#fmaauweek2017

“Roy?”

The voice jerked his thoughts from within and his gaze from without. He glanced toward his companion, who watched him with huge red eyes. “What, Ed?”

“Are you okay, Roy? D’you need some water?” The tiny child that Roy was risking his life for held out the canteen, shaking it. It was nearly empty; Roy hadn’t found anywhere to refill since they’d left. Of course, they were traveling in a desert so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

“Did you get your fill?” Roy asked, sliding down until he sat on the sand. “I’ll drink when you’re finished.”

Ed considered the canteen, swishing it around, then tossed back a little bit more before he handed it to Roy. “There, you have the rest. We’re close to the Kanda district, I think, we can fill up there.”

Roy snorted humorlessly and took the canteen from the kid. As if a group of Ishvalans would allow him, a member of the same military that was slaughtering their own people, to refill his life-giving water. He tossed back his head and drained the canteen, glaring at it to will water back in.

The reason they were in the middle of a war zone in this godforsaken desert, alone, was for the safety of his little companion. Ed was a full Ishvalan child—white hair and red eyes and everything. He also had a mouth that could make a sailor blush, as was reported by the sect who stole him from his home to “teach him about his betters”. They had raided a small neighborhood in the district of Kanda and had stormed into a “wealthy looking home”, only to discover a mother and her two sons. One child had been quiet, while the other had started spouting off remarks about “dirty Amestrians” and “Mom just cleaned!” and “stay away from here!” He spoke with the temper of an unruly drunk man and the language of someone two or three times his age, who had possibly just discovered the proper—or semi-proper—use of some coarse words.

It had been Kimblee’s squad who had led the way into that district and had been unamused by the kid’s bursts of energy and anger, Kimblee’s squad who had grabbed the child and dragged him across the desert to home base, where they presented him to the general. After that, it had been the rest of the battalion stationed there who had succumbed the kid to worse.

Roy hadn’t been there at the time, he was out on duty with Hughes, Hawkeye, and their company. So he had been pretty surprised to find an Ishvalan kid, no more than five, tied to a pole outside of the wash station. His shirt had been removed, god only knew for what reason, and he was left to roast out in the beating sun. He was covered in sand and saliva, having been kicked around and spat on, and no doubt at least a few of the less stable officers or soldiers had gotten a little physical with him, at least judging by the swollen lip.

Later that evening, following the declaration that “I didn’t sign onto the military to watch a little kid get kicked around for shits and giggles,” Roy dragged his sleep sack and a collection of rations he had collected from his, Hughes, and Hawkeye’s plates over to the kid. He fed and watered him, covered him with his sleep sack, and then sat out with him until he fell asleep.

The following evening, when he returned to camp, he found the kid mistreated even worse. His lip was split and he had a bloody nose, and he looked half-glazed over when Roy approached him.

Roy vowed then and there to get the kid out and back home. It didn’t matter that Roy was Amestrian, and it didn’t matter that this kid was Ishvalan. It didn’t matter that they were enemies. The kid, Ed he would later find out, was only a child who had been separated from his parents. And Roy, ever a bleeding heart, couldn’t stand by.

Two days later, he’d gotten attached to the kid and Ed, bless his little heart, had gotten attached to the murderer of his own people.

“Ed?”

Ed turned up at him, swinging his head around. His eyes were wide with curiosity; in the past two days, Ed had taken to listening to everything that Roy said sitting at the metaphorical edge of his seat.

Roy sighed and grabbed at the pack he’d dropped, unrolling his sleep sack. “Come tuck in, it’s late and we need to move early tomorrow.”

Ed frowned and looked to the sack, then he yawned and stretched his toes a little. “You tuck in too?”

“Ahhh, not yet. I’ll keep watch a little longer. You need a little more sleep than I do.”

Ed eyed him for a moment, then shrugged and crawled into the sleep sack. He squished himself against the very edge as he had done every night to let Roy in, then fell silent.

There was an explosion far in the distance. Roy couldn't see the wreckage of it, not even a flare of light in their little safe spot. But he could hear it, as well as the cries of a people who did not—did not—deserve what their own military was doing to them.

A spatter of gunfire had Ed wincing. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and block it out, but the noise flowed in all the same.

The more they ran, the closer it all seemed to get—all the fighting and screaming, all the shooting and dying. Even just before they found this safe spot, they had been chased out of one by an approaching Amestrian unit. It had been sheer dumb luck alone that allowed Ed to notice that something was off so they could get moving. If they had been even five minutes later, Roy could have been executed for treason (if some people had their way), and Ed for his skin.

Roy had only been so lucky to find this place and heft Ed through the window in time, then follow him through and press him back into the corner. Had only been so lucky that Roy’s dark uniform had blended into the darkness so well that when an Amestrian scout had done a quick cursory check, they had noticed nothing in the shadow.

They had been lucky so far, so it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

Roy could only hope that he could get Ed home before that happened.

The spatter of gunfire became Ed’s lullaby—had been Ed’s lullaby for the past two days if not since the start of the war. It didn’t do a very good job of putting him to sleep, but at least the past few nIghts, his fear had worn him out and put him to sleep eventually. Roy was pretty sure his paranoia was rubbing off on the kid, the way his eyes would dart from entryway to entryway, waiting for some bad person to spring through and kill them. The first night it had taken Ed two hours to fall asleep. The night before this, Roy had decided to try rubbing his back, and that time was cut in half. But they hadn’t been so close to the battlefield then, Roy hadn’t been able to hear the staccato of his heartbeat with each quick blast of an automatic.

The kid would never get to sleep. Roy certainly wouldn’t.

Quiet descended over them as Roy mentally willed Ed to rest, only broken by the occasional explosion or gun spatter of a raid continued.

“...Roy…?”

Roy sighed. He wasn’t a praying man (besides what Ed wanted him to try, and even then he had only mimicked the action), but still he prayed for Ed to find sleep so they could get moving early. Maybe rubbing his back again would help.

“What, Ed? You need to stay quiet, or they might catch us.” He didn’t specify which ‘they’ he meant, because he didn’t know. He feared either ‘they’, and he was fairly sure Ed was starting to, as well.

Ed sniffed and sat up, fiddling with the thin cloth. “...Roy, I’m afraid. We’re not making it home, are we? They’re so close.”

Roy’s eyes widened a little, startled by the very different response compared to that afternoon’s “we’ll be there soon, and they’ll help us!”

“The bad guns are gonna kill us ‘fore we get there, won’t they?” Ed said, watching him, then turned his head away as though he feared the response.

“...No,” Roy said softly, looking out to the desert sand. “No, they won’t. I told you I would get you home, and I will. I swear it.”

Ed looked back his way and shook his head.

“Yes. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to see your mom and your brother again, no matter what. Okay?”

“How do you know?”

“I… am an adult, and you need to trust adults who want what’s good for you. I’ll get you home, safe and sound. I swear it.”

Ed still seemed reluctant to believe him, watching him with huge eyes.

Roy sighed and reached for the sleep sack. He pulled it a little closer, plucked Ed right up out of it, and pulled him into his arms. “I swear I will. You just have to trust me.”

Ed sniffed unexpectedly, squeaking at the movement, then looked up to his companion. Roy hadn’t yet held him—not like this. Even when they had found a pile of Ishvalan bodies treated like trash, Roy had held him against his side, hand in his messy white hair.

Further to Ed’s surprise, when Ed calmed in his grip, Roy opened his mouth and started to sing.

Roy knew he was no singer, had been told by his sisters often enough. It was all he could think of to do, though, maybe to block out the sounds of the war on the other side of the wall.

The song was from his own native home. He had been born in Amestris and was a full-blooded, bled green and white blood Amestrian, but his mother had come directly from Xing. The song was a lullaby she had sung to him before her tragic passing when he was five. He didn’t know not a lick of Xingese, and couldn’t translate the song for the life of him, and yet, on nights when he couldn’t sleep—nightmares or otherwise—he would sing this song to himself and imagine her, and it would ease him into rest. It meant something else to Roy than it possibly could to Ed, but it had always helped Roy, and it was worth a shot.

The rumble of his voice actually soothed Ed’s fears, if only momentarily. Roy singing his Xingese song was nothing like Mom singing her Ishvalan song, but the soft baritone was gentle and put him at ease anyway. His worried thoughts hid away in the back of his mind as he leaned his head on Roy’s chest and listened to the hard beat of his heart. A small part of him, very small, wondered if this was what having a big brother felt like.

The cool night air and Roy’s soft words eventually soothed his racing thoughts and put him more at ease than he felt he had been in a long time.

When Roy finished singing, he looked to his little companion and smiled. He laid fast asleep against his chest, looking utterly serene. He slept on, even as the world was ravaged around him. If Ed could sleep against the body of a killer—well, maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought they were.

He didn’t want to disturb Ed, so he tugged open the sleep sack and slid inside, zipping it around them so they could share in its safety and warmth. He leaned his head on the ground and started stroking Ed’s back, singing the song again under his breath.

Roy had known from the very beginning being shipped out to Ishval would change him, this entire war would contort and misshape him in ways that could never be undone. He had known it from the moment he had donned his uniform. In a matter of months, no, just a week after being shipped out, he had become a monster, and had done horrible things that he would never be able to rid himself of.

Despite all of that, despite all of his mistakes, all of the misery and pain he had caused, something out there still allowed him to hold onto a child who put his entire trust in him, who knew he would keep him safe even though Ed was Ishvalan and Roy was tasked with killing every Ishvalan in sight. Ed could still sleep soundly on him and be put to sleep by Roy’s voice and Roy’s lullaby. Something out there still allowed him this small semblance of peace, this oasis in a twisted world filled with pain and death.

Roy closed his eyes and allowed the thought of his mother and her voice to send him drifting toward peaceful sleep.

He vowed to himself that he would see Ed returned home, safe and sound in his mother’s arms, whatever that meant would happen to him. If he could save just one person, just one child from misery, then he could begin to think that in the afterlife, if it even existed as Ed insisted, even he could be saved.

No, saving just one boy like Ed wouldn’t save him. It wouldn’t clear his head and heart of the horrors of this war. But, he figured, it was a step in the right direction.

All this wasn’t redemption, and he dared not wish that it could be.

“Alright, listen, some rules for my new possessions. Yes, you lot, who else is there?” He sighed as some of the group in front of him stopped craning their heads in search of the objects he had been addressing. “I don’t care who you were before or what kind of lives you lived. You’re mine now. This is your home, this is your life. No objections. Second, I don’t know what you eat, so one of you probably needs to make a grocery run.”

A new life. It made sense to pick a new name to with it; there would be no use in dragging something around that would only remind Dolcetto of something that was gone and over with. So when Greed asked his name, he lifted the word “Dolcetto” off of an alcohol bottle sitting on a counter, and didn’t look back.

And now here here was, on his third name. Tony Ramono. It would take some getting used to.

As an unspoken rule, all of them in Greed’s gang had never talked about the labs, except to joke. What else was there for them to do about it? It was laugh, or lose themselves dwelling on something they couldn’t change.

“At least the scientists gave us decent food,” one of them would complain, when it was Martel’s turn to cook dinner again.

Occasionally, there were bottomless promises of going back. They’d give twice what they’d gotten back to those scientists, those alchemists—the entire military, even. Mostly, it was Martel who did this. She never brought the notion up around Greed. They all knew the thought of taking on the government in retribution was ridiculous, a pipe-dream at best; Greed would have tried to pull it off.

Bido had liked to say that, since they’d hit rock bottom years ago, the only place they could go now was up. Right? Dolcetto used to laugh and chime in, “Yeah, nothin’ but good times ahead.”

Lies, all of it. Things could have most certainly become worse for them—and did, which Dolcetto knew all too well.

None of it had been worse than waking up and discovering all his friends had been killed.

The last thing he remembered was the facing off against that armor kid’s brother. It had been more of a challenge than he expected; the runt got a hit on him, and Dolcetto went flying back into the wall. He must have been knocked unconscious. Later, he was pulled awake by the scent of blood assaulting his nose. He bolted up, groaning at the pain the movement sent flooding through his head. The room around him was a wreck, with holes broken through the walls, and it had been abandoned.

When Dolcetto ventured out, following the smell, he found them. Roa. Ulchi. Martel. He might forget the sight, but the smell of their death would haunt him forever.

There were still soldiers up above their hideout. He could hear them—discussing the raid, complaining about having to gather all the dead up and burn the bodies.

Dolcetto wanted to attack them, kill them, desperately wanted to seek revenge for his friends, but he was in no condition for that. He could barely walk without emptying his stomach from the pain in his head and the stench. The gash on his head was still bleeding, adding more blood to what covered the left side of his face.

So he fled. “Like a dog with your tail between your legs,” he almost heard Martel taunt. He abandoned his friends’ bodies and ran and hid like the coward he was.

The East had its perks.

It was sheep country, mainly, and of little interest to the higher machinations of the government and military. It’s quiet hills and villages made for a good place to lay low and stay over-looked.

When Tony Ramono, an immigrant from Aerugo, moved into a small town, there was only a small stir of attention from the people of the town. He was a newcomer, which made him interesting, but there was no suspicion or danger in their gazes.

Dolcetto found work easily enough. It was shearing season, and help was in high demand. He took odd jobs, here and there, and then a position watching one farmer’s flock.

A shepherd. If Greed and the others could have seen him, they would have never let him live that down. While he was in the hills, he imagined all the ribbing they would have given him—Martel very seriously asking if he had sheep dogs in his heritage, Greed grinning and shooting off herding commands to him. They would have been unbearable and irritating, and Dolcetto would have given anything to hear them tease him.

He tried not to think about that. He focused on his job, on his day to day life. And he liked the job well enough, and there were surely worse towns he could have chosen to live in. So Dolcetto kept his head down, did his job, and got by. He wasn’t sure what else he intended to do besides that—getting by, surviving. What was there for him to do? Of course, there was the option of seeking revenge  on the military for the raid at the Devil’s Nest. He could find the ones who killed his friends. He certainly wouldn’t live to enjoy that satisfaction, but it would mean something for his loyalty, to go out in a blaze of vengeance like that.

When he thought about that, Dolcetto was never sure whether he was actually considering that possibility or not.

On the way home one day, making his way through the crowd of the market, his nose caught a whiff of something.  It’s familiar. A scent he knows, but...it’s distorted, somehow. Mingled with the scent of someone else—someone unfamiliar—so that it was almost covered up. Dolcetto must have been crazy, and yet—and yet, it almost reminded him of…

He couldn’t help himself. He veered off hi path, following his nose. It lead him further into the market, down another street, and out the other end of an alleyway. A man in a long dark coat stood with his back to Dolcetto, and it was from him that the scent came.

Dolcetto hesitated. The man certainly didn’t look like him. He was tall, slender, and wore his long hair pulled up in a ponytail.

Cautiously, he took a step towards the stranger.

Before he could take another, the stranger had stiffened and then turned around to face him. His eyes met Dolcetto’s—and narrowed.

Dolcgetto didn’t see the stranger move, only felt the push of a hand against his collar, and the pain of hitting the hard stone wall when he was shoved back into the alley he had just stepped out of. He sucked in a choked gasp.

The stranger’s hand gripped the fabric of his shirt at the neck, and growled at him, “What are you doing here? You think this is funny, Envy? You think you can get to me?”

Dolcetto raised his hands and tugged at the man’s arm, in an attempt to free himself. “Wha—“

“Well, it won’t work!” the man hissed. “I’ll kill you myself. I’ll crush your Stone under my shoe, and then we’ll see how you like that.”

“Not Envy!” Dolcetto gasped out. “I’m not a homunculous!”

He knew about the Homunculi. Greed had explained to all of them about his “siblings” and Father, in case any of them ever would have come looking for trouble.

The hand suddenly released Dolcetto, and the man took a step back. He stared at Dolcetto for a long moment.

Then, he spoke again. “Dolcetto?”

The man knew his name. The man knew Dolcetto’s name, knew about homunculi, wore Greed’s scent…. Dolcetto stared at him, bewildered.

The man shook his head and let out a laugh. “What are you doing here?” he repeated himself from earlier, in a very different tone. A disbelieving smile slipped across his face. “You...you chimeras are a real pesky bunch, you know. I can’t do anything to get rid of you.”

Dolcetto thought, distantly, through the fog of disbelief, that it almost sounded like the man was fighting tears. The man continued to talk, but Dolcetto couldn’t hear what the man was saying. He was caught staring at the strange face wearing a familiar grin.

“Greed?” he asked hoarsely.

Greed laughed again. “Who else, genius?”

A concerned look passed over his face when Dolcetto continued gaping at him. “Hey, you okay?”

“How? You’re not...but...you are? Uhh?”

“Huh?”

“Not dead?” Dolcetto managed.

“Oh. Ha, as if I’d let those pissants keep me down. This is the new and improved Greed!”

His thoughts tumbled in his head, as Dolcetto tried to fight this new reality with his memories of the death in the Devil’s Nest. They’d been dead. He’d smelled the death and blood—but here was Greed, well and alive and in a new body, somehow, but alive nevertheless. Could the others…. No. He’d seen their bodies. (Not Greed’s body, though, Dolcetto realized with a start.)

Greed said something. Still lost in his thoughts, Dolcetto didn’t catch it, and he startled when Greed turned around and started walking away, back to the street.

Dolcetto stared dumbly after him.

Over his shoulder, still walking, Greed called, “You coming?”

Dolcetto trailed after, as Greed lead him through town, to a small hovel of a hotel at the edge of the buildings. It wasn’t the sort of place he would have expected Greed to willingly stay in.

Inside, he was brought to a room with two other people. Even before Greed introduced them as chimeras, Dolcetto knew what they were. They had that animal smell about them.

“So here’s the new member of my group. You’re all chimeras, so you should get along, right?”

Dolcetto folded his arms and eyed the two, who did the same to him. “Dolcetto,” he said, inclining his head a little in introduction.”

“Heinkel.”

“Darius.”

“Great,” Greed said, “we’re all friends. Hey, where’d that kid go?”

Before either Darius or Heinkel could answer, the door to the room swung open. Dolcetto spun around, half reaching for the swords he still expected to find on his back. In the doorway stood a young with bright gold hair, who Dolcetto easily recognized.

“You,” he exclaimed, and then realized that Whashisname Elric (Al? Alfred?) had said the same thing.

“You’re one of those jerks who kidnapped Al!” the kid all but shouted, glaring at him

(So Al wasn’t his name.)

“You mean that armor kid?” Dolcetto asked, glancing at Greed. Greed was no help; he was trying to get past the two chimeras who were blocking the phone, arguing about ordering room service. “What are you even doing here?”

“Me? What are you doing here?

Dolcetto cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I...don’t even know.” He looked back up to find himself under the scrutinizing gaze of Elric’s disconcertingly golden eyes.

“I thought you were...” the kid trailed off.

“Listen, I’ll explain what’s happened to me, if you tell me what in Amestris is going on here,” Dolcetto offered, desperately wanting to understand. He cursed again. “I don’t even know how Greed is still alive.”

The Elric kid let out a short, half-hearted laugh. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

Between discovering Greed was alive, learning that soon the entire country would have their souls sucked from them through a giant alchemic transmutation, and the general way his life had been turned upside down in the last two hours, Dolcetto thought he was handling things well.

“Hey, don’t go passing out! If you fall, I’m not rushing over to catch you.”

“I’m fine,” Dolcetto mumbled. “Just...need a second.”

He lifted himself from where he was bent over, hands on his knees, to peer up at the Elric-Fullmetal-whateverhisname kid. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Elric shrugged. “You should meet Ling, but that’ll have to wait until you’re not gonna faint from shock.”

Dolcetto tried not to be worried about who this “Ling” character might be. He shook his head. “Okay. Whatever.”

He reached for the bottle Greed had ordered after he won the argument for room service, and poured himself a glass. He offered Elric one as well, but the kid shook his head.

“So...you really think this will work? Taking on Father and his cronies?”

Sighing, Elric said, “Look. I know Greed’s just taken it for granted that you’re going to join us…. But, you really don’t have to stick around. This is going to be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done—and that says something. And…no, I don’t even know if it will work. I don’t know.”

The kid was speaking around it, like he was afraid to say the words out loud, but Dolcetto could hear what he meant clearly. We’re probably all going to die.

He considered for a moment. His eyes wandered around the room, falling on Greed where he still stood arguing with the other two chimeras. “No, I’m in,” he said.