FicWad

An indiscernible amount of time passed as he sat there, burning in his shame. Eventually his back protested strongly enough to pull him out of his uncomfortable and pitiful position. Roy uneasily stood, allowing his bare hand to drag along the uneven table. A splinter from a rough section stabbed into his palm, wedging itself deep in his skin. Mustang numbly analyzed his new wound. The pain was an annoyance. The pain was distracting.

The pain was a blessing.

Once he realized this, he snapped out of his trance. Although he had heard of miserable souls manipulating their pain to their advantage, he had never understood the desire for it until now.

I’m physically weak enough without adding that on top of it.

And it was true. Feet dragging, he trudged up the stairs, intent on removing the blessed distraction. Halfway up the flight he had to rest, grasping the rail to encourage him to remain in a standing position.

His thoughts flew straight back to Edward and Winry. This is for the best. I can’t do him any good in my condition. I’m so weak and pathetic. A shaking hand rose to cover his face. Winry is a much better, stronger fit for him than I could ever be.

A newly-revived despise for his sickness overcame him, urging him up the stairs. Once he reached the top he lowered to his knees, clutching his chest and sucking in air. The triumph and fatigue of finishing the entire flight calmed his disgust. But the flare of hatred was still there, just muted. It lay churning under the surface, its presence known but not controlling him like it did just moments before. It didn’t feel right. What else did he hate?

Still on his knees, Roy’s fingers clenched into fists. Winry.

The single word filled him with intense malice, like a continuous wave that threatened to drown him.

What a monster.

His self-loathing intensified, battling with his newly directed rage. Sweating profusely, he struggled to his feet. The whirl of emotions confounded him, and out of animal-like desperation he struck the wall with a clenched fist.

Suddenly his chest constricted. With a pained cry Roy collapsed, clutching at his heart. He fought to breathe steadily, thinking back to the last time this had occurred. Riza had him transported to a hospital immediately. This episode was by far a lot worse, and this realization brought on a bout of panic. Sweat and saliva ran everywhere as his eyes rolled back in his head from the agony.

I’m going to die.

He was dimly aware of the cold wood floor pressed against his skin. All sensation, including pain, gradually became farther and farther away. The pain wasn’t subsiding; his consciousness was slipping.

Mustang couldn’t tell if he minded dying. Now unable to comprehend, he was instead vaguely aware of undefined emotions and flashes of hazy images passing through his last shred of consciousness. It seemed peaceful.

An image of Edward in Winry’s arms brought tortured tears to his eyes.

Just let it be. Let them be.

Closing his eyes, he willed for death to come claim him. But the acute misery invoked by the image had snapped him into coherency, accomplishing nothing but bringing the unbearable suffering in his heart back into sharp focus.

A moan escaped his lips, the crushing in his chest unrelenting in its attack. More images of Edward and Winry together flooded his mind, one after the other. Emotional and physical agony collided, mixing so well that distinguishing between the two was impossible. The moan grew louder, eventually evolving into a wounded scream. He bit into the flesh of his hand, begging incoherently for the pain to stop.

Excruciating moments ticked by with Mustang writhing on the floor. Finally the pain faded to an aching throb. Slicked in sweat, he shakily lifted himself into a crawling position. Without warning he vomited, retching loudly. The hand that he had bitten reached up to grasp something, but it just clumsily smeared blood along the wall. He looked up through blurry vision. His room was only a few feet away. Again he tried to crawl forward, this time successfully.

Eternity passed as he made his way to his room. Reaching the bed, he clutched the table next to it and miraculously heaved himself to his feet long enough to fall onto the bed. The pain had almost completely subsided. He was all but unconscious before he heard the front door click open and slam shut.

“Mustang! I’m back!” Edward called, searching around the living room for signs of him.

Roy floated on the bed, dazed. The ability to think had left him once again. Even if he had wanted to, he was incapable of making a sound. He remained on the bed, spread-eagled on his front with his face turned to the side so he could breathe.

Edwards footsteps, one a little louder than the other, continued their journey through the house. He noticed the coffee cup still on the table from that morning.

“Mustang?”

His pace quickened. Backtracking through the kitchen and living room, he shot hurried glances out the windows. The thud of his uneven footsteps grew louder as they climbed the stairs. Then there was a brief silence. Panicked breathing followed the silence as he bolted to Roy’s room.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was Edward’s shriek.

“Roy!”

And he slipped gratefully into the darkness.