he didn’t see fast enough there had to be some way to explain it because the Colonel wouldn’t. Or, at least, Ed hoped he wouldn’t…
Shock was rather bothersome, wasn’t it. The stupid thing was coaxing him out of his misery while there grew a chorus of shouts in the background. It was so dark and the right side of his body felt singed. There was an awful, oily smell in the air. His nerves were so overloaded that he felt chilled and the floor churned underneath him. There were voices though, that much he knew, calling across the void, but he couldn’t focus on anything. Ed just stayed where he was, hurting and dazed and wondering what he did wrong.
What he missed.
Because he had to have missed something. There wasn’t any other way to justify why his skin was blistering and his head was pounding. It was a trick or trial or something sinister belonging to one of the homunculi. It had to be.
Ed wasn’t particularly prone to shaking, but a shiver was something else entirely.
Scar couldn’t see much, but he could hear Hawkeye’s voice cutting across the darkness. The click of a gun wasn’t lost on him either. Scar breathed in the terribly familiar scent of burning cloth and singed metal.
“Don’t move.” She hissed.
He couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t see and he had exactly no faith in the wretched, damned alchemist who wielded flames like a circus act but Scar had faith in Edward. It was thin, but it was there, stuck to him because the brash child was so bright-eyed and determined that it was practically viral. An infectious agent that didn’t fancy being pushed aside. He ignored the instinct to pull the boy away when he’d shouted insults almost fearlessly at Mustang. Almost being the operative word.
Scar had shaper eyes then he ever let on and Edward’s shoulders were trembling in those moments—he’d been terrified.
Hawkeye’s voice was low. He listened carefully, one hand against the wall as a guide. “You’re going to give us enough light to see. That’s it.”
“Lieuten—“
“That’s it.”
The snap was soft, but it still made Scar’s senses increase tenfold. A trail scored along the ceiling in a fiery line. He didn’t take a moment to adjust to the brightness, just spinning around and feeling his blood start to boil.
It was only a silhouette, but there was smoke and the stench of burning metal pouring over the tunnel in heaps. Edward was crumpled on the ground, his jacket torn and still smouldering, the rest of him so damn small and he didn’t seem to be doing anything other than breathing.
Hawkeye ran past him in a blink, her weapon discarded and expression panicked beyond anything else. She fell into a sprint and called out to the boy.
He didn’t respond.
Scar only had a split second to take stock, but he sucked in the environment anyways. It was as unpleasant as he expected. The stench of ashes persisted.
Hawkeye was kneeling by Edward, a hand on his shoulder and saying something a little too low to heard. Envy was out of sight or dead. Mustang.
Scar stiffened just as a startled, dazed voice drove a sledgehammer through his mind.
He whirled around to find Mustang taking a step forward. The man looked numb and hazy.
“Wait…I—“ The alchemist started. He took another step and Scar felt rage blare through him like a warning siren. His face twisted.
How dare he—a child.
Edward was just a boy. He was out of place in all this, risking his life in something he shouldn’t, just like Alphonse and Mei. A child that had trusted and believed in that man. In the one of the most hell-bound people Scar had ever met.
Edward still had faith, though. Because he was better than this. He had enough goodwill stored up to believe that Mustang would do the decent thing and let go of anger. Scar went against his better judgment and didn’t pull him out of the way and Mustang… a fucking child.
How dare he raise a hand to someone so young. Someone who he’d known. Someone who he was explicitly and exclusively responsible for.
This wasn’t some act of one adult against another.
Mustang just attack a child who had been trying to help; who’d dragged Scar through the maze of stone and mortar; who was, in his own odd way, pleading with Mustang to be better than all of this too and…
And Mustang burned him.
Of course he did. The Flame Alchemist.
He should have listened to his gut and grabbed the stubborn brat by the collar before any gloved hands had a chance to wreck havoc.
Mustang started to move and Scar surged forward. He barred an arm across the alchemist’s chest and threw him backwards with as much force as his could. The man staggered, almost tripping on the uneven ground. “You,” Scar snarled, “will not move an inch from where you stand or I swear—“
“Just let me... I can...” He tired weakly.
Scar reared back and drove the heel of his hand into Mustang’s jaw.
It cracked.
He couldn’t say he felt any guilt over that. It might have been satisfying for a moment, but the catharsis was lost in a sweep of anger. He glowered down, both hands curled into fists and shoulders tensed, his voice low and calm. “If you take one fucking step towards that boy, I’ll make sure you know what it means to hurt.”
Mustang’s face was clouded and shellshocked. Scar’s sympathy was drained away into a gutter, but the man didn’t move from where he was, a hand pressed to his face where a bruise was already flowering. Scar might’ve been disappointed that he didn’t give reason to land another blow, but there were bigger concerns now.
He didn’t want to turn his back on Mustang, not trusting that he would sling out another betrayal just to compound the first, but Edward was exponentially more important.
And Envy.
What had happened to the pathetic little creature anyways?
The homunculus wasn’t anywhere in sight, but a pile of ashes was. It had a brush of bright red, shining in a bright grin splayed out over the floor. A philosophers stone, Scar decided, was uglier than he thought. His attention turned back to the alchemist, now staring at his own hands as though he hadn’t just used them to sear and torch and burn…
A child.
Scar seethed silently and reached forward. He grabbed the man by the wrists and tore away the cursed, violence-drenched gloves. Mustang let him yank them off without resistance. Every line on his face spelled regret and Scar didn’t care. He never would have cared to begin with.
“I… I didn’t…” He seemed unaware of his surroundings, eyes glassy and wide.
Scar glared for a half second before, in just a single, weak moment, he gave into the clawing rage and sent a fist into Mustang’s stomach. He dropped down with a choked cough and hunched forward. At the very least, that coupled with the dislocated jaw would keep him from mutilating anyone further. “You did.” He spat. “You did and to a boy. You’ve ruined it all.”
Mustang looked up and it was almost impressive just how stunned he looked. His hands were shaking. He opened his mouth to say something but Scar’s dark, quiet growl got him to pipe down quick. “Shut up. He trusted you and now you’ve—“ He bit back whatever unsavoury words that his mouth and mind conspired to spill forth.
“He trusted you. He came to help and now look. You did this.”
The gloves shredded easily in his hands and he left Mustang to mourn any claims he might’ve had to decency. He’d been given the chance and failed. It didn’t matter now.
“You’ve ruined it all.”
He could rot in whatever hell he decided to believe in for all Scar cared. Edward still wasn’t moving. He could let Hawkeye or whatever manifestation of justice and retribution deal with the beast of a man later. That wasn’t his damn responsibility.
Scar turned and strode across the feebly lit space to where a road coat was splayed against the ground. Hawkeye was talking quietly. To herself or to Edward, he didn’t know.
She gingerly helped him sit upright, propped against the wall and clouded with far too much hurt and confusion for someone who’d barely started to pass out of childhood. That’s all he was. A child.
An extraordinary one, no doubt, but a child.
“I’m fine.” Came Edward’s voice. It was laced with shock and he breathing seemed to be no small feat. He most definitely was not fine.
Scar crouched, squinting through the dim lighting and trying to asses the damaged.
Part of the boy’s arm was scorched. From the wrist down, it was blackened, the hyper-heated copper wires coiled into little bubbles of quicksilver-like droplets. But he was conscious. The burn itself wasn’t particularly severe. It crawled in a slow pace from his shoulder towards his collar and neck, but would be healed in a week or so. Scar had no problem guessing that it still hurt though. The breech of trust surely was worse.
Again, it hit like a speeding train.
The kid was small. Scar knew full well that Edward would protest and curse at that, but it didn’t stop it from being true. He was small and young and better than all of this.
He shouldn’t be here.
Every line and curve on his face scream with youth, all of it screwed up with shock and confusion.
Betrayal was there too. His blood continued to feel hot in his veins, the friction of each heartbeat like gasoline on a fire. If there was more time he’d be open to keeping Mustang’s hands locked behind his back and a pistol trained on his skull. There wasn’t more time, though.
“The others you were with.” Hawkeye started hesitantly. “They were headed towards—” Her eyes turned back to Edward.
Scar suppressed a huff, instead simply nodding. “We can catch up to them still.”
Her face wilted. “Can you—I know I’m in no position to ask but I… I need to deal with him.”
It wasn’t very hard to imagine what deal with was standing in the place of. Scar nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Wait,” Edward managed to reach out and grab Hawkeye by the sleeve. “Don’t kill him.” He blinked at her through a foggy film that covered his normally bright eyes. The calculating glean that Scar had seen on more than one occasion had been dulled and mutilated. Tarnished, one might say.
“He wouldn’t.” The kid sounded confused and sure at the same time. Like he was trying to convince himself more than Scar or Hawkeye. “He’s a jerk but he wouldn’t.”
“Ed,” She started carefully, “you need to leave. There’s other things you have to do.”
“Don’t kill him.”
Her face broke a little. “You need to leave.” Hawkeye repeated firmly.
“Listen. The Colonel wouldn’t—it couldn’t have been him—“ He stumbled and stammered.
Scar ignored the feeble words and got to work with pulling the kid upright. Being slow about this would only make it worse. Edward swayed on his feet for a moment, still locked on the blonde woman as she tried to move away. Scar has no problem towing Edward away, even as he dig in his heels and tried to reach out. “Lieutenant, please listen.”
Again he snagged her but the sleeve. Hawkeye didn’t have enough focus or willpower to wrench away, expression softening for only a moment. She paused and gave the boy an unreadable look.
“I’m sorry.” She tore herself away from the boy.
His eyes followed her until Scar made a point of blocking the view. Whatever happened—whether it be death, injury, or arrest—it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“He wouldn’t.” Edward said again.
Scar’s empathy made a timely reappearance. It would be easy to say no. Mustang did it of his own free will and there was no changing that. He acted out of rage and hate and malice, all of it pointed at the kid for no better reason than him being a convenient target. But that was a pretty shitty, wasn’t it.
He had no sympathy for soldiers. He couldn’t care less about what happened to those two. But children were another matter entirely. Military or not, alchemist or not. Edward was better than all this. He shouldn’t be here.
It was a repetitive thought, but true all the same.
Might as well let Edward have whatever peace he could find now until he wasn’t half awake and likely in more pain than he even realized.
Scar didn’t reply.
He led Edward around the corner. Tried to, at least. Because that’s when the shock fell away and Edward decided that no, he wasn’t going to follow his own advice and listen to them. He wrenched himself away and Scar—
—let him.
Scar’s grip was easier to escape then he expected.
It was probably because the man was being startlingly gentle. Either way, Ed’s mind began to race because he remembered exactly what Hawkeye said was going to happen right as they interfered and Ed knew that she wasn’t someone the overplay her hand. So he turned and ran, right over to the two officers and with Scar’s demanding voice shouting at him to stop.
Ed’s head was alight with a loud buzz. Maybe there was a beehive in there but it was overpowering and he couldn’t think. All he knew is that Hawkeye had her gun drawn and had never been someone to hesitate in taking a shot.
“Wait.” His voice sounded desperate even to his own ears but it didn’t matter much. “Just… don’t. Please, I know that you said he’s your responsibility but he doesn’t have to die and neither do you just fucking listen—“
She wasn’t listening. Mustang wasn’t listening. They were in their own world and it was like he couldn’t break through. Scar’s ever-monumental aura was behind him, urging him that they had to leave. It was a murmur at best, his strong words barely registering. Ed squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
Hehad to focus.
He had to find a way to stop this as fast because he was rapidly losing any kind of control he had over the situation—hey, maybe that’s it; evil creates confusion—and just couldn’t do this again. Ed couldn’t have anyone else die. Who cares if it was juvenile.
He had earned the right to just a little bit of selfishness by now and he didn’t want to have any more goddamn headstones to visit.
That stupid promise. Be accountable. Be decent. Be alive. That’s all that the jerk had to do.
Mustang didn’t raise his head, not even by an inch. Hawkeye stood between them, back turned and eyes trained forward. She had abandoned trigger discipline in favour of keeping her own promise.
Ed knew that he should listen. Logic and reason and all the other useless shit he’d cultivated over the years were telling him to turn around because he shouldn’t see this. It wasn’t his place but…
Wasn't it?
“Lieutenant.” He tried again. Her shoulders tensed. Mustang’s hands twitched, head still bowed and eyes shadowed. “Listen.”
He waited for a moment, breathing and praying to any god that had spare time to listen. Logic be damned. Everything be damned. People bend and bend and bend but they don’t just break.
That’s not how it’s supposed to work. Ed swallowed back trepidation by the mouthful, feeling a tight hand on his shoulder trying to draw him away. Scar was more protective then he had ever realized. Even with no obligations, he was still here. He made an absent, fleeting mental note to thank him for it later.
“Please don’t make me do this again. Don’t make me go to any more funerals.”
She flinched. Mustang looked up, eyes hollow and face torn with a mix of guilt and horror. Ed would have been disgusted and humiliated by his own tone not two hours ago. He was practically pleading but every word was painfully true. It overrode whatever physical pain was coming from the burn that curled at his flesh and port.
How ridiculous. Here he was telling the truth for once in his life and it was nothing short of awful. Truth.
The asshole was probably cackling into that white void right about now.
Hawkeye's grip on her weapon tightened by a fraction and Ed’s heart dropped. “You need to leave.”
“She’s right.” Scar told him. Who knew he could sound so assuring.
His hearing cut out and vision blurred. He heard Scar, hissing out something else to him that was lost, vaguely defensive and still trying to lead Ed away without actually picking him up. Hawkeye whispered something as well. Mustang didn’t move an inch, but he met Ed’s eyes for a split second.
“I’m sorry.” He looked miserable. “They’re right.” He sounded guilt-ridden.
Ed wanted to yell or scream or maybe blow something up.
It was childish, but Ed didn’t want to believe it still. Why would he? Why would he want to believe someone he had actually trusted would do that?
He didn’t. Desperately, he didn’t.
But… it had been him. The Colonel; the Flame Alchemist; Mustang. There was nothing that could be done to change that. And Ed really was tried of loss.
It had still been him. The betrayal was numbing and overwhelming. He really wanted to blow something up.
Scar lost his patience and practically dragged Ed away and he didn’t have the energy to fight against it. He covered his ears when Mustang and Hawkeye were out of sight and hoped that she might listen.
Selfishly and viciously, he hoped she would listen. Even though Ed himself hadn’t and there were more things at play here than just his own emotions but nothing he said was a lie.
He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t know any more corpses, even the ones who had made mistakes so severe it was inexpressible. Even the ones who didn’t deserve any more chances.
Ed hoped for his sake and his alone.
Oh.
His hands were trembling.
It wasn't cold.
Maybe he was more prone to shaking than he thought.