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prose_alchemistTitle: Blood Ties (10/14: Impulsive)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: PG for fantasy violence and blood.
Characters: A whopping big ensemble across two worlds, although the strongest focus is on Ed.
Setting: First anime. Same timeframe as CoS, two years after the end of the series.
Summary: Alternative to Conqueror of Shamballa. An old enemy plunges Ed into the dark secrets of his new world, linked to the alchemy he thought lost to him—while in Amestris, Al faces a life-or-death choice. Will the nightmare Ed is drawn into provide the key to both their fates?
Disclaimer: They belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I’m just playing with them.
The day was high on the relatively long list of occasions Winry wished she could forget.
Al had survived the morning’s crisis, but only narrowly. It was General Mustang himself who resuscitated the boy, forcing breaths into his lungs until they began to breathe again on their own. By some miracle Al was conscious and responsive after the scare, but he had barely the strength to speak a word, and his pallor was a ghastly gray-white. His body had reached its limit.
The stress and terror of nearly losing him took its toll on Izumi. Winry had glimpsed her afterward through the half-open door of the washroom, coughing blood into the sink. The teacher was pale herself when she came back to sit in silence with her ailing student; yet she said nothing at all. She did not reproach Al for having waited so long for the transmutation, or even insist that it could wait no longer.
With Cobie nestled in his lap, Al drowsed through the afternoon. His snatches of fitful repose were far too light to bring dreams—yet still he refused to give any indication that he was ready to leave his body forever.
Winry couldn’t help feeling a frustrated urge to shake him and shout at him. She couldn’t bear to see him struggling like this, fighting for one last chance to chase his dreams of Ed, when there was so great a risk that he would never open his eyes again. She only managed to stay silent because Izumi did as well, but she didn’t understand why even the teacher hesitated.
Was there still some part of her, too, hoping against hope that Al would find the way to his brother in one last dream?
Sig and Mason had hauled the abandoned armor in from the front yard, and for a few hours Winry occupied herself by polishing it, mindlessly scouring the same parts of it over and over with a soft cloth. When she was done, it sat gleaming in its corner, waiting for Al’s soul to be sealed within it forever… if he would just give the word.
Early in the evening, Winry made the token effort of warming some broth for Al, and carried it upstairs on a tray. As a probable last meal, it was pathetic, but it was all he could eat now. The Curtises and even Major Hawkeye were gathered in his room, watching over him, or simply giving him the comfort of company—but Mustang was absent. He had gone out on the balcony shortly after reviving Al, visibly shaken, and had not come inside once in the hours since.
Forcing a ghost of cheerfulness into her expression and voice, Winry sat down on the bedside chair and settled the tray on her lap. “Time for dinner, Al.”
The boy managed to make a thoroughly unenthused face.
“Come on. You have to eat.” The cajoling was halfhearted. Al’s time was so short that getting any more nourishment in his system was surely pointless—but Winry needed to do this. She needed to do something.
With a tiny sigh, Al tilted his chin up and opened his mouth, permitting Winry to spoon the broth onto his tongue. Of course he was doing it for her sake, and she felt more guilt than gratitude at his tolerance of her need to fuss futilely over him.
In a way, this pale, emaciated shadow of a child seemed more mature than he had at any other time in the last two years. He still didn’t remember growing to the age of fifteen in his familiar steel husk, made wise beyond his years by grief and hardship, but it was as if a little of that wisdom had stirred in him again. Perhaps it was some latent sense of how often he had faced death before, instilling him with a quiet confidence that he could conquer it one more time.
The bowl of broth was still half-full when Mustang appeared in the doorway, looking gaunt and strained.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said quietly, moving to the foot of the bed to gaze down at Al with dark, anxious eyes. “But I can’t see how we can push this any further.”
Al frowned up at him with manifest disapproval.
Izumi sighed. “I trust Al to choose his time, General. He knows what he’s going through better than any of us do.”
“He obviously couldn’t predict what happened earlier. And it could happen again at any time.” Mustang met Al’s stare with equal hardness. “I know you’re hoping for one last dream about Ed, but it isn’t worth dying for. And how do you even expect to be able to sleep, knowing what’s ahead of you when you wake up—if you wake up?”
A slightly wheezing breath filled Al’s chest, and he whispered, “Have to try. For Brother.”
“Al, you told us yourself, these dreams stopped days ago. What do you think the chances are that you’ll have one more?”
“I will. I can feel it.”
“But you can’t possibly make it through another night,” Mustang insisted in exasperation. “You’ll stop breathing again, or your heart will stop, and next time we might not be able to bring you back. Or even if we do, you might not be in any condition to perform the transmutation on your own—and we can’t help you without the risk of getting caught in it ourselves.”
“Don’t try,” Al murmured, his eyes darkening.
“I for one have no intention of it,” Mustang retorted, with a forced callousness. Then he glanced at Izumi, who bristled slightly. “But I wouldn’t bet on Mrs. Curtis not to. You see, it’s not just yourself you’re endangering if you wait any longer.”
Al’s eyes narrowed. Faint though it was, his voice was astonishingly steady and firm.
“Morning. I promise.”
The General heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, drawing in a breath for another objection. “Alphonse—”
“Oh, let him try!” Winry burst out, surprising even herself.
Mustang turned to her, one eyebrow arching.
“Let him try,” Winry repeated with a lump in her throat, her own voice almost dropping to a whisper. “Give him one last night to try to dream. I know the only reason he wants to go on living in the armor is to find Ed… and if it’s all he wants to live for, it must be worth the risk of dying for too. I’ll sit up and watch him all night, to make sure he keeps breathing and his pulse doesn’t stop. I won’t let him die…” Her face flushed as tears ran down her cheeks. “Just give us this much.”
She saw Al looking at her with wide eyes, and a part of her wondered exactly how and when the belief in his dreams had shifted from him to us.
For a long moment, Mustang stared awkwardly at her. Then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a windy breath, shaking his head.
“I’ll stop arguing on one condition,” he said wearily. “I’m going to stay in this room tonight, to be close by if we start to lose him again. And if either of us even thinks he’s getting any weaker… we wake him up, and he goes through with the transmutation then and there.” He glanced ruefully from Winry to Al. “Agreed?”
The dying boy didn’t quite smile, but the faintest trace of solemn warmth crept into his eyes.
“Deal.”
LONDON
From the shallow depths of dhampiric sleep, Ed heard the creak of the bedroom door. It was accompanied by a familiar waft of musk… and for a moment he was three years old again, awash in a drowsy feeling of safety and love, as he sensed his father looking in on him.
Then full awareness seized him, and he shoved that memory aside with a simmering irritation.
After the morning’s overwhelming revelations, Ed had returned to his room alone, to give his body the further rest it needed to heal. Lingering physical exhaustion was enough to defeat the tremendous turmoil in his mind, and he lapsed quickly into dreamless twilight. He lay dormant on the bed through the ensuing daytime hours, until that unmistakable intrusion.
His sense of day and night told him the sun had not set, and in any case, he was not in the mood to think yet. Without opening his eyes, he filled his empty lungs with a breath—and in so doing, he ceased to entirely mimic a corpse, which in itself seemed to give Hohenheim a start.
“What do you want?” Ed queried brusquely.
After a hesitation, the elder alchemist’s footsteps approached. “I’m sorry, son. I just wanted… to see how you were.”
There was an unwonted note of tenderness in Hohenheim’s voice that Ed didn’t particularly welcome. The teenager heaved a sigh, opened his eyes, and sat up, to see his father standing rather hesitantly between the door and the bed.
“I’m fine.” Ed flexed the muscles in his previously-fractured left arm, and then his fingers cautiously probed his belly through the fabric of his shirt. There was no longer any pain, and the bones in his forearm felt as strong as ever. “It’s all regenerated. I can do that now, you know.”
“Yes… I’m not sorry for that part of it.” Hohenheim smiled painfully.
Something about the old man’s melancholy look softened Ed in spite of himself. He almost returned the smile, but not quite.
“Really, Dad. I’m gonna be okay. There’s a lot of work to do here, and a lot more to learn—but I’m ready to do the best I can with this life, and the powers I have.” He shrugged ruefully. “Maybe Noa is right. Maybe there is a fate for us all… and maybe this is mine. Maybe all the things I ever did were meant to put me here, to fix what alchemists have done to this world.”
His father’s gaze fell. “I’m sorry I can’t see it that way. The only thing I know is, you’ll always do what you believe is right—and I have to do the same.”
Ed frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Hohenheim stepped to the bedside. His eyes held Ed’s gravely for a long moment.
“I’m going after Envy,” he announced quietly… and his fist exploded upward from his side, smashing into Ed’s chin with all his strength.
The time must have been brief before Ed came to his senses with a start, sprawled across the bed where the punch had laid him out. His jaw was still aching, and the last thing he remembered was the intent look in his father’s eyes.
He could still feel the presence of daylight beyond the walls. He was not yet free to go after Hohenheim.
Spitting out a violent string of curses, Ed flung himself off the bed and stalked into the hall. He began pounding on doors with a metal fist, and within moments, alarmed Hunters spilled out of the rooms where they too had spent the day at rest. All of the remaining dhampirs were there: Noa, Havoc, Falman, Mustang, Francesca, even their guest Bradley. Only the humans were absent. Ed knew Hawkeye and Breda would be just about to stand down their day watch, and Sig would be at his shop.
“What’s wrong?” Noa asked quickly, moving to Ed’s side.
“My father is gone.” Ed announced it for the rest of the Hunters to hear. “He told me he was going to hunt down Envy.”
Bradley scowled. “What does he think he’s doing? Even with his alchemy, we learned in Russia that it would almost certainly be suicide to face a vampire alone, without any help to subdue it. Why is he so impatient to put this particular one out of its misery?”
“It’s a long story,” Ed sighed, and his eyes searched the faces of the Hunters. “But no matter what he’s done, or what he’s trying to do, I can’t let him fight Envy on his own… and I need your help to save him. Please.”
He started slightly when he felt Noa’s hand slip into his. As he met her gaze, she squeezed his fingers briefly. It was all the answer she needed to give.
The Hunters exchanged glances. There were shrugs of shoulders, and thoughtful raisings of eyebrows.
“Well, saving humans from vampires is kinda what we do,” Havoc drawled.
Falman nodded. “And Hohenheim is one of the two people we’ve got to teach us this alchemy of yours. We can’t have him getting killed on us yet.”
“That brings us to an interesting point,” Bradley remarked, eyeing Ed firmly. “Envy is just as eager to kill you as your father—and as the only other alchemist in this world at the moment, your safety is too valuable for us to risk. Much as you may dislike the thought, I see no choice but for you to stay here, and leave this job to us.”
“I can’t do that!” Ed choked.
“And we can’t let both of you alchemists get killed,” Francesca retorted levelly.
“But that’s just it.” Golden eyes hardened as Ed looked fiercely between the gathered Hunters. “When we do this… there’s no reason why Dad and I should still be the only alchemists around.”
Noa gasped softly. “Ed—”
“All of you, listen.” Edward clenched his fists, gathering his courage. “It’d take time for Sig and Riza and Heymans to learn alchemy the hard way, but the rest of you can know everything in just a few minutes. That way, with their help, you’ll have a weapon to use against Envy if we face him tonight—and later, any of you will be able to share that knowledge. You can even leave someone else behind, to make absolutely sure the secrets of alchemy survive. But I’m not staying.”
The other dhampirs were silent for a moment, soberly taking in that proposal.
“If you share your blood, you won’t have enough time to build your strength back up,” Mustang observed at last, his one eye narrowing at Ed. “You won’t be any good in a fight anyway.”
“He doesn’t have to do it alone.” Noa turned to the others, taking in a deep breath. “I didn’t tell any of you this before… but I know everything Ed knows. I know alchemy. You can learn it from me too, and if we divide the job between us, we can both still be fit to fight.”
It was not lost upon Ed that Havoc glared at him. As casually as dhampirs treated the exchange of their most intimate memories, Noa’s rejected suitor still seemed rankled by the fact of her sharing with her foundling.
After a long moment of consideration, Bradley nodded. “Very well, then. I for one am willing to accept this plan. I’ll pass no judgment on any of you who prefer not to take the knowledge of alchemy—but I will myself.” His subtle smile twitched under his mustache. “After all, if I’m going to champion the use of it, I of all people should know what I’m dealing with.”
Francesca looked uncertainly at Noa. “The whole thing gives me the creeps… but okay.”
“I’m in,” Falman agreed.
Havoc glowered challengingly at Ed. “Same here.”
All eyes turned to Mustang, and he shifted his weight uneasily.
“I’m not going to do it.” He unconsciously backed against the wall, defensive under the strength of their stares. “You all know what happened to Maes when he took what’s inside that kid’s head. I’ve got no desire to go crazy.”
Ed snorted contemptuously. “If anyone here was going to crack up over my memories, it’d be you, alright.”
Noa shot Ed a reproving look. Then she turned to Mustang, and spoke in a pained but firm voice.
“Roy, listen to me. Maes only broke because his mind wasn’t well to begin with. I took the same memories from Ed. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No… but you’re stronger than I am,” Mustang replied bitterly. He squirmed and pushed off from the wall, turning to walk away. “You know I can’t help you.”
“One moment please, Mr. Mustang.” Bradley’s voice arrested the dog trainer in mid-stride. “If you don’t wish to join us, that’s your decision, but there is one service you can perform. I understand you’re the master of the kennels here—and we need a dog to track Hohenheim. Will you be so kind as to prepare one for us?”
Without turning, Mustang nodded, and moved off toward the stairs.
A grim shrug moved Ed’s shoulders, and he glanced at Bradley. “We still have to get Riza and Heymans sold on this—and Sig too. Without human blood, there won’t be any alchemy.”
“I’ll see to it,” Bradley agreed, and swept a glance over the other Hunters. “Let’s prepare.”
Before the sun had completely disappeared beneath the horizon, Sig arrived with blood: several gallons of it, more than enough to thoroughly sate all seven of the dhampirs. Ed found himself glad for the awful feast, because by that time, he had already opened his own veins for Bradley and Falman.
They took his blood from his arm, just above the inner wrist. That at least gave an illusion of being more clinical and impersonal than a bite to the neck—although it really wasn’t. No matter how he shared it with them, he was still giving them his life, quite literally. Beyond the equations of alchemy, they would know all his mistakes, all his fears and weaknesses.
And yet, besides his knowledge and his darkest secrets, they had to share his pain as well. They had to relive the agonies of lost friends and lost limbs, scarring wounds and bitter failures. Both Bradley and Falman suffered this without complaint; and if it was called for, Ed knew they would offer everything within themselves to him in turn, to take the good and the bad just as equally.
In his time as a dhampir, Edward had seen Equivalent Exchange with new eyes, and it put to shame the principles he had known by that name.
Noa, meanwhile, had shared her blood with Havoc and Francesca. To all appearances, she was far more businesslike about the process. It was something she had done many times before. Ed couldn’t imagine how he would ever become so used to that utter exposure of his soul… but if he was going to live as a Hunter, he knew he would have to.
Having given his blood and then quickly replenished it with the sustenance brought by Sig, he sat resting for a short time at the meeting room table. The other Hunters were around him: some sitting quietly like him as they processed their new knowledge, others preparing their weapons. He watched them with interest and a strange sense of growing affection. The souls behind these familiar faces were not the ones he had known, but somehow he still felt connected to them, and he was sure it wasn’t only because he shared Noa’s memories of their comradeship. Perhaps she had been right in that, too. In any world, perhaps some people were meant to find each other.
Of course, a few things hadn’t changed. Hawkeye had deigned to equip herself with a sword, the better to behead vampires… but now she was methodically inspecting a very large gun.
She would not look at Mustang, who knelt on the floor in a corner of the room, fitting a harness and leash onto the double of Black Hayate.
Ed sighed softly and pushed himself to his feet, experimentally flexing his flesh muscles and automail limbs. He had recovered completely from both his injuries and his recent bloodletting. He felt as strong and alert as he ever had, and he could only hope the savage instincts still lurking beneath his consciousness would benefit him in the heat of battle. If they were to meet Envy that night, he was more than ready to finish what they had started the night before—and now he knew how to do it.
Slowly he moved to the far end of the table, where Noa rested after her own sharing of blood. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when he drew near to her. She did not smile.
“Are you alright?” Ed asked her gently.
Noa nodded. “I’m ready… and so are Francesca and Jean.” She hesitated for a moment. Then she leaned toward Ed, her expression troubled. “You know what your father is trying to do, don’t you?”
“…Yeah.” Ed’s eyes hardened. “There’s only one reason he would’ve told me what he was up to before he punched my lights out and took off. He wants me to go after him. He wants to get me together in the same place with Envy—so he can try to open the Gate and send me back.” The young dhampir stared down at his clenching flesh fist. “But I can’t let him do that.”
“He was right about one thing. The war here will never really be won until alchemists on the other side stop creating more vampires.”
“I know that.” Ed shrugged futilely. “We’ll find a way, I promise. But not that way. I wish I could see Al again more than anything… but not at the price of exposing his world to this hell. If we’re ever going to get a message across safely, it’ll take research—and Dad should be helping us with that, instead of trying to get himself killed.”
Councilor Bradley’s voice interjected, smoothly and politely, as he leaned forward in his seat near the center of the table.
“Forgive me for listening in. If this was truly your father’s plan, Edward—I agree with you that we can’t allow it, for the sake of your world. But I’m a little curious as to how you propose to keep him from repeating this stunt.” The ranking dhampir smiled thinly. “I realize more clearly than ever now that he can be as… obstinate as you can.”
Ed lowered his gaze with a scowl. “You’re right. If I know Dad, he’ll keep trying, no matter how much I argue. Even if we stop him from getting his hands on another vampire, his own body comes from the other side, which means it can be transmuted too—and he might do something as crazy as trying to open the Gate using nothing but himself. The only way to prevent that is to make sure he can’t use alchemy on his own.” He breathed deeply, raising shadowed eyes to Bradley. “So when we find him… I’m going to infect him.”
He had the attention of the entire room now, and his declaration was met with startled gasps.
“How could you do that to your own father?” Francesca blurted.
“Look, I know it’s forbidden. But it could be the only way to save his life, and maybe other lives too. Just carrying the infection won’t kill him, but it might be enough to make his blood useless for transmutations. And when he does die naturally, and he turns… he can decide for himself if he wants to go on as one of us.” A faint, bitter laugh shuddered out of him. “Anyway, he always did want to live forever.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Hawkeye looked especially horrified by the idea. She had suddenly grown very still and pale.
By contrast, a pained smile crossed Bradley’s face, and he folded his hands on the table. “I continue to find your logic difficult to argue with, Edward. When we retrieve Hohenheim, if you do as you suggest… the Council will never hear of it from me.” He shrugged. “Assuming, of course, that a Council still exists to enforce our laws at all.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll help you build a new one, Chief,” Havoc asserted. “One for a new breed of Hunters—to try to control what we’ve let loose. I still don’t know if using alchemy is the right choice… but one thing’s for sure, we’re in this all the way now.”
The words were sobering, and Ed had to admit they were true. Noa, Havoc, Bradley, Falman, and Francesca were not simply Hunters anymore; they were alchemists, and the knowledge they possessed would inevitably spread, even if those who feared it would fight to stamp it out. Yet those fears might be well-founded. There was no way of knowing how alchemy might change this world… and any destruction it caused would be a terrible new burden on Ed’s conscience, for he had made it possible.
But there was no time to think about those things yet. He needed to focus on saving his father—and possibly sending Envy into oblivion, if the homunculus found Hohenheim first. All while avoiding Hohenheim’s misguided intent to return Ed to a world he could only hurt.
His gaze shifted to the corner of the room where Mustang was fussing over Hayate. Cyclone. That was what they called him here, and just like the other, it was Fuery who had first picked him up as a stray. He was the Hunters’ best scent-tracking dog now, but as a pup he had barely survived among the large, vicious watchdogs in the kennels… except that Mustang had protected him. To this day, Mustang would steadfastly refuse to admit that Cyclone was his favorite.
It was the kinship of one misfit for another.
Slowly Ed wandered over to dhampir and dog. When his shadow fell across them, their tug-of-war over an old rag ceased, as Mustang let go of the tattered cloth and looked up warily. Upon seeing Ed, the one-eyed man sat back on his heels and stared blackly at the teenager.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Ed asked. “That firebomb last night.”
Mustang’s expression relaxed into pensiveness, and he shrugged, tossing the rag aside for Cyclone to chase. “Just something I learned in the War.”
The beautiful symmetry of it all forced a chuckle from Ed. “Different world, different Mustang, and you’re still playing with fire…” He eyed the former soldier with a wan smile. “It was a pretty handy trick, you know. Maybe you’re not so useless after all.”
At that pointed suggestion, the other dhampir’s face hardened, and he dropped his gaze.
“You can’t hide from yourself here,” Ed persisted quietly.
Mustang glanced up sharply, making his best effort to look indignant. “I’m not hiding from anything. I just know my limits.”
“The only real limits any of us have are the ones we place on ourselves. It was the other Mustang who taught me that.” Ed bent down, bracing his hands on his knees. “Hughes gave you the chance to become everything you could be. If you failed him at first, that was just reason to try harder—not to give up.”
“Stop trying to make me out to be something I’m not—”
“If you weren’t what I think you are, you wouldn’t even be here now. When you were taken by that vampire, you wouldn’t have fought so hard to live that you were infected by it—and afterward, you wouldn’t have wanted to survive as a dhampir, to try to make the life you had left mean something.” Ed glanced toward Hawkeye across the room, saw her furtively watching them, and smiled bitterly. “You wouldn’t have wanted to protect her from vampires… or from yourself.”
Snarling a curse, Mustang lunged from his position on one knee. His fist made a furious upward jab. Ed caught the knuckles head-on in a steel palm and pushed back hard, shoving the older man gracelessly onto his backside.
The others were all watching now, but no one interfered.
“I guess it’s your choice just to sit there while the rest of us try to make a difference,” Ed growled. “But as long as you want to stay shut away here, watching your own back, you’re gonna do something useful.”
He drew his knife from his belt, pulled up his sleeve, and slid the blade across the skin of his own inner forearm. As drops of red blood welled up, he stretched out his arm toward Mustang.
The dog trainer stared at the gash with one wide and horrified eye. “What… I told you—!”
“Yeah, I know, you don’t want to do it. I heard you. And I don’t care.” Ed leaned forward, his eyes hard. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. Maybe the rest of us will find my dad before Envy does… and if we don’t, maybe none of us will come back. If that happens, there has to be someone left who can still give the knowledge of alchemy to others. Since you want to stay behind—you’ve elected yourself.”
“I…” Mustang stammered weakly.
“No more excuses, Roy.” Ed held his arm closer to Mustang. “Take it.”
A shudder passed visibly through Mustang’s thin frame… and then, slowly, he sat up on his knees. His trembling fingers grasped Ed’s wrist, and after a long moment of hesitation, he lowered his lips to the wound.
For all it still disquieted Ed emotionally, the physical process had at least become much easier with experience. He closed his eyes, allowing the flood of memories to rise and crest, until Mustang pulled away from his arm with a spasmodic twitch. It was a relatively brief contact—but still enough to transmit the full sum of Ed’s life.
Clasping his metal fingers over the cut as it regenerated, Ed looked at Mustang… and his heart twisted. The other dhampir had wedged himself into the corner with his back against the walls, curling into a fetal position. His head was tucked down against his knees, and he appeared to be shivering a little.
Perhaps Ed had pushed it too far, after all.
“Roy—”
“Just shut up.” Mustang’s voice was a hoarse mumble. “Leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”
Ed stepped back with a wince, starting to regret his insistence. After all, he had known this man’s double far better than any of the others—and felt much more strongly about him, in many ways. Perhaps that familiarity was simply too much, as it had been with Hughes.
Feeling a touch on his shoulder, he turned to find Noa beside him. There was no reproach in her gaze, but she shook her head gently, and her eyes shifted meaningfully toward the others. Her message was clear: let him be.
Reluctantly Ed turned and went back to the other Hunters, leaving Mustang to cope on his own.
“I believe the rest of us are ready,” Bradley said solemnly. “Edward—this mission is yours to lead, if you wish. We may have your knowledge, but you’re the only one of us who has actually practiced alchemy.”
The invitation was a little overwhelming… and yet, somehow, it made Ed feel even stronger. He nodded, thinly smiling his thanks at Bradley. Then his gaze singled out the three human Hunters: Sig, Hawkeye, and Breda.
“If we go up against Envy tonight, our lives are gonna depend on you three. Alchemy can only happen with your help… so be ready if we need your blood.” He glanced at his fellow dhampirs. “Remember, we’ve got to protect them, no matter what.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement passed through the group. Havoc, Breda, and even Francesca looked less than thrilled to be taking commands from Edward—but at least they hadn’t openly objected.
“Who’s handling Cyclone?” Ed asked.
“I am,” Hawkeye replied firmly. She whistled a sharp signal to the dog, and caught up his trailing leash as he trotted obediently to her side.
Of course… Ed half-smiled crookedly and nodded. “Okay. If that’s it, then…”
His gaze drifted anxiously back to Mustang. The older man had raised his head, and was watching the group; his face was strained, but his one dark eye was clear and steady.
“Get going, hero,” he muttered, and there was the faintest hint of something different in the tone of his voice. Something… familiar.
Teasing. He was teasing Ed.
A sudden swell of emotion rose in the teenager’s chest, and he broke into a smile. “We’ll be back.”
He could have sworn he saw Mustang’s lips twitch in return.
For a little while after the other Hunters left, Roy Mustang continued to slouch uncomfortably on the floor of the meeting room, letting his mind process the knowledge he had absorbed from Ed. The twinging in his skull was a natural side effect; but on another level, these memories made him hurt inside, in a way he had never encountered before when sharing the blood of other dhampirs.
It wasn’t so much the overwhelming raw information from the mind of the young genius: the mind-boggling complexity of alchemy, an entire alternate science. It wasn’t even the ghost-pain in Ed’s memories of half-dismemberment, of automail surgery and years of battle wounds. What haunted Roy most was seeing himself, in another world and another life, as a man he could scarcely recognize—and knowing that somewhere, this strong, arrogant figure who commanded flames with a snap of his fingers was a reality.
As for the feelings Ed associated with that other Mustang…
They were the most conflicted and wrenching perceptions Roy had ever felt. Contempt and aggravation jostled against respect and grudging gratitude, juvenile spikes of rebelliousness—and a suppressed ache of childlike need. Things Ed didn’t even feel for Hohenheim, he had felt for the man who brought him into the military, shamelessly taking advantage of his talents in one moment and fiercely protecting him in the next. The man who left an impression on Ed’s life that his own father never had.
No wonder the kid found Roy to be such a disappointment in this world.
Roy couldn’t imagine a more painful way to be forced to consider what might have been. As a dhampir, he was incapable of having children, even if he could have loved his Riza without the fear of hurting her. But if he could have… he would have wanted his child to see what Ed saw in the other Mustang. Not what Ed saw in him as he was.
And there was the friendship of the other Mustang and his world’s Hughes. Perhaps Ed wasn’t privy to much of it—but enough to know that a large part of the man’s reason for taking down an entire government was to avenge his Hughes’ death. It only made Roy more sharply aware of his failure to be worthy of the Maes he knew. Maes had saved him from slow torture, taught him to survive and offered him a life he could have been proud of, but the foundling had given his teacher nothing in return.
Yet his weakness back then, when Maes tried to make a strong Hunter of him, was nothing compared to his recent willful ignorance. If Roy had only listened to Ed’s warning and his own instincts, and intervened in Maes’ slide into madness, perhaps that great and gentle man could have at least been saved from becoming a rogue with the indelible stain of human blood on his soul.
A bitter smile fluttered across Roy’s lips. Ed—Fullmetal—was a cunning little brat. His gamble had gotten him just what he wanted. Roy could never go back to his safe, worthless life in the kennels now. Not with all of this seething inside him, crying out for some kind of atonement.
“You don’t look so good, Roy.”
The voice was as familiar as it was unexpected. It caused Roy’s eye to snap open, while a shudder crawled down his spine like a living thing. His fists tightened until his nails dug into his palms, and he swallowed hard.
Not this. Anything but this.
He forced his gaze to turn toward the doorway.
Maes was standing there. His clothing showed tears and faint splotches of dried blood, and his dark hair was disheveled; but his figure was tall and straight as ever, like the lean black line of some catlike jungle predator. Although his eyes were clouded and bloodshot as a drunken man’s, there was a restless alertness in the way they moved. One side of his mouth was turned up in a parody of a companionable grin that only made the feverish stare more terrifying.
Roy didn’t question how Maes had gotten into the building. This was his domain. He knew every inch of it better than the rest of the Hunters combined, and the guard dogs knew him. If he wanted back inside, no lockdown the Hunters devised would have kept him out—and they had never thought to mount such a defense against him in the first place. It was inconceivable to them that he would have returned there, knowing it was now their duty to put him down.
The question was not how, but why.
“Maes…” Roy murmured. He put his back against the wall and began to push himself to his feet, slowly and carefully, as if facing a wild animal. He felt irrationally grateful that the meeting table was between them. “It’s—good to see you.”
The rogue’s unhealthy grin widened a little. “You’re usually a better liar, Roy.”
This encounter could go in any number of directions, and Roy was certain not one of them could be described as good. He desperately wished he had his knife, or even one of Riza’s guns, but it was not customary for Hunters to carry arms inside their own headquarters.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Even if he had a weapon, he was sure he wouldn’t have had the nerve to use it.
“We… we heard you met Envy. We know he hurt you.” Roy breathed deeply. “Maes, whatever it is you’ve done—”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on this place, you know. I saw the others leave earlier, with Ed and old man Bradley leading the way. So interesting.” Maes took two steps farther into the room, his unsteady eyes narrowing on Roy. “They’ve gone out to hunt Envy, haven’t they? I know they have—but they can’t have him. I need him. He killed me before, took me away from my wife and daughter… but now he’s going to take me back to them.”
Roy swore under his breath. The lines had clearly blurred altogether for Maes now. He didn’t know his own life from that of the other world’s Hughes, or know Envy from the vampire that had murdered his family.
“Listen to me, Maes, you’re not—”
“I couldn’t make the alchemy work right. Didn’t do a thing to him.” The rambling rogue cocked his head strangely at Roy. “But if they’re going after him, they must have fixed it. And I need to know.”
With an effort, Roy quelled his rising feeling of panic. Maes didn’t know human blood was the key to alchemy in this world, or that a human life was the cost of opening the Gate. As long as he remained ignorant of those facts, he would only be dangerous to those who might physically confront him; but if he gained that knowledge, he could carry the dhampir infection to the other side, or perhaps unleash some untold horror on this world purely by accident.
“You’re wrong,” Roy bluffed quickly. “Alchemy still doesn’t work here. They went out to find Ed’s father… and I swear to you, that’s all.”
The chilling grin returned. “You’re lying again, Roy.”
Some part of Roy saw the attack coming, but he was completely unprepared for the animal ferocity of it. With leopard-like grace and a snarl that was nothing human, Maes sprang onto the table and over it in two massive bounds. His forearm caught Roy in the throat before the slighter dhampir could take a step, smashing him skull-first against the wall.
Roy saw stars… and then he felt the shock of fangs at his neck.
© 2011 Jordanna Morgan
Chapters: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: Epilogue ::
Author:
jordannamorganArchive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: PG for fantasy violence and blood.
Characters: A whopping big ensemble across two worlds, although the strongest focus is on Ed.
Setting: First anime. Same timeframe as CoS, two years after the end of the series.
Summary: Alternative to Conqueror of Shamballa. An old enemy plunges Ed into the dark secrets of his new world, linked to the alchemy he thought lost to him—while in Amestris, Al faces a life-or-death choice. Will the nightmare Ed is drawn into provide the key to both their fates?
Disclaimer: They belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I’m just playing with them.
The day was high on the relatively long list of occasions Winry wished she could forget.
Al had survived the morning’s crisis, but only narrowly. It was General Mustang himself who resuscitated the boy, forcing breaths into his lungs until they began to breathe again on their own. By some miracle Al was conscious and responsive after the scare, but he had barely the strength to speak a word, and his pallor was a ghastly gray-white. His body had reached its limit.
The stress and terror of nearly losing him took its toll on Izumi. Winry had glimpsed her afterward through the half-open door of the washroom, coughing blood into the sink. The teacher was pale herself when she came back to sit in silence with her ailing student; yet she said nothing at all. She did not reproach Al for having waited so long for the transmutation, or even insist that it could wait no longer.
With Cobie nestled in his lap, Al drowsed through the afternoon. His snatches of fitful repose were far too light to bring dreams—yet still he refused to give any indication that he was ready to leave his body forever.
Winry couldn’t help feeling a frustrated urge to shake him and shout at him. She couldn’t bear to see him struggling like this, fighting for one last chance to chase his dreams of Ed, when there was so great a risk that he would never open his eyes again. She only managed to stay silent because Izumi did as well, but she didn’t understand why even the teacher hesitated.
Was there still some part of her, too, hoping against hope that Al would find the way to his brother in one last dream?
Sig and Mason had hauled the abandoned armor in from the front yard, and for a few hours Winry occupied herself by polishing it, mindlessly scouring the same parts of it over and over with a soft cloth. When she was done, it sat gleaming in its corner, waiting for Al’s soul to be sealed within it forever… if he would just give the word.
Early in the evening, Winry made the token effort of warming some broth for Al, and carried it upstairs on a tray. As a probable last meal, it was pathetic, but it was all he could eat now. The Curtises and even Major Hawkeye were gathered in his room, watching over him, or simply giving him the comfort of company—but Mustang was absent. He had gone out on the balcony shortly after reviving Al, visibly shaken, and had not come inside once in the hours since.
Forcing a ghost of cheerfulness into her expression and voice, Winry sat down on the bedside chair and settled the tray on her lap. “Time for dinner, Al.”
The boy managed to make a thoroughly unenthused face.
“Come on. You have to eat.” The cajoling was halfhearted. Al’s time was so short that getting any more nourishment in his system was surely pointless—but Winry needed to do this. She needed to do something.
With a tiny sigh, Al tilted his chin up and opened his mouth, permitting Winry to spoon the broth onto his tongue. Of course he was doing it for her sake, and she felt more guilt than gratitude at his tolerance of her need to fuss futilely over him.
In a way, this pale, emaciated shadow of a child seemed more mature than he had at any other time in the last two years. He still didn’t remember growing to the age of fifteen in his familiar steel husk, made wise beyond his years by grief and hardship, but it was as if a little of that wisdom had stirred in him again. Perhaps it was some latent sense of how often he had faced death before, instilling him with a quiet confidence that he could conquer it one more time.
The bowl of broth was still half-full when Mustang appeared in the doorway, looking gaunt and strained.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said quietly, moving to the foot of the bed to gaze down at Al with dark, anxious eyes. “But I can’t see how we can push this any further.”
Al frowned up at him with manifest disapproval.
Izumi sighed. “I trust Al to choose his time, General. He knows what he’s going through better than any of us do.”
“He obviously couldn’t predict what happened earlier. And it could happen again at any time.” Mustang met Al’s stare with equal hardness. “I know you’re hoping for one last dream about Ed, but it isn’t worth dying for. And how do you even expect to be able to sleep, knowing what’s ahead of you when you wake up—if you wake up?”
A slightly wheezing breath filled Al’s chest, and he whispered, “Have to try. For Brother.”
“Al, you told us yourself, these dreams stopped days ago. What do you think the chances are that you’ll have one more?”
“I will. I can feel it.”
“But you can’t possibly make it through another night,” Mustang insisted in exasperation. “You’ll stop breathing again, or your heart will stop, and next time we might not be able to bring you back. Or even if we do, you might not be in any condition to perform the transmutation on your own—and we can’t help you without the risk of getting caught in it ourselves.”
“Don’t try,” Al murmured, his eyes darkening.
“I for one have no intention of it,” Mustang retorted, with a forced callousness. Then he glanced at Izumi, who bristled slightly. “But I wouldn’t bet on Mrs. Curtis not to. You see, it’s not just yourself you’re endangering if you wait any longer.”
Al’s eyes narrowed. Faint though it was, his voice was astonishingly steady and firm.
“Morning. I promise.”
The General heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, drawing in a breath for another objection. “Alphonse—”
“Oh, let him try!” Winry burst out, surprising even herself.
Mustang turned to her, one eyebrow arching.
“Let him try,” Winry repeated with a lump in her throat, her own voice almost dropping to a whisper. “Give him one last night to try to dream. I know the only reason he wants to go on living in the armor is to find Ed… and if it’s all he wants to live for, it must be worth the risk of dying for too. I’ll sit up and watch him all night, to make sure he keeps breathing and his pulse doesn’t stop. I won’t let him die…” Her face flushed as tears ran down her cheeks. “Just give us this much.”
She saw Al looking at her with wide eyes, and a part of her wondered exactly how and when the belief in his dreams had shifted from him to us.
For a long moment, Mustang stared awkwardly at her. Then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a windy breath, shaking his head.
“I’ll stop arguing on one condition,” he said wearily. “I’m going to stay in this room tonight, to be close by if we start to lose him again. And if either of us even thinks he’s getting any weaker… we wake him up, and he goes through with the transmutation then and there.” He glanced ruefully from Winry to Al. “Agreed?”
The dying boy didn’t quite smile, but the faintest trace of solemn warmth crept into his eyes.
“Deal.”
LONDON
From the shallow depths of dhampiric sleep, Ed heard the creak of the bedroom door. It was accompanied by a familiar waft of musk… and for a moment he was three years old again, awash in a drowsy feeling of safety and love, as he sensed his father looking in on him.
Then full awareness seized him, and he shoved that memory aside with a simmering irritation.
After the morning’s overwhelming revelations, Ed had returned to his room alone, to give his body the further rest it needed to heal. Lingering physical exhaustion was enough to defeat the tremendous turmoil in his mind, and he lapsed quickly into dreamless twilight. He lay dormant on the bed through the ensuing daytime hours, until that unmistakable intrusion.
His sense of day and night told him the sun had not set, and in any case, he was not in the mood to think yet. Without opening his eyes, he filled his empty lungs with a breath—and in so doing, he ceased to entirely mimic a corpse, which in itself seemed to give Hohenheim a start.
“What do you want?” Ed queried brusquely.
After a hesitation, the elder alchemist’s footsteps approached. “I’m sorry, son. I just wanted… to see how you were.”
There was an unwonted note of tenderness in Hohenheim’s voice that Ed didn’t particularly welcome. The teenager heaved a sigh, opened his eyes, and sat up, to see his father standing rather hesitantly between the door and the bed.
“I’m fine.” Ed flexed the muscles in his previously-fractured left arm, and then his fingers cautiously probed his belly through the fabric of his shirt. There was no longer any pain, and the bones in his forearm felt as strong as ever. “It’s all regenerated. I can do that now, you know.”
“Yes… I’m not sorry for that part of it.” Hohenheim smiled painfully.
Something about the old man’s melancholy look softened Ed in spite of himself. He almost returned the smile, but not quite.
“Really, Dad. I’m gonna be okay. There’s a lot of work to do here, and a lot more to learn—but I’m ready to do the best I can with this life, and the powers I have.” He shrugged ruefully. “Maybe Noa is right. Maybe there is a fate for us all… and maybe this is mine. Maybe all the things I ever did were meant to put me here, to fix what alchemists have done to this world.”
His father’s gaze fell. “I’m sorry I can’t see it that way. The only thing I know is, you’ll always do what you believe is right—and I have to do the same.”
Ed frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Hohenheim stepped to the bedside. His eyes held Ed’s gravely for a long moment.
“I’m going after Envy,” he announced quietly… and his fist exploded upward from his side, smashing into Ed’s chin with all his strength.
The time must have been brief before Ed came to his senses with a start, sprawled across the bed where the punch had laid him out. His jaw was still aching, and the last thing he remembered was the intent look in his father’s eyes.
He could still feel the presence of daylight beyond the walls. He was not yet free to go after Hohenheim.
Spitting out a violent string of curses, Ed flung himself off the bed and stalked into the hall. He began pounding on doors with a metal fist, and within moments, alarmed Hunters spilled out of the rooms where they too had spent the day at rest. All of the remaining dhampirs were there: Noa, Havoc, Falman, Mustang, Francesca, even their guest Bradley. Only the humans were absent. Ed knew Hawkeye and Breda would be just about to stand down their day watch, and Sig would be at his shop.
“What’s wrong?” Noa asked quickly, moving to Ed’s side.
“My father is gone.” Ed announced it for the rest of the Hunters to hear. “He told me he was going to hunt down Envy.”
Bradley scowled. “What does he think he’s doing? Even with his alchemy, we learned in Russia that it would almost certainly be suicide to face a vampire alone, without any help to subdue it. Why is he so impatient to put this particular one out of its misery?”
“It’s a long story,” Ed sighed, and his eyes searched the faces of the Hunters. “But no matter what he’s done, or what he’s trying to do, I can’t let him fight Envy on his own… and I need your help to save him. Please.”
He started slightly when he felt Noa’s hand slip into his. As he met her gaze, she squeezed his fingers briefly. It was all the answer she needed to give.
The Hunters exchanged glances. There were shrugs of shoulders, and thoughtful raisings of eyebrows.
“Well, saving humans from vampires is kinda what we do,” Havoc drawled.
Falman nodded. “And Hohenheim is one of the two people we’ve got to teach us this alchemy of yours. We can’t have him getting killed on us yet.”
“That brings us to an interesting point,” Bradley remarked, eyeing Ed firmly. “Envy is just as eager to kill you as your father—and as the only other alchemist in this world at the moment, your safety is too valuable for us to risk. Much as you may dislike the thought, I see no choice but for you to stay here, and leave this job to us.”
“I can’t do that!” Ed choked.
“And we can’t let both of you alchemists get killed,” Francesca retorted levelly.
“But that’s just it.” Golden eyes hardened as Ed looked fiercely between the gathered Hunters. “When we do this… there’s no reason why Dad and I should still be the only alchemists around.”
Noa gasped softly. “Ed—”
“All of you, listen.” Edward clenched his fists, gathering his courage. “It’d take time for Sig and Riza and Heymans to learn alchemy the hard way, but the rest of you can know everything in just a few minutes. That way, with their help, you’ll have a weapon to use against Envy if we face him tonight—and later, any of you will be able to share that knowledge. You can even leave someone else behind, to make absolutely sure the secrets of alchemy survive. But I’m not staying.”
The other dhampirs were silent for a moment, soberly taking in that proposal.
“If you share your blood, you won’t have enough time to build your strength back up,” Mustang observed at last, his one eye narrowing at Ed. “You won’t be any good in a fight anyway.”
“He doesn’t have to do it alone.” Noa turned to the others, taking in a deep breath. “I didn’t tell any of you this before… but I know everything Ed knows. I know alchemy. You can learn it from me too, and if we divide the job between us, we can both still be fit to fight.”
It was not lost upon Ed that Havoc glared at him. As casually as dhampirs treated the exchange of their most intimate memories, Noa’s rejected suitor still seemed rankled by the fact of her sharing with her foundling.
After a long moment of consideration, Bradley nodded. “Very well, then. I for one am willing to accept this plan. I’ll pass no judgment on any of you who prefer not to take the knowledge of alchemy—but I will myself.” His subtle smile twitched under his mustache. “After all, if I’m going to champion the use of it, I of all people should know what I’m dealing with.”
Francesca looked uncertainly at Noa. “The whole thing gives me the creeps… but okay.”
“I’m in,” Falman agreed.
Havoc glowered challengingly at Ed. “Same here.”
All eyes turned to Mustang, and he shifted his weight uneasily.
“I’m not going to do it.” He unconsciously backed against the wall, defensive under the strength of their stares. “You all know what happened to Maes when he took what’s inside that kid’s head. I’ve got no desire to go crazy.”
Ed snorted contemptuously. “If anyone here was going to crack up over my memories, it’d be you, alright.”
Noa shot Ed a reproving look. Then she turned to Mustang, and spoke in a pained but firm voice.
“Roy, listen to me. Maes only broke because his mind wasn’t well to begin with. I took the same memories from Ed. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No… but you’re stronger than I am,” Mustang replied bitterly. He squirmed and pushed off from the wall, turning to walk away. “You know I can’t help you.”
“One moment please, Mr. Mustang.” Bradley’s voice arrested the dog trainer in mid-stride. “If you don’t wish to join us, that’s your decision, but there is one service you can perform. I understand you’re the master of the kennels here—and we need a dog to track Hohenheim. Will you be so kind as to prepare one for us?”
Without turning, Mustang nodded, and moved off toward the stairs.
A grim shrug moved Ed’s shoulders, and he glanced at Bradley. “We still have to get Riza and Heymans sold on this—and Sig too. Without human blood, there won’t be any alchemy.”
“I’ll see to it,” Bradley agreed, and swept a glance over the other Hunters. “Let’s prepare.”
Before the sun had completely disappeared beneath the horizon, Sig arrived with blood: several gallons of it, more than enough to thoroughly sate all seven of the dhampirs. Ed found himself glad for the awful feast, because by that time, he had already opened his own veins for Bradley and Falman.
They took his blood from his arm, just above the inner wrist. That at least gave an illusion of being more clinical and impersonal than a bite to the neck—although it really wasn’t. No matter how he shared it with them, he was still giving them his life, quite literally. Beyond the equations of alchemy, they would know all his mistakes, all his fears and weaknesses.
And yet, besides his knowledge and his darkest secrets, they had to share his pain as well. They had to relive the agonies of lost friends and lost limbs, scarring wounds and bitter failures. Both Bradley and Falman suffered this without complaint; and if it was called for, Ed knew they would offer everything within themselves to him in turn, to take the good and the bad just as equally.
In his time as a dhampir, Edward had seen Equivalent Exchange with new eyes, and it put to shame the principles he had known by that name.
Noa, meanwhile, had shared her blood with Havoc and Francesca. To all appearances, she was far more businesslike about the process. It was something she had done many times before. Ed couldn’t imagine how he would ever become so used to that utter exposure of his soul… but if he was going to live as a Hunter, he knew he would have to.
Having given his blood and then quickly replenished it with the sustenance brought by Sig, he sat resting for a short time at the meeting room table. The other Hunters were around him: some sitting quietly like him as they processed their new knowledge, others preparing their weapons. He watched them with interest and a strange sense of growing affection. The souls behind these familiar faces were not the ones he had known, but somehow he still felt connected to them, and he was sure it wasn’t only because he shared Noa’s memories of their comradeship. Perhaps she had been right in that, too. In any world, perhaps some people were meant to find each other.
Of course, a few things hadn’t changed. Hawkeye had deigned to equip herself with a sword, the better to behead vampires… but now she was methodically inspecting a very large gun.
She would not look at Mustang, who knelt on the floor in a corner of the room, fitting a harness and leash onto the double of Black Hayate.
Ed sighed softly and pushed himself to his feet, experimentally flexing his flesh muscles and automail limbs. He had recovered completely from both his injuries and his recent bloodletting. He felt as strong and alert as he ever had, and he could only hope the savage instincts still lurking beneath his consciousness would benefit him in the heat of battle. If they were to meet Envy that night, he was more than ready to finish what they had started the night before—and now he knew how to do it.
Slowly he moved to the far end of the table, where Noa rested after her own sharing of blood. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when he drew near to her. She did not smile.
“Are you alright?” Ed asked her gently.
Noa nodded. “I’m ready… and so are Francesca and Jean.” She hesitated for a moment. Then she leaned toward Ed, her expression troubled. “You know what your father is trying to do, don’t you?”
“…Yeah.” Ed’s eyes hardened. “There’s only one reason he would’ve told me what he was up to before he punched my lights out and took off. He wants me to go after him. He wants to get me together in the same place with Envy—so he can try to open the Gate and send me back.” The young dhampir stared down at his clenching flesh fist. “But I can’t let him do that.”
“He was right about one thing. The war here will never really be won until alchemists on the other side stop creating more vampires.”
“I know that.” Ed shrugged futilely. “We’ll find a way, I promise. But not that way. I wish I could see Al again more than anything… but not at the price of exposing his world to this hell. If we’re ever going to get a message across safely, it’ll take research—and Dad should be helping us with that, instead of trying to get himself killed.”
Councilor Bradley’s voice interjected, smoothly and politely, as he leaned forward in his seat near the center of the table.
“Forgive me for listening in. If this was truly your father’s plan, Edward—I agree with you that we can’t allow it, for the sake of your world. But I’m a little curious as to how you propose to keep him from repeating this stunt.” The ranking dhampir smiled thinly. “I realize more clearly than ever now that he can be as… obstinate as you can.”
Ed lowered his gaze with a scowl. “You’re right. If I know Dad, he’ll keep trying, no matter how much I argue. Even if we stop him from getting his hands on another vampire, his own body comes from the other side, which means it can be transmuted too—and he might do something as crazy as trying to open the Gate using nothing but himself. The only way to prevent that is to make sure he can’t use alchemy on his own.” He breathed deeply, raising shadowed eyes to Bradley. “So when we find him… I’m going to infect him.”
He had the attention of the entire room now, and his declaration was met with startled gasps.
“How could you do that to your own father?” Francesca blurted.
“Look, I know it’s forbidden. But it could be the only way to save his life, and maybe other lives too. Just carrying the infection won’t kill him, but it might be enough to make his blood useless for transmutations. And when he does die naturally, and he turns… he can decide for himself if he wants to go on as one of us.” A faint, bitter laugh shuddered out of him. “Anyway, he always did want to live forever.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Hawkeye looked especially horrified by the idea. She had suddenly grown very still and pale.
By contrast, a pained smile crossed Bradley’s face, and he folded his hands on the table. “I continue to find your logic difficult to argue with, Edward. When we retrieve Hohenheim, if you do as you suggest… the Council will never hear of it from me.” He shrugged. “Assuming, of course, that a Council still exists to enforce our laws at all.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll help you build a new one, Chief,” Havoc asserted. “One for a new breed of Hunters—to try to control what we’ve let loose. I still don’t know if using alchemy is the right choice… but one thing’s for sure, we’re in this all the way now.”
The words were sobering, and Ed had to admit they were true. Noa, Havoc, Bradley, Falman, and Francesca were not simply Hunters anymore; they were alchemists, and the knowledge they possessed would inevitably spread, even if those who feared it would fight to stamp it out. Yet those fears might be well-founded. There was no way of knowing how alchemy might change this world… and any destruction it caused would be a terrible new burden on Ed’s conscience, for he had made it possible.
But there was no time to think about those things yet. He needed to focus on saving his father—and possibly sending Envy into oblivion, if the homunculus found Hohenheim first. All while avoiding Hohenheim’s misguided intent to return Ed to a world he could only hurt.
His gaze shifted to the corner of the room where Mustang was fussing over Hayate. Cyclone. That was what they called him here, and just like the other, it was Fuery who had first picked him up as a stray. He was the Hunters’ best scent-tracking dog now, but as a pup he had barely survived among the large, vicious watchdogs in the kennels… except that Mustang had protected him. To this day, Mustang would steadfastly refuse to admit that Cyclone was his favorite.
It was the kinship of one misfit for another.
Slowly Ed wandered over to dhampir and dog. When his shadow fell across them, their tug-of-war over an old rag ceased, as Mustang let go of the tattered cloth and looked up warily. Upon seeing Ed, the one-eyed man sat back on his heels and stared blackly at the teenager.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Ed asked. “That firebomb last night.”
Mustang’s expression relaxed into pensiveness, and he shrugged, tossing the rag aside for Cyclone to chase. “Just something I learned in the War.”
The beautiful symmetry of it all forced a chuckle from Ed. “Different world, different Mustang, and you’re still playing with fire…” He eyed the former soldier with a wan smile. “It was a pretty handy trick, you know. Maybe you’re not so useless after all.”
At that pointed suggestion, the other dhampir’s face hardened, and he dropped his gaze.
“You can’t hide from yourself here,” Ed persisted quietly.
Mustang glanced up sharply, making his best effort to look indignant. “I’m not hiding from anything. I just know my limits.”
“The only real limits any of us have are the ones we place on ourselves. It was the other Mustang who taught me that.” Ed bent down, bracing his hands on his knees. “Hughes gave you the chance to become everything you could be. If you failed him at first, that was just reason to try harder—not to give up.”
“Stop trying to make me out to be something I’m not—”
“If you weren’t what I think you are, you wouldn’t even be here now. When you were taken by that vampire, you wouldn’t have fought so hard to live that you were infected by it—and afterward, you wouldn’t have wanted to survive as a dhampir, to try to make the life you had left mean something.” Ed glanced toward Hawkeye across the room, saw her furtively watching them, and smiled bitterly. “You wouldn’t have wanted to protect her from vampires… or from yourself.”
Snarling a curse, Mustang lunged from his position on one knee. His fist made a furious upward jab. Ed caught the knuckles head-on in a steel palm and pushed back hard, shoving the older man gracelessly onto his backside.
The others were all watching now, but no one interfered.
“I guess it’s your choice just to sit there while the rest of us try to make a difference,” Ed growled. “But as long as you want to stay shut away here, watching your own back, you’re gonna do something useful.”
He drew his knife from his belt, pulled up his sleeve, and slid the blade across the skin of his own inner forearm. As drops of red blood welled up, he stretched out his arm toward Mustang.
The dog trainer stared at the gash with one wide and horrified eye. “What… I told you—!”
“Yeah, I know, you don’t want to do it. I heard you. And I don’t care.” Ed leaned forward, his eyes hard. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. Maybe the rest of us will find my dad before Envy does… and if we don’t, maybe none of us will come back. If that happens, there has to be someone left who can still give the knowledge of alchemy to others. Since you want to stay behind—you’ve elected yourself.”
“I…” Mustang stammered weakly.
“No more excuses, Roy.” Ed held his arm closer to Mustang. “Take it.”
A shudder passed visibly through Mustang’s thin frame… and then, slowly, he sat up on his knees. His trembling fingers grasped Ed’s wrist, and after a long moment of hesitation, he lowered his lips to the wound.
For all it still disquieted Ed emotionally, the physical process had at least become much easier with experience. He closed his eyes, allowing the flood of memories to rise and crest, until Mustang pulled away from his arm with a spasmodic twitch. It was a relatively brief contact—but still enough to transmit the full sum of Ed’s life.
Clasping his metal fingers over the cut as it regenerated, Ed looked at Mustang… and his heart twisted. The other dhampir had wedged himself into the corner with his back against the walls, curling into a fetal position. His head was tucked down against his knees, and he appeared to be shivering a little.
Perhaps Ed had pushed it too far, after all.
“Roy—”
“Just shut up.” Mustang’s voice was a hoarse mumble. “Leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”
Ed stepped back with a wince, starting to regret his insistence. After all, he had known this man’s double far better than any of the others—and felt much more strongly about him, in many ways. Perhaps that familiarity was simply too much, as it had been with Hughes.
Feeling a touch on his shoulder, he turned to find Noa beside him. There was no reproach in her gaze, but she shook her head gently, and her eyes shifted meaningfully toward the others. Her message was clear: let him be.
Reluctantly Ed turned and went back to the other Hunters, leaving Mustang to cope on his own.
“I believe the rest of us are ready,” Bradley said solemnly. “Edward—this mission is yours to lead, if you wish. We may have your knowledge, but you’re the only one of us who has actually practiced alchemy.”
The invitation was a little overwhelming… and yet, somehow, it made Ed feel even stronger. He nodded, thinly smiling his thanks at Bradley. Then his gaze singled out the three human Hunters: Sig, Hawkeye, and Breda.
“If we go up against Envy tonight, our lives are gonna depend on you three. Alchemy can only happen with your help… so be ready if we need your blood.” He glanced at his fellow dhampirs. “Remember, we’ve got to protect them, no matter what.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement passed through the group. Havoc, Breda, and even Francesca looked less than thrilled to be taking commands from Edward—but at least they hadn’t openly objected.
“Who’s handling Cyclone?” Ed asked.
“I am,” Hawkeye replied firmly. She whistled a sharp signal to the dog, and caught up his trailing leash as he trotted obediently to her side.
Of course… Ed half-smiled crookedly and nodded. “Okay. If that’s it, then…”
His gaze drifted anxiously back to Mustang. The older man had raised his head, and was watching the group; his face was strained, but his one dark eye was clear and steady.
“Get going, hero,” he muttered, and there was the faintest hint of something different in the tone of his voice. Something… familiar.
Teasing. He was teasing Ed.
A sudden swell of emotion rose in the teenager’s chest, and he broke into a smile. “We’ll be back.”
He could have sworn he saw Mustang’s lips twitch in return.
For a little while after the other Hunters left, Roy Mustang continued to slouch uncomfortably on the floor of the meeting room, letting his mind process the knowledge he had absorbed from Ed. The twinging in his skull was a natural side effect; but on another level, these memories made him hurt inside, in a way he had never encountered before when sharing the blood of other dhampirs.
It wasn’t so much the overwhelming raw information from the mind of the young genius: the mind-boggling complexity of alchemy, an entire alternate science. It wasn’t even the ghost-pain in Ed’s memories of half-dismemberment, of automail surgery and years of battle wounds. What haunted Roy most was seeing himself, in another world and another life, as a man he could scarcely recognize—and knowing that somewhere, this strong, arrogant figure who commanded flames with a snap of his fingers was a reality.
As for the feelings Ed associated with that other Mustang…
They were the most conflicted and wrenching perceptions Roy had ever felt. Contempt and aggravation jostled against respect and grudging gratitude, juvenile spikes of rebelliousness—and a suppressed ache of childlike need. Things Ed didn’t even feel for Hohenheim, he had felt for the man who brought him into the military, shamelessly taking advantage of his talents in one moment and fiercely protecting him in the next. The man who left an impression on Ed’s life that his own father never had.
No wonder the kid found Roy to be such a disappointment in this world.
Roy couldn’t imagine a more painful way to be forced to consider what might have been. As a dhampir, he was incapable of having children, even if he could have loved his Riza without the fear of hurting her. But if he could have… he would have wanted his child to see what Ed saw in the other Mustang. Not what Ed saw in him as he was.
And there was the friendship of the other Mustang and his world’s Hughes. Perhaps Ed wasn’t privy to much of it—but enough to know that a large part of the man’s reason for taking down an entire government was to avenge his Hughes’ death. It only made Roy more sharply aware of his failure to be worthy of the Maes he knew. Maes had saved him from slow torture, taught him to survive and offered him a life he could have been proud of, but the foundling had given his teacher nothing in return.
Yet his weakness back then, when Maes tried to make a strong Hunter of him, was nothing compared to his recent willful ignorance. If Roy had only listened to Ed’s warning and his own instincts, and intervened in Maes’ slide into madness, perhaps that great and gentle man could have at least been saved from becoming a rogue with the indelible stain of human blood on his soul.
A bitter smile fluttered across Roy’s lips. Ed—Fullmetal—was a cunning little brat. His gamble had gotten him just what he wanted. Roy could never go back to his safe, worthless life in the kennels now. Not with all of this seething inside him, crying out for some kind of atonement.
“You don’t look so good, Roy.”
The voice was as familiar as it was unexpected. It caused Roy’s eye to snap open, while a shudder crawled down his spine like a living thing. His fists tightened until his nails dug into his palms, and he swallowed hard.
Not this. Anything but this.
He forced his gaze to turn toward the doorway.
Maes was standing there. His clothing showed tears and faint splotches of dried blood, and his dark hair was disheveled; but his figure was tall and straight as ever, like the lean black line of some catlike jungle predator. Although his eyes were clouded and bloodshot as a drunken man’s, there was a restless alertness in the way they moved. One side of his mouth was turned up in a parody of a companionable grin that only made the feverish stare more terrifying.
Roy didn’t question how Maes had gotten into the building. This was his domain. He knew every inch of it better than the rest of the Hunters combined, and the guard dogs knew him. If he wanted back inside, no lockdown the Hunters devised would have kept him out—and they had never thought to mount such a defense against him in the first place. It was inconceivable to them that he would have returned there, knowing it was now their duty to put him down.
The question was not how, but why.
“Maes…” Roy murmured. He put his back against the wall and began to push himself to his feet, slowly and carefully, as if facing a wild animal. He felt irrationally grateful that the meeting table was between them. “It’s—good to see you.”
The rogue’s unhealthy grin widened a little. “You’re usually a better liar, Roy.”
This encounter could go in any number of directions, and Roy was certain not one of them could be described as good. He desperately wished he had his knife, or even one of Riza’s guns, but it was not customary for Hunters to carry arms inside their own headquarters.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Even if he had a weapon, he was sure he wouldn’t have had the nerve to use it.
“We… we heard you met Envy. We know he hurt you.” Roy breathed deeply. “Maes, whatever it is you’ve done—”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on this place, you know. I saw the others leave earlier, with Ed and old man Bradley leading the way. So interesting.” Maes took two steps farther into the room, his unsteady eyes narrowing on Roy. “They’ve gone out to hunt Envy, haven’t they? I know they have—but they can’t have him. I need him. He killed me before, took me away from my wife and daughter… but now he’s going to take me back to them.”
Roy swore under his breath. The lines had clearly blurred altogether for Maes now. He didn’t know his own life from that of the other world’s Hughes, or know Envy from the vampire that had murdered his family.
“Listen to me, Maes, you’re not—”
“I couldn’t make the alchemy work right. Didn’t do a thing to him.” The rambling rogue cocked his head strangely at Roy. “But if they’re going after him, they must have fixed it. And I need to know.”
With an effort, Roy quelled his rising feeling of panic. Maes didn’t know human blood was the key to alchemy in this world, or that a human life was the cost of opening the Gate. As long as he remained ignorant of those facts, he would only be dangerous to those who might physically confront him; but if he gained that knowledge, he could carry the dhampir infection to the other side, or perhaps unleash some untold horror on this world purely by accident.
“You’re wrong,” Roy bluffed quickly. “Alchemy still doesn’t work here. They went out to find Ed’s father… and I swear to you, that’s all.”
The chilling grin returned. “You’re lying again, Roy.”
Some part of Roy saw the attack coming, but he was completely unprepared for the animal ferocity of it. With leopard-like grace and a snarl that was nothing human, Maes sprang onto the table and over it in two massive bounds. His forearm caught Roy in the throat before the slighter dhampir could take a step, smashing him skull-first against the wall.
Roy saw stars… and then he felt the shock of fangs at his neck.
© 2011 Jordanna Morgan
Chapters: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: Epilogue ::
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Date: 2011-04-30 03:16 am (UTC)Roy finally grows a backbone and you have Maes eat him!!?! you bastard.
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Date: 2011-04-30 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-30 04:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-01 04:14 am (UTC)Silly me! This is Ed we're talking about after all! ^_^A part of me is pleased tho that Roy will no longer be this cringing shadow of the Roy I know and love. :) I'm kinda hoping now that Hohenheim will succeed in his plan simply because I'm hoping Ed will get to Al before he dies. Yes the thought of the dhampiric Elric brothers is still bouncing around in my head. *^_^* Can't wait to read more!! :Dno subject
Date: 2011-05-02 12:25 am (UTC)