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It’s early in the morning. He knows this because the sun is beginning to rise, peeking through the trees. The birds are starting to wake up, a too cheerful song being carolled around him. The dewdrops soak into his clothes, the brisk morning air biting at his skin.
It would have been pleasant if it weren’t for the fact that he was currently handcuffed.
Oh, and also the fact that Colonel Roy Mustang was lying in a heaped mess a few feet away from him. Seemingly unmoving. Worryingly still.
So yeah, this wasn’t the best morning Edward had woken up to.
If you were to ask him what had happened, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Just that they were following a close trail, some bandits- or whatever- that they had almost captured. Then there was an ambush and now Ed was handcuffed, wrists wrapped tight and then bound to a tree. The cloth wrapping around the trunk was attached to the ball of knotted rags that tied his hands together. Plus, Mustang was face down, crumpled in on himself and Ed was a little too far away to note down any injuries.
The bandit’s plan was probably to leave them there and hope they die one way or another. Ed hoped they weren’t coming back to get them because that would just throw another round of unnecessary problems his way. Problems he really did not need right now.
“Mustang?” He attempts to call out. Test the waters to see if the bastard would respond.
Nothing.
So, he was going to have to do this the hard way.
The good thing was, Ed wasn’t badly injured. He felt a slight swelling on the left side on his temple, probably bruising from a direct hit. Apart from that, nothing too serious. Luckily, the bandits probably assumed he wasn’t much of a threat. He loved it when he could prove people wrong, that he was something far more capable than a child.
He stands, the tree rough against him. When he tugs his arms away from it, the cloth digs into the bark. He’s hoping with more movement, like pulling backwards and forwards as if using a saw, he will be able to tear into the fabric. The actual metal handcuffs are only around his wrists, he can easily deal with them. It looked as if all they had left was some scrap cloth, an attempt to separate his palms and fingers. They obviously were smart enough to try and stop him from doing alchemy as soon as he woke up.
The motion is easy enough, his arms aren’t bound themselves so he can pull one back as the other moves forward. The handcuffs give just enough room to allow him to create a small rhythm. He repeats the action, and it seems to drag on for minutes, until eventually, the rags snap and he’s tumbling backwards. He lands on the grass, breathing heavily and takes a moment to gather himself. Then, he starts working on getting the rest of the cloth off of him.
After another few minutes of struggling, the cloth now discarded, he can finally make his way over to Mustang. On his way over, he stops by a decently sized rock and slams the handcuffs into them. As suspected, they aren’t anything fancy, the metal splintering easily, a few shards digging into his skin. He hisses at the stinging pain, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle, and- even better- he was no longer bound by handcuffs.
He stills as he gets close to Mustang, hesitant to reach out and turn him over. Afraid of what he might see.
I can’t lose anyone else.
Then, with a deep intake of breath, he hauls Mustang over so he is now lying on his back. There’s a grunt- which is a good sign. A sign that he’s still alive. Once he’s done that, he can assess any injuries, see if Mustang was let off just as easy as he was-
Holy shit. That’s a lot of blood.
His mind had been too occupied moments before. The fear of death and being stranded who-knows-where filling his thoughts. He hadn’t seen the grass, usually green, stained a deep crimson. How long had he been bleeding out for- how much blood could a person loose before it was fatal- shit. Shit.
Across Mustang’s lower abdomen was a large gash. It was deep, weeping blood with every pulse. Alive, at least. (Alive, for now.) He presses his fingers against it, feels the rush of warmth around his skin. Sluggish and slow and thick. Mustang whines, low and broken but doesn’t do anything more than that. Eyes pressed closed; his skin paler than usual.
Ed had to do something.
The adrenaline- the fear- spurred him on as he shrugged of his red coat. That alone wasn’t going to be able to stop the bleeding, the cut was long and wide. Looks like a quick swipe, probably a lucky hit. Just enough to leave Mustang vulnerable, allowing him to be knocked out. A hope that he would bleed out onto the floor. Stain the flowers red.
His mind, jumping from one thing to another, briefly flits to a book he read growing up. About biology, about medical alchemy. Now- Edward wasn’t a medical professional by no means, he had absolutely no expertise. But it was seemingly the only thing he could try right now to close the wound. He had nothing to use for stitches and was worried his coat as a simple bandage wouldn’t be enough.
Closing his eyes for just a moment, he imagines the pages. Searches the diagrams so he’s got a small idea on what to do. It’s certainly not a lot but it’s something.
Then, steadying his hands, he presses roughly against the wound. Mutters a not-so-apologetic sorry before reaching into the depths of his mind, feeling the energy circulate through his palms. Skin is tearing, mending itself slowly. Cells ripped apart and haphazardly put back together again. He hopes that Mustang doesn’t wake for this, that he’s too far gone to feel any of this happening. He can’t imagine this feels pleasant.
However, Mustang yells, screams, and his eyes fly open and he’s instantly trying to find purchase in pushing himself up against the grass.
“Hey. Hey. Stop it,” Edward orders, pushing down harder. Mustang looks over to him, eyes clouded with pain and confusion. “Stay still.”
He feels the skin tighten beneath his fingertips. Feels the wetness of his blood. Mustang gasps, falls back against the ground, and twists a clenched fist into the blades of grass.
“Fullmetal- what are you-”
“I’m saving your life,” he responds through gritted teeth, “shut up and let me focus.”
It takes much longer than he anticipated. Mustang obliges, doesn’t say much but he’s too focused on not screaming as Edward prods away at his open wound. Each breath is shaky, weak. It shudders in his chest with every gasp. Eventually the wound is small enough, there’s still a cut, a small trickle of blood but Edward would rather have that then the monstrous wound from before. He doesn’t bother tearing away any of Mustangs shirt, just presses his coat against it and ties it around his body haphazardly. Mustang hisses, laboured breaths, his body twitches.
“Okay I think that’s fine. For now.” Edward speaks, steps away as he admires his handiwork. Again, it wasn’t the best, but it was something.
“What happened?” Mustang croaks weakly. He tries to push himself up again, so he’s sitting instead of lying down.
Edward doesn’t allow him to, he crouches down and presses a hand to Mustang's chest, “not the best idea to be moving right now. We were ambushed, I think. You were hurt pretty badly but I managed to whip up some alchemy to at least stop the bleeding for now.”
“Alchemy? Since when did you do medical alchemy?”
“I don’t. But I think I just saved your sorry ass so maybe I’m not too bad at it.”
Mustang wheezes out a laugh before his eyes flutter closed, “alright, I suppose I need to thank you or something.”
“What you need to do is stay awake. You lost a lot of blood.”
“Mhm,” Mustang hums but his eyes don’t open. “Just give me a minute.”
“No, no minutes are being given. Open your eyes and stay awake. We need to figure out where we are and I’m not about to carry you all the way back.”
“Where are we?”
“Didn’t you just hear me?” Edward sighs, “I have no idea.”
Surveying the surroundings, it all looks painfully similar. Trees and trees, some grass, foliage, even more trees, a couple rocks, more goddamn trees. He couldn’t even tell which way they came from and which way the bandits left. Not ideal when it comes to finding their way back. He just has to hope that someone else is looking for them. A last little sliver of luck that would be really useful to them right now.
“My gun,” Mustang’s words break through his thoughts.
Edward frowns, “what about your gun?”
“Take it and shoot it up into the sky. Or do alchemy and make a tall structure,” his voice trails off but its enough.
“Cause a commotion. A signal.” Edward finishes. “I can do that.”
The gun is cold and unfamiliar in his hands, but he knows how to use one. A last case scenario, though he hopes he doesn’t have to resort to it when in fights. Right now, though, he can use it. Aiming it up at the leaves, a deafening bang rings out as a bullet pushes past the foliage, rustles against it, then whistles through the air. He does this three times; he hopes its enough.
He turns to look at Mustang, eyes shut and body still. He sits down next to him, studies the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Watches it closely, monitors it carefully. He does that for a while. Until he perks up at the sound of voices. Branches being snapped and leaves crunching under heavy footsteps.
Then he sees a familiar blue through the trees. Navy coats and black boots. The last attempt at rescue by using the gun must’ve worked. A miracle.
Edward stands, cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “we’re over here!”