Lost, Gone, Irreplaceable

"I hate you."

His voice gave him away, though. Weak, defeated, desperate. That which had once been so vivid, so bright that nothing could compare, was now a shadow of dust, blown this way and that by the storm that Central had become, and ready to be blown apart completely if even one more thing happened.

"Stand up, Fullmetal."

It didn't matter that he was pale, trembling, shattered right now. He just needed to see Al, to reaffirm to himself that there was a reason he was alive – a reason to keep fighting. Alphonse was everything to Ed, as much as it made Roy want to click and snap and burn something. Why couldn't the idiot come to him when he needed help? And he hadn't even noticed, hadn't realised just how far Edward had lost himself, until he hadn't turned up to the office in a week and a half, and he'd come to check the kid was alright.

"Screw you."

Edward was nothing more than a bundle of bedcovers piled up against the headboard of his bed. The shutters were pulled, but a few streaks of light fought their way into the room and divided Edward's automail arm into strips of gleaming sliver and dull grey. A highlight caught in his braid.

Roy took a step forward, fully intending to take the blonde by the shoulders and shake some sense into him – you can't spend all your time here, get up, get out – but he slipped on something underfoot. Damn shadows.

"I'm turning on the lights."

He supposed it was only fair that Edward get some type of warning – people who were brooding or moping over something they felt guilty over (even though it probably wasn't Ed's fault) generally avoided light. But the hunched-over figure didn't move and Roy felt the first prickle of unease.

Ed's eyes were dead.

No light, no interest, no fighting spirit – they were glazed over and dull as he stared blankly at his arm, hidden from Roy's eyeline by the bedcovers.

His heart skipped a beat in shock, and then it was steadily speeding up as though to make up for the lapse.

"Fullmetal."

His voice was icily controlled, though his mind could hardly believe what the evidence was suggesting. Taking another step into the room, a distant part of his mind realised that the area was in ruins; inner curtains ripped and around him was what had probably started out as a vase of flowers on the chest of drawers, but was now shards of glossy wood shattered on the ground. The plastic petals of the bright flowers were torn out and thrown this way and that. A spiderweb of a crack in the mirror reflected the room too many times.

Another step, and he was by the bed. A quick jerk of his arm and the bedcovers were tossed to the side and Edward still didn't react, staring down like a wax doll.

Gashes covered his left arm, some old and scabbing, others new and still oozing scarlet ink. Blood coated the tips of his automail fingers, the sharp edges and bolts stained deep red. His flesh hand lay bare against his metal leg, and a harsh scab was forming over the palm. Under his vest, loose and torn, dark blues and blacks told the story of his torso. His right leg hadn't escaped attention, mottling blue and black.

Only years of controlling his instincts and smiling thinly when really he wanted to kick because of the utter stupidity of whoever-it-was-he-was-talking-to stopped Roy from slapping the boy.

How could he?

Edward was supposed to be brilliant, supposed to be strong, supposed to be Goddamn perfect. He'd faced up so much, lost everything and then torn it all back from the Gate – taken Al's body back, wrestled back his entire future from the Truth – and yet this had still happened.

Even now, faced with the harsh evidence, the plain facts, Roy found it near to impossible to reconsile this -broken- man with the fiery-tempered, insubordinant, utterly impossible and dare-devil attitude usually radiating out from him.

"Up."

But it seemed that he was too far gone. Edward had spoken five words in the entire time Roy had been in the room, and even one more was an exhaustion. He knew how it felt – he'd held the gun to his throat, willing himself to pull the trigger just one millimetre more – and he knew the utter apathy that came with the attempt. Nothing mattered. No one cared. There was nothing worse doing. Nothing worth saying. No one worth seeing. No one gave a damn care, and no one ever would, because he was a screw-up, he'd messed up his life and everyone else's, and since there was no point to anything, what was the point in taking the next breath?

Thank God you couldn't stop yourself from breathing or your heart from beating or your brain from processing.

"Edward."

No reaction.

"Pay attention, Fullmetal."

Edward's eyes closed in a slow blink before opening again and resuming the blank stare downwards.

"Goddamn it, listen to me!"

Finally a reaction; gold eyes flicked up to his as though on instinct, and Roy fought down a flutter of relief. Ed was still there, broken, shattered, beaten down – but still there.

"Edward, where is Alphonse?"

And just like that he started to move again. He doubled over, pain darting over his features as eyes filled up. His automail hand grasped his flesh wrist in a harsh grip, and Roy was immediately coaxing him to let go.

Edward was gasping, chanting something under his breath " – Alphonse, Alphonse –" , but Roy couldn't pick out the words fast enough before the his golden head fell onto his shoulder, and then he was shaking and there was nothing Roy could do but hold him close and keep the pieces that made up Edward from shattering and joining the vase all over the ground.

Hands were twisted in the lapels of his jacket, metal so tight it threatened to split the seams, but Roy couldn't find it in himself to care, because Ed was reacting and Ed was having a panic attack and maybe Ed would still be okay after today –

He was murmuring too, lips a few centimetres from the curve of Ed's ear, and breath sending a wisp of hair fluttering with every word, but it was working because Ed was relaxing into his arms. Steady streams of nothing, comforting words which didn't change a thing, but the soothing rhythm was working and then Ed was just trembling in his arms, fighting for every breath and hanging onto Roy like he was the only steady rock in a tossing, rolling world, and Roy reminded himself that that was exactly the truth.

He would deal with the questions and the paperwork later, pushing back the workload like always to deal with the here and now – Ed couldn't talk about this now, could barely string two words together, and Roy was reliving the few, horrifying minutes after Hughes had caught him – and focus on keeping Edward together long enough to talk to him later.

Where was Alphonse, though? He was the one person who could bring Edward back to his senses, but Roy hadn't seen him in a fortnight either, he'd assumed he was with Edward, but... How much longer Ed would last without his brother; how long had he been in this room? The full week and a half? The thought chilled him to the bone, but he wouldn't put it past Ed.

Clamping down on his thoughts – they would only serve to make him tense and frustrated (terrified, a voice whispered in his mind) and that would pass on to Edward – Roy just held the man in his arms tighter. He would deal with this later, deal with it later, and for now just keep him and them together.

A/N:

Not quite sure what I was thinking when I wrote this, but hey! Found it on my USB, checked spelling and posted it up here. I'm not that happy with the ending (I need to work on concluding my pieces~) Any feedback would be appreciated, if only to realise that I should keep away from writing FMA fanfiction and stick to Naruto!