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Ed had never been a fan of water to begin with. Water meant rain, which meant automail aches.
…Actually, when he forced his muddled, tired brain to put some effort into thinking about it, water meant a lot of things.
It meant a creek he couldn’t swim in anymore. Another ingredient that failed to revive his mother. Something he had to dry off his prosthetics when he got out of the tub. Stupid tears that poured down his face without permission.
Their newest torture method—something he couldn’t breathe in.
God, he couldn’t breathe.
The strong ringing in his ears faded, allowing muffled grunts of struggle to bubble up next to his ears. He distantly recognized them as his own, even though they were distorted under the ice cold water that had the slightest flavor of metal and vomit.
Edward chest pleaded with him to just give up, and suck in the biggest lungful of water that he could. It desperately spasmed, willing to trade anything to replace the buildup of carbon dioxide.
Thankfully, he had always been stubborn—but even his notorious resolve was starting to crack.
How long had they put him under, this time? He lost track quicker and quicker with each round. Between the darkness of the dirty sink, the thrashing of his instincts to live, and the tight grip holding him under, the passage of time had been thrown in the backseat of his awareness.
A rough hand yanked him backwards by the neck, and everything got loud. The sound of heavy rain confused him, before he distantly realized that the rain was coming from him. It dripped from his hair and mouth, down his single flesh arm and his raw, flayed back. The coolness felt soothing against the whip marks, before shifting into a sharp stinging and burning against his skin, like acid.
Even though he wasn’t under the water anymore, the air still swam just like it.
The air.
Air.
The realization struck him like a truck, and he hastily sucked in huge gulps of air like a glutton, before getting cut short by the strong urge to cough. Despite his aching desire to breathe, he obeyed the other instinct—too weak to fight it. The sound of rain got louder as he heaved.
Liquid splattered the wall he was staring at. He watched it fall.
A voice was talking far away.
The fist grasping the back of his torn shirt gave him a rough shake, and Ed could only heave again. A new wave of liquid spattered the surface in front of him, and he felt confused at how gravity could possibly be going horizontal. Weird. Gravity didn’t work like that, he thought.
When Edward was finally done spitting up water from his stomach and throat, gravity shifted. At the same time, something tried to pull Ed back onto single his limp foot, but he had long since lost his ability to stand. He nearly collapsed, but then the hand yanked harder, holding him—holding him upright, he realized.
Gravity had never been going sideways in the first place, his brain finally registered. He had just been held over the floor as he heaved his guts out.
The gruff voice behind him spoke again, sounding impatient and angry. Ed could only give a sluggish blink, too tired to care about the words drifting toward his direction. Instead, he relished at his own lungs expanding and contracting, taking in how it felt, and holding onto the sensation. Oh, he had missed it.
An indecipherable growl pierced through the fog in his brain. “… hear me, you worthless little shit? We’re not done yet.”
Ed didn’t care. He stopped caring a while ago. Breathing was more important.
Without warning, a punishing finger dug into his skin through his shirt, prying and digging at his whip wounds like an angry worm looking for a place to burrow. Ed tried to yell out, but it came out more like a hoarse gurgle. With more consciousness came the realization that there was still water in his throat.
“—listening to me now?” the voice hollered, urgent. “There’s not much time left, so just tell me already—!”
A loud booming sound shook the room, rumbling in Ed’s chest and giving the urge to cough again—which he did. After a few seconds, more loud noises plagued his ears as he coughed.
Ed heard the angry voice behind him grow panicked. Unfortunately, he had no time to wonder why his captor was so worried all of a sudden, as the young alchemist was quickly plunged back into the sink full of water.
When he had first plunged in, his thrashes were strong, like a bull. He’d seize and buck, trying desperately to escape.
However, round after round of this had left him pathetically exhausted. His muscles felt wrung out and sore. He was tired.
But, he still tried.
The teen thrashed weakly for a few seconds, his instincts to live always winning out, when the hand holding him under suddenly let go.
For the briefest measurable moment of time, Ed froze.
The harsh grip against his back was gone, leaving him completely open to lean back and out of the sink. After who knows how many times he was forced under the disgusting water, Ed finally had the opportunity to push himself up and away from the suffocating liquid.
He took it.
Beneath his whipped skin, his back muscles ached and strained to pull up his head, as his flesh arm scrambled to get a grip on the side of the enormous sink basin. Air slowly bubbled out of his throat from the effort, and that’s when Edward’s blood went cold.
He couldn’t pull himself up.
Ed’s heart squirmed uncomfortably in his chest as he thrashed weakly, fighting the urge to scream in mournful frustration. He was so close—sweet, sweet air was only a few inches above his head, waiting for him.
It was right there, everything he needed. His brain chanted it, like a broken record of the periodic table.
Oxygen, oxygen, oxygen.
Ed’s throat ached as he screamed with effort, putting everything he had into lifting his back. Separating him from freedom, the water felt like a thousand pound blanket, holding him under.
He couldn’t pull himself up. He couldn’t pull himself up.
Frustrated tears added to the volume of water in the sink, and his muscles finally went slack. There was no chance of him pulling himself out.
He was going to drown.
The realization was utterly horrifying, but soothing in a way. He could finally stop fighting. Stop trying.
He could let go.
Some part of his mind fought against the idea. He didn’t want to give up, he wanted to live.
The rebellion was crushed in an instant as his body throbbed in exhausted agony, growing by the second.
If he stopped fighting, it would hurt less, his brain whispered.
All it would take is a single breath, and some time. The water would fill his lungs, it would be uncomfortable for a few seconds, and then it all would be over. No more pain. No more tazing. No more whipping. No more drowning.
No more torture.
No more pain.
It would all be gone.
Just let go.
The instant he made his choice, ready to sink into the darkness, the hand returned, and it yanked him out of the water.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream—but he could only cough. The breaths that had felt so good each time he had been pulled up, now felt patronizing and mocking. Ed became bitter.
He had been so close.
The sound of heavy rain splattered the floor again, and a deep voice was screaming at him, even more panicked than before.
He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care.
Ed just wanted it to be over.
“—tal, you hear me?! Oh shit—!”
The trembling teen tried to tune everything out but his breathing. It wasn’t very hard, considering how badly he had been craving oxygen—but the tone of the voice nearby sounded different. Familiar, almost. It was deeper than before, and even more panicked. Different, like he had already said.
Different.
The voice was different.
When the rain shower from his throat finally stopped, he was pulled into a warm embrace. It was confusing, and the pressure made his back scream at him in protest.
He must have also made some sort of agonized noise, because the embrace loosened instantly.
Edward really had no clue what was happening. Everything was too different all of a sudden. He didn’t like different. Different meant a new torture method.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t even pretend.
The deep voice echoed around his ears and bounced off the walls, sounding enraged, now. The fear that trickled down Ed’s spine made him wish he was too out of it to recognize the tone. An angry captor only promised pain.
His muscles locked tight in anticipation.
Instantly, the echoed words of rage simmered into tense murmurs, which sounded layered. Almost like… like there were multiple voices. The realization caused him to blink open his eyes, which he hadn’t remembered closing.
“—metal… Fullmetal!”
He was embraced again, a lot more gently this time. His captor was mindful of his wounds, and Ed was terrified to know why. It had to be part of some sort of plan.
“N-no more, no—n-no more…” he pleaded, croaking. Speaking was painful. It felt like the flesh of his throat had been shredded into a single pulpy mass. Still, he gave a thick swallow, before continuing. “…Can’t-t… t-take anym-m-more…”
The arms around him flinched. Then, he was shifted, being held back by his shoulders and forced to face his captor. His neck ached, still too weak to keep his head up. An additional, smaller pair of hands softly held the sides of his head to fix the problem.
The teen had no choice but to take a blurry look at the individual who currently held Ed’s life at their mercy.
…It wasn’t the same man as before. The original man was bald, with a patchy brown beard that desperately needed groomed. Not to mention the cold, colorless eyes that shined with nothing but pure animosity behind them.
Even with his blurry vision, he could tell that the man holding his shoulders (with… surprising gentleness) had black, short hair. Equally dark eyes looked at him with urgent concern, and Ed felt something in him shiver at the familiarity.
The teen’s ears were ringing again as he blinked hard, trying to reset his senses. Voices drifted through. Masculine and feminine.
“—head injury, too? He’s not reacting—“
“—contact with his back, seemed to be in pain—“
“An ambulance is on its—“
Golden eyes flickered open again, his vision now slightly sharper than before—good enough to finally recognize what he was seeing.
“…Colonel?” Ed croaked, shakey. Pain quickly forced him to swallow, and swallowing forced him to cough again. It was wet.
The soft hands cradling his jaw gave a reassuring swipe against his cheeks using their thumbs, all with a gentle touch that he couldn’t help but lean toward.
When Ed finally stopped coughing, he was able to recognize Lieutenant Hawkeye, who was holding up his head and keeping him steady in the same way that the Colonel held his shoulders. They were both on their knees, looking at him with scanning eyes.
“Can you hear me, kid?” The Colonel spoke seriously.
Ed was too tired to nod his head. All he could do was close his eyelids with a deep sigh, before opening them again. He stared deep into the older man’s pupils, hoping he’d get the message.
“We’ve got fire in his eyes, Lieutenant.” The man sounded relieved.
“Ambulance should almost be here, Sir,” the Lieutenant reminded, giving Ed’s cheeks another gentle swipe with her thumbs. It made him want to melt.
“We’re getting you home, Fullmetal. You’re in safe hands. Stay with us, okay?” Colonel Mustang promised, slipping his arms beneath Ed. The grasp was careful and kind—it made him feel safe.
In only a few seconds, Ed was finally being carried by his superior officer, out of his personal hell.
The torture was over.
Edward let his eyes peacefully drift shut with a deep sigh, the oxygen feeling blissful in his lungs. As his weight shifted from side to side while being carried, the Colonel’s chest pressed warmly against Ed’s side. The young prodigy let himself go limp into the soothing heat, listening to the steady heartbeat that was beneath his ear.
“I’ve got you. It’ll be okay, kid,” Mustang promised with a whisper, pulling him close.
When Ed felt a chin gently rest against the top of his head, he finally let go.