With something verging between relief and resignation, the once soldier looked at the gleaming metal now serving as his right hand. The movement was flawless, and the response as acute as in his left hand - the one that was still made out of flesh and blood – but there was no neural input, no sense of touch as he touched his fingers to one another, only a vague sense of pressure that he guessed he would have to get used to interpreting if he was to have a chance at tackling this new life, this new world.
A rustle at the door made him look up at the blond teenage girl standing maybe a bit awkwardly at the doorstep, reminding him of who he had to thank for the fact that he was not still, in fact, quite literally barely more than half a man, and also of his morning workout routine. The lithe frame belied her strength, and he was not looking forward to the thrashing he was about to get. Apparently, Winry Rockbell had some quite violent fighters for friends, and though she never, ever bragged about her skills in that area, she had clearly picked up her fair share of nasty tricks to dish out to unsuspecting victims.
With a subdued, but still clearly audible groan, Kenneth swung his feet off the bed, while directing a muffled reply sounding something like "Yeah, yeah, I'm up." at the silent question that the girl presented. At the sound, and movement, she quickly disappeared from the doorway and down the stairs, where her grandmother was presumably just about finished cooking breakfast. He was still quite astonished at the fact that he had been taken in and accepted by the two, nearly without question, and treated not only for his severe wounds, but even with automail surgery, something he was still coming to terms with, despite both his right arm and leg now being completely made out of metal.
Hauling himself off the bed and up to a standing position, he took a moment to regain his balance, still unused to the heavy steel limbs, and still quite out of equilibrium after loosing the arm and leg that they were replacing, and being without them for nearly a month before the Rockbells finally agreed on giving him the automail surgery that they had presented him with just about all the imaginable detergents to before being convinced that he was prepared for the duress it would put him under, and all the physical and psychological strain. Balance regained, he slowly made his way to the door, allowing himself to feel all the soreness and tension in his muscles, in anticipation of the pain that would soon replace them, and continued even more slowly and carefully down the stairs, mindful of the leg that he couldn't quite feel, and remembering with painful clarity his first, overly confident meeting with them.
Down in the kitchen, Winry and Pinako Rockbell greeted him, along with a hearty breakfast and stern eyes. No doubt they had been monitoring him the whole way down, the way they were on him like hawks about every move he made. It was a little warming and a whole lot irritating all at the same time.
In the short months that he had spent here, he had undergone the excruciating process of two simultaneous automail surgeries, as well as a number of smaller surgeries that had little or nothing to do with the automail, but had to be done to keep him alive. He had also discovered that Amestris, or apparently the whole world here, had never heard of anaesthesia, at least not the kind that could completely numb you or put you out for the duration of the surgery. Though even if they had, he suspected he would have had very little use of it, as he recalled being told he had to be conscious for the majority of his surgeries. That is, he had been told something like it, in very few words, seeing as he at that point didn't really understand the Amestrian language quite yet. He had discovered it to be in many ways very similar to German, though in some ways almost completely different, and always just different enough to make his fluency in actual German completely useless. So the first few weeks he spent with the Rockbells was mainly spent learning the language, when the pain from his earliest surgeries had subsided enough for him to focus on said task.
Soon enough, the language flowed well enough from his lips, amply encouraged through the lack of any other means of communication in his current environment. The Rockbells were also great motivators, if somewhat harsh, or even outright brutal at times. Soon enough, they both started to explain and discuss automail with him, describing all the advantages it had to regular prosthetics, and, really, being quite the salespeople, with the perch of selling something worthwhile. It really didn't take them long, despite being quite honest about the sort of pain that was involved.
"Boy, you got your mind made up yet?" This was from Pinako Rockbell, the grandmother of the house, and the only one there with any sort of right to call him that.
"Yeah, I'll do it." There was really no more to it. It was either a yes or a no to begin with, and it was very clear to him that if he ever wanted to be of any use again, or even just independent, especially in this world, it was the only way to go.
It had been supposed to be a perfectly routine recognisance mission; lots of driving, no sweat. Well, quite a lot of it literally, but that was beside the point, which was when he, later, alone and quite a ways from the car, stepped on a land mine. At least, that was what he presumed, but he honestly didn't have any time to think about it before everything went blank.
From the sideline, the impression was pretty much the same, and the explosion solidified the land mine theory, though they were quite a distance off, and not quite in clear view.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Damn it, Wolf! Come in! Can you hear me!? Answer, damn it!" The first part of the sentence was uttered quietly, though with quite a bit of urgency, whereas the rest of it was barked over the comms with all the agitation of someone with utterly frayed nerves clawing at straws of hope. A hand clasped onto the shoulder of the man doing the shouting. "Hawk. It's no use. You saw that explosion, it could have easily taken his head. Shit, that thing must've had at least twice the blast force of the regular ones strewn around here. I call evac, now. We'll have to leave the rest of... We'll just have to scram, quick. That explosion got to have made someone curious." Swallowing heavily, the man addressed as Hawk gave a morose nod, along with two others, and the group made their way quickly to a nearby vehicle that would take them back to the base, with a bit of luck.
As it happened, another team had been able to make it to the blast site the following day, with the purpose of picking up the pieces of what had once been a soldier codenamed Wolf, to send to his family for funeral purposes, but, disturbingly, the only thing they could find, besides the crater, was a single army boot and some blood splatter, barely enough to account for a small cut. The episode was kept quiet, hushed down, and only the soldiers directly involved even knew. It wore on them, but they kept it close even so.
"Al! What're you doing over there?" was shouted at a crouched down figure some distance to the right of the one shouting. Though the figure seemed distracted, they reacted immediately. "Brother! I think he might be alive still!" That got the enquirer's attention. A person was there? But there wasn't even any blood... Urgency suddenly pulling at his mind, Ed hurried to where his brother was hunched over what proved to be a mangled body. But, as Al had already claimed, a faint rise and fall of the chest proved that the figure was indeed still alive. What stopped the elder brother dead in his tracks, however, was the nature of the damage inflicted on the man. He looked as though someone had attempted to cut him in half, but the completely severed arm and leg were nowhere to be found. He was snapped out of it when his younger brother turned his head towards him. "Brother, he needs medical treatment right away. Can we reach the hospital?" The two of them never had too much trouble reaching places they wanted to go. Edward understood the question for what it really was; could they reach it fast enough for this man? Probably not, he figured. Now that he was closer he could see that the man had been bleeding after all – and was indeed still bleeding right now – and with the blood loss and those injuries he probably wouldn't make it, but Ed didn't want to tell his brother that. Besides, even if it looked this bad, it might all have a different explanation that had nothing to do with their own past mistakes.
"No, I don't think so." One look at the suit of armour had him cringing at his own words. "-But if we fix him up some first, we'll probably be able to make it back to granny Pinako and Winry," he quickly added, hoping to appease his younger brother. They did learn quite a bit from Dr. Marcoh after all, even if the man hadn't been any help in their search, in the end.
Luckily for Ed, that last comment was enough to placate Al and perch his mood right back up; the animated suit of armour practically beamed at the opportunity to save a life and possibly make a friend. If he hadn't known better, Ed would have thought that the man was a cat in disguise, with the way his brother fawned over him.
Later, when they were walking along, the half-a-man being carried securely in Al's massive metal arms, the elder Elric pondered to himself why he had insisted on going to granny Pinako's house; the hospital was actually closer to them right now, and they would have to log an unconscious man along with them on a train to get back in Resembool quick enough for it to be a point. An unconscious, bleeding man. Hopefully Alphonse, along with Edward's watch would be enough to keep most of the obnoxious and curious people away.
The train ride had been nerve wrecking. Not only had they been watching over a very clearly life-threateningly injured man, and trying (and failing) to act casual about it(and really, how were they supposed to do that?), but the urgency they both felt because of it was having them constantly on edge; Edward hadn't even been able to sleep for a single minute. That, in either brother's remembrance, had never happened before, on a more than one hour trip.
Considering this, it was with measurable relief the two exited the train with their unaccustomed burden and could start out on the long trek from the train station to the Rockbell house, where they would be greeted by a combination of flying wrenches, stern admonitions and a hearty portion of warm food for Edward.
This kid was tough. Not only was he as strong as a grown man with the same amount of automail as he had, and was equipped with said automail; he was quick. But most of all, he was relentless. No matter what angle he tried, the kid did not give as much as an inch, and he knew better than to think any of it had anything at all to do with luck. Except, perhaps, the fact that he himself was still standing. After ten minutes or more of rough scuffles, the two of them parted ways, teenager panting lightly, and the man literally heaving for his breath.
"Heh, you're doing quite well, Winry's done a good job with you," Edward Elric commented, folding his arms across his chest.
"You sure you mean that, kid? You're wiping the floor with me here," was the slightly winded reply from Kenneth, who honestly wasn't convinced.
"Sure I am. With how uneven your body weight is and how little time you have had to adjust to it, I'm actually rather impressed. When you start being able to hold your own against me, Al will still be able to wipe the floor with you, though." The last sentence was uttered with a thoroughly unapologetic smirk from the elder Elric, that most wouldn't believe him capable of while openly admitting to be his little brother's inferior in fighting. Those who knew the brothers well, though, knew that he relished that fact.
A sharp crash, then vicious swearing was heard through the door that Jörgen was about to knock on, and he shared a quick glance with the man standing beside him, named Cain. Neither of them knew quite what to make of it, or knew just why they were here. After a short while, though, Jörgen's fist made contact with the door. There was a short pause.
"Who's there?" While the voice was gruff, the tone of it was nearly mild-mannered compared to the previous experiences the two visitors had with its owner. There was only a short hesitance and a brief meeting of eyes preceding the reply.
"Snake and Eagle. We thought we'd drop by, since we heard you were back. Mind letting us in?" Unspoken went that they wanted to verify for themselves that the man was, in fact, alive. His disappearance had taken a great toll on those few who knew of it.
There was a grunt to let them know they'd been heard.
"Door's open, probably easier if you just let yourselves in," was the strange message that followed. Soon enough, though, it became clear what he had meant. Sitting up at the kitchen table and clearly struggling to do so was a man that, despite his face being mostly the same as during selection, was barely recognisable. To them he was Wolf, and to them had been dead for a good three and a half years. Strangely, the first change Cain took notice of was the longer hair. It actually fell into his eyes a little. The second, of course, was the prosthetic arm.
"What happened?" he found himself asking, despite knowing it for lack of tact. Wolf shot a quick look down at where his right arm usually was.
"Regular one's in for repair," he answered, completely straight faced, as though natural arms could be detached for easy repair. He looked on in hidden amusement as for a moment his two visitors stood frozen, unable to speak or act. It didn't take long before he raised his left hand to rub at his temple and let out a short sigh, ready to do some explaining, even if it wasn't how he originally planned to spend the day. Considering the original plan was kind of shite, he didn't mind terribly.
"I lost my right arm and leg a few years ago, around the time I disappeared. The replacements I got are very good, nearly impossible to notice without looking for, but they're both in for maintenance, and in the mean time, I'm stuck with these, and my balance is shot to hell because of it."
Jörgen's eyebrows shot up.
"You're a double amputee? How'd you...?" The Scottish drawl was somewhat worn down, but still clearly noticeable from the tall army man.
"Yeah, and the official story's an IED, or a land mine, depending on who you ask. Take a seat," he then added and nodded towards chairs on the opposite side of the table.
"And the real story?" Cain prompted, after taking his seat.
"Too much truth," was the cryptic answer, delivered with a faraway gaze. Suddenly, Wolf shook himself out of his reverie and focused sharply on his two guests.
"We haven't introduced ourselves yet. I never did meet any of you outside of work." This comment sparked some degree of embarrassment from the two other men.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I'm Jögen, it's good to see you again," the thinner man introduced himself, deciding against a hand shake in consideration of the fact that it was Wolf's right arm that was missing, and he didn't quite know how trying to shake hands with a prosthetic arm would go.
"And I'm Cain. I also think it's good to see you again, alive." The quiet voice was at odds with the brash look of the large, fair haired soldier, as it always was. Few that didn't know him would guess that he preferred peace and quiet most of the time, and shied away from conflict. Wolf nodded.
"Kenneth Thorne. I'm guessing now you know a little you're going to want to know more about this, eh?" he asked, lifting his right arm prosthetic for demonstration. The only practical reason he had the arm at all was for balance; he couldn't really use it at all, seeing as he had nearly no practice. His two visitors nodded to confirm his assumptions.
"Well, you weren't there, but I'm guessing you heard about me disappearing a few years back?" He continued without waiting for an answer: "Well, I don't know any better than anyone else what exactly actually happened; I remember there was a massive blast, then everything went white. Next thing I know I'm in the worst pain imaginable, there's the sound of a train – don't ask – then this old woman is talking to me sternly in something that sounds vaguely like German, probably to hold still or something like that. Turns out she was a surgeon." At that point, he paused for a moment, before continuing. "From what I hear, what the other guys see is the same massive blast, then they have to scram before the locals rain down on them. Later search finds my boot, a bit of blood splatter. Nothing else." There is silence.
"So what, you were kidnapped?" Cain's voice makes clear that his own words don't make sense to him.
"No, that's the thing. I disappeared. Gone off the face of the earth. At the same time, apparently, I was found by a couple of teenagers, two brothers, who brought me to their friend's grandma who's a surgeon." Looking over to the coffee brewer at the kitchen counter, Kennet just manages not to sigh. "From there it only gets weirder."
"So, what are you saying here – that you got transported to a different world? Dimension?" Jörgen drags a hand across his face, looking over at a man he previously thought sound of mind. Kenneth just shrugs his left shoulder. "I'm not saying it makes sense. Just recounting what I actually remember. I haven't even gotten to why I needed surgery in the first place. It wasn't bomb shrapnel, exactly."
"Then what was it? Jörgen pressed.
"I was lacking an arm and a leg," was the answer, delivered almost humorously. "That bothered the older of the brothers, I think, due to something to do with why he's missing the same amount of limbs himself. His brother is something it's probably better not to go into in any detail about." A short shake of his head. "That kid sure knows how to handle himself, though. First time we met he insisted on a sparring match. Gave me a real thrashing." A second shake of his head. "I'm getting ahead of myself. Pinako, the grandmother, and Winry, the granddaughter, both helped fix me up as best as could be done. There's really only so much to be done when someone's missing half their limbs, after all. Then, because whatever the fuck they were speaking sure as hell wasn't German, I had to learn the language they were using enough for them to explain to me about automail, which is apparently what they do for a living. It's a type of mechanical prosthetics that are actually hardwired directly to the patient's nervous system. Hurts like hell, but it's worth it. It's also a very heavy strain on the body, so most of the usually years long recovery process is physical training to make your muscles strong enough to take the strain. That's really what that sparring match was about. Edward Elric has two automail limbs of his own, but he's so used to them by now that he's really quite unstoppable as a fighter." "It's his left leg and right arm, in case you wondered. Gives him a bit more balance, to have them on opposite sides. Anyways, just over a year ago, I wound up back in Afghanistan, where I disappeared from in the first place. Couldn't quite find my way around, so when I came across a guy with both medical and mechanical skills, I thought it might not be a bad idea to let him have a look at how my arm and leg work, in case he'd be able to replicate it. Turns out he could, which is a good thing, because automail needs maintenance, and I can't really do that on my own. Not all of it, anyways."
"But, wait, if the man who knows how to fix your, uh, limbs, lives in Afghanistan, then wouldn't you have to go there to have it done?" Jörgen's voice had a subtle sort of strain to it that suggested he was trying hard to wrap his head around the whole thing.
"One: I hate flying after I came back, especially commercially. Automail is made of metal. Two: Nadyja really wanted to visit the UK, and I had the opportunity to give her a travel pass to get through security more easily. She's set up shop in a rented flat just down the street, and will probably spend every free moment advertising."
"... She?"
"Caiden's daughter. She's got nearly all of her father's skill, and more than twice his learning speed. She'll probably be back here in a few hours, at the most."
"you're letting a girl – a child – do the maintenance on your automail?" Jörgen sounded incredulous, and almost didn't stumble over the unfamiliar word. Kenneth merely shrugged.
"She's a good mechanic. Besides, I have only good experiences with trusting a teenage girl with my automail. A teenage girl actually made it." There was definitely humour in the hint of a slanted smile as he looked at his old acquaintances from the army. Most people who hadn't met Winry Rockbell didn't believe what he had to say about her.
"She's a teenager – and she's visiting you? Wouldn't that look a little... "
"That's why she has her own flat. That and the fact that there just isn't enough room here for her to work."
"Wait, you said she would have had trouble getting through security, why is that?" Cain suddenly interjected.
"You mean besides the fact she's coming from Afghanistan? Same reason as me. Stepped too close to a land mine when she was younger. Automail is about as far from security check friendly as you can get, and it wouldn't even help to detach it, because the port is metal too." He shook his head. "Those girls are tougher than most men I've met, and handle themselves better, too."
At a look from Cain, he elaborated:
"Galina, a close friend of Nadyja's, has three out of four limbs replaced by automail. When she heard about it, she all but demanded to have it, and insisted on paying by helping out at the shop. Those two, as far as I know, are each other's appointed mechanics, and are going remarkably well, business wise, considering they're both still school aged girls."
By now, Kenneth had started eyeing the coffee brewer more overtly, and both Cain and Jörgen were starting to notice.
"Coffee maker's done you a grievance or what?" Jörgen finally asked. Kenneth snorted softly in response.
"You could put it that way, I suppose. I was originally going to put the coffee on before you knocked; didn't turn out so good. I don't suppose you heard the racket?" The question was posed to sound like he believed that they had indeed heard his disagreement with the kitchen furniture.
"I wondered what that was all about. Can't help but wonder how you got up, actually, if you were on the floor. I mean, with just one arm and one good leg, it can't have been easy," Jörgen reasoned.
"Practice," was the gruff reply. Had Kenneth been any less opposed to asking for help, despite his situation, he would have asked one of the other men to put the coffee on as soon as they were both in the kitchen, but he could manage on his own, damnit. Didn't mean he was still obstinate enough to refuse help when it was offered, though.
"Would you like me to put it on?" Jörgen asked not quite cautiously, though it was in a carefully neutral tone.
"Sure," Keneth answered, making a vague gesture towards the kitchen counter where the coffee brewer stood.
That the two were still there when Nadyja got back with the finished automail was entirely a coincidence, and one the two would soon want to have avoided.
"Eh, you had coffee?" A carefree shrug, then: "Oh well, your own fault then; you know what caffeine does to your nerves."
A raised eyebrow tells him that had been entirely misinterpreted, and he doesn't even care to roll his eyes to indicate the fact. They'll see.
"Just get on with it already, I'm well enough fed up with these useless prosthetics. They mess with my balance."
"Of course they do; they're less than a quarter of the weight. Now hold still." This order was the only warning before the teenage girl quite suddenly yanked loose the prosthetic arm attached to Kenneth's right shoulder. No warning at all was given when, a moment later, the automail limb was attached to its port in stead, and a pained shout was the least reaction Kenneth could manage to it.
"Fuck, that shit hurts," he swore, well aware that Nadyja's swearword-repertoire was far more extensive than his own, and there was absolutely no point in holding back in front of her.
"... Wolf?" Though not a loud exclamation, several heads turned on its cue, some with curiosity, but most in disbelieving recognition. Only the speaker and one other truly knew that the man approaching belonged with the code name he was addressed with. What others noted most, was that his hair was non-regulation, being several inches too long on one side for anything expected on a soldier. He nodded in response to the greeting.
"It's been a while." An understatement, but one that carried more meaning than the words themselves contained.
"You could say that," the sergeant said, and in the process alerted the soldiers to his presence.
"I wasn't informed that you'd be showing up today." That you would show up at all, anywhere, went unsaid. Calculating eyes bore into the new arrival, scrutinising him for any hint that he was anything other than what he looked like he was. The scenery was different from the dreary gloom that was Brecon Beacons during selection, and so was the man, but not so much as to be unrecognisable. A near thing, though.
A short nod punctuated his judgement.
"You'll be joining the boys, then. Be sharp." And that was that. The rest were still a bit wary of him, especially as a whisper traveled the grounds saying that he was the one rumoured to have gone missing, presumed KIA seemingly right up until this moment. Something about a bloodied boot, but no one could say what. The smile just touching Wolf's lips was a bitter thing, and just as lopsided as the construction of his body. Without further comment, he cracked his neck and followed the rest of the men towards the grounds' training facilities. Explanations could come later.
"Anyone tell you that hair's non-regulation?" was the first thing that was asked once he stepped inside the training room, apropos of nothing. He could already tell this was going to be a long day.
"Yeah, but thanks for noticing," he quipped back, well aware that as an instructor, the other man could make him pay for that.
"Well, as long as you know." Apparently, he was in luck; either this guy had a sense of humour, or he was actually of the understanding type. Without any more delay, he went and lined up along with the soldiers already in the room, waiting for the last stragglers to make their appearance. No one was late quite yet.