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batsutousaiTitle: Reverti Ad Praeteritum
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood/manga
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, May Chang/Alphonse Elric, Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes, post-Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Warnings: Spoilers like whoa, Ed's potty mouth, canon-typical violence, pile 'o OCs, mute!Ed, original character death, angst, fluff, past dub-con, past adultery, Ed has all the guilt
Summary: Unwillingly forced to serve as a human trial for a crazy alchemist experimenting with time travel, Edward Elric finds himself standing across from Truth in the moment it takes his leg from him. Armed with the knowledge of what's to come and burdened with guilt for the choices he'd made as an adult, Ed sets out to fix every mistake he ever made and save every life they ever lost, no matter what it takes.
A/N: It should come as no surprise to anyone that sign language is going to feature in this fic. Disclaimer: I have a very limited understanding of sign language, much of which was learnt during the course of writing this fic; if you're fluent and see something completely wrong, please don't hesitate to correct me.
I've been using American Sign Language as a guide, but I don't really describe any signs – save the occasional mention that one is performed one-handed, because one of the signer's hands are occupied – so you're welcome to assume whatever's local to you.
Sign language tends to be far less grammatically correct than spoken language, because it takes time to sign, and dropping words speeds it up slightly. That said, rather than fuss with the grammar, I just have the signed dialogue written out like it would be if it were spoken. You'll see sometimes that a sign Ed interprets one way, another person will interpret slightly differently, mostly because synonyms are a thing, but also because there are some signs that resemble each other, not unlike homonyms in spoken/written English.
Chapter Two
-0-
Not quite a week after Ed and Al had come limping to the Rockbells, Granny declared Ed should be sufficiently healed for her to attach an automail port. It would be another three months, Ed knew, before she would be willing to attach the leg itself – give his stump time to heal and the port to settle, let his nerves recover a bit – but since he'd requested northern automail – it was lighter, and he knew May's clan lived in a mountainous region of Xing, which meant he'd probably need the cold-resistant version before too long – she'd had to order some parts anyway.
Money hadn't come up, yet, and Ed was dreading the conversation. Without his military budget, there was no way he could cover the cost of automail, even if it was just his leg, this time. Granny would probably let it slide – she and Winry had always been a bit lax about demanding money from Ed (as much as they joked about bleeding his account dry), even when he'd had the funds – but he was making her order parts special, which was an added cost, and he couldn't, in good faith, let it go.
Not that he really knew how to approach the matter. And not that Granny was really giving him the chance; being unable to communicate verbally made it hard to push a subject.
The port attachment was painful. He remembered that part, but time had dulled the agony a bit in his memories. At least it was only his leg, this time, which made it...not really easier, but briefer.
And still, no sign of Al.
Ed woke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. He frowned through the haze of mild pain killers; an emergency? Granny was the only real doctor in Resembool, so people always came to her when there was an accident. And Ed kind of wished Granny had agreed to letting him move upstairs before the attachment, because–
"Hey!" he heard Granny shout. "What business does a soldier have here?"
A soldier?
Mustang. He'd almost forgotten he'd have to see the bastard soon, even without joining the military right away. Fuck him. (Figuratively.)
Al was all alone out there.
Ed shoved himself up, grunting at the flash of pain from his stump, and carefully lowered himself to the floor. Winry had returned his transmuted crutch at one point, despite Granny's better sense, and he grabbed it as he heard Mustang shout, "I just came from your house! What in the world is all that?!"
Ed grit his teeth and hurried from the room and down the hall at his best speed.
"What did you make?!" Mustang shouted.
Ed made it to the end of the hallway and found an echo of a memory waiting for him: Mustang, looking far younger than Ed remembered, had Al by the front of his shirt. And his brother just sort of...let him. Drooping in Mustang's grip like he'd lost all will to live.
Ed grabbed the nearest thing to hand – an automail book, awesome – and chucked it in Mustang's general direction. It fell short – fucking pain killers – but knocked into his boot, and Mustang looked up and around, meeting Ed's glare.
'Put. Him. Down,' Ed mouthed, pointing down with his free hand.
"Edward!" Granny called, sounding somewhere between horrified and panicked.
Mustang slowly lowered Al back to the couch, where he must have been sitting when the bastard shoved his way into the house.
Since he was already up, Ed hobbled carefully across the floor – ignoring Granny's order of, "Get back to bed!" – and stopped next to Mustang, glaring up at the bastard until he silently, blinking in that way that Ed knew meant he was completely thrown for a loop, stepped out of the way.
And then, for the first time in nearly a week, Ed had the chance to ruffle his brother's hair.
Al let out a broken sob and shuffled along the couch, almost unbalanced Ed with how sudden his hug was. "I'm sorry," Al choked out against Ed's side.
Guilt, then. Al didn't hate him, he was just wallowing in guilt. That was...reassuring. Heart-breaking, but reassuring; Ed could do something about guilt.
"Shh," Ed returned, combing his fingers through the tangles in Al's hair; he hadn't been combing it, and it felt a little like he hadn't bathed since their walk through the storm that night. (Not that Ed blamed him; personal hygiene hadn't been a priority for him the first time, either.)
A gentle hand touched Ed's hand where it was wrapped around the crutch, and he glanced over to find Granny watching him with too-sharp eyes. "Bed," she ordered.
Ed shook his head and carefully disentangled his hand from Al's hair so he could move his hand in a motion for talking, then point to Mustang.
"You want to talk to him?" Granny hissed. And Ed didn't need to look to know the bastard was raising his eyebrows at that, because no way he hadn't heard her, as close as he still was.
Ed had spent the last three years of his life avoiding Mustang at all costs, but he knew the bastard, knew he wouldn't leave until he got an answer for the array and blood in Hohenheim's study. And no way Ed was going to leave Al to Mustang's not-so-tender mercies, which meant this was his job, no matter his personal dilemma.
(Well, at least this Mustang had no possible way of knowing why Ed's stomach gave a guilty heave every time he looked at the bastard. Small favours.)
He nodded, refused to look away from Granny's scowl.
Granny let out a huff. "Al, help your brother to the dining room. Winry! Get Ed his writing things."
Al shifted to the side until he had room to stand without chancing knocking Ed over. He didn't say anything, though, didn't even look up as he reached out to help Ed.
And Ed...dropped his crutch and wrapped his brother in a hug.
Al let out a broken noise that carved straight through Ed's heart, then wrapped Ed in a hug tight enough to ache. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "Brother, I'm sorry..."
Ed was vaguely aware of Granny chivvying Mustang away, which he was grateful for, even as he tightened his arms around his brother and shushed him.
Fuck, what he wouldn't give for the ability to reassure him with words.
It took a bit, but Al did manage to calm himself. He looked like an exhausted wreck when he finally looked up, but at least he was meeting Ed's eyes, which was an improvement. (They'd be okay. Al was strong and Ed was stubborn; they'd get through this.) "Let me get your crutch," Al whispered and, when Ed nodded, he carefully knelt and collected it. As he straightened, Al mumbled, "You shouldn't be walking around so soon."
Ed gave him a flat look and, once he had his crutch back to brace against, lightly smacked his brother upside the head.
"Brother!" Al complained, looking wounded and so much more himself, it was an honest relief.
'Idiot," Ed mouthed, then motioned with his head towards the dining room.
"I'm not an idiot, you're an idiot," Al muttered as he wrapped an arm around Ed to help him hobble towards the dining room. "You're the one who's hurt."
Ed just rolled his eyes; he was willing to suffer a little pain and an extra week of healing if it meant Al would stop avoiding him.
Hawkeye had settled on the couch outside the dining room door, and, wow, Ed had forgotten what she looked like with short hair. (He knew she'd cut it short after the Promised Day, but by the time he'd seen her again, she'd grown it back out.)
He nodded to her as they passed and, after giving a quick blink of surprise, she inclined her head in return.
In the dining room, they found Granny and Mustang sitting across from each other at the table. Granny continued scowling around her pipe at the bastard, while Mustang turned a quietly considering look on Ed and Al as they made their way over to the two chairs set on one side of the table. The one closest to Mustang had Ed's clipboard sat in front of it, his Xingan notes as the top page. (And Ed had never been more glad to know that Mustang didn't understand Xingan.)
Once Ed and Al were both settled and Ed was hiding his notes at the back of the pile of papers, Mustang said, "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, the Flame Alchemist."
Granny scoffed at that, then replied, "Pinako Rockbell. These boys are Alphonse and Edward Elric. Which you clearly know."
Mustang tilted his head while Ed started writing what the bastard would want to know. "Yes. We had reports of two particularly talented alchemists in these parts. Our records were wrong about their ages, but that array..."
Ed turned his clipboard around, letting Mustang see what he had written: 'Human transmutation. We wanted to bring our mum back'
Mustang's eyes darkened and he shot Ed a hard look. "You failed, I take it."
Ed snorted and quickly wrote, 'You can't bring the dead back to life'
"Brother?" Al whispered, clearly reading over his shoulder.
Ed glanced over and shook his head.
Al's eyes were wide with a sort of horrified understanding. "But you–"
'I'm sorry,' Ed mouthed.
Al's face crumpled and he scooted closer, wrapping his fingers around Ed's upper arm and pressing his forehead against Ed's shoulder.
Ed closed his eyes and reached across his own body to rest his left hand on top of his brother's head. At least Al knew, now. He wouldn't have the thought that they'd killed Mum twice dogging his steps.
"I see," Mustang murmured, and Ed looked over at him, found the bastard watching him with that old, familiar considering look.
Ed tightened his grip around his pen, then wrote, 'There's a price to be paid for breaking the taboo + I paid it'
Mustang's eyes narrowed. "And your brother?"
'I paid his price too'
Mustang glanced up, met his stare, even as Al whispered, "Brother, no."
And in those dark eyes, so familiar – too familiar; Ed was glad he'd decided to give himself more time before he'd have to face the bastard down on a regular basis – Ed saw understanding, that same kindred spirit that Ed hadn't seen, before, until after Hawkeye had told him about Ishval, until after he knew that Mustang had seen hell, too. Ed already knew Mustang, and the bastard was sharp, was probably already starting to learn him back. (Dangerous.)
Ed had to look away, down to his paper, where he wrote, for Al, 'Shut up. I'm older it's my job. Mum said'
Granny's pipe snapped against the ashtray, and Ed and Al both looked over at her, found her glaring at Mustang. "Ed needs to return to bed; say your part and leave, Lieutenant Colonel," she ordered, controlled fury in her voice.
Al shot Ed a wide-eyed look; oh, it was never good when Granny got into a temper.
Mustang straightened. "That array," he said, addressing his words to Ed and Al, "was impressive."
Al drew in a sharp breath at Ed's side, but he just narrowed his eyes at the bastard; he knew how advanced his and Al's work had been.
Something like a challenge gleamed in Mustang's eyes as he continued, "Easily State Alchemist level."
"Are you saying," Granny interrupted, while Al's hands clenched tight around Ed's bicep, "that you expect these boys to join the military?"
Mustang folded his hands together over the table, his gaze steady when he met Granny's glare (which Ed found impressive, even with knowing exactly how bull-headed the bastard could be), and replied, "I won't lie, there's a chance they'll be forced to go to war, but the position comes with many privileges: unlimited access to research materials, full funding, and the best equipment." He turned to Ed and Al, and Ed knew that look. "You might even–"
'DON'T,' Ed scrawled, holding up his clipboard between Mustang and his brother like a shield. Don't give Al that hope, don't give him a reason to believe he needs to fix what isn't broken.
Don't let Al put all his hopes on the Philosopher's Stone, just so Ed has to tear him back down.
Mustang narrowed his eyes. "You can wallow here, or you can make something of yourselves; the choice is yours to make." And then he set a business card down on the table next to Ed and stood. "That's all I have to say. Find me in East City Command when you've decided to take my offer."
Ed watched Mustang make for the door, his shoulders tense under the bulky line of his dress uniform, and Ed could only imagine how hard it must be, to walk away from an interview that felt like it had gone completely to shit. (It hadn't – Mustang had no way of knowing that Ed would fully support his accent to the Führer's seat – but it must feel like he had.)
And, thinking about that future victory, seeing Mustang in his dress uniform... Ed couldn't help but remember the last time he'd seen the bastard wearing that, at his celebratory party, after which Ed had helped Mustang home, and then–
Ed yanked the paper he'd been using to communicate with out of the clipboard and clapped, deconstructing it with a flash of alchemy that had Al flinching backwards in surprise, while Mustang turned to stare at him, his eyes wide. And that was a good look on him, nothing at all like their last meeting, helped push away memories that Ed couldn't let himself remember.
Catching Mustang's eyes, Ed very obviously made the military hand sign for 'caution'.
Mustang's eyes narrowed. "What are you–?"
Ed made the signals for 'enemies' and then 'surrounded'. And then he pointed at Mustang.
Mustang was stiff for a beat too long for him to actually brush that warning away with the smile that he put on. "Cute," he said, forced amusement in his voice.
Ed scowled and very pointedly placed his fingers against his own shoulder, pressing each one down firmly, obviously: One, two, three, four.
"Four?" Al asked.
But Mustang clearly understood, his gaze sliding towards the rank marking on his own shoulder; only one person wore four stars.
When Mustang looked back at him again, his jaw clenched tight, Ed pointed to his own eyes, then at Mustang. And then he made the signal for 'caution' again.
Mustang spun and stalked from the room, barking, "We're leaving!"
"Brother?" Al whispered under the sounds of Mustang and Hawkeye leaving, Winry calling a confused goodbye after them.
'He's a good man,' Ed wrote, before pointedly sliding the clipboard towards where Granny looked like she might get up and chase after the two soldiers, make sure they were actually leaving.
She read it and scowled. "Intending to join the military, are you?" she returned, sliding the clipboard back to him.
'Not yet,' Ed wrote. 'I want to go to Xing'
"Xing!?" Granny returned, and Ed wondered which possibility seemed worse to her.
Ed gave a firm nod and wrote, 'Their alchemy is diff'
Granny's expression said she should have guessed alchemy would be involved.
"Is that...what that is?" Al asked, carefully tugging at the paper at the bottom of the stack, the one with Ed's list written in Xingan. "Xingan?"
Ed nodded as he pulled the sheet out for his brother to get a better look at.
Al frowned at the characters for a long moment, before saying, "Dad has books written in this, doesn't he?"
Ed blinked and frowned himself. Hohenheim had books written in Xingan? He started to shake his head, then stopped, recalling the books on the top shelf, the ones he and Al had struggled to reach as children, had almost brought the bookcase down on their heads in the process. Mum hadn't been impressed, but she'd let them look one over while they 'helped' her put all the fallen books away. They ended up putting it back because they had no idea how to go about translating the characters, and Mum had been equally perplexed.
Ed had forgotten about them.
But it...made sense, didn't it? If Hohenheim had shaped Xingan alkahestry, of course he'd have books written in the language. Fuck, the information that must be in those...
Ed shook himself and nodded. 'Yes Xingan'
Al's frown deepened. "You can read it?"
Ed nodded.
"Since when?!" Al demanded, before a sort of horrified understanding crossed his face. "Was it– Did you learn it from that thing?"
The Gate.
Al remembered the Gate.
Ed yanked a fresh paper from the middle of his stack, scrawled 'CRANE' on it, then held it out to his brother, a silent challenge.
Al stared at the paper for a moment, so clearly uncertain, before he pressed his hands together and touched it.
The light of an active transmutation bloomed and the paper slowly, carefully shaped itself into an origami crane, as perfect and crisp as every one of Al's transmutations had always been. Slower than he'd one day be, but still faster than Ed remembered he'd been as a child.
Ed let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. Shit. Al remembered.
He wasn't certain how to feel about that.
"Brother?" Al whispered, worried and uncertain.
Ed stared down at his paper for a long moment, debating with himself, then wrote, 'Can we talk?'
Al glanced towards the door, and Ed only just then realised that Granny had left them. "I should get you back to bed," he mumbled, but Ed knew him way too well, could hear how much he'd rather just stay and get some fucking answers.
(When you got right down to it, alchemists were easy to manipulate, even those who already knew exactly how dangerous seeking the truth could be.)
Ed glanced down at his stump, ensured that, yes, the port was properly supported by the seat of his chair, then wrote, 'I need somewhere flat to write + my leg is supported right now'
Al peeked under the table to see, as though unable to take Ed's word for it, then he sighed and nodded. "Okay," he said, sounding like it was difficult to agree to let Ed stay where he was and explain things.
Ed shot him a flat look.
Something cracked in Al's eyes, and he started laughing. And it was a terrible laugh, the kind you make when you've reached the end of your rope and you don't even fucking know any more.
Ed reached out and dragged him sideways, took Al's weight and hugged him tight. (Marvelled, again, that he could. That Al got actual, physical comfort from this.)
"Al?" Winry called from the doorway, her eyes wide and uncertain.
Al took that as his cue to pull himself together – which was good, because Ed couldn't communicate over distances any more – and said, "Just...something Brother said."
Ed quirked a smile that ached at that, saw its mirror on Winry's face. "Yeah," she said drily, "he's a miniature riot."
Ed clapped his hands, formed a perfectly aerodynamic aeroplane out of the top sheet of his paper, and sent it towards Winry's head.
Winry ducked it, stuck her tongue out, then vanished into the hallway and out of sight.
Next to Ed, Al giggled.
Ed rolled his eyes at both of them, then set pen to paper and started writing: 'I came across an unfamiliar array stepped inside not watching my back + the creator activated it. Written in the centre was Memores acti + prudentes futuri. Reverti ad praeteritum'
He watched as Al mouthed the old words, filtered them through the internal translator that they'd developed while pouring over Hohenheim's books. And then– "Praeteritum?" he whispered, even though it was clear from the way his eyes had gone wide that he could make a pretty good damn guess.
'Past,' Ed wrote. 'I'm 29'
Al forced a smile that quivered. "You're ten, Brother."
Ed sighed and wrote, 'Body spirit soul'
Al was quiet.
Ed glanced at him, found him staring at the paper as though waiting for more writing to appear, for Ed to expound on that.
Ed wasn't about to disappoint.
'I hypothesised once that body + soul could survive independent so long as spirit cont to connect them. This is all hypothetical but there were elements of human trans there + human trans opens THAT + it was while I was there I realised where I was. With mention of time + how fucked up that place is isn't it poss my 29-yr-old spirit crossed with my 11-yr-old spirit + there was transfer?'
(And, oh, Ed didn't want to think about the possibility that his ten-year-old self was trapped in his twenty-nine-year-old body. With automail, no alchemy, and facing an enemy who apparently dealt in time alchemy, that would be a death sentence. Hopefully it was just a memory transfer, and he was twenty-nine both here and there? That was a far more soothing thought; Ed liked that thought. It meant there was still a chance of him getting home to his kids and Winry, that he hadn't abandoned them like Hohenheim had done.)
Al stared down at the paper for a long moment, before turning towards the sheet of Xingan still laying in front of him, under the crane he'd alchemised. "I don't know," he whispered.
'I know how to read + write Xingan + Cretan + Aerugonian. I know + can work a Cretan healing array. I know that man was Roy Mustang + woman Riza Hawkeye. They fought in Ishval + Mustang wants to become Führer so he can keep another war like that from happening'
Al was quiet while he read that, then he looked up, his eyes tired and too old, and said, "You know them, don't you, Brother? Both of them. Personally."
Ed couldn't help but flinch away from the memories that last word tugged at, but he tried to cover it by writing, 'I became a State Alchemist + Mustang was my CO for 3yrs'
Al read that, then ducked his head, the corner of his frown only barely visible from Ed's current angle. He was quiet for long enough that Ed almost started writing again, but he did finally ask, quietly, "Did he ever make it?"
'Führer?' Ed guessed.
"Yeah."
'3yrs ago. For me. He + parliament were working toward perm treaty with Creta when I'
When he...what? Stepped into an unknown array and got thrown into the past? Fuck, that just sounded so stupid.
"Parliament?" Al repeated.
'Mustang wants to turn Amestris into democracy'
Al turned towards the empty doorway that Mustang had walked through not so long ago, stared at it for a long, long minute, before looking back at Ed with the same determination gleaming in his eyes that Ed remembered feeling at fifteen, when he made a promise with the stupid bastard over 520 cenz. "How can we help?"
Ed couldn't help but smile, felt a sort of grim gratitude at this unquestioning show of support; they really were too much alike, sometimes.
"Brother?" Al whispered, reading him like only he could.
Ed swallowed and turned back to his paper, switching for a new sheet and quickly sketching out the Dwarf in the Flask's nationwide array, then started writing, 'Please bear with--this is long + involved but you deserve full story. As much as I know:
'Hohenheim--our father--was born over 400yrs ago in Xerxes'
"How is that–?" Al started, keeping his voice low.
Ed shot him a sharp look.
Al winced and very pointedly covered his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbled, muffled.
Ed huffed and returned to writing: 'He was born slave but his master took blood from him to create all-knowing lifeform which he calls "Dwarf in the Flask" or "Homunculus". DitF led the king of Xerxes to create array like this 1' Ed tapped the array he'd drawn 'to turn all people of Xerxes into a Philosopher's Stone (the ingredients are live humans) so the king + his ministers could be immortal'
Al let out a horrified noise, but didn't actually speak.
'DitF screwed them over. He + Hohenheim were centre of the array + each took 1/2 lives'
"Dad is–" Al choked out, sounding miserable.
Ed tightened his grip around his pen and forced himself to write, 'He wasn't aware of plan. He never wanted to hurt those people'
Al drooped against the table next to him and breathed, "Thank goodness."
Ed glanced at him briefly, then went back to writing; Al would catch up when he was done being relieved that their father wasn't really a monster. 'Hohenheim went east helped Xing develop alkahestry (their alchemy--uses diff power source + healing focussed) while DitF came west. He helped found Amestris taught us alchemy + hid himself away under Central where he could lead this country from shadows'
Ed looked back at Al, waiting for him to finish reading that. Al looked up at him when he had, his eyes dark with a fear that Ed knew he didn't yet fully realise.
Ed circled the bottom right connection of the array and wrote, 'Ishval'
"No," Al whispered.
Steadily, Ed filled in all the names on the array, leaving Fotset, Liore, and Briggs blank, because those hadn't happened yet.
"He's going to do it again," Al whispered, turning a horrified stare on Ed. "Brother–"
Ed looked down to write, 'He'll activate it spring 1915 during eclipse. We can stop him,' then turned a hard stare on Al and, when he looked up, mouthed, 'We will stop him, Alphonse.'
Al swallowed, looked down at the damning array, then firmed his jaw and looked back up at Ed, determination and fear warring in his eyes. "You have a plan."
Ed flashed him a grin that felt far too sharp, then turned back to his paper, pulling out a fresh sheet to write, 'Hohenheim already working on way to nullify DitF's array which will activate no matter what but I rather it not be necessary'
"Same."
Ed nodded. 'DitF has way to block Amestrisan alchemy but it doesn't effect Xingan alkahestry'
"Hence the reason you want to go study it."
Ed snorted. 'Yes. There's Ishvalan we call "Scar" who starts going after State Alchemists in some yrs. His brother created array to keep DitF from blocking our alchemy but I'd rather not depend on it if we don't have to'
"Brother?" Al interrupted uncertainly, and Ed glanced over at his frown. "When you say 'going after State Alchemists'..."
'Killing'
Al just stared at him for a moment, then swallowed and asked, "Did he...come after us?"
Ed clenched his jaw and nodded.
Al took a deep breath and said, "Okay."
'I've idea about how to make him stop + listen,' Ed wrote. 'Later tho okay?'
"Okay," Al agreed, sounding a bit like he really wanted to say, "No, it's not okay!"
Ed quirked a smile at that, even as he rubbed at his wrist a bit; all this writing was making it start to ache.
Al cleared his throat, shooting Ed's wrist a pointed look. "Was there anything else important?"
Ed shrugged; there were half a dozen things he still needed to tell his brother, like them being sacrifices, and about the homunculi, and how most of the military brass were in on this bullshit.
"Can it wait?"
Ed sighed. Yeah, all that could wait. But there was one thing that couldn't: 'Hohenheim was the 1 to suggest that what we transmuted wasn't Mum. Granny + I checked and it wasn't. We didn't kill her a 2nd time' And then he set down his pen and held his arm out for a hug.
Al slumped and curled willingly into his embrace, pressing his face against Ed's collar and catching his fists in his shirt. "We didn't kill her again," he whispered, as though it wouldn't be real if it wasn't spoken aloud. "She didn't suffer even more."
Ed just tightened his arm around his brother, gave him whatever time he needed to collect himself.
Eventually, Al pulled away and straightened. "We should get you back to bed before Granny starts really yelling."
Ed sighed and collected all the papers he'd just written on, then clapped and deconstructed them into dust.
"...how are you doing that?" Al asked, staring at Ed's hands.
Ed glanced at him, shrugged, then picked up his pen and wrote, 'Trick I picked up from Scar. Stopping at deconstruction'
Al blinked at that, then picked up the page Ed had just written that on and, frowning in concentration, clapped his hands together.
The paper burst into perfectly-shaped, miniature square confetti.
Ed couldn't stop a snort and, when Al shot him a wounded look, he found himself laughing. It was nice, being able to laugh at something so utterly stupid and normal, and it got even better when he caught a smile on Al's face.
'Seriously,' he wrote once he'd calmed down enough that his handwriting would be legible, 'you're such control-freak'
"How rude!" Al complained, the glint of amusement in his eyes belying his tone. "Just because you can't be arsed to pay attention to details doesn't make me a control-freak!"
'My details are COOL'
(Well, okay, he'd mostly grown out of the phase where he felt the need to add skulls and spikes to everything ever – assisted, of course, by his inability to do alchemy – but it had never stopped being fun to suggest them to Al just to make him twitch.)
Al moaned.
Ed grinned to himself while he collected his papers, leaving Al's crane on the table for him to decide what to do with.
Before he could actually pick up his pen and clipboard, Al snagged them, and Ed glanced over to watch as he stood. "Come on," Al prompted.
Ed sighed and shook his head, then grabbed his crutch and levered himself out of his chair, wincing when the change in position pulled on his port.
Al was at his side in a heartbeat, expression pained. "Brother–"
Ed shook his head, then motioned towards the door with his free hand and started making his careful way over there.
Al waited until they were out in the hallway before asking, "Can you teach me Xingan?"
Ed glanced down at the top page of his clipboard, which was his Xingan list, then gave a cautious nod; he'd try. It was harder when he couldn't actually speak the proper pronunciation, but, if anyone could learn a language with substandard assistance, it would be Al.
Al helped him back onto the patient bed and settled into the stool next to the bed once he'd handed back over Ed's clipboard. He stared at Ed's stump for a long moment, his expression shadowed, before mumbling, "It's not fair."
'It is,' Ed wrote, setting his clipboard between Al and his stump, so he couldn't not see it.
Al shook his head and shot Ed a guilty look. "But–"
Ed snapped his fingers to shut Al up, which worked surprisingly well, then quickly wrote, 'I've had automail leg for 19yrs Al. I'm fine. + if I have to be mute so you don't suffer like you did GOOD. I'm HAPPY'
Al stared at that note for a long moment, before looking up at Ed, tears in his eyes, and whispering, "Like I suffered?"
Ed clenched his jaw and stared down at his clipboard for a long moment before writing, 'Your toll would have been whole body'
Al flinched.
Ed circled 'I'm HAPPY' and shoved it at Al, using his pen to point at it.
Al ducked his head. "Okay," he whispered.
Ed didn't sigh, though he wanted to; they really were too much alike, always taking on each other's burdens. He reached out and ruffled Al's hair. 'Idiot,' he mouthed when Al glanced up at him. 'I love you.'
Al jumped off the stool and hugged Ed hard. "I love you, too, Brother."
Yeah, they'd be okay.
Al hadn't left until Granny finally came to shoo him to bed. And while they hadn't really discussed anything particularly heavy – "You should rest your hand, Brother!" – Ed had passed on a few of the arrays he'd picked up during his travels, because Al would actually maybe need to know a few healing arrays, now he had a real body.
Ed didn't see Al the next day until almost dinner time, when he puffed his way into the patient room with a stack of books. He dropped them onto the bed where Ed's left leg should have been and announced, "I thought you might be bored."
Ed frowned and picked up the book on the top of the stack, opened it to a random page and found...Xingan writing.
These were Hohenheim's Xingan journals.
Ed turned a startled look on his brother; Al had gone back to the house?
Al folded his arms over his chest. "I saw the–the grave. And it's not–" He took a deep breath and set his face with determination. "You paid both our tolls and buried the–it. That's not equivalent, Brother. So I cleaned up Dad's study and the b-blood in the hallway and I got you the books because I know you've got to be bored. And I got Granny to agree to let me and Winry go to East City–"
'WHAT?' Ed shouted. Or, well, mouthed with a forcefully-expelled breath.
Al pointed a shaking finger at him. "You made hand signs at the lieutenant colonel, right? I'm going to find books so I can learn them and be your voice, and then you don't have to write all the time and wear out your hand. Winry says she wants to learn too, so we're going to go together, because four eyes are better than two. And Granny got Mr Roberts to agree to take us when he goes with his shipment of wool and we'll have to help him with that first, but he's willing to stay in the city for a couple days and show us around to the shops, so it's–it's going to be a couple days, but you have books, now, and Granny's still here, so you'll be okay."
Ed stared at him for a long moment, not sure how to react to all that. Al wanted to...be his voice? Like...help share Ed's toll? (He really shouldn't be surprised by that.)
And, well, it was true that Ed wouldn't always be able to write to communicate, so sign language was a viable alternative. It wasn't widely known, outside of military signals for covert operations, but if both Winry and Al learnt it, that was two people who Ed could communicate with even when he didn't have paper.
He picked up his clipboard and, bracing it against his right leg, wrote, 'I only know handful of military signs'
Al blinked, then his mouth hitched up at one side with the suggestion of a smile. "So we'll all learn together."
Ed offered a smile that felt a little helpless in return and nodded; yes, they would.
Al swallowed and asked, "Was there anything I should look for? For you?"
For him? Ed glanced down at the pile of Hohenheim's journals. No, this would keep him distracted for a few months, especially if he was also going to be picking up sign language and teaching Al Xingan. (Somehow.)
East City, though... Tucker would be aiming for his licence in a couple years; could Ed rightfully ask Mustang to try and stop him? After the way he'd stormed out?
He snorted to himself; for Nina, he would have to try. Even if Mustang couldn't save her mum, at least he would know how that bastard had made a talking chimera and could get Nina the fuck out of that house.
'Can you deliver a letter to Mustang for me?' he wrote.
Al frowned. "The lieutenant colonel?"
'Straight to him or Hawkeye,' Ed agreed, because he knew that most soldiers would snoop, and Ed only trusted a handful of people in East City Command, only two of whom Al would recognise right now.
"Is it...our answer to his offer?" Al guessed.
Ed frowned; he should probably put something about that in there, that it would be a few years before he'd be willing to join the military. And he should probably explain, a bit, that it's the military high command that are his enemies, but Grumman and Mustang's team are clean. And Hughes, although, Ed suspected there was nothing he could say to make Mustang distrust Hughes or Hawkeye.
'In part,' he wrote. 'I told him to be careful because he's got enemies all around but he should know he has allies too'
"Us?"
Ed nodded. 'His hand-picked team + his friend in Central. + East City commander'
Al nodded in understanding. "Okay. Do you still have to write it?"
Ed sighed.
Al let out a quiet, knowing laugh. "We're leaving a little after lunch tomorrow, so you've got time."
Ed snorted and nodded; it shouldn't take too much time for him to write, once he'd decided exactly how much to divulge.
Al started shifting the Xingan journals over to the medical tray-turned-bedside table that Ed usually left his clipboard on overnight, so he didn't chance losing the pen. "Can you...teach me the signs you already know?" he asked a bit uncertainly.
Ed smiled and ruffled Al's hair. When his brother looked up, he nodded, then wrote the ones he knew down, so he could point to them as he made them.
As if he could deny his brother something so simple.
Roy Mustang,
There are a few things that I feel I need to communicate to you. First, my answer: I'm happy to try for the State Alchemist program eventually, but I'm more interested in studying Xingan alchemy for the moment, which is fundamentally different from ours. (As an alchemist yourself, I'm sure you understand the draw.) Once we return to Amestris in a few years, I'll take the test, with your support. (And if you're not a colonel by then, I'll be EXTREMELY disappointed.)
I wasn't lying about your enemies; there is corruption in the military high command, and while most of the people involved are stationed in Central, their positions allow them plenty of spies looking to trade promotion or benefits for secrets. You don't need to automatically distrust everyone out of hand – there are good people in East Command, including your adjunct and her grandfather – but take care; there's a reason you were posted to East City, rather than Central, despite your combat prowess.
If you decide to go digging for information, I have three cautions for you: 1) You and your allies are replaceable to your enemies–if you're caught, they will kill you; 2) If you see someone with an ouroboros tattoo, run; 3) Beware the shadows, especially in Central City.
Last, I have a request: There is a chimera alchemist in East City (or nearby, I'm not completely certain) named Shou Tucker. He'll take the exam in a couple years, using a chimera capable of human speech as the proof of his skills. It will say "I want to die" and then starve itself. That chimera is a human-animal hybrid, using his wife. If he's not stopped, he'll use his daughter next. If you can't save his wife, please PLEASE at least save Nina. Equivalent exchange: I'll tell you anything you want to know if you can keep her safe.
Take care of yourself and your people.
Edward Elric
Ed woke with a start when the bed shifted unexpectedly, and he was reaching for knives he no longer had before he became aware of his surroundings and the warm body trying to fit on the small patient bed with him. 'Al?' he mouthed in recognition and concern.
Al didn't hear him, of course, but he let out a quiet, miserable, "Sorry," when Ed turned onto his side so his brother had space.
Ed shook his head and wrapped his arms around his brother, hating that there was no way for him to ask what was wrong.
Al pressed himself tight against Ed, his whole frame shaking enough that the transmitted vibrations made his stump ache.
"Shh," Ed whispered into Al's hair, rubbing his back.
Slowly, eventually, Al settled, his breathing evening out and his shaking melting away.
Ed sighed and closed his eyes. A nightmare, he'd guess. Not surprising, given the recent hell they'd suffered, and cleaning up the house? Ed never would have asked him to do that. Fuck, they'd just left it, the last time, since they ended up burning everything down.
Well, at least Al didn't have any memories of what they'd transmuted. That was one nightmare Ed was happy to take to his grave alone.
Still. There was no way they could do this even semi-regularly, and Ed was getting kind of sick of being stuck in the patient room, anyway. Last time, because Al had been large enough to carry him around, they'd set him up in the room that had originally been Auntie Sarah and Uncle Yuriy's, which had sort of turned into his and Al's shared room for whenever they visited. He assumed Al was sleeping up there for the moment, but since Granny had put a moratorium on him attempting stairs, Ed was stuck downstairs. Which sucked.
Well, Al and Winry were going to be gone for a couple days, which meant fewer eyes watching for Ed to do something stupid; he could just move himself upstairs and, once he was up there, Granny would have to deal. Unless she wanted him going back down them again. (And Ed was happy to tell her, from experience, that going up those stairs was a hell of a lot easier than going down them when you only had one fully-functioning leg.)
You know, he didn't remember her being such a stickler about him staying in bed last time. But, then, he hadn't been as mobile last time, his centre of balance completely skewed, and Al had been able to carry him. Too, Al hadn't been able to sleep, so he hadn't needed a bed; he'd spent the nights in the hallway or Ed's room, sitting against the wall in grim silence.
Ed pressed his nose to Al's hair and took a deep breath, centred himself with the scents of clean soap and old paper and the motor-oil smell that always clung to skin after a couple hours in the Rockbell house.
Not cold steel.
Ed smiled bitterly, wondered if there would ever be a time when he didn't find his brother's living body a wonder.
Unlikely.
Even as adults, he'd often caught himself reaching out to touch Al's shoulder or his cheek, just to check. Winry had done it too, had spent the two years before they'd gone travelling just randomly hugging Al, or catching his hand and holding on tight. They'd calmed down a bit over the years, but Ed had still, sometimes, grabbed his brother's shoulder just because it was in reach.
Al had understood. He'd told Ed, once, that their touches were reassuring to him, too. Little reminders that he could feel, that he had a real body again. And, too, that he wasn't the only one still trying to get used to it.
This Al would never suffer that, and Ed was...so fucking grateful.
Ed tightened his arms around his brother.
So what if Ed couldn't comfort his brother with words; he still had touch, and he'd always been better with touch than with words.
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