Archive of Our Own

The trees were too close together, making it hard to find a path through. Ed ducked beneath a low branch, felt it scrape across the back of his coat, and nearly went down when his boot caught on a root. He caught himself against the trunk of a tree. For half a second, the rough bark scraping against his hand was the only thing holding him upright.

Mustang’s hand closed around his arm. “Keep moving.”

“I am.” Ed shoved away from the tree. As soon as his boot landed, pain flashed white behind his eyes. He bit down on his cheek hard enough to taste blood and kept running.

The forest swallowed them almost immediately. Moonlight came through the canopy in broken pieces, silver between black branches, but there was barely enough of it to see the ground. Roots twisted through the dirt, wet leaves sliding beneath his boots. Every few steps, something caught his coat.

Behind him, somewhere beyond the trees, a branch snapped.

Ed looked over his shoulder.

Nothing.

Another crack, closer this time.

“Three,” Mustang said.

Ed didn’t ask how he knew. “Left?”

“Right.” Mustang changed direction without breaking stride.

Ed followed, gritting his teeth. He could still do this. His lungs burned, and his side felt like someone had driven a hot piece of metal between his ribs and left it there. His left hand had gone strangely numb sometime during the last stretch of running, and every time his fingers brushed his coat, they came away slick.

But none of that mattered right now. They needed to go, and he was moving. That meant he was fine enough for now.

A shot cracked through the trees. Ed dropped instinctively. Mustang grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him sideways as another shot tore through the branches where his head had been.

“Move!”

“I know!” Ed sprinted. Or tried to. His right leg wouldn’t quite straighten anymore, and he stumbled hard enough that Mustang’s hand shot out again, catching him around the ribs. For one humiliating second, most of his weight hung from Mustang’s arm.

Ed shoved himself upright. “I’m fine.”

Mustang stared at him, but didn’t say anything. Somehow, Ed thought that was worse.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

Mustang turned and started running again. Ed followed, jaw clenched. His heartbeat had become a strange, distant thing. He could feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, somewhere deep in the wound in his side. He couldn’t remember when he’d started leaving blood on the leaves.

The trees blurred. Ed squeezed his eyes shut and blinked. They sharpened again. Mustang was five feet ahead—no, ten. Ed pushed harder. His boot slid, the ground tilting violently. He belatedly reached for a tree and missed. Something caught him around the waist before he hit the ground.

“Easy,” a low voice said.

Ed sucked in a breath. Bad idea. Pain ripped through his abdomen so violently that his knees folded. Mustang took his weight. For a moment neither of them moved. Ed could hear Mustang breathing heavy, could hear his own breath coming too fast, could feel warm blood spreading beneath his clothes.

Mustang’s hand was pressed against his side. When he pulled it away, Ed saw the dark shine across his glove. Mustang looked at it, then at Ed.

Ed straightened before he could say anything. “Keep going.”

“Ed—”

“Keep going.”

Ed took one step—his knee buckled. Mustang caught him again. This time, Ed couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He leaned against Mustang’s shoulder, breathing through his teeth. “I can walk,” he gasped out.

“I know.”

“Then let me.”

Mustang’s expression didn’t change, but Ed knew he was debating. “Fine,” he finally said, shifting Ed’s arm over his shoulders. “Walk.”

Ed did. One step. Then another. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of them. Ed concentrated on Mustang’s boots. Left. Right. Left. Right. He had to keep up. His own feet were wrong. One dragged, and the other stumbled every other step. He tried to correct it, but after another step something gave beneath his ribs. Ed made a strangled sound before he could stop himself.

Mustang’s arm tightened around him and started trying to lower him down. “Let’s stop for a minute.”

“No—”

“We’re stopping.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We have enough.”

Ed turned, glancing at him finally. Mustang was looking at him with an expression Ed couldn’t quite read. Not anger, not fear. Something quieter, something Ed didn’t want to see.

He pushed away. “I said I can—” His vision went black, the trees disappeared, the ground disappeared, there was only Mustang’s hand closing around his shoulder.

The forest snapped back into place. Ed was on one knee. He didn’t remember getting there.

Mustang was crouched in front of him, voice quiet. “Ed.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re bleeding through your coat.”

“Yeah, well…” Ed swallowed. His mouth was dry. “That’s generally what happens when someone gets shot.”

Mustang’s eyes flicked toward the trees. Another branch snapped in the distance. He stood, and Ed felt a hand slide beneath his knees. His stomach dropped. “No.”

Mustang bent.

“I said no, damnit.”

“Don’t start,” Mustang said as he lifted him.

The movement jarred something inside Ed, and the world exploded into white. His fingers clenched involuntarily in Mustang’s coat. For several seconds, he couldn’t breathe.

Mustang hadn’t said anything, and when Ed could finally see again, the man was already moving. Fast. Much faster than Ed had expected anyone could move while carrying a person with two automail limbs through a forest.

Ed stared at the dark outline of Mustang’s face. “Put me down, you bastard. You can’t run like this.”

Mustang smirked. “And yet, I am.”

“For now, but you’re going to trip.”

“Then I guess I’ll trip.”

“Maybe you’re fine with that, but I think when you dump me on the ground—”

“No.” The answer came so quickly Ed stopped arguing. Mustang adjusted his grip, almost holding him closer. “I won’t drop you.”

His answer was so certain, Ed didn’t quite know what to say to it. He blamed the injury and shock he was starting to experience.

Ed could feel the steady rise and fall of Mustang’s breathing against him. His own body felt strangely heavy. He tried to shift.

Mustang immediately tightened his hold. “Don’t.”

“I can still walk.”

“I know.”

There it was again. Not you can’t. Not you’re too injured. Just I know.

Mustang ran. The forest moved around them in flashes: branches, moonlight, black trunks, Mustang’s boots striking the wet earth. Ed tried to keep his eyes open. He told himself he would, just until they were further away and they couldn’t hear the men behind them anymore.

The pain pressed in around him, and he closed his eyes.

Opened them.

Mustang was still running, but he sounded more out of breath now.

Ed frowned. He tried to lift his head. Mustang’s coat brushed his cheek.

“Stay awake, Ed.”

“I am,” he mumbled, tongue thick in his mouth.

“You weren’t.” Mustang’s face was blurred. Ed blinked several times, but it didn’t help, the edges of his vision turning black.

Behind them, another shot cracked through the trees. Mustang’s arms tightened as he changed direction. Ed’s head rolled against his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of Mustang’s body through the layers of clothing. His fingers were still curled into the fabric of Mustang’s coat. Distantly, he thought he should let go. He didn’t.

“Mustang?” he rasped, eyes drooping.

The man hummed, glancing down.

“I’m slowing you down,” he murmured, body winning as he finally closed his eyes.

This time, Mustang’s voice followed him into the dark. “Then I’ll slow down.”

Ed didn’t have enough strength left to argue.

Ed woke to footsteps. Not his. The rhythm was wrong, too steady and heavy. He opened his eyes. Trees passed overhead. For several seconds, he couldn’t understand why. Then, Mustang’s shoulder shifted beneath his cheek.

Oh. Right. Ed was being carried.

He tried to move and immediately regretted it. Pain pulled tight across his ribs and down through his abdomen, breath catching.

Mustang’s arms tightened round him before he could slip. “Don’t move.”

Ed swallowed, hating the whole situation. “Wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I was just adjusting, damnit.”

“Then don’t adjust.”

Ed stared at him. His brain was taking longer to catch up to what was happening, what was being said. His voice was a little slurred. Mustang didn't look down at him, though that was probably for the best.

Ed let his head settle back against Mustang’s shoulder and take in what surroundings he could. The forest had changed. The moon was lower than it had been, but it was still firmly dark. Ed tried to remember how long he’d been asleep and frustratingly came up short.

“How long?” he asked.

Mustang’s boot continued crunching over damp leaves. “How long what?”

“Since I—” Ed stopped.

Mustang finally glanced down at him. “Since you fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“A little while.”

That wasn’t an answer, but Ed decided not to comment on it for now.

Ed closed his eyes. He felt hollowed out, drained of everything except the pain and the steady motion of Mustang’s body beneath him. His fingers twitch against Mustang’s coat. There was something wet beneath them. Blood. Ed couldn’t tell whose.

He opened his eyes again, tried to find out where it was coming from.

“Are you bleeding?” he asked, furrowing his brow. He couldn’t see right, he couldn’t concentrate, and he was getting fed up with his brain fog.

“No,” Mustang answered quietly.

He frowned, staring at the blood. “But…”

“It’s not mine,” Mustang said, shifting him higher against his chest.

The movement made Ed’s vision flash. He sucked in a breath.

Mustang stopped immediately. “Sorry.”

Ed waited for the pain to recede. It didn’t, but he could breathe around it after a few moments.

They moved deeper into the trees. Eventually, Mustang stopped. The night was quiet without movement, just the sound of both of them breathing.

Mustang lowered him carefully. The ground was cold beneath his back. He opened his eyes as Mustang knelt beside him. They were in a small hollow beneath a fallen tree, sheltered by roots and brush. Ed had no doubt Mustang had chosen it deliberately. From outside, it would be almost impossible to see.

Ed watched him pull a small field dressing from inside his coat and nearly scoffed. “You carry those around?”

“Since I’ve been working with you? Always.”

“Smartass.”

Mustang ignored him. He cut through the fabric around Ed’s side. Cold air assaulted the skin. Ed stared at the canopy, refusing to look down. He didn’t need to. Mustang had one hand pressed against his side while the other worked, quickly and carefully. Ed felt the pressure increase, and his fingers curled into the dirt but he didn’t make a sound. At least, he didn’t think he did. But Mustang paused.

“Breathe,” Mustang said.

Ed did. It hurt.

Mustang’s hand stayed where it was. “Again.”

Ed dragged air into his lungs again. His chest shook, but he felt more grounded.

“Good.”

Ed glanced over. Mustang wasn’t looking at him, instead watching his hands.

“I’m fine.”

Mustang’s jaw tightened. “Sure.”

Ed would’ve argued, but his strength was spent, and darkness tugged at his mind.

His eyes closed.

When he opened them again, Mustang was sitting against the tree, Ed tucked against his side. Mustang’s jacket covered both of them. Ed stared at it. He didn’t remember Mustang putting it there. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember—

He gasped as he shifted. Mustang’s hand was already at the back of Ed’s neck. “Easy.”

Ed blinked. “I’m awake.”

“I can tell.” Mustang withdrew his hand.

Ed tried to sit up, but his body refused. The world tilted. Mustang caught him before he could fall sideways.

“Don’t push yourself.”

“I need—”

“No, Ed, stop.”

“I need to—”

“You need to stay still.”

Ed stared at him. Mustang held his gaze before his expression softened by the smallest degree. “You’re okay.”

The words settled strangely, reminding Ed of times past, though the memories escaped his exhausted mind.

Ed’s eyes drifted closed, already exhausted from being conscious for a few minutes. Somewhere beneath the forest, beneath the sound of Mustang’s steady breathing, Ed remembered.

____________

He was twelve. He’d just joined the military earlier in the year and was old enough and bitter enough to be offended by being carried while still being young enough that his feet didn’t quite reach the floor when he sat in a chair.

The mission had gone wrong in a spectacularly stupid way. Ed couldn’t remember all the details anymore. He remembered the rickety warehouse. The rain. The fact that he’d been awake for nearly three days.

He remembered telling Mustang he could walk. “I can walk,” he insisted, voice sharp and hard. He hadn’t learned to trust yet.

Mustang hadn’t even looked at him.

“I literally just walked over here.”

“You stumbled into a wall.”

“I was avoiding a puddle!”

“You walked into a wall.”

“It was dark.”

“It was broad daylight.”

Ed had glared at him.

Mustang had sighed, then crouched in front of him. “Get on.”

“No,” was his immediate response.

“Edward.”

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

I know. That had made Ed pause.

Mustang looked over his shoulder. “You’ve been awake for nearly sixty hours, Fullmetal.”

“I’ve been awake longer.”

“That’s not what we’re discussing.”

Ed folded his arms. Mustang waited. Ed waited. Rain drummed against the warehouse roof.

Finally, Mustang stood again. “Fine.”

Ed felt victorious for approximately three seconds. Then Mustang turned, bent down, and scooped him up.

“HEY!” Ed grabbed his shoulders. “Put me down!”

Mustang just sighed, as if Ed was the one being annoying, and started walking. Ed struggled for several seconds, then stopped. Mostly because struggling hurt.

He settled for scowling at Mustang’s head. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely,” Mustang said, voice deadpan.

“You’re a terrible person.”

“So I’ve been told.”

This was the first time Ed had been so close to Mustang, and he could smell rainwater mixed with smoke. He was warm, which was irritating.

After a while, his eyes began to close. He forced them open.

Mustang, that bastard, had noticed. “Go to sleep.”

“No.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

Mustang’s voice changed, actually holding some sort of emotion in it that Ed couldn’t place. “You don’t always have to prove it.”

Ed didn’t answer. He stared at the rain around them, willing his stubborn mind to hold out a little longer, but a minute later he was asleep.

____________

Ed woke with a sharp breath. The forest was still dark, Mustang still beside him. The jacket had slipped from his shoulder, and Mustang automatically pulled it back up.

Ed stared at him. “You’ve carried me before,” he said before his brain could catch up with him.

Mustang glanced at him. “Several times.”

Ed frowned. “I didn’t remember.”

“You don’t remember most things that happen while you’re unconscious.”

Ed’s mouth twitched, and his eyes drifted shut.

The next time Ed woke, Mustang was moving again. It was brighter. Ed had no idea when they’d started. No idea how long he’d been asleep. His body felt distant, his throat dry.

“Water,” he asked, voice rasping.

Mustang looked down, surprise lighting his features before he crouched, settling him against a tree. “Good.”

Ed frowned. “What’s good?”

“You actually asked for something.”

Mustang pulled the canteen, helped him hold it to his mouth. Ed drank too quickly, coughing.

Mustang lowered it. “Slowly.”

Ed glared, but drank again. This time, Mustang only let him have a little. Ed wanted to argue, but his eyes drifted close instead.

He heard Mustang’s voice, distant and calm. “Sleep.”

Ed sank into the darkness.

Ed was warm the next time he woke. As he glanced around, he immediately noticed Mustang’s hand resting against the back of Ed’s shoulder, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his coat. Not holding him down, not even really holding him. Just… there.

Ed lay still for several seconds, staring at the forest around them. Somewhere beyond their little hollow where Mustang had taken refuge, wind moved through the trees with a long, whispering rush. The smell of damp earth and smoke lingered beneath the sharper scent of blood.

Mustang was sitting with his back against a tree, his head tipped forward—asleep. Ed almost laughed. The man could sleep anywhere.

Then Ed shifted. Pain tore through his side so suddenly that his breath caught.

Mustang’s eyes opened immediately. No fumbling, no confusion. One second asleep, the next awake and watching him. “Easy.”

Ed clenched his teeth. “Wasn’t doing anything.”

“You obviously were.” Mustang’s voice was rough with sleep, but otherwise perfectly calm.

Ed looked down. His bandages had been changed again. He didn’t remember that. He didn’t remember anything after the water. The realization sat strangely in his chest. He didn’t like it.

Mustang leaned forward and checked the edge of the bandage without disturbing it.

“How long?” Ed’s voice came out hoarse.

“Since what?”

“Since I fell asleep.”

Mustang glanced toward the edge of trees. “A few hours.”

Ed swallowed. He hated missing pieces of time. He hated feeling like his body was betraying him, insisting he spent his time sleeping instead of doing something useful.

Mustang must have seen something in his face because he said, "Don't try to account for every minute.”

Ed frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Ed opened his mouth. Closed it.

Mustang gave him the faintest hint of a smirk. “You’re remarkably predictable.”

Ed glared at him. Mustang handed him the canteen, a silent order to drink. Ed’s hand shook, but he pretended it didn’t. Mustang glanced away, also pretending not to notice. Ed took a small swallow. Then another.

The canteen lowered into his lap. For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, Mustang said quietly, “You’re okay.”

The words struck somewhere deeper than they should have. Ed stared at him. Mustang wasn’t looking at him anymore, he was watching the trees, listening and waiting.

You’re okay.

Ed had heard it before. A lot. He just hadn’t realized how far back it went.

____________

When Ed had turned thirteen, he was still young enough that Amestris still felt like a place he had to conquer every morning, but old enough to believe he didn’t need anyone’s help.

The mission had gone wrong sometime around midnight. Ed couldn’t remember exactly how, at this point. He remembered a lot of yelling, and of course the building collapsing. He remembered Al, still in his iron body, shouting his name.

He remembered getting out.

After that, there had been hours of running, searching, repairing, fighting, and trying to convince everyone else that nothing was wrong.

By dawn, Ed had blood dried down one side of his face and enough dirt in his hair that Winry would scream if she saw him.

By noon, he had stopped noticing either.

He was sitting on the back step of an abandoned farmhouse when Mustang found him.

“Fullmetal.”

Ed looked up, taking in the man who stood in the doorway, coat dusty and hair slightly singed. “You look terrible.”

Mustang scoffed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ed pushed himself upright. His legs wobbled, which he stubbornly ignored. As soon as he went to take a step, his knees buckled.

Mustang caught him by the arm. Ed jerked away sharply. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

“I know.”

Ed looked suspiciously at him while he sighed. Mustang turned and crouched slightly.

Ed stared. “No. I’m not—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“You can’t just—”

Mustang turned and caught him before he could finish. One arm hooked beneath Ed’s knees, the other went around his back. The ground disappeared. Ed made a strangled noise. “Put me down!”

Mustang ignored him.

“Mustang!” he seethed.

“You’re injured and have been ignoring medical treatment all day.”

“I’m not that injured!”

“You just fell.”

“I tripped.”

“On nothing.”

Ed squirmed, and Mustang adjusted his grip, sending a glare down at him. “Stop moving.”

“I can walk!”

“I know.” There it was again. That maddeningly calm answer.

Ed glared at the side of Mustang’s head. “You keep saying that like it changes anything.”

“It does. I’m not carrying you because I think you’re incapable of walking. I know you could trudge on for hours longer.” Mustang continued down the road. “I’m carrying you because you’re exhausted and injured and because you don’t need to.”

Ed didn’t have an answer for that. He hated it.

The farmhouse disappeared behind them, the road stretching ahead. For the first time since the mission had begun four days ago, Ed wasn't the one deciding where his feet went. It was strangely peaceful.

“You don’t always have to prove you can walk,” Mustang said.

Ed muttered an insult, but didn’t get a response. A few minutes later, Ed’s eyes closed. When he woke, he was in a bed with a blanket covering him. Al sat nearby, and Mustang was in the room.

“You’re okay,” Mustang had said quietly before excusing himself while Ed was still waking up.

It hadn’t made sense. Ed was injured. His head hurt, his leg hurt, and he was beyond exhausted. Being okay meant someone was uninjured, or well on their way to recovery, but he wasn’t any of those things yet. So the words didn’t make sense.

____________

Ed opened his eyes. The forest was back. Confusion clouded his mind, and he didn’t know why he was in the forest for a minute. Then the pain returned.

Mustang was crouched beside him.

Damn, he had fallen asleep again. “How long?”

“Less than an hour,” Mustang answered easily, eyes not straying from his face. “You remember what I said?”

Ed knew what he meant. “‘You’re okay.’”

“That’s right.”

Ed frowned, hazy mind still in a different time. “You always say that.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah.”

Mustang looked at him. Ed waited. After a moment, Mustang said, “Usually when you need to hear it.”

Ed stared into the fire. That was different. He’d always heard the words as empty reassurance that everything was fine, but Mustang had never actually used them that way. Not really. When Ed had been injured, Mustang hadn’t said he wasn’t hurt. When Ed was exhausted, Mustang hadn’t pretended he wasn’t. When Ed had been terrified, Mustang hadn’t told him there was nothing to be afraid of.

You’re okay.

Maybe it had never meant nothing happened. Maybe it meant something else.

You’re here.

You’re breathing.

I’m here with you.

You’re safe in this moment.

You made it.

Ed looked down at his hands, his fingers were trembling again. He curled them into fists. “Yeah, usually.”

Instead of commenting, Mustang reached over and pulled the coat more securely around him. Ed let him.

Outside the hollow, something moved. Both of them went still. Mustang’s hand dropped to grab his gloves. Ed’s heart kicked hard.

There were footsteps, far away but coming closer.

Mustang rose silently, and Ed caught his sleeve. He didn’t know why he’d done it. Maybe because the forest suddenly felt much bigger. Maybe because he had just spent most of the last day unconscious and had no idea what he’d missed or if he’d be forced to nod off again and be left defenseless. Maybe because, for once, he didn’t want to pretend he wasn’t afraid—for himself, for Mustang.

Mustang’s expression changed, and he crouched again. “I’ll be back.”

Ed’s fingers tightened.

“I’ll be back,” he said again.

Ed searched his face. Mustang had promised things before. Usually in the same irritatingly certain tone and usually while doing something Ed thought was completely insane. And somehow, he’d always kept his promises.

Mustang placed a hand briefly against the back of Ed’s shoulder. “You’re okay.” For the first time, the words didn’t feel like a lie, they felt like a promise.

Then, he disappeared into the trees.

Ed sat alone, and he listened.

Footsteps echoed in the forest, branches cracking underneath mystery feet.

Ed shifted closer to the tree, trying to get his feet underneath him. He had to help—he knew he could still fight, still do something. He wasn’t going to let Mustang run out there and get himself killed by himself.

Pain answered immediately. His right hand went flat against the ground as the world tilted. He waited until it steadied. He looked to the trees as footsteps came closer, but saw nothing.

“Mustang?”

No answer.

Ed’s fingers curled into the dirt, and he cursed his weakening body. “Mustang,” he ground out again.

A hand appeared around a nearby trunk. Ed flinched, but Mustang stepped back into view. There was blood on one of his gloves. Ed’s eyes dropped to it, and Mustang followed his gaze.

“Not mine,” he said quickly. It wasn’t particularly reassuring, but Ed still felt relief course through him.

Ed tried to stand again, but Mustang caught his shoulder. “No, Ed—”

“I can help.”

“I know—” the words were becoming irritatingly familiar— “But I can handle it. Stay here.”

“Like hell.”

“Edward, you can’t be running around fighting—”

“I can still use alchemy.”

Mustang looked at him. Examined him, more like. Ed could see the calculation happen, determining whether he thought Ed could actually fight or whether he’d be a mere liability.

Mustang’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

Ed bristled. “I don’t need—”

“Behind me,” Mustang snapped, voice quiet.

Ed knew that voice. Mustang used it when an argument was already over, when he’d already made up his mind and not a damn thing would change his mind.

Ed swallowed his protest, and Mustang helped him limp out until he leaned against a tree as footsteps closed in. Ed stayed behind him as Mustang stepped forward.

The first man emerged between the trees. A rifle came up, and Mustang moved. A flash split between the trees and the rifleman dropped behind a burst of flame. Another man fired, and Mustang turned quickly, coat snapping around him, and the shot struck bark where his head had been a moment before.

Ed’s hand twitched. He slapped his palms together. Pain ripped through his side, stealing his thoughts. His hands came apart, and he sucked in a breath, completely forgetting what he had been doing.

Mustang glanced back. For half a second, their eyes met. No anger, no accusation, just understanding. Mustang turned back. “Stay down.”

Ed hated how much relief those words gave him.

The third man came from the left, and Ed saw him first. “Mustang!” he shouted.

Mustang pivoted and flame erupted. The man went down. Silence followed. Ed could hear his own breathing as he slid down the tree—too fast, too shallow. Mustang stood in the middle of the clearing, shoulders squared, watching the surrounding trees.

Ed couldn’t help but stare at him. There had been dozens of moments like this, he realized. Mustang stepping in front of him. Mustang taking the first hit. Mustang covering him, creating an opening, giving him just enough room to do what only Ed could do.

Ed always thought the pattern was annoying. Overprotective and downright infuriating.

But there had been something else underneath it, something he hadn’t understood.

His vision blurred, pain finally receding to the back of his mind as his eyes slipped closed.

____________

Rain had turned the road into mud. Ed was thirteen still. He was cold. He remembered being angry about the cold. But, mostly, he remembered the man standing in front of him.

A deserter. Big, muscled, and armed. Mean enough that Ed had decided immediately that he disliked him.

Mustang had been behind him. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Mustang had asked.

Ed cracked his knuckles, full of confidence and unyielding anger. “Pretty sure.”

“Good.”

The fight started suddenly. Ed moved first, slamming both hands against the ground as stone erupted. The deserter jumped clear, and Ed followed close behind. For several moments, it worked. Ed had him off balance, then the man changed tactics and a knife appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Ed barely saw it.

The blade came for his throat. A gloved hand caught the attack. Mustang stepped between them, the knife scraping across his glove.

Ed’s stomach dropped. “Colonel!”

Mustang twisted the man’s wrist, and the knife hit the mud.

Ed stared. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Mustang shoved the man backward. “Finish it.”

Ed blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

The deserter lunged again. Mustang knocked his arms aside, and Ed moved. The ground cracked beneath the man’s feet and stone climbed around his boots. His knees hit the mud.

Ed grinned. “Gotcha.”

Within moments, it was over. Ed stood over the unconscious man, breathing hard. Mustang was examining the cut across his glove.

Ed pointed at him. “You got in the way. I had him.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you let me handle it?”

“I could have.”

Ed waited for the reprimand, but it didn’t come.

Mustang looked up. “I also knew you could finish it.”

Ed frowned. “Then why—”

“Because he had a knife at your throat. I can trust you to finish it and still protect you.”

Ed looked away. “You make everything complicated.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They started walking again.

After a few minutes, Ed said, “You didn’t have to protect me. I can fight.”

Mustang glared down at him. “I wasn’t protecting you from the fight. I know you can fight, Fullmetal. That was never in doubt. Make no mistake, I was solely protecting you from that knife.”

Ed didn’t know what to say to that.

Mustang turned forward again. “There’s a difference.”

____________

The forest returned slowly. Ed blinked. Mustang was still standing in front of him in the clearing.

Ed pushed himself upright, and Mustang immediately turned. “I said stay down.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

Ed leaned heavily against the tree. His knees were shaking badly. He hated that Mustang could probably see it.

The older man crouched in front of him. “Let me look.”

“It’s nothing.”

Mustang raised an eyebrow, and Ed sighed. “Fine.”

Mustang checked the bandage with careful fingers. Ed watched his face. “You knew I wouldn’t even be able to transmute, didn’t you?”

Mustang paused. “I had a feeling. Ed, you’re running purely on adrenaline right now. I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in.”

“I’m fine,” Ed said automatically.

Mustang sent him an unimpressed look before it vanished and he stared out toward the trees, shoulders going tight.

“More?” Ed asked.

“At least two more.”

Ed’s stomach sank while Mustang stood. “We need to leave.”

Ed tried to move, but his legs gave out. Mustang caught him before he hit the ground, and Ed hung there, breath completely knocked out of him. Mustang’s arm tightened around him, and Ed’s fingers caught the front of his coat. Neither of them spoke.

Mustang shifted, one arm beneath Ed’s knees, the other behind his back.

Ed knew what was coming, and his face burned. “Don’t.”

“Sorry.” Mustang lifted him.

Ed’s head fell against his shoulder. He didn’t have enough breath to argue. Mustang stepped into the trees, and the forest continued to move around them: dark, cold, and quiet.

Mustang carried him for a long time. Ed wasn’t sure how long, but he forced himself to stay conscious for as long as possible. At first, there had been trees. Then more trees. Then a slope that Mustang climbed without slowing, boots slipping once in the wet leaves before finding purchase again.

Ed kept his eyes open. Mostly. Every few minutes he forced them wide, checked the trees, checked Mustang, checked the blood soaking slowly through his bandage.

“You can stop trying to stay awake.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed, and he tried to lift his head. The motion made the world swing violently. He squeezed his eyes shut again.

Mustang adjusted his hold. “Don’t fight sleeping. Your body needs it to help recover.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Ed wanted to argue. He knew he was supposed to. But then he couldn’t remember what the argument was supposed to be about. Something about walking, something about—his thoughts slipped sideways.

He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?

Mustang’s face was blurry.

Ed’s stomach twisted. He’d lost time again.

Mustang must have felt the change in his breathing. “You needed the rest. You’re okay.”

Ed looked at the trees. “How long?”

“A couple hours.”

The forest was endless. How long could Mustang keep this up? “Did you stop at all?”

Mustang seemed to hesitate. “Once.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed, something about his tone was wrong. “Why?”

“To make sure you were still breathing.”

Ed looked sharply at him, but Mustang’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ed snorted. The sound turned into a cough. Mustang stopped immediately as Ed pressed a fist to his mouth. His ribs burned. When the coughing finally eased, he found Mustang staring at him, focused.

“Better?”

Ed nodded. Mustang waited another few seconds before moving again. Ed let his head settle against Mustang’s shoulder. The position was humiliating, but it was also comfortable. He was getting used to it. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more.

He closed his eyes. The steady rhythm of Mustang’s footsteps pulled at him.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Somewhere, beneath the pain and exhaustion and cold, Ed remembered another time he’d fallen.

____________

Ed was fourteen now. Older and stronger than ever, certain that meant something.

The roof had been higher than he’d expected, the window he’d been trying to reach had been further away than it should have been. He’d made the jump anyway, sure he could manage.

His fingers caught the ledge. For one glorious second, he thought he’d made it. His grip slipped.

Ed still remembers the sensation with perfect clarity. The sudden absence of weight beneath his boots, the drop, the wind tearing past his face, his stomach rising into his throat.

He remembered thinking, Well that’s stupid.

Then something slammed into him, an arm around his chest as another caught the back of his coat. Momentum swung them both hard against the side of the building.

Ed gasped and Mustang swore.

They hung there. For a second, neither moved. Then, Mustang hauled him upward. Ed’s boots found the ledge and he grabbed it.

Mustang kept hold and they stayed like that for a few moments, catching their breath before they moved. Ed’s fingers were shaking. Mustang’s weren’t.

“Don’t let go.”

Ed didn’t spare him a glance. “I’ve got it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I said I’ve got it.”

Mustang’s grip tightened. “Fullmetal.” Something in his voice made Ed stop. “Don’t let go.”

Ed looked down. The street was far below, and his stomach lurched. He tightened his grip. “I’m not.”

“Good.”

Mustang pulled himself onto the ledge first, then he hauled Ed up after him.

Ed collapsed onto the rooftop. For several seconds, all he could do was breathe. Mustang sat beside him.

Finally, Ed said, “I had that.”

Mustang looked at him incredulously. Later, he’d realize how panicked Mustang must have been for his normally passive face to show even that amount of emotion.

“You fell.”

“I was going to recover.”

“Really, because you were falling quite efficiently.”

Ed scowled while Mustang looked away. Then Ed noticed his hand, bleeding and scraped raw from catching the ledge and holding both their weights for a few moments. Ed could only stare. “You got hurt.”

Mustang flexed his hand absentmindedly. “Occupational hazard, as you’re well aware.”

“That was really dumb for you to do, you understand that, right? You could have fallen, too.”

“Yes.”

Ed’s throat tightened, and he looked away. “Thanks,” he said. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have said it, but it felt right now.

Mustang didn’t make a joke or tease him. Didn’t tell him it was nothing. He simply leaned back against the roof and said, “You’re okay.”

Ed frowned. He still didn’t understand that phrase, but he was starting to.

He was still shaking, and his heart still pounded hard enough to make his chest ache. But he was sitting on the roof, breathing, here.

“Yeah,” Ed muttered. “I’m okay.”

Mustang glanced at him. “Good.”

And that was it. No lecture, no fuss, just the two of them sitting there until Ed’s hands stopped shaking.

____________

Ed woke in darkness. He could hear water. As he blinked and glanced around, he saw a river. Mustang was crouched beside him. For a moment, Ed couldn’t remember why he was here. When he tried to move, pain answered.

Mustang’s hand settled against his shoulder. “Easy. You’re okay.”

Ed stared at his dazedly. “Where are we?”

“Near a river. We needed more water.”

The world felt wrong, too quiet, too heavy. He searched his memory. It had been daylight when he last remembered.

“How long?”

Mustang’s hesitation sent his stomach plummeting before he even answered. “About six hours.”

Ed went still.

Six. Hours.

He stared at the water, watching the river flow past them, silver beneath the moon. His bandage had been changed again, a fresh wrapping round his side. His coat was rearranged beneath him to keep him off the cold ground.

It bothered him. He’d been unconscious long enough for Mustang to have done all of it without him knowing.

“Edward.” Mustang’s voice was strangely soft. Ed looked up as he continued, “You don’t have to stay awake to prove you’re still alive. I’ve got you.”

The words hit him harder than they should have. How did Mustang always know what he was thinking?

Mustang reached for the canteen and held it out. “Drink.”

Ed took it, his hands steadier this time. He sipped at the water, listening to the river moving.

“How many times have you caught me?” Ed found himself asking, thoughts still stuck in the past.

Mustang glanced at him, flashes of confusion and concern appearing before his mask slipped back over. “More than you’ve noticed.”

Ed looked away. He thought about the roof, the farmhouse, being carried down the road, the fight, even this goddamn forest. All those moments he had filed away as isolated incidents, but they weren’t. They were the same thing. Different years, different places, different versions of himself, but always the same hand reaching out before he hit the ground.

Ed lowered the canteen. “You’re annoyingly consistent.”

Mustang’s mouth twitched. “Good.”

Ed leaned back, eyes getting heavy again. He fought it.

“You should sleep, we’ll be here for a bit.”

Ed almost protested, but stopped. The river already sounded distant, his body impossibly heavy. He handed the canteen back, and Mustang took it. Ed closed his eyes. This time, he didn’t try to keep them open. The last thing he felt was Mustang’s hand settling against his shoulder. Not holding him down, but just there. And somewhere between one breath and the next, Ed stopped worrying about what would happen if he let go.

Something woke him up, gray light filtering through the trees. Morning.

For a moment, he simply stared upward, trying to figure out what had woken him.

Then, he glanced around and his heart kicked. Mustang was gone.

He pushed himself upright, pain folding him in half. His hand clamped over his side, and he waited, breathing. The pain finally receded enough for him to look around. He was still beside the river, inside a little hollow that was empty save for Ed and a small pile of supplies.

Ed’s pulse climbed. “Mustang?”

Nothing.

“Mustang,” he said, louder.

Still nothing.

He flexed his automail arm. The movement hurt less than he’d expected. His left hand was another matter, numb and heavy.

He frowned. Then, he heard it. A branch snapping.

Ed froze. The sound came from somewhere ahead of him. Footsteps, more than one. His eyes moved over the clearing. No Mustang, no cover, and he wasn’t in any shape to stand, much less escape or fight.

He forced himself to breathe quietly. A shadow moved between the trees, then another. Ed’s fingers twitched. He could still fight. He could. He had to. He just needed—

A flicker of flame appeared beyond the trees, and Ed snapped toward it. Mustang.

The flame vanished, and a shout followed. Ed understood then. Mustang had gone to draw them away.

A gunshot cracked through the forest, and Ed flinched. Another. Then silence. His instincts screamed at him to move, go help. He started to sit up, but stopped. Mustang had told him to stay.

Ed stared at the trees.

Usually, when Mustang told him to stay put, Ed ignored him. Usually because Mustang’s definition of stay put involved Ed standing somewhere inconvenient while Mustang did something dangerous.

This time… Ed looked down at his side. The bandages were already damp, and blood started soaking through. His breathing wasn’t steady. He wouldn’t make it far, he knew that. And worse, Mustang knew it too.

Ed clenched his jaw, and stayed. Another gunshot. Then a burst of flame bright enough to turn the trees orange. Ed’s heart slammed against his ribs. He hated this. Hated sitting still, hated not knowing, hated that some part of him was beginning to believe Mustang would actually come back.

It was dangerous to believe that, because if he did, then he had to wait.

____________

The memory came while he was waiting.

A room, a desk. Rain pounding against the windows. Fourteen-year-old him standing in front of a younger Mustang with his arms crossed.

Ed remembered being annoyed, remembered glaring at the report Mustang held lazily in his hand.

“You want me to go undercover into a laboratory run by a man who has already tried to kill State Alchemists.”

“Yes.”

Ed stared. Mustang calmly returned it.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

“You know, most commanding officers don’t send their subordinates into obvious death traps.”

“Most commanding officers don’t have you as a subordinate.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Mustang set down the report. “The lab is using a form of alchemy we’ve been unable to replicate.”

Ed’s annoyance faded. Just a bit. “How bad is it?”

“We don’t know.”

“Then why me?”

Mustang leaned back in his chair. “Because I need you.”

Ed blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected, still stubborn and stuck on doing things alone.

“I need someone who can recognize the transmutation patterns.”

Ed looked at the report. “You can’t send someone else?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, because I need you.” There was no hesitation, no embarrassment, no attempt to soften it.

Ed shifted his weight. “So this isn’t you deciding I’m disposable?”

Mustang’s eyebrow rose. “I would never describe you as disposable.”

“I know you’ve thought it.”

“I’ve thought many things.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“It should be.”

Ed picked up the reports, scanning the diagrams. Something clicked. “This is structural. They’re using the entire building as a transmutation array.”

Mustang watched him. “That’s what we suspect.”

Ed looked up. “I guess you’re right for once, Colonel. You’ll need me.”

Mustang nodded, and Ed smiled despite himself. “Good.”

The older man’s expression turned serious. “Fullmetal. If anything starts going wrong, you get out immediately.”

Ed’s smile vanished. “That’s not how it works—”

“It is now.”

“But—”

“I need your abilities.” Mustang stood, came around the desk and stopped in front of Ed. “What I don’t need is you dead.”

Mustang hadn’t sounded angry. He’d sounded certain. The same way he’d sounded when he said I know you can do this and You’re okay. The same way he’d sounded when he told Ed to stay behind him.

Protection. Trust. They’d never been opposites.

____________

The gunfire had stopped. Ed’s breathing slowed.

A footstep, loud in the silence, came from the trees. Ed clenched his fist as a figure appeared through the trees. Dark hair, blue uniform, gloves. Mustang.

Ed’s entire body loosened.

Mustang crossed the clearing. There was blood on his cheek. Mustang swiped it away when he noticed Ed staring. “Just a scratch.”

Ed frowned, but didn’t say anything.

Mustang crouched beside him. “Did anyone come through here?”

Ed shook his head. “No, what happened?”

“I managed to take out a couple of them, but the rest got away. They’ll be back with backup soon.”

“You were gone a long time.”

“I know, I came back as soon as I could. I didn’t realize you had woken up.”

“I thought—” Ed stopped. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them again.

Mustang didn’t tease him, and he didn’t look surprised. He simply said, “I told you I would.”

Ed looked away. “Yeah, I know.”

Mustang adjusted Ed’s coat. “Good.” Then he stood, glancing around again. “We have to move.”

Ed nodded, trying to push himself upright. His arms trembled, and he didn’t protest this time as Mustang caught him, carefully picking him up. Ed settled against him.

“You’re getting heavy,” Mustang muttered.

“Shut up, you’re getting weak.”

“There he is.”

Ed managed a weak glare as Mustang started toward the trees. After a few steps, Ed said, “You really needed me back then?”

Mustang glanced down, confusion crossing his face. “What?”

“The… The laboratory.”

Mustang paused, confusion leaking into concern. Finally, he said, “Of course.”

Ed looked at the trees passing overhead. “Not just because I was useful,” he said, realizing more than he had years ago.

“No.” Mustang adjusted his hold. “I needed someone I could trust. I couldn’t think of anyone better.”

Ed remained quiet, the forest swaying gently around them. Mustang’s heartbeat steady beneath Ed’s ear. “Okay,” Ed whispered.

“Is there a reason you’ve been taking a trip down memory lane?”

Ed didn’t answer, already drifting off to sleep once more.

When he woke, the sky was moving. No. He was moving. Mustang was carrying him still.

Ed stared at the branches passing overhead. They were moving fast, making him dizzy.

“Where—” his voice broke off.

Mustang looked down, eyes scanning over his face. “We’re still heading north.”

North. Ed swallowed. “How long?”

“Not long.”

It wasn’t an answer. His thoughts wouldn’t line up properly, memories muddled. Ed closed his eyes. Something was wrong. His body felt impossibly heavy, his head rolling against Mustang’s shoulder. He heard Mustang say something, but couldn’t make out the words.

“I—” his tongue felt thick, eyes blurring.

Mustang shifted his hold. “Don’t talk. You’re okay.”

Ed frowned. He would’ve argued, but instead closed his eyes. The forest disappeared.

____________

He was fifteen now, sitting in Mustang’s office. It was late. Late enough that Ed wouldn’t be there if he didn’t have to be.

A lamp burned on the desk, throwing a circle of yellow light over paperwork neither of them had touched in the last twenty minutes.

Ed had a split lip, and Mustang had a nasty bruise forming along his jaw. Neither mentioned it.

“You should’ve gone home,” Mustang said.

“You should’ve gone home,” Ed rebutted.

“I outrank you.”

“Congratulations.”

Mustang sighed. Ed leaned back in the chair. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and his hands were beginning to shake. He tucked them beneath his arms, hoping Mustang hadn’t noticed.

The man pushed a cup of tea across the desk.

Ed stared at it, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Tea.”

“I know what tea is, you bastard.”

“Then we’re making progress.”

Ed grumbled, but picked it up. His fingers trembled against the cup. He knew Mustang saw it now.

He looked down at the paperwork instead of commenting. “Drink.”

Ed did. The warmth settled into his palms and throughout his body. Slowly, the shaking stopped.

“You could've been killed,” Mustang said after a while.

Ed stared into the cup, something twisting in his stomach. “So could you.” This was still when Ed was stubborn and refused to admit when people were important to him, but it was when he was starting to realize that he didn’t know where he would be without the man before him.

“Yes.”

“Then we’re even.”

“No.” Mustang’s expression had gone serious. “You were closer to the blast.”

Ed shrugged. “I’ve been closer.”

Mustang dragged a hand down his face. “That is not—Nevermind.”

“Why are we even talking about this? It worked.”

“It shouldn’t have. It’s only through luck that you’re sitting there.”

Ed looked away. For a while, there was only rain against the window.

Mustang stood, coming around the desk to stop beside Ed. “You’re done for the night.”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Gladly.”

“Go sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

“You’re done.”

Ed opened his mouth. Mustang raised an eyebrow. Ed knew that expression. He shut his mouth.

Mustang’s mouth twitched. “Good choice.”

Ed stood, and he gasped as his knees buckled. Mustang caught his elbow, grip firm. Neither of them moved for a moment.

“I’ve got you,” Mustang said quietly.

Ed looked at his hand. The shaking started again. Mustang didn’t let go, he waited, sat with Ed. Eventually, his breathing evened out.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

____________

Ed woke with his cheek pressed against something soft. Mustang’s coat. He was lying on the ground. The forest was darker, but not night yet.

He tried to sit up, but Mustang’s hand stopped him automatically. “Stay there.”

Ed blinked, continuing to look around. It was evening. Has it really been that long?

Mustang was kneeling beside him now, dirt on his coat and a fresh tear along one sleeve. Ed’s eyes focused on it—on what it meant.

“You fought someone.”

Mustang’s hand paused. “Yes, they found our trail and were getting close.”

Ed’s stomach dropped. He’d been asleep through all that? “How close?”

“Close enough.”

Ed grit his teeth, trying to push himself up again. Mustang’s hand settled against his chest. “Don’t.”

“I’m not—I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can. You will.”

Ed looked at him. Mustang’s expression was too composed. Ed knew that meant he had already decided on something that wasn’t up for debate. Ed saw that expression a lot.

He looked down at himself—his coat stiff with dried blood, fingers cold. He flexed them. The pain came late.

Ed sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened his eyes again, Mustang was looking at him. Ed recognized that look, too. It’s what he looked like when he’d seen something he hadn’t liked.

“What?” Ed snapped.

Mustang’s jaw tightened. “Nothing.”

Ed almost laughed. “You’re supposed to be a better liar than that.”

Mustang ignored him.

His thoughts felt slippery. He tried to hold onto them. The forest, the river, the fire. Mustang carrying him, Mustang leaving, Mustang coming back. The memories were overlapping. A farmhouse, a roof, rain, a cup of tea, a hand around his arm. I’ve got you. You’re okay.

Ed blinked. For a second, the clearing looked like Mustang’s office. The stump beside him became a desk.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the forest was back. Mustang was still there, watching.

Ed was tired. So tired. He let his head fall back.

“I remember when you used to sit by the door,” he said. Mustang went still as he continued. “At night. You’d pretend you were working.”

Mustang didn’t answer.

Ed smiled faintly. “You thought I didn’t know.”

The silence stretched. Mustang reached over and adjusted the coat around Ed, pulling it up higher. As Ed’s eyes drifted shut, the man murmured, “I knew.”

Ed wasn’t sure what he meant, he wasn’t even sure which night he was remembering now.

But he knew that Mustang stayed beside him.

Ed woke again. The forest was black this time. His mouth was dry and his whole body hurt. He tried to breathe, but something was wrong. Too fast, too shallow. He couldn’t seem to get enough air.

Mustang was beside him immediately, a hand pressed against his back. “Easy.”

Ed tried. His lungs wouldn’t cooperate. He grabbed Mustang’s sleeve. For a moment, he wasn’t in the forest, he was somewhere else. An office, a roof, rain, a younger Mustang, a younger him, a hand gripping his arm, an echo of Don’t let go.

Ed’s fingers tightened. Mustang’s voice reached him. “Edward.”

Ed blinked. The forest returned. Mustang was kneeling over him, face close, expression controlled. But his eyes… his eyes weren’t. They were panicked, afraid.

Mustang’s fingers had gone white where they gripped the fabric of Ed’s coat.

He took another breath, then another. The air finally reached the bottom of his lungs.

Mustang finally released his coat as he swallowed.

Neither said anything. Mustang simply shifted closer and braced Ed against his chest, keeping him upright until his breathing settled. Ed let him, resting his head against Mustang’s shoulder. He could hear the man’s heartbeat, steady but fast.

Ed’s eyes closed again. “I remember,” he whispered.

Mustang's hand tightened against his back.

Ed didn’t explain.

Time passed, and Mustang said, very quietly, “Sleep.”

Ed did, the darkness no longer feeling like falling. Mustang was there to catch him.

There was blood in his mouth the next time he woke. He swallowed. Bad idea—his stomach rolled. He turned his head and spat into the leaves.

The ground beneath him was cold, Mustang’s coat tucked around his shoulders. Mustang was gone. Again.

Ed stared blankly at the empty space beside him, his pulse climbing. He noticed boot prints, recent, heading toward the trees.

Ed exhaled. He’d gone to scout, he’d be back soon. Ed could wait. He’d learned how at some point. He tried to remember when, but nothing came.

The trees blurred. He rubbed his eyes, but the blur remained. Ed lifted his hand in front of him, and it shook violently. Not good. He tried to sit up, but his body refused. He tried to push harder, and pain flashed behind his eyes.

His head dropped. He looked up as Mustang came back through the trees. Ed watched him scan the clearing, gaze immediately going to Ed’s face, then his hands, then the bandages. His expression didn’t change, but his movements did. He crossed the distance faster than usual as Ed twitched.

“Take it easy. You’ve got to stop waking up every time I leave for ten minutes.”

Ed tried to answer, to give his usual smartass reply, but nothing came out. Words had never been this hard for him before.

Mustang crouched, fingers touching the side of Ed’s neck, then holding him around the wrist. Ed watched his face.

His jaw tightened, and he reached for the canteen. Ed turned his head away.

Mustang paused. “You need to drink.”

Ed shook his head softly. His stomach rolled again. Mustang didn’t argue, just setting the canteen aside. He pulled the coat higher around Ed’s shoulders.

The river was no longer in sight. He couldn’t hear it, either. They’d moved again. Based on the light, he’d been out for most of the day. He didn’t remember moving, and that frightened him more than the pain.

He reached for Mustang’s sleeve. The man paused as Ed’s fingers weakly closed around the fabric. “Don’t leave.” The words were barely audible.

Mustang looked at his hand, then at him. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, and stayed as Ed drifted back to sleep.

____________

The laboratory when he was fifteen was dangerous. Bright lights, the sharp scent of antiseptic. Ed remembered being angry, being determined.

He remembered Mustang standing on the other side of the room, holding off the enemy, shouting at him. “That’s the array?”

Ed was crouched beside it, nodding. They had been too late, it had already activated.

“You can break it?” It wasn’t really a question. At the time, Ed was almost offended, but now he knew the trust behind the words.

Ed grinned. “Probably.”

Mustang’s expression flattened as he snapped his fingers at a man approaching with a gun. “That’s not the answer I wanted.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

Ed pressed his palms against the floor. The array responded, lines of light spreading beneath his hand.

Mustang watched from across the room. “Edward, get out if it destabilizes!"

“I know!”

“Edward!” Ed looked up. Mustang’s eyes were hard. “I need you to come back.” The words were different from the ones before—not an order, but just as important.

Ed’s grin faded. “I will.”

The array shifted, and Ed worked. The room began to shake. Something cracked overhead, but Ed ignored it, he was almost there. The ceiling came down. Ed remembered it crashing into the floor, breaking it apart. He remembered falling. Stone, dust. He remember cursing at himself for screwing up. Then a hand grabbed the back of his coat, and Mustang hauled him backward. Ed hit the floor, Mustang dropping beside him.

“You all right?”

Ed coughed. “Yeah.”

Mustang looked toward the collapsing structure, then back to him. “I told you to leave.”

“I was almost done!”

Mustang grabbed his shoulder. “You don’t have to finish everything.”

“Well, somebody has to!”

“Not if finishing it kills you, damnit!”

Ed opened his mouth. Closed it.

Mustang’s expression softened, just a bit. “I need you alive.”

Ed had looked away. He remembered the certainty. Mustang hadn’t thought he was fragile. He had trusted him enough to put him in the room and cared enough to pull him out when it became too dangerous.

____________

Mustang was carrying him again. His head still lay against the man’s shoulder. Mustang glanced down, as if sensing he was awake.

They were still in the forest. Mustang’s breathing was heavier than before, shoulders stiff. He was pushing himself hard, and Ed couldn’t do anything to help because of how weak he was.

Ed tried to stay awake. He counted footsteps.

Ten.

Twenty.

Thirty.

He lost track sometime after that, and started again.

Twenty.

Fifty.

Sixty-five.

Eighty.

His thoughts began slipping, the forest becoming the laboratory which became the farmhouse which became Mustang’s office.

I’ve got you, he heard distantly in his mind.

Ed opened his eyes again. “Mustang.”

“I’m here.”

Ed stared at him, pushing himself to keep going and get them both to safety. “You’re okay,” he said. He wasn’t completely sure why, but it felt important to say.

Mustang went still for a moment before continuing, glancing down at him. Ed wasn’t sure why the man’s expression changed.

His thoughts slipped away again, and his eyes closed.

When Ed woke again, it was dark. He was lying on the ground. He knew there was a small fire. He knew someone was sitting beside him. He knew his side hurt and his body was exhausted. Everything else took longer.

He opened his eyes. Mustang was there. Ed let them close again.

“Go back to sleep.” Mustang’s voice. Familiar, but something was wrong.

He peeled open his eyes again. Mustang was still there, one knee drawn up, gloves lying beside him. There was blood beneath his fingernails.

He frowned. “Hawkeye’s going to be pissed.” Mustang didn’t move. “She’s going to yell at us.” He paused. “Well, she always yells at you.”

Mustang’s eyes stayed on him.

Ed smiled faintly. “Remember when she found you asleep in the chair?”

Still nothing. The fire popped. Ed blinked. The forest came back for a moment—trees, dirt, the man’s coat beneath him. Then the room returned. The office, rain against the windows. Hawkeye stood in the doorway while Mustang slept in the chair. Ed was laughing, a hand over his mouth to quiet it—he didn’t want to draw Hawkeye’s wrath or ruin what was going to be Mustang’s downfall.

Ed remembered waking after a mission. He remembered Mustang, insisting he should stay. Remembered Hawkeye finding them both.

“You look terrible,” she’d said.

Mustang had opened one eye. “So I’ve been told.”

Ed had finally laughed aloud then.

Now, he looked at Mustang in the forest who was still staring at him with a perfectly blank face. “You remember?” he asked.

Mustang’s jaw tightened. “Remember what?”

Ed frowned. “The chair.”

Mustang didn’t answer. Ed’s eyes drifted toward the fire. It was raining. Wait… no, it wasn’t, but he could hear rain. But there was no rain. Just leaves moving overhead.

Ed frowned harder, taking in his surroundings again. “What—Why are we outside?”

Mustang leaned closer, concern bleeding into his face as his hand settled against Ed’s wrist. “We’re in the forest.”

The forest. Right. He knew that. They were running. They were being chased.

His side hurt.

He looked down, and saw a dark bandage.

“Oh,” he said lamely.

Mustang’s fingers remained curled around his wrist. Ed felt his own pulse against them. It wasn’t normal.

Mustang’s eyes flicked toward his face as Ed adjusted to sit up. Mustang stopped him. “No, just stay there.”

Ed sank back. His head felt heavy. He stared at the fire. “You need to sleep.”

Mustang didn’t answer.

Ed frowned. “I mean it.”

“So do you,” Mustang said quietly.

Ed smiled. “You’re always saying that.”

Something shifted in Mustang’s expression, but Ed didn’t catch it before his eyes slid shut.

When he woke again, someone was saying his name. “Edward!”

Ed opened his eyes. It was bright. Morning.

Mustang was beside him.

“Are we late?” he asked. His mouth was dry. He rubbed his eyes.

Mustang stared at him.

Ed squinted. “The train. To Central. Are we late?”

Mustang’s face fell slightly, but Ed couldn’t understand why.

“We’re going to miss it, right? I’m sure we can make it if we get moving.”

Mustang reached for the canteen, held it to his lips. “Drink.”

Ed obeyed. The water was cold. He swallowed, then looked around. This wasn’t a hotel. No train, no station, no road. Only trees. His brow furrowed. “Where are we?”

Mustang didn’t answer immediately, busying himself with something to the side.

Ed’s gaze sharpened. Something was wrong. “Mustang.”

“North of the river.”

Ed stared. Then he remembered. THey were running. They were at a river, he remembered waking there, remembered waking a few times since then. His stomach turned, his hands shook. “I forgot,” he murmured.

Mustang didn’t say anything. He reached out and closed his hand around Ed’s wrist again. Ed would’ve pushed away, but he didn’t have the energy.

“I keep remembering things. Things from before. Good things.”

Mustang’s face softened.

Ed closed his eyes. “I think I remember everything better when I’m asleep. It’s weird.”

Mustang didn’t answer.

____________

He could hear rain. Heavy rain. It struck the windows of a train. Ed sat across from Mustang, and Al was beside him. They were headed back to Central.

Ed remembered still being fifteen, and being exhausted.

Mustang had handed him a sandwich. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I ate.”

“Yeah? When?”

“...Yesterday.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Ed grinned. “You worry too much, it’s going to make you go gray even faster.”

Mustang twitched, but just sighed. “You worry too little.”

Ed had laughed. The train continued rocking beneath them.

____________

Trees. Fire. Mustang.

Ed’s smile disappeared. Mustang’s hand was still wrapped around his wrist. He looked around. The rain was gone, the train was gone. His body hurt. He tried to move his legs, but nothing happened. He tried again, muscles trembling.

Mustang’s hand tightened. The man’s face was composed, but his eyes had gone very dark. He pulled the coat back up around his shoulders.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he was back on the roof, fourteen and falling. Mustang’s hand around his coat. Don’t let go.

Ed’s fingers curled into Mustang’s sleeve. “I didn’t.”

Mustang went still. Ed realized he’d spoken aloud. He expected a question, but none came. Mustang simply shifted closer. Ed rested his forehead against his shoulder, breathing evening out.

The fire crackled, the trees shifted, and Mustang stayed exactly where he was. As if there had never been another option.

“Can you sit up?”

Ed opened his mouth, the automatic answer was yes. He stopped, though. “I… I don’t know.”

Something flickered across Mustang’s face. Not quite fear, not quite concern, but it was gone before Ed could be sure.

Mustang slipped an arm behind his back and helped him upright. Ed’s head dropped against his shoulder. He was breathing hard by the time he was sitting. Mustang held the canteen to his mouth, and Ed took a sip. His hands were too unsteady to even attempt to hold it himself.

Ed stared at the ground as his breathing came too quickly. “That’s annoying.”

Mustang said nothing, just stared at him.

Ed frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you’re doing that face.”

“What face?”

Ed narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to pretend nothing’s wrong, but you’re secretly freaking out.”

Mustang’s mouth twitched. “I’m not freaking out.”

“Wow, were you always this terrible of a liar?”

“Go back to sleep.”

Ed almost laughed. Instead, he coughed. Pain tore through his side, and he folded instinctively. Mustang’s hand was behind his shoulders as another cough came. When it finally stopped, Ed stayed bent forward, breathing through clenched teeth. Something warm touched his lower lip. He wiped it—red.

Mustang saw, but neither of them said anything.

Mustang took a cloth and wiped the blood away. Ed let him. It almost bothered him that he was getting too tired to argue, but he was too tired to be bothered.

____________

He was fifteen again. THe mission, of course, had gone wrong. He was getting used to it by this point.

The warehouse had been bigger than the reports suggested with more guards and more traps.

Ed remembered the fight. Remembered how Mustang had ordered him to go left. Remembered ignoring him—obviously.

He’d made it halfway across the upper catwalk when the support beneath him gave way. Ed dropped. He caught the edge with one hand, flesh slamming against the metal. Pain shot through his shoulder. Below him, the warehouse floor was six stories down.

“Fullmetal!” Mustang.

Ed didn’t glance back. “Little busy!”

Mustang had already been moving. Gunfire cracked through the building. Mustang didn’t stop.

Ed’s fingers slipped. “Shit.”

The metal tore at his palm. His shoulder screamed. He heard Mustang shout something. His grip slipped again, and his stomach dropped. Then Mustang was there, one hand locked around Ed’s wrist, the other pulling at the back of his coat.

Ed’s weight jerked against him. For a second, neither moved. Mustang’s furious face was above him.

“Got you.”

Ed’s breath shook.

Mustang hauled him upward, and he scrambled onto the catwalk, rolling on to his back. Mustang dropped beside him.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

Mustang glared at the blood on his palm, and Ed twitched in anger. “I can still fight.”

Mustang’s eyes moved over him, then toward the floor below them. “We’re leaving.”

Ed pushed himself up. “What? No.”

“We have the information we came for.”

“But the files—”

“We have enough.”

“We could get the rest.”

Mustang grabbed the front of his coat. “Fullmetal. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Ed stared. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” He released him.

“Do you trust me?” Ed asked, the question escaping before he could stop it.

Mustang answered immediately. “With my life.”

“Then why won't you let me finish?”

“Because trusting you to do the job doesn’t mean I intend to watch you die doing it. Nothing is worth your life.”

Mustang pulled him to his feet. “Stay behind me.”

Ed had rolled his eyes, but followed.

____________

Ed woke as Mustang moved. He wasn’t being carried, instead the man was moving around him. The sound came in pieces: a buckle pulled tight, fabric dragged through leaves, a quiet clink of metal. He was moving fast.

Ed opened his eyes. The sky was gray. He felt a bit more present than he had before.

“Something happen?”

“We’re moving.”

Ed stomach tightened, something about the fast way he was packing was setting his nerves on edge. “Why?”

Mustang looked toward the trees. That was answer enough. Ed pushed himself to lean against the tree. His vision swam. He waited for it to settle, but it didn’t. He reached for his coat, but his fingers wouldn’t work properly. He tried again, but Mustang grabbed the coat first, helping him into it. Ed hated how easy it was, how he didn’t even have the strength left to argue to stop him.

“I can walk,” he said. And he actually felt like he could manage, at least for a while. He wasn’t sure if it was all the sleep actually helping, or if he was so injured he was no longer feeling it as harshly as before.

When Mustang held out a hand, Ed stared at it, then took it. He got one foot beneath himself, then the other. For a second, he stood. His knees shook, his side ached. Mustang’s hand closed around his arm.

Ed straightened. “I’m standing.”

“I noticed.”

Ed knew the look Mustang settled on him, and he frowned. “Don’t say it.”

Mustang sighed. “Then walk.”

Ed almost smiled. “That’s more like it.”

They started through the trees.

Walking was a lot harder than Ed thought it would be. He spent his time counting the steps. It helped him focus on something other than the exhaustion and pain.

Twenty.

Fourty.

Sixty.

The ground sloped downward.

Seventy.

Ninety.

His left leg dragged.

One-hundred twenty.

His breath came harder.

One-hundred fifty.

He stopped.

Mustang was there immediately, but Ed didn’t look up at him. “Just catching my breath.”

Mustang nodded. No argument.

He took another step. His boot caught a root, and his balance went. Mustang caught him, and Ed grabbed his shoulder. Ed could feel his breathing, slow and controlled, and tried to match it. In and out. In and out.

His breath caught, his side burned.

“Let’s go,” he said. If he stayed any longer, he didn’t think he’d be able to walk again.

Mustang didn’t ask whether he was sure, he just adjusted his grip and started walking again, helping him along, and Ed went with him.

Ed opened his eyes, confusion clouding his mind. He was being carried, his cheek against Mustang’s shoulder. The forest moved past in slow, green streaks.

Ed blinked. “W-What happened?”

Mustang glanced down.

“I was walking.”

“You were.”

Ed frowned. “Then why…”

“You stopped.”

Ed tried to reconstruct it, to remember. They’d been walking. He’d needed to lean on Mustang, but they’d kept moving together. Then… nothing.

Ed looked up at him. “How long?”

Mustang’s eyes remained on the trail. “Not long.”

Ed knew a lie when he heard one. He’d lost more time. The realization sat heavily in his chest. Mustang shifted him higher against his shoulder.

He wanted to protest. Instead, he said, “You should’ve woken me.”

“I tried.” Mustang’s expression remained neutral. “You didn’t stay awake.”

“Oh.”

After another moment, Mustang said, “We’re getting close.”

Good. They were almost there. Ed almost laughed, but it came out as a weak breath instead.

____________

He was sixteen now, after the Promised Day. He’d come to Central to grab some fresh ingredients for a meal Al wanted—his brother still not well enough to travel that far—and ended up wrapped in Mustang’s problems again.

He remembered sitting on a bed in the military hospital with his arms folded, frustrated with the whole situation.

“I’m fine.”

Mustang stood in the doorway, unimpressed. “You’ve said that three times.”

“Because it’s true.”

“You fainted.”

“I just slipped.”

“You were standing still.”

Goddamn him. Ed glared.

Mustang crossed the room and placed a paper cup on the table. Tea.

“Drink that.”

“No.”

“Edward.” He sounded exasperated.

“I’m not thirsty!”

Mustang stared at him. Ed stared back.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Ed reached for the tea and took an exaggerated sip. “Happy?”

“Immensely.”

Mustang pulled a chair over while Ed frowned at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed. “For?”

“For you to stop pretending you’re fine.”

“I’m not pretending.”

Mustang leaned back. “Then this should be easy.”

Ed scowled into his tea. The room was quiet. Eventually, his hands started shaking, and he hid them beneath the blanket. He knew Mustang noticed, but he didn’t say anything. Ed hated him for that.

A few minutes later, Ed stood, knees buckling. Mustang caught him. Ed grabbed his uniform jacket. “I can walk,” he said automatically.”

“I know.”

“Then let go.”

“No.”

Ed glared.

Mustang’s expression softened. “Not yet.”

Ed wanted to argue, but let Mustang help him back onto the bed.

It was humiliating. At the time, Ed had been furious. Now, remembering it, he understood something he hadn’t then. Mustang hadn’t been trying to win. He hadn’t been trying to prove Ed couldn’t do it. He’d simply seen that Ed couldn’t do it yet and stayed until he could.

____________

Ed woke when Mustang’s breathing changed. He opened his eyes. Mustang had stopped. Ahead, through the trees, Ed could see a road. A real one, not a trail or a game path.

Ed stared. “That’s—”

“Yes, the old military road. There should be a relay station further east.”

Ed looked back at him. “How long?”

“Maybe an hour.”

Ed looked at the road, then back to Mustang. “We can make it.”

Mustang nodded.

He meant it. He had to.

When they reached the road, they looked both ways. No movement, no enemies as far as they could see. Just empty road beneath the trees. For the first time in days, Ed could imagine safety. Then, Mustang ducked behind a tree.

Ed froze. Mustang was staring into the distance. At first, he didn’t hear anything. Then, a bird call. Wrong, not a real one. Ed’s stomach dropped. He squinted toward the trees, vision blurring. He blinked hard.

“There,” he said.

Mustang followed his gaze. A shadow moved between the trunks.

The first gunshot cracked through the trees, and Mustang dropped. They hit the ground together, Ed’s shoulder struck the dirt and pain flashed through his side. He bit down on the sound.

Mustang rolled over him, one arm braced across his chest. Another shot struck the tree behind them, wood splintering.

“Stay down!” Mustang raised his head just enough to look through the branches. Ed watched his eyes move, counting. “I see four.”

Ed swallowed. “Five.” He pointed weakly toward the ridge.

Mustang’s expression tightened and drew his gloves tighter.

Ed caught his sleeve. “Wait. The relay station. If you go now—”

“No.”

Ed huffed. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I do.”

Ed frowned. “Then you’re cheating.”

Mustang’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Go on then.”

Ed looked back toward the trees. “If you can get to the relay, you can call for help.”

“As soon as we can get through, that’s the plan.”

“You can make it if you run.”

Mustang went still.

His lungs protested, but he ignored it. “You need both hands.”

Mustang’s gaze dropped briefly to Ed’s side.

“They’re going to keep shooting until we stop moving.”

“Which is why we’re going together.”

“Mustang—”

“Ed, no.”

Ed felt a vein pulse in his forehead, anger rising. “You haven’t even listened—”

“I don’t need to,” Mustang snapped, just as angry.

“Goddamnit, Mustang. I can’t run, and they’re going to catch us both if you’re carrying me. We both know it.”

Mustang’s expression didn’t change.

“You could get there by yourself, though.”

“No.”

“You could.”

“Ed—”

“Mustang.”

“No.” The word was quiet this time, and it landed harder than if he had continued shouting. He crouched closer. “They don’t get you.”

Something in his voice made Ed look away.

They were out of time. The next gunshot came from the ridge. Mustang grabbed Ed and dragged him behind a fallen tree, his back hitting the trunk. Ed lost his breath and he could only wait for it to return. But it didn’t, not properly. His lungs worked, but they couldn’t seem to fill.

“Slow,” Mustang said, gaze darting between him and somewhere beyond the trees.

Ed nodded, and continued trying the simple task. In. Too shallow. Again. Mustang’s hand was pressed between his shoulder blades. Ed breathed again, and this time he felt like he actually got enough to stop gasping like a fish out of water.

Ed caught his sleeve, begging the man to listen to him. “If you leave me—”

“No!”

“You could make it and get help and then come back.”

“I said no, Ed.”

Ed stared at him. His plan made sense. It did, logically. Emotionally, maybe not so much, but when it came down to it he always counted on Mustang to make the logical choice, so he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t this time. “Why?”

Mustang didn’t answer immediately. The shots had stopped, and for a moment the forest was silent. Then Mustang reached out, his fingers touched the side of Ed’s neck.

Ed watched him count his pulse, and his expression tighten.

“You really want to know why?”

Ed nodded.

“Because I’ve spent years trying to teach you that when things go wrong, you don’t face them alone,” Mustang said firmly. Ed’s throat tightened as Mustang finally pulled his hand away. “You were finally starting to get it, so I’m not going to undo that now.”

Ed looked down, breathing hard. His vision blurred, darkness catching the edges as his body reached its limits again.

“Damnit, Mustang,” he mumbled as he fell into it.

____________

He was seventeen now, and had just started working with Mustang and his team again—as a consultant. That way he could tell the bastard to fuck off if he wanted and not deal with the reprimands. His temper had calmed, and their fights rarely got that bad anymore. Ed could begrudgingly admit that he enjoyed their company, especially since Al was out of the country and Winry spent more time in Rush Valley—where he refused to set foot in.

The warehouse was burning. Not the whole building, but close enough. Smoke rolled along the ceiling in thick black sheets, and the alarm had stopped working at some point.

Ed remembered heat against his face and blood running down his palm. More than anything, though, he remembered Mustang standing at the far end of the catwalk.

“Edward,” he called.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m moving.”

“Faster would be great.”

“You try running with a hole in your leg.”

Mustang glanced down at his leg, noting the blood as his face tightened, before he spoke again. “Keep moving. There, go.” Mustang pointed to the exit just as men ran around the corner, shouting at them.

Ed didn’t move. “You’re coming.”

Mustang’s eyes met his. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The building groaned, something crashed below them. Ed glanced toward the exit, then back. “You’d better be.”

Ed ran. He remembered the terror of it. Not the running, but the leaving. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around. It was only the trust they’d worked on building that kept him focused on moving.

When he reached the stairs, gunfire erupted behind him. Ed ducked instinctively, turning around. “Mustang!”

No answer. Smoke swallowed the catwalk. Mustang wasn’t there, he couldn’t see him.

Ed took one step before Mustang’s voice came through the smoke. “Keep going!”

Ed froze. He still couldn’t see Mustang, but the man could obviously see him.

“Move!”

“But—”

“Edward!” Mustang snapped.

The catwalk started to buckle, and Ed ran. He hit the doorway just as the upper level started to collapse behind him. Mustang came through a moment later, the catwalk fully falling behind him.

“You idiot!” he shouted, concern crawling up his chest.

“I told you to run, you didn’t listen,” Mustang immediately reprimanded.

“You were gone!”

“For ten seconds!”

“It was longer.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Well, it felt longer.”

Mustang stared at him. Then, despite the blood running down his side, he reached out and caught the back of Ed’s coat, leading him out. “I told you I’d come back. Now, come on.”

Ed looked at him. Seventeen, terrified, and angry. Still shaking from the thought that Mustang might not come through that smoke.

He remembered something else then, something he’d never admitted. He’d believed him. Even while he was running, some part of him had believed Mustang would come. And when Mustang had said go, Ed had gone. Not because Mustang had ordered him, but because Mustang had given him something better than an order—a promise. One Ed knew he intended to keep.

____________

Ed grit his teeth, pain flaring as his eyes snapped open. Mustang had his hand against his wound, an apologetic look on his face as he lessened the pressure he’d put on it.

“You have to stay awake, Ed.”

He nodded, the pain sharpening the edges of his vision as adrenaline kicked in.

As he sat there, breathing heavily and looking around, Ed realized why that memory had surfaced now, why it had come when he was trying to convince Mustang to leave him. Back then, Mustang had been hurt, and Ed had been terrified. Mustang still told him to run because he wanted Ed alive and had trusted Ed to keep moving. And Ed, in turn, had trusted Mustang to follow.

“Back then, at the warehouse. You trusted me, even when you couldn’t immediately follow me.”

Mustang’s eyes flashed in confusion before the memory surfaced, and his jaw tightened. “Of course.”

Ed’s eyes burned. “And now you won’t go because you think I can’t follow you.”

“No.” The answer came immediately. “I’m not staying because I think you can’t follow. I’m staying because I know you would.”

Ed didn’t understand. Not at first. Realization came slow. Because, of course. If Mustang did charge through the forest in a mad dash to the station, Ed would try. He’d crawl if he had to, drag himself slowly toward it. He’d follow up the road, keep moving until his body gave out and he laid passed out somewhere for them to pick him off easily.

Mustang knew that. He knew Ed. Too well, apparently.

Ed looked away. “That’s stupid. I still think you should go.”

“Good thing I outrank you here, then.”

Ed’s mouth twisted. “Idiot.”

A whistle sounded through the trees. Three short notes followed by two longer ones.

Mustang’s head snapped toward the road, and that all but confirmed it for Ed. It was the military. Hawkeye and the rest of the team, at least—that was their signal. They were close, making their way towards them.

Mustang shifted his grip beneath Ed. “Hold on.”

Ed didn’t argue this time.

The memory had finally made at least one thing clear: Once, Mustang had trusted Ed to run ahead because Mustang promised to follow; now, Mustang was asking Ed to trust him to carry him the rest of the way.

Same promise, just a different direction.

Ed pressed his face against Mustang’s shoulder. “All right. Don’t let go.”

Mustang’s arms tightened. “I won’t.”

And then he ran.

Ed felt every step. He no longer had the strength to hold himself up properly. Branches whipped past. Mustang’s coat smelled like smoke and damp earth and blood.

Ed heard the signal again somewhere ahead, those same three short notes followed by two longer ones. They were so close.

“Left,” Ed whispered.

Mustang turned immediately, changing his course.

Ed coughed, pain tearing through his side, and the rest of his words vanished.

Mustang’s pace faltered. Ed could tell he was debating stopping.

“Edward?”

“Keep going,” he gasped out.

Another breath. Too shallow. Ed tried again.

Mustang kept moving.

Behind them, someone shouted. Before Ed could determine whether it was friend or foe, a gunshot cracked through the trees. Mustang twisted as the bullet struck a trunk nearby.

He lowered Ed behind a fallen tree. “Stay here,” he said.

Ed’s hand caught his sleeve as he stood. “You too.”

Mustang looked down. “They’re blocking the road. With my flames, the team will be able to locate us faster, too.”

“I know. I know, you need both hands. Just… let me help.”

Mustang’s expression tightened. “You are helping, Ed.”

“I’m sitting behind a tree.”

“You’re staying alive.”

Ed opened his mouth, but Mustang was already moving away, arm pulling out of Ed’s grip easily.

The first flame flashed through the trees. Ed forced himself to watch. Mustang moved between the trunks, fire lighting the forest in violent bursts. One enemy dropped. Another fired. Mustang vanished behind a tree, and Ed’s heart hammered against his ribs until he reappeared.

“Idiot,” Ed breathed out.

A shot cracked. Mustang jerked, his hand going to his side, blood already darkening his uniform.

“Mustang!” he shouted with more force in his voice than he thought he could muster. Ed swore, then dug his hand into his side, the pain both sharpening and dulling the sensations around him. Mustang’s orders be damned, he was going to help.

He tried to stand, but his legs folded before they were fully under him, and he hit the ground hard, still by the tree. Pain flashed through his side, echoing up his whole body. He rolled onto his elbow.

Mustang looked toward him. Their eyes met. “Stay there!”

Ed glared. “Bossy.”

Mustang turned away as another enemy came forward, but Ed saw him first. “Behind you!” he shouted.

Mustang spun fully, flame catching the man’s weapon. The man staggered backward, and Mustang finished him.

Ed knew there were more out there, but he couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them now. He waited for Mustang to come back.

Mustang took one step toward him, and Ed saw a man step out from behind him, holding a large gun with both hands.

“Watch it!” he shouted.

Mustang leapt out of the way just as the gunshot boomed from the gun. The fallen tree beside Ed exploded with the impact, wood and metal tearing through the air.

Ed felt something strike his side hard. He didn’t feel pain immediately, just pressure and a crushing weight beneath his ribs.

He stared down. A jagged piece of splintered metal protruded from his coat—from him. For a second, he couldn’t understand what he was looking at. Then warmth spread beneath him. Ed touched it, his hand coming away red. Very red.

“Oh,” he breathed out as flames lit the clearing.

Mustang was running toward him again. “Edward!” he shouted, voice betraying his panic for the first time.

Ed tried to push himself up again, but his body didn’t understand the request, and he just flailed against the ground.

“Ed!”

“I’m okay.” His voice sounded far away. He looked down at his hand again. Blood was running between his fingers, quickly.

Mustang reached him, slamming down on the ground beside him. “Don’t move,” he snapped.

“I can—”

“Don’t.” His voice was firm and final. His gloves were already red as he pressed them over the wound. Pain arrived all at once, and Ed screamed, his back arching.

Mustang caught him, supported his weak body. “I know. I know,” he murmured.

Ed couldn’t breathe. He tried. Tried again. But, nothing. His lungs seemed to stop halfway through the motion.

“I can’t—” he gasped.

“Yes, you can.” Mustang pressed harder.

Ed grabbed at his coat. “Hurts… Can’t breathe.”

“I know.” Mustang’s voice was steady, but his hands weren’t. That frightened Ed more than the blood.

“You’re shaking,” he breathed out.

Mustang looked at him, eyes wide. “Yeah.”

Ed had never heard him sound like that. He wasn’t angry or irritated. He was afraid.

Mustang looked down at the blood beneath his hands, then back at Ed. “Look at me.”

Ed tried. Mustang’s face kept slipping in and out of focus.

“Edward.”

“‘m lookin’.”

“No.” Mustang’s bloody hand caught his jaw. “Look at me, Ed.”

Ed forced his eyes open, forced them to focus one more time. There. Mustang. Real. Terrified. Ed had been terrified before. What had Mustang always said? Ed tried to smile. "You’re okay.”

Mustang went completely still. The words had come from somewhere else. A memory—dozens of memories, of promises.

But Mustang wasn’t okay. Ed could see it. His face was pale beneath the soot, his breathing was too fast, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Ed suddenly understood what he was looking at. Not the wound or the blood, but him. What Mustang always saw—him.

Ed swallowed. “Mustang…”

“I’m here. I’m here, Ed.”

“I think—” he couldn’t finish. His vision narrowed, the trees darkened around the edges. Mustang’s hand moved from the wound to his neck, fingers still shaking. They pressed against his neck, feeling for a pulse. Ed could feel it against the man’s fingers. It was getting weaker with each pulse.

Mustang’s expression changed above him, contorting in on itself. “No. No, stay with me, Ed.”

“Tryin’,” he muttered.

“Try harder.”

Ed almost laughed. Would have, if he had the breath for it. “Still… bossy.”

Mustang leaned in closer. “Edward—”

Ed’s eyes slipped closed.

Mustang shook his shoulder. “No. No, you can’t sleep now, Ed. Not this time. Open your eyes.”

Ed did, but for a moment, the forest wasn’t there. He was seventeen again, in that warehouse, running and believing in Mustang.

I told you I would.

The memory shifted again, this time to a laboratory.

I need you alive.

Another shift onto a rooftop.

I’ve got you.

Then back in the forest with Mustang’s shaking, bloody hands and a fear-filled face.

Ed stared at him. “You came back.”

Mustang’s face crumpled for half a second, partially in confusion. “What?”

“You always come back.”

Mustang swallowed. “Of course.”

Ed smiled faintly. He supposed Mustang had been trying to teach him something all these years. His eyes closed.

Mustang’s voice sharpened. “Ed. Edward!”

Something hit the ground around them. Boots, voices.

“Colonel!” Ed recognized that one. Hawkeye.

“Here!” Mustang shouted. His tone wasn’t controlled like it normally was.

Someone dropped beside him, hands replacing Mustang’s.

“Keep pressure there.”

“Got it.”

“Colonel, you have to move.”

“Colonel.”

“I’m staying.”

“We need room.”

“He’s not breathing right.”

“His pulse—”

“Edward,” he heard Mustang’s voice, soft, as a hand squeezed his flesh one. Ed tried to squeeze back, but he wasn’t sure whether he accomplished anything. “I’ve got you.”

The words were barely audible in the chaos around them, but Ed believed them. He had believed them for years.

Just as he fell further into unconsciousness, Mustang’s voice followed him for a final time— “Don’t you dare.”

____________

As Ed’s consciousness swam back from the neverending blackness, he noticed he was warm. A certain stillness rested around him, and as more senses returned, he realized he lay on a bed.

He opened his eyes and stared at a white ceiling. For several seconds, he didn’t move, letting all the memories from the past few days rush back to him. Then he tried to breathe deeply. Pain stopped him immediately—not the blinding, tearing agony he felt in the forest. This pain was duller, more heavy. It pulled at his side and made his ribs feel as though they had been wrapped too tightly.

Ed frowned. He was alive, then.

He turned his head, a chair rested beside the bed. Empty. Ed stared at it, something bothering him about it, though he couldn’t remember why.

His eyes drifted shut again as he remembered another chair, this one in Mustang’s office at night. Ed’s head had dipped, and the next thing he knew he was waking with a blanket over his shoulders, and Mustang still there, mindlessly working at his desk far past the time he should be.

Another memory: a hospital room, tea, and Mustang catching him when his knees gave out. A warehouse, smoke, I’ll be right behind you. The laboratory, I need you alive. The rooftop, I’ve got you.

Ed opened his eyes again, the chair still sitting empty.

The door opened, and Ed glanced over as Hawkeye stepped inside. She stopped when she saw him awake.

“Edward, you’re conscious,” she said softly, relief coating her face before she returned professional.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, still feeling sleepy.

Her expression softened. “Good.”

Ed glanced back to the empty chair. “Where’s Mustang?”

“Outside,” she replied immediately. “I told him he needed to eat. He’ll be upset you woke when he left.”

“Oh, joy. Can’t wait for that.”

She smiled gently at him. “I’ll go get him.”

“Wait,” he said, stopping her. “How long?”

“Since the rescue? Three days.”

Ed’s stomach dropped, and he looked down at the blankets as she excused herself. Three days. He must have been in worse shape than he thought.

The next time the door opened, Mustang stepped inside. He looked terrible, but not injured. More exhausted. His uniform had been replaced but shadows remained beneath his eyes. He froze when Ed’s gaze met his.

“You look awful,” Ed blurted out.

“Good morning to you, too.” Mustang crossed the room then, pulling the chair closer and collapsing into it.

Ed tried to sit up, but pain immediately punished him. He hissed. Mustang’s hand was at his shoulder before he could stop himself. “Easy.”

As he regained his ability to breathe, Ed took a good look at the man before him. He was actually showing concern, eyebrows pinched together, an exhausted weight settled on his shoulders.

“Damn, you really do look like hell. Were you that scared?”

Instead of an argument or a joke or something like Ed was expecting, Mustang looked away. “Yes.”

It caught Ed off guard, and he swallowed. “How bad was it?”

Mustang didn’t answer immediately. Slowly, his gaze rose to Ed’s, guilt swimming in his eyes before he put up his shield again. “You don’t need to know yet.”

“Oh, come on—”

“I said you don’t need to know yet.”

Ed watched his face. There was something in the way he said it. Not necessarily avoidance, but protection. Not the kind that made Ed feel small and rageful, but the kind that gave him time to come to his own decision.

Ed glanced down at his hands, curling around the blanket. He thought back to the forest, how weak he was, how he couldn’t do anything. “I thought for a minute there at the end that I was dying.”

Mustang’s jaw tightened. “You were.”

The room was too quiet then.

“Was I really that close?”

“Yes.” Mustang didn’t soften it, or lie.

Ed thought back, remembering the darkness, Mustang’s voice, I’ve got you, Don’t you dare. “You didn’t leave, even when I was unconscious and didn’t know you were there. I know you didn’t. And I believed you.”

“Believed what?”

“That you’d come back. That you wouldn’t leave me. I dunno, I just trusted you I guess.” The words felt strange. Not because they were uncertain, but because they weren’t. Ed knew what he hadn’t before.

He’d spent years assuming Mustang’s hovering meant he didn’t trust him: the orders to stay behind, the endless lectures, the impossible standards, how Mustang always seemed to appear when things went wrong. Ed had thought Mustang was trying to keep him out of danger, but that wasn’t right. Mustang had sent him into danger plenty of times—because he trusted him, because he needed him. And every time Ed went somewhere dangerous, Mustang had made sure there was a way back. Sometimes, Ed noticed, but sometimes he hadn’t until he thought about it.

Sometimes Mustang would catch him, and sometimes he would wait or follow and trust Ed to go first.

Ed looked back at Mustang. “You’re really bad at making your point.”

Mustang raised an eyebrow. “What point?”

“That you were gonna be there.”

A tired smile tugged at Mustang’s mouth. “I thought I’d made that fairly clear.”

“You were kind of an ass about it.”

“That may be true.”

Ed closed his eyes. For the first time since waking, he didn’t feel like he had to keep them open. He knew what was waiting for him when he woke.

He heard the chair creak—Mustang settling into it. Ed let himself relax further.

“Mustang?”

“Hm?”

“You’re okay.”

It was quiet for a moment. Just as Ed started to drift off, he heard a very quiet: “I am now.”

____________

Weeks later, Ed had decided that recovery was boring. It was no longer painful or frightening, just plain boring. There was only so much a person could do from a couch.

He’d read every book in the stack beside him twice. He’d taken apart Mustang’s watch and put it back together just to prove he could—much to the man’s annoyance. He’d tried working through an alchemy problem and been informed, rather sternly by Hawkeye, that doing complex equations while half-asleep did not count as productive recovery.

So now, he was sitting on the couch in Mustang’s office with a book open on his lap, staring at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

From the other side of the room, Mustang didn’t even look up from whatever paper he was scanning. “You’ve said that six times. In the last hour.”

“Because it still sucks.”

“You can take a walk.”

Ed lifted his head. “I could also throw myself down the stairs.”

Mustang finally looked over. “Don’t,” he said flatly.

Ed scoffed. “I’m not going to.”

“You sounded too convincing.”

“I’m wounded, not stupid.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive with you.”

Ed dropped his head back. “You’re annoying.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A comfortable silence settled over the room. Ed had gotten used to it over the past few weeks. Mustang always seemed to be nearby, and when he wasn’t Hawkeye was.

He still had bad nights, still woke disoriented and thinking he was in the forest sometimes, but there were fewer of those moments. When they happened, no one made a big deal about it. Mustang simply stayed. Ed appreciated that more than he would ever admit.

He turned the page blindly.

Five minutes later, his eyes drifted closed. He heard Msutang get up and cross the room, removing the book from his hands.

Ed opened his eyes halfway, Mustang’s exhausted face before him. Not the terrifying exhaustion he had gotten used to in the forest and days after, but the ordinary kind that came from a hard day of work—too many reports, too little sleep, and life that refused to become less complicated.

Ed studied him for another second, then shifted to one cushion on the couch. His healing side still protested, but he could ignore it now. He patted the empty space beside him. “Sit down,” he said firmly.

Mustang stared. “That an order?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re aware I’m your superior officer.”

“Not on my couch.”

Mustang sighed, but he sat. They both leaned back, shoulders touching, and listened to the clock.

“Hey,” Ed said.

“Hm?”

“Was I really that out of it? In the forest, I mean. I’ve heard you mention some stuff, and I honestly don’t remember most of it.”

Mustang didn’t answer immediately.

“I mean, I remember some things, but not all of it.”

When Mustang still didn’t say anything, Ed frowned. “You’re not very helpful.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Ed elbowed him lightly, and Mustang caught the gesture with a faint smile.

“I know we were in the forest, but I also remember the warehouse, and the rooftop, and the lab from years ago.”

Mustang nodded. “You mentioned them. I think you had been dreaming about them while you were unconscious.”

Ed glanced at him and frowned. “You’re doing the face.”

“What face?” Mustang asked indignantly.

“The one that means you’re trying not to answer my question.”

Mustang sighed. “Ed, you were confused. You’d wake up and think you were somewhere else. Sometimes you’d remember something that had happened years ago and talk about it like it was happening right then.”

Ed’s gaze dropped. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I know.”

Something about his voice made Ed look up. Mustang wasn’t looking at him anymore. Ed remained quiet for a moment. “Was it bad?”

Mustang’s fingers tightened around his knees. “You were very injured.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Mustang sighed. “There were a few times I wasn’t sure if you’d wake up again.” The words were matter-of-fact. Almost too matter-of-fact. Horrifying words that were detached from their meaning.

Ed swallowed, forgetting why he even wanted to have this conversation. “Ah.”

Mustang leaned back into the couch. “I’d rather not repeat the experience.”

“Well, it’s not exactly on my schedule either.”

“I gathered.”

Ed glanced sideways at him. “Sorry.”

Mustang’s eyebrows rose as he looked over. “Did you just apologize?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They were quiet again. Ed rubbed his thumb over the edge of his sleeve. Mustang was obviously still feeling some kind of guilt about the whole situation, a helplessness that he hated to experience. He wanted to help.

“You know, there may have been different memories, but I honestly kept remembering the same thing.”

“What’s that?”

Ed thought. He could have said you were there or you kept catching me. Both true, but not quite right. He shrugged. “That you weren’t going anywhere.”

Mustang went still, and Ed immediately felt the need to ruin the moment. “Don’t get sentimental about it, though.”

Mustang scoffed. “I wasn’t planning to. You’re the one who brought it up.”

Ed sank lower into the couch. “Well, don’t tell anybody.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Escpecially Hawkeye.”

“With that I make no promises.”

Ed groaned. “Traitor.”

Mustang smiled.

Outside, Central carried on—cars passing, someone shouting in the street, a train somewhere in the distance.

Ed closed his eyes. This time, there was no fear waiting behind them. Just warmth, a familiar shoulder against his, someone breathing beside him who had promised time and time again that he’d be there. Ed no longer had to wonder whether he believed him, because he finally did.

He let the memories flow over him as he drifted off.