Hellbound || Fᴜʟʟᴍᴇᴛᴀʟ Aʟᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛ Bʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ

Chapter 5 : Interrogation and Insight

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

They were three of the most perceptive people Edward knew, however, so they'd see straight through any bullshit he would try and pull. Hell, they had their own Edward Elric to navigate, so they wouldn't even be fazed by it.

He fiddled with his cuff instead, deciding to mourn the lack of his right arm.

Onward to interrogation.

—
—

"So," Hughes started again, clearing his throat, and settling into a more comfortable position in his seat.

Edward didn't look up.

This sucked. It hurt so much.

His chest grew tighter with every syllable he heard from the Lieutenant Colonel's mouth, and he knew, he just knew that this time, this time Hughes was getting a good ending.

'You can't save everyone', yeah, fuck that Truth. Fuck you.

Hughes was getting happy ending. One where he was safe to take as many photos as he damn well pleased.

But, by Truth did this suck. Seeing versions of people that were, by all means, deceased. Awful on so many levels.

(Because as much as he could close his eyes and pretend, his Maes Hughes was gone. Forever. Nothing could bring him back.)

Temptation flickered through his chest. The sudden urge to just light a match to his burning anger, to scream that there wasn't time for all of this. An interrogation ? Edward needed to focus on the bigger picture, like, you know, literally anything else.

The homunculi. Greed. Father. (Edward's stomach turned.) The plot for absolute perfection. Hohenheim's defensive measures. Scar's brother's research notes. Kimblee. A coup. A war. A battle. A—

It was all too much.

Just bring Father to the Gate, Truth had spelled it out nicely in his pounding skull. Easy peasy, only no, not at all.

He kind of wanted to cry. To grab Hughes and his family, to shove him on the next train to Creta and make sure he stayed out of the country until it was all over. To just spill everything, to get rid of the burden now pressing on his shoulders.

He sort of wanted to poke Hughes, to check that he bled (to make sure he would never bleed again, not to Envy, not to any of the homunculi—), to watch the man's chest rise and fall with each breath showing that he was alive.

When Edward checked, he had to school his face into neutrality. Roy, in the stone, was keeping his word, keeping his own emotions held back so they wouldn't bleed into Edward's.

The temptation to cry, to scream, to mourn, to grieve, to tap the Lieutenant Colonel was Edward's own.

His eyes darted to Hughes, and he regretted his choice of action immediately.

Hughes was so achingly alive that it made him feel physically ill, made his hand clench in order to have something else to think about.

"We need to ask you some questions, alright?" Hughes was genuine, fair, kind.

Good cop. Edward nearly snorted at his own thoughts.

"Could you state your name, please?"

". . ." Edward shifted, something prickling down his spine. He needed to be careful.

Hughes pressed his lips together, but continued, "Are you an accomplice of Scar's?"