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Marinette knew something was wrong the moment the house came into view.
It might be the way the front door was left open, revealing an ominously unlit interior. It might be the unkempt state of the garden, moss and weeds overgrowing the once-pristine memorial she and her brothers had set up for Trisha. Or—it might be the fucking blood trail that led all the way from the front porch to the Rockbells’ house.
Marinette swore under her breath, turning to sprint for the Rockbells’ front door. Why did she ever let Ed and Al convince her to finish her seamstress apprenticeship in Dublith before returning to Resembool? She should’ve come back with them the moment their apprenticeship with Mrs Curtis ended. What if Ed dropped a knife on himself while trying to cook? What if Al tripped and fell down the stairs? What if they were dead? Marinette had promised Trisha—
Reaching her neighbor’s house, Marinette slammed an open palm against the Rockbells’ door. Locked. Kwamis damnit. She started banging, “Granny Pinako! It’s me! Open up! My brothers—”
The door swung open. Marinette, leaning onto the door as she was, almost overbalanced. She would’ve let herself collapse anyway for the dramatics, if not for the sight that greeted her.
Ed—her vibrant and lively little brother—sitting upon a wheelchair. The right sleeve of his shirt and the left leg of his trousers were bloodied and empty, the excess fabric tied into a knot—as if that would disguise the fact that Ed was missing two limbs. His face was pale, his entire body bleached of life and every color but red—and it was only the lifeblood that stained him which assured Marinette she wasn’t staring at a ghost yet. His shoulders were hunched inwards, the self-assured confidence that once carried Ed through life vanished without a trace, replaced by a too-familiar tension that bespoke of a losing battle to hide the pain he is under.
Marinette knew the feeling well—after all, she had spent the last months of her first life wearing a very similar expression. But Ed was far too young to know the taste of such suffering, and Marinette—she couldn’t—
“Sister,” Al’s voice said solemnly. Marinette forced her gaze away from Ed, who still hadn’t acknowledged her presence (and somehow that was worse than everything she had seen of his state so far, this implicit knowledge that whatever Ed had gone through had broken him mentally), to her other brother, who was still holding the door open, and would continue to do so until Marinette finally gathered her wits enough to move from the doorway.
Except—except, where her baby brother should’ve been, stood only a suit of armor almost twice her height. It towered over her, far too big and heavy for Al to move around in, but Marinette would know Al’s voice anywhere, which meant—Al was—this—he—
Akuma.
“Alphonse.” she choked out, terror squeezing her trachea like Lila’s hand around her neck. She began patting the armor’s breastplate (echoing clangs, this suit of armor was hollow hollow hollow). The akumatized object had to be here somewhere, and once she de-akumatized Al everything would return to normal, as good as new. “You—Edward—”
Akuma. Alphonse was an—Lila was—no. Lila was dead, and the miraculous destroyed, along with the rest of her former universe. Marinette was certain of that much, at least.
Marinette’s hands stilled. Removing her hands from Al’s breastplate, she took a deep breath, exhaled, and tried again. This time, her voice was much steadier, “Al. What happened?”
It should be impossible for an empty suit of armor to flinch, but this wasn’t just a suit of armor, it was her brother. Al lowered his head, guilt thick in his voice, and he probably would’ve swallowed if he still had a throat to do so, “I’m sorry, Sister. We…”
Someone cleared their throat. Marinette glanced up, and it was only then that she registered Granny Pinako and Winry’s presence in the room. Under these circumstances, she didn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed about that.
Granny raised an eyebrow, as if to say she was perfectly aware of Marinette’s lack of situational awareness. “Perhaps this is a conversation best held at someplace other than the doorway.” she suggested wryly, and as much as Marinette was loathe to waste time on such trivial matters, Granny—as always—had a point.
So they relocated to the living room, Winry silently wheeling Ed’s wheelchair towards the couch in a manner that suggested Ed’s condition was not news to her. Al’s footsteps echoed behind Marinette, each step making her painfully aware that the inside of her brother’s armor was empty.
Marinette sat on the couch, Winry and Granny next to her. Al sat down on the floor, at the foot of Ed’s wheelchair. Marinette appreciated this—she could keep both her brothers in clear view this way, to ensure they didn’t vanish or turn into glitter or something between one blink and the next.
She kept her eyes on Ed and Al even as she asked—demanded, at Granny, “What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”
Why did you make me find out like this ?
Ed didn’t react. Al’s helmet shrunk further into his pauldrons. Granny Pinako took a deep inhale of her tobacco pipe, and sighed, “I tried. I called the tailor shop you were working at, the moment Ed’s condition stabilized. I was told you had already left for Resembool.”
So—what? Ed and Al’s…accident couldn’t have happened more than two days ago, was that it? Marinette had left Dublith late last night, if she had left earlier—a day or two, or even hours before she did—could she have prevented this tragedy?
Granny’s words, at least, were enough to trigger a response from Ed. His head shot upwards, something wild and maniacal in his golden eyes. “You—what!? You—but you promised—you wouldn’t call Marinette no matter what! She isn’t supposed to—”
Al raised his head, his helmet clanking against his gorget as he did so. “Brother—!”
Something cold curdled in Marinette’s stomach. “What? I’m not supposed to know? That you lost an arm and a leg, and Al—somehow, his entire body?” Al flinched. Marinette plowed on before she could bring herself to apologize. “You—you wanted to keep this a secret from me? Until when? I’m your sister, I have a right to—”
“No you aren’t!” Ed shouted—something wild flickering in his golden eyes.
Next to them, Granny sighed heavily. Winry facepalmed.
Marinette felt as if her heart had been replaced by ice. “…what?” she whispered, her voice dangerously soft. “What did you say?”
Ed swallowed, then the wild thing in his eyes steadied and hardened. “No.” he plowed on with the same grim determination he once utilized to avoid drinking milk. “You. Aren’t. Our. Sister. You aren’t our sister! You’re just some girl Mom picked off the streets! You aren’t—so you shouldn’t worry about—”
Marinette took a deep breath, forcing herself to let go of the stone-cold anger within her. Ed was just scared and lashing out, that’s all. Inhale. Exhale. Within a moment all her frustration and fear had evaporated into fine mist—a lifetime of exorcising her negative emotions to avoid akumatization served her well.
“Even so, I promised Trisha I would take care of you two.” Marinette pressed her lips together, allowing a hint of her weariness onto her face, “Ed, please don’t make me betray my promise to your mother.”
Ed bared his teeth—and it was so wrong, that this was the liveliest she’s seen her brother since she reunited with him. Ed shouldn’t be—this wasn’t—
In the end, it was Al who answered, “…that’s—that’s exactly why we didn’t want you to know.”
Ed’s head snapped in Al’s direction, furious and betrayed. Al stared back with unnatural red eyes, twin pinpricks of red light shining through his visor. A moment, then two, then three—and the fight drained out of Ed. He physically slumped back into his wheelchair.
“You’re only two years older than me.” Ed muttered mulishly. His golden hair formed a veil in front of his eyes, hiding the dark smudges underneath from view. “You deserve—you deserve better than to waste your youth raising us, when you didn’t even ask for this responsibility. If we had Mom back, we could’ve—you could’ve—”
Cold trickled down Marinette’s spine. If they had Trisha back… “Ed. Please tell me you didn’t do it.”
Ed scowled, clamping his jaws shut. He glared at his lap.
Marinette turned to Al, “Al?”
Al allowed his helmet to drop, giving the impression of hanging his head, “…I’m sorry, Sister. We thought…we really thought we could do it.”
Marinette felt like laughing—so she did. A hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat, and along with it she tasted the phantom tang of bile. Equivalent exchange. The Ultimate Wish. A life for a life, a soul for a soul. The universe must always be in balance.
“You thought you could what? Get away with human transmutation? Didn’t Mrs Curtis specifically warn you against doing it?”
Even the miraculous cure couldn’t bring people back to life, once their souls had passed beyond the physical plane. Not even the Wish could accomplish such a feat, not without rewriting the entire universe plus paying a price too great to be worth anything. Balance, Tikki and Plagg had called it. Equivalent exchange, alchemists in this world proclaimed. From Marinette’s experience, it was the same fundamental law across the multiverse.
Al didn’t reply.
Granny Pinako reached across Winry to tap Marinette’s head with her pipe. “Go easy on the boys,” she grumbled. “They’ve learnt their lesson already.”
Marinette let her gaze drag across her brothers. At Edward, drained of life, a double amputee at the ripe old age of eleven. At Alphonse, reduced to a suit of armor, unable to touch or smell—and frankly it was a miracle he could even see and hear.
…yes. Nothing Marinette could say would stick with them more than these physical marks upon their bodies.
Marinette slumped, suddenly feeling the weight of her years upon her soul. What could she say to them? It isn’t your fault? Just don’t do it again? I’m sorry? None of her words would fix this outcome—none of these placations would be anything but a mockery of their suffering. This wasn’t a run-of-the-mill garden-variety mistake—this was a failure that might mark them for the rest of their lives.
(Marinette knew, with painful intimacy, what that felt like.)
She didn’t know what to say, so Marinette said nothing. They sat in silence, all five of them, an overwhelming thing broken only by Granny’s steady puffs of her pipe.
Eventually, Ed pursed his lips, “…sorry. I didn’t mean it. About you not being our sister.”
Marinette sighed, “I know.” she gave Ed a tired smile, “Come on. I’ll make cookies for lunch.”
That night, Marinette couldn’t sleep.
She tossed and turned in the dark, b l a c k and r e d flashing behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. Finally, unable to stand it, she kicked off her blanket and exited her room.
They all had their individual rooms in the Rockbell residence. Marinette had spent half of her second childhood here, and so she walked the path to Ed’s room like second nature, even in the dark.
A pinprick of light lit up the corridor near Ed’s room. Marinette rounded the corner, and—just as she expected—Granny Pinako was standing in front of Ed’s door.
She turned to Marinette, the night light in her hands throwing eerie shadows across the wall. “Marinette, you’re up.” she observed quietly.
Marinette forced herself to give a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I just have to—”
I just have to see Ed and Al, to make sure they’re okay, to heal them—
Granny nodded in understanding. She handed Marinette her candle; the night light had already burnt down by half—Granny had been up late taking care of Marinette’s brothers. “Be quiet,” she warned, “Ed wore himself out with his tantrum this afternoon. Al cannot sleep with the state he is in, but I finally convinced him to rest in his own room a while ago.”
Marinette nodded. “Of course. I’ll be careful.”
Granny Pinako shot Marinette an undecipherable expression. Then, with a sigh and a shake of her head, she strode off, leaving Marinette alone.
Marinette swallowed, licking her lips. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and pushed the door to Ed’s room open.
The candle lit up the room in increments. Her little brother, who looked so small slumped upon his wheelchair, appeared even tinier tucked into his sickbed—and infinitely more fragile in his sleep.
Marinette placed the night light on Ed’s bedside table, taking care not to make a sound. She dropped to her knees next to Ed’s bed, and pressed her palms together.
“Please, Tikki.” Marinette murmured, a prayer to a god she hadn’t seen in a decade. She hadn’t been able to heal Trisha of her illness all those years ago, for the Destruction of diseased tissue was Plagg’s domain and not Tikki’s.
But now…even if she could only repair the damaged nerve endings so Ed wouldn’t have to experience phantom pain, it would still be better than nothing. She couldn’t fail her brothers—not again.
she would not be a failure in this lifetime as well.
The stump of Ed’s arm glowed pink. Marinette sank into the sensation—the warmth of it, of blood clotting and wounds scabbing and cells dividing. Growth, she begged of Tikki’s magic, you know the arm that should be attached to this stump. Grow it back, I beg this of you. Do this, and I will never ask anything of you again.
And she sank and sank and sank into this song of the cosmos, until it consumed her whole, and she could no longer tell the spiritual from the physical, or this mortal realm from the realm of the gods.
And then, there was
w h i t e
Marinette opened her eyes in a void of white.
She sat up slowly, her ears ringing. Her mouth tasted like blood, like bile, like death and despair and the dust let behind by a destroyed universe.
White nothingness stretched out into infinity, as far as the eye could see. And in the middle of that emptiness, was a girl made of and from the void, a white space carved in the imitation of a human figure. A sharp grin stretched from one side of her face to the other, and though she had no eyes, Marinette could feel the girl’s piercing stare all the same.
Marinette swallowed. She licked her lips, feeling as though she was reliving a half-remembered nightmare. And even before the figure spoke, she knew with painful awareness that she had
f a i l e d
again.
“You tried to heal what cannot be healed.” the being declared, “Little Edward’s limbs were not lost, they were Traded. You cannot grow back his limbs—you can grow back any limbs except his.”
Marinette did not allow herself to respond to the taunt. She kept her eyes on the void-white being, unblinking (for fear that if she were to blink, b l a c k and r e d would spark behind her eyelids, merging into an unholy amalgamation of everything she stood against, an eldritch demon unravelling the fabric of the universe seam by seam, until everything she ever loved had never existed) “Are you the god in charge of this universe?”
“Aren’t you an intuitive child?” the figure smiled, a condescending edge to the tilt of her lips. “You can say that,” she continued in a sing-song voice, “Many humans certainly believe so. You may call me God, or the Universe, or the Truth.”
“That’s a lot of titles, even for a governing principle of the cosmos.” Marinette replied dryly. Her entire body ached from how tensely she was holding herself. “So which one is closest to what you are?”
“I am One, and I am All.” the bone-white smile on the being’s void-white face stretched wide open, as sharp as a dagger. “I am also the being in current possession of your brothers’ body and limbs.”
Marinette took a deep breath, even though she had no need for breathing in this liminal space between worlds. Oxygen wasn’t even present here. “You took Al’s body, and Ed’s arm and leg, as a price for resurrecting their mother. I will not argue with that, because I know the universe must always be in balance.” she pressed her lips together. Here came the crux of her argument, “But I also know Ed and Al’s bodies can be traded back, for the right price.”
The Truth tilted her head, “Oh my.” she delighted, “Is Creation’s conduit offering herself in exchange for her alchemist brothers’ bodies?”
Marinette nodded. “My body, my mind, my soul.” she recited, recalling the components of a human being from sitting in on her brothers’ lessons with Mrs Curtis. “All of it, in exchange for restoring my brothers’ bodies. Isn’t that more than equivalent of an exchange?”
“A tempting offer,” Truth admitted. Then, coyly, “I wonder, what would your dear patron think of you making such an offer behind her back, especially after the lengths she went to preserve your existence?”
“This is my body. Tikki has nothing to do with it.” Marinette spat back, more sharply than she meant to.
(besides, it wasn’t like she had asked Tikki to save her.)
The Truth hummed. She had no eyes to speak of, but Marinette could feel her stare pierce through Marinette’s soul. “You do believe so. How fascinating.”
Marinette held her breath, carefully not thinking about the implications of that statement. She was not about to waste energy contemplating the minds of deities, especially deities who stole her brothers’ bodies from them.
Said deity in question clapped her hands together, “Well, I would love to accept your exchange.” Truth’s smile widened, something like cruel delight tinting her grin, “But unfortunately, you have nothing of value to offer, conduit. Find something truly equivalent, and I might return your brothers’ bodies to them.”
“…what?”
Nothing? But…
Marinette could almost feel phantom blood trickle down her neck, spilling from her torn and empty earlobes. Her mouth was coated with dust, crimson dribbling past her lips, the unerring taste of defeat bitter against her tongue. She spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, desperate satisfaction welling as the liquid splattered against her tormentor’s shoes, but Lila merely—
After two lifetimes and a second chance she didn’t ask for, Marinette was still a—
n o
“Please.” Marinette gasped, an unseen pressure crushing her lungs. She couldn’t quite breathe right—except that was wrong, she was a phantom construct in this non-existent void and air didn’t even exist here. “There has to be something. I’m the conduit of Creation, aren’t I? My soul belongs to a universe that no longer exists! Surely that’s more valuable than either the body or soul of a normal human.”
Truth nodded cheerfully. “Exactly. Ma-ri-nette. Your body, mind and soul all belong to your patron. None are yours to Trade.” she seemed to revel in Marinette’s despair, “Come back when you have something of yours to Trade, Creation’s conduit.”
n o
Marinette…was on her knees. When did she get onto her knees? No matter, this was where she belonged.
She knew how foolish it was to reason with a cosmic principle of Reality, but…she couldn’t give up. Not now. “Please. I’m begging you. Ed and Al…I know they tried to play god—thought they could bypass the equivalent exchange of a human soul. But…they’re only kids. They don’t deserve to have a single mistake define their entire lives.”
Not like me. she didn’t say, please, I’m begging you. Don’t let them end up the way I did.
“What? You think humans get to choose the Price they pay?” the Truth sneered, “Don’t tell me you forgot about that foolish human from your old universe so quickly. Ah, what was her name again? Li-la Ro-ssi, wasn’t it?”
N O !
Marinette flinched.
“So it was.” Truth sighed, “Oh well, the Truth is always brutal. And your brothers made more than a single, teeny-tiny mistake, Ma-ri-nette. All I took was little Alphonse’s body and little Edward’s left leg. And for that Price, they glimpsed the Knowledge of the universe, and managed to give life to that deformed body they believe is their mother.”
. . . p l e a s e
The deity curled her lips, “They could’ve stopped at that. But were they satisfied with such? No! Mere seconds after they opened their Gates for the first time, little Edward returned. He gave his hand to bind his brother’s soul to a suit of armour, and that was a Price he Paid willingly.” the Truth tapped her cheeks thoughtfully, “Your brothers might be young, Ma-ri-nette, but they are neither foolish nor naïve.” she smiled, “After all, weren’t you the same age as little Edward when you were chosen as Creation’s champion?”
s t o p
Marinette was still kneeling. Her non-existent yo-yo was a heavy burden against her hips. She remembered all too well the cold despair she took unto herself every time she purified an akuma.
“That—that isn’t a fair comparison.” Marinette bit out. Her voice wasn’t shaking. (was it shaking?) “You took Al’s entire body. Without his body as an anchor, his mind would’ve frayed, and his soul would be lost to the cycles of reincarnation. Ed couldn’t have made any other choice than the one he did. A coerced exchange cannot be Paid willingly.”
“Precisely.” There was no warmth in the Truth’s voice, only an unyielding harshness against the suffering before her. But then, Truth had no eyes. Perhaps that was why she did not feel sympathy. “The Truth is always equivalent, but it is rarely fair. Didn’t you already learn that lesson when your universe was destroyed?”
S T O P
Marinette blanched. “Why are you saying all of this to me?”
A gusty, over-exaggerated sigh. “Ma-ri-nette. Creation’s conduit. Sister and mother.” Truth murmured. “I am only revealing the Truth, as is proper. You brought yourself here with a power that is not mine. I might be unable to extract a Toll from you, for you did not come here by opening a Gate—not that Lady Tikki deigned to give you one. But that does not mean I will spare you the cruelty of the Truth.”
This is your own fault, Marinette heard between the lines. And that struck…something in her—
(this is your own fault, Hawkmoth had declared, projecting his face above the Eiffel Tower with a cloud of butterflies. if only you would surrender your miraculous to me, I would have no reason to torment Paris any longer.)
(this is your own fault, Lila had whispered, her breath hot against Marinette’s ears. If only you would tell me Chat Noir’s identity, I would release you from your suffering.)
—it was—it wasn’t—
Marinette narrowed her eyes. Oh. So that’s how things were.
She sat back, then stood back up. She would not kneel to this being any longer. “You—no. That’s not all. You might be telling the Truth, but you aren’t telling the entire Truth.” she paused, “Why? Answer me; it is your duty and my due.”
“Oh my.” Truth tilted her head. There was…something different about her tone. That’s weird. “You really want to know why the Universe despises your existence.”
Marinette raised an eyebrow. She didn’t bother to reply.
“Very well. It is, as you so kindly reminded me, my Duty to unveil Myself.”
Truth nodded, “Gods, or kwamis, or anthropomorphic expressions of reality, or whatever you call us, should not play favourites. All beings are equal in the eyes of the Universe, are One and are All. Your Lady Tikki loved you too much to let you go as is proper, and so she Created a clone body in the nearest habitable universe and bound your soul to it. Probability dictates that this universe should not have been the closest one when Tikki fashioned a body in your image—nor the one most similar to your old world. But you were sent here anyway, and now I am forced to deal with the existence of conduits in the Universe.”
Marinette exhaled sharply. There it was. “So—what? Are you punishing me for Tikki making me exist in this reality? Because my existence goes against the Laws of this Reality or whatever?”
“Of course not, Creation’s conduit.” Truth said lightly. If Marinette had to describe the lilt of Truth’s grin, she might say it was far too innocent to be genuine. “I am but an impartial expression of things that Were and Will Be. You wanted me to the Truth of your existence, and so I did.”
“Well, I care for my existence as much as you care for mine.” Marinette curled her lips in contempt. There was no reasoning with the Truth, harsh and unyielding as she was. For what purpose did Marinette have to be bound here any longer? “But I made a promise to Trisha, and my brothers need me. So, if you aren’t going to help me…”
She closed her eyes, and l e a n t b a c k
Marinette reopened her eyes in Ed’s bedroom.
The room had been plunged into darkness, the candle Granny gave her burnt down to its base. In the pitch blackness of the room, Marinette found the edge of Ed’s blanket, and—
Hidden in this silent corner of the world, with neither god nor human as her witness, Marinette buried her face in Ed’s blanket, and wept bitterly. “I’m sorry, Ed, Al, Trisha. I tried—I tried so hard, but I…”
Marinette Elric was a failure, just as much as Marinette Dupain-Cheng had been.