A/N: so i recently came back to the fma fandom because i made the poor decision to finish off brotherhood during finals week
anyway! during my week long-crusade of fma fanfiction, i came across an lj prompt asking for manga!roy in 2003 fma, and i couldn't put it out of my mind, though i didn't write it exactly as requested, whoops! and needless to say, cross-dimensional romances are inherently quite tragic...
Part 1: Munich, Summer 1924
There were precious few things worse than having to fight with a concussion. The list might include, for instance, having to report to work after a night of moody binge-drinking, working under duress courtesy of your Lieutenant's carefully positioned firearm, and the unpleasant feeling of realizing that you knew too little about a situation you were involved in to properly act.
Extending a gloved hand backwards, he set a minor explosion to detonate under the feet of his armed pursuers, sending them stumbling into the tiled floor with a fine set of second degree burns.
Hook, line, and roasted.
Roy didn't allow himself the time to consider the how and why of his circumstances just yet—survival was priority number one, as far as he was concerned. As far as he could tell, he wasn't facing any other alchemists. So, it was him and his recently-fixed gloves against a lot of guns and muscle.
He appeared to be in an administrative building with a style of dated, gothic architecture he might have taken the time to appreciate if he wasn't currently a prisoner of it. The light that filtered in from the windows he passed indicated that evening was waning, which would soon leave him with the advantage of nighttime cover should he decide to flee the premises. It was either that or find a strategic location to hide or barricade himself in while he recovered from his disorientation, which was admittedly worse than he thought.
The time-tested strategy of hugging the left wall led Roy into a circular, grand atrium, decorated with beautiful alabaster columns and masterfully-crafted stained glass murals for windows.
In the center, two golden-haired figures were the sole focus of a large squad of soldiers.
It was a testament to his mental state that he didn't even stop to think before he snapped.
"Time is of the essence," Al repeated, half-mocking and half-exasperated, "let's just go in, right now, without a plan, because they could be making off with the bomb as we speak. Brother, why do you always do this?"
"If my plans are so bad, why do you always follow them?" Ed shot back, arms hanging upright in the air. The commander of the unit edged closer to the pair, taking their arms down and locking them roughly in a set of metal cuffs.
Al sighed, a single exhalation that sounded almost fond even in light of their current predicament. "I always do."
"Be quiet," the officer hissed at them, punctuating his statement with a particularly hard shove.
How good it was to have his brother back. Al filled in a large part of the hole left in his soul when he'd been banished to the world beyond the Gate, not once, but twice over. And to find that his sacrifice was made worth it, to have the pleasure of seeing his brother in his original body… well, Ed could have died a happy man at eighteen if it weren't for the knowledge that he'd be leaving his brother alone again. They made an excellent team, the two of them, and they'd reverted back to their old ways with Al's recovered memories.
And that apparently included getting caught up in his harebrained schemes. Or lack thereof.
Part and parcel, Al. You don't get Edward Elric without trouble following close behind.
"This would be easy to get out of if we had alchemy," Ed grumbled, rattling his cuffs so that the chains clicked together irritatingly as they were walked to the entrance. Ed caught Al's expression, wry, before his retort was cut off by a set of hurried footsteps running into the atrium.
There, in all his irritating, confounding, beautiful glory, stood General Roy fucking Mustang in Amestrian blue, fingers poised to snap and posture battle-ready.
And in classic Mustang fashion, set off a glorious chain of blinding flame that left no room for argument, torching the weapon hand of every armed soldier in the room with pinpoint accuracy and leaving them clutching their scorched appendages in agony. It was a thing of beauty, almost—the bright display of flame leaping from man to man in perfect arcs—if not for the fact that they had front-seats to the gruesome reality of people receiving debilitating first degree burns. He wasted no time—a trait Ed had to reluctantly admire—in marching forward and slugging the confused officer holding them custody with a strong uppercut to the chin, head snapping back and body crumpling to the floor. Mustang turned around to address his two gawkers.
"Move, Fullmetal, get out of here! Now!"
"Yes, sir!" Al squeaked, and Ed was certain Al would have saluted if his hands weren't bound.
"Wait just a fucking second, General bastard," Ed sputtered, even as his legs moved independent of his will to follow his former commanding officer out into the hallway. It was clear Mustang was trying to lose any potential pursuers with a winding path. "How the fuck are you here? And how are you using alchemy?"
Mustang directed a baleful glance at him over his shoulder as they approached an open room. "Don't know, don't very much care at this moment. A better question is why aren't you using alchemy? Hold that thought," he said, and peered around the corner into the room, ostensibly scanning for enemies. "Do you know how to get out of here?"
"Um, yeah, General," Al answered, having finally recovered from the shock of seeing Roy Mustang on the fucking wrong side of the Gate, what the fuck, and managing to respond. "But we came here to find a uranium bomb. It's here somewhere, and we can't leave without it."
"Screw that," Ed bit out, shoulders cramping up from their pinched back position. "Transmute these cuffs off us first, would you?"
Mustang spared him that patented long-suffering look—that's how Ed knew this was the genuine article and not some phony—and ducked into the room, having confirmed it free of enemies. The two brothers followed him into the small storage room. He shut the heavy doors behind him and then slumped against them, one gloved hand clutching at his head.
He looked remarkably out of sorts, and Ed felt, maybe, just a twinge of sympathy for him. It wasn't like Mustang to look so worn down—surprisingly, it wasn't a look Ed cared to see on the man.
"I have a concussion, I think," Mustang offered, catching the twin looks of concern directed at him. "In spite of my pain, let's see if I remember the correct array for this. Turn around, both of you."
"What kind of shitty alchemist would you be if you forgot a simple alloy transmutation," Ed muttered under his breath as he and Al turned around obligingly.
A clap, a goddamned familiar sound and feeling, rang sharply in the air as rough, ignition cloth covered fingers touched down gently on his wrists. The metal of his cuffs slid around his wrists like a cold, living thing, reshaping itself into a cube of harmless steel that clattered the ground in the suddenly oppressive silence.
"That's convenient," Mustang said, almost absently, as he repeated the exercise on Al's wrists with a clatter of transmuted metal.
"General," Al said, almost ruefully, at the same time Ed lurched forward to throw himself at Mustang with a mix of contained horror and rage.
"Did you perform human transmutation?" Ed demanded, shaking his shoulders. "Why?"
"Fullmetal," Mustang said evenly, placing gentle hands on tense wrists, "do you really think I would do that?"
Did he really think… human transmutation and Roy Mustang simply did not belong in the same sentence. Despite Ed's misgivings about Mustang's character—namely, being a lazy, womanizing, promotion-obsessed asshole—Ed knew almost instinctively that Mustang's moral compass was as good as, if not better, than his own. Hell, he'd seen the results of their failed transmutation of their mother and he'd been furious when he'd found them both, badly traumatized, in the Rockbell home. There was no way he'd ever attempt it himself.
But it wasn't as if Ed knew Mustang on a personal level—emotions drove even the best people to desperate measures.
Who could mean so much to Roy Mustang that he'd attempt the forbidden?
"You…" Ed relaxed his grip on his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground beside him. He took in a deep breath, letting his anger bleed out of his voice. "I don't know, would you?"
"No, I was forced to," Mustang sighed, "and I can't say I wasn't tempted, but I didn't do it willingly, I swear to you. It's a long story, and if you wish, I will explain after we're safe."
"What did it take from you?" Al asked, somber. "And your eye…"
"I don't know," the General breathed, letting his head fall back against the door. "Given me something, maybe. A bad migraine. Worse than any hangover I've had, I can tell you that." He brought his head up to stare piercingly at the two of them. "I'd like to ask my own questions, but I doubt we have enough time for tea and idle chit-chat." Dark eyes craned slowly to look at Al. "Alphonse, I take it?"
"Yes, sir!"
A soft smile played on the edges of Mustang's lips. "Good to see you in the flesh, so to speak."
Al giggled. "Thank you, sir."
"You were looking for a bomb, you said?" Mustang struggled to right himself from leaning against the doors, and Ed rushed forward to support him with an automail shoulder. He hoped this was apology enough for the General, and it seemed that it was, given the weary smile he gave Ed. "Do you know where it is in this place?"
"Not exactly," Ed said as he released Mustang from his hold after a small, irritated gesture from the other man. Ed huffed. The man never did know how to accept help gracefully. "Kind of my fault, as Al keeps saying. This is a government research building, however, so my best guess is that it would be in a vault or in a lab somewhere."
"No floor plans?" Mustang asked, arms crossed. He narrowed his eyes at Ed, and Ed could have wept at the familiarity of the expression. If someone told him he'd be missing Roy Mustang three years ago, he'd have transmuted them into dust. "How like you, Fullmetal."
"That's brother for you," Al laughed, and Ed rolled his eyes at him. "Well, I'm not my brother so in terms of floor plans, I did do some research beforehand. If it's in a lab, it should be in the basement. We should find some stairs."
"We passed some on our way here," Ed said, winding up his shoulders and throwing a light punch. The cuffs didn't do him any favors, really.
"I'd honestly like to help you both," Mustang said, blinking rapidly against the lamplight of the room. "But I'm afraid I'll only be a liability with my concussion. My control isn't up to par, and I'm afraid I might end up accidentally killing somebody."
"Simple. Don't use flame alchemy," Ed said, flapping a wrist carelessly in the air. Honestly, he was more than a little envious of Mustang's inexplicable ability to use alchemy in this universe, and the scientist in him itched to know the reasons for it. "You know how to encase people in stone and wood, right?"
"Feels unnatural," Mustang muttered somewhat petulantly. Louder, he continued. "Fine, if you think my alchemy could be an asset to your mission. But if I pass out and get shot, I'm haunting the both of you for the rest of your very short lives." He turned around to press an ear against the door, and both brothers remained silent for a few seconds. "I'm surprised that, given my non-lethal strikes, they still haven't come after us in hot pursuit." He wedged open the door just a sliver and sensing no presences, stepped outside.
"Let's go." Oh, and he knew that look. Here came the tease. "And at least try to be quiet, Fullmetal."
If someone asked him three years ago if he'd be missing Roy Mustang bossing him around, he would have cheerfully knocked their lights out. As it was, Ed only grinned and practically floated out the doors with a pleasant, light feeling in his chest.
Brother never came prepared. It was as much a law as the principle of equivalent exchange, and some things in the universe, he was certain, were just constant across space and time.
That didn't seem to include General Mustang.
Well, there was the fact that he and brother still bickered with each other like old friends, or, if Al was feeling adventurous, like a married couple. Or the fact that General Mustang still went out of his way to help them, especially with his concussion. But he couldn't help but categorize the ways in which he was different from the Roy Mustang he was familiar with in his memories, and he had a feeling that this Mustang was aware that he was different from the Mustang they were familiar with as well.
Privately, Al thought Ed was all too eager to ignore the differences in favor of having a verbal sparring partner again. Oh, brother.
Most obviously, he lacked the signature eyepatch he'd gained after his fight with Führer Bradley, in his encounter with Frank Archer. And the small frown he wore every time Al called him by his title. Oh, Al was certain that he was Roy Mustang—who else could perform flame alchemy with such finesse?—but he was more likely to be a younger version of the General.
But that didn't account for his ability to perform alchemy without an array. When he'd transmuted the cuffs off their wrists, he'd been surprised with his ability to perform it. So, it was a recent thing, and if the time-travel theory was true, the General they knew had to have been hiding his ability to transmute with a clap.
But that didn't seem right. The General simply seemed… different.
Whatever the reason, Al was grateful for the man's timely arrival. He honestly had no idea how Ed had been planning to get out of their unplanned arrest. Or how to explain how they were in a government-supervised lab skulking around unauthorized after hours.
He and the General trailed after Ed in formation as Ed took point, leading them down the stairs. A small flame on the tip of the General's finger illuminated the way down, but even it looked unsteady, flickering weakly in the passing air currents. The General was in a bad way, Al thought, biting his lip.
"General, are you okay?" Al asked quietly, not wanting to agitate the man's headache. "Please let us know if you need to take a break."
The edge of the General's lip quirked upwards. "Thank you for your concern, Alphonse. I hit my head pretty hard on the way down."
"You fell?" Al exclaimed softly, alarmed. The benefit of having alchemical firepower was not worth the amount of pain they were making the General suffer through.
"Hit my head right on the edge of a desk," Mustang said wryly, fingering the side of his head. "I'm just fortunate I didn't lose an eye to a sharp corner." They stepped off the last of the stairs onto the basement landing, and he looked around curiously, moving their source of light around to peer into the darkness. "Where to first?"
Al lit up. He'd known that Ed would have run into the lab half-cocked with no regrets, so he'd taken it upon himself to dig up floor plans from old library archives. While he was certain that the label of each room on the original diagram differed from its present-day designation, the layout should have remained the same, and there was much more room for lab space in the basements than on the first floor. This building, after all, had originally been designed as an administrative center 50 years ago. Which was why he'd suggested they check down here first.
"This way," he said, pointing down the corridor to the left. "There should be four big labs in the basement. We can go clockwise and check every lab as we go."
"Sounds good," Ed hummed agreeably, already racing forward to pull at the first door they came across. Predictably, it was locked, and in this Al was glad his brother had the foresight to bring his lock-picking kit. Life without alchemy had clearly shown Ed the necessities of other skills. And after a year in Germany, Al was beginning to understand what their teacher had meant by not relying on alchemy as a crutch for other life skills outside their island training.
Once Ed had wrestled the lock open, he'd dashed in only to realize that he was stumbling around in the darkness. "Get in here, bastard, before I trip over something sharp!"
The General gave him a tired shrug before trailing in at his own pace, firelight shifting the shadows with his every movement, a literal beacon in the dark.
Al had to confess a fascination with the science of the world beyond the gate. The scientists here seemed to be coming into what seemed to be a golden age of quantum mechanics, a field that never garnered much interest back in Amestris. Most alchemists were a practical sort, especially with the visibility and prestige of the State Alchemist program, with few pure theorists. In this, the world beyond the gate was far more advanced.
While alchemy and its applications would always have Al's heart, the brilliance of atomic theory left him starry-eyed. This was precisely the focus of the labs in the buildings, and the appropriate equipment lay scattered around the lab. Heavy lasers, diffraction equipment, and scattered notes on desks were indicative of active research. It was evident that the lab was funded well, but a bomb would have been out of place in this lab. Ed seemed to realize this and gestured for the party to follow him out to the next lab.
The next lab proved to carry much of the same equipment, but in the third, they found their bomb.
This lab, Al mused, was obviously designed to handle dangerous materials. Knowing their bomb, it was likely designed to study the uses of uranium.
Al frowned. Just how much research had they managed to perform on the bomb? Even if they stole the bomb back, who was to say that they couldn't reproduce it?
"Ah ha!" Ed crowed, lifting the rounded bomb in his arms. "Here's our little troublemaker."
"Brother," Al said, deciding to voice his thoughts on the bomb's research, "the bomb's been here for years, at least three. That's a lot of time for them to study it. Do you think it's reproducible? We didn't go through all this trouble for nothing, did we?"
Ed's brows furrowed in the dim light. "That's a good point, Al." He looked at the bomb in his hands. "It doesn't look like they've been able to disassemble this bomb, but they could have put it back together after studying it." He turned around to rummage through the piles of notes, piled high on the desks. "Best find their notes on the subject and destroy them, though we don't know if they will be the only copy they have."
"Uranium isn't unique to our world, if what I'm thinking is correct," Mustang said, looking paler than ever, even under the orange tint of the flame. "One might say that the development of a uranium-based bomb would be inevitable."
"Maybe you're right," Ed said quietly. "Still, it's something that came from our world, and it happened during my mission. I'm responsible for it." His brother huffed and set down the bomb to properly search through the papers. "Now help me find everything that's related to the bomb, we need to know how it's constructed to properly destroy it, then we can burn the notes."
Al nodded, gathering up what papers he thought were relevant to the bomb and placing it in a neat pile. The General used his free hand to sift through papers on the other side of the desks.
"Wait," Ed said suddenly, dropping his papers and shuffling towards the door. The General extinguished the flame with a flick of his fingers, shrouding the room in darkness once more. Distant chatter echoed in the hallway. "Well, it's about time."
The General relit the small flame and Al hastily stacked the papers he and Ed had gathered on the floor. With a small gesture, a small burst of fire transformed the notes to ash.
"You guys find the bomb construction notes," Ed ordered under his breath. "I'll stay here in case they try and come in."
Al stacked more notes on the floor for the General to burn. "Just a moment, we're almost done with the notes." Al picked up a sheaf of papers and let out a small noise of success. "I've got it!"
"Is there any way we can avoid confrontation?" Mustang asked Ed, who was peering out the entrance. He passed the bomb to Al. Ed shook his head and Al knew he was right: the voices were too close, dim light spilling into the hallway. They would not be able to escape in the opposite direction without making noise. He sighed and extinguished the flame once more. "An ambush, then."
Ed grinned, and Al let his face fall into his palms.
"I can take 'em. You guys get upstairs. Al, you remember where the car's parked, right?" Al nodded. "Run in the other direction. And bastard?" Mustang let out a grunt of acknowledgement and Ed's eyes glinted in the lamplight. "Take care of Al, or I'll have your ass."
"Roger, sir," was the dry response, and in the next moment they were sprinting away from a cacophony of shouts in the hallway behind them.
Why wasn't he surprised? The Elrics, trouble, and property damage were part of an unbreakable and unholy trinity.
Although he was the one mostly responsible for the property damage today, he thought, transmuting a hole in the wall and ushering Alphonse through it. He quickly restored it to its original state and watched the security team's outraged expressions in the windows as they ran across the front lawn and into the neighboring gardens.
Roy spat out a bundle of leaves as they ran through well-trimmed bushes. "Where's the car?"
"This way!" Alphonse yelled back, and Roy had to admire how quickly the boy could run. Ah, to be young again. And he'd probably had plenty of experience, being an Elric.
Honestly, Roy was beyond confusion at this point. He'd gone past it and straight into delirium.
Edward and Alphonse in a world without alchemy? Alphonse in his original, non-metallic, body? Why were they calling him General?
And why wasn't he missing a limb and half an eyeball?
He could probably blame exhaustion and his spotty vision for how he practically tripped and fell into the back seat of the vehicle in front of him.
"We have to go back and get brother," Al said above the sounds of distant yelling and sirens, throwing himself in the front seat. He dropped the bomb and papers and leaned forward to twist the key in the ignition, stepping on the starter to start the engine.
Roy struggled to right himself from his almost-cartwheel into the seat. "Are you driving?"
"I'm thirteen!"
Roy vaulted himself over the seat, reaching for the throttle and trying not to give into the urge to tear his hair out. "This might be rough," he warned, and indulged in the sort of reckless driving that his Lieutenant would certainly have shot him for.
Roy pulled out of the garden lot and rolled out onto the streets, skidding to a stop in front of the laboratory just in time to see Fullmetal flinging security personnel into each other with reckless abandon. Fullmetal naturally excelled at close-combat and Roy was reluctantly impressed by the way he tossed a man almost twice his size over his shoulder into the ground.
"Brother!" Alphonse called out, waving an arm in the air. Fullmetal kicked out one leg to sweep a guard off his feet and hauled himself over and into the backseat. Roy didn't wait for confirmation before he propelled the car forward and into the streets, vainly hoping he was driving away from the sound of sirens.
No such luck. He could hear cars in pursuit at least two blocks behind them.
"I don't know the layout of the city," Roy grit out, twisting the wheel and making a hard right, "where are we supposed to go?"
"Would you believe that I hadn't thought this far ahead?" Edward yelped as his shoulder hit the car door. "Slow down and park somewhere, I'll drive!"
Roy was already doing so, stopping in front of a quaint townhouse and dragging himself over to trade places with Fullmetal. "You drive?"
"Don't sound so surprised." Edward's grin was all teeth. "I've picked up a lot of skills in the past three years without alchemy."
"Less banter, more driving," Alphonse rebuked, but the cars were already in sight, even as they began moving again. Roy flinched as a bullet struck the car door. He kept his head low as he extended a hand around the side of the car. With a click of his fingers, the explosion and the sudden expansion of gas upended the pursuing car. Roy repeated the process with the other two cars until the pain in his hand kept him from providing further assistance.
"I think we're clear, General." Alphonse slumped back into his seat, and Fullmetal let out a whoop. They appeared to be leaving the city for the countryside, fields of green almost forest-dark in the moonlight.
"Yeah, nice going there with the explosions and stuff," Fullmetal chortled, leaning back to look at him. Roy wanted to strangle him for not watching the road, and for his shenanigans in general. "One trick pony or not, that was still pretty damn cool."
"See if that's the last time I help your ungrateful self," Roy said, and he knew he was at his limit. "Now, if you're finished harassing me…"
He was almost grateful to pass out.
"My poor, wayward alchemist."
Roy turned around swiftly in an unfamiliar, vacant space. It was blindingly white, spotless and sterile, with no visible end in sight. His eyes flickered nervously from corner to corner, vainly trying to determine the source of the voice.
"Who's there?" Roy demanded. "Where am I?"
"Too smart to attempt the taboo, and yet you still ended up here." And then the omnipresent voice, rough and rattling around as if in his head, seemed to focus itself in a single direction. Roy turned around one final time to encounter a featureless mannequin, hazy at the outlines with only a sly grin to indicate any outward emotion. "Even for me, there is a first for everything."
"Who are you?" He tried not to let on how unnerved he was show in his voice. His body language betrayed him instead, fingers trembling in his gloves. He fisted his hands in an effort to reign himself in. "What do you mean?"
"So many questions," the figure in white said, circling Roy, an apex predator toying with its prey. "A better question is, what should I take from you?"
A lightbulb went off dimly in Roy's mind. "You're… the being that the Elrics met, the Truth that took away Edward's limbs and Alphonse's body."
"Very clever, little alchemist," Truth clapped its hands, and the smug, perpetual grin grew wider. "And it is true that I would take something from you, normally, for your hubris." It hummed, tapping a finger to its cheek in thought, though Roy had the impression that it wasn't thinking very deeply at all. Like it had already determined its punishment, and was just stringing Roy along for the suspense. "What would you give up, hmm?" It walked up to Roy, close enough to touch. "Your hands? So that you can't defend yourself? Your friends, or your country?" It reached out and tapped his shaking fists. "Your feet, so you can't be the foundation on which others can build on?" Truth reached down to skim its fingers along his tense knees. "Something more incorporeal, such as your memories, so the hard lessons you've learned—namely, Ishval—can't be passed on for others to learn from?"
Roy didn't trust himself to speak.
"Perhaps," Truth stood up again, face to featureless face, "your eyes. Your sight. What beautiful things they are, your eyes. Black as night and a window to your soul, as tainted or as pure as you think it may be. Taken so that you will never see the future you envision for the country you love so much." Fingers caressed, feather-light, along the curve of his cheek. It was a gentle touch, parental even, if Roy hadn't known better.
"Don't," Roy grit out, pulling the hand away from his face, "toy with me."
"I'm always serious," Truth giggled, childlike and mocking. "But there is no lesson to be gained for you." The grin that Roy had thought was a permanent fixture suddenly faded to a frown. "It is the artificial being you call Father who should pay the price."
"How do you plan to do that?"
The perpetual grin made its return. "Why, I think I will take away his sacrifice." A loud sound, something reminiscent of the whirring of mechanical equipment, banged behind him. This time when he turned around, he found himself staring at a stone gate, almost five times his height and embossed with Bertholdt Hawkeye's original encrypted research detailing the secrets of flame alchemy, a perfect match to the tattoo on Riza's back. The doors swung open and his eyes grew wide with poorly contained horror as boneless arms grabbed at his body, pulling him backwards.
"Have a nice trip, Flame Alchemist. With any luck, I'll be seeing you again soon."