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The sky was nothing more than a mass of gray and black rolling clouds that lashed icy sheets of rain down upon them. It was as if the whole world seemed unnaturally dark; the only source of light being the occasional flash of lightning. The sharp bursts of white light came one another, cutting through the sky like the flashbulb of a camera, illuminating their bleak surroundings. It offered no real help beyond making Edward wince and feel blinded, his feet sliding against the gluey mud the deluge had created.
Ed wasn’t sure if he yelped or not. It was hard to hear over the roar for the overflowing river they were trying to outrun. This was nothing like when the floods happened back in Resembool when the Rain River swelled; out here in the Western Countryside, along the disintegrating banks of the River Eider, it was far more violent and thrice as deadly. All he knew was that he was slipping down the slope, numb fingers of flesh raking through the soil as mismatched feet offered no traction against the slick mud and gush of water.
His right arm had been rendered as a useless deadweight and he was falling further down the slope, sliding closer to the rising water that was slapping against the precarious path of escape. Instinct had him scrabbling wildly, his knees digging into sludge and left boot getting stuck in sticky mud when a hand snagged him by the scruff of his coat. There was nothing gentle about the hold. It was rough and as angry as the voice shouting through the torrential storm. Yet the solid grip didn’t weaken as it hauled him up onto his feet, the left boot being left behind and devoured by the mud.
" – move it, Fullmetal!’’
The barked order was accompanied by a manhandling and a shove. Edward’s snarls were drowned out by the gusts of icy wind slapping him in the face as he blindly stumbled forward. He was ‘moving it’. Or, at least, he had been until the bastard plucked up and dumped on a part of the rapidly disintegrating trail that held more footing. He couldn’t help but whirl around and sneer at the downright murderous expression on the Colonel’s filthy face.
"I am!’’ Ed snapped. "Quit t-tellin’ me what to do when I’m already doin’ it, bastard!’’
Roy’s pale face twisted up, his eyes seeming to blaze and bulge beneath the sodden hair that was plastered to his forehead. "But you don’t!’’ he began ruthlessly. "You don’t do what you are supposed to do and you sure as hell don’t listen to me when I tell you!’’
Edward bristled. "I said I was sorry, okay? I – ’’
"I don’t want apologies!’’ Roy roared. "I want you to start listening to me and you start that by moving it before we – ’’
"This isn’t all my fault!’’
The Colonel’s nostrils flared, his breath growing thin and ragged. A crack of lightning only made his expression look, dare Ed admit it, scary. He was stuck in a situation with a man that was so frothing-at-the-mouth type of angry that he was a stranger. If Edward wasn’t already trembling from being frozen and drenched to the bone, he would’ve shuddered from the look Roy sent his way. It was a feral look of a beast ready to go straight for the jugular as broad shoulders took on a predatory bow. Ed steeled himself, no longer walking, their dire situation falling to the wayside, and prepared himself for a fist to the face.
Roy certainly looked like he was going to strike – or wanted to strike.
Silently, Edward wanted him to.
Maybe, if the bastard clocked him in the jaw, it would make the blame dissolve.
Guilt was eating at his bones and driving him crazy. He didn’t need Roy blaming him when he already blamed himself. Ed knew he fucked up. He fucked up big time. Roy had implicitly told him to stay by Havoc’s side as he finally honed in on the rogue alchemist known as Bramwell that Mustang’s unit had been tasked with apprehending. Apparently, this was a big thing. Their alchemist had been one of a handful who’d been branded as deserters during the Ishval war and, for some reason, many higher-ups sought Bramwell’s capture.
Ed had read the orders. Bramwell wasn’t only accused of treason and deserting. Intel provided said he had committed taboo, but the information was murky. All Edward knew was that he needed to lend a hand; they needed to capture Bramwell alive, and he was there to help…
But Edward had rushed ahead, the entire operation crumbling because he lacked patience, and Bramwell had fled into the Western Wilds.
Pursuing the man made sense. Ed was used to chasing suspects. He hadn’t expected Roy to follow him. He sure as hell hadn’t expected Roy to follow him on his sprint through the woodland and towards the river. The boy certainly didn’t expect the weather to turn so rapidly.
"D’you think he didn’t see us a mile off?’’ Ed argued. "We arrived in a truck with a bunch of military at his middle o’ nowhere shack!’’
Roy shook his head like a wet dog and gave him another shove forward, not letting him pause for a singular beat. "Move.’’
Logically, Ed knew he had to keep moving. They both did. They needed to keep moving until they were no longer in a position of being swept away by the raging river, but –
"You’ll get another chance at a promotion!’’ Ed railed as he trudged forward, scowling over his shoulder frustrated. "So, what if he got away? We – ’’
"You think I’m pissed off over getting a promotion blown?!’’ Roy… exploded. There was no real word for it. Ed couldn’t help but flinch as the man’s rage reached apoplectic levels that put the fury of the storm to shame. "I’m furious that you’ve got a death wish and an inability to listen! ’’
Edward pivoted on the spot, startled. He walked backward, slowly and surely, while Roy stomped forward. Unlike the older male who seemed fine in marching forward as water rushed past their ankles, glowering down at him, Ed’s feet slide against the sloped ground.
"He had a gun! A gun that hit you.’’ Roy seemed to have lost what little calm he had, his arms gesticulating. "If that arm wasn’t automail, you could be bleeding out in the forest. You could’ve – !’’
"I’m not stupid!’’ Ed shouted back. He wasn’t. He understood he was lucky that two bullets hit his automail arm. One bullet had pinged off while the other had slipped through the metal plating, undoubtedly causing some damage to the wiring since Ed couldn’t move it.
"Then don’t act like it!’’ Roy’s face spasmed and, for the tiniest moment, Edward didn’t know if it was the rain or if he genuinely looked tearful with frustration. "No matter what I say or do, you never listen to me.’’
"Save the lecture!’’
"No. No , I won’t. Because, one of these days, your recklessness will get you killed – ’’
"S-Shut up! You’re my boss with a god-complex, not my d– !’’
" – and I don’t know what I’d do if that ever happened!’’
Edward wasn’t sure if he should be thankful that their clash of words drowned each other out amongst the din of the storm, especially in regards to his near-use of that dreaded word: Dad . The word always left a sour taste on his tongue despite it not being used or allocated to anyone since he’d been much younger. Regardless, he hated the rawness of Roy’s voice and the genuine tone that wavered with emotion near the end. It was one thing to know the Colonel felt responsible for him in a professional standpoint, but it was entirely another thing to be bluntly told that concern ran far deeper. It felt – felt – Ed had too many emotions to unpack.
There was a crushing invisible weight in his chest that rolled down into his stomach. It landed heavily that it left him breathless, his stomach spasming with emotional pain. His stomach hurt . It felt like a sucker punch to the gut and –
A startled noise left Edward’s too-tight throat at the sharp pain that radiated from the side of his head.
He didn’t realize what it was, the phantom stomach pain had felt so real he almost thought the stinging paint against his temple was another emotional response. But, no. When Ed lifted a mud-smeared hand to paw at his brow, his frigid fingers came into contact with sticky warmth. Dazed, he moved his hand into his blurry-edged vision and stared, dumbfounded, at the bright red that was swiftly being washed away by the rain.
Did something just hit him? Ed blinked and lifted his gaze when he felt hands roughly take him by the shoulders. Roy was marching him forward again, his shouting nothing more than an irritating buzz that made Ed want to puke. Sluggishly, the boy caught a glimpse of the Colonel’s face that looked less rageful and more panicked. His attention on the man didn’t last long; his brief moment of being stunned by the - stone, rock, branch? - that had smacked him on the temple dissolving at the sight of the mass of rock and earth rolling towards them from the higher ground.
Landslide, a faint voice supplied.
The word tickled the back of Ed’s skull, not truly sinking into his concussed brain. It was difficult to get a true mental grasp on things after getting thwacked in the head. Everything seemed to be running too slow and too fast at the same time as vomit gurgled its way up his throat. One moment he was being thrown over a broad shoulder, retching at the sudden movement of Roy running and, the next, there was a harsh impact.
Everything turned black.
For how long, Ed wasn’t too sure. It must’ve been nothing more than a small blip. Yet, when light came to him, he was waist-deep in muddy water with soil lodged between his teeth and gasping for breath. Instinct had him blindly pawing about, his only working hand of flesh grappling with upraised tree roots as he pulled himself away from the bubbling flow of water. How he was able to pull himself up and onto a mound of dirt was a feat in itself yet, as disorientated as he was, even Ed could appreciate the fact he’d been lucky.
The storm was still going strong, but the landslide had buried part of the overflowing river without smothering or drowning him in the process. Edward took a moment, slumped against debris and dirt, to suck in a few shaky breaths as eye the devastation around him. Rocks, earth, and a few stray tree trunks surrounded him along with rapidly forming pools of water.
On unsteady legs, Edward blinked against the rainfall, got to his feet and limped forward across the uneven ground. For a few beats, he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. Something blue and bent sticking out of the drenched soil. His scrambled head briefly thought he that he was eyeing a lone, thick mangled-looking tree root…
Until the muted, logical part of his brain reminded him that roots didn’t wear shoes.
Then, it was akin to a domino effect as what he saw piled upland thoughts collided with one another. Realization dawned far too slowly to Edward’s liking, yet it came and he was suddenly lurching his way across the slick, unturned earth to reach what he knew was Roy’s leg poking up out of the earth at an odd angle.
"Sh-Shit!’’
The curse left his mouth in a stuttered sob. It was only natural to throw himself down into the dirt and dig. He clawed at the filth, the tips of his fingers quickly shredding against bundles of rough stone or getting caught in tough, clay-like mud. It seemed like a fruitless endeavor to dig; the relentless rain had turned most of the mud into a vile slop that kept re-filling in what dug-out grooves he had created. By some miracle and sheer desperation-driven strength, Edward took hold of the leg that was surely broken and pulled and pulled -
Finally, slowly but surely, Roy was yanked out from the sticky clumps and ooze, and Ed toppled backward from the force of the action. He scrambled upright, useless automail arm swinging at his side as he kneeled beside the man that was pale and caked in dirt. It was automatic for the boy to reach out and pat the limp body with his trembling hand, his palm coming into contact with a cold, unmoving chest.
"Hey,’’ Ed croaked, panic rising. "H-Hey, c’mon - you - M-Mustang?’’
Forming a sentence was hard to come by when it felt as if his ribs had been painfully constricted. Still, the blatant fact that Roy Mustang, the ultimate Colonel Bastard, was not breathing sent Edward’s mind whirling and heart spasming. He wasted no time in feeling for a pulse - only to find nothing there. No thump or flutter. Nothing. Nothing at all. Roy was - he couldn’t be but - dead. No heartbeat meant dead. Dead meant gone. Gone forever. Ed didn’t want him to -
"No, no, no,’’ Edward chanted under his breath. "Don’t. Don’t do this to m-me. I - please.’’
Begging to the dead wasn’t something new for Ed, but it hardly mattered. He was focused in hastily swiping at Roy’s face, his bloodied and torn-up fingers pinching at the bastard’s nostrils. He tried to remove the gunk clogged there and proceeded to do the same with hooking his fingers into Roy’s slack mouth, horrified to find it packed with the same cold sludge and soil he’d been buried under. He removed all that he could. It was a difficult and disgusting process to do with one hand: lifting the jaw, depressing the tongue with a thumb, and trying to scoop out the gunk that resided within.
It reminded him of watching the farmers back in Resembool during lambing season. It was pretty common for a ewe to need some assistance; Ed could always remember halting on his walk to school to gawp at the sight of Mr. Dawson digging his fingers into a newborn lamb’s nostrils and mouth, removing the slime of afterbirth before blowing into its snout. Ed didn’t think the simple, more rural method of reviving a lamb would work right now.
But he could recall Granny Pinako demonstrating a technique that could help when Winry found her parents' old medical journals. It seemed like another lifetime ago when Granny entertained her grandaughter’s questions and Al’s curiosity. Ed had watched from the couch, sore and still adjusting from his newly fitted automail ports, but he could recall the steps Pinako said to do with ease.
Lay the victim on their back. Check.
Open their airway by tilting their head back and raising their chin. Check.
Create a base where shoulders line up directly with your hands vertically. Uh. Sorta Check .
Edward was down an arm and interfacing his flesh fingers with heavy, disconnected steel was pointless. He guessed one hand would have to do and made sure his active shoulder lined up correctly. Finding a balance point was tricky, his knees sinking deep in soft, wet earth but he managed. Granny said to perform thirty short, rapid chest compressions - or was it, forty? No, no. Thirty.
Thirty to simulate a heart. Thirty. Ed locked his arm and began. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7….
He didn’t know if it was the icy panic surging through his veins or the burst of adrenaline that made him pant hard, yet he felt light-headed and petrified. Ed refused to lose count and kept going. By the count of seventeen, something in the Colonel’s crunched and gave way. Ribs. It was ribs. He’d broken the useless bastards ribs!
…26, 27, 28, 29, 30!
Check breathing. Still nothing. Do two rescue breaths.
And, to do rescue breaths, he needed to tightly seal his mouth over theirs…
Edward didn’t give it much thought. He followed the voice within his head that placidly drawled out instructions and sounded just like Granny. He pinched Roy’s nose shut, planted his mouth over mucky lips, and blew out a firm but steady breath. It wasn’t working . The chest was supposed to rise. Roy’s was supposed to rise but it wasn’t! It wasn’t rising with each breath Ed blew into him and his lips reminded him of how cold Mom’s clammy skin went which meant the bastard was probably long dead and -
A low, terrified noise crawled out of Edward’s throat.
He could feel himself spiraling and bile lapping at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and fumbled about. Vaguely, he could recall Granny saying something about re-tilting the head and trying again. Chest compressions, rescue breaths. Check the mouth to see if the obstruction was visable. It became Ed’s frightened mantra. Chest compressions, rescue breaths. His lungs burned and his arm was already spasming yet he had to keep going. Rinse and repeat until help arrived or -
A gurgling noise emitted from Roy’s throat and hope made Ed’s own heart soar.
There was nothing - nothing whatsoever - pretty about Roy’s revival. Brown water and dark, blackish gunk erupted simultaneously from the Colonel’s mouth and nose. Ed didn’t care if some of the slop poured onto his lap when he fumbled in tilting the man onto his side. Nope. It was hideous display of life yet it the best sight ever. Ed would put Roy’s wheezing spluttering right up there with Mom’s smile and the way Al would scrunch his nose when he belly-laughed.
Relief was euphoric, especially when Roy continued to gasp his way towards normal breathing without assistance. Ed was hiccuping his way through a series of sobs he couldn’t contain eve if he tried, his hand shakily brushing the grimy black locks away from the man’s pinched face. He barely noticed help came in the form of hazy light cutting through the bleak atmosphere, the distant view of approaching lanterns and bellowing voices calling his name. The sight of team Mustang’s approach was a welcome one would’ve been an understatement.
They found him drained and weeping quietly in the mud while Roy was unconscious but breathing beautifully.
Edward let exhaustion take him the moment he saw Breda and Riza wading their way towards them. It was okay to let go and rest. For some unknown amount of time, he drifted in and out, stuck between the muted realm of not quite awake and not wholly asleep. It was fitful and muddled with what felt like long stretches of blank spots. He was aware of familiar voices and sensation of being pulled out of the freezing sludge and taken to place where the heavy rain didn’t pelt his face. Yet, during moments that he roused with gentle hands upon him, checking him over and peeling off soaked layers, he felt marginally better.
Like now, as voices filtered in, someone was lifting his arms and guiding them into soft warmth.
"…ready to go now?’’ Breda’s voice filtered in through the haze. ‘‘It’s a three-hour drive to West City due to the landslide taking out the bridge.’’
Falman hummed from somewhere nearby. "And we can’t afford to dawdle. The local doctor said his clinic is limited and to get them both to the hospital for a more thorough check-up, especially Mustang. If it wasn’t for Edward he would be dead right no– ’’
" Don’t. ’’ Fuery’s voice hitched, his tone uncharacteristically sharp and close to Ed’s unknown position. "We know. We saw them. I…’’ he sighed and the hands looping his arms through too-big sleeves disappeared. "There we go. Done.’’
A small sigh left Ed without permission when the sweater was tugged over his head and something that could only be a blanket cocooned him. It was dry and warmer than before. He curled up on instinct, mashing his face against a damp shoulder, his muscles protesting at the movement. Exhaustion had settled deep into his bones and he whimpered when he suddenly felt like he was being moved.
"Shhh.’’ Havoc’s voice vibrated under Ed’s cheek. "Rest up, Chief. You earned it.’’
Muzzily, Ed was aware of the blanket being tucked more securely around him as a door creaked open. A gust of bitter wind and a few droplets of rain hit him on the face. It was nothing compared to the howling wind and icy sting of heavy rainfall, just lazy drizzle. He shivered and squinted open his eyes, blearily blinking at the small cluster of houses from beyond Havoc’s shoulder as they neared the low rumble of an engine.
"Is he warm enough?’’ Breda asked.
Ed didn’t see the red-head. Not instantly. But he did feel a brush of thick fingers ghost his cheek during their quick trot towards the vehicle. It was natural to turn his head into the touch, his eyes open just enough to catch a glimpse of the murky blue sky and the filthy canvas-topped truck they had arrived in.
"I sure as hell hope so,’’ Havoc’s voice was closer to a tired drone than his typical jocular tone. "Last thing we need is the kid getting pneumonia. It’s bad enough the boss looks like he’d crawled out of a grave and isn’t in the best shape…’’
"I heard that.’’
The hoarse voice of Roy entering the conversation, traveling somewhere from beyond the canvas flaps from the idling truck, and Edward lost any sense of drowsiness. The recollection of event events slammed into him, yanking him swiftly out of his haze. Roy’s off-hand comment was followed by a series of hacking wet coughs that crackled and tapered off into a low groan.
Ed struggled to lift his head from Havoc’s shoulder, his entire body feeling like a giant bruise that was too heavy to maneuver. He did, however, had enough energy to blink his gritty eyes. His mind felt a little sharper by the time Fuery hopped up onto the back of the truck, parting the canvas like a curtain to reveal the occupants inside the dark interior. Riza was easy to spot, sat on the edge of one of the bench seats that ran along the side of the truck, his attention glued to Roy.
"Take it easy, sir.’’ Riza gently instructed. "Remember your ribs. Slow breaths and sit back.’’
Roy’s response was a grumble of complaint, his eyes barely open as he did what he was told. Edward stared with faint disbelief at the man alive and looking like death warmed up. Like Ed, the Colonel was bundled in a blanket and seemed to be wearing ill-fitting borrowed clothes, yet there were still flakes of mud on his skin. The boy would’ve found the sight before him comical if the sight of his broken leg wrapped up and overall shitty appearance it didn’t make emotion well up inside of him. After all, the great Flame Alchemist was sat upon a mound of hideous-looking patterns quilts, and pillows of a makeshift bed that sprawled across the grimy truck bed’s floor, looking less like a pampered King and more like a homeless man in need of shelter.
He was too busy gawping that he barely registered Falman and Breda departing to hop up front behind the wheel, or Havoc clambering into the truck with him. It was only when Roy’s bloodshot eyes latched onto him that he realized his change in location. Something in those dark eyes flickered and, before Havoc could settle down onto the bench beside Riza with Ed in his lap, the Colonel stiffly lifted one of the quilts. It looked like an offer but it was clearly a silent demand, and not even Riza protested when Havoc let out a hollow laugh and gingerly slid Edward beside the older alchemist.
Roy seemed eager to drape an arm over his shoulders and pull him close to his side, all the while wincing through the ache of his broken ribs. It was a slightly desperate, clingy action that left Edward bewildered. While Riza quickly tugged the blanket up to Ed’s chin, Roy’s hand began to rub at his shoulder while the other clumsily pushed back grimy golden hair from his face, tilting his head back to really look at Ed’s half-lidded eyes. It was strangely intense and felt surreal enough that he thought maybe he had died alongside the Colonel during the deluge…
"There you are. You’re o-okay,’’ Roy whispered. He sounded like he was still gargling sludge and gravel. It was awful. "You’re fine, kid. I…you…’’
The look Ed was currently receiving was shockingly reverent. There was no other word for it. Edward watched a mixture of emotions – relief, joy, guilt – flit across Roy’s face until his face crumpled. Suddenly, the man’s hand cupped the back of Edward’s head and pulled him forward until warm, downturned lips were pressed against his brow.
It was fierce and familial and no words needed to be said.
Huddled against the battered, wheezy chest, Edward understood. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling against his forehead. Warm. The chapped lips were warm and it chased away the last memory he had of cold skin against his own coupled with slackened, dead-looking features. Nothing needed to be said within that moment, yet Ed found himself rasping out a quiet confession:
"I - I wouldn’t know what to do either if you…’’
Roy cut him off, albeit not unkindly. "I know. It's okay.’’
But it wasn't okay. "You died,'' Ed choked out that dreaded word as if it was poison. "You were d-dead. You - ''
The Colonel tucked Edward's head under his chin and shushed him. Ed didn't care; he mashed his face against the man's broad chest and sucked in a breath. Roy smelled like sweat and soil, but he was warm. Warm, alive and weakly rubbing Edward's heaving back. Greedily, he pressed his ear to the chest that crackled and popped with each breath. He was too busy counting the thuds of a heartbeat that he barely heard the sincere thanks that spilled from Roy's mouth.