Chapter Text
The contrast was impressive. The heat, the explosions, the screams, the smell of blood. The false calm did nothing to mask the suffering in the air. Alphonse snuggled against his body. It was the only thing they had left; each other. Edward hugged him back tightly, terrified that he was going to dematerialize any minute. It was like some kind of divine punishment for a crime they hadn't yet committed.
He leaned against what had once been the wall of his home. The unstable remains of the building helping to preserve the little heat they had generated, at least. They used it to hide from the icy breeze that froze the desert, and more importantly, it was their only protection against them. Their only protection from the soldiers. From the State Alchemists.
Edward couldn't fully understand the situation; he knew that a girl had been murdered and that people were enraged by it. But, he didn't know how he, his brother, or his mother had anything to do with this. One second they were happy in the kitchen making pie, and the next one everything just...happened
He clung to Alphonse's sleeping body, making sure his little brother didn't get cold. Edward stayed awake, fully aware that if he tried to sleep, Hell would return in the form of nightmares. Their purpose would only be to remind him that he never left it.
Edward's bloodshot eyes-from sand or tears-wandered from the remains of the building he had once called 'home' to the tar-black plumes of smoke rising above the charred remains of Ishval. He couldn't help but remember his mother when he looked up to the stars decorating the sky.
Tears ran down his cheeks. They washed away the lingering of ash still coating his face. He relived his mother's death once again.
It repeated in slow motion, the march out the door, his mother's seemingly relaxed face telling him to protect Alphonse. She hid them in the kitchen cupboard. Her screams mixing with rounds of bullets will always haunt his dreams. He didn't let Alphonse cry, and he did not let himself scream; if they did, his mother would have died in vain.
When everything had calmed down and the soldiers withdrew, they escaped from the house. They were trying to move stealthily and stay hidden as if they were playing hide and seek. As if they were rats running from cats. At some point in the terrible day, their house had been blown up. His mother's remains were now buried in the rubble.
Edward was sobbing silently when his ear caught a noise and all of his senses went on alert. He heard military boots. Close to them. He clung to the wall as if he wanted to merge with it, and squeezed Alphonse tightly; a fiery expression of panic on his young face. The younger boy woke with a groan, thanks to the straining grip on his arms, but Edward shushed him by bringing one of his fingers to his lips. It was a signal to keep quiet; the same one they used while they were hiding in the cupboard.
They both clung to each other tightly, trying to calm the trembling spasms that their body made out of fear. Alphonse hid his face in his brother's chest, trying to calm his rapid breathing that might give them away. The heavy footsteps out of his nightmares were getting closer, and they could differentiate the waving of a cape brushing against the dry brush. That could only mean one thing. They had been found by a state alchemist.
Edward brought his hand to his mouth to avoid making any noise, gasping for breath, trying to avoid breathing in an effort not to make noise. The state alchemist was standing in what was once the front of the house, his slow and tortuous step entering the building. The brothers crouched against the corner that gave them no protection against the man. They knew what was coming but did not want to accept it. Edward had tears running down his face like raindrops, still trying to make as little noise as possible.
The man in the blue uniform whipped around as if his train of thought had just been interrupted, and he had been forced back into reality. He raised his hand like he was about to snap his fingers when he saw them; two children, unarmed and terrified.
The smallest had his face hidden in the chest of the oldest, and he looked directly into Roy's eyes with a mixture of terror, panic, and pure hatred. No matter how many children he had killed that day, something, and he'll never know what, prevented him from killing the brothers.
The trembling kids did not seem close to calming down. The mere presence of the military man was enough to scare them. He was not surprised by the fear of the children, nor did he think that they had no reason to be scared. He had been the one who burnt their house to the ground, along with the rest of the town.
He had seen the rudimentary fabrics with basic transmutation circles flying out of the house when he blew it up. For that reason, he was curious. He had chosen to re-investigate; after all, alchemy was forbidden in these lands. The fact that two children had access to something like that was, at the very least, extremely curious. He didn't know if these kids were the ones who lived there, nor did he know who the owners of the practice circles were.
The air between them was tense. The child hidden in the chest of what Roy assumed was his brother stood there with a frantic movement of his right arm. A reflex? The start of a panic attack? Roy wasn't sure, but couldn't care enough. Not when the puffy eyes of the other brother looked at him with fire. A burning fire that could only originate from Hell, highlighted by the golden hue that the child had. It was completely different from the other Ishvalans.
Those eyes were not those of a defeated person, dead inside, who is ready to surrender and embrace the cold consolation of death; like his own eyes or those of his fellow soldiers, no. They were the eyes of someone ready to fight, a determination more passionate than all the fire he had caused since being sent into civil war.
Yes. Determination was the word. That's why Roy couldn't afford to turn his back on that boy. He could not burn his bones to ashes; he had already verified that for some reason, he was not able to do that. But he also couldn't simply walk and leave; not only because he was sure that the children would not live to tell the tale that he left them alive(This was, after all, a massacre disguised as a battlefield), but because he was sure that the golden-eyed little boy would use any tool to harm him. Be it a piece of debris or a dead branch.
The kid wouldn't let him go without a fight. He was not the most formidable opponent Roy had faced as a soldier, that was clear. However, someone with that determination and fury in their eyes should be respected. It doesn't matter if it's just a terrified kid.
Cautiously, Roy raised his arms. The universal symbol of surrender. The boy did not seem to understand and still stared at him with the same hatred and terror.
With slow movements, Roy decided to remove his gloves; the same ones he had used to murder innocents with. He threw them aside to show that he was unarmed. The boy's eyes followed the garments until they touched the ground. Only then did he focus back on the Major in front of him. Roy could almost hear the gears turning in the boy's head as he tried to process the situation.
Roy kept his eyes on the brothers. He focused on the things around him, always straining to hear or even smell a clue that could indicate the presence of other people. Was it worth disarming himself just to gain the trust of the children? Risking his life for that of two strangers who, anyway, have little chance of surviving the war? Why was he not able to kill them when he first saw them?
All of those questions were circling in his head as he stood there. Suddenly, a loud crackling sound that Roy could only identify as a transmutation broke the silence of the night. He knew then that those two were the children who had lived in the house of circles. He realized then that the boy with the apparent panic attack had used the reside off of the wall to create a circle and effectively created an escape route.