P O W
Disclaimer: don't own fma. D': not even a dvd! wails
A/N: and another dark fic emerges, strangely enough I always find I enjoy writing these ones more. He he? Sorry if its rough, I still haven't gotten my hands on an editor, but please R&R! EDIT i've made some minor changes with the help of Mithluin and anmbcuconnfan who pointed out some mistakes. thankyou guys!
Chapter One:
Hungry.
Always hungry. That was one of the first things he realized wasn't going to change.
The state of absolute filth was another constant that he soon realized he was going to have to deal with. And that notion had lead to the third, most horrifying thought.
The Fullmetal Alchemist had no idea just how long he was going to have to live like this.
Edward growled lowly in his throat, curling tightly into the corner he had claimed as his own. The small room was filled with three level bunk beds-leaving only the smallest of gaps between-and because of this every possible inch of space was crammed with men. Sweating, cussing, sleeping, dirty, starving men, all of them wearing the tatted remains of their Amestris uniforms.
With a sigh Ed pushed himself up to lean against the cold concrete walls. He'd given up his bed to a man who wouldn't last the night through.
He looked over to the young Cadet, whose feverish brow was glistening in the dull light offered by the single bare bulb. The fool had been desperate enough to eat a slab of raw meat he was thrown like a dog and had caught something because of it.
But Edward couldn't really blame him, with the ridiculously small rations their cell was given whenever someone remembered… Edward shook his head and sat up straighter, eyes drifting over to another bed.
The man across the room was probably going to escape this hell hole with the Cadet. Edward hated the fact that he believed in nothing, thinking that something peaceful waited for him 'after' would have been nice. But Ed knew that when he died, he'd just be waiting for his heart to stop its constant movement, and from there wait for that spark of life in his brain to dim and go out without oxygen to fuel it. And then his mind would dim, perhaps with one final release of chemicals from his brain, and he'd be gone…nothing but an empty husk which would take up space.
Ed quickly shook his head to clear it; thinking about death in a place like this was a one way road to depression, suicide, and insanity.
Something I'd like to avoid thank you very much.
The other man had been one of the stronger, healthier ones who, like Edward, split their food with the sickly. He couldn't weigh more then a hundred and sixteen pounds on his death bed.
Edward closed his eyes and pressed his check to the cool concrete behind him.
He'd grown used to such things, and however much he hated it he knew that the two deaths would mean two more beds and blankets to share round.
The Fullmetal Alchemist pulled his great coat closer around himself with one shaking hand. It was his most prized possession there-the simple black garment providing valuable warmth and comfort that he would not trade for anything …well, except perhaps for a ticket out or some extra food…
His stomach gurgled depressingly but Ed ignored it and the hunger pangs that followed. It was just another pain he'd had enough time to get use too. Some of the newer captives still doubled over with the pains, but they'd grow used to it too.
Edward Elric had been in the camp for what he estimated to be four months.
"Water Sir?"
Ed looked up at warrant officer Jones, who was offering him a dented tin mug. He smiled weakly at Edward, revealing two missing teeth caused by whatever reason the guards had given.
With a grateful nod Edward sipped at the precious liquid, savoring even the oily film that coated his mouth along with the water that wet his parched throat. But with restraint he stopped himself from finishing the whole of his share.
The warrant officer frowned
"Sir-" he began
"Give the rest of my portion to the Cadet" Ed instructed. Jones' frown deepened. Lowering his voice he whispered
"With all due respect Sir, you should drink what you can. Cadet Wilson won't make it through the night,"
Edward scowled, gold eyes flashing furiously in the dim light.
"Precisely why we should make his final moments as comfortable as we possible can" he hissed.
Jones' frowned deepened with determination.
"Sir-your health is more important than-"
"That is an order Warrant Officer Jones"
Jones' free hand snapped to his forehead in a sharp salute
"Yes Lieutenant Colonel Elric sir!" he parroted before moving off to the Cadets bed.
Edward had been one of the first captured by Drachma-because it was his platoon that had been the first to be culled on the front lines.
Yes, Lieutenant Colonel Elrics first mission in command had not gone well.
But because of it he had been the longest at the camp by far, and was also the highest ranked in the cell. Because of that he had been elected to be in charge, despite Edwards vein refusal.
But slowly the responsibility had grown on him, and he'd come to look at his position as a chance to make up for his failure…or at least try too.
Edward rubbed at his face gingerly-hissing as his palm brushed against his cheek.
Breathing through gritted teeth Ed pulled his hand away and looked at the damage.
Burst another one! Shit! His palms didn't have fingerprints on them anymore, and Ed knew they never would.
Every few weeks he was taken away and they were re-burned to prevent him from performing alchemy.
Layer upon layer of melted skin now served as his left hand, and all Edward could do was try to keep off infection. That of course was the sick genius in it, he couldn't risk touching anything to draw an array. He stared forlornly at the gap between his middle finger and pinky, the evidence of the only time he had tried. He felt bitter resentment rise up in his throat like bile.
He'd had to have the finger cut off to save the rest of his hand.
His automail had of course been taken from him the moment he arrived, both arm and leg, leaving Edward a cripple who had to rely on anyone who was willing to help him.
He knew that if his men hadn't deemed him worthy of leading he wouldn't have stood a chance. Because they trusted him, they gave him some of the food they scrounged for, they brought him water, they helped him move around.
He knew they needed him as much as he needed them.
Part of it was the fact that Edward knew what he was doing, and what needed to be done for all of them to survive. He knew what things they had to priorities-water, food, blankets- and knew how it could be done without punishment. Edward Elric was a prodigy after all.
Because of him they had five extra blankets. Five extra sources of warmth that the guards didn't know were missing from their stores.
The other part was mental, all of these men where military, were subordinates during a war. And Ed provided the smallest source of normalcy in a place of unfamiliar circumstances. A CO who told them what to do when they began to remember why they were there, who gave them tasks to do to keep their thoughts from wondering.
And from what Edward had overheard from the guards, the war was not going well…for Amestris at least.
And so the men of the Boarder Pass POW Camp faced and prepared for the fact that their rescue team might take a while to arrive.
Ed sat back and closed his eyes, knowing that he should try and sleep while he had the chance but finding himself unable too.
The noises of men snoring, and talking quietly amongst themselves all filled his keen ears. He tried to focus on them instead of ill men's whimpers, or the soothing final words whispered to a departing friend, or the silent tears that every one of them had shed at least once.
Edward shuddered to think how he would have handled any of this if he'd been any younger. Being eighteen had been both his blessing and curse.
His curse because he'd finally been old enough for the State to send him to the front line. His blessing…because Alphonse was still only seventeen and unable to follow.
The restless noise of the cell fell abruptly silent-a dead breathe from broken men acknowledging their place- as the heavy locks of the door were pulled back and the rumble of harsh foreign voices echoed in the hall outside.
Not a soul moved as that one portal to the outside world slammed open on creaking hinges; and four Drachman guards stepped into their filthy abode.
Ed listened silently as the gravely voices snapped at each other and laughed mockingly. But one word made his dulling gold eyes widen and his blood thrum deafeningly in his ears. There were a few words of Drachman that Ed had been able to learn, and one of them was 'Alchemist'.
With fear creeping into his mind, Ed sat up straighter as he crained his head-filthy hair slapping against his shoulders as one thought repeated frantically in his mind. Don't be Alphonse, don't be Alphonse, please don't be Alphonse!
From his position on the floor, he saw a single figure suspended between the guards. The blue of his uniform just visible beneath his black Great Coat. Ed bit his lip as he took in the mans unconscious form. A dark head was bowed, slim shoulders shuddering every few moments as the man seemed to twitch, but what worried Edward was the fact he was covered with mud and darker, much more sinister stains.
The man was not in good shape. New prisoners usual came in kicking and screaming… 'At least it's not Alphonse' a tiny relieved voice whispered in the back of his head.
"Another playmate!" a guard snickered in broken Amertrisan before they dumped the limp body where it fell in the threshold, and left with the drumming of quick boots and the clang of a slammed steel door.
As soon as the door was closed, every man able to move leapt into action. A mad rush of movement overcame the room, movement that seemed to overcompensate for the harsh stillness of a moment before. A bed was cleared, a valuable blanket offered and hushed voices began to clamor about the thick walls.
"Shit! Someone get some water!" a voice hissed as two privates lifted the injured man onto the nearest bed.
"Is there anything we can do to numb the pain?" another man asked as the new prisoner continued to twitch violently.
"God. That looks like it hurts"
"Passed out is as good as we can do"
"Can we set his hands?" a timid voice asked
"We'd just mess 'em up more!"
"At least nothings broken the skin"
Ed struggled to his feet as Jones jogged up to him, slinging Eds remaining arm about his shoulders he helped Edward hop his way across the room.
"What's his status? Rank? Does anybody know him?" Ed asked briskly.
The graying Lieutenant O'Brian looked up, his mottled brown hair a mess about his thin, hollow cheeked face.
"An Alchemist for sure-his hands have been broken bad. Looks like he has a cut on his head-that's where all the bloods from, its nothing too serious; just bleeding a whole load. Apart from that he's just been roughed up, probably interrogated." He reported,
"Rank?" Edward prompted; the man frowned, shaking his head.
"I don't know. Every insignias been burnt off his uniform Lieutenant Colonel"
Edwards face paled.
"Burnt!?" he demanded, throwing off the Warrant Officers arm and jumping to the bunk bed the new solider lay on. For the love of the gate! If he's been captured we're all done for!
Propped on the bed frame, Edward leaned forward frantically, pushing the mans long hair aside from his face with a pain lanced fingers.
All hope Edward had allowed himself to cling too slowly died in his chest. Realizing just what he was seeing, any thoughts of rescue withered.
A too pale face, shadows beneath exotically slanted eyes, dark hair mattered with blood, thin lips drawn tight with pain.
Edward bit back his despair for the sake of the men who looked to him for leadership and strength. He wouldn't fail them as he had his first team. He looked away and closed his eyes, knowing that he couldn't tell the men that their greatest hope of escape was now locked inside with them.
For General Roy Mustang was a Prisoner of War.
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