Chapter Text
The first thing he registers is the sound.
Ed remembered when he first heard a gunshot. He and Al had been in Dublith at the time, with teacher. Ed had gone off to grab something from the store then. He knew that Dublith wasn’t the safest area around, but he felt protected by Teacher and Sig, so he never worried. He’d just been walking down the street when he heard the resounding bang from his left.
It made him flinch. Hard. It ripped through the air and pierced his ears, filling the street with the sound. Dublith had more crime than some of the other areas, so in hindsight it made sense. The shot rang out from the store across the street, and the man with the gun shoved open the door, bolting down the alleyway as police chased him.
Ed could only watch as they left. He felt a pit in his stomach form. The shot was so close to him. He didn’t realize then how vulnerable he really was. If that man shot him, he’d have been dead. He shook off the thought and forced himself forward like everyone else on the street was doing then. He didn’t really know what else to do.
The second thing was the blood.
There’s always so much more than you think. Obviously there’s gonna be a little bit, when someone gets shot, the blood splatters out into the air, falling down in slow motion as your brain struggles to catch up with the fact that you literally saw someone get hurt like that. When they fall, the blood begins to pool around, staining their skin, their clothes, the floor, everything.
You get changed by that sort of thing, Ed realized later. Another small, hopeful part of you, dies in your chest as another bit of innocence - another bit of protection and ignorance - gets stripped away from you.
The third thing, and possibly the worst thing, was the fact that it was Mustang.
Ed wouldn’t deny he cared about whether the guy lived or died. That was basic human decency, people deserve to die when it’s their time, not before. Plus he was helping them towards their goals. However, the choked gasp that came from his throat wouldn’t have came up as easy if it was a stranger. The way he fell to his knees to put pressure on the wound would’ve been a lot less clunky and panicked if it wasn’t his superior on the ground, eyes wide as he began to register that he’d been shot.
The guy they’d been tailing was fast, but they were faster. Regardless of Ed’s opinions on the military-centric country that was Amestris, he was not about to let a terrorist targeting innocents to get away. The man was an alchemist, but he couldn’t do his alchemy easily on his feet. His circles were large and complex, it took too much time. That’s why it was supposed to be an easy mission. Any weapons would be obsolete against Mustangs fire and Ed’s quick transmutations, plus Alphonse and the rest of the team trying to corner him and herd him into a corner from afar.
Ed got cocky. He was so close, he didn’t even realize the man had a gun until it was pointed at his chest. Then Mustang pushed him out of the way.
The bullet hit hard. It knocked him off his feet, the terrorist forgotten as he ran off wherever. Ed didn’t care about that. He cared about the shot in Mustangs abdomen, bleeding out slow and sure. He ignored how his hands were shaking, pulling off his red coat and shoving it down on the wound, yelling for Alphonse, Hawkeye, anyone. He ignored how the darker stains of red began to soak through the fabric, seeping into his hands as Mustang coughed hard, his hands trying to feel for the wound.
Ed pushed away his hands, heart pounding in his ears and tears beginning to pool at his eyes as he begged, “Please don’t fall asleep, please don’t fall asleep, please-”
Mustang was trying to say something but Ed couldn’t hear him. He weakly reached up for Ed’s shoulder, grasping it with shocking strength for a man who was literally bleeding out, causing Ed to focus on the man himself.
“Hey hey - fuck ow - Fullmetal listen-” Mustang struggled to speak, gritting his teeth through the pain.
“Bastard save your strength.” Ed bit back, shoving Mustang’s arm down and putting pressure on the wound even harder, trying not to think about the sickly warm blood pooling around his hands.
“Listen kid - hgh owow shit - listen… I want you to know this.” Mustang spoke shakily, every breath he’d take shuddering and hissing out.
“You can tell me when you fucking survive this.” Ed retorted, the tears running freely now. Fuck that bastard better not make fun of him for that later. Assuming he survived.
“Don’t make me … order you to listen.” Mustang coughed out.
“Of course you’d be ordering me to do something at a time like this.” Ed muttered under his breath, looking around frantically for Hawkeye and Al, spotting them running towards him, followed by paramedics.
“Edward.” Mustang grit out with all his strength, grabbing his wrist where it was putting pressure on the wound tightly. Ed looked back down at him, uncaring of how open and childish his expression might’ve looked to the man as tears rolled down his face. Mustang gave a weak smirk and said, “I’m proud of you… okay? So - augh - you can’t … blame yourself…”
The hand on his wrist went slack.
“No. No, no, no, nonononono- you can’t sleep goddamnit wake up-”
Hawkeye took ahold of Mustang, helping the paramedics as Al dragged him off of Mustang, pulling him on despite how he was crying and grabbing Mustangs hands, crying out desperately for him to not fucking die.
Time blurred by as he sat leaning on Al, his throat worn out by how much he was crying and begging. His breaths came in short gasps as he leaned on Al’s armor, trying not to freak out and staring at his hands, and the blood that covered them. The paramedics had driven off with Mustang in an ambulance, with Hawkeye inside, and they were getting Ed and Al there by a separate car. They had tried to check Ed for injuries, but he batted them away.
A few scrapes and bruises had nothing on a bullet.
He wanted to wipe the tears and shit from his face but his hands were still covered in blood. So he just sat there, his face a mess, his hair loose from its normal braid, and his hands stained a dark red. He reoriented himself as Al stood, seeing the car that Hawkeye sent headed their way. Ed paid him no mind. He was too busy looking at his flesh hand, unable to take his eyes off of the slowly drying blood.
That was close. Too close.
Mustang could have almost died. If they hadn’t had any backup, he wouldn’t have been able to get an ambulance. If he hadn’t been so stupid, Mustang wouldn’t be bleeding out on his behalf. This was more than a mistake. He practically shot Mustang himself, Ed thought bitterly.
Al’s metal hand landed on his shoulder, and Ed forced himself to look up. The armor gave what could only be described as a everything-isn’t-okay-but-I-have-to-keep-it-together look - for a suit of armor, he was highly expressive - and Ed couldn’t help but feel even more guilty. He was supposed to be keeping it together and helping Al, not the other way around. But instead of voicing this, he silently wiped the blood off on his already stained pants and trudged to the car, keeping his head down as Al climbed in and the drive to the hospital began.
Ed leaned back on Alphonse again, trying to avoid looking at his hands as they drove along. Alphonse seemed a bit surprised by this, but took his automail hand in reassurance. Ed wasn’t really a touchy-feely person in general, so the rare moment probably caught him a little off guard.
Ed spoke softly, “He’s not going to die.” He ignored the nagging voice in his mind, telling him he was reassuring himself more than his brother.
“He’ll be okay.” Alphonse agreed, his armored head tilting to look down at him. Ed didn’t meet his gaze.
“You both will be.” Al added firmly.
“I’m fine Al.” I’m not the one who got shot.
“You’re not. And you know it.”
Ed decided not to respond to that.
Al sighed, the metallic echo heavier with sadness in his voice as he whispered, “You don’t have to hide that you’re scared. I want to help Ed.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to do.” Ed said, sitting up fully and giving a tired smile to his brother. “I’ve got you, okay? And I’ve got me too. I’m your older brother, it’s my job to take care of you.”
“You say that, but…” Alphonse held his stare with Ed, “… I think we both know it’s not entirely true.”
Ed held his gaze for a bit longer, before his eyes darted away to the window, letting out a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight with you right now. Let’s talk about this later, ‘kay?”
Alphonse thankfully didn’t push the subject - though he wouldn’t stop glancing at Ed, as if he wanted to argue further - as the car pulled up to the hospital. Ed opened the door and looked at the tall building looming over him. He hated how small he felt in the shadow of the big building.
Maybe if he didn’t go in, time wouldn’t pass. Maybe it would be a still image inside that hospital building, unchanging from the world around it. And Mustang would be put in stasis. It was better than him leaving. Being dead.
Ed shook the thought off quickly. He was being illogical. Mustang was going to be fine.
He just had to be.
Alphonse stepped beside him, glancing at him. Ed grit his teeth and forced himself forward. No use standing out in the cold for nothing.
Ed walked in the hospital, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. He showed his pocket watch to the nurse, keeping his voice level and unshaken as he asked for where Mustang’s room was. He ignored the look of pity she sent him as he and Alphonse went towards the elevator.
Ed let out a sigh as he stepped on the elevator, slumping against the wall. Alphonse asked him, “Are you gonna be okay seeing him, brother?”
“I’ll be fine. I just want to see the stupid bastard alive.” Ed grumbled out, attempting again to look not too concerned.
“If you’re not, just say so.” Alphonse replied quietly. He looked hesitant before saying, “I hope he’s alive. There was so much blood…”
Edward thankfully had a way out of that conversation when the elevator doors opened again, striding out quickly and towards the waiting room, where Mustang’s team were all waiting. Havoc and Breda were talking in low voices, Falman was staring into space and Furey was fidgeting nervously with his uniform. Hawkeye stood up and walked over to meet them, looking over them both with a critical eye.
“He’s in surgery now.” She told them, “The gunshot hit his abdomen. He was lucky. It didn’t hit any important abdominal structures or organs, so the internal damage is minor. They’ve gone into surgery to get the bullet out and to patch him up.”
“That’s good! That means he’ll be okay, right?” Alphonse asked.
“Yes.” Hawkeye said, giving him a reassuring smile. “The military doctoral personnel have done this a million times before. There’s no reason that his overall health should be compromised.”
Ed stayed silent, only really half paying attention. He looked down the hall of doors, wondering which door Mustang was in. It took a lot of restraint to stop himself from ripping open each one to see him for himself, to be absolutely, one hundred percent certain, he was actually okay. The thought of not knowing, having to rely on someone else telling him instead of just seeing the bastard up and being his annoying, stupid self was… scary.
Hawkeye caught his attention by touching his shoulder, making eye contact. “Your hands Edward.” She prompted. “Let’s go wash them off, okay?”
Ed looked down at his hands, smeared red with dried blood. His expression darkened.
It was his fault. He shouldn’t be comforted, let alone helped.
But he knew that saying that would only serve to upset Al and Hawkeye. So he tentatively nodded, letting her lead him towards the restroom in a daze. His fake confidence and cool indifference was beginning to wear down, whether he liked it or not. So he opted to just be in a numb state, letting himself float in and out of his thoughts.
Cool water washed over his hands. He watched as the water went from clear to a tinted red, the grime washing away. He felt unfocused. Uncomfortable. He walked out of the restroom, seeing Hawkeye waiting for him.
“Edward.” She spoke softly, so as not to alert Alphonse or the men close by down the hall. “I wanted you to know. It wasn’t your fault.”
Ed tensed at that.
“Though, I imagine you need to hear that from him more than me.” She continued, her gaze lingering on him, waiting for him to speak.
He did not. He walked back towards Alphonse.