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Ed is elbows deep in a box with old alchemical magazines, cooped up in the East city military archive, when a certain folder catches his eye. The dossier is old, manila paper cracked and frayed at the edges, and almost falls apart entirely when Ed pulls it out.
The spine of it reads T. F. Elric.
Ed flips it open, revealing a photo of a man Ed vaguely remembers - he and his wife resided in Resembool in the summers before the war hit its peak; their house was on the opposite side of the village from Ed's home, so they had rarely crossed paths at the main square. Ed asked Granny once, shortly after mom had died, if they were related, but Granny said they just shared the same surname, so Ed didn't question it further.
Ed lists through the yellow papers, reading through the reports - the guy was only a first lieutenant before his retirement, so there aren't many - before reaching the end where the autobiography is attached.
The standard information is mentioned on the first page again - looks like the guy is still kicking, even though Ed has never seen him again since their Teacher took them in - and there are two additional rows.
Wife: Alicia Elric
Children: Trisha Elric
Ed stares at the name for what feels like a few hours, his mind halted in its track.
The probability of some other Elrics also having a daughter named Trisha in a tiny town like Resembool isn't zero, but it's damn close to it.
He shoves the dossier under his jacket and leaves the dusty shelves, not quite feeling his legs. The archive has a small phone room, and at the moment he doesn't care if the landline is not secure enough.
Thankfully, Granny doesn't have a patient at hand, so she picks up only after a few rings.
"They were our grandparents," Ed blurts out before she has a chance to say anything. "The other Elrics from beyond the river."
Granny doesn't reply for a long time, making Ed think they've disconnected. Before he can put the speaker down and call again she lets out a heavy sigh.
"They are," she says at last.
"Why." He doesn't know himself what exactly he's asking. Why they didn't take them in, why they didn't come to mom's funeral, why Pinako lied to them.
"They aren't good people," Granny says, which could probably be applied to all his questions at once.
“What happened.” What on earth can cause people to just abandon their only child like that? Though again, having two kids didn't stop their father either.
"They didn't approve of Hohenheim," Granny says, and Ed can clearly hear the unspoken 'and his bastard children.' He swallows the bile rising up his throat, feeling lightheaded. Good thing he is sitting down, he briefly thinks.
"Are you going to tell Alphonse?" she asks.
"No," Ed manages to bite out. In fact, he's going to burn the dossier. "He doesn't need to know that."
"Good," Granny says. “Don't take it too close to the heart, you know that-"
Ed hangs up before she can say anything else, then locks his hands together and rests his forehead on them.
His eyes are burning, and Ed bites his lips to the point of almost bleeding to stop the tears.
Not for the first time in his life he seriously wonders that there must be something deeply wrong with them, if all the people in their family seem keen to leave him and Al.
The bastard was one thing, but learning their maternal grandparents didn't want anything to do with them either was a hard blow. He's been in the military less than a year and he's already been almost killed thrice; somehow the knowledge his own grandparents watched them starve and did nothing hurts him more than all the psychos his life seems to enjoy throwing at him. While he doesn't care about himself much at this point, Al for sure didn't deserve any of this shit.
Did mom even want them at all? Now that he thinks about it, she seemed happiest when they studied alchemy, or did anything that reminded her of him-
"Fullmetal."
Oh no.
Why is this his life.
Ed slowly lifts his head, blinking the mist away from his eyes.
Mustang stands in the doorway, his stupidly broad body blocking the exit entirely, and Ed would normally bare his teeth at that if he didn't feel so empty inside at the moment.
Mustang cocks his head.
"I thought we covered the fact you're not allowed to bring materials from the archive," he says.
Ed bristles.
"I'm not bringing anything," he says. Shit, the busybody at the register probably saw him and immediately tattled to Mustang, and the bastard was only too happy to ditch his work to come here and bother him.
Mustang does that mouth thing when he thinks someone is being stupid, then pointedly looks at Ed's jacket, where the dossier is bulging beneath the fabric.
"Out with it," he commands, bored. Ed intensely wishes he had something better to do with his time.
He pulls the dossier out with shaking hands and slams it in Mustang’s chest, ignoring the huff it gets him.
Mustang flips the folder open, studying it for a few seconds, then hums.
"Going to bring your grandfather a souvenir?"
Out of all things, that was the last drop.
"He's not my fucking grandfather," he yells, feeling, to his horror, the first tears brushing down his cheeks, splashing against the leather of his pants with a soft pit-pat. He tries to control his breathing and stifle the sobs, but they come out anyway, broken, ugly sounds too loud for the tiny room they're in.
Mustang shows a complicated kaleidoscope of emotions as he walks in, closing the door behind him and shutting them off from the rest of the archive. He squeezes himself on the bench next to Ed, pulling him close. Ed tries to fight him, clinging to the last bits of his dignity, but when Mustang doesn't bulge he gives up, sagging into his side. He waits for the inevitable barbs Mustang is going to throw at him, but he stays silent, strong and warm against him as Ed chokes on his own breath. Mustang’s hand pets his back and neck, and Ed begins to melt into him against his will, lured into the offered warmth.
He can't remember the last time he's been hugged longer than a few seconds, and now he can't find it in himself to pull away. Mustang doesn't seem to mind, patiently waiting for him to get his shit together, which takes him far longer than Ed is comfortable with. His last encounters with Barry and Scar unsettled him more than he cared to admit, and now that he gave in the tears wouldn't stop, the built up stress of the past few months flooding out. Maybe even longer than that, tracing all the way back to the failed transmutation and beyond, when he had to raise Al by himself.
In the meantime, Mustang procured a handkerchief out of somewhere, gently bumping it against his flesh hand. Ed takes it with numb fingers, pressing it against his eyes in a feeble attempt to hide his face. It takes him a few minutes before the sobs finally, finally go out, save for an occasional shuddering breath. The silence stretches between them.
"If someone doesn't value you, it's their damn loss," Mustang says, voice quiet and unexpectedly serious. Ed's both impressed and pissed how quickly the man connected the dots, although admittedly it wasn't that hard to begin with - he was there, when he discovered an empty house and two fucked up orphans residing with their neighbors.
"Seems like an awful lot of people are missing out," Ed finally gets out, not really surprised at how bitter he sounds. He fiddles with the wet handkerchief in his hands, not sure what to do after his outburst left him empty and hollow.
Mustang hums, his hand on Ed's flesh shoulder squeezing gently.
"You've been in the military long enough, does it really surprise you how many idiots there are out there?"
Ed snorts wetly, because isn't that the truth.
“So many it seems like it's a requirement to get in." Including him, apparently, because only a prideful idiot would think he's smarter than countless generations of alchemists before him, as he realized rather soon after the transmutation failed.
Mustang sighs, lost in his own thoughts.
“Indeed.”
He's still holding him, and Ed's not in a particular rush to pull away from his warmth.
“You still can't bring it outside the archive, though.” Mustang waves the dossier in his other hand, the pages fluttering with a soft whisper as he does so.
“I know, I know.” Ed snatches it from his grip, uncaring that the paper crumbles under his fingers. If he buries it in the farthest corner of the archive, Al won't have a reason to dig there, right? “I'll put it back, I guess.”
“However,” Mustang continues as if he hasn't heard him, “if something went amiss while in the archive, I don't suppose anyone would notice any time soon.”
It takes Ed a few seconds to unwrap that, but then he gets it. He doesn't waste a second clapping his hands together, and the dossier unravels into bits of dirty cellulose and dust under his fingers. They both watch its descent to the floor where it scatters around.
Mustang pulls away and slaps his thighs before getting up, the sound startling Ed. His shoulder and side feel cold.
“Well, looks like it's all settled, then. Come on, the guys are waiting for you in the office, it's almost lunchtime,” he says as he opens the door again, the outside world suddenly coming into existence in a burst of light and sound. Ed studies his face, highlighted by the hallway lamps, suddenly mesmerized, before rising as well.
Ed gives the dust one last look and follows after him.