A/N: Takes place in a reimagined Amestris post-Promised Day, a bit post-apocalyptic.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Ed sees the look on the kid's face and he knows—he knows—that this is wrong, so wrong. It's all he needs to see, before he's sprinting from Mustang and Hawkeye's side, through the crowd and to the center of the square.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the kid's pleading over and over, "I'm sorry, it was a joke, just a joke, I'm sorry…"

The kid's hands are tied to the post before him; he's staring terrified over his shoulder at the officer who twirls a thin, leather whip in his hands. The new Furor's military police dress in white. They say it befits their rank, but Ed thinks it's so that they can be easily spotted. The procurers of justice don't have to hide, don't have to pretend they aren't always watching. Ed's blue and gold feels dull by comparison, useless.

"Hey!" Ed barrels into the scene, grabbing the arm of the soldier before the whip can fall. "What do you think you're doing? He's just a kid!"

The soldier's white cape slaps Ed in the face as the man turns, and when his snarl softens Ed wonders what the penance would have been if he hadn't been in a uniform.

"A kid who needs to learn to watch his mouth under the new order," the elite sneers. "Stand down, soldier."

The kid's looking up at Ed with wide, scared eyes, and Ed instantly thinks of Al. Al, who is at his side almost instantly, Al, who is whispering words of caution in his ear.

"You can't whip a kid for a few wrong words! He didn't know any better!"

"I said stand down!" The officer elbows Ed hard in the side and then the butt of the whip is raised high into the air again. Ed doesn't think—just reacts—and his fist crashes into the officer's face.

"Brother no!"

Ed remembers what Mustang told him once, right after Grumman's coup following the Promised Day. We're prisoners of war pretending to be soldiers. In an instant, he's pinned to the ground by military police officers. The man he punched is bearing over him, shaking in anger, red blood dripping onto his regalia of white.

"How. Dare. You."

Ed's full weight is lifted off the ground; his military jacket is torn off and he's pushed face-first into something hard. He struggles and kicks but there's too many men and he hasn't got alchemy anymore, just his fists, which are being bound with rope, and suddenly he's hugging the whipping post and two rough hands tear his shirt apart with a schht. The air is cold and raises goosebumps on his bare back.

"Twenty lashes for your insubordination. And then you'll take this boy's five, since you seem to have an argument against justice."

Ed squeezes his arms around the pole, ready for the bite of the whip. He can hear Al fighting with the military police; he won't have Al be next. The sneering officer cracks the whip, and Ed flinches. It hasn't touched him yet. He won't scream, he won't scream, he won't—

"Commander Renly!" A deep voice cuts through the noise and Ed feels his shoulders sag in relief. Mustang. "What are you doing to my subordinate?"

"Your subordinate? This piece of filth is one of yours, Mustang? I should have known."

"Let him go," Mustang says firmly. "Whatever he did, it isn't your place to punish him. He isn't under your command."

"But you see, Mustang, my rank far exceeds your own." Ed peeks over his shoulder to see Renly squaring off with his Colonel. "As a member of the Furor's military police, I have the unique power to deal out justice to any Amestrian citizen who threatens the regime's stability."

"What has he done to threaten Grumman's regime? Called you a name? Stuck his tongue out at you? I thought you'd be above letting some teenager's petty insults shake you up."

"He stood in the way of justice!" Renly roars. "There is no place in this regime for a soldier who cannot respect orders!"

"Then let me punish him," Mustang says smoothly. Yes. Ed never thought the day would come when he would be begging for Mustang's penance. He knows to keep his mouth shut, knows he's in deep shit now, and maybe Mustang's perseverance is all that can get him out. "There's no need for this. Let him go, and I assure you I won't forget this incident."

"No," Renly says softly, "You won't. As his commander, you'll give him the twenty-five lashes."

Renly offers Mustang the whip. Ed sees Mustang's pale face go a shade whiter and he knows he's fucked.

"I won't."

"That's an order—" The word is barked so loudly that Ed hears someone in the crowd shriek in surprise. "—Mustang. Did you hear what I said about soldiers who can't obey orders?"

"Be reasonable, Renly." Mustang's voice has a note that Ed's never heard before; it sounds alien until he realizes what it is. Pleading.

"Here's reasonable. You give this pathetic excuse for a soldier his twenty-five lashes, or the military police will be taking him to the Central Prison, where I assure you, the punishment will be less forgiving."

"You can't do this, Colonel!" Al's voice. Ed's heart clenches. "Let him go! Let my brother go! He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Don't make me do this, Renly."

"Real lashes, Mustang. I'll know if you go easy on him. Then it'll be twenty-five more."

Mustang takes the whip. He's got a look in his eyes that Ed's never seen before, this horrible, pained expression of guilt. His eyes say I'm sorry, and Ed can't meet them with anything but defiance. I'm a prisoner too. Ed can't answer that, and when Mustang's lips form a hard line he squeezes his eyes shut, and the whip comes down on his back.

He doesn't know when he starts screaming, but he knows it isn't at the first lash, or even the fifth. He grits his teeth. He won't give them the satisfaction. He won't let Mustang know how much it hurts.

But it hurts, it hurts, and the pain eventually eclipses everything else. He can't even remember why he's here in the first place, what he did, all he can anticipate is the next biting sting, the skin of his back being torn to ribbons. Twenty-five lashes. It feels like a hundred; he's shaking from the pain and he knows he's screaming but he can't help it, he can't stop, unless Mustang stops. The tail of the whip strikes against where his skin has already been ripped, against the pink tissue peeking through. It feels like he's been struck with a live wire.

And then it's over. His back feels raw, hypersensitive. Ice cold and burning hot at the same time. He can feel blood dripping down his legs. Roughly, his hands are untied, and he collapses to the ground.

Strong arms grab him and Ed jerks away. He's lifted onto someone's shoulders, and his back screams in agony at every twitch. Now it's Mustang, murmuring the litany in his ear. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're alright, I'm sorry… Ed can't do anything but whimper from the pain, wish to be unconscious.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's all a prisoner can be.

A/N: Not sure where this little ficlet came from. May follow it up with a few more oneshots in this world, where all our favorites are being targeted by the new regime. Working on the next chapter of Sun Hands, for anyone following it-I'm sorry it's been so slow coming! Having a tough time deciding plot things, which means I can't finish up the next chapter. It'll be coming soon though.

-JR