Chapter Text
Edward Elric says this will be his final transmutation, and then in a fashion so entirely him, doesn’t stick around long enough to field inquiries or concerns. Instead, the Fullmetal Alchemist claps his hands, pushes them into the broken concrete and vanishes with a flash of white lightning into the hand-like, writhing tendrils.
Sure, the circle is still glowing, but the vast majority of people present don’t understand alchemy. They don't know it means the transmutation is still occurring. To nearly everyone except Izumi, Hohenheim and whoever had seen Mustang’s coercion at the hands of Pride… well, it looked like Ed had entirely disappeared. Been taken. Willingly.
There was complete and utter silence. It didn’t last for long. One whisper of the word sacrifice sent the whole courtyard-turned-warzone into an uproar. Mustang held tight to his Lieutenant's shoulder and kept his head down while he began to answer questions. Blood started pooling under an anxious Housewife’s tongue.
-
“Where… where did he go?” Ling shivered, and with the hand not in Lan Fan’s, patted nervously for Mei’s shoulder. “I can’t sense him. There’s no shift in the Dragon’s Pulse, and usually Ed kicks up a stir. But there’s— there’s nothing. He’s not there, Chang.”
“He’s not around for miles. For longer,” Mei exhaled. The young alkahestrist held a white knuckle grip around a gauntlet devoid of movement, but still managed to speak with all the clarity her station demanded. “He’s not here, Ling Yao. He’s far away.”
“How far?” The heir shouted. The silence was too long for his liking, he almost missed the constant chatter in his head, needed a voice to speak to him even if it meant making someone recoil when he growled— “I asked how far, Chang!”
“So—So far as—”
-
“—so far as I know,” Mustang’s spoke, his voice as soft as it was raw, “he completed a human transmutation. Am I right, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then… then what happened? What’s going to happen?” Falman gasped, panting from the run over. Fuery wasn’t far behind, tripping over himself, a radio strapped to his back with Breda on the line. Ross caught the stumbling young soldier as he tipped.
“That’s the thing. We can’t be sure. We just have to be patient, Men . ”
“But you must know something —”
“You think I know anything about human transmutation?” The Colonel’s shoulders heaved with the lie, and he was so grateful he couldn’t see Hawkeye's expression that it began to border on self-disgust. “It’s restricted material. Bradley kept it under wraps. I couldn’t tell you if I tried.”
“Then why are you so calm?”
“I am not calm.”
“Breda needs something to report to the broadcasting station.”
“What Breda needs is to give me an hour. Wait until the situation develops. If it develops.”
“Sir. With all due respect, this is incredibly demoralizing.”
“Do you want me to lie to them, Lieutenant?”
“I… I think that Edward is a very smart young man.” Ross whispered, and she gazed with a distant stare at the glowing circle, “he’s sharp, he’s clever… likes to make people worry… so this is just like him, right? Just like Ed to cop us out. So— so it’ll all work out, and he’ll be okay.”
(No he won’t, she told herself. Ross didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. Yet the one thing she believed in, that she had to believe in after the events of the day, was the cunning wit of Roy Mustang. A figure who commanded respect, who looked out for the younger soldiers... the officer who had saved her life now stood shaking at her side).
“You must have orders,” she broke from her thoughts and turned back to him with a nervous jerk, “you always have orders. You can even re-evaluate the battlefield. Here— I have a pen. Fuery has paper. We can come up with a new strategy, Colonel. Just look me in the eyes—”
-
“—look me in the eyes and tell me you know what he did, what he’s doing.” Izumi held back tears, held back people, was held back by her Husband from unrepentantly lunging at Hohenheim. So he was their father. So he had healed her. So, what?
Izumi Curtis would rather have the sickness in her stomach stay terminal than live longer with a hole in her heart.
“I told you,” Hohenheim spoke so low as to be nearly inaudible, and pulled furiously at his hair, “I have an idea, but I don’t know if it will work . He has nothing of equal value to Alphonse’s body, let alone his soul. Nothing physical, at least. The only physical thing he can give is himself, but if he’s willing to g—”
“He wouldn’t do that. Regardless of your— your idea , don’t you even insinuate he would do that,” Izumi snapped, “that boy loves us too much to do that.” — and when she spoke, she knew what she said. Still, Hohenheim shook his head with a saddened half-smile and looked down at her. His skin was beginning to flake.
“It’s flattering, but you don’t need to say what you think should be said, Miss Curtis. If I could go back,” he looked to the circle, “if I could be there for them, from the very beginning? I would want to, but I honestly don’t know if I could. Beyond what I had to do, my failsafe against the Homunculus,” he turned back to the Housewife with an exhausted expression, “I worry that I’m not that strong of a man.”
The response he got was shut eyes and the kind of deep breath that levels off anger. Then, it was a tug of his hair, and he was eye-to-eye with a fuming Izumi Curtis. Somehow, it hadn’t sunk in until now that this was the woman who had taken his place when he abandoned post, and his precious wife had passed. He was always aware of it, but now he knew down to the bones. If Trisha brought his boys up in the world, then Izumi brought them out into it.
He also got the distinct impression that you don’t argue with Izumi Curtis, who buried her child, about the strength needed to raise one. Not when she’s debating if she’ll have to bury two more, and deciding to table the argument herself. Hell, the housewife’s eyes rivaled his. Though black as char, they burned like fiery, golden coals. Her voice was clean and crisp. Her tone, disturbingly even.
“I have... a lot to say about being strong. Now, we don’t have the time for that, so putting aside nearly half of what you just said? It’s still a crock of crap.”
“What—”
“You know what Edward told me, when he was little, when I asked about you? He mentioned there was a photo of you over at Pinako’s, holding him and crying. And I’ll tell you, Hohenheim, that’s the only time I have ever seen him smile when he talks about you.”
“Yes, we all know he has issues with me, Izumi. They are well-founded and deserved.”
“And I’m telling you to quit beating yourself up for a minute, you fossilized relic!” Her hand tightened in his hair, “start asking why he reacted that way! I’ll pose a rhetorical question: should a parent ever have to bury their child? No, of course not! That’s the order of things, Van, and it’s just as pervasive as Alchemy. Babies should outlive mothers. Brothers should be together. Fathers should love their children—”
“Get to the point,” the golden-haired man sighed. It wasn’t often he felt so close to losing his temper, and far less often he felt so restrained. Izumi wasn’t convinced.
“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over. You know why Edward was so happy when he talked about that photo of you? Because tears mean something’s there. The fact you cried at all meant you loved something enough to grieve it. Yes, he’s angry with you. But the fact the boy hooked onto that image,” she exhaled hard, like a heavy weight had been placed on her chest, “there’s more than a brother he’d like to get back.”
-
The silence didn’t come all at once. For three minutes that felt more like an hour, the ruined courtyard held all the tension of a bowstring. Beside the torrent of questioning and desperate non-answers, Olivier Armstrong had ordered her men to start pulling bodies (dead or alive! she’d shouted) from the rubble. It was chaos, no other word for it. Few noticed the ground shift under them. Even the rumble of concrete giving way aroused little suspicion.
The realization of what was truly occurring beneath their feet was like a cascade; it moved across the crowd, carrying terrified shock and silence with it. With surgical precision, the circle split in two. Beneath it, the Eye of God. A writhing black mass formed the pupil, and with a great heave of rubble, it rose into a tall, rectangular column that protruded from the void. Two large stone doors took shape and two weak, golden-haired young men stood before them, each caught in a fit of syncope.
Then all at once, the doors shut. The sound was so deep and hollow, so resonant that it shook all those present to their bones. It seemed to press on their chests and into their spines and somehow echo inside of their bodies . Less than a second later, a cloud of opaque dust went up with the shockwave. The young men had just begun to open their eyes when they disappeared from view, and there was only one question on anyone’s mind in the emptiness of that moment. Had that been Alphonse Elric?
And it had been. And it was . The boys barely had a split second view of that wide-eyed crowd before the dust turned everything gray and muffled the roaring in their ears. It was like the eye of the storm inside the circle, all still and peacefully calm. And maybe, they thought— maybe it was good to have a place to finally exhale. It was just the two of them in that little space, so Ed took a moment to cherish the pressure of Alphonse’s arms around his shoulders. He tried not to think too hard about how his little brother’s skin felt familiarly soft, or how he still smelled the same, or that his eyes were still two shades darker and shaped more like Mom’s (while his eyelashes had fallen out since that initial, tragic day). Ed barely had a chance to get emotional about any of that before Al fell into a coughing fit. Shallow breath turned to panting as he started to double over.
“Hey, hey,” Ed’s eyes went wide and he barely caught his little brother as he collapsed, “slow down, okay? Deep breaths. The ground’s not going anywhere. The air’s… the air. It’s not gonna leave .”
Al winced at the sharp concrete digging into his bony knees, and he would’ve fallen from kneeling to all fours if Ed hadn’t caught him in his arms and hauled him into his lap. The hyperventilating didn’t let up much, but the hand on his back was soothing.
“Come on now Al, you gotta slow down. Just talk to me, alright? What’s gotten into you?”
“Air , that’s what,” the alchemist exhaled a joyfully breathless laugh. “I didn’t think I’d have to get used to breathing again. My lungs, they— they feel like plastic bags inside my chest, Brother. They don’t wanna open right.”
“That’s… wait, I was breathing for you too?”
“Sure seems like it.” Al smiled through the pain in his chest. “I made you do all the work.”
“Well you’re makin’ up for it now with this wheezing! Here, let me help.” Ed put his hand on his brother’s sternum, but Al flinched away with a panicked gasp at the warmth. His bronze eyes went wide with panic as he gingerly touched the spot, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, dry and hard. It was harrowing. Ed could pinpoint the exact moment Al actually became aware of his body.
The young alchemist’s mouth opened slightly as he traced a hand from his collarbones to his neck, and felt the unevenness of a small Adam’s apple under untrimmed nails. The breath he drew in was terrified with silence. He held that breath for longer than he should’ve, and looking at his brother, fell into a violent coughing fit.
“I felt,” Al stuttered for breath, falling into Ed’s clawing, desperate embrace, “I felt you touch my chest, Brother. I felt that! It was warm! And the— the dust hurts my eyes! And the air tastes different, it tastes like iron— you must’ve drawn the circle with a metallic reactant, huh? Some sorta scrap metal thing?”
“Yeah, I… I did. Good job, Al.”
“And the smell. It smells like copper too! And like fireworks almost, or gunpowder? Is this what gunpowder smells like?”
“...Yep. That’s it. I… forgot you would’ve never smelled it ‘till now.”
“Wow… heh. You know, it’s not a very nice smell,” he tucked his head into the crook of Ed’s neck with a shaky sigh. “I bet Lieutenant Hawkeye wears a ton of perfume.”
Ed was shocked into silence for half a second, before he started laughing. Of course Al would surprise him with something like that. He really does assume everyone’s as considerate, as particular and inquisitive and kind as he is. Al was always such a good, bright kid. And by some lovely streak of fate, Ed got to call him his little brother.
Pulling back to see his face, the ex-alchemist tried to hide the tears welling in his golden eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of the moment. He managed to give a shaky grin and quip back, “yep. Smelling things. Noses tend to do that. Believe it or not, mouths also taste things.”
“Aw, come on! You killed the mood. Leave it to you to be a smartass at a time like this.”
“Really? You’re one to talk, saying Hawkeye stinks! But… still,” Edward exhaled, and it was like he’d released every last bit of the pressure that had festered in his chest, “just humor me, alright? ...Ain’t it good to be back?”
An obvious question. It should’ve been a simple answer, really. But Al wore a wide-eyed expression like the words had sent a gust of wind his way— a gale so powerful it blew down any inhibitions. It was like he needed to relearn what those words meant, until it hit him with a shiver, until they locked eyes in understanding. The young alchemist nodded slowly, then faster as thick tears began to roll down his sunken cheeks in desperate rivulets. Edward had broken down the dam for him. Now they gave themselves over to the flood.
“Aw, Alphonse,” Ed soothed him with his full name, the name their mother and father gave him. It was as if his brother's tears were a cue for his own. After nearly five years of silence and strength and self-ultimatums, the Fullmetal Alchemist couldn’t stop crying. He wiped at his nose like a distraught child, and reached out for Al. He was already reaching back.
The little brother dug his nails into those arms so hard that it hurt. The older brother couldn’t be asked to care, not for anything. They hid their faces in the tender place between neck and shoulder and held desperately to one another like their bodies would come apart otherwise. Ed’s hand pet Al’s head gently, tugging out clumps of dying hair. A sharp wince. A look away. And the words they spoke, the words . Broken whispers of I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you make that choice . Answers along the lines of but you did it, Brother— I’m so proud of you and I would’ve given up alchemy a million times just to see you again and all the other ways you can tell someone you love them.
“Edward! Alphonse! Are you alright?!” A voice called from the dust cloud. The air was still thick with it on the breezeless spring day, but their father had run headlong through it, emerging from some obscured world beyond the circle. His worn down loafers wore scrapes from the pavement, and he froze (if only momentarily) at the sight of his sons. One bloodied, one nothing more than bones. If he touched them and held them in his arms, it would be like rapidly cooling glass— a mortifying crack would form down the center of him, and he would be forced to face yet another era bygone before its time. Childhood, he thought to himself. It was such a distant, unfamiliar thing.
“Dad…?” Al sniffled, and weakly raised his head. His golden eyes shyly peeked from a tangled mess of bronze hair, and that was all Hohenheim needed to see before the mere meters separating them became too painful. His poor dear boy was shaking. No father could just stand and watch that.
The ancient alchemist threw hesitation to the wind and collapsed to his aching knees. His hands shook when they finally held his precious sons again and kissed the crowns of their heads. The last time he did this, Alphonse fit in the crook of his arm and Edward fit on his shoulders. He remembered how that feisty little boy would tug on his hair during piggy-back rides, and how the younger of the two would chew on it when he was teething. They weren’t doing much better now, to be honest. Alphonse was getting his tears and runny nose all over his father’s fancy shirt, and Edward couldn’t hold back from giving his ponytail a very painful tug. He might’ve tried to settle in after that, but Hohenheim could see right through it. There was restraint in the clenched jaw pressed against his neck. At the same time, there were more urgent wounds at hand than the ones he’d left behind.
“Boys. Boys, please tell me you’re alright. Is anything broken or missing?” He ran a soothing hand along each of their backs, “can either of you stand?”
“Ed can, but uh... I can’t really walk. Can’t even sit up, really,” Al gave a shaky laugh and wiped one sunken cheek with the back of his hand. “Looks like you’re stuck carrying me. Hope it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Of course not, Al. You’ve never been trouble to me. And Edward? I know Truth charges a severe price. If something happened to you, I need you to tell me.”
“Yeah,” The ex-alchemist let out a sharp, weary laugh. “So you can go ahead and be right. Right? Sacrifice yourself to save someone else’s ass and not stick around to see if you did the right thing,” he buried his face further into Hohenheim’s shoulder and tried to memorize the feeling. “How goddamned stupid are you.”
“We’re… going to work on some things together, Edward.”
“Yeah, you maybe.”
“Me, definitely!” Hohenheim chuckled into blood-stained golden hair, “that’s no question… but Edward, please listen to me. I’m so sorry for what I said— that’s not how it should be. One would think I would’ve learned something by my old age.” The fathers tone was genuine, but Al pulled away from his shoulder with one wisp of an eyebrow raised.
“...What’re you two even talking about? You know plenty of things. About alchemy and alkahestry, prob’ly history...” he murmured his confusion in a raspy voice— and ah, right. He’d been beyond the gate, hadn’t he? Al hadn’t heard it. And now he’d have to hear it, wouldn’t he? An example of his old man’s unchanging selfishness. Ed took the lead, as always.
“Hohen— Dad offered to— to hand himself over to Truth in exchange for you, Al. To my face, in front of everyone. If you can believe that. But I guess he finally got the opportunity to embarrass his sons in public like a real father.”
“What…? You did… wow, okay. Yeah. I think you would’ve learned a thing or two.” Al sniffled against his father’s shoulder, too tired to hide his anger and unsurprised sorrow. “That’s so selfish. I hate that you said that. I wish I could go back and make you never say that. You can’t just come back and then try to leave all over again. It’s awful of you, and it’s wrong.”
Berated by his sons even as they clutched desperately at his back, Hohenheim pressed back on their shoulders so he could look them in the eyes. Ed resembled him so much at this age. Alphonse looked so much like his Mother. Trisha would be so proud of them, and worried sick.
“Boys, please ,” and oh, he was tearing up now too, “I need you to tell me if anything’s broken or missing. I know that I can’t fix it for you— I’m not trying to do that. I just need to know that you’re safe.”
Ed and Al looked at each other, inhaled simultaneously (through their teeth), and fidgeted with their hands. Their eyes wandered anywhere but their father’s face— and they had kept such particular mannerisms that Hohenheim almost smiled. He remembered this one! This was the exact thing they used to do when he’d enter his study to find broken inkwells and half-drawn transmutation circles, and ask who tried to use alchemy to ‘paint his nice clean walls’. He marveled at how they could be both his and far from his all at once.
Al spoke up first. “Ed, uh… he didn’t get his leg back. It’s still automail.”
“Ha, yeah. I’m gonna be Winry’s pet project forever… and there’s actually something else missing. Something big. I gave up my alchemy for the trade, but— but I totally got the better deal, right?” Ed pulled his little brother in close and rubbed a fist into his tangled hair, “Truth’s a fucking sucker. I pulled a fast one on ‘em.”
“That’s one way to put it, Brother— agh he-e-ey, no! Not the hair! You’re gonna make more of it fall out!”
“Sorry, Al. There can only be one long haired sibling and I got dibs. Them’s the rules.”
“The rules are stupid!” Al laughed.
“Oh no, what’re you gonna do?”
“Well if I didn’t have trouble lifting my arms right now I would definitely tug your cowlick. But you’re just going to have to wait for me to get stronger and surprise attack you.”
“Alphonse,” Ed faux-gasped, “you wouldn’t dare.”
“Izumi,” Hohenheim stifled a laugh despite his teary eyes and called out behind him, not willing to take his hands off his sons’ shoulders, “they’re fine, Izumi. Every last bit of them. You were right about the coat, though, the poor boy is shaking. Not to mention bare as the day he was born!”
The familiar, quick sound of her sandals hitting the pavement echoed through the finally dissipating dust. It was like the Housewife had been waiting for a green light, never unprepared to jump into action for her two headstrong, golden boys. Her eyes were shut tightly to preserve the young alchemist’s modesty when she arrived, and she carried a long black coat on her shoulder.
“Teacher!”
“Alphonse,” she smiled unevenly and tossed the jacket toward the sound. Her voice was already cracking. “Get the damn jacket on and let me see your smile, sweetie. And Edward?”
“Yeah…?”
“Edward Elric. You little troublemaker ,” she exhaled, “what was that?! You had me worried sick!”
“Teacher, I—”
“Ah-ah-ah. No, don’t you start with me. That was incredibly irresponsible, and you could’ve gotten yourself killed,” her concerned countenance broke into a wide grin, “...just like I taught you. I swear . I must be the proudest woman in Amestris right now.”
“Ugh, Teacher! Don’t do things like that!” Ed blushed with anger. “Giving me a goddamn heart attack… and where’s everyone anyway? The courtyard’s half empty.”
“Major Armstrong walked Colonel Mustang and Hawkeye to the hospital. Olivier decreed herself the temporary leader of their Unit, and well… anyone who can walk is currently a first responder. There were a lot of people caught in the explosion, Edward. A lot of innocent lives are running on borrowed time right now. My Sig is helping dig them out.”
As Izumi went on to detail the aftermath— Mei healing those pulled from the rubble, a young blond man sobbing into Ross’ shoulder— Hohenheim quickly finished up the last few buttons on the coat. He even fixed the collar up right, and if he was crying or took too long, Al didn’t mention it. That wasn’t to say the young alchemist felt comfortable exactly, but there were more pressing matters at hand.
“Okay, Teacher.” Al nodded as he tugged the dark coat tighter. “I got it on, now. You can look.”
Izumi Curtis swallowed down her nausea and took a slow, deep breath.
The Alchemist in her wanted to suppress the torrent of emotions raging inside her chest. The fact of the matter was she hadn’t just let Hohenheim find them first. In the split second view she had of two tan figures before the dust cloud billowed up, she saw pieces her past. She remembered kneeling in a bright white place she’d rather not have seen. The chalk dust on her fingers, the stench of blood and bile... Ever since she’d lost her little one, Alchemy had felt like a blessing and a curse. And yet there were once nights she would stay up late, willing herself to draw circle after circle for the Elric’s next lesson. Alchemy, to her, was a tool. She blamed herself for its misuse.
At the same time, the Housewife in her— the woman who cooked, carried antibiotic ointment, even read Alphonse the odd bedtime story— she wanted the torrent to drown her. She wanted it to rise up like the flood she’d stopped on the edge of Resembool. These boys had taught her so much since that day. They taught her to sit with her grief, and at the same time, they taught her to find the world beautiful despite it. It happened every time it rained, when they’d put on their adorably too-big raincoats and Ed would chase Al around with worms with his hands. Her precious baby (taken from this world far too soon) may have made her a mother, but it was these boys that taught her to be one. Scrapes and messes and all.
The hesitation was momentary— of course, the Housewife won out. Izumi opened her eyes like a statement, with conviction, and there her sweet boy was. All wrapped up in a long, heavy coat that only emphasized his waifish frailty. Smiling like a sunbeam. He was pressed against Edward from shoulder to hip while Hohenheim mindlessly rubbed his back with a distant look in his eye, and Izumi couldn’t hold back from gasping into her cupped palms. Her eyes were unblinking at the sight as the wind picked up, tossing dust and her long, white coat in the breeze.
“Oh no, are you alright?” Al’s eyes nervously scanned her frame, “I thought Dad fixed you up. I didn’t think you’d be nauseous again so soon.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Izumi lowered her hands and closed the gap between herself and the Brothers, almost skidding to kneel and gather them in her arms. “That isn’t it at all. I’m feeling fine, really! Just surprised. Sure, it hurts to see you so unwell, but more than that,” she pulled back to look at them, her voice growing shaky, “you’ve grown up into such a nice, kindhearted young man. Both of you, and… I’m sorry. I just need a minute.”
“Aw, don’t worry. It’s okay, really.”
“Yeah, what Al said— try to take your own advice, Teach. If I remember right, you’re the one who told us it’s okay to cry.”
“Don’t talk back to me, you smart aleck. I know it’s okay to cry, but you two have been through so much already… you shouldn’t have to see me like this,” Izumi laughed even as she pressed the heels of her hands to her teary eyes. “I’ve been scared very few times in my life. You both terrified me today.”
“Is that a compliment…?”
“You’re damn right it is. You boys have never once failed to astound me. Hell, after I saw the Truth, I thought I was going to live my whole life weighed down by what it took away. Then you two came along and did the unthinkable. You left Equivalent Exchange in the dust. You made me a Mother from nothing.”
“Teacher—”
“I love you boys, alright? And no snide remarks out of you, Edward, just shut up and let me hug you to bits,” she pulled them into a tight embrace that playfully tipped to one side, and smiled into their hair. “We can get all sappy and emotional later. Let’s just let ourselves be happy right now, okay? After fighting that asshole, I say we deserve it."
They stayed like that for while, the Elrics laughing softly and soothing Izumi while she insisted she wasn't crying, she just had something in her eye, shut up before I smack you something fierce, you idiot brothers. The conversation was a quiet amalgamation of things, besides that. Ed talked for a bit about how he missed Winry and Den while Alphonse asked when he'd be able to try apple pie (the results were inconclusive). Hohenheim asked how Pinako was doing, and Ed replied she'd probably kick his ass if she was here. They all shared a laugh about that one— Granny would slam a bottle over every one of their heads for what they pulled here today! It was almost relaxing to sit like this. It almost felt normal. Alphonse did have a bit of curiosity for the hot, wet thing running down his upper lip, though.
“Uh, Teacher, Dad, I don't want to concern you but—” Al started coughing at the tightness of his mentors arms and squirmed for her to let go. When she did, he swiped across his face with his hands. Saliva leaked from his mouth. “See, brother might've used a metal reactant to draw the circle, and all that dust that went up..."
“Oh my… Alphonse, your nose is bleeding.”
“Yep. Chromium fumes'll do that,” he stared at Ed with a far-too-smug grin considering the blood running down his lip, “you think you’d know about… ‘bout the components a' stainless steel. Considering your leg’s made a’ the stuff.”
“You can’t tell steel from stainless steel just by looking at it, Al.”
“Yeah, y’can. They magnetize differenly, or you could do a hardness test. Plus stainless’ll usually be lighter.”
“Oh, like I was going to do a scratch test of the damn thing when you— you were all— why the fuck are we even arguing about this?!”
“Because… mm, well, it’s funny,” Al wiped his nose with a rather limp hand, “and cause you’ll prob’ly be less worried now when I pass out.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nuh-uh. ‘S fume fever. Man, when Winry hears a’this,” Al’s eyes fluttered shut as he went limp against Ed’s shoulder. His head tipped up, sporting a wide and drowsy grin, “she’s gonna kick your ass... Not knowin’ your ownn... nnn.”
“I’ve got him.” Hohenheim’s distant glare snapped back to the present with age-honed precision; he caught Alphonse from behind before his head could hit the ground. Izumi’s fiery eyes snapped to the elder Elric.
“...What in the hell did you do.”
“Nothing! I’m sorry for not checking if the building built to house State Alchemists was made with Hexavalent Chromium in parts of the place you’d only ever see after an explosion! I was kind of busy dragging my little brother back from The Gate!”
“You are the Prince of Backtalk, Edward Elric.”
“Sure. Sure! I rule with a goddamn iron fist.”
“Not anymore you don’t.”
“Enough of this,” Hohenheim demanded, and he stood with his son in his arms. “We need to get Alphonse somewhere he can actually breathe. You should both know inhalation from alchemical reactants becomes dangerous on time scales of an hour. The poor thing will probably need to be intubated at this rate.”
“The Hospital won’t be an option until tonight, Van. They’re overwhelmed at a time like this and hardly competent otherwise— trust me, I would know.”
“Well, then where’s the nearest place with some shade and fresh air? Where’s the closest fountain, so we can wash out his eyes? I’m not going to just let my son come down with a case of chemical exposure.”
There was a pause, and then Edward’s eyes lit up with recognition; he looked wildly around the courtyard for any familiar face. When he found one, he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled.
“...Hey, Armstrong! Major Armstrong! Where’s that garden where the Bastard takes his lunch breaks?!”