Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For all that he had done in his life, Ed’s death was rather anticlimactic. 

He had escaped death so many times, in so many ways, that it seemed almost ridiculous that he should ever die. He had done human transmutation four times over, evaded a serial killer, survived impalement. He had clawed his way out of a forgotten dimension, forced himself inside a homunculus, survived a country-wide transmutation circle. Hell, he had punched God in the face. 

It was kind of funny really, the Fullmetal Alchemist being killed by something as small as a bullet. 

“I’m going to punch Colonel Bastard for this,” Ed growled.

“You technically can’t call him that anymore, since he’s now a Major General,” Al pointed out, and Ed snorted. 

“I’ll call the Bastard whatever I damn well please! Why’d he have to send me out for this? Couldn’t the MPs handle it?”

Al shrugged, a smile playing at his lips — his equivalent of a grin. After several years being back in his body, Ed’s younger brother had been making good headway in relearning expressions. His smiles were still relatively small, usually nothing more than a stretch of the lips, but Ed was overjoyed to see even that. He may have already given up his alchemy, but he would have done it again, a thousand times over. Because, despite all odds, he had gotten his brother’s body back. 

“Come on, Ed,” Al attempted to console his brother. “You already complained about this earlier.”

“YEAH, WELL I’M GONNA DO IT AGAIN!!”

…

“Think of it like a vacation. With your credentials, this should be easy.” Mustang smirked, twirling a pen in his fingers. Ed bared his teeth at the other alchemist who sat behind an overly large desk. 

“And why the hell should I go? Don’t you have lackeys for this?”

Mustang shrugged. “Filing the annual report is due in less than a week, so the entire branch is scrambling to finish before then. Besides, I know you Fullmetal, and thus I know you’ll be visiting the Central archives. You’re in the area anyways. Just enjoy what's essentially free money.”

Ed snarled, glaring at Al as his brother tugged him back. 

“Down, Brother,” Al rolled his eyes and turned to Mustang. “Major General. So it’s just a robbery at the archives?”

“Yes,” Mustang nodded, handing over a slip of paper. “Few odd relics taken. Probably a few hundred thousand cenz total, especially since they’ll try to pry off any gemstones they can get their hands on.”

The youngest alchemist looked over the paper, nodding to himself. “Alright, this is very doable. We’ll look into it.”

“Unwillingly.”

Mustang ignored Ed’s grumbles, instead choosing to direct a pleasant smile (or maybe it was a smirk) towards Al. “Thank you, Alphonse.”

…

“I think this is the place,” Al said, looking up at the decrepit warehouse in front of them. The street they were on had some afternoon commuters and a few others out for walks. None cast so much as a second glance at the pair of alchemists or the warehouse they were inspecting. “Our thief didn’t do a very good job covering his tracks, if I’m being honest.”

“Amateur, I’d say,” Ed tapped at the lock on the door. “Saw an opportunity and took it. Want to do this the fun way or the boring way?”

Ed’s brother raised an eyebrow, his expression incredibly deadpan. Really, Brother?

“Fiiine,” Ed sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stalked around to the side of the building where a suitably smelly alleyway stretched deep into the shadows. Ed gestured at the public health hazard. “This stealthy enough for you?”

Al smiled sweetly, perfectly at odds with his smugness. “That will do nicely. Thank you, Brother.” The younger headed down the alleyway, with the elder following in his footsteps.  

“Bastard,” Ed muttered lightly, kicking at a rock. The rock shot forwards, and Ed belatedly realized he’d done it with his automail foot. The rock impacted against a collection of rubbish bins, sending them tumbling to the ground in a furious clanging and crashing of metal. The cacophony of noise continued for nearly ten seconds, probably heard as far north as Briggs.

Al shot his older brother a dry stare.

“Hehe… oops?” The Fullmetal Alchemist shrugged sheepishly, but tensed as a soft clanging came from nearby. The brothers crept forwards, approaching a door that led into the warehouse. 

“Hello?” Al asked, being rewarded by the sound of a sharp intake of breath from behind the door.

“Who’s there?!” A voice shouted from within, cracking slightly.

“Milk delivery!” Ed called. Al glanced at his brother and Ed shrugged. “What? It’s a suitably nasty surprise.”

“… What?” The voice came again, this time colored with confusion. 

Ed dropped the niceties, taking the opportunity to kick down the door. The door ripped off its hinges and fell to the ground with an almighty clang. Ed’s hand darted out, grabbing the shirt of a surprised man hidden next to the door frame. Hefting the man up, Ed withdrew back into the alley and tossed the figure onto the ground. “Whadda ya think Al?” He said, tapping his chin as he looked at the sprawled man. “Looks just like the witness descriptions, eh?”

The younger alchemist went to sigh, but it caught in his throat as their suspect scrambled to his feet. “Get back, I’m warning you!” The thief shouted, pulling out a gun and directing it towards the brothers. They exchanged a glance, eyes flitting to the other before they refocused their attention back onto the man at the other end of the alley. 

A scared, cornered man was one thing. A scared, cornered man with a gun?

That was concerning. 

“Look,” Ed said flatly, putting his hands on his hips. “Just give back the stuff you stole. I don't care if we arrest you or not. Hell, I didn’t want to come here in the first place.” 

“No way in hell! I need that money and I’m not giving it to a couple of military brats!”

Ed sighed, rolling his eyes. “Look man, I will pay you the same amount you stole to give us back those stupid artifacts and scram. Scouts’ honor.”

“You were never in any scouts,” Al hissed softly, and Ed huffed, whisper-shouting a reply of his own.

“Yeah well, saying alchemists’ honor is questionable too for a multitude of reasons.”

The gun wavered slightly, the muzzle dipping down as its holder gaped at the offer Ed had presented him with. “Wh…what?” 

“Fully serious,” Ed nodded, giving a lazy wave around the alley. “None of us want to be here. You want a few thousand cenz? Done. Just let me get on with my day. I will literally write the check in front of you.”

The thief hesitated, gun falling further, but then he halted. Steeling his resolve, the weapon was trained on the brothers once more. “You’re lying! The word of the military is worth dog shit!”

Ed balked, face curling into a snarl to defend himself before he paused mid-breath. “You know what? I can’t even counter that. Military are bastards.” 

Al shot his brother an exasperated look. “Hawkeye too?”

“Riza is a very good bastard.”

“Stop talking!” the man shouted, hand trembling violently. “Get back!”

“Just put the gun down,” Al slowly raised his hands, voice consoling. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I said get back!”

Ed would never know exactly what caused that clatter in the alley. Maybe it was a roof tile, finally releasing its precarious hold on the gutter above. Maybe it was a rat, rooting through the garbage Ed had toppled earlier. Either way, the result was the same.

The thief flinched, and a loud BANG rang through the alley.

The air was deathly silent following the shot, the trio watching the slight smoke that wafted from the muzzle of the gun. Ed nearly chuckled, readying to talk the man down once again, but his chest seized. Ed blinked, and looked down to where a blood stain was rapidly spreading directly over his heart. With one hand, he reached up slowly, lethargically, to touch the spot.

“Huh,” the Fullmetal Alchemist muttered, inspecting the red staining his fingertips. 

His legs gave out.

“Brother!” Al screamed. There was a sharp clap and then crackle of light and ozone as alchemy lit up the dark alley. Ed hit the cobblestone, and pain throbbed through his chest and skull. A rumble reverberated through his body, like an earthquake, and distantly, Ed watched the world around them warp. 

Wait… the world wasn’t warping. That was Al, transmuting the buildings.

A shriek grated his ears. “You’re alchemists?!”

A vague shape dropped into Ed’s line of sight, as blackness swam at the edges of his vision. He coughed, a spike of pain driving through his chest. Something wet and tasting of copper dribbled past his lips. 

Blood.

“Ed! Come on Ed, it’s okay, it’ll be okay.” Ed lazily looked up — when had he rolled over? — finding golden hair and brown eyes flecked with gold above him. 

Al. 

Something warm and wet fell against his cheeks, and Ed scrunched up his nose. Who was dripping water on him in this state? Rude. Ed slowly, slowly lifted a hand, finding Al’s face. It was wet. “Hey, come on Al. It’s fine,” Ed mumbled, words heard by no one but himself. “Why are you crying?”

He felt like he was drowning, dunked in an ocean’s worth of water. In the distance, something — someone? — shouted. (“Please Ed! C’mon, please! It’ll be okay, you’ve got to be okay!”) It was distorted, sound garbled as it battled to move through the sea that surrounded him. How had Al managed to cry this much?

Ed smiled slightly, taking in the vague shape of his brother. You’re such a crybaby Al, and I love you for it.

Darkness overtook his vision.

And Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of Amestris, breathed his last.

…

Ed woke up.

It was not a slow climb to awareness, the mind slowly pulling itself together from the mists of sleep until consciousness was regained. It was also not a snap, instinct surging forth and readying him to fight, teeth bared and muscles tensed.

He was simply not there, and then he was.

Ed looked around, finding himself in Mustang’s office of all things. He spun in a slow circle, frowning as he tried to gather his thoughts. When… when did he get here? He didn’t remember going back to Central headquarters.

His eyes landed on Mustang, who was standing by the window, looking out onto the plaza below. The Major General’s posture was stiff as a board, arms crossed in front of his chest, and his hands were fisting his sleeves. And Ed, for all that he (pretended) to hate Mustang, knew something was wrong. Because the man would never let it be so obvious that he was this tense.

“Mustang? What’s wrong?”

Mustang didn’t look at Ed. He didn’t even acknowledge the other alchemist’s presence, his face a stony mask. Ed scowled. Oh, so the alchemist wanted to ignore him? He’d give the bastard something to ignore.

“Hey, Colonel Bastard, what the hell? Don’t ignore me!”

Mustang didn’t look at him. Didn’t so much as twitch.

It only incensed Ed further.

“HEY! I’m talking to you! What the fuck is wrong with y—”

Ed went to grab the Major General’s shoulder, but to his horror, his hand went through Mustang’s arm. Ed jolted, whipping his arm back. “Wh–What?” He whispered, anger deflating like a popped balloon. He cautiously reached forward. As he watched, his arm passed straight through Mustang’s chest, as if the man didn’t exist at all.

A shudder wracked Ed’s body. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over him. A burning cold that seared through his missing leg and pricked his skin with a thousand needles. He looked at Mustang, searching for some sign that the man felt the literal arm sticking through his body, but he didn’t even bat an eye.

Ed stepped back, cradling his arm to his chest. What the fuck was going on?

The door creaked open and Ed turned to see Hawkeye entering, her expression pulled tight. The Major General’s right hand slowly approached her superior, stopping five feet short of Mustang. Ed searched her face for something, anything, to indicate she saw him. That she could feel his breath or sense his presence. But there was nothing. It was like he didn’t even exist.

“How is he?” Mustang asked, breaking the silence that had descended upon the room.

“The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery,” Riza said, her voice level as she gave her report. “Worst of it is a sprained wrist and some bleeding, but he should be physically fine in a week.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

The silence stretched, until Riza sighed. “He’s inconsolable. Fuery is staying with him for the moment until we can contact Ms. Rockbell. Alphonse nearly killed the perpetrator before officers managed to pull him off the man. They said his target suffered multiple broken bones in his arms and legs, along with internal bleeding.”

Ed startled. Al had nearly killed a man? Why? While his brother could be very deadly should he choose to be, he didn’t tend towards lethal force if he could help it. And inconsolable? What had happened?!

Mustang paused. “Al was punching him?”

“Yes,” Riza confirmed. “Al’s got severely bloodied knuckles to show for it. He also broke the perpetrator’s jaw, and nearly started fighting the uniforms trying to stop him.”

Ed’s brows furrowed in confusion. Punching someone until their bones broke … that wasn’t an effective takedown, that was fury, pure and simple. What the hell had happened to drive Al to that?! 

“Do you think they should have stopped him?” Mustang asked after several moments. 

Riza hesitated before she responded. “Honestly sir? The only thing stopping me from putting a bullet in that killer’s head this second is that his own guilt is making him feel worse than anything I could do. The MPs arresting him told the perp who he’d killed and he nearly shot himself. Consider him a suicide risk.”

“Noted.” 

The silence hung heavy in the air, nearly suffocating.

“The public will be baying for his blood,” Riza continued softly. “No one will accept anything less than the death penalty. You included.”

Mustang didn’t refute the statement, but he continued to stay uncharacteristically silent. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Ed stood straighter. Someone was dead? “Who?” He barked, marching towards Mustang. He waved a hand fruitlessly in front of the Flame Alchemist, snarling as it did nothing. He paced back across the room, mind racing, as he tried to figure out who could have died to have Al so distraught. Who could be important enough to have even Mustang and Riza wanting to kill the man who did it?

One of Mustang’s team? Major Armstrong? Grumman?

Riza narrowed her eyes. “His death is not your fault. It’s the fault of the man who fired the bullet.”

“And I sent him on that mission, Hawkeye,” Mustang said lowly. “I asked Edward here, I gave him that mission. Despite his over qualifications, despite that he’s not technically a member of the military anymore.” 

Ed frowned. What did he have to do with all this? Then his brain registered the rest and his face contorted with anger. “FUCKING BASTARD!! I knew it, bringing me out for a useless mission–” Ed was so lost in his own head he nearly missed what Mustang said next.

“It’s my fault Edward’s dead.”

Ed froze, slowly turning to look back at Mustang. He had to have misheard that right? Maybe they were talking about a different Edward?

Riza looked pained as Mustang continued.

“He didn’t want to go. He hadn’t wanted to go, but I pushed him. The amount of scraps he’s been in… did he know? He’s always had a nose for danger…”

The Major General trailed off, voice becoming strained. Ed felt lightheaded. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to lie down or storm with rage. (Dead. Deaddeaddead. He couldn’t be dead, he was here, wasn’t he? He was alive! He wasn’t dead, he wasn't! Dead. He was dead, he was. The silence felt empty, no heartbeat, no breath, no blood in his veins.) He decided on the latter. Narrowing his eyes at the Flame Alchemist, Ed channeled his stress into anger. 

“No one made me go, Bastard!” Ed roared, but it was as if the scream never left his lips. “Own up to your mistakes! But don’t take the blame for what you can’t control. I’m the idiot in this situation!”

Ed astutely ignored the hypocrisy in his own statement.

“Sir… Roy,” the change of address had Mustang jerk slightly, as well as Ed. Riza never addressed Mustang by his first name. “Do you really think you could have made Edward do anything he didn’t want to do? That boy is… was—,” Riza’s voice cracked slightly, “—as hard headed as the metal he was named for.”

He blinked at Hawkeye in surprise. That woman was scarily perceptive.

Mustang took a breath, but it was strained. He lifted a hand, dragging it down his face. “We should call the plumber,” he said softly. “The pipes are leaking a bit.”

Ed glanced up, but there were no pipes showing, nor were there any leaks visible whatsoever. 

“Have you lost your mind?” The retort was ready on Ed’s tongue, to be heard by nothing by air, but it fell short as he looked closer at Mustang’s face. Wet trails painted the lower half of Mustang’s jaw, emerging from under his hand. 

Tears.

“Of course, Sir.”

The sight of his (former) superior crying was too strange (too much) for him. So, Ed escaped Mustang’s office. He tried to open the door, but nothing gave under his touch, and he fell straight through it. He landed in a pile of limbs outside, a numbed sensation of contact pinging through his nerves.

How did that work? He fell straight through the door but the floor was as solid as ever?

At that thought, Ed started sinking as if he had stepped into quicksand. He yelped, scrambling to try and pull himself up, but his hands just slipped through the wood like water. 

“No, no, no!” Ed cried as he fell through the floor.

Solid! Think solid! Stone, cement, iron, metal. Molecules fixed and unmoving, latticed and secure. I am solid I am solid I am SOLID!

Ed hit the ground, hands catching himself as he landed in a heap on the floor below. He heaved for breath, but his lungs still felt empty. And his arms, despite catching him from a fall of over a story, barely registered the pain they should be feeling. Ed stared at his hands, confusion and terror warring in his mind.

He hadn’t seen, hadn’t noticed, but he had become slightly transparent. He could see the floor through his own body. Ed touched one hand with the other, meeting resistance, and registering some degree of pressure. 

(He felt sick. In a dream, you couldn’t touch yourself, couldn’t feel yourself. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a dream. Thiswasn’tadream.)

While Ed felt some degree of contact, it was very small. Physically, he felt… detached. Numbed. 

As if he had automail instead of skin.

A jolt raced through him, burning cold like frostbitten metal. Ed stared, horrified as he looked at the back of the blue coated military officer that had just walked through him . He rubbed his arms, trying to dispel the phantom flashes of pain that crackled over him. The flash that bloomed over his heart, a bullet tearing through him.

Phantom pains.

It was just like when he had lost his arm and leg. An illusory pain that felt all too real, ghosting through nerves that no longer existed. 

Because he no longer had a body to go with them.

A floor below Major General Mustang’s office, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, screamed with breath he did not need into the air that could not see him, that could not hear him, that could not feel him. 

Ed wandered. 

He let his feet guide him, uncaring of where he ended up. He slipped unseen and unknown through walls and through the military guards. As if he or they did not exist. A ghost.

Dead.

When he finally looked up, it could have been minutes or hours later. Ed blinked as he surveyed his new surroundings: a hospital. Specifically, the military hospital. Why was he here? Ed made to leave, but something tugged him forwards. Like a fishhook had been strung through his navel, pulling him, guiding him to something.

He followed it.

The pull led him on a winding path, up the stairs and through locked doors he passed through effortlessly. Until, finally, he found himself outside a door, with several military officers clustered around it.

Officers he recognized.

Breda, Falman, Havoc, Ross and Brosh all sat in various states of disarray. Havoc was burning through several cigarettes, while Falman and Ross had lost some of their typical composure, their faces drawn tightly and hair in wild disarray. Breda and Brosh both looked incredibly grim, eyes suspiciously shiny. The door clicked open, and Fuery slipped outside, his own eyes wet.

“… I don’t know what else to do,” Fuery admitted, his voice soft. “Al… he won’t eat, and he’s barely said two words to me. He’s not doing well.”

“Are any of us?” questioned Ross, raking a hand through her hair. “God… If I hadn’t… I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. I already lost one friend and commanding officer.” Her voice was strained, eyes glinting wetly as she mentioned Maes Hughes.

“I’m more surprised it was a bullet that took out the Chief,” Havoc muttered, chewing his cigar. “I guess I always thought… I dunno, he felt invincible.”

Breda barked a laugh. “We’re all human. Elric probably knew that better than any of us.” The Investigation Specialist cast a glance at the door Fuery had come out of. “For all they can do, alchemists are just like the rest of us… mortal.” 

Ed’s throat felt tight, and he stepped away from Mustang’s unit (from his friends). He slipped through the patient door, following the tug of the fishhook, and his stomach twisted. He felt like he was choking (but he didn’t need to breathe). 

Across the room, huddled in a patient bed, was Al. 

His younger brother was wrapped in a blanket, knees to his chest. His eyes were puffy and his face was red and splotchy. He looked like he’d been crying for hours . He might have been. The sight of his brother in such distress had Ed jerking forwards. He tried to wrap Al in a hug, the key word being tried . His arms just passed straight through Al like mist. It left Ed feeling cold for two very different reasons.

Ed did everything he could to catch Al’s attention. He waved, shoved and pleaded. He even tried to project his presence, but there was nothing. Al sensed nothing.

He just cried.

Al choked on a wheezing breath, clutching at his chest with his hands. “Edward, brother please,” Al whispered, voice garbled. “Please, don’t go. Please, please, please.”

“Al,” Ed reached a hand towards his brother, but it passed through Al as if he was never there. 

Al buried his face in the blanket twisted around his knees, a muffled scream emerging. “Come back, Ed,” Al whispered into the blankets. He couldn’t have known the one he was looking for had invisible arms wrapped in a hug around him. That his older brother was literally inches from his face. “Please, come back. I… I’ll bring you back. Please, Ed, please.”

Ed swallowed heavily, his throat constricting. “Don’t bring me back,” he whispered, running ghostly fingers through his younger brother’s hair. “Please, Al. You promised.”

He had promised. He and Ed both. They had promised they wouldn’t try to resurrect each other, should the other die. They both knew so much — too much — about human transmutation, about soul binding. Likely more than anyone else in the world. They probably could bind the other to life, if they truly wished to. 

They knew too much.

More than any human should.

The two brothers stayed together. One crying for an older brother he could no longer see or hear who stood next to him, running a hand that could not be felt through his younger brother’s hair. Al cried himself to sleep while Ed continued his vigil, an unseen and unknown guardian. 

Despite the fact that Ed now had no sense of pain, being dead hurt far more than being alive.

Initially, Al had isolated himself in his room for over a week. It was taking Winry an agonizingly long time to reach Central, and the military doctors hadn’t released Al out of the hospital over fears of his deteriorating condition. He still refused to sleep, refused to eat, and his eyes had swollen from all the crying he’d done.

In that week, Ed refused to leave his brother’s side, fearful that Al would attempt to follow him. He tried everything to knock some sense into his younger brother, but it was ultimately useless.

When Winry finally arrived, she found Al nested in his blankets (and Ed sitting next to him). Al’s cheeks were gaunt and his eyes sunken and bruised, despite their puffiness. Winry scooped up the younger Elric brother (the only Elric now), hugging him tightly as he began renewed sobs into her shirt. Al cried for hours, until he had no more water left in him to give.

At this point, Winry stood up, stepped back, and screamed at him. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING ALPHONSE ELRIC?!” 

Al flinched back, and Ed surged to his feet, ready to defend his brother (for all the good that would do). “What?” Al whispered, eyeing the incensed Winry cautiously. 

“You’re starving yourself,” Winry said flatly, and Al looked down, fisting his hands in his blankets. “You’re killing yourself. Do you seriously think Ed is… would want that? He’d be the first to call you a stupid arse.”

“But he’s NOT HERE!” Al shouted, his voice breaking. “Ed’s not here! He’s not here and he can’t call me anything!” Al raked a hand through his hair, dry heaves wracking his thin frame. “He’s gone…” 

Winry choked a sob herself, voice strained. “I know that Al. God… I hate it so fucking much. But I’ve already lost one of my best friends… Please don’t make me lose another.” She heaved in a breath, and Ed could see her physically tightening the hold on her emotions. “And whether Ed is here or not, he’d make me kick your ass for trying to use him to justify hurting yourself. I don’t want to hit you right now, Al. You look like shit.”

Al choked, something that was neither a laugh nor a sob tumbling from his throat. Winry sat on the bed with Al, the pair wrapping each other in a hug, sharing in their grief. Ed drifted out the door, leaving Al in Winry’s care. 

He couldn’t do anything anyways. 

Ed ended up attending his own funeral, an unseen observer to the proceedings.

There were two. One was held publicly, and he had the uncomfortable experience of watching a parade be held in his honor. Throngs of people clad in black watched his casket (an empty casket, because you didn’t bring the actual body in these cases) glide down the street, banners and flowers showered in his honor. The People of Amestris giving the Alchemist of the People a proper send off.

The second funeral was private, for friends and family.

More people showed up then Ed had expected. 

It was held in Resembool, his casket (full this time) being lowered into the ground next to his mother and Hohenheim. Dozens of people he’d known were there. Al, Winry and Pinako. Mustang, Hawkeye and the rest of Mustang’s unit. Major Armstrong, Mei and Lan Fan. Hell, even Teacher and Sig were there.

It made his chest twist into knots, seeing so many people mourning for him. He ended up dipping out of the service, lurking by a tree at the side of the graveyard. At the very least, they hadn’t brought a priest to the event. Ed might have forcibly re-alived himself from sheer indignity if they had.

“Here.”

Ed glanced up, half wondering if someone was talking to him. His gaze found Lan Fan, offering a strip of red fabric to Al. (When did they get here? Has he really gotten that distractible?) 

Lan Fan waved the fabric at Al again until Ed’s brother reached out to take it. Ed leaned forwards, looking curiously at the cloth. Upon closer inspection, it was silk, the gossamer red weave embroidered with golden and black thread. Al unfurled the length, and Ed saw a winding Xingese dragon stitched along it, body curling into the shape of the flamel symbol.

“What is…?” Al asked, looking at the Xingese warrior.

“Emperor Yao regrets that he was unable to come, so he sent me with this in his place,” Lan Fan nodded to the embroidered silk. “Edward Elric is to be made an honorary Xingese, and that was hand-stitched by the Emperor for Elric’s shrine.”

“Why would Ling… ?”

“That’s Emperor Yao,” Lan Fan snapped slightly, hackles rising. She took a breath, smoothing out her ruffled feathers. “And, it is in recognition of all he did for us. For Ling.” 

Al tightened his fingers on the silk before hurriedly easing his grip, probably fearful of damaging it. Lan Fan sighed, pinning Al down with a sharp stare before she lifted her gaze to stare into the distance, vaguely in the direction that Ed stood. 

“In Xing,” she said softly. “We believe that our ancestors watch over us. That they will walk among us as spirits, protecting us from harm. This is why we honor things of their memory, objects they carried in life, or things we have made whilst imbuing them with the memory of the person in question. We believe these things can carry their chi.”

Al was quiet for a long moment, looking out at Lan Fan from beneath his lashes. “You… can… can you sense their chi? Even after they die?”

Lan Fan smiled wanly. “We can sense impressions at times. Hints of memory.”

“Is… is my brother here?”

Lan Fan let her eyes drift around, passing over and through where Ed stood, motionless. Her gaze panned over their surroundings, before she finally turned them back to Al, a ghost of a smile on her face. “Where else do you think he’d be? If I had to guess… by your side.”

Days turned to weeks turned to months. 

Ed had taken to being Al’s spectral guardian, following his younger brother as a silent companion. He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he could do anything like this. He slipped through humans and objects just the same, only able to stand on the floor thanks to some mental belief that yes, he was standing on the floor.  

He sometimes followed Mustang or the others in his unit, but that was usually only when he noticed the other man looking particularly ill at ease. A few times, he’d found Mustang drinking a bottle of whisky midday, tear tracks down his face. On these days, Ed would rage at Mustang, telling the bastard that ‘it wasn’t his fault dammit! Pull yourself together!’ It was as if Ed's shouting never left his lips. 

Ed usually stayed near Mustang on those days. 

As Ed watched Al and his living friends, he often thought it was ironic how their roles had been reversed. Once, Al had been the soul adrift, hanging at Ed’s shoulder. Now it was Ed, unaging and unchanging. Unable to eat or sleep, he took up the silent vigil his brother had once afforded him.

And, despite all the time he had spent as a shade, watching over his family and friends, he never saw any other ghosts.

Only himself. 

It was when Al and Mustang went to visit Gracia and Elysia to break the news of his death, that Ed figured out he was the only one. Because there was no ghost of Maes Hughes watching over his wife and daughter. If ghost’s had been common, if they had existed, then Hughes would have let nothing in heaven or hell keep him from his family. 

So, Ed was back to being something wrong. A crime against nature.

Nothing new there he supposed.

It was several months before Al decided to help Mustang with missions again, and several more after that before Mustang agreed to send the remaining Elric brother out. The Major General ended up not having a choice in the matter.

Ed reflexively dodged the knives that came at him, rolling to crouch next to his brother. “Well this guy’s got a temper,” Ed murmured. “How’d you want to hit ‘em?”

Al didn’t respond, and Ed turned to repeat himself, only to cut off mid inhale. 

Right. He was dead. 

Al ducked aside another series of thrown knives. This time, Ed stayed where he was and let the blades pass harmlessly through him. A freezing cold jolted him, and he shuddered at the sensation. It was about the closest thing he had to feeling true pain or physical touch these days. (Sometimes he stood in something just to feel that burning cold, just to know that he did, in fact, exist.)

Al clapped his hands together, pressing them into the ground with a crackle of alchemic energy. The earth warped, surging upwards to try and capture the assailant, but they flipped backwards, dodging the attack. Ed’s eyes caught a glint of metal soaring through the air and he jerked, letting out a panicked yell. “LOOK OUT!”

Yet, it was if he’d said nothing. The knife buried itself in Al’s shoulder, Ed’s brother letting out a choked cry of pain. On instinct and reflex, Ed clapped his hands and pressed them to the ground, despite the futility of the action. (He knew he couldn’t perform alchemy, whether alive or dead. The Gate was closed to him.) Nearby, Al mirrored his movements, slamming a hand into the ground and bringing up an earthen shield. 

But this time… something was different.

Ed felt… not control, but a sense of influence over the molecules. Calcium aluminate and silicate, they shifted — slightly to the left. 

It was a miracle. An impossibility. 

Ed took it. He couldn’t change Al’s transmutation, so he helped guide it. A touch wider, a little farther here. The crackling light of alchemy filled the air, growing brighter and brighter. By the time Ed realized it was consuming him, he was already falling.

Ed woke up.

Blinking, he looked around, only to balk as he recognized the location. 

A howling white void, with an eerie, grinning, featureless humanoid sitting across from him.

Truth.

The Universe, the World, All, One, Truth and sometimes God, grinned at Ed, Its voice echoing with the undercurrents of a thousand speakers. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~!” 

Ed narrowed his eyes at the entity. “You.”

“Me, or perhaps, you.”

“Cut the chatter,” Ed snarled. “I’m dead. I know I am!”

Truth smirked. “Why yes, yes you are.”

“So how the hell am I, you know, here!”

“Tsk, tsk, equivalent exchange ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~,” the Embodiment of Knowledge singsonged. “What can you offer me?”

Ed stalled, then slumped to a seat on the ground, mirroring the position of Truth.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “I can offer nothing and I will offer nothing. I’m just a ghost of a memory, aren’t I? I’m not meant to exist, and I shouldn’t exist. I’m probably only here because I tore my soul so many times, every time I did human transmutation. There’s pieces of me scattered everywhere, and I have to be whole to cross the Gate. I’m wrong, an impossibility.”

The Universe, the World, All, One, Truth and sometimes God, chuckled. “You’ve always been one, Edward Elric.”

The howling whiteness expanded, and Ed was left swimming in an infinite sea. No land, no breath, no pain, no sight, nothing nothing nothing drowningdrowning drowning.

Ed woke up.

Ed found himself on a street in Central, Al nowhere to be found.

He searched.

He followed the tugging of the fishhook in his navel, feet guiding him down streets and through buildings. He walked for what must have been hours, the sun arcing up and over the sky. But he did not stop. He did not tire. His feet felt no pain.

He kept walking.

Eventually, eventually, Ed found himself at Al’s home, and inside: his brother, bandages wrapped around his injured shoulder. Ed allowed himself relief before he focused on trying to understand why.

Why had he known to come here? 

Being dead meant there was very little for Ed to occupy his mind with. So he thought. He went over everything he knew about alchemy, about human transmutation. He looked back upon his memories, searching for something, anything that might explain this. That might explain why.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he found his answer.

“Blood seals,” Ed said, the next time he found himself facing Truth in Its Domain, once again after aiding Al with a transmutation. It seemed that was his gateway to this realm. “It’s a blood seal, isn’t it? That’s why I still… exist.”

Truth tilted Its featureless head, a simple gesture to continue. 

“I bound Al’s soul to the armor with a blood seal made of my blood, that I know. But you also said that we shared a soul space. Our Gates were linked, and when we did human transmutation together, our souls crossed. That and blood bond helped tie Al’s spirit to the material realm.” Ed took a breath, dropping into a cross legged seat on the floor. He picked lightly at his left foot, ghostly automail still equipped to his leg. 

“I think… binding Al’s soul to the blood rune, to my blood… it also went in reverse. I also bound my soul to his body, to his blood. When we both had our bodies… none of us knew. But when I died… my soul didn’t leave the material plane because I was, still am, bound to Al. His blood is my seal. I can only influence the material world through him, but since there’s already a soul inhabiting his body, I can’t—,” Ed shuddered slightly, “—possess him. But that’s why I can influence his alchemy.”

Ed fell silent, staring down the white void that was the Truth.

“Well?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “What do you think, Truth? How’d I do?”

The silence stretched for what could have been seconds or an eternity (and did it make a difference? Time never did pass in a straight line in Its Domain). Finally, Truth grinned, Its gleaming teeth something not quite human, but not quite not human.

“Well done, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~,” Truth chuckled, clapping lazily. “Indeed, you bound your brother’s soul to your blood. You became his connection to the Material Realm. Your body fed his, your soul tied his. And when you passed from the Material Realm—,” Truth gestured around them, “—his soul, his blood, tied yours.”

Truth smirked. “Of course, you don’t have a body to return to. So, your circumstances are rather different than your ~ De-ar Bro-th-er’s ~.”

“He was taken by you,” Ed said flatly. “He was gone, but not dead. I am dead, but not gone .”

The Truth spread Its arms. “You’re getting quite good at this ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~! Quite good at discovering the truth.”

Ed scowled.

For six years, Ed existed. 

He followed his brother, watching him, guarding him. He aided where he could, tugging on his brother’s alchemy. He made Al’s walls a touch stronger, his spikes a bit faster. He looked on as Al, Winry, and Mustang grew older, emotions waxing and waning, years coming and passing.

And then, sometimes, he was in Truth’s Domain. They were not friends, but they were not enemies either. Truth had never been truly malicious. It did Its duty, and had, in the end, accepted Ed’s answer. It had allowed him the chance to return Al’s body. So, at times, he would talk with It. Sometimes he questioned It, sometimes he learned, sometimes he shouted, and sometimes he was met with Its old answer… “Equivalent exchange, right ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~?”

But he should have known that Truth would find a way to turn his life upside down, even in death.

Chapter Text

“I’m just saying, there’s nothing in the laws that says teleportation via alchemy can’t exist,” Ed argued, gesturing widely. 

Truth tilted Its head, somehow managing to convey a raised eyebrow despite having nothing of the sort. “Really?”

Ed nodded vehemently, defending his point. “Most people think of alchemy in association with matter, with the Law of Conservation of Mass, but alchemy also deals in energy! We draw the energy to power transmutations from tectonic shifting and the earth’s core, so there’s always some energy manipulation involved. And, for alchemists that deal in phase changes, they have to change the energy levels of the molecules! And then there’s alkahestry—,” Ed spiraled a hand, as if imitating energy flow, “—and their whole shtick is the Dragon’s Pulse. The Pulse is basically radiant solar energy, so they focus far more on energy manipulation, though they also deal in matter.

“Both have to obey Conservation of Energy, but alkhestry has a more abundant base energy source, the sun, so aklahestrists can perform transmutations at a distance…  Now that I think about it, that's probably to do with there being no gaps in the energy at the surface, they’re just manipulating the same continuous energy within their line of sight…  Anyways, the issue with teleportation is an energy imbalance. The matter stays the same but you need energy to maintain the matter over the path. If you combine alkahestry techniques and alchemic designs, you could have the power source and the method for teleportation of matter!”

Ed wrapped up his impromptu dissertation with flourish, casually theorizing on subjects that had alchemical theory professors with dozens of PhDs and decades of research pulling their hair out for longer than Ed had been alive (or dead).

Truth chuckled, Its many voices rumbling in discordant harmony. “Really, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~ , is it fair for you to be theorizing on alchemy with the Embodiment of Truth? Where’s the equivalency?”

Ed grinned at the entity, baring his teeth. “You like people finding the truth. Moral or not, when people come to you searching, you give them the means of finding it.” It had taken years and unfortunately close proximity with It, but Ed liked to think he had some sort of grasp on Truth and It’s motives. Or, at the very least, where It stood in regards to him. “Besides, it’s not like I can actually try this out. I can’t do alchemy myself.”

Truth gave Its trademark eerie grin, and for some reason, Ed felt like It was… amused. The thought alone would have made Ed’s hair stand on end, if he wasn’t a soul. (Responses like that were limited to a body of flesh and blood.)

“Yes… you couldn’t, could you? Not now.” 

Truth’s strange words had Ed frowning in puzzlement. Great, was It trying to be purposefully confusing now? It just loved to throw him off at every turn. The moment of quiet stretched, as vast as the infinite realm they sat in, as rapid as thought in the mind.

creak

The sound echoed through the space which was normally so quiet it hurt. It was the sound of something immense moving, paradoxically under the Domain of Gravity and Strain despite being in a realm that had neither. It vibrated in Ed’s bones (though he had no bones, not as this) and he became distinctly aware of a presence. (At least, another presence despite the howling void that was the Truth and the Truth that sat in front of him).

Ed turned, eyes going wide to the towering monolith of the Gate (not his Gate, never his Gate) that loomed behind him. Symbols and carvings spiraled over its surface, ones that Ed distantly recalled on Al’s version of the Portal. 

“What is this?” Ed asked, flinching back as the Gate split down the center, and massive doors began to shift open. “What the hell, Truth?!”

This had never happened before. Hell, he’d never even seen the Gate here during his time as a ghost.

“Oh dear, it seems you have an appointment to keep ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~,” Truth sing-songed, mouth stretching into a smirk. “Off you go, I’m beginning to tire of you!”

Shadowy hands emerged from the Abyss, grabbing and clutching at Ed. He fought them, fearful of what they meant, of what they might do. Was he finally being pulled to Beyond? The hands made of Nothing encircled him tighter, and their touch burned . He felt like he was peeling at the edges, slowly dissolving into dust. 

Ed caught sight of Truth, glaring at the thing with wild eyes. It had the audacity to wave . “Don’t worry, I’m not finished with you yet. Do enjoy your time, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~!”

The Gate slammed shut and Ed was trapped in nothing-everything-screaming-clawing 

e m p t i n e s s 

e v e r y t h i n g

t r u t h

f a   l      l           i                   n                                      g

h e r e

Ed jerked, scrambling to regain some sense of balance. He was f a l l i n g and then he wasn’t, a rope snapping him back to the Material Realm so hard he would have broken his neck if he had a physical neck to break. It was a sensation not dissimilar to that feeling of plummeting when on the verge of sleep.

Clutching at his chest, Ed glanced up at his surroundings. 

And was promptly horrified and confused in equal measure.

He stood at the center of a massive array, painted in streaks of red across the ground (blood blood it was blood). Its swirling patterns arced outwards, two concentric arrays nested within each other. But what made Ed’s nonexistent blood freeze in his veins were the people, chained at the three angles at the edge of the circular array.

People he recognized.

Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, and Al.

Upon catching sight of his younger brother, fury burned in Ed’s throat and his eyes narrowed to fiery slits. 

Al was chained up, gloves of metal encasing his hands. His clothes hung off his body, and his face was gaunt, eye sockets prominent. Bruises stained his face, startlingly dark against Al’s too-pale skin and blood speckled his shirt. Mustang and Riza looked better off, but just barely. They were both incredibly pale and were missing their trademark weapons, Mustang his gloves and Riza her guns.

“Who the hell did this to you guys?” Ed hissed, then snapped his gaze to the other humans in the room, whom he had passed over in favor of his brother.

Nearly ten figures stood in the large room they were in, skirting the outer edges of the circular array. An eleventh figure stood just outside the inner array, nearest to Ed. He was a tall man with a thin smirk that reminded Ed a bit too much of Kimblee. Ed instantly decided to label him as ‘a problem’.

Problem circled around the boundary of the inner array. He stared eerily close to where Ed was, but not quite. “We have the soul here with us,” Problem said slowly, teeth flashing.

“Hey asshole, my eyes are up here,” Ed snapped. The man in question didn’t react, and considering his friend’s eyes were tracking Problem instead of staring at Ed with horor, he concluded that he was still as unseen as ever.

Problem looked towards the people on the fringes of the circle, waving a hand. “Bring out the vessel.”

A few of the people, Problem’s lackeys apparently, ducked out of the room. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mustang growled, and yeah, Ed wanted to know that too.

“What you were all too cowardly to do!” Problem snarled. “I would have thought his closest friends, even his family would be the first to try, but it seems you disappointed me.”

Ed had a bad feeling about this. 

“And you, you were his brother!” Problem continued, turning on Al. “You knew just as much as he did, but no. Instead of saving him, you confined him to the abyss! You let him die.” The man’s eyes burned like embers. “Well, we’re going to save the Hero of Amestris, unlike you. We’re going to bring back the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Oh fucking hell no. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard!” Ed roared, officially changing Problem’s name to ‘Insane’. 

“No! Don’t you dare desecrate my brother!” Al roared, and Ed felt touched that his brother knew his feelings about being resurrected so well. Elric brother telepathy, still going even in death. “You think he’d want this?! We both saw what happens when you try to resurrect someone, it’s monstrous… He’d be the first at your throat for trying to bring him back.”

Insane laughed, living up to his name. “I’ll happily let him! It’ll mean he’s alive once more!”

Okay, maybe make that ‘Criminally Insane’.

Ed shifted as the lackeys returned, faltering at the sight of the body they carried between them. 

“You killed him?!” 

The alchemist chuckled, leaning down to brush hair from the corpse’s face. Okay, veeeery creepy.   

“He volunteered. To be the vessel for the Fullmetal Alchemist’s new life? A privilege and an honor! And he’s only been dead a few minutes, we needed the body still warm after all. Asphyxiation, painless and injury free. As sad as it is, his original body is too far gone to be of any use to the Fullmetal Alchemist. But, we tried to get them to match.”

Ed’s eyes darted to the automail that was attached to the corpse’s right arm and left leg. He was almost impressed at the effort they had gone through to get a look alike. At least, he might have been if he wasn’t, you know, horrified beyond belief. 

Criminally Insane’s lackeys laid the body in the inner array, stepping straight through Ed without so much as blinking. Ed shifted outside the circle, attempting to get away from the body. Or at least, he tried to. Red sparks flickered on the array, and he was shoved back in with a sharp shock. 

Oh great, they even had ghost repellant. 

Ed recoiled in horror as Criminally Insane leaned down to pour fucking blood into the body’s mouth. God, this man was homunculus levels of crazy. No wait, that was an insult to the homunculi. At least they knew what they were doing.

“Stop this!” Al screamed, and Ed gave his younger brother a desperate look. “Please!”

The plea did nothing. 

“Today, the Fullmetal Alchemist will be revived, as thanks for all he did!” 

The array lit up, crackling light shining from its depths and under Ed’s feet. The Hands of the Abyss reached out, shadows stretching towards him hungrily. Ed scrambled back, trying to evade the inky hands, but he might as well been trying to evade time itself.

The shadows encircled him, grasping at him, pulling at him, burning him.

It was a billion fishhooks sinking into his soul, a thousand spears of fire piercing his spirit.

The shadows consumed him and Edward Elric 

s c  r    e      a           m                    e                                d

pain 

PAIN 

P A I N

It was burning tearing freezing blinding toomuch toolittle everything everything

e v e r y t h i n g

Ed gasped, choking on air he hadn’t needed in years. Electric volts seized him, touch itself a jolt of pain to his soul as it rode through nerves just nearly expired. Muscles jerked, the body seizing as a soul that was not its filled the space within. And Ed too, his soul burned at the touch of a container he was not meant to be held in. 

Not mine not mine not mine

Ed retched, rolling onto his side. Or, he tried to.

He moved, trying to shift over his arm, but something splintered. Ed’s body moved, but the body didn’t move with him. He caught a faint whisper of numbness, of the empty-nothing-no-feeling that he’d existed in for years. Then there was a snap , and Ed felt some meager connection flicker back into place, a string tied between himself and his body (the body he inhabited). The body finally lurched, lagging behind the movement of his spirit by a good couple seconds. 

Panting, Ed propped himself up with his left arm. The now-automail of the right arm (not his arm) pulled at him, a weight he had not felt when dead or alive for years. He gave an attempted finger curl, and was rewarded with a clink as the metal fingers spasmed in response. 

Better than nothing.

His soul felt like he was walking over crumbled glass, shards that sat in his nerves, his lungs, his skin. Ed forcibly expanded his chest, wondering when during his time as a ghost he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Cold, rough, pointed, scraping stone dug into the skin of his left palm, of his right leg. So many points of touch, of sensation, it was an adrenaline rush all on its own. 

He could feel. 

He’d almost forgotten it.

“Ed?” He twitched at the sound of Al’s voice, raising his head to look at his brother. 

Ed squinted at Al, his eyes slowly refocusing until he could see Al at the edge of the array. While, as a ghost, Ed had had no trouble seeing (it wasn’t a sense he’d lost, unlike touch), there was something fundamentally different about seeing him through eyes of blood.

The colors felt so much brighter, so much clearer. (And yet, he felt there was something missing, something glowing soul-bright that lingered at the corner of his eye).

Al managed to look worse through human eyes, face pale and eyes wide. “Who - did this to - you?” Ed wheezed, words lost to his gasping as he tried to remember how vocal cords worked. He was going to grab the bastard who dared to hurt his little brother and he would make them pay. 

Al’s expression shuttered, cracking like glass.

“A failure,” hissed someone… wait, wasn’t that the Idiot and Insane alchemist that activated the circle? 

Ed turned his head, but the connection between his soul and the body splintered again, the movement lagging behind his spirit. He felt like he was holding the strings of a marionette, every twitch not enough or too much or not quite right. Wrong wrong wrong , something deeper within Ed chanted.

“Wh-what?” Ed coughed, choking out the garbled words.

“A pity,” the insane alchemist continued. “All our preparations, and yet…” Idiot and Insane stared coldly at Ed (at the body Ed was in), and nodded sharply. “Well, we shall try again. Eliminate the failure, but keep the body, we can still use it.”

A figure emerged from the outer edges of the circle at the alchemist’s command. They advanced towards where Ed still kneeled, rolling up their sleeves. They… they were going to choke him? Kill him?! Right after they’d just fucking resurrected him?!

Ed shuffled backwards, shoving himself upward and stumbling to his feet. Too slow, too slow.  

The automail of his left leg was a veritable deadweight, untuned to the nerve signals, but he managed to find an approximation of balance. Too late.

An arm fell around his head, tightening against his neck in a chokehold. Ed coughed, hands darting upwards instinctually to grab at the obstruction. (It was decidedly ironic that he finally figured out regular breathing when it was taken away from him). Ed scrabbled at his attacker’s arm, but his fingers weren’t that dextrous, and the automail was hardly tested.

Come on, come on, Ed thought, growling at himself and the body he inhabited. Neither of us want to die again. Hand-to-hand combat is instinctual at this point so use it!!

Ed released his hold on the arm, reaching back over his (the) shoulder to grab fistfuls of his attacker's shirt. He wrenched downward, rolling to throw the attempted-choker over his shoulder and slammed them against the ground. The man, because Ed could now see it was a man, choked, spittle flying from his mouth.

Ed spun, staggering slightly as the body overshot. More of the insane-weirdos advanced towards him, a few even pulling out guns. A bullet cracked against the ground near Ed’s feet and he belatedly flinched back, metal foot clanging against the stone floor. (BANG, pain, warm and wet, darkness, emptiness, howling nothing) .  

“No! We need the vessel alive!” Insane screeched. Ed’s attackers pulled out knives instead, which honestly wasn’t much of a step up. (Except that it was, because he didn’t need to hear the sounds of his death).

Another lackey advanced on Ed, and he blocked the man’s punch with his metal arm. His opponent swore, clutching at his fist, but retaliated quickly. He swept Ed’s legs out, and Ed hit the floor, hard . Pain signals — he could feel pain! — ran like lightning through him, and he wheezed. Something shot towards his face, and instinct had Ed rolling to his right. The knife coming at his face — how was that non-lethal?! — sparked the stone. Ed swung up a leg, throwing his automail leg into his attacker's side. 

Something snapped in flesh and not metal, and the knife wielder went down in a cry of pain with (probably) broken ribs. And at least these cultist wackos had gotten him automail that could stand up to some light combat. 

A third attacker lunged at him just as Ed was stumbling to his feet, and he whipped his hands up. Both he and the cultist stared with wide eyes at Ed’s metal hand, which had the knife wedged into its casing. 

“Well that was unexpected,” Ed muttered. He reached forward with the hand, grabbing the would-be-knifer’s wrist and throwing him aside. Ed pried out the knife out of the automail with his left hand. He barely paused before he threw it towards Insane and his remaining lackeys who hadn’t fled the room when Ed started throwing hands (and people).

Seeing the others were hesitant in their approach, Ed moved towards Riza, who was nearest to him. She jerked slightly as he approached, an attempted defensive position and Ed gave her kudos for preparedness. (It still hurt, seeing his family recoil). He looked down at the slightly rusted chains encircling her, his metal hand and leg, and swore. “Hope this works,” he muttered, then pinned one of the chains with his left foot and grabbed the other with his right hand and pulled . 

The metal snapped and Ed thanked Truth for the small mercy. He pulled the chains off Hawkeye, hauling her to her feet. Unfortunately, the movement made him stagger backwards, which wasn’t helped by Riza full-on tackling him. 

“Get down!”

Gunshots rang in the air as slugs flew past their heads. Ed grabbed the nearest thing, a rock, and lobbed it towards the gunshots. He was rewarded with a yell — pain or just surprise he didn’t know — and Ed took the opportunity to shuffle to his feet. More gunshots rang out and he flinched, ready to be riddled with bullets (againagainAGAIN). …But no pain lanced through still tender nerves.

Ed cracked his eyes open, only to see the remaining cultists (who weren’t sprawled in agony or unconscious on the floor) flee the room. He blinked, glancing over to Hawkeye, gun in hand and muzzle wisping smoke.

He heaved a sigh, slowly pushing himself to his feat. He stumbled a bit, adrenaline waning from his system and taking any coordination he’d had with it. Ed shuffled over to Al and Mustang, taking hold of their chains and prying the rusting metal apart with his automail. When the last screech of metal on metal died down, Ed faced Al, Hawkeye and Mustang. 

Ed swayed on his feet, the tenuous connection between his soul and the body flickering. Too much, Ed muttered internally. I did too much.

(“Who are you?”)

A voice said something, but a void of static drowned them out. Ed’s knees gave out and he keeled forward. Distantly, he realized that instead of the hard stone, something softer had caught him. As darkness took over his vision, Ed felt a deep pain in his chest and wondered if he was dying again.

Then, nothing.

Al tried to stay positive about things.

Much of the time, he was genuinely happy or grateful for what he had. 

When their mother had died, Ed had decided he needed to be the strong older brother, their protector. So he took on the world with bared teeth and a feral smile, daring anyone to come at him and Al. Al had stayed positive, because he was thankful he had his brother and so followed in his steps.

When they tried human transmutation for the first time, Al had been sealed into the suit of armor and Ed swam in guilt, taking the responsibility for it all upon his too-small shoulders. Ed had turned even harsher against the world, so Al held their happiness, because he trusted his brother. He knew Ed would do all he could, and while sometimes it was as hollow as his armor, Al showed happiness.

And then, his brother had sacrificed his arm, then his alchemy to bring Al back to the Material Realm. Al stayed happy, because he couldn’t have asked for a better family. 

But there were times when Al could not stay positive.

When he encountered Barry the Chopper for the first time, when he’d feared his life and his memories were nothing more than a lie, Al had screamed (and though he wanted to cry, he could not). 

When Ed had died, Al had grieved, loudly and painfully and immensely. He had lost the most beloved person in his life, and he hadn’t been sure he could continue without him. He couldn’t be positive, couldn’t be happy, because what was there to be happy about?

And right now, Al was finding it hard to be positive.

“Three days,” Hawkeye said, her mouth a thin line as she looked at her companions. 

Three days. Three days since they had been drugged, snatched off the street, and woken up in this room, bound in chains. 

It was very hard to imprison an alchemist. So long as they had mobility and something to write with, whether that was chalk, blood, dirt, or scratches in stone, a skilled one could escape a walled cell with ease. And for one like Al, who just needed to complete the circuit with his body, he was even harder to contain.

Unfortunately, their captors were smart enough to know that.

They had attached gloves of metal to Al and Mustang, then wrapped them in chains and strung them to the walls, immobile. Hawkeye was spared the metal gloves, but was similarly chained to the opposite wall. Despite not knowing alchemy, Hawkeye was no less formidable. She could have easily knocked out anyone in kicking range, or drawn the circle for Al or Mustang to activate. 

At the very least, they knew people were looking for them. You couldn’t just snatch a General, their right hand, and Alphonse Elric, brother to the Fullmetal Alchemist, without someone noticing.

“How are you feeling Al?” Mustang asked, and Al gave a wan smile.

“Like I met a vampire and had my blood drained.”

Mustang gave something approximating a snort, but it was pained. “Don’t be sarcastic Al, it’s unbecoming. Besides, we’ve all met that vampire.”

And that was the other thing they’d been experiencing during their stay in this cellar. Blood drains. Every day, their captors had hooked up an IV and taken their blood, leaving all of them weakened, light-headed, and sickly. For what purpose, Al didn’t know, but he was very concerned as to why. 

“At the very least,” Al said. “We know they need us alive?”

It was a poor consolation, but one nonetheless. 

Time passed strangely. In code, the three had offered and dismissed escape ideas. Weakened and chained to the walls as they were, their options were limited, and they hadn’t been released from their manacles once since they awoke. (There was a reason their cell smelled so foul). Ultimately, they were left to wait until their captors slipped up, or they were unchained. 

The strange little quiet that had fallen on them was broken as the door to their cell creaked open. 

Their captors filed in, but instead of carrying IVs and buckets as they had previously, they instead were carrying chains and guns. One at a time, they unhooked Hawkeye, Al and Mustang from the wall, binding them in more restraints with guns to their heads.

In another situation, Al might have attacked their captors, completing the alchemic circuit with his legs or fingers. But he had been drained of more blood than he could afford to lose over the past days, and if he tried to fight, there was a high likelihood he would collapse. And while he trusted the other two could take care of themselves, they still had guns trained to their heads.

They were frogmarched through dank hallways until it opened into a large room, more people standing and working within it. A tall man who was looking over the others turned at their approach, a smirk curling at his lips.

Al had seen enough military commanders and other people with that sort of posture to figure out he was the, as Ed would call it, ‘asshole in charge’. 

“Ah, so our guests have graced us with their presence,” the man said smoothly. Internally, Al sarcastically retorted that ‘oh really? Well let me tell you, 0/10 on the room service, would not recommend.’

The man lifted a hand, nudging his glasses upwards to peer at them. Al narrowed his eyes at the man’s gloves, adorned with circular sigils. An alchemist. 

“I would say it’s an honor to meet you,” the alchemist said, staring directly at Al. “But it’s not you I want, Alphonse Elric.”

Al stiffened slightly, confused as he was concerned. If it wasn’t him the man wanted, who was it? And why had they taken him?

“The Flame Alchemist, General Roy Mustang,” the alchemist continued. “And Riza Hawkeye, the General’s right hand.”

The alchemist grinned, and madness skirted its edge. “I don’t want any of you.”

The man turned to stride back into the room, gesturing sharply. Al was shoved forward, marched by the shoulders toward where people were standing and removing buckets and brushes. Al glanced towards what they had been painting, and his blood ran cold.

Because it was blood.

“Some of what we collected from you of late,” the alchemist said smoothly. The blood, Al’s blood, their blood painted the floor, creating a massive array. It was composed of two separate circles, one nested at the center of the other. And Al was chillingly familiar with both of them. 

“Recognize it?” the alchemist purred. “Yes, the Fullmetal Alchemist used a circle like this to bring you back to the flesh. We actually based it off his design, though made alterations of course.”

“Whatever you’re trying, it won’t work,” Al warned, even as he was flung to the floor at the outer edge of the circle. 

The alchemist laughed, the rest of his lackeys fleeing the proximity of the circle. “Oh really? You may have tried human transmutation, but really, sometimes you think too small. ”

The man touched the inner array, and the world went white. 

The room lit up with crackling red lightning, tendrils flitting out of the circle and crackling around the room. They brushed Al, and he bit back a cry of pain as energy buzzed under his skin. The lightning flared, abruptly withdrawing its creeping tendrils to twist upwards. It coiled and writhed, flaring brighter into a column of light.

Then there was a crack and the lightning dissolved, petering out in small little sparks that danced around the edge of the inner circle.

The alchemist paced around the inner array, teeth flashing in some pleased grin that made Al feel sick. “We have the soul here with us,” the man said, then looked over to his subordinates outside the circle. “Bring out the vessel.”

The lackeys nodded, hurrying out of the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mustang bit out, baring his teeth. His eyes were tight, and Al could see the fear in them. This was getting to be chillingly familiar. It was close, far too close to what he knew of creating a homunculus.

“What you were all too cowardly to do!” the lead alchemist hissed, rounding on them as his (somewhat) composed demeanor vanished. “I would have thought his closest friends, even his family would be the first to try, but it seems you disappointed me.”

Something cold, colder than even the stone or chains that held him worked its way into Al’s chest. 

No… it couldn’t be.

“What do you mean?” Al whispered.

The alchemist turned his gaze on Al. “And you, you were his brother! You knew just as much as he did, but no. Instead of saving him, you confined him to the abyss! You let him die.” The alchemist’s eyes burned like embers. “Well, we’re going to save the Hero of Amestris, unlike you. We’re going to bring back the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Fury and fear tore through Al.

“No! Don’t you dare desecrate my brother!” Al roared, anger burning bright and hot. “You think he’d want this?! We both saw what happens when you try to resurrect someone… it’s monstrous…” Al’s voice dropped to a whisper, but he kept his eyes on the alchemist. “He’d be the first at your throat for trying to bring him back.”

The alchemist laughed. “I’ll happily let him! It’ll mean he’s alive once more!”

The lackey’s returned, carrying something between them. No, not some thing , some one . 

A body.

Al’s face paled at the sight, and he turned furious eyes to the insane alchemist (because he could be nothing else). “You killed him?!”

The alchemist chuckled, leaning down to brush hair from the corpse’s face. “He volunteered. To be the vessel for the Fullmetal Alchemist’s new life? A privilege and an honor! And he’s only been dead a few minutes, we needed the body still warm after all. Asphyxiation, painless and injury free. As sad as it is, his former body is too far gone to be of any use to the Fullmetal Alchemist. But, we tried to get them to match.”

Al sent frantic eyes over the body. It did indeed look like Ed, thought not entirely. The hair was blond, but not the golden that Al and Ed both possessed, and the skin tone was tanned but not of the sort the Elric brothers had inherited. But perhaps most chillingly, the tank top and shorts the body was dressed in clearly showed the automail affixed to the person’s right arm and left leg.

The cultists — because that’s what they were now, some sick cult justifying themselves in the name of his brother — laid the body down in the inner array. They hurried back to the outer circle, and the alchemist leaned down and poured a vial of red liquid (blood, that was blood) into the corpse’s mouth.

“Stop this!” Al screamed as the alchemist strode to the edge of the outer circle. “Please!”

The alchemist ignored him, instead sending a grin towards the circle. “Today, the Fullmetal Alchemist will be revived, as thanks for all he did!” 

Hands touched the edge of the circle, and it swelled with orange light. The marks of blood glowed, spiraling across the array to concentrate on the prone form at its center. There, darkness pooled on the corpse’s abdomen, and the Eye of the Gate opened in the shadows. 

Al could only watch in horror as shadowy hands stretched from the blackness. They waved like frenzied tentacles, reaching towards the edges of the circle. Within the central array, they writhed, clawing and grasping and reaching to something . The tornado of shadows then snapped backwards, filling the Eye of the Gate once more. 

The body started screaming.

It was the sound of someone dying, a wail of pain and agony and being torn apart.

It shredded at Al’s heart in equal parts terror and horror. 

alive a l i v e  a l i v e

Something dead becoming living, something not right. A homunculus, Al thought in fear as the body seized and arched off the floor, flesh and metal fingers scrabbling against the stone. 

Then the screaming stopped, and the body was left panting for breath on the ground. It — he? they? — didn’t even seem cognizant of them as they jerkily rolled onto their hands and knees, propping themselves up on their elbows. 

“Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric, we honor your return!” the lead alchemist crowed, but he was ignored. The body, the person, the homunculus gasped for air, and for nearly a minute everyone was too awed, horrified, shocked to approach.

“Ed?” Al whispered, gazing at the kneeling figure, barely daring to hope. 

It couldn’t be Ed. It couldn’t be. Itcouldn’tbe. But what if it was?

The person shifted, looking up in Al’s direction. Dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes  — not gold, not like Ed’s — peered at him, hazy and unfocused. “Who—,” they choked on air, wheezing a whispered cough, “—you?”

Al’s heart soared in relief — was crushed underfoot. 

It wasn’t Ed — it wasn’t Ed.

“A failure,” the lead alchemist hissed and Al honestly had to argue ‘not really, you guys just brought a body back to life and made a homunculus’.

“Wh-what?” The body, the person wheezed, turning their head to look at the alchemist.

“A pity,” the man continued. “All our preparations, and yet… Well, we shall try again. Eliminate the failure, but keep the body, we can still use it.”

To Al’s horror, one of the cultists at the fringes of the circle advanced towards the kneeling figure. They scrambled backwards, but weren’t fast or steady enough to evade the arm that wrapped around their throat in a chokehold. They gasped, clawing at the arm but then something shifted in their expression. From panic to anger.

They reached back, and threw the attacker over their shoulder. More of the cultists advanced, but the homunculus was a surprisingly competent fighter for someone who just woke up from being dead. They jerked and stumbled and didn’t quite move right, but they moved. They blocked hits with their automail arm, dodged blows with surprising speed (though it wasn’t the superhuman speed of the original homunculi). 

The homunculus shifted warily on their feet, eyeing the remaining cultists across the room. Then, they threw the knife they’d just wrenched out of their metal hand, and bolted towards Riza. Al let out a cry of alarm — because new or not they were still a homunculus — but instead of attacking her, they grabbed hold of her chains in their metal limbs and pulled.

The chains snapped, and Riza tackled their sudden helper, bullets flying over their heads. Al wanted to cry, to help, but he couldn’t. He would only draw attention to his vulnerable and imprisoned form. Riza was quick to snatch a gun from one of the injured on the floor, sending off several quick shots.

The remainder scrambled out, fleeing the newly armed Hawkeye. (As they should). 

Riza holstered her new weapon and walked over with their new — ally? — aid. The homunculi  broke Al and Mustang’s bonds, snapping the rusting chains just as they’d done for Hawkeye. Al rubbed his wrists and flexed his fingers, marveling at the freedom and easing the tension after having his hands trapped for three days. 

Mustang glanced over at their new companion, staring at the homunculus with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, tension underlying his voice.

The homunculi didn’t answer, staring vaguely into the distance. They swayed on their feet, eyes slightly glazed and breath shallow. Then, their eyes rolled back and their knees gave out. Riza jerked forwards, catching their limp form just before it could hit the ground. Juggling the weight, she lowered the body to the floor.

Al looked at the cultists sprawled on the ground, most unconscious or nearly there from pain. He looked at the homunculus, lying unconscious with an appearance modeled off his brother but that was not Ed. A being in a body not its own, returned to some semblance of life. So similar to him, and yet, so different.

They were not resurrected. They couldn’t be.

The dead never returned to life.

It was Law.

“What do we do with it?” Mustang asked warily, eying the homunculus.

“They helped us,” Al said, peering at the slack face. “Let’s return the favor.”

“It’s a homunculus,” Mustang pointed out, and he was rightly wary. The homunculi and Father had brought about ruin to Amestris. Yet, Al just sighed. 

“So they are… but that doesn’t make them evil,” Al thought of Greed, of his care for the chimeras under his purview, of how he had helped them. He thought of Kimblee, and of the cultist alchemist so determined to bring the dead back. “There are humans who are far worse.”

The General was silent, face a stony mask. Finally, he sighed.

“Fine. Let’s get out of here. You need a hospital Alphonse, and we have some interrogations to do.”

Silly Short:

“And that is why teleportation alchemy is possible!” The Little Alchemist finished with a flourish, waving his hands dramatically as humans often did.

Truth hummed, indulging the boy.

Some where else, where the Young Alchemist couldn’t see, but also Here, because everything was Here, Truth was scribbling rapid notes on Ed’s topic of discussion.

“Hmm, yes that would work for justification,” Truth muttered to Itself, taping a pen to Its chin. “Use the energy source of alkahestry combined with the matter focusing and manipulating properties afforded by alchemic arrays.”

Truth added a sticky note in the Laws for justifying teleportation alchemy.

It did so love it when mortals were logical. It saved It the trouble of having to come up with justification for Equivalent Exchange. Truth enforced the Laws, but the Little Alchemist over here was inadvertently helping come up with them.

Chapter Text

Ed woke to a howling white void.

Gasping, he jerked upwards, wrapping his arms around himself.

Was… had that been a dream? No, it couldn’t have been. It was real, too real. The pulling, tearing, burning agony of finding himself in a body (not his body, not his), the burn of nerves… he couldn’t make that up if he tried (not anymore). 

Ed turned furious eyes on Truth, seated with Its usual smug grin. 

“What the hell was that?” Ed shuddered. “They… they resurrected me. That’s impossible.”

“It most certainly is,” Truth sang. “And yet!”

Ed stalled, staring at Truth with narrowed eyes. “No… you would never allow that. It… alchemy only accelerates what can already occur in nature, catalyzes it. You forced me to know that only too well. You can’t go against nature like that.” 

Truth chuckled, Its many voices reverberating through the void. “Aww, you’re learning ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~ !”

Ed bared his teeth, anger zinging in his veins. He was getting tired of this. “Then, why the hell was I in a body?! Bastard, that should be illegal too! They’re still playing with souls!”

“Now, now, that would be telling~!” the Being smirked. “Let’s just say… your summoners stumbled into a little loophole. Accidental of course, and it won’t work again.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Ed accused with a snarl.

Truth just gave Its eerie grin.

The world warped and white white white consumed Ed’s vision.

Ed woke slowly, consciousness petering back to him like sand through an hourglass. 

He felt… heavy. Like he had a great weight pressing on him, pulling him down. He tried to shift himself, to dislodge that weight, but his body didn’t cooperate. It stayed stubbornly still. After a few more tries, he felt his legs shift a bit, and his eyes flitted beneath his lids.

Bit by bit, Ed prodded himself to wakefulness. 

Forcing himself to open his eyes, he found them sticky and gritty with sleep. He squinted upwards into too-bright light and blobs of color. It felt… strangely limited. He could see and yet was blind, but at the same time nothing had changed. 

Ed sent his awareness outwards, feeling for where his limbs were. Each finger, every point of touch, he knew where it was. 

Except… he didn’t.

Everything felt off. Skewed a bit to the left. A glove that was just a little too tight, a little too loose. 

Wrong.

It had him tensing, baring his teeth because not right usually meant danger. But he couldn’t. His muscles did not contract, his lips did not pull back to expose prominent canines. He remained prone and languishing. Ed probed his mind, searching for the source of why. Of why everything felt not right. He reached back, searching his memories, but found them… muffled. It was like pulling back a veil, gauzy and vague. Not gone but shrouded.

Is this how Al felt? Ed wondered, thinking of his younger brother. Of his not gone but not all there memories. 

And Ed, well Ed wasn't all there either. 

He shivered, and this time his body (the body) actually followed him. Seems they were united in their horror at the presence of an interloper. Slowly, every so slowly, his body — the body, not his body — moved. It was like struggling against a thundering current, dragging him into the depths.

With arms that felt like lead (and one nearly so), Ed pushed himself upright. 

(“You’re awake!”) 

Ed wheezed as he finally got his arms — not his arms, not his arms — under him, but he overdid it and keeled forward. Or at least, he would have, had hands not caught his chest, steadying him as he gasped for breath.

(“Easy there, easy. That’s it, breathe.”)

As his chest (not his chest) rose and fell, Ed found himself staring into his lap. At the hands — his hands but not his hands — that lay limp there. The left hand of flesh and blood was paler skinned then Ed had ever been. It was tan, but not the tanned almost bronze that he and Al shared, indicative of their Xerxian heritage. 

His right hand, the one of metal, was a dead weight. Ed shifted, and he immediately grimaced, a bone deep pain echoing from the port. Of everything, he hadn’t missed the feeling of the automail in his shoulder, of twenty five pounds of metal dragging him down through the bolts in his bones. He sent a mental pulse through the nerves, hoping for something, anything of a reaction.

Click.

It was only because of that metallic clink that Ed knew there’d been any twitch at all. But it still gave him a sense of relief, because it was better than nothing. Watching his (the) hands, both of them, he slowly, ever so slowly, moved them. Finger by finger, he touched each one to his thumb. Index, middle, ring, pinkie. 

It was a familiar exercise, one he’d done with his automail for years. A practice in fine motor control after every time he reconnected his arm to the port. 

It was strangely therapeutic. 

(“Go get the General!”)

The emptiness was still there, the sensation of phantom limbs where the automail connected to the body. It was the same sort of void of feeling he had as a ghost. The feeling of no touch, of no sensation. Of nothing, but the thought of something.

Emptiness.

“We’re going to bring back the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Ed shivered, needles of pain pricking at the skin, at his soul. A memory of a void, of nothing ripped away to everything.

Those bastards. They had succeeded, but not in the way they’d imagined. 

He wasn’t alive, Ed knew that intimately. His soul was as adrift as ever, and he held no claim to the body he now occupied. It lagged behind the strings his soul pulled, trying to puppet it like his original body.

This sort of existence wasn’t sustainable, a soul tied to a container not meant to hold it, that was never it’s to begin with. Al’s binding to the armor had degraded with time, doubly so after Ed was critically injured at Baschool and his own life couldn’t continue sustaining the blood tie. For all Ed knew, this blood tie could disintegrate in months, weeks or even hours. And he had no idea what would happen after that. Would he remain adrift as a soul? Or would the strain of being severed from flesh a second time be enough to send him Beyond the Gate?

I can’t tell them, Ed realized with sudden clarity.

He felt part of himself shatter at the thought, glass crunching underfoot. But, his will remained. He couldn’t tell them. Not Al. Not Mustang. Not Winry or Pinako or anyone.

Because he was dead, and the dead stay dead.

They deserved closure, the peace and acceptance they’d found in the years since his passing. Ed may have been dead, but they had an understanding that he was dead and not coming back. Him being… well not alive, but back would be opening those wounds again with a rusty knife. While Al would likely understand the difference, it would unbalance the certainty the others had felt.

Him being back would kick that door in, throw a barrel of dynamite inside the room, then run away cackling as it all went down in flames.

They’d be left to grieve a second time.

Death was permanent, and anyone who knew Ed or Al also knew how well they understood that. Ed was here by mistake, by the laughter and judgment of a Universe and its Order he had tried to violate. It was the result of a blood tie that likely couldn’t be replicated, a probability that was one among infinity.

Ed had no doubt that this was Truth taking another form of payment, however indirect. Because while Ed was not alive, was not resurrected, it did not appear that way to others. From their view, his soul had departed from the mortal plane, when in truth, it had never left.

Though it loathed Ed to say it, he was more like a homunculus than a human. 

Not living, not dead.

An existence in a form not his own.

A soul in a container. 

Something wrong.

Eventually, Ed managed to center himself and examine his surroundings. 

He raised his head, finally taking a look at where he was. He sat upright on a bed, the mattress squeaking as he shifted and blankets pooled on his lap. The room itself was whitewashed with wooden panels lining the walls. A military hospital, Ed realized. He’d been in one like this before, after Scar had tried to kill him for the first time. After he had died and Al had been here in his place. 

Ed turned to the next oddity in the room, a man in a blue uniform seated nearby. He blinked, focusing on the individual in question. 

It was Denny Brosh, Maria Ross’ old partner and Ed and Al’s brief supervisor. Ed had seen the man several times over his death, particularly when the pair had decided, alongside Major Armstrong (now Brigadier Armstrong) to work under Mustang in Central. 

“There you are, you alright?” 

It took Ed a good ten seconds to realize Brosh was talking to him.

“Me?” Ed rasped, giving Brosh a slightly wall-eyed look. 

Brosh nodded. “Yeah. I’m Second Lieutenant Denny Brosh, you can just call me Denny or Brosh if you like. But, what’s your name? How are you feeling?”

“I… huh?”

Ed wasn’t sure what to say. After years of being utterly unknown and ignored, regardless of how he shouted or raged, it was jarring to suddenly be addressed. To suddenly be seen. 

“Where…?” Ed’s question turned into a cough, and he grabbed at his throat. Gah, it felt like he’d swallowed the whole of the Eastern Desert.

“Here.”

Gentle fingers pried Ed’s left hand from his neck, wrapping his fingers around something cool. With a bit of nudging, Brosh guided it to Ed’s mouth. Cool water spilled into his mouth and down his throat, causing him to startle. But it was short lived, as he clutched the glass tighter and gulped down more. 

Brosh chuckled, taking the now empty glass back. “Needed that, huh? Anyways, to answer your question, we’re at the Central City military hospital. You’ve been asleep for the past few days, so welcome back to the world of the living!”

Ed flinched slightly at the terminology. Nice thought Brosh but… poor timing.

“Ah, Second Lieutenant, how is our guest?” 

He knew that voice. 

Ed turned from Brosh to the door, where Mustang of all people was entering the room. He looked better than when Ed had seen him last, color returned to his cheeks and spark-gloves back on his hands. Behind Mustang, several others filed into the room, including Al, Hawkeye and others of Mustang’s crew.

“General!” Brosh jumped to attention, saluting. 

“At ease,” Mustang waved a hand towards Brosh. “Thank you for watching him. You’re dismissed.”

Brosh nodded, sending a smile towards Al and the others before he slipped out of the room. Ed was sad to see him go. Brosh had never known Ed well enough to be able to catch Ed in what he was trying to do. In what he was trying to hide.

Al? Mustang? Hawkeye? 

If Ed was going to lie about his identity, he had his work cut out for him.

Mustang’s unit and Al spilled into the room, circling around Ed’s bed. Ed noted that Fuery was absent, but the rest of the team was there. And they were all eyeing him closely. Evidently, everyone had been updated on the “brought a corpse back to life” and the “it’s maybe Edward” situation.

Ed couldn’t blame them for being cautious. He would be suspicious of himself right now.

A moment of silence fell over the room, and Ed swept his eyes over his friends and brother. Hawkeye and Al had lost the pallor in their skin, looking far better than previously. Yet, Ed’s eyes lingered on the bruises staining his little brother’s neck, peeking out from under his jacket. That creepy alchemist from before was lucky he wasn’t in the room right now, or Ed would have punched him a hundred times over with his metal arm.

“Good to see you’re up,” Mustang said, and Ed refocused his attention on his old commanding officer. “I am General Roy Mustang and these are my colleagues. We want to ask you a few questions.”

Ah, so it was an interrogation. Classic.

Riza sat down on the chair Brosh had abandoned. He was unpracticed, but Ed could still catch some of the slight shifts in posture she was doing. Subtle interrogation tactics to make her seem more friendly and open.

Ah, Hawkeye. She was terrifying regardless of what weapon she wielded.

“What’s your name?” Riza asked, and Ed internally winced. Seems they were getting right down to it. He went to answer, only to find two names on his tongue. He paused, frowning as he caught himself before he could blurt either. 

“I… I want to say… Stefan? But no, that’s not right…”

Ed stared into his hands. He prodded his mind, trying to figure out where the name Stefan had come from. It had been a near automatic response, on his tongue just as Ed had been. But he’d never gone by that name in his life! (And yet, he had). Even with his limited expressions, Mustang and the others could still see the blood drain from Ed’s face. 

“What is it?” Mustang asked sharply.

“I… Stefan… it’s not my name… it’s his.” 

“What? What do you mean?” Riza asked.

Ed turned to her, feeling sick. “The… his.” Ed gestured sharply to his (the) body, unable to bring himself to verbalize it. There were several moments of silence before the Amestrians pieced it together. Ed could see the moment when they realized, faces paling and horror flashing through their eyes. 

Not Ed’s name… but the name of the previous occupant. 

Ed’s — Stefan’s, because Ed was an invader, a trespasser, a violator — stomach twisted into knots. Ed tried to pull up memories, but found there were two. One, in the brain of Stefan’s body. The other, in Ed’s soul. 

Mentally, Ed nudged the memories that were not his, rewarded with a flash of impression, of image and recollection. They were like grooves worn into wood, countless memories and experiences under his fingertips as he traced their pathways. Ed shuddered, shoving the memories away from him. 

wrong wrong wrong

Violator, Ed’s mind hissed because that’s what he was. Violating the thing that is so deeply private, no one but yourself ever knows them all. Memories.

Ed looked up at the room. The room of friends and family he desperately wanted to greet as Edward Elric, to actually embrace them and comfort them in a way he had been void to. He clenched his jaw, taking a breath that rattled in his (Stefan’s) lungs. He channeled every dose of fear and confusion he had felt since he’d woken up in a body that wasn’t his. 

“What happened?” Ed rasped.

And he truly, deeply, wanted to know.

Al, Mustang and his team exchanged glances, holding a silent conversation. Ed, for all he lacked in fine muscle control, didn’t need that to interpret the glances. They were debating what to tell him. 

In interrogations, you typically asked first, not answered. That way the subject wouldn’t be able to construct a story around what you gave. Unless you were trying to make the subject more comfortable, in which case there were questions and answers. (And yes, even Ed at times was concerned about all the tricks he’d picked up from his stint in the military.)

Eventually, it seems the others in the room decided to grant his request.

“The perpetrators were attempting to bring a man named Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, back to life,” Mustang explained, keeping his voice controlled and silky smooth. Ed recalled Mustang sometimes using that voice on civilians, soldiers, and when he insulted other military commanders (or Ed himself) but was still pretending like it was a compliment. 

“Elric has been dead for several years now,” Mustang continued. “From what we’ve learned, the perpetrators had excessive admiration, bordering on worship, for him. They believed it possible to bring him back from death, a feat that has been attempted but has thus far ended in failure.” Mustang paused, giving Ed a stony look. “As for you… these perpetrators killed one of their own, then did some sort of… summoning ritual—,” the General’s voice dripped with distaste and disbelief, “—while his body was barely deceased. We witnessed a previously dead body wake up, and you know the rest.”

It was nothing Ed didn’t already know, but to hear it said so blatantly still chilled him to the bone.

“Are you going to kill me again?” 

The words sprang unbidden from Ed’s mouth, but he was also genuinely curious. He was a crime against nature, Al and Mustang knew that only too well. They had seen, had felt the transmutation. It would make sense if they wanted to get rid of a potential threat.

But evidently, none of Ed’s old friends thought the same. 

Mustang jerked back, eyes widening in surprise. “Er, no, we weren’t planning on it,” the General said in a stilted tone, thrown off by Ed’s question. “We just want to assess if you’re a threat or not. Now, could you tell us what happened? From your view?”

“The best lies are based on truth,” the voice of Mustang echoed in Ed’s head, something the man had told him years ago. “A purely fabricated lie will collapse at the slightest scrutiny. Best to tell the truth, or lie by omission. Your audience will fill in the gaps themselves.”

If only the Bastard knew that Ed was using his own methods to lie to his face.

“… the Nothing,” Ed’s voice was soft, but his words hung in the room. 

“What is that?” Riza asked, eyes questioning.

“It’s the Void, the Expanse, the In Between,” Ed continued, describing Truth’s Domain in all its names but its name. “Everything and nothing. White and not . I was there but… I also was here,” Ed waved a hand, the gesture lagging behind his speech by several seconds. “In between.”

Al and Mustang exchanged a glance, so it seemed they recognized what he was talking about.

Hard not to, honestly. Truth’s Domain was a hard thing to forget.

“What about before then?” asked Mustang, dark eyes drilling into Ed. “What do you remember?”

Okay Bastard, don’t fail me now.

“It was bright… warm,” Ed began softly. “I lived in a village, farming mostly.” Not a lie. Resembool was bright and warm come summer, the neighbors in the fields. “I remember… I had a brother and a sister. An aunt and uncle.” Al and Winry. Riza and Mustang. “But my homeland? I think… We called ourselves Xioxis. Xerxes, by our neighbors.”

Not a lie, not entirely. He was from Xioxis, from Xerxes. In a sense.

It was the place Hohenheim was from, the place that had begun the conspiracy that Ed had faced for years. It was a culture and language his father had shared with Ed before he left, of a place almost but not forgotten beneath the sands. 

Ed still remembered. He remembered bedtime stories he only later learned were not stories but memories. He remembered a language he had practiced on a lap, golden hair falling around him as words centuries old became known in his mind. He had known Xerxes, even before he knew that it was Xerxes. Connections he’d only made when he spoke with his father again, over a decade later. 

The older Elric looked up at the room of Amestrians, noting the widened eyes and disbelief (but also belief) shining in their depths. Ed looked at Al. At his signature golden-blonde hair, amber eyes and bronzed skin. 

“You look familiar,” Ed told him, in halting tones. “You look like home.”

And that? 

That wasn’t a lie.

Mustang stepped into the hall, letting Riza shut the door behind them. He eyed the door, as if he could see through them to the man within. He looked at his subordinates then down the hall to where Maria Ross and Denny Brosh were seated after dismissal. 

“Post the guards on the room again,” he ordered, and Havoc nodded. “Falman, find us somewhere secure.”

They commandeered a sound-proof meeting room deeper in the hospital. It wasn’t the first nor would it be the last time sensitive conversations needed to be held within this building. Eventually, the military had decided on a whole room for the occasion. As Mustang’s team filtered inside, the General found himself eyeing Alphonse.

It had been over half a week since their escape from the, as Alphonse had named them, “cultists”. They’d been admitted to a hospital and undergone emergency blood transfusions, which had done well to replenish their thinning supply. Alphonse had been the worst off and while the other alchemist appeared to be walking with no trouble, Mustang had seen his brother pull that same trick. 

“Are you sure you’re alright to be discharged?” Roy asked, and Al sighed. 

“I’m a medic myself, General,” Alphonse said dryly. “I’d be the first to know if I wasn’t capable of doing something.”

Mustang was tempted to argue. Just because Al was a doctor and knew better didn’t mean he’d follow it. Edward usually knew better and yet…

Roy refrained from saying anything. The subject of Edward wasn’t particularly a joking matter at the moment. Thinking of their guarded patient, Mustang tried to explain it to himself. A man coming back to life, who spoke of Xerxes as if it was his home? 

It was concerning, suspicious, and Roy didn’t know what to believe.

“Have we considered that the man they placed in the circle wasn’t dead at all?” Roy asked, trying to rationalize. “It could be a trick, to encourage us to trust and pity him. Knowledge about Xerxes isn’t non-existent, it’s well known they were called the ‘Golden People’.”

The Xerxians were famed for their golden eyes and hair, as the ‘Golden People’ with knowledge as rich as the gold they mirrored. Amestrian fables often spoke of guides and wise elders with eyes that glittered yellow, the legend of the Xerxes passed on in story. Considering that, it wasn’t hard to guess the Elric brothers had Xerxian ancestry. The only catch there was that the Elrics were technically second generation, instead of the hundred generations removed that anyone else might hold claim to. 

“Besides,” Roy continued, pressing his lips together. “There was no rebound.”

“That we could see,” Alphonse pointed out. The younger Elric sighed, tilting his head back to stare aimlessly into the wood grain of the ceiling. “I’ve gotten better with reading chi, and I can tell you that when they brought that body out… there was no lifeforce in it. And the Hands of the Gate snatched something.”

The room fell silent. Roy found himself struggling to grapple with the idea that the man in the next room, that he had truly been brought back from the dead. In both mind and body. It was… antithetical. To the Laws, to nature, to everything.

And, it was unjust. 

There was a bitter taste in his mouth as Mustang looked at Alphonse, whose face was pale. The younger Elric had lost his body in an attempted transmutation to bring back his mother from the dead, had his world upended in one fell swoop. And now, it was again as he saw cultists attempt to revive his brother and fail, but yet, succeed at what should have been impossible.

“Is it possible his soul was still there, but he just lost his memories?” Riza asked, looking at Alphonse.

“He saw the Gate,” Alphonse said. “He saw Truth’s Domain. There’s nothing else that could be. And… when I came back, I lost my memories of the Gate Realm for a time. Whoever’s soul is in that body, they saw the Gate, and they knew death, if only for a time.”

“By that logic… are we sure that it isn’t Fullmetal?” Havoc asked cautiously. “I mean it could have happened. Maybe his memories were scrambled or something—”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Al’s voice rose to a screech. The alchemist drove a fist into the wall, punching a hole straight through the drywall. “I don’t know! I’m almost as blind as you here! Their array could have summoned a soul, could have bound that soul to a body! But it also could have amplified any lingering soul imprints in the body!”

Al let out a keening cry, something injured and pained and mortal in the sound. 

“Alphonse—,” Roy tried to console the younger alchemist, but Al ignored him.

“I… I want to believe that it could be him,” Alphonse said, fisting his hands in his hair. “But it also can’t be! He… his memories are different from Ed’s. He doesn’t look at me with recognition in his eyes. But, if it’s a lack of memory… that could be Ed’s soul and I’d have no idea.”

Tears dripped down the alchemist’s face. Roy’s heart clenched, and despite himself, he wanted to console the other man. Of all of them, Alphonse certainly had this the hardest. But, Roy still had to lead. He had to be the General that he was. 

“… if the body and soul truly died, does he not count as a homunculus?” Mustang asked softly. As much as it pained him, they needed answers. They needed to know if they had another homicidal, nearly harm-resistant entity on their hands. And Al was the only one who could provide them. 

Al sniffed, digging the heel of his palm into his eyes. “By our definitions, by what I know, it probably wouldn’t be inaccurate to call him a homunculus. The homunculi were never alive, but they weren’t… not alive either. They were… well, soul containers,” Al exhaled, breath whistling through his teeth. “That said, I don’t think our cultists were trying to make a homunculus. The Dwarf was, and he made them nigh invulnerable on purpose. Wrath, Greed, Envy and the others were made of thousands of souls. The cultists, well they maybe had one.” 

“So, a homunculi in make but not in model,” Breda offered. Alphonse shrugged, giving a nod.

“That’s one way of saying it.”

“So… what do we do with him?” Havoc asked, chewing on his unlit cigar. (The medical staff hadn’t taken kindly to his attempts to light it). 

“What can we do?” Breda muttered. “We’re not exactly equipped to watch civilians.”

“But we can’t let him go loose either,” Hawkeye said pointedly. “He’s an unknown. Homunculi or lost soul, it’s too risky to let him go free. Whether for him, or for us.”

Mustang sighed deeply. There was really only one option. 

“He stays with us,” Mustang said, being rewarded with many incredulous looks.

“Sir—,” Hawkeye began, but trailed off as Roy held up a hand.

“Imprisonment would just foster a grudge. Right now, it's better to keep this unknown on our side.” Roy gave a dry smile. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” 

“Is he an enemy?” Alphonse asked softly, and Roy caught an edge of vulnerability to it. Even if it wasn’t his brother, the younger Elric didn’t want to risk harming him.

“No,” Mustang said. “Not right now. But he is an unknown to all of us. In being, motive, and name.”

“It’s better to be safe, than sorry.”

I made some art for the story! This is technically from the first chapter, but shhhh, enjoy it.

- - -

"I'm here little brother, I'm here"

Chapter Text

Edward woke, and he didn’t know where he was.

He blinked, and, almost absently, peered at his surroundings.

He was in the middle of a busy street, the sun baking the stone. People walked up and down the cobbled road, street vendors shouting from their canvas-and-wood stands. The white noise of city surrounded him, a chorus of laughing children, distant chatter, and the yowls of animals. 

Where am I?

A passerby clipped through Ed’s arm, leaving the cold of needles pricking at his soul. But, cold turned to surprise as Ed stared after their retreating back. 

Because they looked like him.

Not exactly, of course. But they looked of him, or perhaps he of they. Their hair was golden and their skin was baked by sun. Ed turned his gaze to the rest of the street, and he saw himself reflected. From vendors to children, they bore golden hair and eyes, clad in robes and tunics of light fabric.

Where am I? Ed thought more urgently, even as something in him sang. Where is this?

“Le’hem mitogan lin’vira! Pan-fried bread for sale! Get it while it's hot!” 

Ed jerked at the words, the all too familiar language jerking him into some semblance of realization. He knew that language. It was one Hohenheim had taught him as a child. One that had burned holes in his brain as he found no other like it, no other who knew it, in all his travels. They were words Ed had only ever heard uttered from three: himself, Hohenheim, and the Dwarf in the Flask. A language he’d only discovered the name of a decade after he first uttered its sounds. 

Xerxian.

His eyes shot back to the street, still as avid as ever, but now Edward sought the golden hair and eyes, the truth they carried. The golden hair and eyes of the Golden People.

Xerxes, Xerxes, Xerxes. 

Something flitted in the corner of Ed’s vision, a flicker of warning, of it’s coming. A flicker of alchemic energy sparked in the air, but it wasn’t, not yet. It was the phantom static before a transmutation, the taste of change and changing. 

Red.

From the stones beneath their feet, blood and lightning pooled, rising to wrap twisted fingers around every throat. In noon-dark shadow, darkness shifted and opened its eyes, baring sharpened teeth. 

Pain. 

Edward clawed at his chest, silent screams pulled from his mouth as lightning arced through him. At the horizon, above desert-stone buildings he could see more blood-red lightning and abyssal hands. 

Death walked and Xerxes fell. 

Chained by shadow and light, Edward writhed and watched the transmutation take everything. Humans, animals, plants, even within the stone, something went dark. For a flicker, Ed sometimes saw the afterimage of a human standing where they’d collapsed, but then it was gone. Everything fell.

Silent.

The lightning vanished, the aftersparks of alchemy sucked from the world by a vacuum of stillness. 

Edward writhed in a world of wrongness and absence so terrifyingly complete that it swallowed him whole. A Presence that was always there, a hum that permeated everything, stripped to such silence it was all consuming.

No thing.

No life.

No where.

…

…

…

Ed woke to a howling white void.

He gasped, grabbing at his chest, at the ground. The Gate Realm echoed around him, the not-sound of the abyss welcoming him. It even felt comforting, compared to the absence of before.

Edward locked his eyes on Truth, and couldn’t even find it in himself to growl. “What… what was that?”

“Why ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~, you know that already!”

And he did.

The Destruction of Xerxes.

Ed shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself as he struggled to make sense of it all. He… he’d never realized it was so complete. That every fragment of life had been stolen, from the humans to the animals to the plants to the very bacteria. Everything. 

No wonder they had called Xerxes cursed.

Was that what Amestris would have become?

He looked at Truth. “Why?”

Truth smirked. “You want to tell the Truth, don’t you?”

The world went white white white.

… 

…

A…

…ed…

…A…ed…

…Ed…

…A…ed!… 

“Aved!”

Something touched Ed’s shoulder and he snapped to wakefulness. He jerked his hands upward, trying to grab the interloper. Operative word being ‘tried’. Ed’s body did little more than seize slightly, and pain jumped through his automail ports.

“Ay, take it easy,” the voice was rough, but familiar. A not-fully-hidden drawl that spoke of the rural East and the hanging smell of nicotine. 

“Havoc?” Ed muttered from where his face was pressed into the sheets. 

He shifted, more slowly this time, and his body responded somewhat. Turning his head, Ed peered up at the familiar face. Awareness slowly clicked into place, memories and recognition settling as his soul readjusted to its place within a form that was not his. Ed shivered at the feeling, or at least, his soul did. The body he wore showed no signs of the reflex, heavy on him like a lead blanket or glove. 

With some effort, Edward pushed himself to sit upright. He wasn’t sure whether it was a failure or success that the automail arm only became locked and unresponsive three times.

“You alright?” Havoc asked cautiously once Ed had found some semblance of verticality. 

Ed inhaled deeply, then nodded, the motion jerky. “Fine. Feels weird.”

Havoc huffed a breath. “I can imagine. Here,” the officer tossed some clothes on the bed. “Get dressed. We’ll be heading out soon.”

“Out?” Ed blinked. “Out where?”

“To the General,” Havoc explained. “You’ll be tagging along. Now, up!” Havoc paused, then hesitantly added: “… unless you needed help with the clothes?”

Edward scowled, furrowing his brows. (Though from the jerky, lagging twitches from his face, he guessed it was more of  a constipated frown.) “I’m fine, get out!”

Havoc laughed, ducking out the door with a wave. “Sure thing, Aved!”

The dead-not-dead young man glared at the closed door for several long seconds. Then, Ed sighed, reaching to take the gifted clothes in his hands. He stared at the piled fabric in his lap, his heart heavy. 

Aved. 

It was the name Ed had given them in place of his real name. The Xerxeian word for lost.

At the thought of Xerxes, Ed’s soul and body shuddered. The nightmare — memory? — from Truth danced through his mind, blood-red lightning eating them all, dead and alive. An utter absence of everything, so utterly similar to the absence he’d felt as a ghost. The absence of life and sensation. 

Shoving the memory-not-memory aside to fester, Ed slowly swung his legs off the bed. It took several minutes since his (not his, Stefan’s) body refused to work with him, and he slapped himself in the face with both hands several times. At last, Ed had successfully pulled on the pants and shirt.

He couldn’t help but scowl at the fact that they were still a little big on his (not his) body. They were borrowed from Havoc, his watcher aka guard aka ‘we’re concerned you’re a homicidal homunculus’. Mustang had evidently decided he liked Ed where he could see him, so once Ed had been discharged from the hospital a few days ago, he had been shipped to stay with Havoc.

But if he was being honest? Ed wasn’t complaining. At least this way he might be able to see a bit more of his friends and family. Was it risky? Absolutely. Did it send the probability of his being found out through the roof? Certainly. Was it selfish? Yes. Did he want to change it? No.

Edward knew that he should be running for the hills, maybe even to Briggs, where he could spend the remainder of his probably-short unnatural not-life. But… he found he didn’t want to. He’d already made himself out to be not-Edward, and he didn’t know if he could take physical separation on top of that. 

(Plus, Mustang and company would likely see running as ‘ah yes homicidal homunculus’ and he would be dead-er before he took two steps.)

Staggering out from his bedroom, Ed found Havoc waiting. The military officer grinned at Ed’s disheveled state, then handed him a wrapped sandwich.

“Here, breakfast.” 

Ed grasped the offering, eyes flicking between it and Havoc before he shrugged. Hopefully he wasn’t being poisoned. He followed Havoc from the dorm room, nibbling the sandwich. Since returning to ‘not-life’ he’d had very little appetite. He loved the taste of food (another thing he’d missed as a ghost) but his stomach never desired much.

They made their way from the dorms and, strangely enough, to a car parked in a nearby lot. It made Ed considerably confused, because he’d stayed in these dorms while alive in Central, and they were easily within walking distance to the Command building. But, since Aved didn’t know that, Ed kept his mouth shut. 

They did end up driving to Central Command, barely a five minute drive away. As they exited the car, Havoc caught on to Ed’s confusion.

“You’re still new at walking,” the man explained as they headed into the building. “We weren’t sure how well you’d handle a longer one.” Havoc hesitated for a moment, then tapped his legs with a hand. “And well, you’re not the only one with legs that act up sometimes.”

Ed’s eyes followed Havoc’s gesture, and his eyes lit up in realization. Right, Havoc’s paralysis. After Promised Day, Havoc had spent over a year in physical therapy as he worked to regain use of his legs. When Ed had died, the other had only recently begun walking around unaided. Though, unaided didn’t mean the pain was fully gone. Ed knew better than anyone that these sorts of injuries didn’t stop hurting even years afterwards. 

He hummed in acknowledgement as they entered Mustang’s office. Those working looked up at their arrival, the heads of Fuery, Breda, Falman, and Hawkeye all turning. It gave Ed a sudden, painful flash of deja vu to the time of and before 1914, when he and Al had seen Mustang’s office in a more peaceful state like this. 

He was snapped from his reverie as Hawkeye approached, nodding her head.

“Captain Havoc,” Riza eyed Havoc, where he stood behind Ed. “The General wants to talk with you. I’ll handle our guest.”

Havoc nodded, patting Ed on the shoulder as he passed and headed to Mustang’s office. Ed turned to Hawkeye, who was examining him coolly. “Uh… so what do I do?”

Riza waved a hand, and he followed her to one side of the office, where a table was cluttered with books. “You’ll be staying under our watch for the day, but we weren’t sure how much you… know about Amestris. Alphonse picked out some books for you.”

Ed leaned over, reading the names on the book spines. ‘History of Amestris’. ‘Fact & Myth: The Legends of Xerxes’. ‘Amestris and the World’. ‘Th- Li-neage o- t-e King of Xiox-s’. 

He glanced up at Hawkeye, tilting his head. “Why do you have a book on the Lineage of the Kings of Xerxes?”

“Hah! Pay up!” Breda said, to which Falman and Fuery groaned before handing the other a few paper cenz. “Told you he’d get it!”

What.

Ed glanced towards Hawkeye, who had a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You were betting on me? Why?”

“Anyone can say they’re from Xerxes,” Breda said, counting his cash as he nodded to the book on lineages. “But it takes something else to read it.”

Edward blinked, then looked at the book again. Xerxian characters stared up at him mockingly. Right, it wasn’t normal to read a dead language. He raised his eyes to peer suspiciously at the military officers. “How do you know I didn’t just make up what it said?”

“Alphonse confirmed it,” Falman explained. “He can’t speak the language, but he can read it. Even a few years ago, you could count on one hand the number of people in the country who knew anything about that language. Now, two of them are dead.”

Ed caught the unspoken reference to himself and Hohenheim.

He dismissed it, instead nodding as he picked up ‘History of Amestris’. Then, because he couldn’t help but get them back for the betting: “You do know I can’t understand a word written on this?”

There was a moment of silence before Breda swore and Falman groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Oh God, how did we forget that? Uh… Falman you’re good with history, maybe you can give him a crash course? Argh, how do you summarize history?”

Edward let them stew for a good minute before couldn’t hold back his laughter. He cackled at their expressions. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Wait, really?” Fuery tilted his head. “How do you know Amestrian then?”

Ed stiffened slightly, then grit his teeth. 

Right. How did a soul from ancient Xerxes, a place that had been devastated a thousand years ago, know how to speak and read Amestrian? 

Unfortunately, he had a ready excuse.

“It’s er…” Ed steeled himself. He waved a hand at his body, at Stefan’s body. “Memory imprints. I… if you run a pencil over wood enough times, you’ll form grooves. It feels the same. Speaking and reading… that’s almost the wood itself.”

It took a moment before they understood what he said, and they collectively flinched back. Ed would be lying if he said the reaction didn’t hurt, but he didn’t blame them. He was disturbed too, by the fact that bits of Stefan’s memories were there. By the fact that he could brush fingers over grooves carved by countless nerve signals, and read them almost as the former occupant would have.

“Yeah…,” Ed shivered. “I don’t like thinking about it.”

Awkward silence fell upon them, everyone unsure how to move from the topic of ‘body possession’. Thankfully, Fuery endeavored to try. “So,” the communications officers offered a half smile. “Aved was it?”

Ed nodded jerkily. “Uh… yeah?”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Kain Fuery, feel free to call me Kain. Have you been introduced to the others?”

“Uh…” 

Had he? Ed tried to remember if the military officers had introduced themselves sometime in the blur that was the past days. If they had, he’d probably brushed it aside because he already knew. In lieu of an answer, Edward shrugged.

Fuery took it in stride. “Well, the woman next to you is Colonel Riza Hawkeye, our silver fox is Lieutenant Colonel Vato Falman, this is Lieutenant Colonel Heymans Breda, and you’ve already met Jean Havoc.”

Except, there was one missing.

“What about the other guy?” Edward asked, under the guise of ignorance. “The one who looked Xerxian?”

The officer exchanged glances. “Al?”

“What do you need?”

Everyone’s head turned to the doorway, where, lo and behold, was Alphonse. Edward’s younger brother shrugged off his coat, and eyed Ed where he stood awkwardly with Hawkeye in the middle of the office. “Ah, hello. Welcome, I’m Alphonse.”

“…Aved,” Ed muttered, dipping his head in reply.

“Nice to meet you, properly this time,” Al smiled, and something in Ed broke a little.

Truth, he didn’t deserve his brother.

“You too,” Ed muttered. 

Alphonse turned his gaze to the rest of the office, nodding to each of them. “Good morning, everyone. I’m going to meet with the General.”

The younger Elric swept from the room, and Ed watched him go wistfully. Huffing a breath, he sat at the desk with his books, opening ‘History of Amestris’. Sure, he technically already knew this, but it didn’t hurt to keep up appearances. And besides, reading might let him escape the questions for a while. 

As it turned out, Ed’s tactic of reading was not quite as effective of an escape route as he’d hoped. He’d breezed straight through the books on Amestrian history, and the Xerxian lineage record within a few hours, but the last text had him up in arms.

“In what world is this correct?!” Ed growled, slapping ‘The Legend of Xerxes’ onto his palm. “This thing is more fiction than fact. Somebody get me a meeting with the author. I just want to have a little talk.”

Falman eyed him curiously. “How much is incorrect?”

Ed gnashed his teeth, resisting the urge to pull at his hair. “It’s just… so simplified. Is this all most people know about Xerxes? The city layout and the carvings on walls?”

“Nah, all most people know is what’s in fairytales,” Havoc commented. “‘The Golden People’. The powerful city that vanished in a single night. We do get Xerxian elders that show up in fables sometimes. I like them, they usually guide the hero around.”

Ed looked at Havoc. Amestrian fables had Xerxian elders in them?

Abruptly, he was somewhat regretting the fact that he’d never read a traditional Amestrian folktale. Instead, he’d read Hohenheim’s journals and alchemic texts. Ed glanced at Alphonse, who was watching him with interest. He pointed at his brother aggressively, because if Ed was going down, he was too. “You know Xerxian, surely you know this is wrong?”

Alphonse smiled calmly, but Ed could clearly see the teasing glint in his brother’s eyes. Alphonse definitely knew how simplified the book was, and that it was incorrect. Ed’s younger brother had read the same books from Hohenheim, even if he’d never been taught the spoken language. “Perhaps I wanted corrections from someone who would be an authority on the subject?”

Ed gave a garbled screech. He raked a hand through his hair in frustration, and immediately regretted it. He winced as the thin strands entangled in the joints and plates of his metal hand, tugging at his scalp.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” Ed tried to pull away, and immediately hissed in pain. “Ow. Stupid metal hand.” 

Thankfully for Ed’s remaining shreds of dignity, Fuery leaned over to help him unravel the hair. It also had the effect of forcing Ed to still and discontinue his rant about historical inaccuracies. When he was finally freed, he sank into his chair, sighing.

“So, Aved,” Fuery and the others in the office eyed him, and Ed suddenly felt a looming sense of ‘uh oh’. “Tell us about yourself!”

Crickets.

“Uh… what?” Ed blinked at the question. “What do I talk about?”

“What about Xerxes? You were complaining that everything in the book was wrong, right?” Breda looked at Ed intently. “So tell us about it! Like Havoc said, all we’ve got these days are myths and legends about the place.”

Xerxes.

Okay, he could do this. He could do this. (Truth, he couldn’t do this, what was he thinking?! )

Right. First, establish ‘foreknowledge’. 

“What do those myths say?” Ed asked, then frowned. “Actually… how long ago was Xerxes to you? I know about the… Decimation… but time is weird in the Void.”

“It’s been approximately eleven hundred years since the destruction of Xerxes,” Falman informed him. 

Ed let himself fall into the role, and Aved shivered. “I knew it was long but… ancient history, huh?” He sighed, staring into the middle distance. “Xerxes was a big place. I think… you guys are mainly familiar with the largest city, right? Persopolis, that was the part that got eradicated.”

Edward tried not to regret burning down his house, but it was times like this that he did. Because what he knew of Xerxes? Most of it was from dusty, crumbling journals in his father’s study. After he’d learned to read the scribbles he hadn’t known were a lost language, but before he’d become obsessed with alchemy, Ed had read from those journals. As a child, Edward had thought they were fairy tales, or maybe an adult novel. A fictionalized account of the kingdom of Xerxes. 

He’d learned too late that those journals were far from stories. They had been his father attempting to remember a civilization that had been lost underneath the sands of time.

The last remains of one of the continents’ most mysterious civilizations, burned to ash.

Ed inhaled, bringing his mind back to the present.

Aved exhaled, and thought of the past.

“My family lived on the outskirts, in the rural districts,” Aved explained, painting Ed’s story in a Xerxes’ coat. “It was farming, mostly. I had a brother and sister—” Al and Winry, “—and I… I acted as a guard, kind of.”

“Guard?” Hawkeye tilted her head, pinning him with her gaze. “How so?”

Aved shrugged. “I uh… guarded? Where there’s farming, there’s predators, human or animal.” That was a good way to describe his stint in the military, right? It was basically guarding… just a bit more active usually. Aved hesitated on the next point, but continued. “I also did a little alchemy.”

“Alchemy?” Al looked up this time, watching him closely. “What sort of alchemy?”

“Earth, mostly,” Aved explained. “I wasn’t meluv’mad or anything,” he added quickly, because this was getting a little too close to Ed rather than Aved. “But, I knew enough to help with the irrigation canals or raise walls sometimes.” 

“Meluv’mad? ” Falman repeated the unfamiliar word.

“It’s Xerxian. Means… scholar? Savant?” He nodded at the translation. “They are… were some of the most knowledgeable people in the kingdom. Most were alchemists, and aside from the king they probably had the highest standing.” 

Shifting in his seat, Ed decided it was time to shift the questions from Aved to his friends. “What about you?” Aved asked, looking over the officers. He glanced at Al, looking over the younger Elric’s choice of clothing. “You’re not dressed in the same uniform, are you even part of the military?”

Al wasn’t military, regardless of how much time he spent with the General and his team. Ed’s younger brother helped Mustang because they were friends, or consulted because Alphonse was one of the foremost experts on alchemy in Amestris. 

Ed knew that. 

Aved didn’t.

“No,” Al shook his head, echoing Ed’s thoughts. “My brother worked for the military before he died, but I was never part of it. I do consult on cases though, since I know quite a bit about alchemy. I’m actually a doctor.”

Ed knew this too. 

As a ghost, he’d watched over Alphonse’s shoulder as his younger brother went to Xing to learn alkahestry, as he’d worked his way through medical school. These days, Al spent half his time working as a traveling doctor. The People’s Physician. And he was incredible at it. It delighted Ed, to see his brother had found his calling. Al loved what he did, and Ed couldn’t have been prouder.

Yet, he’d never heard what he did from Alphonse himself.

“A doctor?” Ed leaned forward with interest. “Can you tell me about it? We had medics in Xerxes, but yours are different, right? More advanced?”

Al blinked slightly, as if surprised. Then corners of his mouth twitched up slightly into a light smile, and he nodded. Ed’s younger brother launched into an explanation of alkahestry and its use in medicine, as well as the applications of medical alchemy. 

The words flowed around him, and Ed smiled at his brother. He wasn’t Ed to them, but they were still family to him. 

That he could ask Al how his career as a doctor was going? 

It was leagues beyond anything he could have hoped for.

“Ah, Havoc, come in.”

Captain Jean Havoc stepped into the General’s office, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room to stand in front of Mustang’s desk, rigidly at attention. “Sir!”

Mustang looked up at Jean from his paperwork, eying him critically over thick-rimmed glasses. Even though Marcoh had used the Philosopher’s Stone on the General’s eyes, it couldn’t restore them perfectly. The General had developed far-sightedness, and required glasses for reading. Predictably, he made a habit to lose them so he would be unable to do his paperwork.

“At ease,” Mustang waved a hand, and Jean relaxed. 

“Thanks, Sir.”

“Take a seat Havoc, we don’t need you hurting yourself standing.” 

Jean nodded in gratitude, leaning into one of the plush couches Roy had gotten for his office. He was fairly certain the General slept on them when no one was looking. “Thanks. So, what am I reporting on?”

“Our guest,” Mustang said shortly. Roy took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand. “How has he acted around you? I… to be frank I’m not sure what questions to be asking you. This is rather… unprecedented.”

“Leave it to the Elrics,” Jean gave a bitter laugh. He huffed, shaking his head. “No, actually Aved’s been rather quiet. It’s… he’s not wary, not exactly. Hesitant, perhaps? It makes sense too, if he’s from another time. He’s not quite sure about anything.”

“So you believe Aved’s claim that he’s from Xerxes,” Mustang commented. There was no judgment in his tone, just curiosity.

Jean shrugged. “Maybe not that he’s from Xerxes, but the fact that he’s not in his original body? I buy that. I… if you watch him move, it’s strange. Not natural, but not unnatural. Just odd. Like he’s been driving one car model all his life and he’s suddenly swapped to a different one. Unfamiliar.”

Roy hummed. “And Xerxes?”

“I’m not completely sure, but why lie about that bit? Pretty hard to back up.”

“Hard to confirm too,” the General pointed out. “Without Alphonse, we wouldn’t be able to see if there’s merit to his claims.”

Jean conceded the point, humming to himself. Silence descended upon the office for a few moments as they both digested the words. A knock sounded, and both men looked over to see — speak of the devil — Alphonse Elric poke his head inside.

“Good morning General, Havoc,” Al offered as he stepped in. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Mustang shook his head. “You’re right on time. Take a seat.” Alphonse did so, nodding to Havoc from his position on the couch opposite. “We were just discussing our unexpected guest.”

“Aved,” Alphonse nodded. “How does he seem to you?”

“Hesitant,” Jean repeated. “From what I can tell, he’s not quite sure how to act around us.” 

“I saw the same,” Alphonse confirmed. “I listened to them before coming in. When Breda revealed the bet, Aved relaxed and he even joked back. I… I don’t think he’s out to harm us. If anything, I think he’s as confused as we are. He’s not lying about being from Xerxes either, he was able to read the language and understand it too.”

“Well that’s one mystery solved,” Jean muttered as he tilted his head back. 

God, how was this his life? Proximity to the Elrics — and though it was just Alphonse now, Edward still managed to make their lives difficult from beyond the grave — was a mental and physical hazard. It meant he got to have the wonderful experience of trying to figure out the non-existent protocol for when a soul from an ancient civilization possesses a briefly dead body.

Joy.

“Any progress into investigating the cult members?” Alphonse asked, eyeing Mustang closely.

Mustang sighed. “Some. We were able to retrieve those that Aved and Hawkeye took out. We’ve interrogated them several times, and it seems their motives were indeed to resurrect Edward. We also got some names, which Investigations is throwing their weight behind. Nothing’s come of that yet, though.”

“Alright,” the Elric paused, and Jean saw something in his eyes harden. “I’m staying on this case, General. I don’t care if I have to call in a favor to do it, I’m not going to let them try and twist my brother into their machinations. Besides, you need an expert on soul alchemy for that transmutation circle and Aved, and I’m the closest you’ve got.”

Mustang’s mouth stretched, and smiled for the first time that meeting. “Glad to hear it. That means I won’t have to ask you.”

Alphonse gave him a ghost of a smirk. "General. It was never a question in the first place."

Jean got that sense that, if he’d been there, the ghost of Edward Elric would have been cackling with glee.

More Content!:

Check out the other installments in this series for some "deleted scenes" of sorts! I've currently got an alternate ending to Chapter 3, and some shorts in progress on Al & Team Mustang's reactions to Ed's death. 

Chapter Text

“Are you ready, boy?”

Edward looked over at the doctors, and found himself swallowing. “Yes,” he whispered. 

“It will hurt,” one of them warned. “It will hurt like nothing you’ve ever known. We must connect the nerves themselves. To ensure it’s done correctly, we cannot use anesthesia.”

Ed swallowed, eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, he locked eyes with the tall man next to him. The other’s dark eyes were encouraging. Go on, they said wordlessly. This is your destiny, your great gift.

“Yes,” Ed said again, stronger this time. “I am ready.” It was his gift, his gift to Amestris.

The doctors led him to a table, strapping him down. Ed shifted, wincing as he felt the leather dig painfully into his skin. Outside of his sight, there was the whirr of a saw and then the world was swept away by p a i n

He

s c  r    e      a           m                    e                                d

…

Ed lay prone on a bed, eyes screwed shut as tears leaked from their corners. pain pain pain pulsed through his entire being. There was no escape from it, no relief. He distantly registered a coolness laid on his forehead, and the whispers that flickered at the edge of his awareness.

“The operation went well. The nerves are connected, after he adjusts we can attach the preliminary prosthetics. For the moment, he must rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm. It is curious though. We don’t get many customers who willingly give up entire, healthy limbs for automail.”

“The boy is a special one.” 

…

Ed stared at his reflection, which showed his exhausted face (the face was not his). He looked down at his hands, twisting them back and forth. The right one gleamed dully under the electric lights, the shine of metal. Ed reached out his right hand, flaring the fingers as if he was going to grab something, then closing them and pulling the arm back with a low click, click.

The movement was a little jerky, but Ed was proud nonetheless. He was getting better at the finger-by-finger motor control. 

Shifting his weight, Ed winced as his left thigh flared with the movement. Pulling up his shorts, Ed twisted the leg and inspected it, metal clicking as he did. He scowled, kicking the limb forward half-heartedly. The leg always gave him more pain, probably because it had to bear his weight constantly. The shoulder hurt as well, but that was more due to how it pulled down on the muscles and bones. 

“Something wrong?”

Ed turned, staring up into the dark eyes of the taller man. “I’m still getting used to these,” he nodded to the automail. “I’m still in awe of how He recovered in a year. I’m barely managing three.”

The man with dark eyes smiled. “Yes, He truly was remarkable. Which is why you shall return Him to us.”

Ed smiled back.

…

“You are ready?”

Ed stared into the dark eyes of their leader, who watched him closely. “Yes,” he said, inhaling and exhaling deeply. 

“Good,” the dark eyed man said. “The Circle has just been completed, and the prisoners are being brought.” The man cocked his head, and smiled. “You honor the Fullmetal Alchemist, Stefan.”

Stefan (Edward) smiled back, even as his fellows approached, holding thick cloth. “Let him live through me.”

Thick fabric pressed against his nose and mouth. As the seconds passed, Stefan’s lungs began to cry hysterically for oxygen. Despite his efforts, his limbs began to claw at what suffocated him, desperate to breathe, to live.

Yet, Stefan’s mind was at ease. 

Because with his death, there would be life.

…

Edward (Ed, Ed, Ed, he was Ed ) shot upwards, gasping for air and clawing at his throat. Something splintered and emptiness-nothing-numb raked its claws through him. For a second, he was back in the In Between, emptiness and no-feeling howling around him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t speak, hecouldnt—

s n a p 

Ed sucked in another breath, and this time the body (not his, not his, nothis ) followed his direction. His soul snapped back into place, and the emptiness vanished, retreating back beyond the shield of flesh and bone. 

For several minutes, Ed just gasped. Phantom memories that were not his loomed in the back of his mind, the chittering whispers of people he’d never met.

Stefan, Stefan, Stefan—

Edward, Ed growled, pushing back the lingering memories. I am Edward Elric.

Your soul is Edward, your body is not, sang the whispers. Thief, thief, thief. Violator. 

“I’m not the one who fucking sacrificed themself to get possessed,” Ed growled aloud. “And I didn’t choose to get shoved in this body either.”

Violator, the body that was not his hissed.

Somewhere deep within, Ed’s soul, his self, screeched the same. He curled tightly into himself, unwilling to fill the body he inhabited, because it was wrong wrong wrong—

Ed screwed his eyes shut, shoving the whispers aside. Of course he had to be tormented with someone else’s traumatic memories now, on top of his own. “First you gave me memories of Xerxes destruction, now you give me these?” Ed murmured in the direction of Truth. He groaned as exhaustion sank into his bones. “If this is the alternative, I’d rather have memories of Xerxes. At least those would be somewhat useful.”

He got the feeling that somewhere in the In Between, Truth was laughing.

Ignoring the memories nightmares, Ed rubbed at his eyes. The action sent a wave of pins and needles through his (not his) left hand, the skin prickling all the way down his arm. He hissed, shaking it out in hopes of dispelling the sensation, but he only succeeded in making it worse.

“Dammit,” Ed muttered, slowly flexing his hand open and closed. “I didn’t even sleep on it.”

Ed used his right hand to poke at the left one, or at least, he tried to. He went to lift his right hand, but despite the mental action, no physical movement followed it. Frowning, Ed looked at his right arm. The automail was limp against the bed, and, Ed now realized, was weighing pretty heavily on his shoulder.

Ed made a few attempts to twitch the metal fingers, but they remained motionless. 

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

Using his left hand, Ed — with unfortunate difficulty, Stefan wasn’t the strongest — lifted the metal arm upwards before releasing it. Ed yelped as the nerves around the port flared in pain, the immobile limb jerking his shoulder downwards. It hit the bed with a loud clank.

“It’s like trying to relearn how to use the damn thing all over again,” Ed growled. 

Ed shifted in place, but the automail was ridiculously heavy when not even the mechanical shoulder joint was active to hold it. It reminded Ed of the occasions when he’d fallen asleep on his flesh arm, only to wake up with it still trapped by sleep paralysis. The left arm had been unresponsive to his mental commands, flopping around limply like a dead fish. He’d barely even had any nerve sensations, only distantly registering the pressure of the automails grip. That experience as a whole had been utterly terrifying.

Using his still-prickling left hand, Ed took hold of the automail and focused his mental attention on the limb. He began attempting various actions, anything that would get the arm to move.

This was the hardest part of new automail in Ed’s opinion: relearning how to get even the slightest of twitches. Movement was so reflexive with the rest of the body he didn’t even need to think about it. But automail required relearning which nerve signals to activate in the first place… and it was sheer and utter pain. 

After several minutes, he was finally rewarded with a twitch of the metal fingers. Slowly, the rest of the arm came alive, and the weight on his body eased as the automail shoulder began to properly bear the weight of the rest of the arm. Ed practiced opening and closing his hand into a fist, an unfortunate mirror to one of his nightmares memories.

“Aved! You awake yet?”

Ed looked up at Havoc’s voice, coming from behind the door to his borrowed room.

“Yeah, just a minute,” he called back. 

Swinging his legs off the bed, Ed clambered to his feet and went about pulling on some clothes. The connection between his soul and the body splintered a few times, leaving him stumbling into the furniture more than he’d care to admit. 

After a frustratingly long time, Ed slammed the door open and stalked into the main room. Havoc looked over at Ed from his cup of coffee, a slight grin on his face. “Sleep well?” the Captain asked as he eyed Ed’s bed-head.

Ed threw a shirt at him, chuckling as it draped itself over Havoc’s head. “Stop giving me shirts with buttons,” Ed retorted. “My fingers can’t work them.”

Havoc pulled the shirt off his head, in time for Ed to catch the roll of the other man’s eyes. “Right,” Havoc said as he threw the shirt on a chair. “Anything else your majesty?”

“Yes actually,” Ed held up his automail hand. “You got any gloves? Things keep getting caught in the joints.”

After obtaining a singular glove, Ed busied himself with a sandwich for breakfast while Havoc pulled on his uniform. The pair of them headed out to Central Command, and made it fairly quickly in Havoc’s car. 

Unfortunately, the automail decided today would be one of those days.

“Bad day?” Havoc asked, catching Ed’s arm before he could eat pavement, as the mental connection splintered yet again. Ed grunted wordlessly, staggering to his feet. He kicked his left leg against the ground, hissing as the motion vibrated up into the port. “I’ve got aspirin if you’d like?”

“Nah,” Ed shrugged off the Captain’s hand and continued forward. “I think that might make it worse. Things just aren’t… connecting right.”

Jean hummed, but didn’t say anything more. 

“Morning!”

Havoc nodded to Fuery at the greeting, and Ed huffed a reply. He staggered over to what had been dubbed ‘his’ desk in the corner of the office, sinking into it with a sigh and several impassioned swears. 

“You’re really not a morning person, are you?” Breda chuckled.

Ed grumbled in response. “Mornings are strategically designed to cause me suffering. Do not talk to me until I have had several cups of the wonderful invention called ‘coffee’.”

“I regret introducing you to that,” Falman sighed from his desk. “You’re addicted.”

“I’m not addicted, I appreciate it,” Ed corrected, lifting a finger. 

Besides, he’d been introduced to coffee before he died. It had been amazing. And although he had leveled a few buildings in his caffeinated rampage, it had been worth it. His only regret was that he hadn’t discovered it sooner. Coffee would have made his countless nights of researching how to get his and Al’s bodies back much easier.

Fuery laughed. “Sometimes I forget that we’ve only known you for two weeks. You fit right in.”

Ed felt his heart stutter in panic, but he played it off with a shrug. “What can I say? It’s my winning personality.”

“Winning ‘something’ alright,” Havoc muttered.

“Ah, Aved, good to see you,” Mustang greeted as he entered. The others stood to attention, but Mustang waved them off. “As you were. Falman, Breda, with me. Alphonse, make use of whatever you need.”

“Thank you, General,” Al said, coming up behind Mustang. While the others departed to the General’s office, Ed’s younger brother settled at his own desk. Al yawned, stretching out in place. He had bags under his eyes, ones which nearly rivaled Ed’s own during the years they’d searched for the Philosopher's Stone.

Ed reached over to poke him. “You need to sleep better.”

“And who are you to judge me?” Al asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“I am the authority on not sleeping,” Ed declared. “Therefore, I know when someone should sleep.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Fuery said.

The office descended into the quiet of scratching pens and shifting paper, the military officers turning their attention to the case of their cultists. Ed meanwhile, flipped through yet another book they’d given him, this one a book of poetry. It was interesting, though Ed was pretty sure he’d understand a crossword more than this. He flipped another page, and nearly scoffed at the irony of the poem.

The Puppet-Player

By Angelina Weld Grimké

Sometimes it seems as though some puppet-player,

   A clenched claw cupping a craggy chin

Sits just beyond the border of our seeing,

   Twitching the strings with slow, sardonic grin.

Ed rolled his eyes. He could confirm the ‘puppet-player’ had a sardonic grin, and that said grin also contained far too many teeth.

Turning the page and hoping the next one would be a little less True, Ed hissed as his right hand spasmed. He dropped the book, grabbing the automail with his opposing hand and gritting his teeth as the connection splintered and warped. After what felt like too long, the emptiness retreated, and he was left only with the cold settling into his (not his) bones.

“You alright?” Al asked, and Ed twitched. He glanced over to see his younger brother eyeing him with concern. “That didn’t look good.”

“It’s nothing,” Ed bit out. “I’m not exactly… meant to be here, as you know. The nerves are acting up, and it’s playing hell on the arm.” The automail twitched again for emphasis.

Al continued to eye him closely. “You know, it might not just be ‘this’.” He gestured to Ed.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, automail is very sensitive equipment. It might just need recalibrating.” Al worried his lip in thought, looking Ed up and down. “We could contact an automail technician.”

Oh hell no. If this was going where Ed thought it was going, he wanted nothing to do with it. 

(He did, he did, he did.)

“I doubt it,” Ed scoffed, biting back the mess of emotions in his chest. “Look, it’s more like I’m… out of sync. My soul or whatever isn’t aligned with the rest of it. I don’t think your technician can fix that.” 

Al still looked doubtful, but Ed could also see the shine of understanding in his eyes. Of course, if anyone would understand, it would be Al. He was the only one Ed knew who could. “Still,” Al said. “It’s worth a shot.”

Ed held back a groan (a whoop of joy).

“Come with me.”

Ed blinked, looking over at Hawkeye. She was eyeing him closely, her head tilted in thought.

“Er… why?”

Riza didn’t respond. Instead, she laid her folders down on the nearest desk and spun on her heel, heading out the door. Ed looked over at Al for support, but his brother just appeared amused. “Uh, Al?”

“Do what she says,” Al said, the traitor. 

With Havoc and Fuery chorusing the same, Ed rose to his feet and shuffled out the door. Hawkeye was waiting in the hall, and as he exited she turned and began striding away. Ed hurried after her, trailing slightly behind the now-Colonel.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“You’ll see,” she said, and Ed could hear the amusement in her voice.

Ah yes, Edward “Aved” Elric, died a second time because he followed someone into a suspicious back alley. He will be missed terribly. God Itself came to the funeral, but it was only to proclaim: “He was a fucking idiot.”

After a few turns and a few stairways, Ed began to recognize where they were. They were headed towards the training rooms. They passed by a few weight halls, where several soldiers were busy attempting to bench press in front of their friends. Ed stifled a chuckle as one spotter was quickly put to use. 

They should be glad now-Brigadier Armstrong wasn’t here, he’d shame them irreparably. 

Riza and Ed finally stopped outside a set of doors, which Ed remembered led to the mat room. Hawkeye paused to sign a few things and talk with the manager, then led him inside the training room. 

It hadn’t changed much since Ed last used it to spar with Al in the years before his death. The room was divided in two, one section containing mats and another a hardwood floor, for different practice styles. A few dummies were set to the side, and besides himself and Hawkeye, the room was empty. Ed swept his gaze across the floor, and noted with mild amusement they’d kept the cracked floorboard that Ed had forgotten to fix after a fight with his brother. 

Turning back to Hawkeye, who was removing her outer jacket, Ed titled his head in question.

“Why are we here? I’m having trouble moving, I don’t see how this will help.”

“You were a guard, correct?” Ed nodded, recalling that element of his backstory. Hawkeye gave him a faint smile. “An old friend of mine enjoyed physical combat practice, said it was a way to exercise the mind and the body together. It requires mental focus and physical exertion.” She paused, then chuckled. “He got the entire team hooked on it for a bit. The entire base had a betting pool on who could beat him in a spar.”  

Was she… talking about him?

“Off with your coat,” Riza waved a hand. Ed, unsure of how to argue, obeyed. He stripped his coat and outer shirt off, and kicked off his shoes. Leaving them in a pile at the side of the mats, he moved over to join Hawkeye in the middle of the floor. 

“What now?” Ed asked, tilting his head. Was she going to go through some sets with him? He knew how to fight, but he wasn’t sure he could physically fight very well in this borrowed form.

Hawkeye spread her arms. “Hit me.”

Ed recoiled, taking an involuntary step back. “Hell no!”

Riza’s mouth twitched, face tightening almost imperceptibly. “Why?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Afraid you'll hurt me?" Then, she moved. Ed saw her shifting her weight, saw the flash of movement as she came towards him, but he couldn’t have avoided the hit even if he tried. 

The next thing he knew, his automail arm had been twisted behind his back, locking the metal joints in place, and his face was having a meet-and-greet with the floor. Hawkeye stood above him, one knee in the small of his back, using her body weight to pin him down.

“You shouldn’t underestimate your opponents,” Riza chided, pushing Ed’s face into the ground.

Ed groaned, looking up at her from the corner of his eye. “Hardly. No, because if I fight you, I will die.”

Riza was silent for a moment, then she huffed a laugh. “Seems you have some sense after all.” She stepped off Ed, freeing his arm and letting him turn over onto his back. His arm straightened back out with several audible clinks and Ed moaned. Riza laughed, the corners of her mouth twitching up into a slight smile. “Up on your feet Aved. We go again.”

She offered a hand to him, and Ed didn’t hesitate to take it. He matched her smile with one of his own. “Let’s work till it hurts.”

“Gladly.”

To Ed’s mild surprise, the fighting did help.

As they continued, Ed continued to eat the floorboards, but he found he splintered a little less often. He went from being flattened in an instant, to being able to react, able to dodge. That said, he knew he didn’t have a chance of beating Riza. Regardless of the fact that his movements lagged, he hadn’t done active combat in years. 

But a few moments were particularly embarrassing. 

Hawkeye moved towards him, shifting her weight in what Ed recognized as an incoming punch. He managed to sway aside from the hit, but as he followed her motions, he watched her move with the lack of resistance. She stepped inwards, muscles tensed, and Ed nearly threw himself out of range. As he watched, Riza spun, her leg coming up in a high kick aimed for his face. 

Ed could have thrown his arms up, blocking the hit with his forearms.

Could have.

However, as he watched the incoming foot, his mind supplied that he didn’t need to dodge. He was intangible. Everything went through him anyways. 

So, the kick connected with the side of his face, and Ed was thrown bodily aside. His jaw flared in pain, the reminder that he wasn’t intangible anymore. The reminder that he, like the fool he was, had forgotten that particularly important fact. 

And so, for the nth time, Ed once again got familiar with the floor. 

He groaned, his back flaring in pain. Despite the bone deep ache, he was loving every second of it. It may have been pain, but it meant he could feel. He’d missed it. Mostly. 

Ed sat up, rubbing his aching skull and glaring at Riza. “Was that really necessary?”

She smirked at him. “Motivation to properly dodge in the future.”

He huffed, but accepted the hand Riza extended to him. She easily hefted Ed to his feet, steadying him as he swayed slightly. “Ow,” he muttered as he moved his jaw. “You hit hard.”

“You alright?” she asked. “Anything broken?”

“Nope,” Ed said, stepping back. “Again?”

They got into ready positions, and Hawkeye began, coming towards him with some light jabs. “You’re getting better,” she complimented, deflecting his punch. She grabbed hold of his arm and using his weight imbalance, ducked low to throw him over her shoulder.

Ed wheezed as his back slammed against the ground. He eyed her balefully through slitted eyes. “Really?”

Riza nodded, squatting down beside him as Ed caught his breath. “Really. You’re stumbling less and less. You’re reacting better and putting more of your weight behind your hits.” She chuckled. “And don’t sell yourself short, you did well in the fight against our captors. You managed to throw a man over you despite being in a stranglehold.”

“Blame it on the adrenaline,” Ed muttered, but conceded the point.

“Now,” Hawkeye stood back, holding out a hand. “Again?”

Ed shot her a toothed grin. “Again.”

Having Aved around was strange.

While her father had been one, Riza herself was not an alchemist. She had never been taken with it like her father was, like Roy was.

But when the transmutation circle made of their blood crackled to life on the floor, when the corpse in the center began to scream, Riza didn’t need to be an alchemist to know it was wrong. She knew, by the shadows that crawled outwards, by the red lightning that crackled around the room. It was a physical weight on her shoulders, an oppressive feeling that clogged her lungs.

It was wrong.

Then the body twitched, and a corpse came alive again.

Riza wouldn’t deny the small grain of hope she’d held, that the soul within would be Edward. But she equally wished it wasn’t him, because she wouldn’t want to subject him to this fate. And, as it turned out, it wasn’t Edward.

Aved himself was a quandary. 

She had been surprised and wary when the homunculus — though he wasn’t one, not like others — had freed her from her chains. But Riza knew not to question good fortune. Despite the wrongness that had precluded his resurrection, she did not shoot Aved, though she very well could have. For that, she was glad, because the young man was as much a victim in this as she, Roy or Alphonse were.

Riza didn’t know why she was surprised to find out he was Xerxian. After all, the Xerxian souls had been released from Father and the Homunculi, it wasn’t implausible that a few souls could have remained bound to Earth.

But imagining it was very different from seeing it. 

She was also surprised how well Alphonse had taken all this. It was, by every metric, impossible. She expected that it felt like a slap in the face to the young Elric, particularly since the young man’s own experiences with attempted resurrection had gone so disastrously. Yet, Alphonse accepted Aved’s presence with a slight smile, though Riza could see the lines that etched his face. Riza really should make him go spend some time with the Xingese princess at some point, this case was a little too close to home in all the wrong ways for the young Elric.

Marking that for later, Riza refocused her attention on Aved.

Across from her, the young man panted as he took a swig of water. He twitched slightly, arm spasming and the rest of his body freezing momentarily. It only lasted a second however, and then he was grimacing, rubbing at his chest.

It wasn’t hard to believe Aved was a soul in the wrong body, Riza reflected.

There was something about his presence, his eyes, that spoke of not quite right. Something of his voice that carried a lilt of familiar and different. He felt like a paradox. 

Aved set his water down, standing and stretching slightly before he turned to Riza. He jerked a thumb towards the mats. “More?”

Riza nodded, setting down her own water and joining him on the floor. She moved through a series of stretches, which Aved followed, though he didn’t match her flexibility. She couldn’t hold back a smile as she watched him attempt a toe touch, only to hiss in pain as he barely managed that.

“Why?” Aved moaned in confusion. “I used to be so limber, now I’ve got to do it all over again.” 

Riza chuckled from where she was engaged in a split, reaching forward to take hold of one foot. With smooth grace, she rose into a standing position, and bent forwards until her torso was flat with her legs. 

Aved eyed her flexibility with obvious envy. “So unfair,” the young man muttered.

Riza stood straight, inspecting him curiously. “What are Xerxian styles of fighting like?” she asked, chuckling as Aved lost his balance and toppled to the side. “Was there a specific form of physical fighting arts?”

“Uh,” Aved shuffled to his feet again, wide eyed and looking a bit caught off guard. “I wouldn’t say so? Not that I would have gotten to learn, most ‘fighting arts’ would have been reserved for the upper class.” He took a stance and did a few punches forward. “I did punching? But I guess that’s probably universal, huh…”

He trailed off, and Hawkeye almost felt disappointed. She would have enjoyed being able to learn a thousand-year-old and presumed-extinct form of fighting.

“What was your weapon of choice then?” Riza asked.

“Al– ha’nite,” Aved said, stumbling a bit in the wording. “Spear or javelin would be the best translation I think.”

He trotted off to grab a wooden staff from a bucket. He returned with one that was nearly as tall as he was, and took a stance that Riza vaguely recognized Edward using. Aved did a couple swipes with the staff and then stabbed forwards with the imaginary blade. He used it both as a staff and as a spear, blocking hits with the wooden shaft and attacking with the blade.

Aved finished his demonstration, standing slightly awkwardly. “So, yeah?”

Riza nodded in approval. “For someone who claims to have little training, you move well.”

“Practice,” the Xerxian said with a shrug. He tossed the staff aside, raising his fisted hands to Riza in something similar to a boxers’ stance. “Ready?”

Riza shifted her weight back, spreading her feet and raising her own hands. “Are you?” she asked with a grin.

Aved lunged forward, and Riza met his attack. 

Of course, he ended up flat on his back in two seconds. 

Chapter Text

Ed had been betrayed.

He was finished, thrown to the wolves and left to rot. He had been stabbed in the back, and now he looked up into the grinning face of the one who had done it. Their expression was utterly lacking in any remorse. 

With his back pressed against the wall, Ed eyed his escape route. Between him and the door was Al and Mustang’s team, ready and waiting should he try to flee. He was trapped, with no way out.

Ed glared at Alphonse balefully. Sold out by his own brother too.

Alphonse, the smug traitor, didn’t even realize the magnitude of the betrayal he’d just committed. Mostly because he didn’t realize Aved was actually Ed, and therefore, that this action would in fact be a betrayal of the highest order. 

“Come on, Aved,” Ed’s traitor-brother attempted to console him. “It’s not that bad! She’s just going to look in your arm!”

“I am not letting anyone look in my arm!” Ed hissed, rather like a feral cat. (It was, admittedly, the best excuse he could come up with for a Xerxian unfamiliar with automail, instead of the actual reason: “I fear the wrath of the wrench”.)

Alphonse sighed. “She's going to make sure everything is working right, okay? She might be able to fix your connection issues.”

Ed snorted. “Not likely.”

The silence stretched for a few moments, when Al finally huffed. “Fine, we’re doing it the hard way.” Ed’s brother clapped and before Ed could dart away, Al pressed his hands into the floor. The room rippled, and Ed yelped as the wall peeled away to wrap him in a cocoon. He squirmed and writhed, but it did nothing to free him.

“There,” Al stood back, brushing his hands together.

“It’ll be fine, Aved,” Fuery offered in fake sympathy. “Miss Rockbell is actually very nice. And she’s very good at what she does, she’ll get you fixed up right away.”

“Yeah, now stop being difficult,” Havoc said, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ed sniffed, eyeing Alphonse with a pained expression. “I thought you were a doctor,” Ed muttered sullenly. “Has the mandate to ‘do no harm’ fallen already?”

Al rolled his eyes, approaching Ed and clapping his hands. “I’m trying to make sure a friend of mine doesn’t hurt himself.” Al laid his hands on Ed’s cocoon, and the hair on Ed’s neck bristled as he felt the alchemic energy in the air spike.

Now.

The second that Al began to transmute Ed’s wooden prison, the moment that the bonds in the wood and plaster loosened so they could move into their new position, Ed struck. He pushed his legs into the ground, using the momentum to throw himself backwards and out of the shifting wooden trap. 

Then, he was off like a shot, darting through the now unguarded door and onto freedom.

“HA! You’ll never take me alive, fuckers!” Ed cackled as he sprinted away. 

(He conveniently ignored the fact that he was already dead).

Ed ducked behind the next wall, avoiding the wave of alchemy that Al sent after him. With his screaming brother at his heels, Ed dashed through the halls of Central Command. However, he still caught the trail end of Al’s shriek:

“Hawkeye, why the fuck did you help him figure out how to move again—”

Edward woke to sun and sand. 

“Bo’hrad, bo’kulam! Come, listen to Master Jabir!”

He froze, his eyes going wide as he heard the herald’s cry. Ed’s eyes swept his surroundings, and he blanched as he saw sun baked streets, buildings of brown and white stone, the smell of the desert blowing around gold.

What? Ed thought. I'm back in Xerxes?

He was standing in a stone amphitheater, looking down onto a viewing area below. Xerxians filled the seats, people of all ages dressed in robes of countless colors, all fixated on the stage, where a single man in cream and red robes stood.

“I can’t believe the meluv’mad Jabir is giving a public lecture today!” Ed heard whispered from nearby. He glanced at the speakers, then eyed the man below.

This certainly isn’t one of my memories, Ed murmured to himself. It’s not Stefan’s either…  so how am I here?

What are you up to this time, Truth?

Jabir bowed to his audience, then cleared his throat and began speaking. “My pupils,” he said, his voice carrying across the theater. “Today I shall speak to you of one of my creations, which I have dubbed Golems.”

Ed’s ears pricked forward. Golems?

The same texts that had described the not-so-mythic Philosopher's Stone had also spoken of Golems, creatures of earth and clay brought to life by alchemy in Xerxes. Said to be puppets of their creator, they could move on their own and were nigh indestructible. The secrets of their creation were pursued almost as relentlessly as that of the Philosopher’s Stone, but it was one secret Time kept locked away.

Why are you showing me this Truth? Ed muttered. What is the Exchange?

Despite his better judgement, Ed started hopping the steps down the amphitheater. He grit his teeth as the prickling cold of needles pierced his soul with every human he stepped through, but in no time at all he was standing almost directly next to the red-robed Jabir. The Xerxian’s hair was starting to gray and his face showed signs of age. 

With Ed standing unseen and unheard nearby, Jabir continued his lecture. “The Golem is a creature of earth, but one made of alchemy!” Ignoring the audience’s tittering, Jabir swept a hand forward. At his summons, some attendants stepped forward, laying a large cloth on the ground. On it, Ed saw a complex alchemic array. Almost overly complex, if he was being honest. 

The array had the runic symbols for the classical earth element, and looping through the rim were countless markers and specifications for sizing and shape. Spiraling inwards toward the center of the array were a series of symbols Ed recognized as being used for dictating the placement of the elements within a transmutation. In their early days of complex transmutations, Ed and Al had used those symbols in a transmutation to rebuild their neighbors’ shed, the symbols guiding specific pieces of wood into place.

However, Ed wasn’t given any more time to inspect the array before Jabir’s attendants dumped a load of soil and dirt onto the cloth, in the middle of the array. With the audience’s rapt attention, Jabir placed his hands at the edge of the circle. Alchemic lightning crackled through the array as it lit up, and the dirt above the circle began to mold and twist.

It condensed and grew to form a vaguely humanoid figure. It was dark in color, like wet earth, and symbols like those that had formed the spiraling inner ring of the transmutation circle decorated its arms and torso. And finally, from the not-quite-head, peered two gleaming eyes, like fireflies. 

“I present, a Golem!” Jabir declared, stepping back from the transmutation circle. 

Ed raised an eyebrow. Was that it? He could do more detailed and bigger transmutation in his sleep, with a far simpler array.

But strangely, the light of the transmutation circle didn’t die. The array's spiralling lines continued to glow from within, as if the transmutation was still ongoing. And as the Golem shifted, Ed realized with jolt that it was still going.

To the amazement of the audience, the Golem turned and began to lumber to the side, in staggering steps. The movements were a bit stiff, but the Golem was still moving . As Ed watched, the Golem took about ten steps forwards, paused, then turned 90 degrees and took two more. It stopped right in front of a large rock, about the size of Al’s helmeted head. The Golem bent down, positioned its arms, then grabbed the rock and stood again. With its new prize, the living statue turned and began to retrace its path back to Jabir.

The audience cheered, the sound echoing through the amphitheater like thunder. They were, evidently, amazed.

Ed was too, though his thoughts were far more analytical.

It’s not reactionary, Ed thought as he looked over the “creature” of earth and clay. If it was, it should have taken a straight path back, instead of retracing its steps. It’s more like the Golem is… programmed. Ten steps forwards, stop, turn 90 degrees right, two steps forward, stop, lean down with arms X distance apart, grab rock, stand up, turn 180 degrees, two steps forward, stop, turn 90 degrees left, 10 steps forward. It’s a program, using placement symbols.

It was ingenious, and not a method Ed had ever seen used before. Instead of using placement symbols for individual elements, they had been used for the entire transmutation.

“As you can see, the Golem can do numerous tasks!” Jabir exclaimed, sweeping a hand towards the Golem which stood next to him, now-motionless. “A meluv’mad could order it to fetch materials, or as a guard against any and all intruders!”

Jabir waved a hand, and the Golem collapsed into a pile of earth again, the light of the transmutation circle finally dying. Likely a bit of stagecraft, Ed reflected. The hand wave timed perfectly with the transmutation’s end point.

Jabir took several steps back, sketching a circle with chalk on the ground. It was identical to his previous array, except this one lacked the complex placement symbols that had filled the center. Once he finished, the attendants poured another pile of earth onto the transmutation circle. Now with his materials, Jabir placed a hand on the array. The transmutation was fluid, forming a second Golem similar to the first, except this one featured different symbols on its torso.

This time, Jabir kept one hand on the array, and the Golem stepped forward. It ambled about, heading towards the audience. They gasped, shuffling back, but the Golem simply bowed when it approached. It reached out, tugging one man’s scarf from his neck and laying it around its own shoulders. 

Ed eyed Jabir, intrigued but not exactly impressed. The transmutation was interesting since it looked like Jabir was doing it remotely, though Ed guessed he was sending the energy through the ground, which was of similar composition to the Golem. Ed did something similar when he created constructs out of the earth for combat. The Golem was like one of Ed’s constructs, but with a fixed shape.

“The Golem, as you can see, is in the elemental school of Earth,” Jabir said, letting his creation fall to dust. “Through precoded instructions or active transmutation, an alchemist can instruct a Golem to do numerous tasks. While I don’t plan on getting rid of my slaves quite yet—” Jabir let out a chuckle, which the audience answered, and a hard molten ball of lead settled in Ed’s stomach at the reminder of Xerxes’ practices. “—my creations are ideally suited for large jobs I may require, since they possess no muscles to tire!”

While Jabir continued to spout the potential advantages of his Golems, Ed drifted into the backdrop, emotions a raging tempest in his chest. He had a nagging feeling why Truth had let him see this.

First, because it was all things he and other alchemists in Amestris already knew. The principles were the same, and could be recreated with more ease than the complex arrays Jabir had created. The “remote controlled” Golem wasn’t even that difficult, Ed had done far larger constructs with far more motion and far less time.

Second, because Truth knew Ed wouldn’t share this information with anyone. These Golems weren’t the myth they’d been made out to be, creatures of earth come to life. They were animated by a continuous transmutation. 

And the closest modern Amestris could get to truly living, autonomous Golems? 

Ed had a feeling the answer was in soul binding.

Something shifted in the corner of his vision. As Ed turned to look, the world warped w h i t e  

He 

was 

f a  l     l           i                     n                                 g

…

Edward woke to a howling white void.

He turned in place, glowering at the faceless empty being across from him. A too-wide smile stretched across Truth’s face as It grinned at him.

“Well?” The Being asked, leaning forward to place It’s chin in an empty hand. “Did you like it?”

“What the fuck was that,” Ed growled at It. “What happened to the memories of the person whose body I snatched? Why are you suddenly showing me things from Xerxes?”

“You asked for it!” Truth retorted, Its thousand voices sounding vaguely affronted.

“When the hell did I ask for you to show me that?!” Ed growled, waving a hand in the air to indicate everything that ‘that’ entailed.

“Have you forgotten so quickly?” Truth asked, tilting Its head.

The Being opened It’s mouth, and Ed startled as his own voice — but not his, it was the voice of Stefan — came from the Entity. “First you gave me memories of Xerxes destruction, now you give me these? If this is the alternative, I’d rather have memories of Xerxes. At least those would be somewhat useful.”

Truth closed Its mouth, teeth bared in Its usual not-quite-smile. “You did ask, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~.”

Ed glared at Truth, narrowing his eyes. “So what have I traded? You don’t do anything for free.”

“You’ve learned!” Truth clapped It’s hands. “Well since you seemed so willing to be rid of those memories, I’ve picked a few of them.” Truth smirked, a thousand voices clashing in discordant harmony. “Quite tasty too~.”

His hackles raised, Ed hissed at the empty void that was Truth. “Don’t you dare go stealing my memories.”

He was a soul, they were, in some sense, all he had left of himself .

Truth chuckled. “You asked for the memories of another, not of yourself. I simply traded what you exchanged.” Truth twirled a finger, flicking it towards Ed. He stumbled back as images assaulted his mind — saw, straps, dark eyes, automail, glinting light, dark figures — then retreated just as quickly. “I took the memories of the one you call Stefan Morrow, the memories you traded for another’s.”

“Conniving bastard,” Ed spat. 

Despite the lump that eased in his chest, Ed still felt a knot sitting there. For all that he might have hated reliving Stefan’s memories, they were still Stefan’s. They weren’t Ed’s to give.

But didn’t he lose them the moment he died, something within him hissed. 

Truth seemed to know what Ed was thinking — Ed wouldn’t be surprised, this was Truth — and once again, gave him a razored grin. “You wanted the Truth of Xerxes, didn't you?” the Being whispered, echoing what It had told him before.

The floor beneath Ed’s feet vanished, and he was f a l l i n g 

Through endless white white w h i t e

Ed wasn’t ready for this. 

Hell, he’d probably never be ready for this.

He shifted in his seat, rubbing at his automail arm. He eyed Fuery, who was currently standing in as Ed’s ‘support buddy’ aka ‘making sure Aved didn’t run’. “Is this really necessary?” Ed sighed and flexed his metal hand. “It’s working fine.”

Furey sighed for the thousandth time. “Automail is delicate equipment, it’s wired into your nervous system. If there’s any potential of a problem, it needs to be addressed sooner rather than later.” The military officer whacked Ed on the head with a rolled up manual. “Ms. Rockbell is just going to make sure you’re not about to keel over on us.”

Ed huffed. His keeling over (again) would not be due to malfunctioning automail. And besides, he knew a tune up would help, he just wasn’t sure he could face another all too familiar face.

“We’re here!”

Al’s voice ran out through the office, and Ed couldn’t help his cringe.

Here we go.

Al shrugged off his overcoat as he entered, another following behind him. Hair pulled into a messy bun ponytail and sporting a set of brown, oil-stained coveralls, was Ed’s other oldest friend. Her eyes swept the office before they landed on Ed, and he caught a flash of surprise and sadness, before she covered it with a smile.

“Hello, I’m Winry. It’s nice to meet you! Aved, right?”

Ed nodded stiffly. “Yep, that’s me.”

Winry nodded, setting down the large tool case next to her with a loud thunk! She inspected the room, then pointed at Fuery. “Get me a sheet cloth and a room I can do maintenance in uninterrupted.”

Fuery hurried out of the room to do her bidding, and Winry came up next to where Ed sat. 

He clenched his left hand around the automail a bit tighter.

“Now, what’s the problem?” Winry asked, looking him up and down. “Al gave me the basics, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Er… Well… do you happen to know what I am?” Winry’s face tightened a bit as she nodded, and Ed exhaled, looking down. “It’s like the connection keeps… flickering I guess. It’s probably not even the hand, more whatever’s going with the body and my soul.”

“And how has the automail acted in response?”

“It… shuts off I guess? It’s become immobile a couple times, a literal deadweight. But I don’t always even know how to move the damn thing. Probably has to do with the soul connection.”

Winry hummed. “I’m going to take a look at the wiring and nerve connections, alright? I’ll be opening up your arm and leg, but don’t worry, I’ll warn you if I interact with the nerve connectors. Other than that, it shouldn’t hurt.”

Ed shifted in place, swallowing. “I… okay.”

A few minutes later, Ed was sitting in a low chair, with his arm laid out in front of him on a padded cushion on the table. Winry had opened her box of tools, and was carefully removing the metal plates of Ed’s arm with a screwdriver. The silence lasted about a minute, the squeak of metal accompanied by the flip of paper as Al paged through what looked like an alchemy journal off to the side. It didn’t take long for Ed to break.

“So… what is it you do?” he asked Winry cautiously.

She glanced at him, eyes widening slightly, then nodded to where Ed’s arm was currently being gutted. “Well, I’m an automail engineer. I do stuff like this: I design, build and repair automail prosthetics for those that use them. I work in Rush Valley, the automail capital of the continent! But Al called me out—”

Winry shot a slightly annoyed look at Al, who shrugged. “I am paying for your services! Besides, you haven’t been to Central for a while.”

“And you haven’t been back to Resembool either,” she countered.

Al raised his hands in surrender, and Winry rolled her eyes, refocusing her attention back onto Ed’s arm. It twitched a bit, and one of Winry’s tools knocked against the inside. Ed hissed. He knew it wasn’t nerve-based pain, most likely psychosomatic, but it still felt real enough. 

“Sorry,” Winry said, withdrawing her tool until Ed’s arm had stilled again.

“S’okay,” assured Ed, who eyed the automail with annoyance. "I'm still getting used to this. It's nothing like my old stuff."

“Old stuff?” Winry echoed. Her hands paused in their motions, and Ed was suddenly pinned by her curious gaze.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck—

“Do you mean you used to have prosthetics before… all this?” Winry gestured broadly to Ed with one of her tools. The engineer’s inquisitive side began to shine through as she started muttering to herself. “I didn’t think Xerxes had complex prosthetics, but it was known for being advanced, and it’s possible they could have created something with alchemy…” Winry paused to look over at Al, who had paused in his reading to eye Ed with interest. “God knows that you could come up with something Al.”

Winry turned her gaze on Ed again, eyes burning with curiosity. “Well? Was it anything like automail? What materials did you use? What sort of prosthetic did you use?”

Ed gulped. He prayed his wide eyes could be passed off as surprise or startlement due to the impromptu interrogation. Instead of the true reason… that he was internally screaming at himself whilst swearing black and blue.

“Er,” Ed shifted his eyes away, landing on Al’s abandoned alchemy journal. 

Alchemy…

“Well, there were regular prosthetics,” Ed began slowly. “I’ve seen some carved wooden legs that help people walk, but a lot of folks used a form of crutch. Those are typically more comfortable than a stiff piece of wood affixed to your leg. Easier to balance with too.” Ed paused, then gave a small grin. “Xerxes didn’t have your era’s utter obsession with stairs.”

He swallowed, and cast his mind back to his most recent ‘dream’. Time to lie with the Truth. Bullshitting skills, don’t fail him now. “We also had another form of prosthetic, which did use alchemy. It was similar to the alchemy that made Golems—”

“Golems?” Al interjected, leaning forward. “You mean creatures of living stone? We have legends about those.”

Ed nodded. “Yep. Anyways, advanced alchemists could use the same principles that formed Golems to make similar constructs, except ones that filled the role of human limbs. They had far more limited mobility than your automail, but could be used by an alchemist. They could activate the holding circle to get the hand to do simple motions, but it required active concentration.”

Winry watched him with a wide eyed look. “Really? They really did that?”

“Yep.”

Nope. Ed had no idea if it was true or not. Was it theoretically possible considering what he now knew of Golems? Definitely. Did Xerxes manage to figure it out? Only Truth knew.

“Could you show us?” Al asked, his eyes alight with interest.

“Er, no,” Ed said hurriedly. “I wasn’t nearly advanced enough for that. Besides, I don’t think I could even draw a circle with these hands.”

That, and he couldn’t do alchemy anymore. 

Winry and Al sighed in disappointment, but accepted his answer. “Too bad,” Winry muttered sullenly. “You should still look into it Al, it might make a good alternative prosthetic for those who aren’t interested in automail.”

Al, ever the doctor, nodded in agreement. 

Ed sighed, resigning himself to an alchemy-based interrogation later. At least he had time to plan.

“Alright, that should do it!” Winry smiled as she screwed the last panel on Aved’s leg closed. “I replaced some of the wiring, and tightened some of the nerve connections. How’s it feel?”

Aved cautiously stood up, rotating his automail hand and doing some motions with both arm and leg. His eyes widened slightly as he moved his metal fingers, which responded easily. “It’s better,” he said with a growing toothy grin. “It’s not lagging as much!”

“And you doubted me,” Winry sniffed.

“I should know better by now,” Aved muttered to himself. 

Before Winry could ask what he meant by that, the door swung open, and a black furred mass barreled into the room. It came to a stop at Winry’s feet, and she grinned down at it. “Hello to you too,” she smiled. “How about you give some of Aved that love, huh?”

She glanced up at Aved. “You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”

Aved blinked, looking between her and the dog that had entered. “Uh… I don’t think so?”

Winry nodded, gesturing for her companion to approach Aved. “This is Scout, he’s my helper.” Scout approached Aved, sniffing at the young man’s knees before he nudged Aved with his head. Aved, like most, was unable to resist as he gently laid his left hand down on the dog’s black and white furred head.

“You have a dog?” Aved asked, glancing up at Winry as he began to stroke Scout.

Winry nodded. “He helps me with work. Every good engineer needs a sidekick.”

Scout was one of Den’s puppies, and had followed in his mother’s pawprints as a support dog. He kept Winry’s customers and patients calm, and gave cuddles as needed before or after she worked on the automail. Winry was half certain some of her Rush Valley coworkers only visited as much as they did so they could pet Scout.

“Why don’t you take a walk around the building?” Winry suggested. “Make sure everything is functioning properly and that you don’t have any undue leg pain. Take Scout with you.”

Aved glanced between her and Scout, then shrugged. “Why not?”

After shrugging on his pants and overshirt again, Aved and Scout trotted out the door. As the door closed, Winry found herself staring after them almost wistfully. 

“You weren’t lying,” she remarked to Al.

Al sighed. “You thought I was?”

“No,” Winry said hesitantly. “But… Well, it was still a bit of a shock to see someone who looked similar to Ed with automail replacements in the same part of his body.” She sighed, rubbing her face with a hand. “I was so unprofessional too, peppering him with questions like that. I think… I got a bit lost in the past.”

Al stood, stepping over to wrap her in a hug. She rested her head against his chest, taking comfort in the strong, soothing heartbeat that thumped beneath her.  “I know. Sometimes he says something and I’ll swear, for a millisecond, that it’s actually Ed. Him looking so similar doesn’t help much either. I… the other day I nearly called him Ed too. Do…” Al sighed, and Winry heard the sound rattle in Al’s chest. “Do… you think I’m trying to replace Ed? I, hell, they even brought Aved here in an attempt to bring Ed back. It feels… I don’t know…”

Winry leaned back, gazing up into Al’s eyes, which looked suspiciously shiny. She narrowed her own, poking him hard in the chest. “You and I both know you could never ‘replace’ Edward,” she told him pointedly. “And well, there are similarities. Their aversion to automail maintenance for one thing—” She and Al both chuckled at that. “—But those exist in everyone.”

Winry tilted her head. “Though, how are you so certain he’s not Ed?”

Al grimaced, his mouth becoming a thin line. “You know why, Winry… Ed died in my arms. I know he’s dead. It’s the one impregnable, irrefutable Law… no one comes back from the dead. Ever.”

Al’s hands tightened into fists, and Winry wrapped him in a hug once again. “I know,” she soothed. “I just…”

“You hope,” Al said softly. “You hope for it so badly, it hurts.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

Al wrapped his arms around her, and for several minutes, the two old friends just embraced each other. They didn’t speak, simply enjoying the silence. Taking comfort in the warm arms that embraced them, in the steady heartbeat that thrummed in the other’s chest. 

Alive and well and safe.

Eventually, Winry separated from her hug with Al. 

She turned and began packing her tools back into the box. As she did, Winry noticed her blackened hands, and wiped the oil stains on her coveralls. Al snorted, giving her a wry grin. “You couldn’t have done that before we hugged?”

Winry snickered. “Oh please, like you can’t just transmute it out.”

Al rolled his eyes, but began working off his outershirt so he could do his alchemy. 

“I’m gonna go get a breath of fresh air,” Winry called, leaving Al to his cleaning job. 

She slipped out the door, heading for where she knew the roof exit to be. After several hallways and several more stairwells, she had nearly reached the roof. But as she neared the door, she slowed when she found it cracked open, and the soft sound of a voice coming from the other side. 

Cautiously, she cracked open the door, peering out onto the rooftop.

She blinked as she spotted Aved and Scout across from her, leaning against one of the building vents. What was he doing up here? From her side view, she could see the Xerxian was leaning into Scout, his fingers tangled into the black and white fur. He was also speaking, just loud enough for Winry to hear.

“I keep feeling like I should say something… but then I see them all so happy and I don’t want to risk anything that would ruin that.” Aved gave a sardonic chuckle, ducking his head to knock against his knee. “I’m not sure if that makes me a selfish bastard or not…”

Scout whined, giving Aved a few licks to the side of the face. He chuffed, stroking the dog’s head gently. 

“Yeah… I miss them though. They’re my family, and they’re so close… but at the same time they’re so far away.”

Winry didn’t understand what he was talking about, but she felt something soften as she listened.

She’d been very apprehensive when Al had called and asked for her to come help a friend with automail. She’d nearly refused when Al told her who Aved was, what he was. Al couldn’t just say that Aved looked similar to Ed and had the exact same automail replacements without explaining why. The story she was told was one tragic and far, far too familiar. 

But, as it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

She had only ever met two of the Homunculi. Her interaction with Wrath had been brief and she’d met Greedling in the build up to the Promised Day, but little besides. And she had been satisfied with that. She wasn’t interested in further excess mortal harm. And while Aved might have been, technically, a Homunculus, he wasn’t nearly as homicidal. 

Aved felt more… nervous than anything. Nervous and tired and unsure of how to act around them all. Winry supposed it made sense, he was in the wrong time and in the wrong body. 

It would make anyone unsure.

Through the crack in the door, Winry watched as Aved lifted his head, looking up towards the sky. He breathed deeply, then glanced towards Scout, towards Winry. He cocked his head to the side in a rather jerky motion, ponytail flopping across his shoulders, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a wry, tired not-quite smile.

Winry was struck with a wave of deja vu. 

It was a move that was so distinctly… Ed.

She laughed softly to herself. Aved was caught in a future he didn’t know, and Winry was stuck seeing the past.

It wasn’t fair to her to keep seeing Ed in Aved, and it wasn’t fair to Aved that she saw so much of Ed in him. Especially when his… whatever it was, was directly caused by someone trying to bring back Edward. No wonder he was nervous.

Cautiously, Winry retreated down the stairs, leaving Aved to his peace and privacy. There’d be time later to ask about how the automail was functioning. For the moment, he could have a moment of rest, with Scout offering the unconditional support only a dog could give.

Meanwhile, she’d see about getting Al to take her to some of the Central engineering tool shops. Might as well put her visit to some use.

Chapter Text

It’s today.

Edward stared out the window, watching the tree branches rattle in the wind. The leaves hadn’t turned quite yet, but he knew in a few weeks, Central would start to be painted orange and gold as autumn creeped over the landscape.

I practically missed autumn that year… didn’t step outside till spring…

“Cold won’t have set in at home yet,” Ed murmured softly. Memories of Resembool flitted through his head, of warm winds giving way to biting cold and frost. “The harvest is around the corner… Win and Auntie are probably stalling getting out their coats. They don’t want to admit that snow is on the way.”

We always did… every year…

Mindlessly, Ed worried the palm of his right hand with his left. He ran his thumb over cold metal, tracing the grooves between the plates and screws in the casing. This arm wasn’t the same. It was a different shape, a different texture. The metal didn’t have the same weathered feeling, of dirt and dust and a thousand tiny nicks, that had been on his despite the care he’d given it.

Usually I’m fidgeting with a different piece of metal…

Out the window, Edward could see officers in blue coats crossing the interior courtyard. They walked, heedless to his eyes watching them from above. “Everyone lives in the same world, yet we all have one to our own.”

“You quoting that?”

Ed startled, whirling around so fast that everything s p l i n t e r e d for a half-second before the body caught up with his spirit, and the world settled again. It took a second for his eyes to focus and another for his mind to comprehend what was in front of him.

“Alphonse?” Ed blinked, looking up at his brother, standing a few feet away. “When did you get here?”

A breath of laughter escaped Al, a wry grin on his face. “A few minutes ago. How long have you been sitting there? That can’t be comfortable.”

Ed looked down, taking in his position. His legs were tucked under him as he sat on the wide window sill overlooking the courtyard, and his back was pressed against the glass. “Not long,” Ed said, shifting slightly. “And it’s plenty comfortable.”

“I bet.” Alphonse raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there for an hour.”

“What?! No I haven’t!” 

But as Al mentioned it, Ed became more aware of the stiffness in his joints, pins and needles shooting up his right leg. Meanwhile, the automail of his left leg began twitching slightly of its own volition as his nerves woke up again. 

Alphonse’s singular raised eyebrow climbed higher as he took in Ed’s grimace. “Sure you haven’t. Now, scoot over.” 

“Huh?”

Alphonse huffed, shoving Ed’s legs off the sill and sitting down in their place. Ed’s traitorous brother ignored Ed’s hiss as his poor right leg exploded with pins and needles. “Agony,” Ed said dryly to Al as his younger brother made himself comfortable. “That is what you have subjected me to.”

Al chuckled, but his smile dimmed slightly as his eyes scanned Ed’s face. “What’s up?”

“The sky,” Ed returned, almost on reflex. “Space, stars, clouds, the fourth floor, probably some birds.”

“No, I mean… what’s wrong?” Al’s face scrunched up in concern. Well, ‘scrunched up’ in Alphonse terms, which probably looked like a moderate tightening of the face to others. (Armor didn’t exactly have facial expressions.)

Ed withdrew slightly, attempting to plaster an expression of ‘I’m fine’ on his face. He was pretty sure he only half succeeded. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?” 

“Aved, you’ve been staring out that window for an hour,” Alphonse said dryly. “Something’s on your mind.”

Internally, Edward cursed his lack of awareness of time. I thought I’d gotten better at this! He thought angrily. Apparently, he couldn’t shake the spaciness he’d gained during his time as a not-quite-spirit. For a moment, he considered lying — what was another lie to his current deck? — but Alphonse had on that ‘you can tell me anything’ face, and it had been so long since Ed’d had that expression directed at him…

“I’m remembering,” Ed finally said, leaning his head back to knock against the glass. “I, uh… the equinox is always hard for me. I lost… I have some bad memories associated with this time of year. It’s been years but… well, despite everything, I told myself I wouldn’t forget. So, I remember.”

Al was silent for a minute, then hummed, nodding. “I… understand. I don’t have the best memories associated with this season either, to be frank.”

That’s my fault too, Ed thought darkly.

“I sometimes do the same thing,” Alphonse continued. “Days of remembrance. I just… take the day to remember everything. People, places, good and bad. It’s… freeing, in some ways, to focus it onto a single day. Can make it easier to not get caught up in the past.”

“Ironically,” Ed whispered under his breath. 

Despite that, Al caught it, laughing slightly. “Fair enough. I’ll be honest, autumn isn’t my favorite time of year either. I much prefer spring.”

“Yeah?” Ed turned to look at Al, quirking his head to the side. “Why’s that?”

“It’s just nice. The world comes alive again after winter, each year without fail. The flowers bloom and the birds come back and everything becomes so bright and lively again!” Al grinned, his eyes sparkling as he gestured to confirm his points. “Well, that’s one reason.”

“Oh? What’s the other?” 

Al’s grin grew wider, a hint of mischief playing in his eyes. “Well, back in my home town they do this Sheep Shearing Festival at the start of spring. Biggest event all year, and my brother and I always liked to get candied apples. It was about the only time of year we could, and we loved it for that.” 

Edward laughed despite himself. They had done that… the Resembool Sheep Festival had been their favorite festival, not because it was the only festival, but because they could get better sweets there than at any other time of year.

“You should come this year,” Al suggested, nudging Ed’s side. “I’m going to try to bring the entire team down. They need to get out into the countryside more often.”

“Yeah…” 

The good mood in Ed’s chest began to deflate like a balloon with a leak. Resembool… home… A home he didn’t belong in, not anymore. A home that hadn’t been home for nearly a decade at this point, not after he touched his hands to that damned circle, not after he burned down his own house.

Ed huffed a bitter laugh. Without Winry and Pinako, without his mother’s grave, he honestly might not have returned to Resembool after that day. Even after everything, after Promised Day, he had still sometimes grown so unsettled with the memories that he ached to run, to get out.

“Av…”

And of course, now my grave is there. It’s just awkward at that point.

“… –Ed! Aved! ”

“Huh?” Ed blinked. The world snapped into focus, and he was suddenly aware of the hand pressing into his shoulder, Al’s worried face a few inches from his own. “What?”

“You spaced out,” Al said, worried eyes tracking Ed’s own. Ed shifted under the scrutiny, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “You weren’t responsive, despite my calling your name several times.”

Not my name.

“It’s fine,” Ed mumbled, shuffling deeper into his jacket. “Like I said, remembering.”

Alphonse watched him for a good few seconds. Ed couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under his brother’s penetrating stare. Al knew, he knew and Ed was being laid raw and bare for him to see, to criticize and scorn and it was Ed’s fault, everything was his fault hisfaulthisfault—

“Come on,” Al stood, brushing off his overcoat and extending a hand to Ed. “Let’s go.”

“What? Where?” Ed asked, staring at Al’s offered hand in bewilderment.

Alphonse gave him a sunny smile, brighter than the spring sun that Ed’s brother loved so much. “We’re going to go for a walk, and maybe even find some candied apples,” Al told him. “Come on, I’ll leave you your time to remember whatever it is you need, but as your friend, I’m also here to make sure you don’t get trapped in the past.”

“We’re friends?” Ed blurted, watching his brother (but not, not anymore) with wide eyes.

“Yes,” Al said, and Ed didn’t know how a single word could bring him such joy.

“October 3rd is only a day, Aved,” Al continued, a slight smile on his face. “There’s plenty more after.”

Yeah… there are.

“Yeah,” Ed reached out, taking Al’s outstretched hand and hoisting himself to his feet. “You’re right… Thanks.” 

“For what?” Al asked, raising an eyebrow. 

For being my brother. For having hope when I could not. For keeping hold of your optimism. For loving people. For being you. For everything.

“For… this,” Edward waved a hand between them, around them. “Despite everything, you all have let me be here with you. It means a lot.” Thank you for letting me see you all again, to be here and know you all again, though I am only a stranger and outsider. “More than you know.”

Thank you. 

For everything.

“Ko’helm sho’te, lamani sovelo’tra.”

“Okay, okay, my turn to guess!” Breda said, rubbing his hands together. He eyed Ed across the room, his face twisted into an almost comical thinking expression. “Is it… ‘Heyman’s jokes are funny and he is my favorite of the whole team’?”

“Wrong again,” Ed said with a snort, and Falman added another mark to his book. “What’s the tally now? Nil to nothing?”

“I have scored seven times, Fuery three times, and Havoc and Breda are currently at zero,” Vato reported, squinting down at his score chart. Fuery gave a whoop of glee as Breda groaned. “As for who is the leader in guessing Aved’s Xerxian word or phrase, Alphonse is in the lead at forty points.”

“He doesn’t count,” Breda protested, pointing at Ed and Falman with his pen. “He can basically speak the language. It doesn’t count if that’s the case. It’s an unfair advantage for the rest of us.”

“You can use roots to predict it though,” Al pointed out. “Xerxian may be extinct, but a lot of their words became roots for present day alchemic and scientific terms. It can be pretty fragmentary and corrupted, but it's useful in some cases.”

“If it’s an alchemy thing, shouldn't Mustang have more points then?” Breda muttered, giving Alphonse a half-hearted glare.

Al shrugged. “I’ve done a lot more work with older and varied alchemical texts, more than most alchemists. Plus, I do alchemic code cracking, which is really similar.” 

“Alchemists,” Breda muttered, to which half the room snorted and rolled their eyes, specifically the non-alchemists.

“Well he’s doing better than the rest of you, so it counts for something,” Ed protested in defense of his brother. “If you want to get better I’ll give you homework.”

“No! Anything but more paperwork!”

The entire room laughed, and Ed leaned back against the wall with a smug smile. After it had petered out, Kain gave Ed a curious look. “What did you say, Aved?” The communications officer asked, tilting his head. “No one got it.”

“He said you’re all idiots,” Hawkeye said, cutting off Ed as she stepped into the room. Ed went a little slack-jawed, his mind blanking. How had she known?! “Now, step to it, we have a development related to our primary case.” 

Ed immediately straightened, fixing all his attention on Hawkeye. There was exactly one major case for Mustang’s unit right now, and it had everything to do with Ed’s cultist problem. 

Seeing she had their focus, Hawkeye laid out a few folders on the desk. “We got a tip off to what we believe are members of the group that seized the General, Alphonse and myself and…” The Colonel paused, glancing briefly at Ed. “… introduced us to Aved. They were spotted near some townhouses in the north district of Central City. When officers arrived to investigate they found quite the disturbing scene.”

“Blood,” Mustang growled as he stepped into the room, his eyes dark. He took one of the files from Riza and laid some pictures out. “They found blood and bodies.” Ed felt a cold hand squeeze his heart at the sight, and beyond the ringing in his ears, he could hear someone choking.

It might have been him.

The pictures showed corpses, twisted and contorted from more than death. They lay prone across an array, painted in a dark brown that Ed knew was blood, with symbols that made the heart he should not have beat faster.

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump.

Rebound, Ed thought, his eyes tracing every detail of the faces, twisted from pain and failed alchemy. They’re still trying human transmutation…  

He couldn’t hear beyond the rising din of silence in his mind, couldn’t see beyond the arcing red-brown symbols, the twisted contortions and scars of the transmutation clawed into skin and stone. He felt hollow.

No, not hollow. 

Detached.

This wasn’t his body after all, never had been. And his soul was only staying contained, staying bound to it, by some curse and miracle and roll of chance. 

Violator, the whispers hissed. Intruder.

“You alright?” Ed’s soul nearly lept out of his skin, and he jerked as a hand landed on his shoulder. It was only the flickering connection of body and soul, held by spindled threads, that prevented him from reflexively punching the individual in question. He didn’t have reflexes. After his mind caught up with him, Ed found himself meeting Fuery’s concerned gaze.

“… Fine,” Ed lied after a moment, knowing that everyone saw through it a mile away.

“Come on, let’s step outside,” Fuery said, nudging him toward the door. 

Ed dug in his heels, refusing. “No,” he said lowly, returning his gaze to the pictures. “I want to stay. I… need to stay.” 

“Aved,” Alphonse gave him a pitying look, but Ed wasn’t having it, not today. 

“No,” Ed repeated. He looked over at Roy and Riza. “Please. I… I’m involved in all of this and, for as little as I know, you likely don’t know much more. Maybe I can help somehow? I just… I can’t let that happen to anyone—,” he nodded sharply to the images of the twisted transmutations. “Nor can I let anyone go through what I did. It’s… bad…”

“Aved,” Riza started, but Mustang held up a hand. 

The General narrowed his eyes, staring at Ed — at Aved — for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “You’re going to get yourself involved regardless of what we say or do, aren’t you?” Despite the question, Ed could hear the tired resignation in Mustang’s voice. He knew Ed’s answer.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“And, like it or not, I’m already involved.”

Roy sighed, and Edward knew he’d won.

“He’s got a point,” Alphonse said quietly, and Ed turned, eyebrows raising in surprise at Al’s support. “Mustang, as much as this case concerns all of us, Aved perhaps has the most stake in it.”

“I’m aware,” Mustang said, and he locked his gaze with Ed’s. “I will allow you to shadow us in our investigations, but you are to stay next to one of our officers at all times. Regardless of your involvement, you are still a civilian, and here as a result of this organization’s operations. You will obey my orders, understand?”

“Yes,” Ed nodded, holding Mustang’s gaze. “… Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Roy said, his face tightening into a stony mask. The General looked back at the photos of the crime scene, and Ed felt whispers of cold gnawing at the edges of his soul. “It’s worse in person.”

Mustang wasn’t lying.

As Ed stepped out of the car, he could already feel something gaping, something smelling of ozone and ash tickling at his senses, at his soul. While another might have ignored it, Ed had been around enough human transmutations to know the taste in the air that came after.

The taste of What Lay Beyond rubbing shoulders with reality.

Edward grit his teeth, grinding the knuckles of his automail hand into the flesh of his thigh to ground himself in the present. He shrugged off the gazes of the others, focusing his attention on the scene around him.

Military officers in blue and black uniforms mingled around, most concerned with manning barricades that had been set up. At the center of everything was a brick townhouse, otherwise innocuous in appearance, with nothing to suggest the sight that lay within.

“Good, you’re here.” Ed turned towards the voice, seeing Havoc approaching Ed and the rest of the unit that had joined them at the scene. Mustang, Hawkeye, Alphonse, and Breda were all present, with Falman and Fuery focusing on work back at headquarters. 

“Havoc,” Mustang greeted. “Report.”

“We haven’t touched the bodies or the array,” Havoc said as he guided them towards the townhouse. “I instructed them to wait until you or Al were here. We need you to make sure the array isn’t operational before anyone crosses it.”

“Good decision,” Alphonse said, his brows furrowed as he looked up at the townhouse. “Has anyone messed with the transmutation circle at all?”

“Not to our knowledge,” Havoc said, waving away some officers stationed at the entrance. “We don’t want to accidentally set it off again, the state of the remains makes that clear.” He paused at the threshold, then glanced back at them. “I warn you, this isn’t a pretty sight. We’ve already had four officers on site have to be sent back to the infirmary because of… this. ”

“Havoc, show us.”

Havoc nodded, pausing to grab a handkerchief from his pocket and hold it to his nose. He beckoned them to follow with a jerk of his head. “You might want to hold your breath.”

Ed ducked into the building, and for a moment, he didn’t notice. But as he followed the unit inside, crossing the first floor into a main room with further barricades, it hit him. First was the smell, which burned in his nostrils like acid, clogging his throat. Ed was almost grateful for his reduced reflexes in this body, it meant his gag reflex didn’t see his lunch clawing its way up again. 

Next, he was hit with a feeling he’d experienced only a handful of times before, but that was no less chilling. It was the lingering prickle of ash and ionized air, not quite the usual ozone that followed transmutations, but something all-together different. Something bigger and colder, made of nothing and absolutely everything, that whispered of Judgment and Beyond.

And then, he saw it.

An array was sprawled across the main room, filling it from corner to corner. Symbols filled the array from every arc of the circle, faded slightly as the blood that formed it dried and crumbled away. And, strewn across the room, were bodies. 

There were four, twisted and crumbled like wet tissue paper, and obviously days old. Ed’s eyes traced over the gaunt figures, seeing every point where the Rebound had taken its Toll, or had thrown things back together without a care to the original shape.

Human transmutation, Ed murmured to himself, tracing the familiar yet unfamiliar array. I can never seem to escape it.

“Are there any other arrays in the house?” Alphonse asked, his voice slightly muffled as he held his sleeve against his nose. Ed felt his heart jump in his throat as his younger brother edged into the room, circling around the edge of the transmutation circle.

“No,” Havoc shook his head. “Uniforms swept the house, nothing of note except for this. Though it’s probably a good idea to go over it with an alchemist’s eye. You’ll likely catch something we missed.”

Roy and Al nodded, eyes tracing across the room. Ed found his own doing so as well, taking in the spirals of the array and the forms strewn across it. He trailed a hand absently over the wall, leaning his head back to look around the room. “Why did they come here?”

“Sorry?”

“Why did they come here?” Edward repeated, looking over at Hawkeye and Havoc. “They could have done this anywhere, in an abandoned warehouse or basement like I woke up in. Why here? And who were they?” Ed gestured to the bodies on the ground. “Were they the alchemists who tried this? Innocents caught up in it or left to try and catch a soul?

There was a pause before Hawkeye nodded, catching his train of thought. “This location is too exposed,” she continued, her eyes flitting toward the outside, where the road would typically have plenty of passersby if not for the military barricades. “They weren’t looking for subtlety.”

“So, either they didn’t care about being caught…” Havoc went on, his brows furrowing. 

“Or, they wanted us to find this.” Mustang finished, eyeing the bodies. 

“They’re escalating.” Alphonse said, squatting down at the edge of the transmutation circle. “This circle, it’s sloppier than the one we saw before. If they were willing to play with risks like this, have an improper array in such a complex and forbidden transmutation…” Al paused, a deep scowl twisting his face. “They’re getting desperate.”

“Desperate for what?” Breda asked.

“Results.” Mustang said, looking over the circle, then directly at Ed. “You were a success and a failure. So they’re trying again.”

Ed’s (not his not his not his) stomach twisted, and he felt bile burning the back of his throat. It had nothing to do with the smell or the sight, but everything to do with the prickling on every hair of his body, with the yawning abyss made of white static looming under his feet, with the great Eye that stared from nothing. 

“… Do you feel that?”

Every eye snapped to Breda, who was staring off into the middle distance with a frown on his face. Ed scowled — what couldn’t he feel? — when a small shift caught his attention. As the pit in his stomach yawned wider, Ed raised his left hand and pressed his palm flat into the wood of the wall.

thruuuumm…

The vibration began soft, but as Ed focused on it, he felt it grow stronger. His eyes widened, and he stepped back just as he tasted a lick of ozone through the air. He opened his mouth, drawing breath to shout, but Alphonse beat him to it.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!”

The world exploded.

The ground buckled beneath them, and Ed heard the distinctive sound of Alphonse clapping before it was drowned out in a cacophony of shuddering stone and metal. Ed’s hair stood on end as electric energy crackled around them, the burning scent of ozone filling his nose. Light twisted, and when Ed blinked his eyes open (when had he closed them?) he was staring into not quite darkness, coughing up dust.

Then, just as fast, light ripped away the darkness.

Ed shuffled backwards as stone shifted aside, and the world blurred into motion again. Mustang and Al jumped to their feet, the rocky shield that Al had created twisting and changing into spikes that rocketed towards some opponent Ed couldn’t see yet. Mustang snapped, and fire bloomed, blasting Ed’s face with heat. Hawkeye shouted, and Ed flinched with every crack of her pistols firing.

It was too much.

With nerves and senses as raw as the day he’d got them back after years of absence, Ed felt every shudder through the ground, every crackle of static and every blaze of heat. He felt the gravel digging into his right shin, the dust that scratched at his eyes, the grasp of a hand pulling him away from the wreckage. He saw the now crumbling townhouse, blasted apart by alchemy, the figures of Mustang, Al and other blurs that must be whoever attacked them. He could smell sweat and burning and ozone. He could hear the crack of gunfire, and the roar of explosions. He could taste copper tang of blood.

Somewhere amidst the cacophony, Ed got his legs under him. He shoved through the haze, squinting at Breda and the vice-like grip on his forearm. “Augh,” Edward muttered eloquently.

“You alive over there?” Havoc asked, pulling Breda and Ed to makeshift cover behind an outcropping made of the now jutting out concrete. Ed snorted. As if this would be good cover in the middle of an alchemy battle. It could easily be turned to crush them. 

“Judging by that, yes,” Breda said, shoving Ed down. Ed gave a grunt of protest, because rude. “Shut up, we’re in a bad situation right now.”

“No shit,” Ed muttered, peeking around their barricade to get a look. 

His eyes immediately found his younger brother, where Al was exchanging attacks with another alchemist, presumably one of the those who’d dropped a building on them. Skilled as Ed was in alchemy, he could pick out the attacks in the chaos of the twisting ground. Al’s attacks were controlled and precise, aimed directly at his target and with specific intent in what the outcome would be.

But his opponent, whoever they were, was vicious. While Al sent targeted spikes of stone, pulled shields that were as large as they needed and no bigger, his attacker was chaotic. They ripped apart the earth around them, throwing it towards Al in a tidal wave. 

It wasn’t precise, it was barely controlled, and if anything that made it more dangerous.

“We have to get out of here,” Ed told Havoc and Breda. “That alchemist is gonna destabilize this whole field, and if a collapse doesn’t get us first, the inevitable rebound that guy is toeing will.”

“Any suggestions?” Havoc muttered, back pressed against the outcropping. His gun was in his hand, customary cigarette long since lost. “I’m a good shot, but even Hawkeye would have trouble getting a hit in this mess. And we don’t exactly have enough cover to make a good retreat.” 

“We’ll have to make a break for it,” Breda said, eyeing the battlefield that was getting closer. The ground buckled and heaved as contradicting forces fought for its obedience, making it look less like solid land and more like a stormy sea. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t have cover, we need to get out before we’re swallowed.”

“So let’s go!” Ed snapped, and the military officers didn’t need to be told twice.

The three of them tore across the crumbling ground, away from the twisting combat behind them. It pained Edward to leave Alphonse, but he knew that, right now, he was a liability in this fight. 

Ed had nearly made it across the field when another sound caught his ears amidst the din. He looked, and his eyes met those of a soldier, crawling away from the chaos with a leg that Ed could already tell was broken. Help me, they mouthed as their eyes locked with his, words lost somewhere in the space between. Please.

He didn’t even need to think about it.

He ran.

Edward stumbled to a stop next to the soldier, eyes flicking over them as he looked for where he could carry them without causing more damage. Screw it, Ed thought as the ground rumbled. Better hurt than dead. Using his shoulder to brace the soldier, Ed took part of their weight and the pair of them began to hobble towards cover. 

But Ed’s borrowed body wasn’t as strong as his own had been and the soldier’s broken leg did not make for fast travel. And really, stumbling across exposed ground as they were, it was honestly amazing they didn’t get spotted faster.

Ed had made the mistake of glancing back, only to have his eyes catch those of one of the alchemists that had attacked. When the alchemist’s eyes widened, a grin spreading across their face, Ed knew it was bad news.

Swearing in every language he knew and then some, Ed and his dead weight hobbled faster.

The alchemist was quicker.

The first attack threw Ed and his passenger from their feet as the ground bucked beneath them. Ed rolled aside from an earthen boulder, hands pressed against his chest, and then he stalled, catching himself. Both hands splayed to the ground, Ed looked up up up into the eyes of the gleeful alchemist, watching him with half mad eyes.

As a tidal wave of dirt encroached upon him, Ed’s last thought was: I’m going to die again, and I’ve gone out like a punk both times.

His next thought was: What the fuck.

A surge of familiar energy crackled around through his arms, ozone and static and power flowing through the ground around him. For a second Ed could feel the deep well of grinding tectonic energy and shifting magma a thousand miles beneath his feet, and he felt the gravel and concrete rubble underneath his palms, made of carbon, silica dioxide, iron and alkali metals.

Then, blue lightning rippled outwards, and Ed watched in shock as a sheet of stone erupted from the ground in front of him, shielding him and the soldier. 

The stone almost immediately started to buckle, and Ed barely needed to think as he commanded the transmutation. Stronger, he ordered, pulling in iron and arranging the silica and oxygen and carbon until his shield was solid granite. You won’t break, not on my watch.

The shield held, and Ed shuffled back, returning to the side of the injured soldier. His hands brushed each other, and as he felt the gate to that well of energy deep below open, something clicked. It was years of combat instincts that had him summoning the energy of the earth’s core and forming a stone spike to hurl towards the alchemist still bearing down on him.

But while his instincts had taken over, his logical mind, on the other hand, was currently recognizing what had just happened and swearing up a blue streak.

whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthe—

Thankfully for Ed’s panic, the alchemist’s focus on him was also a perfect distraction. A massive earthen fist slammed into the alchemist, sending them flying and crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

A second later, and Alphonse appeared in Ed’s line of sight, whiter than a sheet. “What was that?”

Ed blinked, languidly, staring at Al and then at his hands, cradled in his lap. He was fairly certain that his own horror and shock was being mirrored on Al’s face. “I’m… not entirely sure, to be honest.”

“Av… Ed?”

“What the hell was that?!”

Ed ground his teeth together, glaring at the floor as the door slammed behind Mustang. Ed and the rest of Mustang’s unit were finally back in the privacy of the office after they had ensured their attackers were locked up. But now, they were able to address the elephant in the room without the wrong ears overhearing. And that elephant happened to be shaped like the granite that Ed had transmuted.

With his hands.

“I told you, I don’t know,” Ed bit out, not entirely lying. Did he know how he done a transmutation? Sure. He was an alchemist and clap alchemy had become as easy as breathing after years of doing it. 

Did he know why he was suddenly able to perform transmutations again, let alone clap alchemy, after literally giving up his ability to do alchemy along with his Gate?

Not a fucking clue.

“Yes, you do,” Mustang growled, looming behind his desk. “There’s only one way anyone can do alchemy without a circle, only one way someone can perform it with their hands, and that’s by seeing It.”

Silence fell over the room, pulling so tight Ed wondered if it was strangling him.

“And frankly,” Roy continued. “There’s a few too many coincidences and inconsistencies lining up here for my taste. So you better start explaining, Aved.”

“What’s to explain?” Edward said shortly. He wasn’t sure why he felt so defensive, even if his lies were quite possibly falling down around his ears right now. But it was probably to do with the fact that he also had no fucking idea what was going on. 

Because he shouldn’t be able to do alchemy. 

“Did you see It?!” Mustang demanded, his voice rising.

“See what?” Ed hissed back, raising his gaze to stare Mustang straight in the eyes.  “I’ve seen a lot, you know. Most of it I wasn’t supposed to.”

“The Gate,” Al said lowly. The room turned to the younger (only) Elric. It was the first time he’d spoken since whispering Ed’s false name (and yet, also his true name) back on the battlefield. “Have you seen the Gate? In the Void?”

“There was nothing,” Ed muttered, shoving back the memories of white white white, of the yawning emptiness and numbness that was carving a hole in his chest.

“There certainly wasn’t!” Mustang growled. The General’s thumb and forefingers pressed together, a warning or an anxious tic, but he was close to setting things ablaze. “You’re here aren’t you? There’s something you’re not telling us. Actually, a lot of things, I think!”

And finally, finally, Ed snapped.

“The Void was all I saw for the past who knows how long!” Ed screamed, white white white yawning under his feet, an eerie too-wide grin stretching just out of sight. “And I didn’t have a Gate— I am DEAD!!” 

Ed panted, his breath (he shouldn’t have it, couldn’t have it, wrong wrong wrong) coming in short gasps. “I am dead, was dead, am dead still,” Ed growled, feeling some raw and ragged wound open in his chest. Or maybe, he was just now realizing that it was there. “I know I am, I don’t fit in this body. It’s not mine. I’m here by some… curse or twist or who knows what the fuck for, but I know it’s Wrong.”

He pointed towards Mustang, towards Al. “Maybe I’m a homunculus, maybe I’m not, maybe I’m something else. I don’t know. I’ve barely understood anything since I woke up! I couldn’t feel anything for years, it was just emptiness and nothing and maybe I don’t want to have the fucking Gate factor in too, because things are already a damn confusing nightmare!”

Silence descended, and the office was as still as the grave.

Edward inhaled, a ragged thing. It scraped like glass shards in his lungs.

“I’m going out,” Ed said shortly. He turned, leaving the office and shutting the door behind him. He walked. And walked. And walked. Until he was back at Havoc’s apartment, in his borrowed room in his borrowed body and fell into the sleep of exhaustion and the dead.

Edward woke to a howling white void.

He looked up, staring at the stone monolith that now stood in front of him, reaching up towards nothing. It was… different looking, then he’d last seen it. Massive cracks cut through it, and the edges were crumbling away to the white static around them. Ed almost imagined he could see flickering hands of shadow reaching for him through the cracks.

His Gate.

“Well, well, well, back so soon ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~ ?”  

Ed turned, staring at the empty figure that sat across from him. Truth gave him a too-wide grin, looking quite pleased with Itself. “You really need to stop falling into my Domain so often, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~,” Truth tittered, tapping a finger to Its non-existent chin. “Who knows what damage it could do?”

“What’s going on?” Ed growled, glaring at the Entity with narrowed eyes. “How the fuck do I have my Gate? I traded it to you in exchange for Al’s body! You can’t negate that!”

“Who says I have?” Truth asked, tilting Its head.

“THIS!” Ed roared as he held up his hands, shaking them at Truth. “I did alchemy! Not only that, I did it with my hands! I traded that! I gave it all back so Alphonse could be restored, and I won’t have you do anything to put him at risk!” Ed heaved for breath, breath he didn’t need, not here. Then he sighed, hanging his head. “I won’t have Alphonse in danger because of me, not again. I’m already dead, I refuse to take more from him.”

“Yes, you did give your Gate for Alphonse, didn’t you?” Truth murmured. “Severed the connection between your Gate and your soul, bound them to the different planes. And yet, even when you returned, you were still tied to the Other. By blood and by memory. Curious, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s concerning.” 

Truth chuckled, giving Ed a razored grin. “Don’t you wish for the Truth, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~ ?”

Ed huffed. “Of course. But I’ve also learned It's a bitch and won’t ever give me a straight answer, or even any answer at all. So, at this point, why do I even try.”

The Being made of Nothing and Everything gave a laugh, and the distinct impression of rolling Its eyes, despite having no eyes to roll. “The Truth holds the answers you seek, Edward Elric,” the Being tutted, a thousand voices echoing through the Void.

Ed snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Tsk, tsk, I just did ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~. You simply don’t listen.”

The Void flickered, black shadow and white static clashing and twisting and consuming each other. Ed stumbled, the ground that did not exist falling out from beneath him. He fell, for no time and eternity, until he was scattered across infinity. 

“The Truth always comes out, Edward Elric. Do remember that.”

Chapter Text

Edward woke up. 

From one moment to the next, he surfaced from the abyss of sleep and opened his eyes to awareness, staring at the ceiling above him. He didn’t know how long he lay there, in half darkness, his mind for once relatively quiet. The only sound was the soft sigh of breath, of his heartbeat pulsing through his body.

None of which he should have.

Like that, Ed’s thoughts were drawn to the previous day, or however long it had been, since he’d snapped at Mustang, Alphonse and everyone. His thoughts were drawn to him using alchemy, to him being dead, to him being Wrong.

Fuck.

Ed pushed himself upright, blankets pooling around him as he sat up. He flicked his gaze to the window, where the hazy pre-dawn light of morning could be seen in the sky. He’d gotten back to Havoc’s apartment by sunset… he’d really been asleep that long?

All the more time for them to draw their own conclusions, his subconscious whispered, reminding him of the people he’d left behind. Who knows what they think now? Are you Aved… or are you Ed?

Giving a wordless snarl, Edward buried his face in his hands. What am I going to do? Do I go back and face them? Can I even? … What am I going to do… Ed scrubbed his hands through his hair, uncaring of how the action made his (not his, never his) scalp spike with pain, stray threads entangled in the metal joints and plates of the automail. 

He sat like that for a long time, until the sky had grown brighter and the grays gave way to visible color.

Sighing, Ed tugged his hands free of his hair, a few strands snapping as he forcefully withdrew the automail. With his left hand, Ed started working on untangling the hair from the metal screws. If it hadn’t been for the first rays of sunlight slipping through his window, Ed might have missed it. But as it was, he stared at the strands of hair twisted in his fingers, watching some of them shimmer gold ever so slightly.

“… Even my hair is mocking me now?” Ed muttered, letting it fall off the side of the bed. Truth, everything was reminding him of what he was and wasn’t right now. 

Aved, not Edward. Edward, not Aved.

After he’d finally finished picking the hair fibers from his metal joints, Ed hauled himself out of bed. His feet made the usual mismatched sound as he moved across the hardwood, a slight ka-thunk of metal and then the relative softness of his bare feet. No, not like usual. These weren’t his feet, this wasn’t his automail. It was his but not his, wrong wrong w-r-o-n-g W-R-O-N-G

Fuck… I’m a mess.

Ed pushed open the door to the adjoining bathroom, flicking on the light. It only took him a minute to relieve himself and wash his hands in the sink. As he did, his eyes glanced upwards, into the mirror that hung above the washbasin.

The face that stared back was not his. But it wasn’t Stefan’s either.

It was like Stefan’s face… the same structure and most of the same features. There were freckles over the bridge of the nose, a few small nick scars near the lips, all of Stefan. But then things started to blur. Because amidst Stefan’s dirty blonde hair, in Stefan’s hazel eyes, once brown all the way through… were streaks and flecks of gold.

Ed stared at his reflection, one that was not his and not Stefan’s. But beginning to look somewhere in between.

Fear and rage suddenly filled Edward’s mind, burning as bright and hot as a star. He reeled back, snarling, and sent an automail fist flying into the damned reflection that stared back. The mirror shattered, the reflection suddenly fractaling into hundreds. Glass shards fell to the floor as Ed withdrew his fist, feeling more hollow and empty than he had in a long time.

“What’s going on?” Ed whispered, stepping back from the mirror, away from the lies his eyes were telling him. (Not his eyes, not his… but, almost.)

He hissed as the flesh of his bare foot stepped on the glass littering the floor. Swearing, Edward balanced on his left leg, hopping back slightly until his back hit the wall. Cautiously, he twisted his foot around, grimacing at the bloody streak on the sole. With careful fingers, Ed pulled the glass shard from the cut, which thankfully wasn’t deep. He flicked the shard away, though his eyes caught on the blood that decorated his hands and foot.

The dead don’t bleed.

The thought startled Ed, and he growled slightly, trying to shove it away. But, it stayed, persistent and nagging, no matter how he tried to not think about it.

The dead don’t bleed. The dead don’t breathe. The dead don’t have a heartbeat, his traitorous subconscious whispered, like the song of a siren. Dangerous, deadly, and oh so sickly sweet. So you are not dead, are you? Why do you resist? Accept that you are Edward Elric, and live.

“I am dead,” Ed growled. His hands clenched into fists, muscle and metal groaning in unison. “I am… I… have to be. I’m meant to be. If not…” The energy suddenly left his legs, and Ed slumped to the floor, holding his head in his hands. “… the dead don’t come back to life.”

He wanted to be alive, he wanted it so badly. 

But…

What would happen if he stopped thinking of himself as dead? The dead don’t come back to life, that was Law. Equivalent exchange. If he stopped being ‘dead’, and started being ‘alive’… then the true measure of the Exchange would occur. And who knew what would happen then…

But what if nothing happened? the whispers in his mind hummed. What if you are alive? And there is no Exchange?

“I can’t hope,” Edward whispered. He couldn’t, not when it could end at any time. “Even if this body is alive…My soul can’t stay in it.” He could feel it, could feel it in the way his soul rubbed against this body that was wrong wrong wrong like sandpaper. It grated and burned, fit too tight and didn’t move quite right. It was a shell, but one he did not belong to. “So why…”

Why was his reflection showing him, and not Stefan?

“Is my soul finally cutting itself loose?” Ed wondered aloud, pulling a strand of hair in front of his eyes. Golden threads shimmered mockingly back. “This… how is this even happening? Why is it happening?”

And the worst part was, he didn’t have any answers. 

There was no precedence for this. No precedence for a soul trapped in a living container. Humans existed as souls in bodies that fit , that were fundamentally theirs. Al had been locked in armor, and though it had held his soul, it had been an artificial connection, one that withered over time. The homunculi had held fragments of philosophers stones, a raging maelstrom of thousands of souls packed into a single container.

“Maybe I’m a homunculus,” Ed muttered, holding up a bare hand, still streaked with red, to the light. “Or maybe a philosopher’s stone, a single soul shoved into the wrong container. Maybe somewhere in between… who knows.”

Truth, he supposed wryly, thinking back to the Entity that had only chuckled at his misfortune and anger.

“The Truth always comes out,” Edward spat, quoting the last thing the entity had said to him. “The Truth of what? Me? My existence?” He groaned. “Everyone’s going to find out eventually… Especially if I start looking more like me and less like Stefan.”

He paused.

Ed bolted upright, nearly toppling over with the force of it. “Fucking hell…” Ed looked at his hands. “Truth… is It talking about the Truth of what I am? Or my existence?” Suddenly, Ed was very aware of every shift his soul made, every shift that the body followed, puppeted by ethereal strings. He was aware of every place his soul rubbed against the container that held him in. And, maybe it was his imagination, but the shell almost felt… thinner.

Edward stared at his hands, at every line of his palms, one skin and one metal. Maybe, if he looked close enough, he could see where his soul was burning through.

“Unsustainable,” Ed murmured, flexing his hands. He laughed. “Of all the things, I wasn’t expecting to die a second time because of my own soul.” Because if he was right… Then the Truth was coming out, the Truth of a soul trapped in a living vessel not meant to hold it. And either the body he was inhabiting was starting to fail, making it weaker, or his soul was burning its way out, or both.  

Ed leaned back against the wall once more, exhausted beyond measure.

He felt strangely calm, considering he would be facing a second death. Maybe because he’d already died? Ed chuckled. He’d known he’d been on a time limit, but this, parts of him literally beginning to show through… it felt more concrete. More real. More soon.

Ed sighed. What was he supposed to do now?

The question was answered for him as the sole of his foot spasmed angrily in pain. Ed hissed, grabbing at the offending limb, eyeing the blood running down skin. He glanced over at the blood and glass still littering the floor and the shattered mirror, fractaling the world into a thousand pieces. This was not going to be fun to clean.

Unless… Edward glanced at his hands then, cautiously, pressed his palms together. From his left, he could feel firm, cool metal, but the right felt nothing, save a faint memory suggesting a phantom warmth and the softness of skin.

He envisioned the circle in his mind, every line and symbol of the matrix. He reached down, pulling at the well of energy from the earth. He felt static raise the hair on his arm, the whisper that hinted at the precursor to alchemic discharge.

Ed pressed his hands to the floor.

Static crackled and blue lightning rippled over the ground, deconstructing the shards of glass and blood into dust. Then, with the ground clear, Ed stood and shuffled over to the sink, pressing hands that still crackled with light into the surface of the mirror. Energy rushed through his fingertips, stitching and sealing the fractures until there was nothing to suggest the mirror might ever have been broken. 

Stepping back from the mirror, Ed looked at his handiwork. The transmutation was seamless. He could still feel the static of the discharge dancing over his skin.

“Dammit Truth,” Ed muttered. Flexing his fingers, he stared down at them, through them. He could almost see the whitescape, see the cracked and crumbling Gate that had stood there, imposing in the emptiness. “I gave away my Gate,” Ed muttered to the air. “So why… why do I still have it?”

Ed moved out of the bathroom, returning to his room and beginning to pace the floor, hands held in front of him as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

“Okay, think logically about this Edward… It was my Gate I saw, not Al’s,” Ed thought as he paced, thinking back to the inscriptions on the monolith he had seen in the Void. “So, that must mean I was using my Gate to do alchemy. The problem is, I traded my Gate to Truth in exchange for Alphonse, to return him to the Material Realm, so that shouldn’t be possible.” But… he had used alchemy after he died, hadn’t he? He’d been able to influence Al’s transmutations somewhat.

“Because of the blood seal, my soul is bound to Al’s blood and soul… So am I using his Gate?” 

It made sense, if Ed thought about it. It would explain how he’d influenced Al’s transmutations. However… “I saw my Gate, not Al’s,” Ed muttered with a scowl.

Okay, what did he know? He could use alchemy again. He had been able to influence Al’s transmutations when he was a stray soul. He was bound to Al’s blood and soul by the blood seal, a connection that went both ways. And, he had traded his Gate in exchange for returning Alphonse to the Material Realm.

Ed found himself stalling as he listed the last point. He had exchanged his Gate for Al…

“What if…” Ed began, flexing his hands in thought. “What if I’m using my alchemy through Al… What if, when I exchanged my Gate for him, he became it? Or an access point to it?”

It was possible. While the Laws of Alchemy were absolute, the Laws of the Gate… Well, nobody but Truth knew all of those. But in exchanging his Gate for Alphonse, Ed must have linked the two. As in alchemy, one had been utterly transformed into the other, but in this case, it retained the memory of its past.

“It’s crazy,” Ed laughed. “Utterly crazy…”

Yet, it made sense.

“That would also explain the state of it, since I deconstructed it and it’s been cut off from my soul…” 

The Gate has been cracked and crumbling, like it was slowly disintegrating. But since he’d deconstructed it… maybe it was rebuilding itself? Maybe that’s why he could use alchemy now, but not as a ghost, because the Gate hadn’t been complete enough? But if the exchange had been for his Gate, what would that mean for Al when it finished? 

“God, this is complicated,” Ed muttered, running a hand through his hair. In his head, he could almost see Truth cackling in agreement. 

Ed sighed, his shoulders slumping as the energy left him. Even when he was dead, he couldn’t seem to avoid screwing things up for Alphonse in unknown ways… First it was in their attempt to bring their mother back, then in the binding of Al’s soul to the armor and Ed’s blood, and now in the very way he’d restored his brother back to the Material Realm.

Ed’s heart rate began to accelerate and he couldn’t breathe. Good, he thought spitefully. I shouldn’t be able to in the first place. But then the walls started closing in and the writhing ball of anxiety in his chest twisted his very soul.

I need to get out… I need to get out.

Ed fumbled for the door, snagging his coat and practically running out of the apartment. Once he hit the street, he walked as fast as he could. Passerby steered clear of him, eyeing the rumbled day-old clothing, his wild eyes and hair, and the blood streaking his face and the roots of his hair. Ed ran from the stares, from himself. He had to hide.

He let his feet guide him, and when he blinked again, he was tucked into an alcove on the roof of Central Command, one of the many quiet places he’d found when dead. Places where no one came, and Ed could almost imagine that he was still alive, that he was still seen and heard.

No one would find him here.

In hindsight, it had been obvious, and Alphonse berated himself for not seeing it, for not putting together the countless puzzle pieces that had been dropped. He had wondered and balked at the similarities, of occasionally seeing one where the other should be. But then his mind had returned to that night , to the night that he learned, definitively: “the dead stay dead.”

It was Law.

Yet, regardless of how intimately Al knew the Laws, the similarities persisted, and puzzle pieces continued to be added. The personality, the autumnal equinox, the knowledge of Xerxes, little mannerisms and moments where he’d blink, sure he saw golden hair and familiar eyes. Until, at last, there were so many pieces he couldn’t ignore the picture they made.

Aved… was Edward. His Brother.

His stupid, idiotic, impossible Brother.

Perhaps he had already realized on some level, but when Al saw Aved — saw Ed — slam his hands into the ground and bring up a wall of earth, he knew. The movement was one of instinct and experience, achingly familiar and somewhere in Al’s soul, something sang Brother, Brother, Brother. And then, he knew, as if it had been spoken to him by Truth and the Gate.

But now that he knew, all Al could think was why.

Edward had been with them for nearly two months! Why hadn’t he said something? Why hadn’t he told them he was Ed? Why hadn’t he told Al?

All this time Al had been reaching for his brother, mourning a presence that wasn’t there… But Edward had been next to him this entire time. And Ed had said nothing. Alphonse knew Ed certainly wasn’t doing it maliciously, if anything Ed seemed just as pained by it. Winry had told Al about when Ed — Aved at the time — had been talking with Scout on the rooftop. Ed wanted to tell them… but why didn’t he?

Despite trying, Al hadn’t been able to sleep. The questions just kept circling his mind, sinking claws and fangs into the recesses of his subconscious.

So now, here he was, wandering the grounds of Central Command. He wasn’t sure why he was here… but when he’d left his apartment at sunrise, his feet had taken him here. He walked aimlessly through the buildings and parkland for what might have been hours. At some point, he ended up climbing the access stairs to the rooftops, looking out over Central City. And then, he spotted an unfamiliar head of hair, belonging to a familiar person.

Edward.

Alphonse blinked in shock, staring across the roof, where he could spot Ed’s (current) head of dirty blond hair sticking above one of the roof vents, facing away from him. For a moment, Al was frozen, but then he started walking closer, stopping several paces away.

“Av ed? ”

Al didn’t know why, but something had him calling Ed’s alias. Maybe it was because that was the name he’d attached to this face. Or maybe… because, part of him wanted to see if he could get Ed to reveal himself by his own admittance, without Al calling him out. Why didn’t you trust me, Brother? Why didn’t you tell me?

Edward stiffened, tensing, and for a second Al thought he might bolt. But then, Ed called over in that unfamiliar voice (yet, with those same familiar speaking patterns): “What do you want, Alphonse?”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Al said, slowly coming closer. “I was walking on the grounds and came up to the roof, then I saw you here… How are you doing?”

Ed huffed, a bitter sound. “Fine. There, you can leave now.”

“I don’t think so, I’m a doctor, remember? I know when people are lying about how they’re feeling.” Alphonse had finally moved around to Ed’s side, sliding down to sit next to his brother. Ed had his knees pulled close to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He didn’t look at Al, instead keeping his head down.

“Sure you can,” Ed muttered into his knees. “Here to interrogate me?”

“No!” Al balked. Did his brother really think that little of him? But… Ed doesn’t know, Alphonse realized. He doesn’t know that I know. “I’m here to talk. You stormed out last night, and I was worried. I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, Alphonse,” Edward growled.

Al sighed. “Look, you need to talk about this. If not me, then someone else. I… what you’ve been through… it can’t be easy not knowing what’s going on, getting brought back to life—” 

Then, Ed snapped.

“You don’t know that!” Ed screamed, whipping around to face Alphonse. And Al found himself staring into a pair of almost-familiar eyes, brown being overtaken by gold. “How can you know I’m alive?! I died! I know I did! I remember it! ” Edward grabbed the sides of his head, a keening noise escaping him. “I’m dead, I know I am. I dream of that blasted Void every night!”

“Hey—” Al reached for Ed’s shoulders, maybe to hold him or hug him, but before he could, Ed had whirled about to face him once more.

“Why me!?” Ed screamed, pounding his chest. “You said it yourself! No one comes back from the dead! So why am I here?” His voice cracked, and his gold and brown eyes began to shimmer. “Why am I here? I’m just… messing everything up.” This time, Ed actually let Al wrap an arm around his shoulders, and Alphonse pulled his brother against him.

Ed continued, voice tight. “I know I remind you of your brother, don’t say otherwise.” Alphonse’s heart stuttered, and he wanted to scream. Of course you remind me of my brother! You are him!! “I want to be with you all, but I’m just opening old wounds.”

“You’re not—”

“I am,” Edward snapped. “I hurt all of you by being here. I… I’m not the person you want me to be.” Suddenly, the tension left Ed’s body and he slumped against Al. His voice was strained when he finally spoke again. “I don’t belong here. Everyone I knew, they’ve moved on.”

And finally, Al understood.

Ed… he’d kept this secret because he didn’t want to hurt them. Ed knew as well as Al that a soul in the wrong body couldn’t last, that the connection would shatter, that Ed would die again . He didn't want to cause them that pain of a second death, more devastating because they had no idea when the connection would splinter.

Ed, you idiot, Al thought, holding back his own tears. We want you back.

But, when Al opened his mouth to say something… nothing came out. Because Ed was right… it did hurt. It hurt more than anything Al had ever felt in his life, to know he would lose his brother soon and that there was nothing he could do, not without potentially destroying Ed’s soul. His brother was on a time limit, with anywhere from days to months left, a remaining time made even more fragile by the way the chi of Ed’s soul seemed to be seeping from the body he inhabited, a shell that was growing thinner and thinner.

And Alphonse couldn’t let anyone else suffer this pain. This pain of knowing. 

Not even Ed.

Al knew his brother, and he knew Edward would feel guilty for causing him pain, for having to leave with no say in the matter. Ed would feel guilty just for having lied to Al, even more so if he knew that Al knew. And Al… well he was Edward’s brother.

So instead of speaking, he instead pulled Ed tighter to his chest, wrapping him in a hug. It didn’t last long however, with Ed’s next words.

“It’d be better if I went back to being dead.”

“No!” Al grabbed Ed’s shoulders, holding his brother at arms length so he could stare into his brown and gold eyes, half-familiar in an unfamiliar face. “No! Don’t you ever say that!”

“What?” Ed hissed, baring his teeth. “It’s true. I’m some twisted violation of the natural order. I shouldn’t even exist. I’d just be setting things to rights.”

“No,” Al couldn’t help shaking Ed’s shoulders slightly, gripping him harder in hopes of keeping him in this world. “No… Aved, it doesn’t matter if you are or were dead. You have a second chance at life. Don’t waste it.”

Edward gave Al a bitter smile. “I’m a soul in a body not my own. This can’t last forever. You know that.”

Alphonse pulled Ed close again, hugging him to his chest. “So?” Al whispered into Ed’s hair, the gold and dirty blond blurring as his eyes filled with tears. “You still have time, the most scarce thing in life. Your time is running out? Then use it to live. Whether or not you’re my brother, you deserve to live while you can.”

“I’m dead,” Ed muttered in Al’s shirt. “How can I live?”

“I’ll help,” Al said, and it was a promise. He would spend every minute Edward had remaining with his brother. “Dead or not, you can enjoy your time left.” Al sniffled quietly, blinking back his tears. “Now… Do you want to go for a walk? I know a great park on the outskirts of Central where there’s an amazing forest.”

“… Sure,” Edward murmured. “But can… can we sit here for a few more minutes?”

Al laughed quietly. “Of course.”

So the brothers sat on the rooftop of Central Command, Edward wrapped in Alphonse’s arms. Eventually, they would stand and make their way to the parkland Al had mentioned. But for now, they sat in an embrace that both had craved for years.

Chapter Text

It had become something of a morning ritual for Edward to check his reflection. Over the course of the past weeks, gold had slowly overtaken the brown in his eyes and hair completely. Of course, when he looked in the mirror, he still didn’t see himself . Instead, he saw someone who was neither Edward nor Stefan, but somewhere in between.

Mustang and the rest of his unit had taken it surprisingly well, all things considering. But, Ed knew they were whispering behind his back.

His responses had also been getting better over the past few weeks. He hadn’t been ‘lagging’ quite so much, the connection splintering less and less. While Ed was happy about that, he had also been feeling progressively more exhausted. It had gotten to the point where some days Ed could barely haul himself out of bed.

While Edward wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, he could take a guess: his time was running out.

Alphonse just seemed to take it as a sign to spend even more time with Ed. Ever since their talk on the roof of Central Command, Edward had spent most days with Al. While he wondered about it, he couldn’t bring himself to question it. He was being given exactly what he wanted… time with his little brother.

On days Ed had enough energy to move, Alphonse took him on walks in and beyond Central. They would wander the forests, breathing in the cool, rich air and tracing their hands over the trunks of trees that stretched towards the heavens. And when Ed had a hard time mustering the energy to move, Al told him stories of his time spent as a doctor and his travels through Xing.

And as the weeks wore on, Ed was eyeing one particular approaching date.

Al’s birthday.

The birthday of Ed’s younger brother fell near the beginning of January, and if Ed had been hearing correctly, then a small party was going to be held in Central. Al had told Ed that he was invited, and while Ed was overjoyed, he was also facing a new problem. 

Because Ed had no idea what to give Alphonse.

He’d been considering everything from alchemy books to a new scarf, but then he wondered if that was too stereotypical. Then he considered a book on poetry, but perhaps that was too personal. Edward groaned, head in his hands, with elbows propped up on the desk. From nearby, Fuery sent him a concerned glance. “Everything alright, Aved?”

“No,” Ed moaned. “What do you give someone for their birthday?”

“Ah, this is for Alphonse, right?” Fuery shrugged. “You can give him anything really, Alphonse will be quite happy just to receive a gift. He’s not picky, you know.”

“But I want him to like it,” Ed grumbled, blowing at his bangs. 

“Make something, then? Al’s always had a particular fondness for things that are handmade. And he always appreciates good food.”

Something handmade, huh?  

Edward nodded resolutely. Handmade. He could do handmade. He stood and went for the door, but before he left he pinned Kain with a sharp glare. “Speak of this to no one,” Ed commanded. “I want it to be a surprise. Got it?”

Once he’d received a nod in return, Ed strode out the door.

He needed to go find some wood.

When the party rolled around, Ed was halfway between nervous and excited. His stomach was twisted into knots, and despite the fatigue weighing at his limbs, he was rocking back and forth on his heels. Ed stood near the back of the hall, watching as people he knew slowly trickled in. Roy, Riza and the rest of Mustang’s unit were there, he saw Jerso and Zampano, Major (now Brigadier) Armstrong, then came Mei, Winry, Pinako and… what that Teacher?!

Sure enough, across the room Ed could see Izumi and Sig Curtis strolling in, looking the same as ever.

“Truth, help me,” Ed muttered to himself. “I am going to die.”

Of course, he was going to already. But he hadn’t expected to jazz up Al's birthday with a murder.

“If Teacher figures out who I am, she will punch me straight into the afterlife,” Ed bit his lip, sweat tickling the back of his neck. He flexed his hands, trying to focus on the movement over the lead slowly transmuting itself out of his stomach. “Okay, new plan: avoid Teacher at all costs.”

Despite Ed’s worries about his proximity to Teacher, he managed to navigate the party fairly well. Mei, Teacher and Riza had taken up a competition of pin-the-tail, mostly so that they could all demolish Roy. This had then turned into a target-practice competition, with Mei and Teacher armed with kunai and small knives, and Riza armed with her hand gun.

Ed stayed far away from that side of the room. He had no desire to be riddled with holes.

As it was, he actually found himself having a good time. He chatted with people he hadn’t seen since before he died, and bypassed their questions about his similarity to Al with claims about being a distant relative. There were also plenty of people Ed didn't know, including some brothers named Russell and Fletcher Tringham. 

Ed spent several minutes talking with the Tringham’s. Al had met Russell through medical school, since Russell was interested in medical alchemy. And Russell’s younger brother, Fletcher, was also an alchemist that specialized in the rare class of plant-based alchemy, which Ed found fascinating.

“I’ll admit, you’re the first I’ve met who focuses on alchemy involving plants,” Ed said to Fletcher. “Don’t you worry about toeing the line with living things?”

Fletcher shook his head. “Not really. It’s a lot like alkahestry, which Alphonse has taught me a bit of. I’m guiding the energy of the plant and boosting its growth. It’s like transmutations that accelerate natural chemical reactions, except in this case I’m focusing on the whole plant.”

Eventually, the Tringhams had bid Ed farewell and wandered off, leaving Ed to nurse his drink and nibble the provided snacks. 

At least until a voice called out: 

"Alphonse!" 

Ed stiffened, but before he would have even had time to run a hand landed on his shoulder. The next thing he knew, he had been flipped upside down, his face pressed against the floor with his arms pinned to his back. Oh Truth. Oh Truth he was so fucked. He slowly glanced back, looking straight into the dark eyes of his Teacher. "Uh… I'm not Alphonse?"

Well, Ed thought distantly, it was nice living a second time.

Izumi Curtis blinked as she caught sight of his face, seeing that Ed was not in fact Alphonse. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and abruptly Ed found himself being set on his feet. He blinked incredulously as Teacher began to brush the dirt off his shoulders. “Sorry about that!” She apologized, and Ed felt dazed from the whiplash. Since when was Teacher this nice to him?! “Case of mistaken identity.”

Teacher stepped back, flicking a narrowed-eyed gaze over him. Ed shifted, arms clutching each other as he stood under Teacher’s piercing stare. Fuck fuck fuck she would tell he was so fucked—

“Hmm,” Teacher considered him. “I can see why I got mixed up. You have an uncanny resemblance to him.”

“Uh… I’m a cousin? Distantly related?”

“I didn’t know the Elrics had cousins…” Teacher looked thoughtful, even as Ed was internally screaming. To make matters worse, Sig had come up behind Teacher, looking down at him. “What’s your name? I’m Izumi Curtis, and this is my husband, Sig.”

“Uh… hi? I’m Aved.”

Definitely not your former disciple Edward Elric, who died six years ago. Nope, definitely not. I am completely innocent of all things accused.

“So uh… how do you know Alphonse?” Ed asked, because that was probably a safer topic.

Izumi blinked, then smiled. “Oh! I’m his teacher! And he is my idiot disciple, speaking of which… he still hasn’t said hello yet.” Teacher turned, eyes locking onto something across the room. Ed followed her gaze, and he felt a frisson of fear run through him as he saw her target. Alphonse. (The real one this time.) “I’ll be right back, dear.” 

Leaving Ed and Sig behind, Teacher charged forwards, taking a running leap and pinning Al to the ground. Ed couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, but he could guess it was something along the lines of: “Situational awareness, Alphonse! Keep your wits about you!”

“Don’t worry,” Sig rumbled from Ed’s shoulder. “They’re always like this. It’s tradition at this point. Sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

Don’t be. Usually I’m the target, Ed thought quietly.

“So uh… What is it you do?” Edward asked, because people did small talk at parties, right? That was small talk. 

“I’m a butcher,” Sig replied, and then nodded towards his wife. “Me and Izumi live in Dublith, in Southern Amestris. Nice place, usually quiet. It’s warmer down there than here though. The winters are much milder in the South than they are in Briggs or even Central.”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you Honey?” 

Ed turned to see Teacher and Al approaching. As Izumi and Sig embraced, Ed sent a quick glance over Alphonse. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Al muttered. “I’m just glad you escaped Teacher’s wrath.”

“Who said I did? She tackled me.”

“Really?!” Al looked between Ed and Teacher with shock. “Why?”

“Case of mistaken identity,” Teacher said as she turned back to them, waving a hand dismissively. “You two share some resemblance, especially from the back.” Ed and Al glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows. They did? “Your package didn’t get damaged, did it Aved?”

Shit!

Ed looked down at the package he still clutched in his hands, forgotten about in the action, and frantically ran his hands over the exterior. He shook it slightly, breathing a sigh of relief as there was no clattering sound of broken objects. “No, it’s fine. Here, Al,” Ed handed the wrapped package to Alphonse, giving a hesitant smile. “I, uh… hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what you might want.”

Al’s eyes widened as he took the package from Ed, fingers closing around the brown paper. “Thank you! You know, you didn’t need to get me anything?”

“I wanted to,” Ed said firmly. 

“Go on, Al. Open it,” Teacher encouraged, leaning over slightly to look over Al’s shoulder.

Alphonse did so, tearing open the brown paper wrapping. After a minute, the paper peeled back to reveal a wooden figurine, about six inches tall, featuring a pair of pointed ears and a coiled tail. A wooden carving of a cat, detailed down to the lines of fur and the narrowed pupils. 

“It’s beautiful!” Al gasped, turning the small statue around in his hands. “Did you make it?”

“Yep,” Ed nodded. “I carved it by hand. Breda let me borrow his carving tools.” 

Al’s eyes gleamed as he looked up at Ed, smiling widely. He looked close to tears. (Why? Ed wondered.) “Thank you,” Alphonse said quietly, his eyes filled with reverence. He cradled the small cat figurine to his chest. “I’ll treasure it.”

Ed couldn’t help his own smile. “I’m glad.”

Izumi Curtis was a practical woman.

She knew that change was the only constant of life, that she had to adapt to change. It was a lesson she’d burned into the minds of her students. They could not stagnate, they had to move forward. It was a lesson she had learned after becoming locked in what could have been, after her attempt at human transmutation. She had to move on, or she’d destroy herself. 

Her students had taken her words to heart, though not in the way Izumi had imagined. After their own attempt at bringing their mother back to life, they had moved forward, dead set on their new goal to restore themselves. Though of course, Izumi only found out far later. She had had her doubts, but, to Izumi's surprise and joy, they had succeeded.

For all that she knew of alchemy, Edward had managed to surprise her, giving up his Gate to save Alphonse. It was ingenious… and exactly like him. 

And then, not two years later… Edward had died.

Izumi had been devastated alongside Alphonse. It was losing a child all over again, one of her sons.  

And yet… she had to move on. She knew the price of not.

The years waned by, and though Izumi’s heart still grieved for her student, she continued. She mourned his absence, sent a prayer to his soul. Alphonse traveled to Xing, became a doctor and began to travel Amestris. Izumi smiled fondly when he passed through Dublith, at how he had grown and the title he had gained: “Physician of the People.” 

So much like his brother, but so different at the same time.

But, six years after Edward’s passing, she got a call from Alphonse. He told her about a group that had — in some twisted dedication to Edward — kidnapped him, General Mustang, and Riza Hawkeye, and attempted to bring Edward back to life. It had failed, but… not entirely. The transmutation had been some strange combination of human transmutation and soul binding alchemy, and a wayward Xerxian soul, perhaps still adrift after the defeat of the Dwarf in the Flask, had been tied to a minutes-dead body.

It was a slap in the face to Izumi. Some strange form of human transmutation that had worked, yet failed. A mockery of Edward’s memory.

Izumi thanked Alphonse for the information, and swore to keep an eye out for these ‘cultists’. And should any find themselves in Dublith, she would escort them out of town with every bone in their bodies broken and sufficient fear of the wrath of housewives.

Several months later, when Alphonse’s birthday had rolled around, Izumi and Sig travelled to Central to join the festivities. The winter air of Central was nippy, but nothing compared to the frigid gales of Briggs, and Izumi found it a pleasant vacation. She was happy to see the many people that had turned up to celebrate Alphonse, from Al’s friends in the military to Winry and Pinako. 

(Unfortunately, Olivier wasn’t there… Izumi would need to drop by the North to have tea with her sometime and catch up.)

Upon spotting her student, she pinned him to the floor in their usual greeting. She opened her mouth to chide him for his lack of situational awareness, when the golden-haired head turned, and she realized that the person was not, in fact, Alphonse Elric. Well… that wasn’t ideal.

After the young man who looked like Alphonse introduced himself as ‘Aved,’ apparently a distant relative, Izumi proceeded to find her actual student. Later, after Alphonse had been given a lecture on situational awareness and Aved had given Alphonse his gift, Izumi spent some time with the two. But, watching Aved and Al chat, she found herself experiencing the strangest feeling of deja vu.

It took her several minutes to realize but the way Aved talked with Alphonse… it reminded her of Edward.

Once Aved had wandered off to raid the food table, Izumi took Al aside. “Who is he?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as her disciple wilted under her gaze. 

“I… do you remember what I told you about several months back? About the resurrection?”

Izumi’s eyes widened. “That was Aved?” 

Alphonse nodded. “Yes, he’s been staying with Havoc, and myself and Mustang’s unit have been watching him. He… he’s like I was, soul bound,” Al breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “But, it’s to a living body not armor.” 

Izumi looked back at Aved, who had gotten wrapped up in a conversation with Olivier’s younger brother. It was strange to imagine, that a soul could be artificially bound to a living vessel but… but the Truth that Izumi knew could not refute it. Improbable… but not impossible.

Izumi thought back to the familiarity she felt from him.

“How do you know he is not Edward?” Izumi asked, and Alphonse flinched slightly.

“He says he’s not.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, though some part of her (something that sang, parent and son) said there was more. Perhaps, Aved was indeed just Aved. But the part of Izumi that had always had respect for souls and the divine, wondered. Perhaps, Aved was Aved. But, as she looked at him and at the carved wooden cat Alphonse still clutched tight to his chest, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, Ed was there too, speaking to them through Aved from the afterlife.

Whether Ed or Aved, I wish you peace and happiness, Izumi prayed to the air, to the god of the howling void that dictated Balance. 

Do not fret, Alchemist, an echoing voice whispered, one she almost thought she could hear. He has already found it.

Chapter Text

The morning dawned early.

Edward blinked his eyes open to stare at the ceiling, where the predawn light was beginning to show itself. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. He half wondered if something had woken him, but… there was nothing. Shaking off the buzzing in his nerves, Ed hauled himself out of bed, pulling on his day clothes. 

Ed found Havoc in the kitchen, nursing some coffee and flipping through the morning newspaper. The officer raised an eyebrow as Ed snagged some toast with jam spread, stuffing it in his mouth. “Bac’ ‘ater,” Ed said around the toast as he threw his overcoat on. “Imma goin’ fer a ‘alk!”

Outside, the crisp winter air of Central nipped at his face, startling him into wakefulness. Hitting the streets, Ed walked a few blocks to find the small cafe that he and Alphonse had been meeting at semi-regularly. Upon his arrival, he spotted Al sitting at a table outside, sipping a cup of tea. His younger brother looked up at his approach, giving him a bright smile. “Good morning, Aved! How are you?”

“Alright,” Ed shrugged, tilting his hand in a so-so gesture. “I’m up for a walk today, if you like.”

Al grinned wider. “Great! Want to head to the riverside park in the Northeast District?”

“Aren’t there a lot of warehouses there?”

“Not as much as you think,” Al quickly drank the rest of his tea and stood. “There’s a lot of vacant lots that are being repurposed into miniature parks, and those that aren’t are under construction. And the riverside is pretty nice, honestly. There’s probably some ducks in the river, so we can do some bird watching as well.”

“In February?” Edward raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Won’t it be frozen?”

“The current from the river keeps it open, even the inlets,” Al explained. Ed’s brother started walking, forcing Ed to take a few quick strides to catch up. They strolled down the streets of Central, which were still starting to fill with people and cars as the morning commute began. “By the way, how are your energy levels doing? Want me to check your chi?”

“Nah,” Ed waved a hand dismissively. “I’m doing pretty good today. I’m not about to collapse on the spot or anything. A walk will do me some good.”

By the time the pair of them had reached the Northeast District, the amount of commuters had lessened and the streets weren’t nearly as crowded. Part of it was due to the fact that they were skirting the edge of Central’s industrial sector, but people still flitted between some cafes and bars along the street. The vacant lots that Al had mentioned were peppered between buildings here and there, some with trees and other assorted plants.

It’s kind of peaceful, in a way, Ed reflected. It wasn’t like the peace of Resembool, but still comforting in its own way. He could hear the city birds, the soft chatter of people, and the low rumble of the occasional passing car.

Of course, because the Universe loved to prove him wrong, that was when the peace shattered.

Ed jerked his head up as the ground rumbled beneath his feet, some half-remembered instinct telling him to focus and run. Then, Alphonse was hauling him backwards as a pillar of cement erupted from the ground where Ed previously stood. His eyes lingered on the stone, on the blue energy sparked over its surface. Static raised the hairs on his arm and neck.

Alchemy.

Screams cut through the air, the streets dissolving into chaos as pedestrians ran from the destruction. The Elrics fell back several paces, and Ed’s eyes locked on another rippling wave of cement headed towards them. 

Al clapped , blue sparks crackling over his hands. Falling to the ground, Ed’s brother slammed his hands into it. Alchemic energy surrounded them, and a wave of alchemized stone surged back towards their attacker. The two waves of alchemy met, clashing in the middle of the street. The opposing forces pushed against each other briefly, before both alchemists abandoned it, and the cement was left in a tower of twisted stone, still crackling with energy. Their opponent didn’t waste a second, immediately following up with a barrage of boulders. 

This time, Edward clapped his hands, pressing them into the ground and calling on the deep well of energy beneath the earth. A slab of cement turned granite jutted upwards, looming over their heads. The shield groaned as the boulders broke against it, but it held. Al went on the offense as Ed dropped the shield, and a jagged array of spikes raced towards where the attacks had originated.

They both caught sight of the man who leapt out of the way, tall and muscular and dressed in plain clothing. The enemy alchemist punched the ground, blue lightning arcing over the street as he returned fire.

Alphonse raised a shield again, stone and dirt exploding into the air as the attack hit. “What the hell?” Ed coughed, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the dust. “Who’s attacking us? And why?”

He was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Recently.

“I don’t know,” Al muttered. The shield shuddered as another attack impacted against it. “I’d say it’s one of those cultists, but these transmutations are far more controlled. They’re precise and meant to cause damage.”

“Come out, come out, little alchemist!” A voice called, still audible despite the panic and chaos in the backdrop. Ed shivered at hearing the name Truth usually called him come from the mouth of another. The voice came again, presumably the mysterious alchemist, but this time it dripped with venom. “Come on out Elric, you damned traitor.”

Traitor?

Edward exchanged a glance with Al. “Friend of yours?” Ed asked, risking a glance to look either side of their shield. He could see pedestrians still running for their lives, hiding at the edges of buildings. Smart, but it wouldn’t do them much good. An alchemist battle could rip the city apart.

“Certainly not,” Al hissed, but he looked contemplative. “Traitor, huh? I wonder if…”

“You’re a fool and a coward for allying yourself with Mustang!” the alchemist called, and shit he sounded close. “He didn’t even have the spine to kill everyone left of the old guard… Back in Bradley’s era, he did it right. Every traitor in front of the firing squad.” 

Alphonse clapped, slamming his hands to the ground. 

Their shield twisted backwards in a reverse wave, reaching back and over where they’d heard the alchemist. Then Ed and Al were forced to dodge to the side to avoid flying rubble as the landslide split in two. A figure emerged from the dust and finally, Ed got a good look at their opponent.

The sympathizer of Bradley’s reign didn’t look anything too out of the ordinary. He was over six feet tall with a muscular build, dark brown hair, a salt and pepper beard, and scars nicking his jaw and nose. But the main thing of note was the gauntlets he wore, akin to Armstrong’s, on which Ed could see blazing transmutation circles. That, and the vicious, twisted smile that marred his face.

“So, you seem to know Al, but to whom do we owe the displeasure?” Edward asked, his snark getting the better of him. The man turned keen eyes on Ed, something like interest glimmering in them. Oh joy, that was never a good thing. 

“Douglas Sherman,” the man said with a smirk. “The Impact Alchemist.”

Oh… shit. A (former) State Alchemist.

Sherman, done with pleasantries, slammed his gauntlets into the ground. Alphonse tackled Ed out of the way of the next wave of earth, raising another protective barrier. “We’ve got to take him out,” Ed hissed as Sherman’s attacks rocked the ground. He clapped his hands, reaching under the wall to send a spike shooting upwards roughly where he’d last seen Sherman. “He’s going to bring down the whole district at this rate!”

“I know,” Al muttered. His younger brother’s gaze flicked around for a moment, then Alphonse locked eyes with Ed. “You need to evacuate people, get the pedestrians out of here and keep the buildings from toppling if you can.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Ed snarled, but Al just narrowed his eyes and hissed back

“Well, you’re in no shape to fight! Your chi levels are down, lest you forget!” Alphonse jerked his head out onto the street. “I can handle Impact better if I don’t need to worry about you or someone else getting hurt. Now, Av ed , get moving. ”

Edward wavered another second, before he sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled as he rose to stand. He shot Alphonse a look. “Don’t die, alright?”

“Same to you. Now, get going. I’ll cover you.”

Alphonse clapped again, and blue lightning arced around them. The earth barrier shielding the two of them dropped, replaced by two large walls that rose across the street, protecting the pedestrians from the fight and penning Sherman and Al inside. Ed gave a grim smile, then started jogging down the road. With the alchemy being thrown around, the wall wouldn’t hold for long.

Beyond the immediate battlefield, what hadn’t been torn apart by alchemy was covered in rubble. Ed headed directly for a few people that lay prone, trapped beneath rocks and parts of buildings. He bent down, finding a couple of men who locked terrified eyes on him. “It’ll be okay,” Ed soothed, giving a smile. One clap later and the ground warped, the rubble twisting away. 

The men stood, shakily, but they were alive. “Can you walk?” When they nodded, Ed pointed across the street. “Then help those who can’t.”

With the rumble of the alchemic dogfight going on in the background, Ed went about freeing everyone. He didn’t need to tell them to get out. He worked as fast as he could, raising up shields when the stray boulder got too close, or creating makeshift metal crutches for those that couldn’t walk.

When the street was clear, Edward sprinted away. He gritted his teeth as his nerves flared with pain and his muscles ached. Keep moving, he snarled to himself. If you stop, people will die.

The battle had migrated down the street, deeper into the warehouses, forcing Ed to race to catch up. As he got closer, he saw a squad of military police lingering around the buildings, guns at the ready and looking entirely unprepared. Fucking perfect. Ed ran over, skidding to a stop nearby. They startled, half raising their guns, but Ed wasn’t having it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ed growled, continuing over their protests. “Don’t you see this? Fucking call General Mustang and tell him to get here yesterday! Start evacuating the buildings ahead of the fight!” 

They wavered, evidently uncertain of taking orders from what looked to be a civilian. Ed gnashed his teeth, ready to steal their radio and do it himself. Before he could though, the light dimmed as a slight shadow fell over them. Ed didn’t waste a second. He clapped and spun, slamming his hands to the ground and intercepting the massive boulder headed their way. It shattered against the stone shield, and Ed panted for breath, arms aching. Shit, it seemed Sherman was still trying to target him, even when he wasn’t in the fight.  

He turned back to the MPs, baring his teeth. “Call the fucking General and get going!” Ed snarled. “Tell him that this guy is Douglas Sherman, Bradley sympathizer, the Impact Alchemist. Now fucking book it and start an evac!”

This time, they obeyed.

Ed spun back towards the battle and started running. He needed to get to the other side of that thing, get people out of the way of it… Out of the way… As he dodged assorted spikes and leapt over the crumbling remains of buildings, Ed realized something. The battle was moving.

Of course, that wasn’t uncommon in a fight by any means, especially in alchemic ones as the landscape crumbled around you and finding solid footing became a nightmare and a half. But, as Ed watched the Impact Alchemist duck and weave away from Alphonse’s attacks, or send his own and then backtrack a few steps, looking behind him, Ed realized. 

“He’s leading us somewhere,” Ed growled when he’d gotten close to Alphonse again, sliding behind his brother’s barrier.

“I realized,” Al called back, shooting several spikes towards Sherman. “But we don’t really have a choice on if we follow or not, do we? If we don’t he’ll level the entire area! He’s not afraid of causing collateral damage.”

“Fucking hell,” Edward swore, but he knew it was true. “Fine, you work on taking him out. I’m going to get ahead and get people out of the line of fire. Hopefully the MPs do their job and Mustang gets here soon.

Alphonse nodded, and Ed sprinted off, dodging a few attacks as he danced his way to the edge of the field and around Impact.

Thankfully most people, when they heard the rumbling and saw the incoming alchemic dogfight, had the good sense to get the hell out of there. For those that didn’t, Edward made them go. “Everybody out!” Ed shouted into a cafe that still refused to leave. “Do you want to die? Out before you get flattened!”

The patrons and shopkeepers started filing out, still far too slow. Ed was just hurrying the last when the ground shuddered , and he leaped away from another attack. The wave of alchemy slammed into the building, which couldn’t take the blow to its foundation. It creaked and groaned, the top half of it giving way and tipping towards the street. The patrons screamed and started running for their lives. Oh, now you run.

Clap.  

Ed slammed his hands to the ground, and a pillar of stone grew from the cement, colliding with the falling upper stories. Ed bit back a cry of pain as a falling rock glanced the side of his head, and blood, warm and wet, began to slide down his face. Blinking the blood out of his eyes, he focused on the building above, where stone met stone. Taking hold of the atoms, Ed knit the materials together, fusing them.

Finally, he stood back, chest burning, with the building supported on its new prop.

Shit, Ed thought, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He grimaced as he saw his gloves stained red. Al must be getting tired if attacks of that size are getting through. He glanced back at the furious fight behind him, arcs of blue energy lighting up the sky as the ground that shuddered beneath his feet. Don’t die Al, I’m the one that’s supposed to haunt your ass.

Edward continued on down the street, helping others that were partially trapped beneath buildings or hiding under tables inside. Ed was just getting another person out of the rubble when he saw their eyes widen, and static crackled over the hair on his neck.

He spun, bringing up his right arm just in time to take the hit of a long weapon. 

P A I N

Ed couldn’t help his choked off scream as his muscles seized and every nerve in his shoulder wailed in agony. He dimly tasted blood in his mouth, his vision blurred. Then the pain cut off, though Ed’s muscles still twitched of their own volition. 

He choked in a breath, but he didn’t get to keep it long. A booted foot caught him in the ribs and Edward tumbled back. He fell and rolled to his feet, putting distance between him and his new attacker. (Distantly, he registered the pedestrian fleeing. Good.) His eyes flitted over the figure, who was already rushing forwards again.

A woman. Medium height. Light hair.

It was someone he recognized, though only slightly.

Melissa McGraff, Ed thought. The Discharge Alchemist. Specialized in electric alchemy. Was dismissed after Promised Day.

And evidently, was trying to kill him.

Ed dodged the next attack, ducking away as the other alchemist struck at him repeatedly. She was fast . Not inhumanly fast like some of the Homunculi, but fast enough that Ed, in this borrowed body, could barely manage to keep up. When he dodged again, he caught sight of the weapons McGraff clutched in each hand. Two short, miniature staffs, each one buzzing with electricity.

She electrifies the sticks, Ed realized.

Edward remembered her using a sword in the past. Indeed, he could see one sheathed at her back.

She’s not trying to kill me.

Regardless of her intention, it certainly felt she was as one of the sticks clipped Ed’s side. His muscles seized again for half a second, in agony yet locked in place. Locked…   

He had an idea.

The next time McGraff swung, Ed caught both sticks in his hands. His nerves erupted in pain, and this time he couldn’t help the scream that tore itself from his throat. His vision blurred and his muscles moved involuntarily, nerve signals overwhelmed by the electric shock. 

“Aved!”

Ed barely heard Al’s cry over the blood roaring in his ears. Distantly, he registered the ground rumbling beneath his feet, and then McGraff had to lunge out of the way as a row of stone spikes shot up from the ground. Alphonse. She moved back, taking her electric sticks with her. Or, she tried to. Ed’s hands, wrapped around the electrified staffs, muscles locked in place by the current, didn’t release them.

And McGraff, forced to release the sticks or get impaled, let them go. 

Ed gasped for breath as the electricity dropped the moment the other alchemist stopped touching the metal sticks. Catching his breath, Ed clapped his hands, and blue static crackled between his fingers as he deconstructing the metal sticks into atoms. McGraff paused a few lengths away, eyes narrowed as she stared at him. 

Then the other alchemist chuckled, teeth bared in something that was not a smirk nor a sneer.

“Clever,” she said.

She unsheathed her sword. When it dipped low to the ground, an arc of lightning jumped to the cobblestone.

Fuck.

Ed was forced to dodge backwards, again and again, as McGraff tried her hardest to cut him in two. Adrenaline burned through his veins like liquid fire, pushing him to continue, to survive. He had been murdered once before. This time he was going to die on his own terms, so help him Truth.

As the sword came around again, Ed blocked the blade with his metal arm. Electricity tore through his nerves, and pain pain pain riddled him from head to toe, from body to soul. Ed hissed and twisted his arm, his spasming automail fingers grabbing the blade. The metal flexed slightly beneath his hand and he pulled the sword and its user closer to him, punching McGraff in the face. 

This time, McGraff stumbled backwards, and Ed enjoyed two seconds of victory of getting a hit in, before she turned furious eyes on him. 

Oh great, she’s angry now.

McGraff charged again, her sword a glittering whirl of steel. It was all Ed could do not to get his leg cut off. As it was, his muscles were aching. His automail continued to spasm even when he wasn’t being electrocuted, and his vision was hazed from the blood seeping into his eyes. If he didn’t act soon, he’d be dead twice over.

Fuck, come on think Edward, Ed snarled, stumbling away from another strike. Melee fighter, works best in close combat, where she can electrocute her enemies… I need to get some distance from her.

The problem was, Ed didn’t have time to get it. McGraff wasn’t injured or lugging around nearly 80 pounds of twitching metal. He was. Ed bit back a cry as the sword cut into his thigh, the muscle spasming. As the blade withdrew, he felt blood start running down his leg, and the wound burned . 

BANG.

Ed startled backwards as a gunshot ripped through the air. Ahead of him, McGraff fell back, clutching her shoulder.  

Taking the opportunity, Ed stumbled back, putting as much distance between himself and his opponent as he could. In the second of breathing room he had, he clapped and slammed his hands to the ground. The street rose up in a tidal wave, twisting around McGraff until she was locked in a prison of stone. Ed left her head free, but everything down was surrounded by solid cement. 

“Get out of that,” Ed snarled in victory, baring blood stained teeth.

“Aved!” Ed turned, looking over to see Riza Hawkeye, pistol in hand, and a dozen other armed soldiers.

Ed limped over and she met him halfway. “Thanks for the save,” he gasped, giving her a bloodied grin. “Took you long enough. Where’s Mustang?”

A bloom of fire answered Ed’s question along with a shockwave that sent him stumbling. 

“We’ve got another alchemist,” Hawkeye told him, steadying Ed on his feet. “Kartoff Evans, former State Alchemist, known by some as Vapor.” They both ducked as another explosion rocked the air. “Specializes in atmospheric alchemy, the General’s engaging him.” 

Ed looked around, finding Mustang a ways down the road amidst the warehouses, dueling another alchemist. Even from a distance, Ed could see alchemic lightning crackle around Vapor, before the air itself exploded. Mustang jumped aside from the shockwave, directing his fire towards the other alchemist, who seemed to squash it midair. Vapor’s putting the air under pressure, Ed realized. And using that to make explosions and dissipate the flames.

“Incoming!”

At the warning, Edward clapped. An earthen barrier shot out from the stone, and the soldiers and Ed all ducked against it as fire and pressurized air roared over their heads. “Three former State Alchemists?” Ed muttered incredulously. “What are the chances that they just all happened to be attacking the same area of Central on the same day?”

“Nonexistent,” Riza said, reloading her handgun. “And this isn’t the only attack site. Armstrong is handling another on the opposite side of the city. All hostiles involved are known sympathizers of the former administration. Investigations think this is a retaliatory attack, potentially instigated by your cultist group.”

“Not mine,” Ed muttered in protest. He risked a glance around the wall, scanning the battlefield. Al was still locked in combat with Sherman, tearing up the street, and Roy and Evans were making the air itself hazardous.

“They’re going to raze the entire district at this rate,” Ed muttered as he retreated, pressing his back against the rock.

“You know what they say,” a nearby soldier said with a slight eye roll. “One alchemist’s a crowd, two’s an opera, and three’s a coup in progress.”

And we’ve got five.

The crack of gunfire had Edward ducking reflexively, and he looked around at the soldiers, half incredulous and half furious. “Why the hell are our guys firing?! They’ll hit Al or Mustang!” 

Riza frowned. “That wasn’t us.”

More cracks followed by a sharp cry of pain had Ed’s heart freezing in his chest, his blood turning to ice.

Alphonse.

Ed swore, looking over his barricade. He saw a smattering of people down the street, all armed, with their guns pointed towards Alphonse. He saw Al, collapsed in the street and struggling to move. And he saw a bloodied Sherman advancing on his brother. “Fuck it,” Ed growled and vaulted over the barrier. The leg that was flesh screamed in agony as he landed, and the automail, while it caught him, was a dead weight. 

Biting back the pain, Ed clapped.

An array of spikes shot towards Sherman, some swerving around Alphonse to create a barrier. The former State Alchemist dodged much of the attack, though one scored a hit on Sherman’s already injured leg. Sherman stumbled backwards, but instead of running, he punched through the rock barrier protecting Alphonse. Then, to Ed’s horror, the man grabbed Al and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before staggering down the street, taking Alphonse with him.

Giving a wordless roar of rage, Ed slammed his hands to the pavement. He turned the ground beneath Sherman to quicksand, as deep as he dared, so he didn’t trap Alphonse. But Sherman punched the ground again with one of his gauntlets, and the stone around him solidified, the immediate transmutation pushing back Ed’s.

Fuckfuckfuck—

Adrenaline pushing him onward, Ed limped after the kidnappers. Ahead of him, Sherman joined the gunmen who had originally shot Al, and the group started running off, heading deeper into the buildings and warehouses. Nonono, too slow! Too slow!  

Edward clapped, pressing his sparking hands to the ground. Reaching out with fumbling fingers, he opened his Gate as wide as he could, and pulled at the energy of the Earth. The ground under him heaved and warped, and Ed shoved the stone towards the people trying to take his brother. And, he rode it.

Crouched upon his tidal wave, alchemic lightning wreathing his hands, Ed moved like a landslide. Where is he, where is he, where is he— There. Ed released the transmutation as he caught up to the kidnappers, the wave of dirt stopping just short, too afraid of burying Al alongside the gunmen. Where is he?

Sherman and the rest spun as Ed dropped down in front of them, rifles pointed straight at him. 

“Give me Alphonse,” Ed snarled, baring his teeth and ignoring how his very soul ached with fatigue. He couldn’t be tired. Not now. “And maybe I’ll let you go with some of your bones intact.”

Instead of accepting his reasonable request, they fired. 

Ed raised up a shield, widening it to fill the width of the street. He shoved it forwards, sweeping it towards the enemies opposite him. Then, while Sherman was busy blasting a hole in the advancing barrier, Ed darted around the side, manifesting stone hands to snatch at the gunmen. He caught several, but the rest fled like ants, fleeing further down. 

Nonono—

Edward staggered after them, then was forced to stall again as Sherman nearly buried him in a landslide. Ed clapped, parting the earth around himself, only to drop the transmutation as there was a crack of gunfire and a bullet ripped through his shoulder. Pain shot through him, body and soul, the minor rebound from cutting the transmutation short sapping his already drained energy.

Staggering, Ed let himself fall. He pressed his hands to the ground as he rolled away, sweeping the remaining gunmen left behind under a wave of dirt.

“Getting sloppy, huh? You let that simple of a thing cause a rebound?” Sherman mocked with a laugh. “Don’t worry, we still want you alive.”

“Oh, yeah, your employers, ” Ed spat out. “How’s that working for you? What are you getting out of it? A general sense of self worth for how much stuff you can break?”

Sherman bristled. “Watch your mouth, boy,” the Impact Alchemist growled. “They said alive, not unharmed. Just give up, you’re dead on your feet already.”

Ed chuckled and then started to laugh, near hysteric. “Let me tell you something,” Ed muttered as he hauled himself to his feet. Something splintered, and Ed felt like shattered glass. Pain emanated from his very being, from nothing and nobody whatsoever. Edward locked eyes with Sherman, his soul slipping between the cracks. Whatever Sherman saw, it was enough to make him hesitate. “I’ve been a dead man walking for quite a long time. Death is the least of my worries.”

There was no time, Alphonse needed him now.  

Clap.

Ed slammed his hands into the ground. He pulled up the street, took the brick and metal of the nearby warehouses, and then he brought the entire thing down on top of Sherman. Sherman had enough time to look surprised before he was buried in a landslide twenty feet deep. He was alive, probably. Ed didn’t stop to check before he limped after where Alphonse and the others had disappeared.

He shuffled down the block, following the trail of Alphonse’s blood and— It was too much blood.

Too much blood to come from just Alphonse.

Ozone and emptiness crackled at the edge of Ed’s senses, a gaping and yawning abyss lying just out sight, just within reach. It was open and judging and hungry. It was ash and ionized air, looming and immense, Nothing and Everything. 

“Aved!”

Ed didn’t hear Hawkeye and Mustang’s call, didn’t see them coming after him, emerging from the main street. He was focused entirely on the hum of something accursed and wrong and all too familiar, much too close by. Bleeding from too many wounds to count, his automail a dead weight that pulled him down, and with a sense of pain that flickered like a faulty lightbulb, Edward ran.

He rounded the far corner of the warehouse, stumbling into a vacant lot of concrete, weeds sticking up from the seams. Ed’s eyes swept the lot, picking up several things in quick succession. People lining the edges of the lot, including the gunmen who had shot Al and others who were surprisingly normal, dressed in plain clothes. Bodies, five of them, in ordered positions around the field. Alphonse, half collapsed, blood staining the ground beneath him, one hand clamped onto his forearm.  

Edward saw.

He saw, spilling across the diameter of the lot, a giant human transmutation circle carved into the ground, bodies at the five points, and Alphonse forced into its bounds.

He saw the person who had gotten him into this whole mess. The one who had locked Ed’s soul into a body not his own, who had manipulated Stefan into thinking his purpose was to be a vessel. The one who had kidnapped Edward’s brother. The obsessed and insane alchemist with the dark eyes and toothy smile, staring straight at him.

He saw the hands the alchemist was reaching for the circle.

Edward ran.

He didn’t stop, he didn’t think, he just moved. He reached the edge of the circle, dark energy starting to fill it from within. He reached forward, grabbed the back of Alphonse’s shirt and used himself as leverage to throw his brother up and out of the transmutation circle. And, he toppled, falling inside the circle as red and black lightning arced around him, the ground turning into an abyss that was empty of Everything

Edward locked eyes with the alchemist, whose mouth was open in shock and fury. 

“Burn in hell, you bastard,” Ed snarled, then whatever bonds were holding his soul snapped. As the lightning tore him to pieces and he collapsed, Ed caught sight of Alphonse, just beyond the borders of the circle, reaching for Ed with panic in his eyes. 

It’s okay, Al, Ed thought with a smile. This was a long time coming anyways.

His eyes flitted to the side, to Roy and Riza arriving, too little too late. Protect him.

Darkness overtook his vision.

And Edward Elric, for the second time, breathed his last.

…

Ed woke up.

He looked around, finding himself in the familiar howling white void that had come to dominate his dreams. Behind him was a stone monolith, his Gate, the crumbling edges healed to thin cracks and fissures. And, sitting across from him, with Its ever present eerie smile, was Truth.

“Well,” Ed took a breath he did not need, slowly exhaling. He looked down at his hands, both belonging to him , not Stefan or anyone else . Two hands in memory of the flesh and blood he had once been. “I guess this is it then, huh? I died… again.” Ed looked up at Truth, hands tightening into fists. “Do I have to go to the Beyond, now? Or am I stuck here for eternity?” 

Truth chuckled. “Neither, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~. There is a different path for you.”

“What?” Ed asked, frowning. What more could there be? “Regardless, can… can you at least tell me what happens to Alphonse? Is he going to make it?” Ed’s heart ached at the thought of his brother, of the battlefield he’d left Al on, of the terror on Al’s face as Ed had been consumed by dark lightning.

Truth titled Its head. “Why don’t you find out yourself?”

What?

“I… I can go back?” Ed’s eyes widened. “I can become a ghost again? ”

“Of a sort,” Truth gave a grin, something distinctly mischievous about it. “You will return, though not in the same form that you left, either time.”

Edward narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Truth laughed, long and loud, a thousand voices echoing through Everything. “You still don’t get it, do you ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~? You said it yourself. You are dead, but you are not gone. You are not alive, but you do exist . You are dead, but you can still live.”  

“But… how?” 

As a ghost, Ed was incorporeal, unaffected by a world he could not influence either. How was he meant to live, if that was the case?

“You tied your Brother’s soul to your blood, and your soul to his. That does not change. For as long as he lives, you are there with him.” Truth showed Its teeth again, but this time it felt… softer. “Being tied to a physical, living body in the Material Realm aside from your brother’s, it grounded you. It tied your soul to physicality.”

Truth smiled, tilting Its head. “You are neither Wrong nor Right, Edward Elric. You are something Impossible that should not exist. And yet, you do. You are within the Laws, within the Balance, walking the knife’s edge between dead and alive.”

“You are caught in Loophole.”

Ed startled as the Gate at his back began to open . He turned, expecting the Eye to stare out, Judging him, or a thousand shadows to pull him into their depths. But instead, the place Beyond the Gate was… silent. Watching. Waiting.

“A loophole?” Ed asked, frowning slightly. “So… I can come back to life? Truly?”

“Not back to life… back to living. You always could return before,” Truth reminded him. “The only difference is… you can leave through your Gate now.”

The Domain of Truth shuddered, and suddenly the world began to be pulled towards the Gate. Everything and Nothing played where w h i t e met b l a c k , twisting together, but neither overtaking the other. Ed shivered as his soul was tugged towards his open Gate, to the Material Realm he could sense on the other side.

Edward turned an incredulous gaze on Truth. “Are you kicking me out?”

The Being laughed, waving a hand towards the Gate and the Material Realm that lay beyond. “You belong with your brother, ~Li-ttle Al-che-mist~. Why are you still here? The door is right over there. Go to him.”

Ed laughed incredulously and started for the Gate, but then paused. "… One last thing," Ed said as he turned around, looking back at Truth. "Could you potentially make it so I arrive… in style? These cultists think they're devoted to me or some other nonsense, and I'd like to make them… pay the price for that." Ed bared his teeth in a mimic of Truth's own smile.

Truth returned it. "But of course."

Ed grinned, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. For the second time in his existence, Edward Elric stepped through the Gate. Except this time, he was bringing himself home. 

And behind him, the Void smiled.

“Goodbye, Edward Elric.”

In the Material Realm, less than a minute after the one known as Aved had sacrificed himself in place of Alphonse, space t w i s t e d. On a battlefield that had descended into quiet and chaos as the twisting arcs of dark lightning of human transmutation stretched into the sky, the world sparked , stuttered and s t o p p e d

The air rippled, twisting and pulling and shredding until there was a gaping tear in the skin of the world. The hole in reality hissed and distorted, static crackling in w h i t e and b l a c k that were Empty of Everything and Full of Nothing. The world tilted on its axis, the tear resonating with wrongness that clawed through the mind like nails on chalk. It was a weeping, gaping wound in the world. Something that shouldn't exist.

Combatants from both sides watched the Thing That Shouldn’t Be, terrified beyond belief. They feared what it was, they feared what it meant, they feared that it was something of their enemies, they feared that it wasn’t.

Then, the world  s h i f t e d

From one moment to the next, the tear folded inward and outward, collapsing into a giant stone monolith suspended above the battlefield. Inscriptions were etched onto the stone’s surface, a tree-like symbol of life and the divine spiraling towards its center. Cracks, once carving canyons across the monolith and crumbling it into dust, had healed to thin scars, written into the stone. With a rumble like thunder, it split in two down the center. And the Gate opened.

A figure stepped out, dressed in a blazing red coat, white collared shirt, and black vest and trousers. They briefly stood before the Gate, overshadowed by its size, before reality sealed itself behind them and the monolith vanished, never there to begin with. Golden eyes swept over the assembled, narrowed and judging.

Then, the figure smiled, teeth bared in an expression that was too wide and too sharp.

"Sup, fuckers?" Edward Elric smirked. "God kicked me out and hell was afraid I'd take over. Now… who dared to hurt my brother?"

Across the field, some very familiar people gaped in shock and surprise. Roy Mustang thought his sight must finally be failing him, Riza Hawkeye thought that perhaps there were miracles in the world, and many others thought they must be hallucinating.

And Alphonse? 

Alphonse smiled.

Chapter Text

Alphonse Elric had witnessed what many would call impossible. From the binding of a soul to a suit of armor, to the seemingly unlimited alchemy of the philosopher’s stones, to powers of the Dwarf in the Flask and the Homunculi. He had seen the impossible. He had lived it.

And yet, sometimes, the world continued to surprise him.

He had seen the impossible when a soul was dragged into an almost dead body, and it came back into the world screaming. He has seen the impossible when he looked at Aved one day and realized the soul inside was his brother’s. He had seen the impossible when his brother went into a human transmutation circle and then came back.

And as Alphonse watched his brother step from the Gate itself into the Material Realm, looking as if he’d never died, he couldn’t help but smile.

The dead don’t come back to the Land of the Living. It was Law.

But, sometimes, the impossible happens.

For several breaths, the world was silent after Edward’s pronouncement. 

People looked on in shock and awe and no little fear, while Edward himself watched the assembled with a sharp golden eyed gaze. His eyes caught on Alphonse, still lying just outside the circle, and he sent a softer smile towards his little brother. Hey Al, I’m here now.

That was when the insane alchemist who’d started it all stepped forward, grinning like a maniac. “Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist!” the man crowed, twisted glee in his eyes. “We welcome your return to the land of the living!” Then the man bowed , and several of the people who’d lined the outside of the circle followed his lead. “I apologize for taking so long, but it took time to amass the resources and your former allies failed to do it themselves!”

The man waved a hand, clapping excitedly. “But now you are here! And can take your place at the helm of Amestris!”

Silence.

“Yeah, fucking no, ” Ed said flatly. “What the utter fuck are you on about? Amestris doesn’t need me, especially if people do this kind of shit.” 

Problem gaped, struck to silence, a silence that was quickly broken as many of the gunmen and Sherman — apparently having escaped his landslide prison — turned on the cultists. “You dirty liars,” one of the riflemen snarled, tightening his hold on his gun. “You said this transmutation would bring down Central City!”

“For old dogs of the military, you really trust too easily,” Problem scoffed. “Not even your so-called State Alchemists could tell the nature of our transmutation circles. A blood sacrifice isn’t required for explosive alchemy, even a half-rate alchemist should know that.”

An audible snarl rose from the ranks of the Bradley sympathizers. Ed didn’t have to be a genius to know this was going downhill, fast. “You want half-rate, I’ll give you half-rate, ” Sherman growled, and with that, shots were fired, figuratively and literally, as Bradley’s followers turned their guns on the cultists.

With that, chaos descended.

Edward ducked reflexively as bullets started flying. He clapped, reaching for the Gate and shoved energy into the ground. The alchemy came easy without the fatigue that had been draining his borrowed body, and he swiftly shaped a protective wall around his brother.

As the alchemists among the cultists — Ed counted at least five, not including Problem — started engaging with Bradley’s people, Ed dashed down and through the crowd. When he got to Al’s shelter, he hesitated at the wall. Could he… ?  Reaching forwards, Ed stuck his hand in front of him, intending to push against the wall. But, instead, his arm went straight through it.

Edward didn’t need any more prompting and he stepped straight through the wall. Alphonse startled as Ed dropped down next to him, staring at him with wide eyes. Ed swept his gaze over his brother, seeing a long cut over Al’s forearm that was bleeding, along with several bloodstains blossoming on his shoulder and thigh.

“Hey Al,” Ed said as he crouched next to his little brother. He gave Alphonse a slightly shaky smile. “Sorry it took so long… but I’m here now.”

And Al… Al just smiled.

“Good to see you, Big Brother,” Al grinned slightly, though it was pinched at the edges from pain. Then, it turned slightly mischievous. “Or… should I say, Aved?”

Ed blue screened for all of a minute before he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh fuck me, of course you figured it out. I could never hide anything from you for long, huh? … Uh, exactly how long have you known?”

“Since you did alchemy as Aved.”

“Oh.” Ed blinked. “Fuck me and my secret-keeping then.”

Al patted him on the arm consolingly. Or, attempted to pat. It went straight through Ed’s arm and he jolted at the shock of cold that raced through him, specifically where Al’s hand had gone through. Alphonse stared, and Ed shifted nervously. “Uh… yeah. I’m still dead. Kinda a ghost. Ish. More like a free floating soul anchored to the Material Realm.”

Al’s face was blank as he processed that, then he flicked an assessing gaze over Ed. “Blood seal?”

Never let it be said Ed’s brother was slow on the uptake.

He nodded. “Blood seal.”

Al groaned. “Ed, you absolute idiot… I love you, you know that?”

Edward’s grin stretched across his face, nearly splitting it in two. To hear those words again… “I love you too, Al,” Edward said and he felt utterly giddy. “Now…” Ed looked at his arm, and focused . Physical. Think physical, solid, strong. Earth, metal, iron, stone. A slight tingling sensation sparked along his arm, replacing the usual empty numbness that came with being a bodiless soul. 

Experimentally, Ed curled his fingers around a nearby rock. 

He picked it up.

Grinning, Ed turned to Alphonse. “Okay, let’s get you out of here and to a medic. Roy and Riza can watch you, I have some cultists to obliterate. You alright to be carried?”

“Ugh, it’ll hurt like hell, but do it,” Al muttered. 

Following the doctor’s orders, Ed bent down and hefted Alphonse up. He staggered a bit as he focused on staying solid, his brother both heavier and lighter than he was expecting. Which was weird , considering Ed technically didn’t have any muscles like this. Maybe it was based on mental perception?

Setting aside existential contemplation for later, Edward shifted the barrier, giving him a straight path to Mustang and Hawkeye. With Alphonse safely in his arms, Ed started over. Gunshots and yelling and the thundering of an alchemy battle roared over their heads above the barrier. “I don’t know what these cultists were thinking,” Ed muttered to Al as he walked. “Like… a cult devoted to me and followers of Bradley are like… antithetical. I’m kind of insulted honestly.”

“Hngh, poor you,” Al grumbled. “There’s a three way fight going on and you’re worried about the morality of the cult that tried to bring you back from the dead.”

“Hey, if they have to be a cult surrounding me, they could at least do better at following my ideals,” Ed countered, and he glared at the rock wall, in the general direction he’d last seen the Problem Alchemist. “Like, I don’t know, not hurting my fucking brother?”

Alphonse rolled his eyes and Ed finally slowed to a stop as he stepped from his barricades and around the warehouse corner. Gently, he lay Alphonse on the ground. Once he was satisfied his brother was safe, he turned to see Mustang and Hawkeye staring at him in shock and incredulity. He sauntered up to Mustang, who was staring at Ed like he couldn’t believe he was real. Edward grinned, showing all his teeth. “So… I hear ya missed me, Bastard.”

"Wh…but…how…you…?!" Roy sputtered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Edward smirked. Then, he made good on a promise he’d made to himself nearly six years ago. He reeled back his left arm, focused on the sense of solid, and punched Mustang straight across the jaw. The General didn’t even dodge, he just took the hit, stumbling backwards and blinking in confusion.

“That’s for blaming yourself, Bastard,” Ed told Roy and bared his teeth threateningly. “If you drown yourself in whiskey one more time because you think you’re responsible for my death, then I’ll do it with my metal arm.”

Ed paused.

Wait… I don’t have a metal arm anymore. Or leg, technically, even though I have automail on my soul. I’m a soul, there’s no metal on a soul.

“Scratch that, I’ll just punch you until you stop feeling guilty,” Ed revised. “And I’ll convince Riza to help me.”

He looked to Riza for support. She blinked, then gave a bark of laughter. “Yep, that’s Edward alright,” she chuckled. She shook her head, giving him a fond look. “How do you always manage to get into these situations? Even after you died? ”

Ed shrugged. “It’s a gift. Or a curse.”

He hadn’t asked Truth about that one yet.

“Okay,” Ed clapped his hands together and static built around them, raising the hairs on everyone’s arms. (Save Ed’s, since he didn’t have proper hair.) “I’m off to go fix Central’s cult problem. Of both Bradley and myself. Roy, Riza,” Ed turned to the two, who straightened slightly. “Keep an eye on Al for me, would you? Get him a medic please.”

Riza opened her mouth as if to protest, but Al stopped her, waving a hand. “Just let him,” Al said. “It’ll be cathartic. I’m pretty sure he’s got a lot of pent up aggression to get out.”

Ed smirked. 

He loved his brother.

With Al safely not on the active battlefield, Edward turned his attention back to said battlefield. He cracked his knuckles, looking over the three-way fight between Mustang’s forces, the cultists, and Bradley’s followers.

It was about time some tolls were paid.

Ed ran forwards into the chaos, alchemy and bullets flying every which way. Even though he’d been intangible with Al, he wasn’t quite sure how far it extended, or if the expectation of getting hit by bullets would mean he did get hurt by them. He dodged and pulled up shields, at least he did, until Sherman — who seemed to have a vendetta against Ed specifically — sent a barrage of rocky pillars towards him in hopes of burying him “alive”.

Ed dodged, but not all of them.

“EDWARD!”

Alphonse’s cry echoed in Ed’s ears as he blinked. He was… fine. Buried under who knows how many tons of rock, but fine. Fine, except for the fact that his entire soul resonated with cold , a numb shivering shock of existing intangibly within something else. He shifted around and instead of being pinned, he moved freely. “Huh,” Ed muttered as he twisted his arm, able to see and not see it simultaneously. “This is really weird.”

Turning back towards the outside, Edward walked easily through the stone. He emerged out into the open and the few combatants that spotted him doing so gaped in shock. 

Ed grinned, taking advantage of their distraction to leap forwards and start punching. Or at least, he tried to. His first attempt ended up with Ed staring at his arm that was sticking clean through his opponent's head. He shivered at the feeling of cold that burned its way through the limb. “Well… that was unexpected. Shouldn’t be surprised though.”

The man gave a garbled scream

Ed sent him a feral grin. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

This time he gave the man a roundhouse kick to the side of the head, focusing on solid the whole time. His opponent went down easily, and Ed gleefully turned to the other people around him. “Who’s next?”

They all went next, in time.

Like dominos, they fell. Edward particularly enjoyed when some guy had brought up his arm to block Ed’s kick, and Ed just phased his leg through it, keeping his foot solid long enough to flatten the man.

Fighting his way through the alchemists and gunmen, Ed noted there weren’t as many as before the fight. It made sense, since the former members of the military, despite mostly wielding guns, had combat experience on their side. The cultists on the other hand, had a lot more alchemic power at their disposal. Either way, both sides had taken losses. Edward, meanwhile, focused on taking everyone out. He used alchemized hands of earth to pin down some and simply punched the lights out of others. It was viciously cathartic, both in regards to what they’d put Ed and his family through, and for everything else, including breaking the Laws.

Until, finally, he encountered the one who had the most to Pay.

“You,” Edward snarled as he found himself face to face with Problem the Insane Alchemist, who went wide-eyed. “You have a lot to answer for, and not just from me.”

The man gaped, fumbling backwards as Ed advanced. “But you’re here!” he protested in vain. “We brought you back so you could lead Amestris to prosperity and glory, be the Hero of the People you always were! You’re supposed to save us from tyranny!”

“Make no mistake,” Edward snarled, fury radiating off him. “I’m only here because you fucked up, because you thought the Laws didn’t apply to you. And I already saved you from tyranny… Bradley, his people, and the conspiracy he was involved in. Even then, you don’t need me. The rebellion didn’t need me , it needed people dedicated to a cause, to helping others.”

“But that’s why we did it!” Problem appealed, backed against the wall. “We are dedicated! You helped so many, we made a cause to return you! The rest did nothing, but we did! You should be thanking us! 

Ed scoffed. “No, shitface. You broke the Laws. You angered the thing closest to God enough that It gave me a pass to be here to beat you senseless. And more importantly, you hurt my brother. ” Ed stared at the man coldly, his gaze almost predatory. “You claim to know me, but in what universe was that a good idea?”

“I… we…” Problem stuttered, gaping at him. “But we brought you back to life!”

“Back to life?” Ed cocked his head. “Who ever said I was alive?”

Problem’s eyes widened. This time, in fear.

“The Gate takes many Tolls,” Ed said lowly. “Some we can see, others we cannot. But we all must pay the price in the end… and even I shudder to think how much debt you’ve wracked up.” Edward’s eyes blazed gold. “The Gate always gets Its way. To think otherwise… you doom yourself to fall even farther.”

Clap.

Edward reached out for his Gate and pulled at the tectonic energy of the earth, blue lighting surrounding his hands. He reached out a hand, brushing it against the brick wall. The stone warped under his command, and the brick twisted around the other alchemist until he was trapped, head to toe, in a cement prison.

Then, Ed punched him several times in the face. 

Just for good measure. 

As the dust settled, Edward was left on a battlefield with naught but fallen bodies (those dead and unconscious), smoking craters and miniature canyons, and broken towers of stone. The cultists were trapped beneath rock and clutched in hands of stone, the followers of Bradley much the same. Surveying his surroundings, Ed nodded to himself, stepping away.

The MPs that had arrived went about the usual process of extracting the various persons, and Ed helped out a little, unwinding the earth so they could slap irons on everyone.

But then, another figure (or three) arrived, and Ed only had eyes for them.

Alphonse, sporting several makeshift bandages, with Roy and Riza following close after, stumbled over to him. Ed nearly had a heart attack as he saw his brother, and he rushed over, hovering around his brother. “Al! Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?! What are you doing here?!”

“There was a field medic tent at the main street,” Al said, nodding back towards the main road. “They’re helping out people who were injured in the fights. I can get more fixed up later, but I had to see you.” Alphonse smiled and his eyes shimmered with tears. “You’re an idiot, Big Brother. I love you so much.”

Ed smiled so hard it hurt, his own eyes burning. “I love you too, Al.”

Slowly reaching forward, Edward brushed his fingers over Al’s arm. A slight electric sensation sparked up his arm, and he focused, curling his fingers into the fabric of Al’s sleeve. The fabric gave under his hand. Ed’s nonexistent heart soared as he locked eyes with Alphonse, and then he grabbed his little brother, wrapping him in the tightest hug of his life.

“I’ve missed you, Ed,” Al sniffled into his ear, chin tucked on Ed’s shoulder. 

“I missed you, Little Brother,” Ed said in return. “Sorry for taking so long.”

And on the remains of the battlefield, surrounded by smoke and fire, the Elric brothers stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, a hug that had been six years in the making. 

Chapter Text

Edward pressed himself into the alcove, half phased into the wall. 

His golden eyes tracked the guards that walked by, and Ed let out a silent breath of relief as they continued past him, oblivious to his presence. As quiet as a shadow, he slipped from the alcove, hurrying along the hall. Ed had to be careful, had to be the ghost he’d become, unseen and unheard. If anyone spotted him, he was done for.

After dodging a few more patrols, he’d finally reached his target. Lurking outside the door, Ed listened and was rewarded with the murmur of voices inside.

Bingo.

Jumping to his feet, Ed lashed out with his leg, kicking in the door. It flew back on its hinges, slamming against the wall as Edward leaped inside like a demon out of hell. “YA MISS ME?!” he cackled as bright golden eyes looked upon his victims.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, several things happened at once.

Breda gave a high pitched shriek, his voice cracking several octaves, and then fainted dead away. Fuery threw the nearest item, a book, and then tipped backwards in his chair. Havoc pulled out his gun while screaming about ‘zombies’, pulling the trigger with a crack of gunfire. And Falman’s face went blank as he stood up, rummaged in his desk, and began to chug a bottle of whiskey.

The screaming paused briefly after Havoc had fired, as everyone still conscious stared at Edward in shock. At the book lying on the floor behind him. And at the smoke wisping from the muzzle of Havoc’s gun and the hole in the far wall behind Ed.

Ed hummed, looking down and inspecting himself for injuries, even though he knew he’d find none. “Well, that was annoying.”

Havoc started screaming about ghosts and Ed rolled his eyes, cackling all the while. Fuery looked over desperately as Mustang, Hawkeye and Alphonse came in around Ed, having stood far away from the firing zone. “Uh, we have a problem!” Fuery waved his hands at Edward in a panic. “Either we’ve all got a collective hallucination, there’s a homunculi, or ghosts are real!”

Roy gave a begrudging sigh.

“This is, in fact, Edward,” the General said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Apparently not even death can stop him from making himself an annoyance.”

“Aw, come on, Mustang,” Ed grinned at his old commanding officer. “You missed me, admit it.”

“… I did,” Roy said softly. Then, to Ed’s shock, the General reached forward and pulled him into a hug. Ed only just remembered to think solid, and he stood a bit awkwardly for a minute until Mustang retreated. He took a breath, then fixed Ed with a sharp stare. “Regardless of what you say, I am sorry, Edward. And, I am glad to see you.”

Edward blinked, then chuckled, quirking his lips. “Just don’t get drunk on my behalf again, alright?” Mustang nodded, and the conscious members of the office looked between them with utter confusion. 

“Wait… Chief’s a ghost now?” Havoc asked. “Are you sure?”

Giving the officer a dry look, Edward walked forward until he was standing in the middle of someone’s desk. Breda, just now regaining consciousness, saw it and immediately fainted again. Havoc, looking rather pale, nodded slightly. “Okay. Ghost. Got it. Uh… is this a recent thing or…?”

Ed waved a hand. “Technically I was a ‘ghost’ or something similar for the past six years, but I couldn’t interact or do anything other than just exist. The visibility and physicality is a new one though.”

Havoc blinked. “Uh… exactly how much did you see, Ed?”

In lieu of an answer, Edward just gave Havoc a too-wide grin, showing all his teeth.

Havoc went white.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Truth,” Alphonse muttered with a sigh. “You’ve adopted Its smile now.”

Ed scowled, went to protest, then paused. He opened his mouth to protest, paused again, then finally sighed and buried his head in his hands. “You know what? I can’t even argue with that. Truth was like my only chance at conversation for six years and honestly sometimes I was desperate for company.”

“Uh… Ed? You want to get out of the table?” Fuery asked.

“Oh, right.”

Once Breda had been revived and the rest of the team had calmed down, Edward and Alphonse made their exit. They climbed up to the roof of Central Command, sitting close together as they watched the sun arc across the sky. Al’s arm was in a sling and parts of his body were wrapped in bandages, but he was doing remarkably well after the attack.

Alphonse leaned against Ed’s side, and he focused on that feeling of solid, the electric prickle running throughout his soul. “Not that I’m complaining, Brother,” Alphonse said softly, and Ed turned to look down into Al’s golden eyes. “But… how did you come back?”

“It’s like I’m… somewhere in between life and death.”

“I know that ,” Al said, poking him in the side with his good arm. “But if you’re right, and your soul is here because of the blood seal, and you’ve been following me for six years, then how did it change? Why can you interact with objects now? Why can I see you?”

Edward considered the question, and they sat in silence for a few minutes as he gathered his thoughts.

“It’s a few things, I think,” he eventually said, looking up at the sky. “From what I put together from Truth, my soul will remain with you until you die, since my soul is bound to yours. As long as you are here, I am as well.” Edward huffed, nudging Al with his elbow. “Sorry, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Not complaining,” Al muttered, resting his head on Ed’s shoulder.

“But I think the other part of it is… I got my Gate back.”

Alphonse sat up with a start, turning around to face Ed. “What?!” Al asked incredulously. “I thought you traded it to Truth?”

“Me too,” Ed huffed, wrapping an arm around Al and tugging him close again. Alphonse went, and the two brothers snuggled closer. “But like… I exchanged my Gate for you, so I think you essentially took the place of my Gate, or it exists within you, or something similar. And it’s taken this long for it to rebuild itself… or maybe for me and my soul to heal. Either way, you are my connection to the world.” 

“I also think being tied to a living body did… something,” Ed stared at his hands. He couldn’t quite see through himself, but there was a certain strangeness about it, regardless. “Truth says it ‘grounded’ me.”

“Maybe it linked you to visibility?” Al suggested. “Parts of you did start showing through towards the end.”

Edward hummed agreement. “Yeah. But, I’m pretty sure I’m channeling alchemic energy to make myself solid. It feels the same… like an electric current and I’m the live wire. Actually… since you’re acting as my Gate in a sense, I wonder how the physicality behaves with distance?”

“Want to try it out?” Al asked, eyes gleaming.

“Do you have to ask?”

They did try it out a few days later, this time with Mustang and several members of the team acting as escorts. According to Mustang, it was because Alphonse was still healing and because, quote: “Obviously you two need supervision if you were going for walks alone after a terrorist cell has been shown to have interest in both of you specifically .”

Ed was pretty sure it was also because the General was curious. 

While Hawkeye, Breda and Fuery watched Alphonse, Edward and the rest started walking across the grounds of Central Command and then into the streets of Central. Mustang had given him an apple to keep hold of, while Ed focused on holding his tangibility for as long as he could.

As they walked farther, Ed could feel the connection more acutely and had to struggle to keep the hold of the apple. While at the beginning he’d been able to keep his entire body solid, the further he got, the more it left him, until only the hand holding the apple was any semblance of solid. “How are you feeling, Fullmetal?” Roy asked, and Ed gritted his teeth.

“Fine, ugh.”

“Uh… you don’t look fine?” Havoc said hesitantly, and Ed glanced at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re getting all… fuzzy at the edges. More transparent too,” Havoc explained. The officer reached forwards, wisping his hand through Ed’s arm. Cold jolted through him, and Ed bit back a curse. Shit, even if it didn’t hurt, he’d never get used to that. “Uh… sorry?”

Edward glanced down, and sure enough, he didn’t quite look solid, even to himself. While his image wasn’t fuzzy, his hands had become much more transparent and he could see the ground through his feet. “Well… I hope nobody else is watching this right now.”

Falman shrugged. “That’s what NDAs are for.”

Forcing himself to keep walking, Edward took a few more steps, and a few more, and a few more. Until eventually, he felt like he was pulling against a rope connected to a mountain, struggling to take another step. The apple had long since fallen through Ed’s hand, and now it was a matter of seeing how far he could go. Mustang, Havoc and Falman hovered around him with worry, since his image had taken to flickering like a faulty lightbulb.

Then Ed finally staggered forwards, collapsing to his knees. The officers bent down, and Ed could sense their hands hovering just over his back. “Ugh,” he muttered, slumping fully to the ground and flopping over to lie on his back. “I’m done.”

Alphonse and the others rejoined them, as Ed could feel his brother getting closer, as it became easier and easier to be solid, the electric-like current coming instinctually instead of needing to be purposeful. By the time Al had arrived, Ed was sitting upright, taking bites out of the apple.

“Can you actually eat that?” Al asked, eyeing him curiously.

“Kinda?” Ed shrugged. “I don’t taste anything. It’s just molecules.”

“So where’s it going?” Fuery asked, tilting his head. 

Ed didn’t know.

“How far did I get?” Edward asked the General and Mustang looked at Falman.

“Approximately three kilometers,” Vato promptly reported. “Edward lost all physicality at two kilometers and began to slide from the visible spectrum at two and a half. By three, I was honestly concerned he might fade from existence entirely.”

Alphonse shot Ed a sharp look, and Ed held up his hands. “I wasn’t going to go past the limit!” Ed protested, then scratched at his cheek. “Honestly, I don’t think I can? Go past it that is. I tried and it was like trying to haul a mountain behind me.”

“Well, don’t try,” Al said sharply. “I know you, and you’d figure out a way past anyways. But if you stretch things too far, you might not be able to come back again.”

“Don’t worry,” Ed said as he stood, looping an arm around Al’s shoulders. “I’m staying. For good, this time.”

A few months later and Edward found himself back in Central.

He and Alphonse had gone to Rush Valley and Resembool to visit Winry and Pinako respectively. Upon seeing him, Winry had immediately brained him a wrench, then hugged him as she sobbed into his shirt. After Ed and Al told her about how he had been ‘Aved’, she hit Ed with the wrench again. 

“You are a fucking idiot, Edward Elric. If you die again, end up possessing a body and don’t tell us I will personally find you in the afterlife and make you regret it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ed said, because what else was he supposed to say?

Scout, strangely enough, seemed to recognize him, licking his face and flopping over Ed’s legs. The dog also tried gnawing on his left leg, which Winry swatted him for, but Ed shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “Though not sure if that’s the automail or weird ghost stuff.”

Both Winry and Alphonse’s eyebrows raised. “You still have automail?” Al asked, glancing at Ed’s leg.

“Kinda?” 

Ed reached down, pulling up his pant leg to show the automail. For being something made of soul or whatever he was, it sure looked like automail. The only difference was, every screw and plate seemed to have fused shut, and Winry couldn’t access it. It had become something… else, part of Ed’s soul. She stared at him incredulously. 

“Congrats, Ed, somehow you’ve managed to screw with my automail in ways even I didn’t know were possible.”

“It’s a gift.”

When they returned to Resembool, Auntie Pinako took one look at him, took a puff of her pipe, and then hummed nonchalantly.

“Well, Brat, you’re more stubborn than I thought,” she chuckled, eyeing him fondly. “Though I see you’ve also inherited your father’s persistence when it comes to evading death.”

When asked about what the hell that meant, Pinako just said she’d once mistaken Hohenheim for a late night intruder. Thankfully, she hadn’t needed to break out her shovel and tell Trisha her boyfriend had been in an accident.

Every now and then Ed was reminded why Granny was absolutely terrifying.

Now, they were visiting Central again in preparation for Alphonse setting off on his travels. He planned to visit Xing and see Mei, which would be much faster thanks to the new railroad crossing the Eastern Desert, and then return to his duties before the whole ‘cult’ business: being a doctor. And Ed was going to join him.

They were relaxing in Al’s apartment in Central when the doors blew off their hinges and a voice both brothers had long since come to dread thundered through the room.

“EDWARD ELRIC!”

Oh no.

Ed turned in time to see Teacher’s sandaled foot flying towards his face. He flinched back, but instead of being sent bodily into the wall, Teacher passed straight through him. Ice cold burned through every fiber of Ed’s soul, and he gasped, clutching at his chest. He wasn’t the only one.

“Ed… Edward?” Teacher’s voice came behind him, and Ed turned.

Izumi Curtis looked… heartbroken. She stared at him, agony written into every line of her face.

“Hi, Teacher,” Ed said softly. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Teacher slowly approached, reaching out with a tentative hand. Edward focused on being solid, and this time, Teacher’s fingers brushed his cheek. And he felt it, the touch sending a slight electric pulse through a memory of nerves. “What happened?” She asked softly, her eyes searching his.

“I’m dead,” Ed whispered and when Teacher’s eyebrows furrowed, he continued. “I died, but when I bonded Al’s soul to my blood, the connection went both ways. My body died but my soul stayed tethered to Alphonse. I… I got stuck in a living body, and apparently I exist somewhere in between living and dead. Both and neither.”

“You were Aved,” Teacher realized.

Ed nodded. “Yeah… sorry for lying to you.”

Teacher huffed a laugh. Then, she pulled Ed to her chest, hugging him so tightly that he wouldn’t be able to breathe, if he’d needed to in the first place. “If you fucking pulled something with Truth I am going to feed you to a goddamned bear,” Izumi threatened, but her voice was choked, and she shook slightly. She was crying , Ed realized in shock. “I will make you stand in a Briggs blizzard without any clothes and fight me until you can’t fucking stand. If you ever fucking pull something like that again I will make you wish for Truth, because not even It will be able to keep me from getting to you.”

Edward floundered for a moment, then returned the hug, embracing his Teacher back. “I missed you too,” Ed muttered.

“Fucking idiot disciple,” Izumi half growled and half sobbed, hugging Ed tighter. “If you die again on me I’ll haul you back to the Living myself. And then I will make you run for thirty miles until you drop from exhaustion.” 

It took nearly five minutes until Teacher let Ed go. She gripped his shoulders, looking him over with red and puffy eyes. “Truth is lucky It lives on another plane of existence,” Teacher muttered as she finally drew away. “If I see that motherfucker again I will whip Its staticy ass into cotton candy. I will get a thousand spears and stab every one of Its eyes.” 

“I don’t think Truth has a mother, Teacher,” Ed said hesitantly, and Izumi rolled her eyes.

“It’s still a damned motherfucker and you know it as well as I.”

“True,” Ed would give her that. Truth was a bastard, much like Mustang. Both were variants of the kind that grew on you… like a fungus. “I don’t hate It though… It’s been a weird companion over the past few years. It’s still a bastard, but… It’s kind of a helpful one, at times. It kept me company.”

Teacher’s eyes glittered with tears and she gave a ragged laugh. “Only you, Edward.”

“How did you know to come anyways?” Alphonse asked, emerging from where he’d taken shelter behind the couch. “I haven't called you yet!”

Teacher shot Al a withering glare and Al gulped audibly. “Yes, that’s right… you failed to inform me my other student was back in the realm of the living. I had to hear about it from Olivier who heard about it from General Mustard. Two people who knew before me! Two!”

General Mustard?!

Ed tried to suppress a snort, but then he thought of Mustang’s confused and offended face at the nickname, it was all over. Together, he and Alphonse wheezed for breath at the absurdity of General Mustard. Teacher rolled her eyes at their antics, but her smile was fond, enjoying their revelry.

And Edward and Alphonse? They were together.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

To most, the Fullmetal Alchemist was dead. He had died six years ago to a gunshot wound, and was honored as a national hero under his title as the Alchemist of the People. He would be known for his role in bringing about a new and better government, but most of all, for following the creed of ‘be thou for the people’. People told stories of how he had saved others, had brought about change, had been kind or listened when no one else did. The Fullmetal Alchemist went down in history and Amestrian legend.

But, a select few know what actually happened to the one known as Edward Elric.

He had died, and been brought back. Not alive, but not all dead either. Instead, he was somewhere in between. But, despite all that, he continued to live.

Edward was still a wayward soul, despite being a corporeal one. He did not sleep nor did he eat, and the sensation of touch, while there, was muffled and muted. But, despite that, he could be heard and seen and could touch and be touched in turn.

And that was all he needed.

Because he had his brother, and he was happy.

He retired from life with the military, though it was rather redundant, since Edward had been officially dead for so long. He watched with a smile as Roy Mustang advanced to Fuhrer and reshaped the Amestrian government from an authoritarian military state into a democracy, and the first public elections were held to decide the nation’s leader.

New legends began to circulate Amestris, speaking of the People’s Physician, who walked Amestris with kind hands and words, healing and helping where he could. They spoke of how he wielded alchemy and alkahestry like magic, of the intelligence that glimmered in his golden eyes. 

The legends spoke of the Mechanic, who offered the best automail in Amestris yet only charged what people could afford. She helped anyone who wished for it, and for those that didn’t want automail, she gifted limbs of wood and resin, light metal crutches specific to the person, and wheelchairs of custom design.

And, the legends spoke of the man who walked alongside the Physician and Mechanic, with golden hair and golden eyes. He was strange, the folk said. He never seemed to eat or sleep, and if you’d watched closely, his chest did not rise and fall with the breath of the living. Yet, you could find no one who loved life more, who treasured every day and person and weed that grew from between cracked stones. And, you could find no one who understood death better, who sat with the dying to ease their passage, or grieved with the mourning.

History tells of the Pillars of Amestris, the legends that picked the nation up from the ash of her own making, and nurtured her to grow back from dust, with all her peoples’ better and stronger.

And, among these Pillars, history occasionally whispers of a phantom. Some say it is the Fullmetal Alchemist, who faked his own death to evade the public eye. Others say it is his ghost, lingering on after death. But all agree, whoever this phantom was, they weaved their story among the Pillars, a foundation of support.

For decades, Edward Elric followed his family, not as a ghost, but as a corporeal soul. And he was happy. Because he may be dead, but he could live , spending time with the friends and family he held so dear. Despite being only a soul, he aged alongside them, for his soul reflected him, and as he grew and changed and lived , so too did his soul.

Eventually, Alphonse Elric grew old, his hair white and skin wrinkled. And one day, on a warm spring morning, he passed away, surrounded by friends and family, his wife Mei on one side and his brother on the other. Before the watchers’ eyes, Alphonse Elric stepped from his body, standing next to his brother’s soul.

The two of them embraced, smiling at their family before they faded from view, walking hand in hand to What Lay Beyond.

…

No one knows what lies beyond death. 

But, some say that when people die, their souls move to Truth and pass Beyond the Gate. And, if that is indeed the case, then, when the souls of the Elric brothers stepped from one world and into the next, they appeared in a howling white void, where a humanoid figure made of Nothing and Everything gave them a too-wide smile and said:

“Hello.”

Fin