Disclaimer: Hagane no Renkinjutsushi (Fullmetal Alchemist) © Hiromu Arakawa. No profit is being made from this story. This story does not necessarily reflect the author's religious views, beliefs or morals.

Rating: PG

Warning: May contain spoilers. Mild dark themes. Angst. Psychological. Major Character Death. Suicide. Mentions of Blood. Swearing.

Summary: Edward sometimes wondered what he was doing here, if he would ever be able to redeem himself.

Story type: Manga Cannon AU.

Pairing: None.

Two Plus Two

'Humans can be so disgusting sometimes.'

The statement startled the Flame Alchemist causing him to stare at his companion in shock. He had never heard such a bleak, hopeless statement from the boy, no man, next to him. The Fullmetal Alchemist stared at the black metal contraption in his hands, a look of loathing on his strong features. He resumed cleaning the gun, nose wrinkling in distaste. Although Edward didn't see any point in being made to carry a gun (if he couldn't transmute in self-defence, he may as well be dead), all state alchemists were now ordered to carry one. It only made sense since they were at war.

Somewhere in the distance a land mine went off, the shockwave, faintly felt beneath their feet. Neither man paid it any notice. They were desensitised to it after all.

'I asked Hughes the other day how many people there were in the last census. Did you realize, there's at least two bullets for every person in our country right on this front?' Edward snorted.

'How can you be so sure?' Roy asked curiously, pausing in the maintenance of his own gun. Edward looked at the Major General, a blank expression on his face. A scream tore through the air, rising above the moans from the hospital field tent nearby.

'Because I made them.' He said tonelessly. He looked up at the pale blue canvas that reached beyond the horizon. 'Imagine, if we have more than two bullets for every person in this country, how many does Creta have? What about Drachma? What about all the countries beyond them? Don't you think that makes us pitiful? We have two bullets for every person, but not even enough pain killers for our wounded. What the hell does that say about our humanity?' Edward threw down the gun, cradling his head in both hands. 'I can't even remember why I'm here anymore Mustang!' He looked up desperately at the impassive face of his superior officer.

'If I were just your commanding officer, I'd say it was because you have a duty to protect your country and the people you love. But I hope that we are more than a subordinate and superior.' Roy took a deep breath 'You're here because you are human, because you feel. You are here because you don't want to see what happened to that town the Cretans took, happen to Resembool, to any other town. You are here, because if a bullet can injure someone badly enough to get them off the battle field, they may have the chance to go home. You're here because you don't want Alphonse to be.'

Both men dove to the ground as a shot sounded nearby. There was silence, or as much silence as there could be with a field hospital nearby and a war going on in the back ground. Both men cautiously rose on hands and knees, looking about warily, hearts racing, limbs tensed to move in a split second. They waited a while, but no more shots sounded. But that did not ease the discomfort in the air. Both men felt their hearts sink, as the possibility of what happened increased with each passing second. Running half crouched, they scouted the surrounding area. Roy was the first to straighten at the sight. But it was Edward who was the first to say something.

'Ohhhh nooo…' He groaned. The blood radiated out like an unholy halo, as the corporal's corpse began to cool, the gun now cradled in the lax hand. Edward turned away from the scene and silently wept, tears of self hate and hopelessness falling to the blood enriched earth.

§§§

The "Crimson Tide" battle was recorded as the bloodiest conflict between Amestris and Creta. It took place amongst the ruins of a settlement twenty kilometres south of Forcett. When it was over, soldiers told of how the streams turned red with blood when it rained. A quarter of the male population aged between eighteen and forty died there. It would have been nice to say it was ended by a single man, but that wasn't the case. However the beginning of the end started with a soldier.

Few soldiers can testify to what really happened. On the bloodiest day of the conflict, the Cretan soldiers who survived, told of a golden eyed, golden haired red devil, who tore through their ranks like a scythe through a wheat field. Those who he passed later told of how not a single one of their men were directly killed; unconscious, restrained, maimed, yes, but not one of them died by the blade he wielded. Those who could still move, fled back to their camps in awed fear of the power held by the enemy soldier. That night an uneasy silence fell between the two armies; one wondering what new witchcraft the other had come up with, while the other worried over what the enemy was plotting next.

As the sun rose the next day, Amesterian soldiers told of a figure clad in red who made his way to the middle of the battlefield, strands of golden hair whipped up by the wind, the sun making his hair glow like a halo. At first they had thought he was one of those soldiers who had lost it, wandering towards the enemy to get shot. In the unnatural silence of the dawn, the single clap of his hands rang like a shot gun, causing both sides to stiffen in alarm, alert to enemy attack.

Soldiers fell to the ground shouting, as the very earth seemed to rebel against their presence. Blue light seemed to illuminate the battlefield, even dimming the rising sun with its burning intensity. To the soldiers it seemed like hours till the ground stopped moving, the air smelling sharp and acrid with the tang of Alchemy. When they dared to stand, those on the edges of the battle field saw a new horizon. The ground now sloped gently upward, the lone red figure illuminated by the sun. It swayed back and forth, before hunching over. Both sides cautiously ventured up the new topography, wary of what they might find. Both sides found themselves now separated; a ravine that fell into blackness separating them.

The Cretans stared at the Amesterians.

The Amesterians stared at the Cretans.

A single word broke the rising tension.

'Daddy!' A heartbeat later the crack of a gun was heard. There was a swirl of red as the golden haired demon, threw himself at a seated figure. There was that awful moment where the figure froze, before slumping over. Immediately there was panic on both sides. Commanding officers shouting at each other for everyone to hold their fire.

At first the Amesterians were confused as to why the Cretans were holding their fire, but all became clear, when they went to retrieve the body of the Fullmetal Alchemist. A small arm poked out from under the young man, desperately trying to move the dead weight off it. When they lifted him off they found a little Cretan girl, confused and frightened, staring back at them.

Four bullets were retrieved from the corpse of the Fullmetal Alchemist. The shooters were never found.

§§§

Edward sat on a crate holding his head in his hands, the corporal's blood staining his gloves from covering up the mess. Roy dully stared at his subordinate, his mind a thousand miles from the battlefield. He was startled from his blank thoughts by laughter. It was the kind of laugh that causes a ripple of unease to run down your back, the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up, goose bumps running up your arms. For all the happiness it should have conjured it contained the desperate despair of a cornered dog. Roy's sight snapped back into focus. Edward still sat hunched, but his shoulders shook with laughter.

'What were you saying before?' Edward asked rhetorically 'Something about the bullets injuring enough people to get them off the battlefield?' Edward gave a short broken laugh. He looked up at Roy his shining eyes of gold, little more that dulled brass, tears slowly trickling a clear path through the blood and dirt staining his face.

'You're a fool if you believe any of that bullshit Mustang.'

Silence fell between the two men.

'Hey, Bastard.' Edward said quietly, toying with an empty bullet casing. 'If there are two bullets for every person in this country, would taking four bullets save a life?' Roy opened his mouth to answer, but before he could a voice spoke.

'Major Elric Sir!' Barked a Second Lieutenant, snapping a salute 'General Fortissimo, has ordered you to create more bullets. You are to report immediately to munitions, Sir.'

'I'll be there momentarily.' Edward replied tiredly, getting up slowly before trudging off. In the vacuum left behind Roy whispered;

'Maybe, Edward, Maybe.'

AN (may contain spoilers for story and cannon): I was in a bit of a morbid mood when I was watching through an AMV called "Age of Man" edited by Siny which lists a whole heap of facts when one of them caught my attention; "there are 2 bullets for every person on the planet". So I had a look into it. It was an estimated statistic from 2011 from a group calling for an international control on firearms. The idea stewed around until it bumped into Fullmetal Alchemist, the result of which can be found below. The title is a bit of an overhang from the original idea; if there are two bullets for every person on the planet, and someone was to be shot four times, you could say that they saved a life, since two bullets equals a person. Yes, I know I'm strange, and it probably doesn't make much sense now, but it really was something at the time.

Conception Date: 29/11/2013

Completion Date: 3/1/2015

Historical Note: "not even enough pain killers for our wounded". Penicillin as we know it was only discovered in the 1930s (although there are records of it being used in the ancient world). The use of penicillin as a wonder drug, coincided with the start of WWII. However cultivation of the mould that produced penicillin was difficult and slow. It wasn't till 1942 that enough penicillin was created to treat a single patient. Penicillin when it was finally created in larger quantities, was rationed on the battlefield. As pointed out by a reviewer; Penicillin isn't actually a pain killer, its an antibiotic. Painkillers in that era would have been Opiate based. However I was just a bit lazy at the time to actually go into researching opiates and their use and availability on the battlefield, so I just smooched up the idea of painkillers and penicillin. Transposing Fullmetal Alchemist time onto our time line, means penicillin wouldn't have been available at that time. So I'm using my artistic licence here.