Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been 912 days since the Fullmetal Alchemist went missing. 

The case had gone cold around day 478, however that didn’t stop Roy Mustang and his team from continuing their search. They tried to keep the ongoing investigation quiet, but everyone knew why they weren’t getting as much done as they used to. Everyone knew why Maes Hughes visited Eastern Command at least once a week. Everyone knew better than to question the additional constant presence of a young boy clad in armor. 

Some voiced their displeasure with the matter, making scathing remarks about how the team was “wasting time and resources on a lost cause.” A few offered support and assistance in finding the boy. The rest just watched Roy’s frayed team search with pity. 

The Fuhrer was aware of their continued investigation, and surprisingly approved. In his words, “The Fullmetal Alchemist is a valuable asset. It would be wasteful not to search for him.” Roy had barely kept himself from snapping back that Edward was a child , not an “asset,” not some tool for the military to use and dispose of. Riza had luckily made a hasty excuse for them to leave the conversation before Roy could light the man up. 

Day 912 started off like every other day before it, with Roy walking into his office sporting designer eyebags and downing a cup of coffee. It was scalding, but he ignored how it burned his tongue, determined not to waste any time today. He had some paperwork to finish before he could follow up on their current “lead” if it could even be called that. It was almost guaranteed to be another dead end, but they had to look into it regardless. 

Roy had been informed that Alphonse was staying with the Hughes family in Central for the moment. Maes was their best bet at finding any sort of leads, and was better at comforting the boy then any of the rest of them were. Roy had watched Al bounce back and forth from different homes throughout the two and a half years, unable to stay in one place while his brother was missing. He’d stayed at the Rockbell’s, the Curtis’s, and even Roy’s place for a short time. Everyone was trying to support Al as best as they could, but how could you comfort a boy who truly had nothing? No family, no home, no body. All the boy had left was the sliver of hope that his older brother was out there somewhere, because if he was dead, he would’ve taken Alphonse with him. 

It was a relief to know that as long as the blood seal on his brother’s armor continued to function, that meant Edward was still alive. A small relief, however, because Roy knew better than most that there were many things worse than death. 

When the phone rang around noon, he was expecting Maes’ tired, apologetic tone as he reported that there were no new leads. However, today was different. 

“Hey Roy, I hate to bother you with this but I need your help.”

As Roy headed up to Maes’ office, he found himself irritated. He’d been dragged all the way up to Central to track down some serial killer targeting the military. This was an important issue of course, but it was more time he wouldn’t be able to spend searching for Ed. He didn’t understand why they’d needed him specifically; surely they had enough men in Central for one murderer? 

“They’re an alchemist,” Maes explained. 

“You don’t have a single alchemist stationed here who could deal with this? What about Major Armstrong?” 

“He’s on an assignment in Dublith, and you were the closest one available,” he shrugged apologetically. “I tried to get them to assign someone else but some of the higher ups are unhappy with your ‘recent lack of productivity.’”

Roy scowled, irritated but not surprised. He wasn’t exactly popular within the military; not even the approval of the Fuhrer could change that. If anything, it likely tanked his popularity even further.

“I’m sure they’d be just as productive if they lost one of their men,” he grumbled.

Maes’ expression twisted. 

“We’re gonna find him, Roy,” he said gently.

“I know,” Roy replied, because they had to , there was no other alternative, “but what kind of state do you think we’ll find him in?”

To that, Maes had no answer. 

A small team accompanied Roy and Maes to the location of a man that the killer, who had been dubbed “The Phantom” was thought likely to strike next. He thought the name was pretty over the top, but he supposed it was accurate enough considering no one had ever seen more than a glimpse of this mysterious murderer. They had small teams with each of The Phantom’s potential next targets, Roy’s group being with the man considered most likely to be next on the chopping block due to the killer’s current killing pattern. 

Roy was hoping they found this person quickly so he could get this over with and get back to Eastern Command. He was getting impatient waiting around the corner for The Phantom to arrive.

“How do we know they’re even gonna show?” Roy whispered to Maes, who was leaning next to him against the side of the brick building.

“We don’t know for sure, but I have a feeling they will.” 

Roy gritted his teeth, fighting to keep himself from snapping at his friend. It wasn’t Maes’ fault he’d been dragged all the way to Central to hide in the shadows, hoping a killer would arrive. 

“Does the officer know he’s essentially being used as bait?” 

Maes frowned. “Yes. We have no intention of letting him get hurt, but he knows the risks. With you and our snipers, I’m sure we can apprehend The Phantom before they do too much damage.” 

“How will we know if it’s them? No one has even seen what this person looks like.”

“Trust me, you’ll know.”

As always, Maes was right. When a figure clad in black appeared so silently in front of their soldier that it sent a chill through his body, Roy knew it was their guy. He shot a ring of fire around The Phantom’s feet before they could get any closer, and stepped into the light.

“Put your hands up or we will open fire!” he shouted.

The figure’s shoulders moved as if they were sighing in exasperation. They placed their hands in the air, one gloved, the other steel, and turned. 

Nothing could have ever prepared Roy for the moment he saw the killer’s face. There was a black mask covering his mouth and nose, but his golden eyes were unmistakable. He froze on the spot, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. There was a moment that he doubted, thinking that maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, until he took in the gleaming metal arm, and the long, dirty hair with hints of golden-blonde peeking underneath the grime. His heart stuttered in his chest, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

“Ed?” He whispered the nickname like a prayer, pleading to every deity imaginable that the sunken eyed killer before him wasn’t the boy he’d lost, but knowing the truth. 

The boy’s reply somehow managed to cut deeper than anything else.

“Who the hell is Ed?”  

Chapter Text

Subject E14 had been hoping to get his assignment done in a timely manner today, but things didn’t typically work out as he planned.

He had been attempting to carry out a rather routine assasination mission when he’d been accosted by none other than the Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang. He hadn’t been particularly perturbed by this; he was another target after all. If he did his job well, he could kill two birds with one stone. Or in this case, two soldiers with one metal arm. E14 hadn’t been ordered to kill the Flame Alchemist today, but if he managed to take him and his original target out, he was sure his handler would be pleased. However the Colonel was known for being a skilled alchemist and brutal fighter, so he wouldn’t go down easily. But E14 had never failed a mission before, and he wasn’t about to start now. If Mustang was going to hinder him from killing his target, he’d have to be eliminated.

E14 had been thinking this and coming up with a plan of action as he slowly turned around, but his plotting was halted by the man’s expression when their eyes met. All the color drained from the Flame Alchemist’s face, and his jaw had gone lax. Before he could begin to speculate what evoked this reaction, the man had quietly muttered-

“Ed?”

The assassin furrowed his brow, wondering if the Colonel was attempting to pull some kind of trick on him.

“Who the hell is Ed?” he asked gruffly, tensing in preparation for an attack.

The Flame Alchemist looked crestfallen at his reply, leaving E14 even more confused. This had to be a ploy to catch him off guard. It didn't matter though; E14 never let his guard down. It seemed there was a chance that Mustang had, however, since the flames encircling him had vanished. E14 took the opportunity to clap his hands, forming his right arm into a blade. The sound of bullets reached his ears as he lunged forward; it seemed the Colonel hadn’t been lying about the whole “we will open fire” thing.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” he bellowed, and the bullets ceased.

The younger alchemist heard rapid footsteps, and when he whipped his head around, his initial target was gone. He gritted his teeth, this annoying bastard was ruining his mission. He’d have to deal with the man quickly and pursue the soldier afterward. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long; his handler wasn’t known for his patience. However, as long as he completed his original mission in a somewhat timely manner, he was confident he would avoid punishment.

“Edward, it’s me, it’s Mustang,” the Colonel said with his hands up in a placating manner, as if he was talking to a wild animal.

E14 closed the gap between them, his blade clanging on the concrete. The man had dodged at the last second, causing him to miss. The assassin raised his hands to clap, when Mustang grabbed his forearms.

“Ed, talk to me, what’s going on?” the Colonel pleaded.

He struggled to wrestle himself from the man’s iron grip, instead deciding to sweep his legs out from under him with a swift kick, landing him on top of the Flame Alchemist.

“I’m. not. Edward.” he answered through gritted teeth, “I don’t know who that is.”

Mustang rolled over so that E14 was the one on the ground, pinned down by his arms.

“It’s you,” he cried, “I don’t know what happened to you, but you have to snap out of it.”

E14 was getting the feeling that this wasn’t some charade; the alchemist truly believed him to be someone named Edward. Regardless of what was happening, he was sick of it. A metal leg to the stomach loosened the Colonel’s grip, allowing E14 to scamper back onto his feet. Without a second thought, he plunged his blade into Mustang's gut, causing him to cry out. E14 had been aiming for the chest, but clearly today wasn’t his day. At least he’d gotten the blade in somewhere.

Mustang stumbled as E14 unceremoniously yanked it out, wiping the blood on his pant leg. Considering the alchemist had just been stabbed, he wasn’t expecting the man to tackle him to the ground so swiftly. E14’s head slammed into the concrete, causing stars to burst in his vision. As a blurry face looked down at him with a mix of fear and desperation, something strange happened. The same face flashed in his mind, but in this image he was smiling. E14 shook himself, focusing back on the person in front of him, disturbed by what he had seen. Had it been his imagination or a memory?

It couldn’t be the latter. He was sure he’d never met the Colonel until today. Why would he have a memory of the man smiling? The assassin tried to convince himself of this, but a seed of doubt had been planted in his mind. E14 had no past, no family, and no memories to speak of. He’d never seen anything like that before, and as much as he hated to admit it, it had shaken him.

He tried to continue fighting Mustang, but he had been thrown off kilter. The man was almost completely on the defensive, but E14 still wasn’t winning. He had this strange, powerful feeling that he knew Mustang, which didn’t make any sense. None of this did, not the picture in his head, the weird things the man was saying, or the way he was clearly doing his best not to hurt E14. He tried to shove these thoughts down and focus. At this point it was clear his best course of action would be to flee the scene. He would melt into the shadows and recuperate, then go after his target again. E14 would definitely be punished for taking so long, but not nearly as much as he would be for failing his objective. With this thought in mind, he wriggled out of the Colonel’s grip and ran.

With a yell and a snap, a wall of flames erupted in his path, cornering him. The assassin groaned in frustration.

“If you’re not Ed, who are you?” Mustang asked in a measured tone, clutching his bleeding side.

“None of your business old man,” E14 snapped, neck pricking as he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to talk back, that his handler wouldn’t approve.

The Colonel didn’t seem to approve either, if his grimace was any indicator. Though the expression also could’ve been due to his stab wound.

“Listen, I’m not going to hurt you-”

“You literally body slammed me like one minute ago,” E14 pointed out, causing both of them to wince. He was usually better at controlling his tongue, but his head was pounding and he was unusually frazzled.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry, but you did stab me,” he replied. “If you don't hurt me I won’t hurt you, agreed?”

E14 shifted his weight uneasily. This seemed like an obvious trap, but if Mustang wanted to kill or even just badly injure him, he could’ve done so numerous times already. The lack of flames engulfing E14’s body seemed to indicate the Colonel wanted him alive, and uninjured, but what for? To ask him about this Edward character he resembled? Well the joke was on him, E14 had never heard of the guy.

But that seed of doubt was sprouting, worming its way through his brain. Edward could be his name, for all E14 knew. His knowledge of himself was limited to what his handler had told him, and he didn’t trust that guy as far as he could throw him.

“What will you do if I agree?” he asked slowly, eyeing the blood dripping down the man’s side.

“I’ll bring you back to Central with me.”

“And if I don’t?”

The man’s eyes darkened. “I’ll bring you back to Central by force.”

E14 clenched and unclenched his fists. No matter what he did, escape was unlikely, and on the off chance he made it back to base empty handed, there’d be hell to pay. He stared deep into the Colonel’s gray eyes, trying to decide if what he had in store for E14 could be worse than his handler’s wrath.

After a moment of deliberation, he opened his mouth to agree to the terms when he felt a pinch in his neck. He yanked the now emptied dart out, looking back at Mustang with betrayal.

“Bastard,” he muttered as his vision began to fade.

Before E14 fell, he just managed to catch the shock in Mustang’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Roy was too slow to catch Fullmetal as he crumpled on the ground. He whipped his head up to the windows where their snipers were.

“Who the hell just tranqued him?! I had it handled!” he roared. 

There was no reply as he marched toward the unconscious boy, scooping him gently off the ground. Well, attempted to; Ed was heavier than he appeared due to the metal limbs, and Roy had momentarily forgotten about his stab wound. He careened sideways at a particularly painful twinge when Maes appeared behind him suddenly, keeping him upright. Maes hoisted Ed onto his shoulder like a sack of flour, grabbing Roy’s forearm.

“I’ve got him, let’s go.”

He followed his friend to the car, watching numbly as he buckled the limp blonde into the back seat. It wasn’t until the door was closed that the full weight of all that had happened hit him. He doubled over, black spots dancing across his vision as his thoughts devolved into chaos. 

“Roy--”

“He’s--somethings wrong with him, he doesn’t remember,” Roy muttered in disbelief, “he doesn’t even know who he is .”

Maes placed a bracing hand on his shoulder, “I heard.” 

“Someone did something to him, made him into a killer,” he gasped, gripping his knees hard enough to bruise. “This is all my fault, if I hadn’t-- oh god Maes--”

A wave of dizziness crashed over Roy, nearly sending him to his knees. Maes was the only thing keeping him standing, his kind face swimming in Roy’s vision.

“Roy, you have to breathe,” he instructed, an edge of fear in his voice.

He tried, but it was like a boulder was sitting on his chest. He was barely able to keep the nausea threatening to swallow him at bay. Edward’s cold, dead eyes flashed in his mind as he struggled to breathe.

“ Roy! ” Maes yelled, “you need to calm down, we have to get out of here now. ” 

The urgency in his voice snapped Roy out of his stupor. He couldn’t break down, not when Edward needed him. He slowed his breathing as best as he could and let Mae’s help him into the passenger seat. 

“There should be a towel near your feet,” the man said as climbed into the driver’s side, “press that against your wound.”

Roy did as he was told, suppressing a groan as he did. “Where are we going?”

“Dr. Knox’s,” his friend replied, eyes trained determinately on the road ahead.

He furrowed his brow, brain muddied with pain and stress, “Why not Central hospital?” 

“We can’t exactly bring a wanted murderer into a military hospital,” Maes explained, “unless we want to risk him getting sent straight to the firing squad.”

Roy blanched at the thought, “Right. You really think they’d execute him without any trial?”

Maes worried his lip, the lines creasing his forehead making him look suddenly much older than he was.

“I think there’s a strong chance. Either that or they’d torture him for information about who sent him. He’s killed a lot of our men, Roy.”

Fury rose up inside the alchemist’s chest, “That wasn’t him , someone’s making him do that-- Ed would never--”

“I know, Roy,” Maes interrupted, sparing a concerned glance his way, “I know. But they won’t care, you know that. The Phantom is believed to be an assassin for Drachma, and if that’s confirmed--”

“He’ll be a traitor to the state,” Roy realized, dread coiling in his stomach.

Maes only grimaced, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles. Roy had known that things likely wouldn’t get easier after they found Fullmetal, but he never expected anything like this . The idea that Ed, stubborn, altruistic Ed had been turned into a cold blooded killer was inconceivable. Fullmetal may have always been a brat and a thorn in his side, but the boy had a moral compass of steel, he would risk his own life before considering taking someone else's. 

Roy knew one thing for sure, Edward would never kill another person willingly, amnesia or no. That fact alone made this situation all that more complicated and dark. 

Before he knew it, he was being half guided half carried to Dr. Knox’s door. The man arrived after the second knock and sighed heavily, eyeing the blood dripping onto his front steps with disdain.

“I’m gonna have to start charging you guys.”

By the time they finished explaining the situation, Roy’s wound had been stitched up and Edward was still out cold. They had removed the boy’s mask, as it didn’t look very comfortable.

“So you brought a serial killer into my house,” Knox remarked, seeming more annoyed than surprised.

“Technically speaking, yes,” Maes answered.

The doctor glared at them for a moment, looking unhappily between the two of them and the boy. Roy wondered for a startling moment if he would kick them out. However he just sighed again and made his way over to where Ed was laying on the couch and began examining him.

“If this kid tries to kill one of you under my roof, I’m not saving you,” he stated bluntly as he scanned the boy’s body.

“Understood,” Roy replied.

Knox attempted to move Fullmetal’s hair to check for a head wound, but he began to stir as soon as the doctor’s fingers touched his head. The three men stiffened, silently preparing for if he became violent upon waking. But the boy just jerked his head away from Knox’s hand.

“Stop,” he whined, “don’ hurt me.”

Roy’s insides turned to ice as he took in the image of the barely lucid boy cowering from the doctor. 

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Maes said gently, inching his way over to the couch.

Edward flinched at the second voice, enlarged pupils darting around the room. 

“Please don’t,” he slurred, “m’ sorry.” 

It took every ounce of his willpower to keep a level head, to keep himself from spiraling at the implications of Ed’s pleading apologies. While Roy continued to stay frozen and useless on the bed, Maes shooed Knox away, approaching the boy slowly.

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you, I just need to check to make sure your head is okay. Can I touch you?” 

Ed’s glassy eyes narrowed, but after a moment he nodded.

His friend gently lifted Edward’s head off of the couch, feeling it for any sign of bleeding. 

“Alright it seems okay, you’ve got a big knot back there but no bleeding, which is good. Means you probably don’t have a concussion,” Maes explained.

Ed just stared at him blankly. “Who’re you?”

Maes blinked, momentarily put off by the question. He quickly regained his composure and smiled softly.

“Silly me, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, but you can just call me Hughes. Or Maes if you’d prefer.” 

The blonde hummed, still giving him a suspicious look. He seemed a bit more lucid now, but not entirely with it. He’d always been more affected by medication due to his missing limbs. 

“What’re you gonna do to me?” 

The question gave the three men pause. Roy figured it was logical to ask given Fullmetal’s knowledge of the situation. All the boy knew was that he’d been drugged and taken to an undisclosed location by random men from the same military he’d been targeting, which was probably a frightening situation to be in. 

“Nothing,” Roy answered, “I told you if you don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you.”

“Then why’d you drug me?” he retorted.

“That wasn’t us,” Maes jumped in, “that was a different officer.”

“I yelled at them if it helps,” Roy added. 

“Not really,” Ed pushed himself to a sitting position. He blinked hard, looking dizzy.

“I’m still confused about what you want with me.”

Roy bit back a sigh, struggling to figure out how to explain the situation in a way that wouldn’t freak him out. He ultimately decided that maybe it would be better to start by getting Ed’s story.

“What is the first thing you can remember?"

Chapter Text

E14 couldn’t believe how stupid these officers were. 

They’d brought him into their house without any handcuffs or restraints of any kind. I mean, they did know who he was, right? They had to, they had been looking for him…hadn’t they? There was no way they had just happened to cross paths with E14 as he had just reached his next target. So if they knew who he was, and what he had done, why were they allowing him to sleep on their couch without so much as zip ties on his wrists? He’d expected better of the Amestrian military, honestly, but it made his life easier. He was buying some time asking the officers questions while he formulated a plan and waited for the drugs to wear off. The colonel was bedridden and without his gloves, so he honestly didn’t think escape would be too difficult. It would be three against one, sure, but E14 was quick. 

He’d been trying to keep the men talking, but they’d quickly turned the questions back to E14. 

“What is the first thing you remember?” 

Every time something new was said, his confusion with the situation only increased. He wasn’t sure what the officers’ goal was, if they were playing some strange mind games with him, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. However his head still felt heavy with whatever drug they’d shot him with, so it would be unwise to make a break for it just yet. He’d have to play along for now.

“What do you mean? Like ever?” E14 asked. 

“Yes,” Mustang nodded fervently, “the first time you were conscious of anything.” 

For a second E14 though, man, this guy's an even bigger idiot than I realized. Does he want for me to tell him about my childhood memories? Until he remembered o h yeah, I don’t have any childhood memories, and wondered if the man knew that. E14 had a growing suspicion that he did, and considered whether or not he should be honest. He had a weird strong inclination that he should, and he didn’t know why .

It had to be the drug they injected in him; maybe it was a sedative and a truth serum. That was a weird combination, sure, but not impossible. Because no matter how nice these people seemed, they were still Amestrian. Amestrians were never to be trusted. His naivety had landed him on their couch when he lost focus in the fight; he could not afford a mistake like that again. Amestrians were the scum of the earth, and he would never, could never-- allow them to overcome him. 

“I don’t know what my exact first memory is,” E14 replied vaguely.

The man called Hughes sat next to him on the couch, hair rumpled as if he’d been running his hands through it out of stress and worry. No , he wasn’t really worried, it was a manipulation tactic. 

“Can you tell us everything you remember about yourself and your life?” he asked.

E14 pretended to think hard before replying. 

“Well at some point, I was born. Then I grew up, and now here we are,” he answered, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

He heard Mustang sigh, and felt a small trill of delight as the man pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. From what E14 could tell, these men had no intention of harming him, at least not right now. They had gone out of the way to check him for a head wound. So he felt relatively safe antagonizing them for the moment, when he knew he could quickly get away if things escalated. Unless they had been purposefully luring him into a false sense of security…which now that he thought about it, was most likely the case. 

“At least we know he retained his personality,” Hughes remarked with a half smile directed at Mustang. 

“Small victories,” the colonel replied, rubbing his face.

E14 decided it was time to finally address the elephant in the room. He couldn’t tell whether their comments about knowing him or the whole “Edward” thing were all part of an act, or something they truly believed. He would have to get as much information as possible out of them in order to determine the truth.  

“Why do you both keep acting like you know me?” 

This somehow sobered them both up even further. The old man in the corner spoke up, startling E14, who had forgotten he was there. 

“I’m not dealing with this,” he stated simply, heading towards the door, “I’ll be back later with some food and painkillers. Don’t wreck the place while I’m gone.” 

The door closed with a soft click, and the two men returned their focus to E14. A tense silence enveloped the room, making him want to squirm under the pressure of it. Screw finding out their intentions, I need to get out of here. The sooner he escaped, the less angry his handler would be upon his return. If he left now, he might even have time to kill his target on the way back. Just as he was preparing himself to make a mad dash for the window, Mustang spoke again.

“Do you remember anything from a little over two years ago?” 

E14 stiffened, all thoughts of escape momentarily forgotten. He had been working for Drachma for a little over two years, and didn’t remember anything before that. The only people he’d ever spoken to about his memory were his handler and others at the base. 

“How do you know that?” he asked, suddenly defensive.

“Know what?” 

“That I--” E14 paused, realizing this could be their strategy to get information out of him about Drachma. He would have to be careful, to hold his cards close to his chest. E14 was not a traitor. 

“That you don’t remember anything before that?” Maes completed his sentence.

Reluctantly, E14 nodded. It seemed as if they would’ve gathered as much regardless of what he said, and them knowing about his memory couldn’t hurt Drachma, right? 

“Because we know you, Ed,” Mustang replied earnestly. “You're a state alchemist under my command.” 

At this proclamation, E14 felt fury rise within him. Did they think he was some kind of idiot? 

“If you think I’ll be so easily manipulated, then you’ve severely underestimated me,” E14 replied through gritted teeth.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground, getting ready to fight his way out of this. It was clear now that these people had somehow found out missing memories and decided to use that to whittle information out of him. E14 was insulted that they believed he would fall for such a ploy. The colonel seemed to have figured out what he was about to do, if his widening eyes were any indication.

“Ed-” he started, which only made E14 angrier.

“Stop calling me that,” E14 growled, leaping to his feet. 

Hughes jumped into a defensive position, prepared for attack. Unfortunately, upon standing, E14 realized that the drugs were very clearly still affecting him. His head was spinning and his flesh leg felt like jello, causing him to careen sideways almost instantly. As he thudded to the floor again, he realized that this might have been the reason they hadn’t cuffed him. The lieutenant colonel offered a hand to help him back up, which E14 shoved away immediately. However Mustang had the audacity to actually laugh. Even Hughes looked bewildered by this reaction.

“The hell’re you laughin at, bastard?” E14 spat, attempting (and failing) to climb back on the couch himself.

“You forgot,” he wheezed, “how sensitive to drugs you are because of the automail.” 

E14 paused in his attempts to haul himself onto the sofa just to glare at the colonel.

“If I had any doubts you were our Edward before, I don’t anymore,” he grinned.

E14 used his flesh hand to give Mustang a nonverbal piece of his mind, who continued to look completely unperturbed. 

“Roy, quit messing with him,” Hughes chided, but was clearly fighting a smile himself. He turned back to E14 with an air of exasperation in his tone.

“Please let me help you up, this is painful to watch.”

As much as he wanted to spit in the man’s face and tell him exactly where to shove it, he really couldn’t get up on his own. His body felt like one big limp noodle. He wasn’t even sure if he could move his automail at the moment, since he’d lost feeling in the nerves that connected the limbs to his body. E14 refused to look at Hughes, but with extreme reluctance, silently accepted his assistance. 

“Okay, so if you’re saying you’re not Edward, who are you?” the bespectacled man asked. 

That finally wiped the smile off Colonel Bastard's face. It was a hard question to answer though, since E14 didn’t have a real name. Well that he knew of at least…

“Everyone calls me E14,’” he replied in a bored tone.

This caused both men to grimace for some reason.

“So, you don’t remember your name?” Mustang asked.

“Who says that isn’t my name?” E14 challenged.

“You think your parents legitimately named you a letter and a number,” the man deadpanned.

“Maybe,” E14 shrugged, “you never know, maybe it was trendy when I was born.” 

Mustang wasn’t buying his bull for a second.

“Uh huh, and does your full name happen to be ‘Subject E14’? Because that sounds like a super trendy baby name.” 

“Maybe they were weirdos. It’s not like I’d know anyway, I don’t remember them,” he shrugged.

He realized too late that he’d let another piece of information slip. These stupid drugs were making his tongue loose and his brain slow. Luckily the men seemed unsurprised by the new information.

“Do you remember Alphonse?”  Roy asked.

E14 opened his mouth to say he wasn’t answering anymore of their stupid questions , when a searing pain shot through his head. He let out an involuntary gasp, clutching his forehead as the image of a giant suit of armor danced across his vision. When he could see clearly again, Hughes was hovering over him, looking concerned. 

“What’s wrong? Is your head bothering you?”

Alphonse. Alphonse . The name caused a stab of some foreign emotion in his stomach. He knew that name. 

“Who is that?” he asked urgently.

Hughes exchanged a wide eyed glance with Mustang before answering.

“Alphonse? He’s your brother.”

The pain in his head surged again, a faceless blonde boy flashing in his mind. 

“Stop it,” E14 gritted out, rubbing a hand across his face. “Stop doing that!” 

“Doing what?” Mustang asked.

“You did something to me,” he groaned, pulling his hair hard enough that it hurt.  “You’re messing with my head.”

Hughes approached him and reached a hand towards his face, causing E14 to flinch back violently.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” he screamed.

The man held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, looking frightened.

“I’m sorry, I won’t, but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that,” he said.

“What did you do to me?!” E14 whined, fear clawing its way up his throat.

Mustang had swung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking ready to get up at a moment's notice. 

“We didn’t do anything to you, I swear,” he assured.

Lies, lies, lies. They were putting his head in the blender, just like his handler. They were lowlife Amestrians, toying with his memories. He would not not let them win, he could not let them win. E14 swung his metal arm, still equipped with the sword edge, at Hughes. He was aiming somewhere around the shoulder area, but only managed to nick him in the cheek as the man tried to dodge. 

He heard Mustang curse and get to his feet, “Pin him down Maes!” 

Hughes grabbed E14’s wrists, holding them firmly at his sides on the couch. E14 squirmed uselessly, attempting to kick the man but missing. He resorted to desperate measures, plunging his teeth into the man’s arm. Maes winced but didn’t loosen his grip, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. E14 thrashed, but his limbs weren’t cooperating so it didn’t do much. The colonel appeared next to Hughes, holding his side. 

“We need to get his arm off-“ 

He refuses to cooperate. Remove the arm. 

“NO!”

Reality and memory melded together until he couldn’t tell what was real anymore. He couldn’t remember where he was, if these soldiers were Drachman or Amestrian. Their faces were blurred and featureless, all he knew was there were hands, too many, hurting, scared. Instinctively he fought harder, twisting out of the man’s grip and rolling off the couch. E14 tried to get to his feet but his legs crumpled under his weight, sending him straight back on his face. The floor shifted between soft carpet and cool concrete as he crawled feverishly towards the door. 

“I order you to stop!” someone--probably his handler--yelled.

His limbs froze, leaving him paralyzed on his stomach. E14 willed himself to move even an inch, to do anything, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t disobey a direct order. Tears gathered in his eyes as he shook, waiting for the pain to come. As his breath grew shallow his vision wavered, and he gratefully welcomed the comforting embrace of darkness. 

Chapter Text

As Fullmetal finally knocked himself out, Roy let out a sigh of relief, though it was tainted by guilt. From the things he’d said and the way he’d been acting, Roy had a hunch someone had conditioned him to respond to orders on command like a dog. He was sickened to discover he was right, and felt bad for using that against the boy, but it had seemed to be the only option. Roy turned to examine the thin slice across his friend's cheek, which was bleeding sluggishly.

“You okay?” 

Maes nodded. “It’s just a scratch.” 

Roy sunk onto the couch, placing his head in his hands. 

“What are we gonna do, Maes?” 

There was a long, weighty pause before he felt the man sit next to him.

“I don’t know, Roy,” Maes replied, sounding utterly defeated. “I don’t know.” 

Roy felt all the exhaustion and stress of the day hit him at once, making his eyelids heavy. He barely kept himself from taking a leaf out of Ed’s book and conking out right there. He couldn’t sleep while there was still work to be done, and there was a lot of work to do. The problem was he had no idea where to start. They needed someone level headed, trustworthy and cool in a crisis, to help them come up with a plan of action. But who-

Riza. 

“You see a phone around here?” he asked, lifting his head to scan the room.

“I think there was one in the kitchen,” Maes replied, “but don’t push yourself, you didn’t pull your stitches when you got up did you?”

Roy rolled his eyes, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side as he headed toward the kitchen. “I’m fine, Maes. I need to make a call.”

It only took one ring for her to pick up, unsurprisingly. 

"This is Lieutenant Hawkeye, how may I help you?”

Just the sound of her voice managed to calm his nerves ever so slightly. 

“Hello Riza , sorry to bother you, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” he said.

There was a slight pause before she replied.

“Is this Richard Clemmons speaking?” 

He smiled, a slight warmth filling his chest. She was always quick to pick up on the most minute signals. 

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled.

“Is everything alright? You don’t usually call me while I’m working,” she asked carefully.

“Not exactly. There was an accident, so Elijah and I ended up in the hospital. I’ll be okay but we’re not sure about him yet, he hit his head pretty hard and is still out cold.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that. I’d love to come and visit the both of you as soon as I get off, if that would be okay.”

“That would be perfect.” 

“Would you like me to bring anything?” 

“Oh that’s not necessary, we’ve had so many people bringing us gifts, I don't know if we could even fit anymore in the room!” he forced a fake laugh.

“We’ve had so many people bring us food I can’t eat anything anymore! Although when my mother brought us some of her famous peach cobbler yesterday, I could hardly restrain myself from eating the whole thing!” 

He heard a quick scratch of pencil on paper before she replied.

“Well I’m glad you too are being well taken care of. I’ll come visit as soon as I can.” 

“I look forward to seeing you!” 

When he headed back into the bedroom, he found that Maes had lain Edward back on the couch. 

“You get a hold of anyone?” Maes asked as he carefully arranged the boy into a more comfortable position, ignoring the blood trickling down his cheek. 

Roy sat on the bed with an exhausted sigh, placing a hand on his throbbing wound.

“Hawkeye’s coming as soon as she’s finished working and is hopefully going to bring us some restraints. I hate to do it but-“

“It’s necessary,” Maes agreed, wiping the blood off his cheek with a grim expression.

“I’m gonna grab a bandage, do you need anything?” 

Roy observed the unconscious boy’s gleaming metal sword arm warily. The safest bet would be to remove the limb entirely, but after Ed’s reaction to that idea, it was no longer an option. Removing the arm would not be painful and likely wake him up, but would likely set the boy off again. The last thing they needed was to give him another reason not to trust them. 

“Can you bring me a pen and a piece of paper?”

The man raised a brow, but nodded. When returned promptly with said items and a bandaged face, Roy began to draw. 

“What are you doing?” 

He examined his finished array with satisfaction, then carefully slid off the bed.

“I’m gonna try to change Fullmetal’s arm back,” he replied, placing the paper carefully underneath the limb. 

“Do you even know how to do that?” Maes sounded skeptical.

Roy shot him a glare, “It can’t be that hard. He just reshapes it, it’s simple alchemy.” 

“Okay, just try not to wake him.”

“I’ll do my best.” 

He placed his hands on the circle, causing the telltale crackle and ring of a transmutation. As he concentrated, the automail transformed before his eyes, shaping itself back into a hand. Roy wasn’t sure if he got it exactly right, but it looked close enough. At the noise however, Edward shifted, eyes fluttering half open. The two men froze, waiting for him to wake up and attack. However, the boy just grunted and rolled over, causing them both to let out a sigh of relief.

Roy laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. After only a few minutes, his eyes began to droop. He sat up, shaking himself awake. He needed to stay alert in case Fullmetal woke up again and attacked Maes. He pulled his ignition gloves out of his pockets, eyeing them warily before shoving them back in his pockets. Those wouldn’t be of any use here, not unless he wanted to burn down the building. He would just have to watch the boy carefully and hope he didn’t wake up again until Hawkeye arrived with the restraints. 

“ Alphonse .”

He turned his head to see Maes standing up, looking slightly startled.

“Huh?” 

“We forgot about Alphonse,” Maes repeated emphatically.

Roy’s stomach sank, he was right. They’d even brought the boy up, but neither of them had thought about the fact that he had no idea they had found his only remaining family member. 

“What are we gonna tell him?” Roy asked.

Maes grimaced. “He deserves the truth. Plus there’s no point in lying to him anyway, he’d figure it out. Those boys are too clever for their own good.” 

Yeah , Roy thought grimly of their failed attempt at human transmutation, they really are. If they weren’t so sharp, they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. They would have never lost their bodies, never joined the military, and Ed would never have disappeared. 

At the same time, Edward also would’ve avoided this particular situation if Roy had never recruited him. Or maybe if Roy had just kept a closer eye on the boy, he could’ve stopped whoever it was from taking him. Regardless, Fullmetal was one of his men, and Roy had failed him. He’d let the boy get captured, and had taken over two years to find him. If they ever did manage to jog Ed’s memory, the boy would have every right to hate him.

“I think we should wait to tell Al.”

Maes furrowed his brows, “What? Why? We can’t keep this from him, Roy, it’s not right--”

“I know, I know, just…” he ran a hand through his hair, “he’s gonna wanna see Ed immediately, and I don’t think either of them are ready for that. I mean you saw how Ed reacted just to hearing his name. It was like it physically pained him. And as for Al…”

His friend’s expression clouded as he picked up Roy’s implications. “You’re right, seeing his brother like this…it would be torture for him.”

If it had been difficult for either of them to witness Fullmetal in this state, it would be ten times worse for Alphonse. Roy didn’t have any brothers, but he couldn’t imagine how painful it would be if anything like that ever happened to Maes. 

“We’ll need to keep him distracted while we sort this out,” the man said, shifting back into planning mode. “Maybe we can get him to stay in Risembool for a couple weeks, or until we can figure out what we’re gonna do with Ed.” 

Roy nodded, but his mind was growing foggy and his head heavy. Maes seemed to pick up on his shift in demeanor.

“You need to get some rest,” he stated.

“I can’t sleep until we’ve got him restrained.”

Maes waved a hand. “He sleeps like a rock, and if he does wake up, I can handle him.”

Roy raised a brow, eyeing the fresh bandage on his friend’s cheek. The man sighed.

“Fine. If he stirs, I’ll wake you,” Maes sounded resigned, “now get to bed.” 

He hummed an affirmative noise, pulling the sheets up and settling in. Within seconds, he was out. 

Roy stirred at the soft clicking of the door, accompanied by rustling bags and hushed voices. His side still hurt like hell, but he at least felt better rested after his nap. The day had really taken everything out of him.

When he sat up, Hawkeye’s worried eyes met his. Warmth spread in his stomach at the sight of his lieutenant. 

“What happened? I heard word that you and Maes were MIA after a run in with the Phantom before I got your call, what’s going on?” 

Before he could reply, her eyes landed on Fullmetal’s unconscious form. She let out a quiet gasp.

“I’d thought you’d said…over the phone but…” she took a moment to shake off her surprise, resuming her usually calm demeanor. “What’s the situation?” 

“It’s a little complicated,” Maes replied.

“How about you two explain over dinner?” Dr. Knox said, holding up a bag of takeout.

“Sounds good to me,” Roy shrugged.

The doctor eyed Maes with suspicion.

“What happened to your face?”

Chapter Text

“Searching.” 

“No,” Ed moaned as the machine delivered the shock, electricity rattling his skull. He wouldn’t let himself forget. His name was Edward. His name was Edward. They couldn’t take away the last piece of himself he had left. They couldn’t.

“Equivalence”

Another shock. Edward. His name was Edward.

“Stop,” he growled. Ed. His name was Ed.

“Silence, soldier!” his handler shouted before continuing. “Nineteen.” 

“Please,” he pleaded, gritting his teeth against the current. Ed. 

“Portal” 

A tear rolled down his face. His name, his name, what was it- it started with an E-

“Crimson” 

He whimpered in pain. What was he supposed to be remembering? It was important, what was it, what-

“Eleven” 

He screamed as the agony became so powerful that it wiped away any ability to think.

“Forbidden”

Another shock.

“Ashes” 

His throat ached from screaming.

“Three” 

E14 panted, every muscle and atom in his body vibrating from the shocks. He looked up at his handler through sweat soaked bangs.

“Soldier?”

He breathed as deeply as he could, steeling himself.

“Ready to comply,” he replied. 

E14 jolted awake, gasping for breath. He heard startled murmurs around him but his surroundings had yet to come into focus. His heart pounded against his ribs, mind racing.

That was a memory, a memory where he remembered his name- his name was Edward, they were right, they hadn’t been lying- Could he really be the boy they thought he was? Or did they know his name only, and were making up the rest? Were they using the one fact they knew about him to manipulate him? Or what if that hadn’t been a real memory at all, but a false one they’d implanted--

“Ed, you need to breathe,” a voice instructed.

E14- or, wait, Ed? Ed(?) forced in a deep breath, blinking to clear his vision. Slowly the image of the bespectacled man he believed was called Hughes kneeling beside him. It was then that he noticed he was already sitting up, and couldn’t move his arms. Panic began to creep in again as he tugged at the restraints pulling his arms in opposite directions. He clenched the metal bar forcing the cuffs apart as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t bend even under his metal fist. 

“Let me go!” he shouted, pulling against the cuffs until metal dug into the skin of his flesh hand.

“Hey, easy, it’s okay,” Hughes said in a gentle tone.

E14- no , Ed felt his panic meld with rising irritation.  

“ No it’s not ,” he grunted, “let me out of these!”

There was genuine sorrow in the man’s eyes as he watched E-Ed struggle. 

“I can’t yet, I’m sorry Ed.”

Ed felt some of the anger wilt inside of him at the man’s regretful tone. His head was throbbing, and there was no point in continuing to struggle when it was getting him nowhere. The man had said “yet” so that meant there was a chance they would let him out eventually. He noted that they had opted to leave his arm on, though someone had retracted the sword from it. This fact provided a small relief; he felt safer with it on. Ed stilled himself with difficulty, staring the man down with an icy glare.

“When you prove we can trust you not to attack us again, we’ll take them off,” Mustang added from the bed.

“And how exactly do I accomplish that?” Ed bit out.

“Dropping the death glare might be a good start,” the man answered.

Ed glared harder.

“Yeah that’s about what I expected,” Mustang sighed.

Ed noticed movement on his right side and turned to see a stiff looking blonde woman approaching him with a brown paper bag. He shifted backwards slightly and turned as best he could to face her.

“Hello,” she said with a tight smile, “I’m Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. I work under Mustang.”

“Hi,” he answered plainly. 

She pulled what looked like a cheese sandwich out of the paper bag and offered it to him.

“Are you hungry? I can help you eat this if that’s okay.”

Ed flushed slightly, embarrassed at the prospect of this random woman feeding him. Regardless of if it was because he was cuffed, it was demeaning. 

“What, so you can poison me? Yeah right.” he spat bitterly.

Hawkeye frowned, but didn’t place the sandwich back in the bag quite yet. 

“Don’t you think if we wanted to kill you we would’ve already?” Mustang asked. “Why go to the trouble of bringing you here and cuffing you if we were just gonna kill you anyway?”

Ed frowned; the man did have a point. Still, he was apprehensive. 

“I’m not going to eat out of your hand,” he stated firmly.

The woman nodded, seeming to accept this easily, as if she had been expecting his response.

“Okay, how about if I put pieces of it on a plate for you? We can move to the dining room so you can reach it.” 

Ed thought that didn’t sound much better than being fed, but was at least a minor improvement. As if on cue, his stomach growled. He didn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and he hadn’t had something as appetizing as a sandwich in-- well he couldn’t remember when. As much as he wanted to refuse to save his pride, he really did want the sandwich. 

“Fine.” 

The woman smiled again, this time a little more genuinely. The light reached her kind, hazel eyes. He was glad out of everyone, she was the one handling his food. He had a strange inclination that she was trustworthy. 

After a minute or so he was guided into the kitchen table and a plate of bite sized sandwich pieces was placed in front him. A final moment of deliberation later he slowly dipped his head down and grabbed a bite between his teeth. He suppressed a hum of pleasure as the flavor hit his tongue. Even cold, it was the best thing he had tasted in ages. The only one near him was Hawkeye, who was politely averting her gaze. Ed felt a hint of gratitude at the gesture. He already felt humiliated eating off the plate like a dog, so he was glad there was no one watching. He was forced to eat slower than he would have liked due to the tedious nature of the task without his hands, but he still cleaned the plate in no time. 

As she walked him back to the room, he finally found the courage to ask a question.

“Do I know you?” 

She paused, eyes flicking back to him with an inkling of hope.

“Do you recognize me?” 

Ed bit the inside of his cheek, examining her thoroughly.

“No.”

The spark of hope in her eyes was extinguished, but she maintained her cool composure. 

“We worked under the colonel together. I was with him when he recruited you,” she explained.

He hummed, unsure of what he believed and didn’t believe at the moment. Either way, he might as well get as much information as he could.

“When was that?” 

“Around five and a half years ago,” Hawkeye replied, “you were eleven at the time, so I believe that makes you sixteen now. Am I right?”

Ed shrugged. He wasn’t sure; no one had ever mentioned his age before. He’d figured he was relatively young because of the way he looked, but…wait…

“You're saying you recruited a twelve year old to join the military?” he asked, incredulous.

He could feel her stiffen as she led him through the door. Before she could respond, Mustang cut in. 

“Your circumstances were unique. It wasn’t exactly a typical ‘recruitment.’ You joined to get access to the military’s resources.”

He hummed, keeping his narrowed eyes fixed on the colonel as he planted himself back on the couch.

“Does this mysterious child soldier Edward have a last name?” 

Ed was attempting to press them for details, so see if he could poke holes in their story. It already didn’t sound very believable. Sure, you could say he was still a child soldier for Drachma, but that was different. Or, from what they implied, it was supposed to be. However it was fully possible he had traded one hell for another. Maybe he was less their friend and more of a useful tool both armies were fighting over.

“Elric. Your name is Edward Elric,” Mustang replied, seeming to catch on to his desire for details. “Your father’s name is Van Hoenheim but you kept your mother’s last name.” 

The word caught his attention, mother , he had a mother. Logically that made sense- how else would he have been born- but he’d assumed his parents weren’t in the picture anymore, given his circumstances. He’d hoped that no mother would allow his son to be taken by Drachma, or join the military before his teens. 

“Where is she?” 

The man raised a brow, “Who?”

“My mother,” he answered, “where is she?”

The room was enveloped by an uncomfortable silence, the air reeking of regret. Ed knew his answer by the look on their faces. It made sense. It had been what he had originally assumed anyway. But somehow, despite his expectations, despite having no memory of ever having a mother, it still hurt. Her absence was a cavern inside of him he hadn’t noticed until this moment. He had been feeling that gaping hole in his chest for so long without knowing what it was or why it was there, but now he knew. A quiet grief for a woman he no longer knew and his lost memories of her settled over him. 

“Right,” Ed replied quietly, “figures.” 

Hughes' face held the most remorse of them all. “I’m sorry Ed.”

He didn’t have the heart or the energy to glare.

“It’s fine,” he muttered. It wasn’t, but he didn’t know what else to say. “I have a feeling she’s been dead for a while.”

There was a collective wincing, confirming his hunch. He was relieved when Mustang changed the subject.

“So, do you believe us now?” he asked tentatively.

Ed hummed thoughtfully. Did he? He was pretty confident that his name was Edward now, because of the dream, so he believed that. He believed that his mother was dead, because of unexplainable reasons. But did he believe their story about him being recruited as a state alchemist at 11? Did he believe that these soldiers truly had good intentions, and weren’t using the few basic facts they knew about Ed to play mind games with him?

“I don’t know,” Ed answered honestly, eyes trained on his lap. 

“That’s okay.” 

Ed looked up to see Hughes smiling softly. 

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he elaborated, “so we don’t expect you to accept everything we say point blank.” 

The words brought on a strange tightness in his chest. He’d become so used to nothing but orders, scoldings and punishments; this small kindness felt foreign. Ed decided he trusted Hughes a little bit, if only just for that. 

Idiot. No one is ever truly kind. Kindness is a weapon the weak wield against you.

“I know my name is Edward,” he stated slowly. “I believe that you were telling the truth about that. And my mother. I’m not sure about the rest.” 

Now that he had his name back, he held onto it like a lifeline, clinging to the one real thing he knew about himself. His statement seemed to soften the edges of tension in the room, brightening the mood a fraction. 

“If you don’t mind, can I ask what convinced you?” Hawkeye asked cautiously.

Ed mulled the question over, constructing his answer carefully. It wasn’t all that intrusive, it wouldn’t harm him to be honest. 

“I had….” a nightmare “a dream.”

He didn’t want to elaborate any further, and the woman seemed to sense this as she didn’t press him for details. They clearly understood the dream hadn’t been a pleasant one, since they had seen him wake up in a panic. 

“What are you planning to do with me?” he asked.

There was a brief pause before Mustang answered.

“We’re going to try and help you get your memory back.”

Ed narrowed his eyes.

“Okay sure, let’s say that you really want to help me get my memory back-- do you plan on doing this outside my jail cell?” 

Mustang's expression clouded. “You’re not going to jail.” 

Ed snorted, “Yeah okay, you’re gonna magically fix my memory, and I miraculously won’t be executed for killing your comrades. Sounds very likely. You should take up acting, really.”

A small voice in the back of his head warned that he shouldn’t talk like that to adults. The same voice that whispered danger every time they got near. He tried his best to ignore it, though the anxiety it brought did not leave him.

“Did you kill those people willingly?” Hawkeye asked.

Ed’s ears rang and from the blow, the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He pushed himself weakly off the cold cement and spat it onto the man’s boots. He peered at the man through blood slick bangs.

“You can t-torture me all you want,” he gritted out, voice shakey, “I’m n-never going to kill anyone!” 

The glare of the light on the man’s glasses blocked out his eyes, giving him a more sinister appearance. He only frowned, shaking his head and sighing as if Ed were simply a misbehaving child.

“какой позор,” he said, removing his glasses to wipe off stray droplets of Ed’s blood. “I tried to help you avoid conditioning, but it seems that will be the only way. This would be a lot less painful if you weren’t so stubborn.” 

The man placed the glasses back on his face and lifted Ed up by his shirt front, shoving him into a chair. Ed tried to wrestle out of his grip but his limbs weren’t cooperating- so he sunk his teeth into the man’s hand. To Ed’s dismay, he let out a startled laugh. 

“Nice try, маленькая собачка- but pointless I’m afraid,” the man pulled his mouth open and forced something large and silicone over his teeth. “Once I’m done with you, you will have no choice but to obey my every command.” 

Ed forced himself back into the present, suppressing a wince at the searing pain in his head.

“No.”  

“Then we won’t allow you to be punished for it,” she answered firmly. 

She seemed so sure that this was even a possibility. Her calm reassurance almost made him believe it too, but he knew the truth. It wouldn’t be that easy. There was a reason they were in some old guy’s house instead of the hospital.

“It’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to take time, but we’ll figure it out,” Mustang added.

But why ? Why would they go to this much trouble to clear his name if he was just another disposable soldier? Surely there were plenty of other alchemists willing to step up and take his place. There was no way they could care enough about a teenage assassin with amnesia to break the law in order to help him. There had to be something they wanted from him, but what? What did he have that the Amestrian military would go to these lengths to get it? In his experience, people were only ever kind when it benefited them. 

Maybe they wanted The Phantom for themselves. They wanted to figure out his activation words, and learn how to use him as their own weapon. It made a sickening amount of sense. Regardless of who he really was and if they’d actually known him, he was an asset, a shiny destructive toy. It was possible they were using the little personal information they did know about him to convince him of this wild story that he was one of them, so that once they’d gained his trust, he’d spill everything that Drachma had done to him. He’d tell them of the horrors he experienced at his handler’s hands, and they’d learn how to program him themselves. 

That explanation made much more sense than their story, and though it was horrible, he was much more inclined to believe it. Ed was in a bad position if that were true, but he’d been in worse. If he could convince them he could be trusted without the cuffs, he could make a break for it. But where would he go?

Ed couldn’t go back to Drachma. He wouldn’t willingly step back into that hellish place, where his handler was surely waiting to torture him in new and creative ways. He wouldn’t let them put his brain in the blender again and forget his own name a second time. But if he didn’t go back, they would find him. His handler would hunt Ed down and drag him back to Drachma by force if he had to. The only place he would be safe from his handler was… ironically enough…with the Amestrian military. 

So maybe escaping wasn’t the best plan. If he had to pick the lesser of two evils, right now that was looking like Amestris. They hadn’t done anything to harm him ( yet ) and they would be hard pressed to find out how to use him for their purposes unless he told them. That left him with Plan B: stay with the Amestrians, earn their trust, but never tell them more than was necessary. That could probably work for at least a little bit, until they got tired waiting for him to crack and decided he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. By then he will have hopefully formed a new plan to combat that problem.

This plan sounded logical by all means, however just considering it made his mind feel like it was splitting in two. The voice in his head kept screaming that Amestrians couldn't be trusted, that he was safer with Drachma. But as loud as that voice was, the memories of the pain he’d suffered at Drachman hands were louder. Traitorous scum, the voice whispered. After all Drachma has given you, you turn your back on them. But what had Drachma given him besides pain? A purpose. A home. That bunker was no home, it was a prison. It was safe. Safe from who? Not his handler, that’s for sure.

You’ll never survive outside of Drachma’s protection. The Amestrians will destroy you for what you’ve done to them. 

Maybe so, but the risk of death at Amestrian hands was better than the guarantee of continued torture from Drachman ones. 

At this point all Ed could hope was that he would survive to the next day, even if the prospect of living wasn’t all that enticing. Maybe, if he managed to escape all of this, one day it would be. 

Chapter Text

To say Riza Hawkeye was horrified by the recent turn of events would be a huge understatement. Sickened might be closer to describing how she felt seeing Edward in this state. 

His golden eyes were missing their usual spark; they were nearly as dull and lifeless as they had been when they’d first met. There were dark circles underneath them, rivaling only Roy’s. His hair was much longer than it had been before, out of its usual braid and so filthy it almost looked brown instead of golden blonde. His cheeks weren’t exactly hollow, but were definitely less filled out than they had been. Not to mention the unhealthy sheen his skin had. 

The worst part however, was the way he was acting. Edward teetered back and forth between combative and skittish, acting more like a caged animal than the boy she knew. He was clearly very wary of them; it seemed as if the only thing keeping him from bolting was that he felt safer in their hands than he did in those he’d come from. 

Riza still couldn’t believe he was The Phantom. The boy had always been so firmly against killing, so what someone must’ve done to him to force him into it…

She shuddered at the thought, unwilling to imagine it. Roy’s call had been simultaneously relieving and alarming. Riza had been worried about him; no one had heard from the Flame Alchemist or Hughes since they had disappeared after their confrontation with The Phantom. Others on the scene had reported seeing Roy get stabbed, then hauling the killer into the backseat of a car. However they had failed to turn up at the hospital or Central after that, raising concern and suspicion among the officers. There were whispers that Roy was going soft, that he’d barred them from shooting, that he’d even gotten angry when someone had hit The Phantom with a tranquilizer. 

Riza had learned this information when she’d received a call asking if she had seen the colonel. It had been easy to whittle the details out of the man, and she had found the story strange. Roy wasn’t one to go easy on an opponent, nor disappear without a trace from a battle. She’d known something was going on, and her confirmation had come from none other than Roy himself. 

Out of all the scenarios she’d imagined (of which there were an abundance) this didn’t come close to any of them. 

Dr. Knox’s knock on the door startled Riza out of her thoughts. It caused Ed to nearly jump out of his seat, wide eyes swiveling toward the door.

“It’s just Dr. Knox,” she explained, “he’s the one who patched the colonel up. The house belongs to him.” 

Ed’s eyes flicked back to hers momentarily before returning to the door. He gave a small nod of understanding. 

“You can come in,” Roy announced.

The man entered, looking as grumpy as he always did. 

“The boy still having head pain?” he asked in lieu of greeting. 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Ed snapped. 

Knox looked like he was ready to snap back, but backed down after she shot him a warning glare. If Edward was ever going to learn to trust them again, they had to tread lightly. 

“How is your head feeling?” Dr. Knox tried again, though there was an edge to his voice.

“It’s fine,” Ed said, and she had a feeling he’d be crossing his arms if he could.

Knox shot him a skeptical look. “Really? Because I was told you were clutching your head and whining before you took a swipe at Hughes.” 

Riza barely kept herself from hitting the man. Did he have no common sense? What kind of doctor antagonized a traumatized 16 year old who, as mentioned, had just attacked one of them mere hours before. She watched Ed’s murderous glare nervously, readying herself for him to lunge at the man, but he merely huffed. 

“Why even ask if you know the answer,” he muttered irritably. 

The doctor ignored him, grabbing a flashlight out of his pocket and nearing the couch. Edward instinctively backed away (as much as he could with his hands cuffed) as his eyes caught the device. 

“What are you doing?” Ed asked, voice an octave higher than he probably intended. 

Dr. Knox did not look concerned by the obvious fear on his face, clicking on his flashlight undeterred. 

“Making sure you don’t have a concussion,” he replied, flashing the light in his eyes.

Edward immediately cringed back, squinting at the light. 

“I can’t check you for brain damage if your eyes are closed.”

“I’m pretty sure my brain’s damaged beyond repair,” the boy mumbled, quietly enough that Riza thought they weren’t supposed to hear it.

The remark worried her; she wondered if he was talking about whatever they did to alter his memory. She was sure a process like that couldn’t be safe or painless. 

Reluctantly the boy opened his eyes, allowing Dr. Knox to check them. The tests took longer than Riza thought was normal, and the puzzled look on the doctor's face made her nervous. Eventually he pocketed the flashlight, but was still eyeing the boy closely. Ed seemed to notice this.

“It’s really not that bad, I get headaches all the time,” he assured, “it’s only bad when I-“

He cut himself off mid sentence, looking like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

“When what?” Knox prodded.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ed replied, too quickly.

“You want to live with permanent brain damage? I’m trying to help you but I can’t if you won’t answer my questions.”

Riza was going to have a serious conversation with the doctor after this. She shot a look at Roy, attempting to communicate her annoyance. He waved a hand, as if saying “it’s fine, Ed can handle it.” Riza wasn’t sure that was true; the boy before her seemed much more fragile than the one who had disappeared two years ago. 

Ed stayed uncharacteristically silent, stubbornly refusing to answer. Knox ignored his obvious discomfort, pushing harder. 

“What did you mean about your brain being damaged ‘beyond repair’?” 

Ed flushed slightly, as if he hadn’t realized he said it out loud. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly, eyes in his lap. 

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s got something to do with your memory, doesn’t it?” 

The boy curled further in on himself, making her insides clench painfully. If Knox didn’t shut up, he was going to trigger the boy into another episode. She opened her mouth to say something when he cut her off.

“From what I can tell, you’ve got some kind of brain damage, but it definitely isn’t from hitting your head on the concrete. You would’ve had to crack your skull for your eyes to be moving like that. It looks to me like you’ve had some sort of repeated trauma, like someone shocked you over and over again.”

Ed sucked in a shuddery breath.

“ Knox- -”  

“My best guess is someone has been using electroconvulsive therapy on him for as a method of torture,” he said to the room at large. “Just a theory, but that would explain a few things..” 

Riza’s blood turned to ice. Ed was silent, staring unseeingly at the carpet. He was unusually still, except for the almost imperceptible quivering of his flesh hand. She turned to Knox, shaking with fury.

“Get out,” she commanded sharply. 

He balked, “This is my house, you can’t--“

Riza didn’t pull out the pistol at her side for Ed’s sake, but placed her hand on it threateningly.

“Get. Out.”

The look of fear on his face was gratifying. He hurried out the door, muttering irritably all the way. Once he was gone, she swiftly but carefully approached the boy on the couch.

“Sorry about him,” she said softly. “Are you alright?”

The boy gave no indication that he heard her, continuing to stare at nothing, eyes glazed over. She cursed under her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Roy asked, probably unable to see Ed well from the bed.

“He’s dissociating," she answered. “Hey, Ed, can you hear me?”

He still didn’t respond, having already retreated far back into his mind. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe here,” Riza assured, but she felt her words were hollow. He was handcuffed in a random doctor's house being held there by a bunch of strangers from the military he’d been targeting; no words of comfort would make him feel safe. She wanted desperately to take off the restraints, but knew it probably wasn’t wise. When he came back to himself he might take the chance to attack or flee. 

“Hughes, will you get me a cup of ice?” 

“Yes ma’am.”

A moment later he handed her the glass then said, “I’m gonna go talk to Dr. Knox.” 

She nodded. “Tell him he needs to work on his bedside manner. If he triggers Ed like that again I’m gonna shoot him.” 

The man winced. “I’ll paraphrase.” 

Riza knew he was likely going to apologize for her rudeness, but she didn’t care. She certainly wasn’t apologizing. She didn’t care if they were staying in his house; he’d ignored Ed’s clear signs of distress and continued saying things that upset him. It made her blood boil, seeing the boy like this, distant and fragile. Riza hoped desperately that the doctor’s theory about how he’d lost his memories had been wrong, but given his reaction, she wasn’t too optimistic. 

What she did know however without a doubt, was that she would not let Ed live on as this shell of his former self. She would do whatever she could in her power to help restore his memories and overcome the trauma he had endured. Most importantly, she would never, ever, let anyone lay a finger on him ever again.

Chapter Text

E14, no Ed..no the boy’s vision was blurred around the edges, and he wasn’t really sure what he was looking at. He blinked slowly and found it was a pair of cuffed hands, one flesh, one metal. Your hands, he reminded himself, but they didn’t feel like his. They felt distant and foreign, like he’d had someone else's arms attached to his body. 

The woman (he couldn’t remember her name) was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He’d been fine a minute ago, and then that man had started to talk about “electroconvulsive therapy” “memory suppression” and “brainwashing.” All words he’d heard before, on cold metal tables and that awful chair, with its iron restraints locking him in. He’d heard things like that from doctors and soldiers alike, talking about him as if he couldn’t hear them. As if he wasn’t someone worth addressing, because he wasn’t . He was not a human, he was a tool, an asset, a weapon for Drachma. He was many things, chiefly amongst those were malleable, and deadly, but he was not a person. 

 “ пёсик ” they would call him, which he later learned meant “little dog.” He supposed the diminutive was fitting, as he did tricks on their command, and could make no choices of his own. He was their vicious attack dog, loyally defending his masters but cowering at their feet. Eating the scraps they threw him, quietly longing for more. Always hungry but silent. Seen but unheard. 

The woman’s voice reached his ears once again, and though he heard her clearly, none of the words made sense. He raised his gaze to meet hers, knowing she’d be more upset with him if he wouldn’t meet her eyes. They always were.“наглый ребенок” they’d say, “insolent child,” before slapping him. He stared at where he knew her eyes were but couldn't recognize their shape or color. 

Icy cold kissed his flesh fingers, making him shiver. He blinked sluggishly, wondering what it was and why his hand felt wet. He closed his fist around it, not daring to look down. 

“Can you feel that?” the woman asked.

He nodded carefully in reply. Ice , it was an ice cube. Why was he holding an ice cube? He squinted, focusing as hard as he could on the woman’s face. Her eyes were a warm chocolate brown, and they creased at the corners. She didn’t look angry, so that was good. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

E14…or–Ed… right , Ed, shook his head. 

“We’re at a man named Dr. Knox’s house. You are safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” she said gently. 

Hawkeye, that was her name, right? She’d said that earlier when she’d given him food. The room slowly came into focus and he recognized it this time. He was on a stranger's couch in handcuffs made for alchemists. He wasn’t in the chair, or on the table. It registered that the look on Hawkeye’s face was worry, and suddenly he felt guilty.

“ Sorry ,” he muttered when he found his voice.

“What was that?” she looked puzzled.

“ I’m sorry ,” he repeated.

Someone–possibly the colonel–cursed behind her, but she just grimaced.

“You’re not speaking English, Ed.”

What? Oh. He must have slipped into Drachman unconsciously. Ed wasn’t fluent by any means, but he’d learned a few key words and phrases. He’d gotten used to saying the important ones; they preferred when he spoke their language. 

“Sorry,” he said, this time making sure it was in English. 

“Hey it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hawkeye replied with a sad smile. 

She reached her hand towards his face and he flinched automatically, causing her to abort the motion midway. 

“You need a shower,” she said, not unkindly. “Your hair is filthy.” 

Ed couldn’t remember the last time he had bathed, so he was surprised it had taken this long to come up. He was sure he smelled awful. Ed glanced down at his chained hands then back at her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Would it be okay if I washed your hair?” 

Hawkeye seemed like a genuinely nice, and possibly trustworthy person so far. However the idea of anyone touching him, especially his head, and from behind at that matter–was repulsive. He’d just have to keep himself together, he didn’t want to freak out again and cause any more issues. If he kept acting like a child they’d get sick of him and give up on…whatever they were attempting with him now. Ed would have to maintain his composure.

“Did you hear me, Ed?”

He refocused on her face, realizing he must’ve missed whatever she had asked. Ed wanted to ask her to repeat it, but the words got caught in his throat. Luckily she continued to speak anyway, unperturbed by his silence.

“I asked if it was okay for me to wash your hair,” she repeated patiently.

Ed blinked dumbly. He had heard her the first time, but he hadn’t realized that was a question, not a statement. He wasn’t used to people asking what he wanted. Now he was unsure how to reply, because the last thing he wanted was for her to wash his hair, but he wasn’t sure what kind of response that would garner. After he noticed he’d been quiet for too long, he decided he’d have to test his luck.

“No,” Ed whispered cautiously.

It was such a small word, yet so significant. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever allowed him to refuse something. He was usually punished for even daring to say the word. So he waited for the blow, the screaming, the pain, but it never came. 

“Okay, that’s fine. We’ll work something out.” 

Ed had to consciously make sure he didn’t gape in surprise. Just like that? She wasn’t going to shove his head under scalding water and scrape out as much dirt as she could in a short time? Was she actually going to let him bathe himself?

No, that couldn’t be right. He was cuffed for a reason, they wouldn’t let him out just to wash his own hair. 

But as he thought this, Hawkeye’s hands moved toward his cuffs, fingers finding the locking mechanism.

“I’ll let you shower yourself, but you’ve gotta promise not to try anything okay? Can I trust you?” she asked.

Ed nodded jerkily, and she began taking the restraints off, starting with his flesh arm.

“What are you doing, Hawkeye?” he heard Mustang ask. “We can’t just–”

“I know what I’m doing, Colonel,” she replied, not looking up from her task. “If he tries anything, I’ll shoot him.”

Ed stiffened, eyeing the pistol in her pocket. He vaguely remembered her fingers ghosting over it as she yelled at the doctor, and knew she wasn’t joking.

“But he’s not going to, right?” Hawkeye looked him dead in the eye with a serious expression.

Ed shook his head vehemently. He looked over at the bed and caught Mustang’s eye. The man looked slightly wary, but not overly concerned.

“Okay, if you’re sure he won’t,” he said, then gave Ed a look. “She’s serious, you know. She will shoot you.” 

He didn’t doubt that for a second.

Hawkeye carefully removed one handcuff at a time, until he was free again. He was unchained and clear headed, no longer weighed down by the drugs. For a moment he considered what it would take to escape. There was a chance Ed could get out of there, though not unscathed. Would it be smarter to flee or to stay? If he were to leave, where would he go? Report back to headquarters. Inform them of your failure, and be punished for your incompetence. You deserve the pain you will receive.  

Ed gazed at the door, mere feet away. There was a window in the living room, even if they were high up, he would be able to scale the building. If he disarmed Hawkeye and kept Mustang from using his hands, it wouldn’t be too difficult to make a break for it. As an alchemist, his greatest weapons were his surroundings, and he had plenty of materials to work with. 

Escape while you still can. If you stay now, you will solidify yourself as a traitor. You will never be able to turn back. They will hunt you down and make you pay for what you’ve done.

He almost listened to the voice. He was taut as a bowstring, legs ready to spring into action at any moment. Ed could feel the colonel watching him, waiting for him to make a move. Now, do it now before-

Something thick and fluffy was placed in his hands.

“Here’s a towel, let me show you to the bathroom,” Hawkeye said.

Ed stared at the clean white towel, then looked back at her. Her soft brown eyes were watching him intently, but not with any sort of wariness. Both of her hands were on the towel, waiting for him to take it from her. The gun was easily accessible, but she wasn’t touching it. The woman was showing him a trust he hadn’t earned, in hopes that he would do the same for her. 

He wasn’t sure what made him decide to take the towel, but he knew somehow that this small act was a gesture of tentative trust. As he clutched the object to his chest, Hawkeye’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Without saying anything they both knew that he wasn’t going anywhere, at least for now. 

Ed didn’t know why he decided not to flee. Maybe it was the threat of bullets in his back. Maybe it was the fear of returning to Drachma empty handed. Maybe it was the kind look in her eyes, or the way they were treating him like he was a person rather than a weapon. Or maybe it was all of those things at once; he wasn’t sure. 

Once Hawkeye showed him to the bathroom, she let him be, saying Hughes would bring him some clothes to change into. Then he was alone, for the first time in….how long had it been? A day? Ed had no idea how long he’d been at the house, but that wasn’t unusual for him. He was used to living in random snippets of time, days passing without his notice before he was awoken for the next mission. 

Ed stared in the mirror, and a stranger looked back at him. There weren't really any mirrors at headquarters, and reflective surfaces didn’t really give the full picture. He had known vaguely what he looked like; he knew that he had golden hair and eyes, but prior to this moment he probably wouldn’t have been able to point himself out in a photo. If you’d ask him to imagine what he looked like, the image would be hazy and vague. 

He was surprised at how young he appeared. He looked like a teenager, just like they’d said. Hawkeye had been right, he was filthy. It took a moment of fumbling to figure out how to work the tap, but eventually he got it running. Ed found a small relief in stripping himself of his sweaty, restricting black outfit. It was more straight jacket than uniform, with all its straps and buckles. 

A moment later Ed was watching the grime from his body swirl down the drain. He tilted his head back for a moment, eyes closed, and soaked in the feeling of the warm water on his back. It took him a while to scrub his hair clean; there was a lot of it, but the shower didn’t feel nearly long enough. He wished he could stay there forever in the sweet solitude, with his tense muscles relaxing from the heat. With great reluctance, he eventually got out, not wanting to worry Hawkeye by taking too long. 

Hughes had briefly stepped in while he was showering to drop fresh clothes on the floor, which he picked up to inspect. The shirt and pants looked like pajamas that were at least three sizes too big for him, probably belonging to the doctor. He ran his flesh hand over the soft fabric, then slipped them on. Ed had been right, he was drowning in the clothes. He had to pull the pants up as high as they would go so that he wouldn’t trip on them. It was odd, wearing such large, comfortable clothes. It felt so freeing, but also very vulnerable. 

Ed knocked on the door to let Hawkeye know he was coming out; she had been standing guard in front of it in case he tried anything (though he suspected this gesture was mostly for the men’s sake). 

“I can take those,” the woman said, gesturing to his dirty clothes.

He handed them over wordlessly, secretly wishing she would burn them rather than go through the trouble of washing them. 

“How was your shower?” 

Ed found his tongue was still leaden, voice unreachable. He wanted to answer her, but couldn’t find the strength to form the words. He settled for a simple nod, and hoped that was okay. With Drachma he was only allowed to speak when spoken too, and with as little words as possible, so he figured she wouldn’t mind. He had been scolded many times for being too loud and mouthy, and found it was usually safer to say nothing at all. 

“Good, you look much better now,” she smiled warmly.

He felt a lot better. It was nice to finally be clean, have a full stomach and wear comfortable clothes. Each one of those things was a luxury, so experiencing all three at once was mind blowing. 

Ed was almost feeling at ease as he was escorted back into the room when he saw the doctor standing there. He abruptly stopped in his tracks, and so did Hawkeye. 

“What do you need?” she asked coldly. 

The man was scowling just like before, but was fidgeting with his watch and avoiding Ed’s eyes. 

“I wanted to apologize to Edward,” he muttered, looking a bit like a scolded child.

“Well here he is,” Hawkeye said, gesturing to Ed. 

Dr. What’s his face (Nocks? It was something like that…) reluctantly met Ed’s eye.

“Sorry,” he said plainly, looking as if the word physically pained him. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

Ed was unsure of what would be an appropriate response, so he just gave a curt nod. This seemed to be enough for the man, who quickly moved on. 

“Would you like any medication for your head?” he asked. 

Ed shook his head, which still hurt but not as badly as it had earlier. Hughes and Mustang had halted their conversation to watch the interaction play out, and were looking ready to try asking Ed questions again.

“No more questioning him today,” Hawkeye said firmly, “let’s get some rest and we can start fresh tomorrow. Does that sound good to everyone?” 

The woman intentionally met every eye in the room individually, including his own. He nodded, and the rest gave reluctant verbal assent. Hawkeye led him back to the couch, and apologetically made him place the cuffs back on.

“I trust you,” she said quietly, so only he could hear, “but they’re worried you might wake up disoriented and start attacking if you have a nightmare or something like that. It’s just a precaution. I promise this is the only time we’ll make you sleep restrained, we’ll figure out a better system.” 

Something warm bloomed in his chest when he heard those words. It grew when she handed him a blanket, and bid him goodnight like he was just a child and not a monster. I trust you. He wanted to tell her he couldn’t be trusted; that a set of words could turn him into a killing machine; that he wasn’t the boy she knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He cradled her tentative trust in his hands like a newborn, hoping desperately he wouldn’t crush it with his bloodied fingers. 

Chapter Text

Maes Hughes hadn’t looked in a mirror recently, but he was sure that he had grown at least a dozen gray hairs in the past 24 hours. After a really uncomfortable conversation with Dr. Knox that involved him apologizing on Hawkeye’s behalf while simultaneously defending her actions, he’d realized in a panic that he hadn’t called Gracia to let her know he wouldn’t be home. He’d quickly dialed his home number, hoping that he hadn’t worried her too much. Unfortunately he had, but after explaining the situation his lovely wife had quickly understood why he’d neglected to call her. 

“Wow, that’s–” she sighed, “That’s a lot to take in.”

“You’re telling me,” he ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry Maes, that situation sounds awful.”

There was a short silence in which he thought he should respond, but couldn’t find words to answer. It was more than awful, what had happened to Edward, but no words were adequate to describe it. 

“What are you planning to do about him? And what about Alphonse?”

Maes grimaced, beginning to pace the length of the small kitchen.

“I don’t know.”

After promising he’d be careful and keep her updated, Gracia passed the phone to Alphonse. The boy’s voice sounded even more tinny over the phone than in person. 

"Lieutenant Colonel?”

Maes smiled wearily. “How many times have I told you to call me Maes? At least use Hughes for goodness sake, you act like we don’t know each other.” 

“Sorry sir, I mean uh…Mr. Hughes.”

The man stifled a laugh; it was always amusing to see how opposite Al was to his brother when it came to formalities. He was always tripping over himself to be polite, whereas Ed regularly called his commanding officer a bastard.

“Don’t stress about it buddy,” he replied, switching the phone to rest on his other shoulder.

“Sorry for worrying you and Gracia; I got caught up with a situation at work,” Maes explained carefully. “I’ll try to get home as soon as possible, but there’s no telling how long that could be from now. Would you be able to help out with my little Elicia while I’m gone? Gracia can handle her if you need to go somewhere else but I know she could benefit from some extra hands.”

He wasn’t exactly lying, having Al there to play with Elicia would be nice, but his wife was plenty used to it being just the two of them. What Maes really wanted was to keep him busy and distracted. He also knew that by phrasing it like he was doing them a favor, Al wouldn’t be worried about imposing by staying while Maes wasn’t there. 

“Oh–yes sir, of course!” 

“Perfect, thank you!”

Maes tried to inject some cheerfulness into his voice, as not to clue the boy in on his downtrodden mood. However Alphonse had always been very perceptive.

“Is everything all right?”

The man held back a sigh, debating for a moment how to respond. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t tell the whole truth yet either.

“It’s a complicated situation, but I have hope that it will work out just fine. I can’t give any details right now, but don’t worry about me, okay? You take care of my girls; I’ve got this handled.” 

“Okay,” Al replied, sounding unsatisfied with that answer. “I will.”

Maes realized after the fact that he had lied; he didn’t have this handled, not one bit. How could anyone handle something like this? A brilliant young boy with a heart of gold, stolen and used as a weapon by their enemies. Reduced to a husk of what he once was; missing his memory and his spark. Everything that made Edward Edward gone, like it had never existed. 

It was truly horrible, what war could do to people. Some became monsters who would do anything, use anyone, to get what they wanted. Others--those who refused to do the same, were the ones who became pawns. They were turned into weapons, used and then discarded--treated like they weren’t even human. 

Maes thought, not for the first time, that Ed should never have been allowed to join the military. He was too young and idealistic, too pure and impressionable. They’d led that boy straight into hell, and now he was paying the price for it. 

But no, that wasn’t entirely true. Ed and Al had already been through hell before Roy had shown up at their house. They’d been attempting to climb out of that hell--to regain their bodies and their freedom–-when Ed had been abruptly stolen away. Maybe it was his notoriety as a state alchemist that landed a target on his back, or maybe he would have been taken regardless. Either way, there was no changing the past. All their energy needed to be focused on the now so they could get Ed’s memory back and get him pardoned by the military. 

Maes found himself sharing this sentiment in the darkness of Knox’s guest room with Roy and Riza after they were sure Ed was asleep. The Lieutenant Colonel could tell Roy still wasn’t thinking clearly; he was too wrapped up in his own guilt and distress over everything that had been revealed. He knew his friend felt responsible for the boys as Ed’s commanding officer. In some ways this was good; they needed someone to look after them. However based on years of knowing the colonel…Maes didn’t think Roy considered himself capable or worthy of being that person. As long as he believed that, he wouldn’t be. 

Maes rubbed his dry, tired eyes with a sigh before speaking up.  

“Listen, I know we all want to figure this out right now but we aren’t going to make any progress while we’re exhausted.”

Roy seemed ready to argue, but a look from Riza silenced him. It was fascinating how those two communicated. They had their own secret code, as well as aliases for each other, and could have whole conversations without saying a word. He wished they’d just get together already; they made a fine pair. 

“I agree. Let’s get some sleep and tackle this in the morning,” Riza stated. 

Despite the exhaustion he was feeling, he found it hard to settle down with the way his mind was churning. Seeing Ed in this state--hollowed out and terrified--made his stomach turn. He couldn’t help but imagine what he would do if his little Elicia was in his place. Maes shuddered at the thought and shoved it out of his mind. It was too horrible to imagine, even for a second. Whatever the boy had gone through wasn’t something any child should experience. 

Eventually, Maes drifted off, his dreams plagued with visions of Elicia in Ed’s place. 

Between the stress induced nightmares and the pain in his side, Roy got maybe four hours of sleep. He found himself staring at the ceiling the next morning while everyone else still slept, brewing up a plan. 

If they could prove that Fullmetal had been forced under duress to kill those soldiers, they had a chance of getting him pardoned. They would have to get some solid evidence, but Roy wasn’t too worried about that. It was a welcome excuse to hunt down the Drachmans who had done this to Ed and give them a piece of his mind. Because it was unfortunately clear that Drachma had been the one to do this. It was what everyone had suspected, but the boy’s slip of the tongue had confirmed it. He didn’t speak Drachman, but Roy had heard enough to recognize the language. Drachma’s involvement would definitely be an obstacle, but they could use it to help build their case. 

The real problem would be getting a full testimony out of the kid. He was cagey, and clearly didn’t fully trust them yet. Roy doubted he would be willing to tell them anything at this point. If they found some way to speed up the process of getting his memory back…

No, that would have to wait. The issue of the military hunting him was much more pressing, and they had no idea where to start with retrieving his memory--or if it was even possible. Roy would have to find out the exact details of how he’d lost it first; if he could find the person responsible, he might be able to force them to admit how to reverse it (if it was even possible). 

Yes, that was it, that was a plan--he could work with that. Get as much information from Ed as he’s willing to share, then hunt the bastards responsible for ripping away his memories and forcing him to be their assassin.

Edward, who had vowed never to kill anyone--no matter who it was. Edward--his stubborn, loud mouthed subordinate--who hadn’t said a word since Knox had upset him. No, that wasn’t right, he’d said one word after that, when Hawkeye had asked if she could wash his hair. He’d looked stunned by the fact that she had even asked, and his simple whispered “no” had sounded fearful, as if he’d be stricken just for uttering the word. 

Imagining the horrors that Ed must have gone through to end up this way sent such a powerful tidal wave of emotions through Roy, so powerful that it threatened to overtake him. There were so many feelings that he couldn’t even identify individually; they all ended up in a tangled knot in his stomach. Roy held onto his anger, shoving the rest as far down as he could. 

Anger was an old friend; it burned away all other unwanted emotions, leaving no room for distractions. It was a familiar kind of pain, one that he wouldn’t so easily be consumed by, a controlled flame in his palm. He would let it boil inside of him, allowing him to proceed with focus and purpose. 

Roy sat up in bed, wincing as it groaned and squeaked with his movement. Dr. Knox had left some pain reliever on the nightstand, which he gratefully downed with his glass of tepid water. He shifted his feet onto the ground as slowly and carefully as he could, attempting not to wake Maes. He had shared the bed with Roy, while Hawkeye had slept on the couch in the living room. They’d offered her the bed but she’d insisted Roy needed it because of his wound; and as appealing as the idea of sharing it with her was, they all knew that would be inappropriate.  As he carefully crept toward the bathroom, he noticed a pair of golden eyes silently watching him. 

Roy nearly jumped out of his skin after clocking Edward’s stare, causing him to stifle a yell of surprise. His fright must have shone on his face because the boy’s expression shifted slightly.

“Sorry,” Ed whispered, but Roy suspected he wasn’t remotely so. He was lying on his side with his restrained hands placed awkwardly in front of him in a way that couldn’t be comfortable.

“Morning,” he replied, then jabbed a thumb towards the bathroom door. “Do you need to go?” 

“I can wait.” 

Roy nodded and entered. After relieving himself, he uncuffed Ed so he could do the same. The boy was disturbingly calm and compliant throughout the entire process. Roy paused as he started to replace the restraints, considering whether or not they were still necessary. If Fullmetal had been planning to attack or escape, he could’ve easily done it yesterday when they had allowed him to shower. He had watched the gears turning in the boy’s head as he considered it with bated breath, ready to leap up at a moment's notice, but nothing had happened. Ed had simply accepted the towel from Hawkeye, taken his shower, and let her put the cuffs back on. 

After a moment of deliberation, he set the restraints aside. Ed tilted his head, shooting him a questioning gaze.

“You could’ve escaped a couple times already,” Mustang explained, “which leads me to believe you aren’t planning to bolt.” 

The confusion cleared from the boy’s expression, leaving the ever present blankness there in its stead.

“No point. Don’t have anywhere to go,” he shrugged.

Roy wanted to deny this--to remind him he belongs somewhere—but then realized that might not be the best conversation to have with someone who has forgotten that they burned down their own house. That wasn’t something that would be helpful for Ed to remember—or hear about–at the present moment.

They both sat there in uncomfortable silence for a moment, with Roy unsure of what to say and Ed opting not to say anything. How was he supposed to make conversation with the boy when he didn’t remember Roy, or anything else for that matter? Luckily he was spared of having to even attempt this by a knock at the door. 

“Good morning, sir,” Hawkeye greeted as he let her in. “I made breakfast.” 

“Thank you Lieutenant," he replied gratefully. “Ed’s already up, I’ll wake Maes.” 

She nodded and held the door open for Fullmetal to walk through. He got up quietly, sparing Roy a passing glance before following her into the dining room. When he approached the bed, he found that Maes was lying on his side, eyes open. Roy was unsurprised, he had suspected the man was feigning sleep when he’d noticed the absence of loud snoring.  

“How long have you been up?” 

Maes shrugged as he sat up, sliding his glasses onto his face. 

“Long enough.”

Before Roy could ask why he had pretended to sleep and listened in on their conversation, his friend spoke again. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Maes started, “you want to search for the Drachmans responsible, but you’re still healing, and someone needs to stay with Ed.” 

Roy felt a surge of indignation; he couldn't sit back and babysit while the rest of them searched for Ed’s tormentors. He needed to find them; he needed to force them to confess what they had done and then make them pay. 

“I’m fine.Someone else can stay with him.”

Maes sighed as if he had expected this response. 

“Putting aside the fact that you have a fresh stab wound, I can’t in good conscience let you go looking for them.”

His indignation flared into fury.

“You can’t ‘let me’? Since when do I take orders from you?” he spat. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“Roy,” Maes was frowning in that annoying, concerned way he often did when Roy began to lose himself, “I understand why you want to find them yourself. I know how I’d feel if it were Elicia instead of Ed– but you can’t let yourself be consumed by the desire for revenge.” 

“Those monsters deserve to suffer,” Roy growled.

“I’m with you, I know, but you can’t go on unsanctioned murderous rampages if you want to be the fuhrer one day,” Maes reasoned.

Maes was right, but he was so angry—and the anger kept him afloat, he was clinging to it like a lifeline in the hopes that he wouldn’t drown in the raging sea of guilt and fear and everything in between. He wanted to find the men and boil their eyes, to make them feel even a fraction of the agony they had caused Fullmetal. He couldn’t stay back with the boy, he wasn’t equipped to care for anyone, let alone a traumatized amnesiac teenager. Roy was made to destroy, not restore. His hands created the flames that laid waste to his enemies; they were far too bloodied to comfort anyone.

As if he knew exactly what Roy was thinking, Maes interrupted his thoughts to contradict him. 

“He needs you Roy,” the man said earnestly. “I know you’ll find it hard to believe, but he looks up to you, he really does.”

Roy scoffed, “Even if that were true, he doesn’t remember me now.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Maes insisted, “because his memories are in there somewhere, I know they are–you saw the way he reacted to Alphonse’s name. It will take time, but I really think we can help him remember.”

He didn’t understand how his friend could be so sure of himself, so full of hope in a situation as dark as this one. Maes had always been relentlessly optimistic–-the exact opposite of Roy.

“I’m not–” he struggled, gesturing helplessly at himself, “suited for this, Maes. He’s so broken already, I don’t want to risk messing him up even further.” 

“You aren’t going to.” 

Roy scowled, trying his best not to raise his voice in the thin walled house.

“How can you be so sure of that? He needs someone who knows how to deal with–with children, and his issues–”

Warm hands abruptly landed on his shoulders, startling him into silence. Sharp green eyes bore into his.

“Roy,” Maes said carefully, “you have to be the one to help him because you are possibly the only person here who can really understand what he’s been through.”

Roy furrowed his brows, now positively bewildered. What was Maes going on about?

“What are you talking about?” 

The look on his friend’s face was solemn, but there was a hint of what looked like sorrow swimming in his eyes. 

“You’ve been where he’s been.”

Roy rolled his eyes. The man was being ridiculous.

“Having no memories? You’re gonna have to refresh me on when that happened, because I don’t recall-”

“No,” the man interrupted. “Being used as a weapon.” 

Roy stilled, every inch of his body tensing. He wished Maes would move his hands; they felt suddenly suffocating.

“That’s not the same and you know it,” he snapped.

Maes removed his hands (thankfully) and tucked them into his pockets.

“Not the same, no, but similar.”

Roy gritted his teeth so hard he thought they might crack.

“I had a choice, Maes, we all did.”

“We didn’t know what we were signing up for.”

“I– we could’ve refused–” 

“Yes, but that doesn’t change the point I’m trying to make,” the man straightened his glasses, looking grim. “You were both in some way pressured into using your alchemy to do things that will haunt you forever. It doesn’t matter that the circumstances were different, you still can empathize with his situation better than most of us.” 

Roy clenched his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. Maes had a point, but thinking about it made him nauseous. Roy had led Edward down this path. He was the reason the boy was a state alchemist, which had made him a target. He’d been trying so hard to atone for his sins after Ishval, for all the lives he’d taken—but for some reason he couldn’t stop hurting people. His effort to do something good, to help two lost boys restore their bodies–had only caused them more suffering. He should’ve never recruited Ed; if he hadn’t, they wouldn’t even be in this situation-

“Stop that,” Maes reprimanded, snapping Roy out of his spiraling thoughts. “This isn’t your fault. Feeling guilty about it isn’t going to change what happened. All you can do is help him heal and move past it.” 

Roy released his hands, the tension bleeding out of his body. Maes was right–he couldn’t change the past. From this moment forward, helping Ed heal would be his primary focus. Roy did his best to shove aside his guilt and anger for the time being–stuffing them as far down as he possibly could so they wouldn’t get in the way.