A/N:Title influenced by Johann Johannsson's album with the same name. SO worth a listen. Look up what the original Fordlandia was - really interesting (hint: Henry Ford).
Y'know, I've always thought of Edward as something of an obsessive. I blew it up some. It isn't the most flattering portrayal of either brother (too bad, because I really adore Ed and Al).
I do not own FMA, nor do I own Johann Johannsson's music.
"I'm sorry, but we can't stay."
"What? I thought you were going to stay for our wedding at the very least."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hughes. But my brother…after Alfons died, he's been…he can't stand to…we really can't stay."
"That's too bad. Alfons was a really nice kid. You and Ed are too. I hope things get better for you both."
"Yeah, I hope so too."
It was their painful dream. For the past five years, Alphonse had watched as their dream descended into his brother's obsession. And now he watched apprehensively as his brother chalked in the last lines. Edward checked over his work, rolled back on his heels, and smiled.
"Hey, Al. Check over my work, will ya?"
His voice was gentler than Alphonse had heard in years. Alphonse nodded and leaned forward.
The transmutation circle was complex, intricate, genius. Even Alphonse, who had a deep understanding of alchemy, had little comprehension. The circle wove in human transmutation and soul-binding alchemy, rocketry and physics, astronomy, chemistry, and Edward's strange understanding of the Gate's inner mechanics. Alphonse understood the alchemy and astronomy very well and had a beginner's understanding of physics, but that was it. Only Edward could understand the Gate so well.
After checking what he knew, Alphonse said, "I think it looks good. But Brother, are sure this is a good idea?"
With alarming speed, Edward whirled and grasped Alphonse's shoulders. His eyes were very bright.
"Al! What are you talking about? We're so close; how can we stop now?"
"I'm just not sure that this–"
"Al...Don't you want to see everyone again? The real people, not just these mirror people? Winry, really Winry, and granny Pinako too… Hawkeye, Havoc, Sheska, and all the rest? Don't you want to see how Elysia's grown up? Heck, I'd be happy to see Colonel Bastard or have Armstrong crush us, or even have the Tringhams impersonate us again, if it were really them. Really them, not just some boys who look like them but aren't even related. Not some guy who looks like the Bastard but isn't half so pompous. Not these fakes.
"Don't you wanna go back, Al?"
Alphonse shrank back a little. It was true; he wanted to go back. They didn't have a life here. (In his less charitable moments, Alphonse blamed Edward.) They had moved away from all their friends, so that they (so that Edward) wouldn't be hurt by the similarities between the people in Amestris and the people in Europe.
He swallowed down the impulse to say 'But we could watch this world's Elysia grow up too' and said, "Yeah, Brother. I do."
Edward smiled again. "Alright then."
He pulled out a small knife from his trouser pocket and slashed his palm with it. Alphonse winced, but Edward didn't seem to care about the pain. Alphonse held out a shaky palm as his brother explained, "The blood sigil I'm writing now helps key us in to Amestris."
Alphonse said nothing, only gasped with the bite of the steel. He thought of the last risky transmutation involving blood that they had done together. Mother. Sloth.
"Now or never, Al."
Alphonse opened his mouth, then shut it again. He nodded.
They clapped simultaneously – old habit. The two brothers slammed their bleeding palms down on the edge of the circle. Blood mixed with chalk and all was light.
Alphonse awoke amidst ash. He panicked and shouted, "Brother!"
"I'm here, Al, I'm here," Edward said to Alphonse's left. He took Alphonse's arm and pulled him up to standing. "Damn, what is this?"
Alphonse glanced around, trying to make sense of the world around them. They were in the ruins of a city; it had been bombed out. There were guns and limbs scattered on the ground. Alphonse was reminded of when they had crossed into France and had seen the trenches of the Great War. There was a similar feeling of desolation here. He felt a little sick.
Alphonse searched for something to look at rather than the bodies. He saw the tattered remains of posters on the walls and went over for a closer look. "Brother!" he called. "They're written in Amestrian!"
"What?!" Edward's head shot up. He dashed over to see the posters.
One poster said, 'The Republic of Amestris wants YOU to fight against the monsters of the North!' Underneath the words was an image of an army in a uniform similar to the Amestrian military uniform. The Amestrian army was leveling guns at an army of misshapen men with bear-like faces and Drachman symbols on their arms.
"It looks just like the propaganda in Europe," Alphonse whispered.
"Damn it! A war with Drachma? When the hell was this?" Edward snarled. "And it looks like Drachma won too." He whirled and stalked towards what looked like a city square. That's where he was brought up short. He cursed softly.
Alphonse followed. His eyes widened as he took in the monolith before them. It was a huge bronze statue and the two of them were a part of it. It was of them and Mustang and Armstrong and a couple other people he didn't recognize. The sharper edges had been worn away and dust had collected in the folds of clothing and the lines of faces.
On the statue was a plaque with the words "THE HERO ALCHEMISTS" inscribed, though someone had crossed out the word "HERO" and had scratched "TRAITOR". Underneath, in smaller lettering, was a description: "As commissioned by the First President Roy Mustang a year before his untimely death in 1941".
Edward stumbled back and fell. "No, no," he muttered. "This isn't right. We were in 1928. It was 1928."
Alphonse gazed despairingly at the statue: it showed his brother scowling and himself smiling. That's the way things were supposed to be, but they're not.
"It looks old. How long have we been gone?" Edward whispered from where he sat amidst the dust.
Everything's screwed up. And whose fault is it?!
Alphonse rounded on his brother. Everything he hadn't said, everything that he had stayed silent about, came out in a rush.
"We could've stayed in Europe! We could've had lives there!" he screamed. "We could've seen Mr. Hughes marry Gracia! We could've traveled with Noah! You could've become a rocket scientist; I could've become an astronomer! WE COULD'VE BEEN HAPPY THERE!"
His breath was harsh, uneven.
Edward slammed a fist down. "Is that what you think, Al? Do you really think we could have become happy there? It was all fake, Al. The people there – they weren't really our people.
"Look, I screwed up, alright? My calculations were off or something, but I'll fix it, you know I will. I'll fix it, Al. We can go back, and then we can be happy."
Suddenly, Alphonse wasn't sure if he recognized the man in front of him anymore. Who was this man with a tremor in his hands? The stranger's golden eyes had deep shadows underneath and yet were lit with some strange brightness. Sweat rolled down his forehead, mixing with dust and leaving dirty streaks on his face. A hopeful smile faded quickly from his face.
When did you become someone other than my brother?
When he forced them to become recluses so they couldn't be hurt by the people he deemed "fake"? When he began muttering formulas rather than talk to Alphonse? When he disappeared from Amestris, when he was first changed by Earth?
"No." Alphonse shook his head. "No. It's always about fixing things with you, but it gets worse every time we try. I shouldn't have helped you. I really should stop helping you."
He turned.
"Al, wait! I can fix it, I swear I can – I will! I will find a way, and then we'll be back with everyone!"
"No, I'm going to stop helping you now," Alphonse whispered. He smiled, though he didn't feel like smiling at all. He smiled and walked away. He smiled and left.
He could hear gunshots in the distance. One shot seemed louder than the rest. Suddenly, all was quiet; he smiled in relief.
I'm coming home!