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Fandom: Hagaren
Summary: Roy reflects on his failure after the fight with Lust.
Rating: PG
Spoilers for Ch. 40 of the manga
Long, pale shadows slither along the edge of his consciousness. The room is cloaked in darkness. The night creeps on moth wings through the windows, onto his bed, and into the aching hollow left by too many tears left unshed. Roy hasn’t been able to conceive sleep since he awoke twenty hours ago with thick bandages swathed tightly around his torso and Jean Havoc lying in the bed next to his, his pallid face already regaining some of its lost warmth.. Roy cranes his head to the side to look at him slumbering not three feet away, his snore strong and sure despite the bitter news he delivered this afternoon. Moonlight covered sheets hide legs that will never move again of their own volition. The acrid truth clenches in Roy’s throat, sour aftertaste of yet more suffering caused by his failure..
The leaden silence in the room stifles the air he breathes despite the fan creaking overhead, trying in vain to dispel the sickly humidity smothering his skin.. The thin sheet wrapping his body twists in a sweaty ball in his fist. Havoc’s eyes had held no resentment, no accusation. Like the good soldier Roy knows him to be, he kept his grief to himself, using his characteristic humor to cover up his wounds, but he couldn‘t mask the sadness that withered through his clouded eyes. Roy can’t help the thought that his friends are paying for his sins. Havoc, Hughes, Hawkeye. They never would have gotten involved were it not out of loyalty for him. There’s blood on Roy’s hands, living crimson that eats away any good deeds that might atone to it. The stench of scorched bodies assaults his nostrils as too vivid memories crash through his waking mind. Fire and ash, screams and despair, suffering and damnation. No way to expiate the dark mark of sin engraved into his soul with every snap of his fingers as a roiling ball of flame rose high into the air and wreaked savage fury on yet another innocent community, obliterating it from the face of the earth. Pain is his due. Were he to get stabbed once for every life he’s taken, it would still not be enough to cleanse what he’s done in the name of a military that considers people to be no more than paws in an endless game of chess in which the men at the top sit in smirking satisfaction while they build their empire on the breaking backs of those too helpless or duty bound to protest. But this is no longer his duty. His duty is to his men and to a country that can’t take any more strife. He shouldn’t be in this bed under a forced rest that he doesn‘t deserve while the homunculus that took Hughes‘s life is still walking free. He needs to act. He needs to be ready for when the next attack comes. And this time there can be no mistakes.
Summary: Roy reflects on his failure after the fight with Lust.
Rating: PG
Spoilers for Ch. 40 of the manga
Long, pale shadows slither along the edge of his consciousness. The room is cloaked in darkness. The night creeps on moth wings through the windows, onto his bed, and into the aching hollow left by too many tears left unshed. Roy hasn’t been able to conceive sleep since he awoke twenty hours ago with thick bandages swathed tightly around his torso and Jean Havoc lying in the bed next to his, his pallid face already regaining some of its lost warmth.. Roy cranes his head to the side to look at him slumbering not three feet away, his snore strong and sure despite the bitter news he delivered this afternoon. Moonlight covered sheets hide legs that will never move again of their own volition. The acrid truth clenches in Roy’s throat, sour aftertaste of yet more suffering caused by his failure..
The leaden silence in the room stifles the air he breathes despite the fan creaking overhead, trying in vain to dispel the sickly humidity smothering his skin.. The thin sheet wrapping his body twists in a sweaty ball in his fist. Havoc’s eyes had held no resentment, no accusation. Like the good soldier Roy knows him to be, he kept his grief to himself, using his characteristic humor to cover up his wounds, but he couldn‘t mask the sadness that withered through his clouded eyes. Roy can’t help the thought that his friends are paying for his sins. Havoc, Hughes, Hawkeye. They never would have gotten involved were it not out of loyalty for him. There’s blood on Roy’s hands, living crimson that eats away any good deeds that might atone to it. The stench of scorched bodies assaults his nostrils as too vivid memories crash through his waking mind. Fire and ash, screams and despair, suffering and damnation. No way to expiate the dark mark of sin engraved into his soul with every snap of his fingers as a roiling ball of flame rose high into the air and wreaked savage fury on yet another innocent community, obliterating it from the face of the earth. Pain is his due. Were he to get stabbed once for every life he’s taken, it would still not be enough to cleanse what he’s done in the name of a military that considers people to be no more than paws in an endless game of chess in which the men at the top sit in smirking satisfaction while they build their empire on the breaking backs of those too helpless or duty bound to protest. But this is no longer his duty. His duty is to his men and to a country that can’t take any more strife. He shouldn’t be in this bed under a forced rest that he doesn‘t deserve while the homunculus that took Hughes‘s life is still walking free. He needs to act. He needs to be ready for when the next attack comes. And this time there can be no mistakes.