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batsutousaiTitle: Skin Deep
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood/manga
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, transboy!Ed, transphobia & trans erasure, gender dysphoria, support where you least expect it, hurt/comfort, menstruation talk, unwanted advances, canon typical violence
Summary: Trisha and Van's first child, Edith, was born a beautiful, healthy girl. The only problem? Ed knew he was a boy.
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Some scenes are taken from the manga.
A/N: I...have no idea what I'm doing. This little bunny just hopped up onto my shoulder and started whispering into my ear, and I'm powerless to resist cute little bunnies, especially when they're whispering lgbtqia+ ideas, because I am weak, and the world needs more lgbtqia+ representation.
I am not trans, and I've admittedly never had any in depth conversations with any of the trans men I know, so if you see something completely wrong or if something makes you go 'wtf', please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it.
That said, the first scene does use female pronouns, despite Ed's gender, because it's from Trisha's PoV (Ed's a little young to have a PoV), and, as much as I think she was an awesome mum, even the best parents have their failings, and I don't think Trisha would have wanted to give up on having a daughter. (That said, if she'd survived, I think she'd eventually have come around, especially once she realised just how much damage she was doing to Ed by refusing to accept who he is.)
I waffled about pairings for a long while, because I have my OTP and I love it. But this isn't a story about Ed falling in love, this is a story about how canon might have changed if Ed had a female body even though he's male, and any shipping would take away from that. So.
That said, there is a brief, one-sided Greed/Ed in the second chapter, because Greed is a creeper and stuck in the body of a sixteen-year-old. Absolutely no one is amused.
You can also read this at Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction.Net, or tumblr.
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"I hate my name," Edith told Trisha when she was four.
Trisha just smiled at her daughter and kissed her head. "It's a beautiful name, as befitting such a beautiful girl."
Edith crossed her arms over her chest and did her best scowl, which really just looked cute. "I'm not beautiful," she insisted.
"Of course you are, as lovely as can be."
"And I'm not a girl," Edith added, raising her voice like she was trying to talk over Trisha.
Trisha blinked in confusion, then sighed and left off making dinner to crouch down next to her eldest. "Sweetheart, you know how Alphonse has different parts under his pants than you do?" Because one of the dangers of being an only mother with two extremely rambunctious children, was that sometimes you had to throw propriety out the window when it came to bath time.
Edith frowned a bit and nodded; she'd asked about it before.
"Those are the parts little boys have. You, however, have the parts little girls have, which makes you..." She motioned for Edith to finish the sentence.
Edith's shoulder's slumped and she looked, for a moment, like she might cry. "A girl," she whispered.
Trisha sighed and drew her daughter into a hug. "It's not a bad thing, being a girl. Mum was a girl, too, when she was your age. And so were Granny Pinako and Auntie Sarah."
"I don't wanna be a girl," Edith said, so quietly Trisha wasn't certain she was supposed to have heard it.
Trisha bit back a sigh and kissed Edith's forehead, wishing Van hadn't gone hunting for a way to become mortal. She loved and missed him, certainly, but his legacy – impossible alchemic talent, Xerxesian colouring, and, now, whatever this was – was something she struggled to manage on her own, and she was never certain she wasn't leading their children to ruin.
"Just give it time, Edith," she whispered. "One day, you'll be glad you're a girl."
"Al," Ed said, staring down at their mother's grave.
"Yeah?" Al replied into his knees.
"Can you...call me 'brother', from now on?"
Al looked up and shot Ed a confused look. "But...you're my sister. Mum said."
Ed looked down at his – her? Mum would want it to be 'her', but Ed didn't feel like a her, hated his body because it was wrong, wrong, wrong – hands and clenched them tight. "I know. But...could you do it anyway? For me?"
Al was quiet for a long moment, until Ed finally looked up and met his little brother's sad, tired eyes. "Okay, Brother," Al said.
Ed swallowed back tears – boys didn't cry and he hated his body for always doing everything wrong – and knelt to hug Al, feeling so impossibly relieved. "Thank you," he whispered.
Al hugged him back just as tight, like he knew. Like he got how much Ed had needed that, even though Ed hadn't known.
Ed swallowed again and leant up to kiss Al's forehead, just like Mum always did. "Let's go home," he said, standing up and tugging on Al's arm.
Al sighed and cast one last heartbroken look at Mum's grave, then said, "I'm coming, Brother." Like it was natural. Like Ed'd always been his brother.
(Maybe, Ed hoped, it was because, to Al, he had been.)
"Ed?" Winry asked when they left for school one morning, Al waving wildly after them from the Rockbell porch.
"Winry?" Ed returned, grinning and waving back at his brother.
"Why is Al calling you 'Brother'?"
Ed tripped and barely managed to right himself by catching Winry's shoulder with one hand. She grabbed his elbow, keeping him steady, and shot him a concerned look while he forced himself to take a deep breath and figure out what to say. Winry had been the one to suggest 'Ed' as an alternative to 'Edith' the first time she'd heard him complain about his birth name, but she was a girl. Would she be just like Mum had, insisting Ed would grow into it?
He swallowed, then replied, "I'mnotagirlI'maboyandAlsaidit'scoolhe'llcallmeBrother."
Winry just sort of blinked at him for a moment, then shook her head and started walking again, using her grip on Ed's elbow to drag him along after. "Mum and Dad and Granny and Auntie Trisha all say – said – you're a girl," she pointed out in that irritating 'these are the facts' voice she'd got from Auntie Sarah.
"I'm not, though," Ed muttered, ducking his head; he shouldn't have told her. Of course she'd listen to the adults instead of him. It'd probably be all over town by the end of the day that Ed was all mixed up and thought he was a boy. Funny little Ed, no father, no mother, all mixed up. Knock him around a little, that'll help.
But then Winry said, "Okay."
Ed blinked, thrown. "Okay?" he repeated.
"Okay." Winry let go of his elbow and laced her fingers together in front of her pretty sundress, one of the ones Ed had thrown a temper tantrum over receiving, then been forced into and ordered outside to play with Winry. Winry'd offered to trade him, because she'd liked it, and Ed had liked the overalls she'd been wearing, and Mum had thrown her hands up when Ed'd come home and muttered about how 'at least someone appreciates my hard work'. (Ed'd only felt a little bad.)
They walked the rest of the way to the schoolhouse in silence. And, by the end of the day, no one was pointing fingers at him or whispering while casting him funny looks. And Winry grabbed his elbow, same as always, and said, "Let's head home, Ed!"
And Al called him 'Brother' and Winry called him 'Ed', and Granny sometimes looked at them a bit odd, but she never asked.
And even though Mum was gone and Auntie Sarah and Uncle Yuriy were far away and he missed them all a lot and wished they were all home and alive, Ed was happy.
It was almost a month after getting stuck on that island, that Ed took his chance and approached Teacher with a question he needed to ask, something that was important to him in a different way than having Mum back. Al'd already fallen asleep, and Ed was pretty tired himself, but he still made himself go back downstairs to where Teacher was making a note of the day's sales in her ledger.
She startled a bit when she saw him, and asked, "Ed? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
Ed swallowed and shuffled forward, pulling himself up into the chair across from her. "I had a question."
Teacher gingerly set her pencil to the side and folded her fingers together over the open ledger. "And?"
Ed couldn't manage to meet her eyes, instead looked down to trace the whorls on the table with his eyes. "Is there any way to–" No, that wasn't quite right. "I-if your– If someone's body was...wrong, can it be...fixed? With alchemy?"
"Wrong how?" Teacher asked in her patient tone. The one that reminded Ed of Mum and made the loss of her ache that much worse.
"Like the– Like they've got the wrong...parts. Down there." He pointed down, toward his lap. (That part of his anatomy that lied, made everyone who knew about it think he was a she.)
Teacher was quiet for a long moment, and when Ed finally found the courage to glance up at her, he found her watching him with something that looked a lot like grief. "I'm afraid," she offered once he was looking up at her, "that the body we're born with, is the body we die with; there's no alchemy that can fix that."
Ed felt like his heart had just plummeted into his stomach, was being burnt away by the acid there, because that meant– She was saying–
"I see," he whispered, and forced himself to get up and walk out, to go back up to his and Al's shared room and climb into his brother's bed.
"Brofer?" Al mumbled sleepily.
"Bad dream," Ed whispered, petting his brother's hair. "Go back to sleep."
Al made a sad sort of noise and twisted, dropping one arm over Ed's side and burrowing his nose against Ed's chest. "Hugs now," he mumbled. "Better in morning."
Ed closed his eyes and hugged Al close, couldn't explain that morning wouldn't change anything.
He would never escape his body.
Teacher had never brought up that conversation again, apparently content to let him have his secrets. And she didn't start treating him different, except maybe to make him train harder, be faster, better, more able to hold his own against anyone. Just like her.
Ed had no idea if he was grateful or not, but the one time he actually managed to beat Al was a wonder, and even if he never managed to do so again, he had that one victory to hold close to his heart, remind him that even his wrong body could hold its own, if he only trained it hard enough.
That was worth all the pulled muscles in the world.
"The front plate is going to get in the way of your breasts," Granny said flatly as she passed her and Winry's designs for Ed's new automail arm over to him.
Al made a vaguely horrified noise, like that was maybe something he'd never wanted to hear, but Ed was too lost in his own world of disgust to worry about his brother. "So?" he snarled. "I don't fuckin' want 'em!"
Granny oh-so-calmly took a draw of her pipe, then breathed out the cloud of smoke to one side. "What you do and don't want has no bearing on your body, Edith," she finally said, her tone hard.
Ed flinched at the hated name and scrunched down in his chair a bit; just because Granny had given in to his requests that she use his nickname, didn't mean she wouldn't use his birth name to cut him back down to that confused little child he'd been before Al and Winry had so readily accepted him. "I know that," he whispered, and hated that his voice came out thick, like he was maybe trying not to cry. (He wasn't. Boys don't cry.)
"Brother..." Al whispered, and Ed couldn't find it in himself to shrug away the empty gauntlet that came to rest on his shoulder. (At least, now, he wasn't the only one in the wrong body. And he hated himself for thinking that, but it was also a reminder; he knew this hell, and he might be trapped in it forever, but he could free Al. He would free Al.)
"Well, as long as Ed comes back for adjustments regularly, we can work around it, right?" Winry offered a bit helplessly.
Ed didn't look up, had no interest in meeting the stare he knew Granny would have focussed on him.
There was a click as Granny's pipe hit the ashtray. "Fine. But the moment you feel sore, you need to come back," she snapped, and Ed immediately started nodding. "I mean it, Ed," she snapped. "Don't go ignoring my warnings just because you think you know better."
That...stung. She'd meant it to, he knew, but that didn't soften the blow at all. Because, if he'd listened to Teacher and all those other alchemists who'd said no human transmutation, Al wouldn't be trapped in the wrong body, and Mum wouldn't be dead all over again.
"Yes, Granny," he said quietly. Defeated.
Granny grunted and took the plans back. "Good. We'll get started in the morning. For now, dinner."
They were silent as she shuffled out of the room, the smoke of her pipe trailing after her. Once she was gone, though, Winry knelt next to him, peering up at him. "Hey, Ed?"
"What?" he snapped, defensive.
She didn't flinch, knew him far too well to let his snarling get to her. "We'll figure something out. And, hey! Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll be super tiny!" Her eyes sparkled in that way they always did when she was teasing him, and Ed–
"Who the fuck're you calling so small no one'll ever notice him?!"
–took the bait, and gladly.
Winry laughed and Al sighed and Ed had no idea what he'd do without them.
Al could have been standing at his side, but Ed had desperately needed to meet the lieutenant colonel and take the State Alchemist exam on his own. This was his sin, not his brother's, and he needed to prove – at least to himself – that he didn't need his brother behind him, pushing him forward and scaring off all opposition.
He was not some weak-willed little girl.
(Which he would never say aloud around Winry, because she'd think he was insulting her and murder him.)
He announced himself at the gate, and it didn't take Mustang long to show, the blonde woman that had been at Granny's following behind him. (Riza, Winry had said her name was, when Al had asked. Not that Ed really cared, or anything.)
"Hey, Lieutenant Colonel," Ed said, glaring up at the man. He looked bored, which just ticked Ed off; this guy was the one who'd told him to come!
"I've been promoted to colonel while you were taking so long so long to make up your mind," the fucker said.
Ed was going to punch him in the face and feel zero regrets.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mustang asked, and it almost sounded like he was worried for a second. But, no, his expression was still bored.
Ed let out a loud bark, then snapped, "You want me to wag my tail, too?"
Mustang's expression finally changed, mouth twisting with a smile, and he let out a quiet laugh. "All right, then. To Central!"
Which, weirdly, was exactly that easy. Almost like Mustang had known Ed would show up that day, because the tickets were already booked, and Mustang and Riza already had bags, packed into the back of the car that picked them up to take them to the station.
Ed wasn't sure if he was more creeped out, or impressed.
Once on the train, in a private cabin – Ed tried not to look around like a country bumpkin – Mustang cleared his throat and said, "Miss El–"
"Mister," Ed snapped, because no fucking way he was going to let the military misgender him; he'd managed to leave that part of his life behind while he'd been in Dublith, and he was damn well going to do it again.
Mustang blinked once, then looked at Riza with both eyebrows raised. "The name we have on file is Edith, right?" he asked her.
"My name is Ed," Ed insisted, even as Riza nodded and agreed, "That's correct, sir."
Mustang looked back at him, gave him one quick look-over, then turned back to Riza. "Clearly," he said blandly, "the ages weren't the only mistake in that file. Please ring back to East when we get in and have Falman correct 'Edith' to 'Edward'."
For one moment, Ed couldn't quite comprehend what he'd just heard, because it was just– Impossible.
"I'll see to it right away, sir," Riza agreed, looking down to make a note on the pad of paper she was holding in her lap.
This man, with his high-fuck attitude and his military blues, had just completely rewritten Ed's future. Hadn't asked why, hadn't made a face or tried to tell Ed he was a girl. He'd just...given Ed a new name and that was it. He was a boy, so far as the military's records were concerned.
"Now then, Mr Elric," Mustang said, turning back to him. "If you'll focus for a moment–"
"Thank you," Ed breathed, couldn't have held the words in if his life had been on the line. Because Winry and Al siding with him, that had made sense, they were family. But Mustang, he didn't owe Ed anything.
"It's just correcting paperwork, nothing to thank me for," Mustang replied with a careless wave of his hand and a shrug. And then his eyes sharpened, narrowed, and his mouth curled with a smirk. "Preparing you for the State Alchemist exam, however. That you can thank me for. Assuming your attention span isn't too short–"
"Who're you calling so tiny he's not worth the effort to find?!" Ed shouted, the retort automatic.
Mustang let out a loud, slightly startled laugh, while Riza just sighed.
That was the last Ed heard about Mustang changing military records for him. Any time Mustang needed to remind Ed that he had blackmail on him, it was always the human transmutation, and as much as Ed hated him for using that horrible night against him, there weren't words for how grateful he was that Mustang never questioned his gender.
When Ed was fourteen, on their way back from a mission, he used the loo in the train, and found blood leaking from between his legs.
Panic raised its ugly head right away, and Ed had to grab the washbasin and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, trying to get himself to breathe, to think.
Nothing hurt. (Or, well, nothing hurt more than usual; the ports for his automail always ached a little, and his growing chest under the binding Winry had helped him find as soon as it started being noticeable was a pretty constant source of discomfort.) He hadn't got into a fight during his most recent mission, had barely had to exert himself at all. (Which had sucked, a bit; he hated boring missions.)
Blood coming from his girl parts... Now he was calming down, he could sort of remember Granny saying something about that. That it was...normal. (Like any part of his body was normal.) But he couldn't remember any more than that, hadn't really been paying attention to her. (Zoning out when someone started talking about girl things was a habit of his.)
Shit. He was going to need to go back to Resembool. He couldn't... This wasn't something he could just ask about on the phone. Which meant he'd have to ask Mustang to give him a bit of leave, or some shit, and that sounded like fun. (Bastard might have been willing to give Ed his gender without comment, but fucked if he wasn't a complete and utter bastard about everything else.)
Fuck, what excuse could he give? And what the fuck was he supposed to do about this mess until they got back to Resembool?
He did his best to wipe off the blood that had already leaked out, then yanked out a shit-tonne of toilet paper and clapped, attaching it to his boxers as best he could, hoping it would soak up any more blood.
And then, wincing in discomfort at the odd sensation of excess stuff between his legs, he went back out to Al and lowered himself gingerly into his original spot.
Al, of course, noticed immediately. "Brother?" he asked, voice near dripping with concern.
"Just need to see Granny about something," Ed muttered.
"Oh. Okay," Al said, so carelessly, Ed knew his brother was assuming it had something to do with the chest piece of his arm, which they'd had to go back for minor adjustments to a couple of times.
Well, awesome. No fucking way Ed was going to correct him.
Banging into Mustang's office was Ed's favourite way to announce his presence, but with the weird shit his fucked up body was pulling this time, he didn't dare. So he pushed his way in carefully, ignoring the concern Al was radiating behind him, and found himself faced with Mustang's office team, all of whom were starting to look a little worried as they saw him.
"Edward?" Lieutenant Hawkeye called, half-rising from her seat.
Her. Hawkeye was a woman.
Ed almost hit himself.
He shoved his report at Al, instead, hurriedly saying, "Hold that. Lieutenant, can I talk to you for a moment? Privately?"
Al was utterly still, wondering who knew what behind the unchanging face-plate of his armoured body, and the males of Mustang's team all sort of blinked a few times, but Hawkeye smoothly stood and agreed, "Of course, Edward."
She led him to an empty office a few down from Mustang's, closing and locking the door to the main office, then ushering him through to the inner office and closing that door, too. "What's the problem?" she asked gently. Almost kindly. Like Mum.
Ed couldn't breathe for a moment, because what was he thinking?! He couldn't tell Hawkeye, couldn't tell anyone! They'd change how they acted around him, make everyone else suspicious. And they– What if Hawkeye thought he was...a freak? What if she told Mustang and the others and they all had a great laugh and kicked him out for being some sort of mixed up, wrong, freak of nature? What if–
"Edward," Hawkeye stressed, hand firm on his left shoulder. "You need to breathe."
Ed gasped in a lungful of air, almost choked on in, and reached up to grab onto her, steady himself as he tried to calm down.
This was Hawkeye. She was there when Mustang ordered Ed's gender changed in the military's files, had seen him broken in that wheelchair. She'd always greeted him with 'Edward', used it more than she probably needed to, almost like she was reminding him who he was, like she knew he had days where he was trapped in this horrible girl's body and could barely remember that he was a boy.
Like Teacher, who had never once changed how she treated Ed, even though she had to have knew he'd been asking for himself.
"Better?" Hawkeye asked once Ed managed to catch his breath.
He swallowed and nodded, somehow managed to agree, "Yeah." And then, " 'M sorry."
"It's fine," Hawkeye said gently, giving his arm a brief squeeze before drawing back. Her eyes were full of concern, not a hint of judgement, and that gave Ed the courage to speak.
"You know," he started, almost stopped himself, but forced himself to continue, "that I have– that my body is a g-girl's?"
"I had wondered if it wasn't something like that," Hawkeye replied quietly, still no sign of judgement in her eyes.
Ed forced himself to take a deep breath, swallowed down his fear, and got out all in one breath, "Granny said something about girls bleeding down there but I wasn't really paying attention and now it's happened to me and I don't know what to do!"
"You didn't get hurt on your mission?" Hawkeye asked, still quiet, gentle. Calming.
Ed shook his head. "Nothing. It was fine and then I saw on the train and I just– I don't–"
"Okay." Hawkeye squeezed his shoulder again – both of them, looked like, though Ed couldn't feel the right one. "Your grandmother is right, it's a perfectly normal part of growing up for girls. It's call menstruation, and it's a sign that your body is ready to carry a child."
"Fuck. No," Ed bit out, doing his best to tamp down on any panic that rose at the thought.
"Edward," Hawkeye said, way too fucking kind, "there's nothing in the world saying you have to have children. That's your choice, okay? And you're always within your right to say no; I have."
That was... Good. Cool. Reassuring. It helped, and Ed nodded, managing a small smile.
Hawkeye offered him a small smile back, and it didn't look nearly as weird on her face as Ed would have expected. "And, if anyone ever tries to pressure you into sex, especially without protection, punch them in the face until they stop suggesting it. With this fist." She tapped his automail.
Ed surprised himself with a laugh, even as his face heated at the mention of...'sex'. Not something he wanted to try to figure out, not as fucked up as his body was.
She squeezed his shoulder again, her smile fading. "Menstruation, I'm afraid, is something that we just have to deal with. It happens approximately once a month, and it's your body's way of getting rid of everything it had prepared for the chance that you might get pregnant."
"Girl's bodies are stupid," Ed muttered, hugging himself a bit even as he said it, because it may be stupid and wrong, but he was stuck with it. (What little was left.)
"All bodies are stupid," Hawkeye returned with just a hint of humour, and Ed blinked, wondering what that meant. But she didn't explain, just continued with, "The menstrual cycle eventually ends, but that's not for quite some time. For both of us."
That was not heartening.
Hawkeye offered him a slightly apologetic smile. "There are a couple of ways to deal with the blood. You'll probably find it most comfortable to just get some fabric – the more absorbent the better – and shape it into something you can attach to your underwear, but there's a box of disposable pads down in the ladies' locker room that you can use for now, unless you figured something else out?"
Ed shifted, uncomfortably reminded of the wad of toilet paper. "Sort of," he muttered, before shaking his head. "I can't go into the ladies' locker room, anyway."
"Would you like me to get you a couple?" Hawkeye offered.
"I–" Ed stopped, swallowed, tried not to shift again. The things made for this were... They should be more comfortable, he hoped, so it would probably be better. And then, once he knew the design, it would be easy to create replicas, once he got the fabric for it. Which, if he didn't have to go to Resembool, he totally had time to do, even if Mustang sent him right back out again. "O-okay," he agreed at last, tried not to feel like he'd just given in to defeat or whatever shit.
Hawkeye's smile was oddly reassuring. "Okay. Come on, Edward."
And that was...okay. That helped, that reminder that he was still 'Edward'. That hadn't changed. Wouldn't change.
He followed her down to the ladies' locker room and waited outside, trying not to look too conspicuous, until she came back out and ushered him up to a men's toilet that didn't get a lot of use. "I'll be right out here," she promised as she passed him three of the weird little plastic pockets. And Ed knew she meant if he needed her help, but it was...nice, knowing there was someone there who knew, like Al and Winry. And she was on his side.
(And, fuck, if you had Riza Hawkeye on your side, you didn't fucking need anyone else. Not that Ed would give up Al or Winry for anything.)
It took him a bit to puzzle out the 'pad', but it wasn't hard to sort, really, if a little awkward with boxers. (He'd have to figure out some sort of solution for the ones he made, but at least now he had an idea of what he needed.) Better, it was less uncomfortable than the wad of toilet paper – which had done a reasonable job of soaking up the blood, and Ed somewhat jokingly saluted it as he flushed it down – and he felt a lot less awkward when he stepped back out.
"Better?" Hawkeye asked.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat and ducked his head a bit. "Thank you."
Hawkeye touched his left shoulder and, when Ed glanced up at her, he found her wearing that small, kind smile that almost suited her. "Anytime," she promised.
Ed...believed her. Pushed forward to hug her, and while she stiffened for a second, she returned the hug quickly enough that he didn't start thinking he'd overstepped.
Back in Mustang's office, the other soldiers took one look at Hawkeye, then set about their paperwork without saying a word. Mustang, himself, simply raised an eyebrow at Ed's less-exuberant-than-usual entrance, but didn't comment on it, instead accepting Ed's report and making one of the familiar comments about his handwriting.
At last, irritated with Mustang's usually smirky bastard-ness, Ed snapped, "You got anything else for me?"
Mustang opened his mouth, still smirking, but he was interrupted by Hawkeye stepping into the room with a small pile of paperwork. His shoulders slumped slightly, making Ed smirk.
And then Hawkeye said, "Perhaps it's best if Edward takes a couple of days off, sir."
Ed just sort of stared at her, not certain if the rolling of his stomach was betrayal or what.
Mustang's gaze flicked between Ed and Hawkeye twice, before he sighed and leant back in his chair. "It's been a while since you visited Resembool, I believe?"
"Yeah, so?" Ed snapped, crossing his arms tight over his chest.
Mustang's mouth twitched. "Given the lack of broken doors, I can only assume you've done something to your leg. Best to get it looked at."
"Grandmothers, I've heard, tend to be rather deep wells of wisdom," Hawkeye added a bit blandly, then dropped the pile of papers directly in front of Mustang, who's brief befuddled expression twisted into a grimace. "These need to be signed by the end of the day, sir."
This was...Hawkeye's way of telling Ed to talk to Granny? Actually listen this time when she explained all that girl stuff that he didn't want to fucking deal with, but it appeared he wouldn't be given a choice.
It had been a while, and he'd already told Al they should pay a visit. It wouldn't be fair to get his brother's hopes up like that and then just shrug and forget about it, would it?
"Dismissed, Fullmetal," Mustang said as he picked up the paper on the top of the pile Hawkeye had just dropped in front of him. "I don't expect to see you for at least week."
A week's worth of leave? Or more, if he felt he needed it? Mustang was feeling unusually charitable, wasn't he?
"Yeah, yeah," he tossed back over a shoulder as he turned to leave. "Don't wanna be here, lookin' at your old-man wrinkles, anyway."
Mustang mostly managed to muffle whatever noise he'd made in response, but Ed still heard just enough to know he'd won that round. For once.
As he passed his brother, Ed knocked a fist against his chest plate and said, "C'mon. Gotta do a bit of shopping before we catch the train back to Granny's."
"Okay, Brother," Al agreed cheerfully, and Ed knew he'd made the right choice in deciding to visit them after all.
As careless as Ed could sometimes be, he usually managed to avoid hospital stays. Or, at least, be conscious enough to convince Al that he would be fine with just a few plasters or a trip to Resembool. The reason – or a variation on the reason – was currently standing next to his bed with a clipboard and a sever look, while Ed did his best to slump so his unbound chest wasn't as obvious under the thin hospital shirt. (At least he'd lucked out, so far, and his chest had remained small. Or, well, small as compared to Winry, who was the only real comparison he'd ever had.)
"Miss Elric–" the nurse started.
"Mister," Ed snarled, giving her his best glare.
Her stare was flat and unimpressed. "Miss Elric," she repeated, and Ed wanted to scream, "you have minor cuts on your left side, left shoulder, right temple, and left cheek. Your abdomen is also badly bruised. It is highly recommended that you remain in bed."
"Fine," Ed muttered, as if he couldn't tell that he would just hurt himself more if he got out of bed. Anyway, it wasn't like he could do anything with his arm busted. Which, actually... "Could I get a sling for my arm?" he pointed at the automail to show what he meant.
The nurse stared at him for a long moment, as though expecting to find bad intentions written across his face, before finally giving a quick nod. "Fine. I'll go find one and let those soldiers who admitted you in." Then she turned to leave.
"Soldiers?" Ed repeated, confused and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. There had been soldiers? Who? What did they know?
And where the fuck was Al? Please let him be okay.
The nurse didn't respond to his inquiry, just left the room, holding the door open for a reluctant Second Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh.
His stomach bottomed out somewhere down by his toes, and Ed made a desperate, one-armed attempt to cover his chest.
Brosh rather obviously took a deep breath, then put on a bright smile and stepped fully inside the room. "Edward!" he called in greeting, and Ed couldn't help the way his shoulders loosened in relief as Brosh continued, "It's good to see you're finally awake!"
Ross was trailing after Brosh, looking uncertain, but Brosh was still smiling, and Ed focussed on him as he asked, "Where am I?"
"This is a clinic run by a friend of Second Lieutenant Ross. We thought it would be best not to take you to a military hospital, in case they started asking questions about the lab explosion."
Explosion?!
"You can stay here until you're well, sir."
"Ma'am," Ross corrected, and something like ice shivered down Ed's spine.
"I'm a boy," he snapped, scowling at her.
Ross stared back at him, her expression tight with some emotion Ed couldn't read. "With all due respect, ma'am–"
"Lieutenant," Brosh tried, sounding strained.
"–your appearance suggests otherwise."
Ed wanted to scream. He hated his body, hated that other people went around making fucking assumptions about him based on parts that he didn't want. And nothing he said ever seemed to make a difference.
Where was Al?
"Sir?" Brosh called, and a hand lightly touched Ed's head. "Edward?"
Edward. The name Mustang had given him; the one that Hawkeye always used; the one that meant 'you are male'.
"My name," he got out, and his voice was too fucking tight, giving away the angry – angry, not ashamed; why did he always have to fight for his gender?! – tears he was doing his best to hold back, "is Edward Elric. I. Am. A. Boy."
"Lieutenant," Brosh said, his hand still warm on Ed's head.
And Ed couldn't bring himself to look up, to watch whatever silent communication was passing between them, because he didn't want to know. He couldn't watch as someone he was actually, sort of growing to like, denied who he was. Just like Mum had.
There came the sound of military boots striking efficiently against the floor, and then the room door opened and closed.
"Edward?" Brosh said quietly, hand still on Ed's head. "Are you okay?"
Ed swallowed, wasn't sure if he was more grateful Brosh had stayed, or more hurt that Ross had left. "I'm fine," he said. Lied.
Brosh was quiet for a long moment, before he crouched down next to the bed, finally letting off Ed's head. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, then said, "Listen, sir. What we came in to say, really, was that, what you did? Disobeying Major Armstrong's order to stay put? That was stupid and reckless and you could have got both you and your brother killed."
Ed clenched his jaw because, fuck, Brosh was right. He'd gone and fucking endangered Al again. And maybe Al had been on board the whole way, but Ed was the elder brother, so it was his job to keep them from doing stupid shit. And he'd failed.
"I know it might not seem like it, especially right now, but it's okay to trust adults sometimes."
Like Teacher – who would kill him if she ever found out what they'd done, but that was beside the point – and Mustang and Hawkeye. Like Brosh.
Ed swallowed and ducked his head a bit more, staring down at the too-obvious bumps under his hospital shirt. "I'm sorry," he whispered, hated how young he sounded. How much like a little girl.
Brosh was quiet for a moment, his uniform letting out quiet, shifting noises, before he lightly pressed his fist to the right side of Ed's face. "Just...don't do it again, okay? You got out alive this time, but that's not a guarantee."
"I know," Ed admitted, because he did. Because he'd given up his right arm in a desperate attempt to keep Al alive, and he'd have died when he faced Scar if it hadn't been for Mustang. And in the lab, fighting against those brothers...he'd been lucky. That was all.
Brosh's hand moved to rest lightly on his right shoulder, high enough up that Ed could just feel the touch. "Do you want to see if I can find you a bigger shirt?" he asked, sounding a little uncomfortable.
A bigger shirt?
Ed blinked as he realised what Brosh meant: A baggier shirt. One that would hide his chest a bit better. "Yes, please," he breathed, finally looking up.
Brosh smiled at him. And it looked a little strained, but it wasn't disgusted or disapproving or anything. "I'll be right back, then," he promised, and pushed against the bed to stand.
"Sergeant?" Ed called after him before Brosh reached the door.
"Sir?" Brosh returned, looking back at him.
Ed shook his head at the continued 'sir'ing, even if it was...kinda nice. "Thank you," he said, putting as much honestly and gratitude into the words as he could.
Brosh's smile wasn't even a little bit strained as he replied, "Any time." And Ed...
Believed him.
Sometimes, Winry was so cool about Ed being male, he forgot that she knew he had female parts. Which was probably what occurred to her when they were all standing outside the room Satella and Ridel were waiting in, and Winry had grabbed his arm. "Come on, Ed! I need your help."
"I can't go in there!" Ed shouted, trying to free himself before she could drag him through the door; being intrigued by Satella's pregnant belly didn't mean he wanted any part in a birth!
Winry looked back at him, her eyes wide and still a little terrified. "Ed, please. I need someone I trust," she whispered.
Ed couldn't say no to that, and they both knew it. "Fuck," he snarled, yanking his arm away so he could shrug out of his jacket, leaving him in just his vest and binding. "Stay out here," he told Al, passing over his jacket.
Al nodded. "Uh-huh."
"You're such a pain," Ed muttered to Winry as he followed her into the room.
She flashed him a grateful smile, then turned toward the LeCoultes. "Ed's going to help," she explained.
When Satella and Ridel both shot him surprised looks, he put on his best reassuring smile and shrugged a bit helplessly, because there was no way he was explaining why Winry'd decided to ask a boy to be her assistant.
And, fuck. It was weird and kinda creepy, but also a little bit cool. And Ed still had no interest in ever being involved in another pregnancy, but, in the end, hearing the tiny baby give its first cry and seeing Satella and Ridel's wide, relieved smiles, sort of made it worth it, a bit.
As he carried Winry out, he muttered, "I can't believe you dragged me in there," even though it was clear from Paninya's reaction to seeing the blood after the fact, that Ed had been the best choice, gender notwithstanding.
"I'm sorry," Winry said against the back of his head. "I didn't really think about it, just..." She took a deep breath, then said, "I, uhm, I opened your watch and saw what was inside."
Ed dropped her.
"Hey!" Winry complained. "That–"
Ed turned on her and demanded, "You forced it open?!" Why would she do something like that?!
Winry ducked her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "I'm really sorry."
Ed squeezed his eyes shut and tamped down on the feeling of betrayal, reminding himself that, if their positions were reversed, he'd have done the same thing; him and Winry and Al had never really hidden anything from each other. At least, they hadn't until Ed had seen that thing, and realised there were some things that he was better off keeping to himself.
"You idiot," he said with a sigh, reaching down a hand toward her, and he really couldn't tell which of the two of them he meant.
He helped her up and into the chair he'd been aiming to drop her into, then dropped into the one next to her, slouching and looking away as he admitted, "I've never even shown it to Al."
"Why not?" Winry asked quietly.
Ed shrugged a bit, then looked down at his feet stretched out ahead of him and quietly admitted, "The fact that I carry around this watch, to remind myself of the promise I made...to keep myself going... It makes me feel kinda...pathetic."
Winry was quiet for a long moment, before letting out a quiet sniffle.
"Why are you crying this time?" Ed muttered, couldn't bring himself to look at her.
"You and Al never cry, so I'm crying for you."
"Boys don't cry," Ed shot back crossly.
"I know," Winry whispered, and Ed knew she got what he was really saying.
She was good at that.
Ed parted ways with Breda and Armstrong in town, then turned toward Granny's house, side-tracking to make a stop past the graveyard and pass on the Ishvalans' gratitude to Auntie Sarah and Uncle Yuriy's graves. But, standing in front of Mum's grave was a person who, as Ed got closer, he started to recognise.
Heart climbing his throat, he rounded the man he hadn't seen in a decade and choked out, "Van Hohenheim!"
The bastard blinked at him, then said, "Edith?"
Ed went tense all over, clenching his real fingers so tightly around the desert robes he'd brought back, they'd surely gone as white as the fabric. "That's not my name," he snarled.
Hohenheim blinked at him. "Trisha named you Edith. A beautiful name for a beautiful daughter," he added a bit quieter, looking back toward Mum's grave.
Ed's breath caught, torn between the sinking reminder of his mother's refusal to accept him as he was, and the constant ache of missing her, of wishing he had something – anything – of her left.
He'd never known. No one had ever told him who'd picked the hated name, and he'd eventually set the blame on Hohenheim's shoulders, because he couldn't hate him any more than he already did. Except, apparently, it had been his mum's choice, and maybe he could hate Hohenheim more, because there were some things he'd rather have never known.
"My name is Ed," he got out, somehow. Winry had given him that name, and Mustang had been the one to give him 'Edward', and there was something like laughter clawing at the back of his throat at the thought that Mustang had named him better than his own mother. He swallowed it down, instead snapped, "What the fuck are you even doing here, you bastard?!"
Hohenheim send him a wounded look. "How can you call your own father a bastard?"
"Father?" Ed shot back, rage racing through his veins. "All you were good for was donating your genetic code and leaving! You don't deserve to be called anything but what you are: A bastard! Why don't you just fucking leave again; there's nothing here for you!"
Hohenheim looked past him, toward the hill where their house used to sit, and said, "That's right...my house. There's nothing left of it. Why did you burn it down?"
"I made up my mind never to go back," Ed muttered, couldn't quite bring himself to look at the bastard in front of him. "I don't need a place to go home to." He steeled himself and forced himself to look up at Hohenheim, not that the bastard returned the favour. "It's a symbol of our resolve."
"No, it's not," Hohenheim replied, his voice gone low and cold in a way that made Ed feel like he'd just been caught doing something unspeakable. "You did it because you didn't want to be reminded of your mistake!"
What? No, that–
Hohenheim turned to face him, then, mouth drawn in a flat line and eyes hidden behind the gleam of the setting sun on his glasses. "You wanted to escape from the painful memories. You thought you could erase all traces of your actions, didn't you? Human transmutation."
Ed opened his mouth, but his throat closed over any denials he might have made.
How did Hohenheim know?!
"It's no different from a child who wets her bed, and then hides the sheets," Hohenheim continued, unforgiving. "You were running away, Edith."
Bile climbed up Ed's throat and he spun away, somehow managed to snap, "Talking to you makes me sick!" before starting away.
"Didn't you come to visit your mother's grave?" Hohenheim called after him.
"Fuck you!" Ed shouted back, hating him. For throwing around that accursed name, and ruining Ed's memory of his mum, and just...everything.
It didn't take but a moment to realise he was being followed, and a quick glance back proved it was exactly who he'd known it would be. "Don't follow me!" he shouted at the bastard.
"You're going to Pinako's house, right?" Hohenheim replied, voice gone mild. "I'm going there, too. Seeing as how I have no home of my own to return to."
Ed grit his teeth and shoved his hands into his pockets, determined to just fucking ignore the bastard.
"You should wear your hair down," Hohenheim said. "I'm sure it'll make you look very pretty."
Ed didn't think, just turned on his foot, right fist coming up and around to slam into whatever part of the bastard he could land a hit on.
Except Hohenheim wasn't in range, had stopped and was blinking at Ed like he couldn't believe he'd just tried to hit him. "Edith–"
"My. Name. Is. Ed!" Ed shouted, something horribly close to tears blurring his vision. "Edith never fucking existed! Why can't you accept that?!"
And then he turned and ran the rest of the way to Granny's, brushing past her concerned call of, "Ed?" and racing upstairs to the room she kept for him and Al. Where it wouldn't matter if he failed to hold back his tears, because the only one who would ever know was him, and he already knew he was a fucked up mess.
Ed tried, desperately, to ignore the agony of his broken ribs under his binding. He brushed off Ling's concerned look as he finished tying off the last of the pieces of the temporary splint for Ed's arm, but when he tried to stand, the world swam, and Ling catching him was probably the only thing that kept it from becoming worse.
"It is your lungs, is it not?" Ling whispered, and he sounded so fucking concerned.
Granny had made him promise, so many fucking times, that if he broke his fucking ribs, he would get rid of his binding while they healed. Ed had decided pretty early on, that if that ever happened, he'd just wear his binding until he made it to Resembool, where everyone already knew, so there was no point in hiding his chest. But he'd managed to keep from damaging any ribs since he'd started binding his chest, so he'd never had to worry about it, never realised that, actually, maybe Granny had something about that not binding thing.
But still. He couldn't just...let it all hang out around Envy and Ling! Al or Winry, sure, they'd seen Ed unbound plenty of times before. And Mustang or Hawkeye seeing would be...uncomfortable, but not... He would manage. They knew, at least, and he was pretty sure Mustang had enough sense not to make a fuss about it. But Envy was his enemy! And Ling was...Ling.
"Ed," Ling called, sounding more than a little freaked out.
Ed shook his head and straightened, wincing as his chest spiked with pain. He didn't have a fucking choice, clearly, and he hated his body for pulling this shit on him. No way he could bend well enough to undo the binding the normal way, and his broken arm made that something of an impossibility, anyway. So. "Do you still have that sword?" he asked Ling, and his voice was actually kind of disturbingly airy. (Was he wheezing? Fuck. No wonder Ling was freaking out.)
"Yeah," Ling agreed, sounding uncertain. "But I don't know what that–"
"Oh? Trouble, Fullmetal Alchemist?" Envy said in that irritating mocking tone of his. Its. (What gender even was Envy?)
"Just get the sword, Ling," Ed hissed, gritting his teeth against the pain of his ribs.
Ling nodded and, after making certain Ed wasn't about to fall over – he really kinda was a good friend; Ed hoped he didn't lose him over this – ran to collect the really fucking cool, thanks sword.
Envy let out an obnoxious hum and made a show of plopping its ugly arse down in the sea of blood, clearly intending to watch the unfolding drama.
Ed glared at it, but couldn't pretend to be surprised when that didn't move Envy in the least. Fucker.
"Okay," Ling said as he returned with the sword.
Ed nodded and grabbed the gun Hawkeye had given him out of the back of his trousers, wincing as his ribs informed him that had been a terrible idea. "Under my shirt," he said tightly, "there's binding. Cut it off."
"Binding?" Ling repeated, even as he stepped up to Ed's back and lifted his shirt. "If you take your shirt off–" he started, but Ed immediately shook his head, because no fucking way he was gonna be naked around either of them. "Okay," Ling muttered, and lifted Ed's shirt in the back high enough to reach the top of the binding, then cool metal slid downward against Ed's back, and he did his damnedest to not move.
The binding coming loose was a breath of fresh air. Or, well, a full breath of air, and Ed gasped it in a bit greedily as he gingerly pulled the binding out from under his shirt and let it drop to the ground at his feet.
Envy, the fucker, let out a cackle. "What's this? The pipsqueak's a girl!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Ed snarled, even as he subconsciously pressed his automail arm against the ugly protrusions on his chest, flattening them as much as his aching ribs could stand. "I'm a boy, you ugly freak!"
Envy reared back a bit and snapped, "What did you just call me, you–"
"Hey!" Ling interrupted, getting between them and pointing his sword at Envy. "Do you want to get out of this place, or bicker?"
Envy scoffed and turned away. "I'm going," it said, clearly irritated, before moving off.
"Ed?" Ling asked, turning back to him.
Ed forced his arm away from his chest so he could shove the gun away at the small of his back again. "Don't," he whispered, couldn't really say what he didn't want Ling doing. Asking about his chest, or his reaction, or his gender, or–
Ling was quiet for a couple breaths, then he said, in that cheerful tone that Ed was beginning to recognise was forced, "You are breathing better, at least! That is a relief."
"Yeah," Ed muttered, and stepped past him to crouch down in front of the stone piece with the lion eating the sun, the one that had sparked his idea for how to get out: Human transmutation, using Envy's Stone to pay the toll. All he had to do was transmute himself, slingshot him – and Ling and Envy – through the real Portal of Truth to their world. Parts of his body were already sitting before his Portal, and that should help act as a guide. He hoped.
If not, well, they were all doomed anyway.
However.
Ed took a careful breath and gently touched his automail hand to the protrusions on his chest.
Human transmutation. Transmuting someone already alive. The safest bet would be to deconstruct and reconstruct himself exactly as he currently was. But, he could also fix himself. It shouldn't be that hard to rearrange his wrong body into something right. Envy's Stone would supply any knowledge he lacked, and the excess energy needed.
But, could he validate using human souls for that?
Could he potentially endanger Ling for his own gain?
Granny and Winry and Al would all yell as soon as he told them what he'd done. And Teacher would just flat-out kill him if she ever found out.
But there it was, in his grasp, the one thing he wanted more than anything: He could be a boy. All of him. Undeniably.
Was it worth the risks?
A/N: While I was rereading this scene in the manga, I had visions of maybe doing a sort of 'choose your own adventure' bit, where you could pick whether Ed took the chance and got a male body, or played it safe and stayed with his current female body. Except, after sleeping on the idea, I decided I didn't really want to figure out his automail – could probably get away with the leg staying the same, but not his arm. So, you know, no choices. Sorry.
I am going to keep this chapter break, though. Both because this is about as long as I usually aim for, because of LJ's character limits, and because there may come a time when I have the energy to write that other ending. But it won't be any time soon, so don't fucking ask. Or it won't happen. Ever.
The second part will be posted at the end of today. (Well, evening East Coast US time.) Look at me, being all nice, not making you people wait. XP
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