A/N: Don't own FMA.

Little Weapon

He didn't want this. No, not this, not ever.

But that didn't stop him.

Ed took his gloved hands off the side of the mountain as the snow and dust settled. They were gone. No more shooting, yelling, shrieking, booming.

Just silence.

And red. It was seeping, spreading everywhere, turning the pristine white into a macabre ice cone. Ed believed he could hear the distinct sound of a bone snapping under a settling boulder. The boy wished he could cry, feel anger or fear. But there was nothing, just numbness.

His commander, another colonel, he didn't bother to learn his name, came up and clapped him on the back.

"Good work, soldier." The sneer was plain as day, but whatever smug expression was on his face when Ed looked at him with his wide golden eyes, slipped away. The man cleared his throat and mumbled something about regrouping the troops before beating as hasty a retreat as a dignified colonel could muster.

The other soldiers avoided him. He heard the pet names they made for him, but he didn't care. They were gone, gone, gone, gone. Gone. He didn't believe in God, but maybe he was the Devil's Child.

…

It was freezing and dark and howls echoed in the distance, but Ed didn't care. They had believed in God, he had heard them pray and found the rosaries on their necks. Dragging another fallen soldier into the marked grave, he laid the photo of him and his family on top of the man's chest. The last one. His soft clap was swallowed by the wind as he buried the father and husband beneath cold, uncaring earth.

Not that such a simple act could ever wipe away the blood that threatened to drown him. How many people would die because their son, husband, brother, father could no longer send them money?

The scent of ozone filled the air as Ed looked at his handiwork. Dozens of graves sat mutely in the wintry night. Some had names and some didn't.

Again, Ed wished he could cry.

…

It wasn't long after that Drachma decided to retreat and Ed was standing in a place that used to be so familiar, almost safe.

But those black eyes, they incriminated him with all of their understanding and compassion. All the numbness fled before them and he was left with the guilt and the self-hatred and the anger, but he was strong as a monster and his journey wasn't over yet. He couldn't give up his watch and crawl into that man's arms like a child and beg for forgiveness. Not from the Colonel Bastard, who wasn't really a bastard at all.

Ed was thankful to be sent away, far away from those eyes. Because who could forgive a demon covered in blood?

No one, not now, not ever.

A/N: I tried to change up the writing style a little bit between the two chapters to reflect their respective characters more, I hope you liked it.

There may be an epilogue to this, but that may be it. If I do add more than just an epilogue, it'll be something I do in my spare time, so not very regularly. Thanks for reading!

Please review!