* * *
“Just put the damn thing out of its misery.” Breda grimaced at the carnage on the table before him.
Securing a saline drip, Winry snapped, “This dog saved your life.”
“It is a tool of war.” Sneering, Breda flicked his hand at the dog. “Tools get broken. Broken tools get pitched. Sooner you learn that, the better, girl.”
Slapping the table, Winry growled, “He’s not a tool!”
“We’ll take care of your dog, Breda,” Dr. Marcoh said simultaneously, waving him off before Winry exploded. Breda didn’t wait, hotfooting it out the surgery.
“Doesn’t Breda care if we can save his dog?” Shaking off the implication, Winry turned her attention to the table.
“I’m not sure we can. It’s pretty bad.” Marcoh gestured at the extent of the wounds: one limb blown off, another almost completely missing. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandages. “Hmm…name tag says ‘Fullmetal’.”
Stroking the tangle of golden fur from the dog’s dull, amber eyes, Winry revealed a heart-shaped face set with a snub nose. The dog groaned, his paw curling up over her hand, seeking her comfort, almost as if he was still human.
“I wonder who made this dog. It doesn’t look to be more than a boy.” Picking up a plunger full of barbiturates, Marcoh muttered, “What a waste.”
Fullmetal growled softly. His claws wrapped around her fingers, surprising her with their strength. Winry shook her head as Marcoh turned. “No, Doc. Not that stuff. Fullmetal’s not ready to be put to sleep yet.”
* * *